Shizuo had respected Mikado very, very much. It was a kind of respect for Mikado's decisions. The man could remember Mikado quite clearly, unlike all of those that passed before him. He had thought that the only person that could hold such loyalty to his friends was in novels. Apparently, he was wrong.

Shizuo was strong, but Mikado was stronger.

He let out a last breath of smoke, before letting the cigarette fall. It was raining anyway, no harm done. Shizuo gazed at the wounded figure briefly before turning his attention back to the gang of men standing before him. His hand clenched around a street sign, and his eyes flashed dangerously.

"Which one of you bastards hurt him?"