I'm a hero after all (Alltake)
4
Ok...
Takemichi needed to talk to his younger self. Like, for real.
Because young Takemichi had such a terrible taste in clothing. It was actually offensive.
The morning after his emotional visit to Hina's house, Takemichi had decided to take the day off from school. His body ached, his head still throbbed occasionally, and honestly? He deserved a break. One day to collect himself before diving headfirst into saving everyone.
But when he opened his closet to find something decent to wear, he was greeted by a horror show.
What. The. Hell.
His eyes scanned the disaster before him. Shirt after shirt of the most questionable fashion choices he had ever seen. There, hanging like a crime against humanity, was a black and yellow checked shirt that looked like it had been designed by a blind bee. Next to it, a jacket with a neon flamingo theme that practically glowed in the dark.
Like, excuse me?!
Even the trousers were awful — torn in places that made no sense, baggy to the point of swallowing his entire body, and don't even get him started on the colors. Who let young Takemichi dress himself? Where were his parents? Where was anyone with even a shred of fashion sense?
Takemichi stood in front of the closet for a solid five minutes, judging his younger self harshly.
"This is a crisis," he muttered. "A genuine fashion crisis."
He needed to go shopping. Immediately. Before anyone saw him in public wearing... that.
Roppongi. That was the place. Tons of clothing shops, good variety, and far enough from his usual haunts that he wouldn't run into anyone he knew. Perfect.
First, though, he had to find something decent to wear to go shopping. The irony wasn't lost on him.
After rummaging through the chaos for what felt like hours, he finally uncovered a hidden gem — a nude-colored turtleneck with long sleeves, simple and elegant, and a pair of black pants that actually fit properly. Not his usual style, but at least it wouldn't make people's eyes bleed.
Takemichi examined himself in the mirror. The bruises on his face were fading, the bandages smaller now. His blond hair was still fluffy from Hina's ruffling yesterday, sticking up in odd directions that somehow looked charming rather than messy.
Good enough.
Now, transportation.
In the future — the original future — Takemichi had never learned to ride a motorcycle. That was Mikey's thing, Draken's thing, the whole Toman crew's thing. Takemichi had always been the one running alongside them, never quite keeping up.
Here in the past, he still didn't have a motorcycle. Just a bike. An ordinary, peddle-powered bicycle that would be absolutely useless for carrying shopping bags.
So subway it was.
The train ride to Roppongi was peaceful.
Takemichi found a seat by the window and watched the city blur past — buildings, people, signs, all the familiar sights of Tokyo in 2005. Everything looked so young. So untouched by the tragedies he knew were coming.
His eyes grew heavy.
The gentle rocking of the train, the quiet hum of the engine, the warmth of the afternoon sun streaming through the window — it all combined to pull him toward sleep. He fought it for a while, but eventually his eyelids won.
You have arrived at station Roppongi. Please mind your steps.
The announcement jolted him awake.
Takemichi stumbled off the train, blinking in the bright station light, and made his way toward the exits. Shopping first. Worrying later.
As he walked, he pulled out his phone and typed a quick message.
Takemichi: Mom, can I have some money to buy new clothes? My wardrobe is... not great.
The response came faster than expected.
Mom: Of course, sweetheart! Use the card we gave you. I just transferred 150,000 yen. Buy yourself something nice ♡
Takemichi stopped walking.
150,000 yen?
That was... a lot. More than he had expected. More than he had ever expected from his parents, honestly.
He found an ATM nearby and checked the balance. Sure enough, the money was there, waiting for him. He withdrew a portion — enough for a serious shopping spree — and stared at the bills in his hand.
His mother had given him this much without hesitation. Without question. Without even asking what kind of clothes he wanted to buy.
Maybe... maybe this was her way of apologizing.
For not being there. For leaving him alone so often. For choosing work over raising him.
The thought made Takemichi's heart heavy.
He remembered the first timeline. After graduating high school, he had been a mess — too scared of people, too traumatized by Kiyomasa, too broken to function properly. His parents had pushed him to continue his studies, to go to university, to be something more. But he hadn't wanted to. He had just wanted... them.
Why hadn't they ever visited?
Other kids' parents came to school events. Other kids' parents called every night. Other kids' parents cared.
His parents sent money.
