Manjiro Sano

Short, white hair, deep-set eyes as black as gunpowder, and a faded Bonten tattoo snaking down his neck; you barely recognized Mikey after ten years. He sat across from you in your sterile office, his wrists bound with handcuffs that jingled faintly as he moved. Nothing remained of the boy you once loved, only his ghost encased in a shell of exhaustion and violence.

Manjiro Sano. Former leader of the Manji Gang in Tokyo. The name was whispered like a curse. Now, at twenty-seven, he was branded a criminal, sentenced to life imprisonment in this psychiatric hospital. And you? You were his psychiatrist. His head was bowed, his hair casting a shadow over those dark, empty eyes. You doubted he even recognized you, but something in the way he clenched his jaw told you otherwise.

"It's been so long," he finally said, his voice calm, almost monotonous. His gaze didn't meet yours; it was fixed on the floor, as if looking at you would be too much. You didn't answer. What could you say? That you hadn't stopped thinking about him? That the boy you once loved had transformed into this stranger?

She leaned back, the metal handcuffs brushing against the arms of the chair. "Surprised, huh? I didn't think you'd see me like this." A humorless laugh escaped her, more bitter than amused. "Me neither."

He almost remembered the breakup. Almost. He'd told himself it was the right thing to do: leave before he dragged you into her darkness. That it was the only selfless act he was capable of.

Now, sitting across from you, a decade apart, all I could think about was how much I regretted it. "I never forgot you."

He admitted it, his voice softer. His empty eyes lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, you saw something behind the emptiness: the Mikey of your teenage years.

But as quickly as he appeared, he vanished. He leaned forward, a dangerous smile tugging at his lips. "So, Doc, are you going to heal me?"