Once a mobster, now Masachika Kuze

The night was calm, and the weather pleasant. A gentle breeze wandered through the streets of Tokyo as Ryan, with a weary expression, walked down the aisles of a supermarket. He held a basket full of snacks and sodas, scrutinizing the candy prices on the shelves.

"Asking Yuno to teleport me to a supermarket instead of straight home seemed like a good idea..." he muttered, irritation lacing his voice as he frowned. "But the damn girl left me in the most expensive store in town and disappeared like the devil avoiding a prayer."

Sighing, he picked up a Snickers bar, examining its price as though it had punched him.

"Damn it... I'll have to settle for just one." He let out an ironic chuckle, placed it in the basket, and continued walking through the brightly lit aisles.

Ryan let his gaze drift to the fluorescent lights above him, lost in thought.

"Yuno's probably racking her brain trying to convince her family to take Rika in..." he reflected. His voice lowering as his expression turned pensive. "But knowing that lunatic, she'll find a way. Especially after the show in the village when Rika announced she was leaving."

He chuckled to himself at the memory, stopping to grab a package of dango.

"For a moment, I thought Rena was going to cry herself into dehydration."

The joy of the thought was quickly cut short when he noticed the price of the sweets.

"What the hell? Why is this so expensive!?"

Even so, he grabbed just one package and shook his head in resignation.

"Fine... Yuki will have to choose between the Snickers and the dango. She should be grateful, too, because sharing my snacks is proof enough that I care about her."

He narrowed his eyes briefly, but a faint smirk appeared on his lips. Beneath his casual attitude lay a deeper emotional weight.

"It's strange... I'm shopping for others besides myself. Have I really changed this much because of Masachika's memories?"

Ryan paused, closing his eyes as he slowly walked down the aisle.

"No... I know it's not just that. I had decided to live as Masachika, erase Ryan, and leave it all behind. But then the past knocked on my door... wearing a school uniform and double ponytail."

He let out a short, humorless laugh as he continued walking. The memory was so vivid it felt like a shadow constantly lingering nearby. His thoughts drifted to the day everything changed.

"That day, I realized something had shifted... even with the option to go back in time, I didn't want Alya to die."

His eyes rested on a pot of ice cream as he said this, and for a brief moment, it felt as though she were there. The memory of her smile, her shining eyes—all of it returned with force.

"I didn't want to see her hurt..."

The memories played out like a haunting film that wouldn't stop. Each scene grew darker than the last. He saw himself, years younger, walking the grimy streets of London, hands soaked in blood, and the stench of gunpowder clinging to his clothes. Every step in the checkout line echoed with screams and wails he had tried to bury but couldn't escape.

As he stared at the items in his basket, the memories persisted, relentless.

"Yuno has every reason to treat me like scum," he thought, His gaze becoming empty. "I'm not the person I pretend to be. As much as I wish otherwise... I'm just a killer, a survivor shaped by pain."

The metallic clink of coins in the register pulled him briefly back to reality. He ran a hand over his face, trying to dispel the torrent of images, but the memories were too strong.

They carried him back to his childhood. He recalled a dirty photograph of his mother, her tired eyes gazing at her swollen belly. His father, an honest worker, had died before Ryan was born, a stray bullet ending his life in a gang dispute. His mother, crushed by grief and mounting debt, took her own life when Ryan was just three years old.

The thought made his chest tighten, but the pain was quickly smothered by calculated coldness. Left in the care of an uncle who never wanted him—a cartel leader in London—the man initially treated Ryan as a burden, letting him starve amid filthy walls and the echoes of angry voices.

It was a cold, dark night when it all began. Ryan was only seven. The piercing wails of sirens and shouts jolted him from sleep. Police were raiding the cartel's hideout where he lived. Men fell like flies under a hail of gunfire, the scent of fresh blood mingling with the damp air. Trembling, he hid under a table as death filled the room.

Then he saw the gun.

It lay there on the floor, calling to him as if it were part of him. He picked it up with shaking hands, but as he aimed, his vision turned cold, as if his soul had been extinguished. Every shot was precise, every advancing officer fell before they knew what hit them.

When it was over, Ryan stood amidst the corpses, his eyes glazed and the gun still warm in his hands. He looked at his uncle, the cartel boss, waiting for any reaction. The man laughed.

"You're a natural-born monster, kid. Finally, something useful came out of this hell."

The checkout line moved slowly, but Ryan's mind was years away. He remembered how his uncle shaped him, teaching him to shoot, negotiate, and most of all, kill without hesitation. The missions came more frequently, and he became the cartel's unflinching executioner.

"If you weren't useful, you were disposable," he murmured to himself, watching the conveyor belt carry his purchases to the cashier.

The memories resurfaced, bringing with them the weight of his most ruthless decision. At 13, he found himself pointing a gun at the man who had raised him, the same man who had saved him from abandonment only to mold him into a killer.

"You're like a father to me, Uncle," Ryan had said that night.

The man laughed, raising his whiskey glass. "And you're the perfect heir."

Ryan pulled the trigger before his uncle could take another sip. The resignation and betrayal etched on the man's face were forever imprinted in Ryan's memory.

Back in the present, Ryan held the money in trembling hands, staring at his fingers as if they were still stained with blood. The phantom image was as vivid as the fluorescent supermarket lights.

"What am I now? A hero? A fool trying to save people I barely know?" His mind mocked him as he placed the bills on the counter.

"The life of a mafioso was never glamorous. Theft, death, betrayal... maybe I got used to seeing blood on my hands." He exhaled heavily, closing his eyes for a moment. "But now these hands... these same hands that destroyed so many lives... are trying to save someone. So fucking ironic.."

Like the cold gleam of a gun's metal, his eyes seemed lifeless after taking so many lives.

"Sir?"

The cashier's voice snapped him back. He looked up to see a young woman with an uncomfortable expression, perhaps unsettled by his vacant stare.

"Oh, sorry," he said, forcing a smile as he handed her the money.

She quickly returned his change, eager to be rid of him, and Ryan took the bags. Exiting the supermarket, he felt the cool night breeze brush his face. The street was deserted, with only a few flickering streetlights to break the darkness. He glanced up at the starless sky as he walked along the empty sidewalks.

"Yuno... You've seen me take so many lives while we played together... Even the one you cared about... So why do you seem to be giving me a chance to fix something?"

He knew it was too late. Despite the weight of his past, something had changed. No matter how much he denied it, no matter how much he tried to isolate himself, he couldn't ignore the fact that this time, he wasn't fighting just for himself.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Ryan left the store with bags full of snacks. On the nearly empty streets of Tokyo, the night air felt fresh, and the silence around him was broken only by his footsteps and the rustling of the bags.

Pulling out his phone to check the map, his expression crumbled in pure exhaustion.

"Goddamn it, Yuno... I'm an hour's walk from home? Was it too much to ask to drop me off closer?"

For a moment, he stopped and remembered the kiss they had shared—and, of course, the not-so-innocent touch he couldn't resist. His hand on her butt, the murderous glare that followed... it all clicked.

"Ah... Now I get it. She's getting her revenge," he said with a resigned, almost amused tone, as he started walking again, accepting his fate.

His footsteps echoed on the deserted sidewalk as he laughed to himself. "Spent everything I had on sweets... Now I just have to hope I don't run into some idiot on the way. Imagine if I end up shooting them?"

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