The sun was low over Tokyo, casting long shadows across the streets. Takemichi walked slowly, his arm still tender from previous clashes, the weight of his injury and helplessness heavy on his shoulders. He had just been discharged from the hospital, the sterile scent and sterile walls fading behind him, replaced by the city that had become a battlefield between Toman and Valhalla.
He hadn't expected visitors—but familiar faces soon appeared: his friends, Yamagishi, Kazutora, and a few others, now firmly part of Valhalla. Their expressions were heavy with emotion, a mixture of loyalty, guilt, and sorrow. They approached cautiously, knowing the complicated line they now walked.
"Takemichi…" Yamagishi's voice trembled slightly. "We… we had to see you. Are you okay?"
Takemichi's chest tightened. The sight of his friends, now in Valhalla jackets, loyalty visibly shifted, filled him with conflicting emotions—relief at seeing them alive, sorrow for their alignment, and fear for the inevitable clash. "I… I'm fine," he muttered, forcing a small smile, though his heart ached.
They walked with him silently for a while, the only sounds the distant hum of traffic and occasional shouts from alleyways where Valhalla patrols continued to assert dominance. The tension was palpable; the city itself seemed to recognize that the balance had shifted, and Takemichi felt caught in the middle, powerless to change it.
But James Lee had anticipated this exact moment. His system highlighted every potential emotional, social, and tactical consequence of allowing Takemichi to interact with his former friends. He had foreseen that seeing them would stir guilt, hesitation, and vulnerability—a perfect opening to manipulate larger players.
Mikey, unaware of the full complexity of James Lee's strategy, was now being carefully maneuvered. A subtle message was sent through the system: a threat crafted with precision. If Takemichi didn't comply with Valhalla's next plan, James Lee would ensure Mikey faced lethal danger. The psychological pressure wasn't just on Mikey—it fell squarely on Takemichi.
Walking with his friends, Takemichi noticed their conflicted expressions, their hesitant glances. They had been recruited by Valhalla, loyal in body if not completely in heart, but still familiar enough to pull at Takemichi's conscience. Every word, every look, was a reminder of the impossible position he now occupied: torn between old loyalties and the unstoppable force rising before him.
James Lee, watching from a distance, allowed the moment to unfold naturally. The system pulsed, providing real-time analysis: Takemichi's emotional state, potential choices, and probable responses. Every hesitation increased Valhalla's psychological leverage, and every worry in Takemichi's heart reinforced the inevitability of the next moves.
By the end of their walk, Takemichi's resolve had hardened—not out of confidence, but necessity. The city was no longer just a battlefield; it was a chessboard, and every player's emotions, loyalties, and fears were tools in James Lee's hands.
James Lee's voice, calm and authoritative even from afar, echoed faintly in his system: "Every connection, every hesitation, every loyalty is a variable. Use it wisely… or watch the consequences unfold. Valhalla controls more than just the streets—it controls the game."
Takemichi's friends stayed with him, silent but supportive, walking beside him as he struggled with the unbearable weight of loyalty, fear, and inevitable confrontation. The war was no longer only physical—it had become emotional, strategic, and inescapable, and James Lee was always three steps ahead.