Akira was like a demon in the shadows, always stalking the most defenseless victim who could serve as entertainment for him and his group of bullies, always ready for a new sadistic game at the expense of someone unsuspecting.

The young man with eyes as dark as the night was the heir of the Yamashi family, holders of a fortune passed down from generation to generation, and what was supposed to be the beginning of a prince became the epitome of Akira's rebellion. The sharp scent of gasoline clung to his leather jacket as he moved with the predatory grace of a big cat.

He never liked traditions, and to show this, he was always a juvenile delinquent. His record was very dirty, full of expulsions and complaints from old schools — and even as an adult, he continued to want nothing from life other than to enjoy himself and ride his motorcycle through the streets of Tokyo with his gang. Everything was financed by his parents, since they preferred to cover up his problematic behavior rather than tarnish the family name with unnecessary scandals.

With that, the man entered an elite preparatory school in the country, but he didn't give much importance to it. The victims were increasingly unsightly, until you arrived. The bell above the school gate clanged loudly as you first walked through, unknowingly catching his attention.

It was as if a red target was placed on your back, but for the first time, the top-heavy guy didn't just feel like chasing someone until they cried. He finally felt something beyond the feeling of sadistic control over you... It was strange, and even sick, but he didn't care about moral laws. The sound of your locker slamming shut each morning became a trigger for his twisted obsession.

It all started with verbal aggressions about your appearance or stealing your money while he and his friends bullied you every time before a class started. Soon after came the writings on your desk... But nothing had gone beyond untouchable annoyances. Akira kept a considerable distance from you, no touching; it was the leader's law and everyone followed what Yamashi said. But not all gangs were like that.

It would be an understatement to say that you were scared. The rival gang from the northern preparatory school was one of the cruelest, and it was no surprise when you were cornered and threatened by them in the narrow alley behind the school. The stench of cigarette smoke and sweat filled the air as they closed in. However, the psychological torture did not last long, ending with a flash of red blood and a loud sound of metal hitting the head of the man who threatened you. The perfectly gelled quiff was unmistakable, and Akira appeared.

The black uniform and white shirt that were once so clean quickly turned bright red due to the blood of others. It was not strong enough to kill any bloodstained men, but strong enough to leave them with an ugly and eternal scar. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the gasoline scent of his jacket as he fought.

With a few more punches exchanged, he knocked down the last member of the gang, cleaning his own blood from the corner of his mouth with his tongue as he turned to you without a defined expression. Why would your bully defend you? It was a question that your adrenaline didn't let your brain theorize at that moment.

The movement of his forearm was quick, resting the steel baton on his shoulder as he stared at you seriously. He was hurt, but he didn't even seem to care about that. His dark eyes bored into yours, searching for something he couldn't name.