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 - Gunshots at the Bowling Alley - Unreachable True Feelings
There was no one left in the alley outside the window anymore.
Takemichi closed the curtains and leaned against the wall alone in the dark room. Deep in his chest, his heart was still pounding like a warning bell. The emblem that had glinted on those men's chests. That had definitely been Bonten's.
(Why, in this era—)
Bonten was an organization Mikey had created after he became an adult. The symbol of that world sunk in darkness, in 2017. And now it was walking down an ordinary alley on a summer night in 2005.
Takemichi clenched his fist. The old scar on his left arm throbbed faintly.
(Something's wrong. This isn't the past I know.)
Having repeated his time leaps over and over, Takemichi carried layer upon layer of memories of past events. In none of those memories had Bonten's emblem ever appeared in Shibuya in 2005.
Takemichi let out a slow breath.
(But even so, what I have to do doesn't change.)
I'm going to save Mikey. That's why I came here.
Takemichi picked up the phone he'd set on the floor. When he lit the screen, the date August 23, 2005 floated up.
(Let's go see Mikey again.)
Last time, when they'd met in the park, Mikey had clearly said it. "I'm scared of myself." That voice still lingered deep in his ears. It had sounded like a frail cry for help.
Takemichi searched for the contact.
Chifuyu had used this era's Toman contact network to look up Mikey's number for him. He stared hard at the number displayed on the screen.
His fingers were trembling.
(If I said I wasn't scared, that'd be a lie.)
He remembered the moment Mikey's kick had stopped just short of him. The sound of the steel pipe shattering to pieces. He had definitely seen that black haze wavering deep in Mikey's eyes.
(Even so, I—)
Takemichi pressed the call button.
The ringing tone echoed through the dark room.
One ring, two, three.
(Pick up, Mikey.)
Midway through the fourth ring, there was a click.
"Hello? Who's this—Takemicchi?"
Mikey's voice over the phone was startlingly cheerful. As if what had happened in the park yesterday had never occurred. Takemichi was at a loss for words for a moment.
"Y-yeah. It's me. Sorry for calling out of the blue, Mikey."
"What, what's up? Calling in the middle of the night—that's rare for you."
There was no trace of caution in Mikey's voice. That, somehow, made Takemichi's chest tighten.
(You're always like this. You pretend to be innocent in front of me.)
Takemichi swallowed.
"Hey, Mikey. Can we meet tomorrow? Just the two of us—I want to talk."
On the other end of the line, he sensed Mikey catch his breath.
"...Talk? What's this, all formal?"
"It's serious. I want to face you properly."
Silence.
Only Mikey's breathing came through the phone.
"Sure. I was just in the mood for bowling anyway. You know Shibuya Lanes in Shibuya, right? How about there tomorrow?"
Shibuya Lanes. A twenty-four-hour bowling alley on the outskirts of Shibuya. It was also the place where Toman members used to gather after their meetings.
"Bowling? You bowl?"
"Once in a while. I'm actually pretty good."
Mikey's voice bounced with just a hint of happiness.
The moment he heard that voice, something warm seeped through Takemichi's chest.
(Ah. This is the voice I wanted to hear.)
"Got it. What time tomorrow?"
"How about six in the evening? It'll be less crowded around then."
"Yeah, works for me. Six o'clock, in front of Shibuya Lanes."
"Alright. See you tomorrow, Takemicchi."
"Yeah. See you tomorrow."
The call ended.
Takemichi couldn't move for a while, still gripping his phone.
(Mikey's going to meet me.)
Just that made his chest burn hot.
But at the same time, he was afraid.
(I might get shoved away again.)
(I might see that black haze again.)
Takemichi closed his eyes.
Behind his eyelids floated the smile he'd seen in the park. Innocent, childlike—and yet, somewhere in it, a smile that looked about to cry.
"You know, lately, I'm scared of myself."
Mikey's voice repeated deep in his ears.
(Your fear—I'll do something about it.)
(I won't leave you alone. Not ever.)
Takemichi swore that in his heart.
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The next evening.
The Shibuya sky was beginning to stain orange.
Takemichi stood alone in front of Shibuya Lanes, waiting for Mikey. The bowling alley's neon sign glowed faintly beneath the still-bright sky.
Around him were students on their way home from school and housewives carrying shopping bags. Shibuya in 2005 was far more peaceful than 2017—the air itself felt softer.
Takemichi checked the time again and again.
5:58 p.m.
(Mikey will be here any minute.)
His palms were damp with sweat.
(Calm down. I'm just here to talk.)
Even as he told himself that, his heart kept up its racket.
"Yo, Takemicchi. Did I keep you waiting?"
At the voice, Takemichi lifted his head.
A small-statured man with long blond hair pulled up carelessly in a half-up style. A black T-shirt and baggy black pants. Sano Manjirou appeared, popping out from the crowd.
An innocent smile.
The instant he saw that smile, Takemichi's heart gave a hard throb.
(It's Mikey.)
"Y-yeah. Just got here."
Takemichi's voice cracked just slightly.
"Yeah? Then let's go in."
Without waiting for an answer, Mikey slipped through the bowling alley's automatic doors. Takemichi hurried after his retreating back.
Inside, it was darker than he'd expected.
Neon decorations colored the walls and ceiling. The sound of pins falling, balls rolling down the lanes, the laughter of young people. All of it blended into a peculiar clamor.
"Look, that one's open."
Mikey pointed to the lane farthest in.
The two of them checked in side by side and changed into bowling shoes.
"Takemicchi, how long's it been since you bowled?"
"Huh? Ah—it's been a while, actually. Last time might've been in middle school."
"Seriously? Then I'll teach you. Starting with your form."
