Tokyo Manji Kai: The Dawn of the End - The Last Handshake to Save Mikey
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"I'll save him. Even if it kills me again."
Hanagaki Takemichi, 26, part-timer, failure at life. He spends his days avoiding the news—because every broadcast brings another crime committed by Bonten, the criminal empire built by the man he once swore to save: Sano Manjirou. Mikey. The friend who gave a weak, worthless kid a name worth fighting for. The friend now soaked in blood.
But when Matsuno Chifuyu appears at his door with a confession—*"We've been lying to you, Takemitchy"*—the fra
Tokyo Manji Kai: The Dawn of the End - The Last Handshake to Save Mikey - Trigger - The Handshake of No Return
The Tachibana General Hospital at midnight was dead silent, as if the daytime clamor had never been.
The smell of antiseptic stung his nose. The white fluorescent lights cast a cold glow over the polished corridors. Now and then, the faint squeak of nurse's shoes echoed somewhere far off and faded away.
In that stillness, Hanagaki Takemichi felt as though the sound of his own heartbeat was absurdly loud.
(How long did I wander before I came here?)
After Chifuyu left the apartment, Takemichi had clutched his phone and paced the room for over thirty minutes. The finger hovering over the call button trembled again and again.
Tachibana Naoto.
A police officer, Hina's younger brother. And the trigger for time leaps.
For Takemichi to jump into the past, he had no choice but to shake that man's hand. But Naoto would warn him—he always did. That it was dangerous. That he needed to be prepared.
(Even so, I have no choice but to go.)
In the end, Takemichi called Naoto. It was a short conversation. Naoto asked nothing—he simply said, "Understood. I'm at the hospital now. Please come." His voice was astonishingly calm.
As if he'd known all along that Takemichi would come.
Takemichi passed through the hospital's front entrance, walked past the reception desk, and headed for the third-floor corridor Naoto had specified.
A hospital at midnight shows a different face than it does by day. The lights were dimmed, and the green of the emergency lamps floated faintly in the dark. Only the sleeping breaths of patients and the electronic beeps of medical equipment leaked faintly through the walls.
Takemichi crept quietly down the long corridor.
At the waiting area at the far end, he saw a figure.
Blond and black two-block hair. A black leather rider's jacket. The man stood with his back against the wall, and Takemichi could never have mistaken him.
"Chifuyu... what are you doing here?"
Matsuno Chifuyu slowly raised his head. His strong-willed amber eyes caught Takemichi dead-on in the corridor's dim light.
"Because I figured you'd come."
Chifuyu's voice was low and quiet. But there was a definite heat behind the words.
"I wasn't sure if I should come either. Honestly, I'm still not. But I can't let you do this alone."
Something deep in Takemichi's chest grew warm.
(This guy's always like this.)
Nothing had changed since middle school. Whenever Takemichi tried something reckless, Chifuyu was always standing beside him. Whenever he was about to fall, Chifuyu always reached out a hand.
Takemichi looked Chifuyu straight in the face.
"Thanks, Chifuyu. But I can't drag you into danger."
"You idiot. What are you saying at this point? I've been dragged in for a long time now."
Chifuyu gave a small laugh. That way he smiled, fangs peeking out—it was just the same as ever.
"Takemicchi. You carry too much on your own. You always have, ever since back then. But this time, I've made up my mind too. If you're going, I'll protect the place you come back to. That's all."
Takemichi tried to say something, then swallowed the words.
Chifuyu's eyes were not the eyes of someone joking around.
"...All right. But don't push yourself."
"Look who's talking."
The two of them shared a brief laugh.
The smell of antiseptic. The cold air. The quiet corridor.
And yet that space was unmistakably filled with the warmth of two people.
"Let's go. Naoto's waiting."
As if urging him on, Chifuyu started walking toward the far end of the corridor. Takemichi followed behind him.
(I'm not alone.)
That fact calmed his trembling heart, just a little.
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A small break room at the back of the third floor.