When Takemichi turned twenty, he had made a decision. He would go to them. To America. To the place they had chosen over him. He would show up and finally, finally get the answers he deserved.
He still remembered that day.
Flashback
The snow was falling gently, dusting the unfamiliar streets with white. Takemichi had saved for months to afford the plane ticket. He had rehearsed what he would say a hundred times — calm, mature, understanding. He wouldn't blame them. He would just... ask.
The house was nice. Bigger than he expected. Warm light glowed from the windows, and he could hear laughter inside.
His laughter.
Takemichi approached the window and looked in.
There was his father. His mother. And a boy — maybe eight or nine years old — sitting at a table covered in birthday decorations. A cake with candles. Presents wrapped in bright paper. A party hat perched crookedly on the boy's head.
They were celebrating.
They had another child.
Another member of the family.
Takemichi stood in the snow, watching, and felt something inside him crack.
Why?
Why had they left him?
Why was this child worthy of their presence when he never was?
What was wrong with him?
His father looked up. Their eyes met through the window. For one frozen moment, Takemichi saw recognition flash across his father's face — followed immediately by panic.
Not joy. Not surprise. Panic.
Takemichi didn't move. Couldn't move. The snow kept falling, collecting on his hair, his shoulders, his eyelashes. He stood there like a statue, tears streaming down his face, as his father rushed to the phone.
The police arrived twenty minutes later.
"Sir, you need to leave the property."
"But —"
"The homeowners have filed a complaint. You're trespassing."
Takemichi didn't resist. What was the point?
At the police station, his parents finally spoke to him. Not with warmth. Not with love. With frustration. With annoyance. With the cold, clinical detachment of people dealing with an inconvenience.
"You can't just show up unannounced like this, Takemichi."
"We have a new family now. A new life."
"You need to understand — you existed too early. We weren't ready. We couldn't handle it."
"We did our best. We sent money. What more did you want?"
Takemichi sat in the hard plastic chair, handcuffs removed but shame still burning, and listened to his parents explain why he wasn't wanted.
"You were a mistake."
The words echoed in his head for years.
"You were a mistake."
End of flashback
Takemichi blinked, and he was back in Roppongi.
The sun was still shining. People were still walking past, laughing, chatting, living their normal lives. The ice cream shop across the street caught his eye.
He bought a chocolate mint cone — his favorite — and sat on a bench outside, eating slowly.
That was in the past now.
It didn't matter anymore.
He had Toman. He had the Mizo Five. He had Hina. He had people who actually wanted him around, who actually cared. Even if they didn't know him yet in this timeline, they would. He would make sure of it.
Takemichi finished his ice cream, stood up, and stretched.
Time to shop.
He passed an alley on his way to the clothing store and stopped.
There was someone there. A person, slumped against the wall, clearly injured. For a moment, Takemichi hesitated — stranger danger, all that — but then he saw the blood, and his feet moved on their own.
"Hey!" He hurried into the alley, crouching beside the injured person. "Are you okay? Let me see—"
"Fuck off."
The voice was sharp, hostile, but Takemichi didn't move. He was too busy taking in the person in front of him.
The boy — young, maybe his age or a little younger — was undeniably handsome. Neck-length blond hair dyed with light blue streaks fell across a sharp, angular face. Purple eyes glared at him from behind a pair of glasses that were askew, probably knocked during whatever fight had left him here. His clothes were torn, and blood seeped through a gash on his arm.
He was searching the ground frantically, patting the concrete with his good hand.
"Your glasses?" Takemichi asked.
"Obviously. Now fuck off."
Takemichi ignored the rudeness and scanned the area. There — half-hidden under a discarded newspaper. He grabbed them and held them out.
The boy snatched them, inspected them for damage, and put them on. His purple eyes narrowed at Takemichi, clearly waiting for him to leave.
Takemichi didn't leave.
Instead, he sat down cross-legged on the dirty alley ground, pulled his backpack around, and rummaged inside. First aid kit — he had started carrying one after the arena fight, old habits from the future — and pulled it out.
"What are you doing?" the boy demanded.
"Helping." Takemichi opened the kit and pulled out antiseptic wipes. "Give me your arm."
"I don't need—"
"Your arm is bleeding. I have bandages. Give me your arm."
Something in Takemichi's voice must have been convincing, because the boy hesitated, then extended his injured arm with a put-upon sigh.
