Tokyo woke to fog.
The streets still shimmered from the storm that had battered the city the night before. Neon signs flickered back to life in the distance, their reflections stretching long across puddles that refused to dry.
Riki Yamade sat on the cracked steps of his bar, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, though it wasn't lit. He stared at the horizon where the clouds parted in thin, silver veins — dawn crawling slow but certain through the gray.
He hadn't slept again.
Too many thoughts had kept him company.
Too many memories he wished he could burn.
The fight replayed in his mind — the rain, the shouting, the look in Akio's eyes that refused to leave him alone. It wasn't pity. It wasn't sympathy. It was something he didn't know how to name.
Maybe that's what scared him most.
He ran a hand through his messy hair, exhaling through his teeth. "That idiot…"
He didn't even notice someone approaching until a familiar voice cut through the morning chill.
"Morning, sunshine."
Riki turned. Akio stood there, still bandaged from their fight, holding two cans of coffee and wearing that same grin — the one that made Riki's temper twitch and his heart ache at the same time.
"You ever sleep?" Akio asked, tossing him a can. Riki caught it one-handed. "You ever shut up?" Akio laughed. "Nope. Can't risk giving you too much peace and quiet — you'd get bored." Riki popped the can open, muttering, "You talk too damn much for a guy who almost got his face caved in."
"Yeah," Akio said, sitting beside him on the steps, "but you didn't finish the job. So, technically, I win."
Riki rolled his eyes but didn't argue. The silence that followed wasn't hostile this time. Just… there. Comfortable, almost. The kind of silence that doesn't demand to be broken.
The sun climbed higher, golden light spilling across the wet streets. For the first time in years, Riki noticed how the morning air smelled — not like smog or garbage, but rain and something like renewal.
Akio took a long sip of his coffee, watching Riki quietly before speaking. "You ever think about what you'll do after all this?"
Riki frowned. "All what?"
"This. The bar. The fighting. The whole lone-wolf delinquent routine."
Riki snorted. "You make it sound like I've got some grand plan. I don't."
"Maybe you should."
Riki looked at him sidelong. "And do what? Become some kind of saint?"
Akio shrugged. "Maybe not. But maybe you don't have to keep running from yourself either."
Riki didn't respond. He didn't know how. His fingers tightened around the coffee can, the metal cold against his palm.
After a long pause, he said quietly, "You don't know what it's like, Akio."
"Then tell me."
Riki shook his head. "You wouldn't get it."
Akio leaned back, gazing up at the pale morning sky. "You said that once already. And guess what? You were wrong then too."
Riki's lip twitched. "You're a pain."
"Yeah. But I'm your pain now."
Riki groaned. "You really never stop, do you?"
"Nope."
For a moment, that was enough. Two people, bruised but breathing, sitting in a city that didn't care whether they existed or not — and somehow, that made it matter more.
By noon, they were both behind the bar. The place was dim but alive again, the hum of the old refrigerator filling the silence between them. Riki worked without looking at Akio, who lounged on a stool, lazily spinning an empty glass.
"So," Akio said, "how many people you planning to glare at today?"
Riki sighed. "Just one."
"Lemme guess — me?"
"You're learning."
Akio grinned. "Good. Then maybe I'm rubbing off on you."
"If that's true," Riki said, "I should probably kill myself."
"Dark humor! That's progress."
Riki smirked faintly despite himself. "You're unbearable."
"And you're tolerating me. That's character development."
Riki's smirk faded, though the warmth of it lingered in his heart. "You really think this is gonna change anything? That I'll suddenly turn into some good guy who trusts everyone?"
Akio's tone softened. "No. I just think you'll start trusting yourself."
Riki blinked, caught off guard by the weight of those words.
"I'm serious," Akio said, standing now, leaning against the counter. "You act like everyone you touch breaks, but maybe that's not true. Maybe you just never gave anyone the chance to stay."
Riki said nothing, jaw tight.
Akio took another step closer. "You push people away before they can prove you wrong."
Riki finally looked at him — eyes sharp, but not cold. "And what makes you think you're any different?"
Akio smiled, faint but steady. "Because I'm still here."
Riki stared at him, and something in his heart twisted.
It was so simple. So painfully simple — and yet, it shattered something inside him that he didn't even realize was fragile.
He looked away first. "You're an idiot."
"Yeah," Akio said. "But I'm your idiot, remember?"
Riki shook his head, trying to hide the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. He turned back to the shelves, pretending to rearrange bottles just to have something to do with his hands.
Akio watched him quietly, eyes softening. He knew that kind of silence — the one that meant Riki was fighting with himself, trying not to let something real slip out.
He didn't push further. Not yet.
That night, the bar was quieter than usual.
A few regulars came and went. The rain started again — soft, steady, as though Tokyo itself was sighing.