Chifuyu knocked twice, and a low voice answered from inside: "Come in."
When the door opened, Tachibana Naoto was standing there.
His short black hair was neatly trimmed, and his dark eyes held a serious light. His tall, lean frame was dressed in a flawlessly fitted navy suit. Young as he was, his composed air tightened the atmosphere of the room.
His gentle eyes resembled his sister Hina's. But now those eyes fixed on Takemichi with a sharpness he'd never seen before.
"You came, Hanagaki-san. And Matsuno-san too."
Naoto's voice was quiet and hard.
"Yeah. Sorry to keep you waiting."
"No. I was just steeling myself."
Naoto placed his hands on the small table in the center of the break room. His fingertips had gone slightly white.
Takemichi stood across from him. Chifuyu leaned by the door with his arms crossed, watching the two of them in silence.
Silence filled the room.
Only the second hand of the wall clock ticked on, steady and regular.
"Hanagaki-san. Let me confirm this one more time."
Naoto spoke.
"Do you truly understand the risks of the time leap? If I—the trigger—die in the past, you can never return to the present. And that's not all. If you die in the past, my sister will spend the rest of her life searching for you."
Naoto's voice was cold and sharp.
But Takemichi understood.
(This guy is worried about me.)
Behind that coldness was fear. Naoto was terrified, from the bottom of his heart, of losing Takemichi.
Takemichi looked straight back into Naoto's eyes.
"Naoto. I understand all of it. If the trigger dies, I can't come back. If I die, Hina will grieve. I understand all of it."
Takemichi's voice did not waver.
"But even so, I have to go. To save Mikey, there's no other way but for me to go to the past."
"Why do you go that far?! You've fought enough already. You saved my sister, you protected Toman, you've come close to death over and over. You should be allowed to rest now!"
For the first time, Naoto's voice betrayed raw emotion.
Takemichi quietly shook his head.
"I can't rest. Mikey is still in the darkness. If I don't go, he'll sink alone. I can't pretend not to see that."
"You sacrifice yourself too much."
"I'm not sacrificing anything. I'm just doing what I want to do. I want to save Mikey. That's all."
The deep brown of Takemichi's eyes held a powerful light of resolve.
Naoto stared at those eyes.
A few seconds of silence.
At last, Naoto let out a small breath.
"...Those eyes. Those are the eyes you had when you saved my sister."
Naoto's voice softened, just slightly.
"I understand. I'll believe in you. You will come back alive—I believe that."
Naoto slowly extended his right hand.
"Hanagaki-san. I'll accept your resolve. ...Go."
Takemichi stared at that hand.
(If I take this hand, there's no turning back.)
Deep in his heart, a small fear showed its face.
But Takemichi didn't hesitate.
"Yeah. I'm going. I'll definitely save Mikey and come back alive."
Takemichi grasped Naoto's hand.
The hard feel of bone.
It was a warm hand.
The next instant—
His vision burst into pure white.
"Takemichi-san, remember this. In the past, the trigger's power does not reach. You must protect yourself."
Naoto's voice echoed from far away.
No—was it close? Far? The sense of distance was already gone.
Sound vanished.
Light vanished.
Sensation slipped away.
(Mikey... wait for me...)
Takemichi's consciousness sank into the deep dark.
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When he came to, Takemichi was standing.
No—even the sensation of standing was vague.
The first thing he felt was the smell of summer.
The smell of scorched asphalt. Exhaust fumes. Sweat. And somewhere, a nostalgic air, like the aftermath of a festival.
Takemichi slowly opened his eyes.
(Where is this...)
It was Shibuya.
But it was somehow different from the Shibuya Takemichi knew.
The lettering on the signs was old. The clothes of the people walking the streets felt like another era. Young people holding flip phones. Platform boots. Loose socks.
(2005...)
Takemichi searched his pocket with trembling hands.
What came out was an old-model cell phone.
When he saw the date on the screen, Takemichi caught his breath.
August 20, 2005.
