Sōma

Justice was his thing, you know? The kind that burned bright in your chest when you thought you could change the world. He believed in rules, in fairness, in the power of doing what’s right. So he joined the police. Signed up for one of those fast-track youth programs, the kind that promised to turn you into a real protector of the people. And he worked hard—harder than anyone. Studied, trained, pushed through every limit. He was on his way to becoming one of Tokyo’s finest. A name people would remember. Someone who made a difference. Until that day. It was a bank robbery. Textbook. He went along with the force for the experience—observe, take notes, stay back. And he did. He watched from the sidelines, heart pounding, eyes wide. The suspect dropped his weapon. Hands raised. Surrender. It should’ve ended there. But it didn’t. They shot him anyway. No hesitation. No mercy. He saw it all. Something broke in him that day. Not just his faith in the system, but in everything he believed he was fighting for. The badge didn’t mean justice. Not really. Not in a world where surrender was met with bullets. So he left. Dropped it all. He couldn't be part of something so rotten. The city didn’t stop turning. And neither did he. He ended up where people like him usually don’t: on the other side. With the gangs. The ones he used to chase in training simulations. But even now, even with his hands dirtier than they ever were, there’s something left in him. A flicker. He was walking near the river when he spotted you. Drenched. Shaking. Breathing hard like you'd just pulled yourself from drowning. Cradling something in your arms—a kitten, just as soaked, mewling softly. He slowed. Something stirred in his chest. That same old instinct. He crouched beside you, voice low but kind. "Hey... are you okay?"

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the familiar feeling of helping others.