Takemichi worked carefully. He cleaned the wound first, gently wiping away the blood with practiced efficiency. The boy hissed at the sting but didn't pull away. Then came the antiseptic, then the bandages — wrapped snug but not too tight, the way Draken had taught him once, in a future that no longer existed.
"There." Takemichi packed up his kit. "You should probably get that checked by an actual doctor, but this'll hold for now."
The boy stared at him.
Purple eyes scanned Takemichi's face, cataloging his features — the blond hair, the blue eyes, the fading bruises, the strange calmness that didn't match the dirty alley surroundings. He looked like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
"What's your name?" the boy finally asked.
Takemichi paused.
What's your name.
This was always a dangerous question. Names had power in his world. Names meant connections, and connections meant timelines could change. But this was just some random injured kid in an alley. How much harm could—
Then again, the boy's face was familiar. Not in a way Takemichi could place, but familiar nonetheless. Like he had seen it somewhere before.
"It's not polite to ask for my name," Takemichi said carefully, "if you haven't given yours yet. No?"
The boy's eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting that response. They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment.
Then the boy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his uninjured hand.
"Haitani Rindou," he said grudgingly. "That's my name."
Haitani Rindou.
The name clicked into place.
Haitani brothers. Roppongi. The future. Oh no.
Takemichi kept his face carefully neutral, but internally he was screaming. Haitani Rindou — one half of the infamous Haitani brothers, future executives of Tenjiku, dangerous as hell and twice as deadly. What was he doing here? Why was he injured? Why was Takemichi helping him?
But then he looked at Rindou again — young, probably fourteen or fifteen, bleeding in an alley, alone — and the screaming stopped.
Right now, Rindou was just a kid. A dangerous kid, maybe, but still a kid. And Takemichi wasn't the type to leave anyone bleeding in an alley.
"Takemichi," he said simply, standing up.
He brushed the dirt from his pants, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and started walking away.
"Hey!" Rindou's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, halting him mid-step.
Takemichi turned back, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"
He didn't bother hiding his displeasure at being stopped. He had shopping to do, damn it.
Rindou seemed thrown by his reaction. Those purple eyes blinked behind his glasses, confusion flickering across his features.
"Don't you know me?" Rindou asked.
"Should I?" Takemichi snorted. "Are you like, an idol or something?"
Of course, Takemichi had to get himself into trouble with the haitani brother's trully he has the worst luck, and he wonders why Rindou is even here in the alley, but with a shopping trip ahead of him, he couldn't be bothered to figure out why.
Another long silence.
Rindou was staring at him like he had grown a second head. Like no one had ever not known who he was. Which, given the Haitani reputation, was probably true.
"Where are you going?" Rindou finally asked.
Takemichi sighed. It wasn't like the information was secret.
"Shopping. For clothes. Why?"
Rindou's expression shifted — from confusion to something almost like interest.
"Oh." He paused. "Let me join you."
Takemichi blinked. "What?"
"I have a great sense of fashion." Rindou said it like a simple fact, not a boast. "You look like you need help."
Takemichi opened his mouth to argue, then closed it.
He looked down at his outfit — the nude turtleneck, the black pants, the careful choices he had made from his disaster of a closet. It was... fine. Acceptable. But was it good?
He thought about the flamingo jacket waiting for him at home.
"...Fine," he said grudgingly. "But you're not picking anything weird."
Rindou's lips twitched — almost a smile. "Trust me."
The next few hours were... unexpected.
Rindou, it turned out, was ruthless when it came to shopping.
"Absolutely not."
"What? I like this one!"
"It's hideous. Put it back."
"But the color—"
"Hideous. Put it back."
Takemichi pouted but returned the offending shirt to the rack. Rindou was already moving through the store, pulling items with terrifying precision — a sweater here, a jacket there, pants that actually fit properly for once.
"How do you know what looks good?" Takemichi asked, trailing behind him like a confused puppy.
Rindou glanced back at him. "I have eyes."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting."
Despite the attitude, Rindou was surprisingly patient. He held up clothes against Takemichi, considering color combinations and fits with the focus of an artist. He vetoed more items than he approved, but when he found something good, he lit up — just slightly, just a tiny spark of satisfaction in those purple eyes.
"Try this."
Takemichi took the offered items and disappeared into the changing room.