Riki leaned against the counter, polishing a glass that was already spotless. Akio sat at the far end, staring out the window at the streetlights.
After a while, Riki spoke. "Why do you even hang around here, Hukitaske? You've got better places to be."
Akio glanced over. "Do I?"
"You could've just left me alone. Most people would've."
"Yeah," Akio said. "But most people don't see what I see."
Riki frowned. "And what do you see?"
Akio's voice dropped low — quiet enough that it almost got lost beneath the hum of the rain.
"I see someone who survived hell and still showed up the next day."
Riki froze. The words hit harder than any punch ever could.
Akio didn't stop. "You think that's not worth something? You think being broken means being worthless? I don't. You're still here, Riki. That means something."
Riki's grip on the glass faltered. For a second, he thought it might shatter in his hand. He set it down carefully, staring at the reflections in the counter — two figures, side by side, both damaged in their own ways.
He wanted to say something. Anything. But all that came out was a whisper: "I don't know how to do this."
Akio tilted his head. "Do what?"
"Be… this." Riki gestured vaguely between them. "Have someone. Trust someone."
Akio's expression softened. "Then start small."
Riki looked at him warily. "How small?"
"Start by not punching me next time I make a joke."
Riki snorted, and Akio grinned. The tension broke, just a little.
But then Riki's voice turned quiet again. "You really think I can change?"
"I don't think," Akio said simply. "I know. Because you already are."
Riki blinked — caught completely off guard by the sincerity in his tone.
Akio smiled faintly, then looked toward the rain-streaked window. "You don't notice it, but I do. The way you talk now. The way you think before you hit something. The way you don't look at the world like it owes you pain anymore."
Riki swallowed hard, staring at him in silence. His throat tightened, words clawing to the surface but refusing to come out.
Then, quietly, "Why do you care so much?"
Akio looked back at him. "Because someone should."
The clock ticked past midnight. The last customer left. The city outside was a blur of rain and light.
Riki and Akio stood by the door as the storm finally began to fade.
Riki took a slow breath, his voice low. "You know… I used to think people like you didn't exist."
Akio grinned. "People like me?"
"Yeah. The kind who stick around."
Akio's grin softened. "Guess I'm bad at taking hints."
Riki hesitated — and then, with effort, said, "...Thank you."
Akio blinked. "What?"
Riki's jaw tightened, like the words hurt to say. "For not… giving up on me."
Akio smiled. "You really think I could?"
"You should've," Riki muttered. "Anyone else would've."
"Good thing I'm not anyone else."
Riki exhaled, the faintest laugh breaking through the heaviness. "Yeah. Good thing."
They stood there for a long time — two kids on the edge of dawn, the city quiet around them.
Finally, Akio stretched his arms above his head. "Alright, I'm starving. You cooking or am I raiding your fridge again?"
"You touch my fridge, you die," Riki said automatically.
Akio grinned. "So dinner's on me, then."
Riki shook his head, fighting a smirk. "You're impossible."
"And yet," Akio said, walking out into the dawn, "you're still talking to me."
Riki paused in the doorway, watching him go. The first light of morning cut across the wet street, washing everything in gold. For the first time in a long time, it didn't feel cold.
"Akio," he called suddenly.
Akio turned, eyebrow raised.
Riki hesitated — the words heavy but real. "You're… my friend."
Akio's expression softened. For a second, he didn't speak. Then, that familiar smirk curved his lips. "Took you long enough."
Riki snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Don't make it weird."
Akio laughed, turning back toward the sunrise. "Too late."
Riki watched him go — and for once, the silence didn't hurt. It felt full. Alive. Like something new had started where everything once ended.
He looked up at the morning sky — at the breaking clouds, the slow warmth spreading over Tokyo.
And in that moment, Riki Yamade smiled — small, tired, but real.
For the first time, he wasn't just surviving.
He was alive—truly living. From there, Everything that happened between them—every laugh, every scar, every quiet moment of trust—took place long before the biggest events of the main series ever began. This story, though never shown in the main narrative, reveals the hidden truth behind why Akio and Riki's bond runs so deeper than actually seen. In the main story, their friendship might seem as if it came from nowhere, a smaller reason, a connection without a visible bigger beginning. But this side tale is the missing piece—the unseen chapter that explains everything. It shows the struggle, the pain, and the small moments that built the unshakable trust between them.
And just like with other characters, these hidden truths remind us that what the main story shows is only part of something much larger—something that stretches far beyond the surface of these characters between their own pasts and Akio entirely. This was one of those unseen moments, buried beneath the light of the main series, yet essential to understanding who Akio Hukitaske truly is... and why Riki will always stand beside him. And why he seems to do it in such a sincere way, no other friend would do after getting involved with a huge organisation such as Yaka, as any normal person would.
With that this side story ends…