Saying that, Mikey picked up a ball.
"Watch. You build up your approach like this—"
Mikey took a light, nimble approach and threw the ball.
It rolled straight down the center of the lane and blasted every pin with a satisfying crash.
"Strike!"
Mikey turned around and grinned innocently.
That smile was exactly the same as when he'd been a kid.
Takemichi felt something clench tight in his chest.
(You can smile so innocently, and yet—)
(I can tell that smile is fake.)
Takemichi understood. Behind Mikey's smile, something that looked about to cry was hidden away.
"Amazing, Mikey. You're seriously good."
Takemichi forced out the brightest voice he could.
"Right? Your turn next, Takemicchi."
Takemichi picked up a ball.
Heavy.
(Was a bowling ball always this heavy?)
Takemichi mimicked what he'd seen, took an approach, and threw.
The ball veered to the left edge of the lane and dropped into the gutter.
"Ahaha! What kind of throw was that?! You're putting way too much force into it!"
Mikey doubled over laughing.
"Shut up. I'll throw properly next time."
Takemichi threw his second ball with a wry smile.
This time he managed to knock down a few pins.
"Oh, not bad. You're improving."
"It's because you're a good teacher."
When Takemichi said that, Mikey blinked in surprise for a moment, then broke into a soft, melting smile.
"What's that supposed to mean? Don't praise me out of nowhere. You'll make me blush."
Mikey's cheeks seemed to turn just slightly red.
Seeing that expression, Takemichi felt something warm seep through his chest.
(Ah. Of course.)
(I love Mikey's smile.)
Takemichi recognized his own feelings anew.
This ache in his chest, this warmth—all of it was something Mikey gave him.
"Come on, my turn now."
Mikey picked up a ball and threw another strike.
For a while, the two of them kept bowling, chatting about nothing in particular.
Every time Mikey threw a ball, Takemichi watched his back.
(I wish this time could last forever.)
He meant it from the bottom of his heart.
But at the same time, he knew.
This time wouldn't last long.
That deep in Mikey's eyes, that black haze had begun to spread—quietly, but surely.
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Around the time the third game ended.
"Man, that was fun. Takemicchi, you've actually got some talent."
Mikey said that with a laugh as he took off his bowling shoes.
"You're just too good. I couldn't win at all."
"Of course. I'm the best at everything."
Mikey puffed up with pride.
Seeing that smile, Takemichi felt relieved.
(Thank goodness. Maybe today can end just like this, normally.)
That was the moment Takemichi thought that.
Click.
The lights inside the alley went out all at once.
"Huh?"
Takemichi couldn't help crying out.
The surroundings were swallowed by darkness.
A power outage, or some kind of effect?
After a moment of silence, only the emergency lights flickered dimly on.
The faint light barely illuminated the two of them.
The other customers began to stir and murmur.
"What the—? A blackout?"
Takemichi turned toward Mikey.
And his breath caught.
Mikey had pulled a black handgun from inside his jacket.
"Mikey... what are you—"
Takemichi's voice shook.
Slowly, Mikey aimed the gun at Takemichi.
"Takemicchi."
Mikey's voice was completely different from the innocent one of moments ago.
Low, cold, carrying a sense of bottomless darkness.
"Don't come near me anymore."
Takemichi was speechless.
"I'll end up breaking you too."
Mikey's eyes were covered in black haze.
That black haze, like spilled ink.
It swirled deep in Mikey's eyes, thicker and deeper than ever before.
"Mikey, stop. Where did you even get a gun—"
"I don't want to break you."
Mikey's voice trembled, just slightly.
"So don't come anymore."
Mikey's finger settled on the trigger.
Takemichi's legs froze.
Terror kept his body from moving.
(Mikey's pointing a gun at me.)
(He really means to shoot.)
His head understood.
If he didn't run, he might be killed.
And yet Takemichi's feet wouldn't move a single step.
(If I run, it's over.)
(I came here to save Mikey.)
Takemichi took one step forward on trembling legs.
"I... I will never give up on you."
Takemichi's voice was hoarse.
But those words carried a definite will.
"I told you not to come."
Mikey's voice sharpened.
"I won't leave you alone."
Takemichi took another step.
"No matter how far you fall into the darkness, I'll be right beside you."
"Shut up."
"If you want help, then say it!"
Takemichi shouted.
"I'll save you! Again and again, I'll save you!"
In that instant, the black haze deep in Mikey's eyes wavered.
The light returned.
For just a moment, that innocent light definitely came back into Mikey's eyes.
"Takemicchi..."
Mikey's voice cracked.
But the next moment.
The black haze snuffed that light out.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
Mikey screamed.
And he pulled the trigger.
Bang!
Three bullets gouged into the floor at Takemichi's feet.
"Whoa!"
Takemichi reflexively leaped backward.
Fragments of the floor scattered.
The smell of gunpowder stung his nose.
"Mikey! Stop!"
Takemichi shouted.
But Mikey wasn't hearing him.
Mikey's face twisted in pain, and he clutched his head.
"I... I..."
Mikey murmured that, then suddenly turned on his heel and ran.
"Mikey! Where are you going?!"
Takemichi chased after him in a panic.
Mikey raced up the emergency stairs at the back of the alley.
"Wait! Mikey! Wait!"
Takemichi chased desperately after him.
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Mikey kicked the door to the rooftop open with force.
Takemichi followed, gasping for breath.
The rooftop was wrapped in the evening air.
The western sky burned red.
A lukewarm wind blew through.
Mikey stood before the fence.
And he was trying to climb over it.
"Mikey! What are you doing?! Stop!"
Takemichi ran toward him, shouting.
Mikey had one foot over the far side of the fence.
"Don't c
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