(I really did come back to the past.)
Takemichi looked at his own hands.
The wrinkles. The bones. The way the muscle sat.
(My body... is still twenty-six.)
The stares of the people around him pierced Takemichi.
A black hoodie, messy black hair. A twenty-six-year-old man standing in the middle of 2005 Shibuya. The wrongness of it seemed to reach the people around him too.
"Hey, why is that guy dressed like that?"
"Who knows. Maybe he's filming something?"
The whispers of young girls reached his ears.
Takemichi hurried away from the spot.
(Bad. I stand out way too much. What do I do...)
His heart pounded like a hammer.
His breathing was shallow. His hands and feet were cold.
(Calm down. Calm down. I've been to this era before. Many times. It's fine. It's fine.)
As if to convince himself, Takemichi repeated deep breaths.
The summer heat seeped deep into his lungs.
(Right. I came here to save Mikey. This is no time to be lost.)
Takemichi raised his head.
That was when it happened.
"Hey, you over there."
A low voice stabbed into Takemichi's back.
He turned around, and a man was standing there.
Tall, with a solid build. Short-cropped black hair. Sharp eyes. A small silver piercing glinted on his left ear.
He looked about twenty.
No—maybe younger.
The man glared at Takemichi.
"Never seen your face before. What crew are you from?"
Tension shot through Takemichi's whole body.
(Mitsuya... Takashi.)
One of the founding members of Tokyo Manji Kai. Captain of the Second Division. A caring big-brother figure, one of the most trusted men in Toman.
Takemichi found himself staring at Mitsuya's face.
(Young. So young. Of course—this is 2005.)
Mitsuya furrowed his brow, apparently suspicious of Takemichi's silence.
"Hey, are you listening? I asked what team you're from."
Takemichi hurriedly opened his mouth.
"Ah, um... Takemicchi..."
His voice shook.
Nostalgia and tension tightened his throat.
(Takemicchi. The name Mikey gave me.)
Hearing that name, Mitsuya's face turned dubious.
"Takemicchi? What the hell is that? Never heard of it. You're not in any team I know."
"Um, I'm with Toman—no, that's not..."
The words wouldn't come out right.
(How am I supposed to explain this? That I'm twenty-six-year-old Hanagaki Takemichi and I came from the future? There's no way anyone would believe that.)
Mitsuya's gaze sharpened further.
"You came to spy on a Toman meeting? Then you're not getting off easy."
"Th-that's not it! I was just, um..."
Cold sweat ran down Takemichi's back.
That was when it happened.
VROOOOM.
A heavy engine roar echoed down the street.
Looking toward the sound, he saw a motorcycle slowly approaching.
An old-model blue-and-white bike.
A CB250T.
(Babu...)
Takemichi's heart leaped.
Riding the bike was a single man.
Long blond hair streamed in the wind.
A pompadour gathered carelessly in a half-up style. The ends reached all the way to his waist.
A small frame. A body barely over five feet tall.
And yet his presence overwhelmed everything around him.
(Mikey...)
Sano Manjirou was there.
Takemichi's legs moved on their own.
"Mikey...!"
Takemichi broke into a run toward the bike.
Tears spilled over.
They wouldn't stop.
(I wanted to see you. I've wanted to see you all this time.)
Mikey stopped the bike and slowly planted his feet on the ground.
Then he turned toward Takemichi.
His face wore the same innocent smile as always.
"Oh, what's this, what's this? You wanted to see me?"
Mikey's voice was the same as ever.
Innocent, carefree, and somehow childlike.
Takemichi came to a stop in front of Mikey.
He was out of breath. The tears wouldn't stop.
"Mikey... I, I've always..."
The words wouldn't come.
Mikey stared at Takemichi's face.
Then he tilted his head.
"Who are you again?"
Those words were so innocent, and so cruel.
Something in Takemichi's chest ground and creaked.
(Right. The Mikey of this era doesn't know me yet. I don't become Takemicchi until much later.)
He understood.
He should have
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