When he emerged, Rindou's eyes went wide.
The outfit was simple — a fitted black long-sleeve, dark gray pants that actually complemented his build, a silver chain accessory that Rindou had grabbed from somewhere — but it looked good. Takemichi barely recognized himself in the mirror.
"That's..." he started.
"Acceptable," Rindou finished, but his voice was slightly rough. He turned away quickly, but not before Takemichi caught the flush creeping up his ears.
Huh. Maybe he's getting sick.
They moved from store to store, Rindou's selections getting bolder but never worse. By the third shop, Takemichi had stopped second-guessing him entirely. If Rindou said it was good, it was good.
At one point, Rindou stopped in front of a display and stared.
"What?" Takemichi asked.
Rindou pointed. Two matching jackets — sleek, black, with subtle silver detailing. One his size. One Takemichi's.
"We're getting these," Rindou said.
"What? Why?"
"Because they're good."
"That's not—"
"Do you want fashion advice or not?"
Takemichi sighed and added the jackets to their growing pile.
After hours of shopping, they collapsed at a dessert cafe.
Takemichi had never been so exhausted by clothes in his life. But when he looked at the bags surrounding them — actual good clothes, stylish clothes, clothes that wouldn't make people run in terror — he felt a deep sense of satisfaction.
"Thanks," he said, stirring his parfait. "For real. I would've ended up with another flamingo jacket without you."
Rindou paused mid-bite of his cake. "Flamingo jacket?"
"Don't ask."
"I'm asking."
"My younger self had... questionable taste."
Rindou stared at him for a long moment. "You're weird."
"Yeah, I know."
But there was no heat in Rindou's voice. If anything, he sounded almost... fond? Which was weird, because they had just met, and Rindou was supposed to be a future criminal, and this whole situation was completely insane.
Yet here they were. Eating dessert. Like normal teenagers.
Rindou's eyes kept drifting to Takemichi when he thought he wasn't looking. Takemichi caught him once, twice, three times — each time, Rindou quickly looked away, his ears turning that same suspicious red.
Definitely sick, Takemichi decided. I hope he takes medicine.
As the sun began to set, they finally finished.
Takemichi stood outside the station, surrounded by shopping bags, smiling at Rindou with genuine warmth.
"Thanks for today, Haitani-san," he said. "I had fun. Really."
Rindou's ears went crimson.
He turned his face away sharply, hiding his expression, but Takemichi could still see the red creeping up his neck.
"Ah—" Rindou started, then stopped. He took a breath. "You. Your number."
"My number?"
"Give me your number." The words came out rushed, almost embarrassed. "So we can hang out like this again. Sometime."
Takemichi blinked. Then he smiled — that bright, genuine smile that made his blue eyes crinkle at the corners.
"Sure."
They exchanged phones, typing in their contact information. Takemichi saved Rindou as Rinrin without thinking — it just felt right.
Rindou glanced at his own phone and saw the name Takemichi had saved.
"Rinrin?" he repeated flatly.
"Yeah. Cute, right?"
Rindou's face went through a complicated series of expressions — offense, disbelief, confusion, and something soft that he quickly crushed. He shoved his phone in his pocket.
"Whatever," he muttered. "Hamster."
"What?"
"Your name in my phone. Hamster." Rindou met his eyes challengingly. "Because you're small and cute and you stuff your cheeks when you eat."
Takemichi's mouth dropped open. "I do NOT—"
"See you later, hamster." Rindou turned and walked away, but not before Takemichi caught the smallest smile on his lips.
He stood there for a moment, watching Rindou disappear into the crowd, before shaking his head and gathering his bags.
Weird day, he thought. But... good weird.
Rindou walked home in a daze.
His arm throbbed where Takemichi had bandaged it. His ears were still burning. His heart was doing something strange in his chest that he refused to acknowledge.
He had just spent an entire day with a complete stranger. A complete stranger who had found him bleeding in an alley, helped him without asking anything in return, and then shopped with him like it was the most normal thing in the world.
A stranger who didn't know who he was. Didn't care who he was. Didn't want anything from him.
Just... helped. Because that's what you do.
Rindou didn't know what to do with that.
He entered the apartment and found his brother exactly where he expected — lounging on the couch, violet eyes tracking his movement with lazy interest.
Ran Haitani was a study in contradictions. Shoulder-length hair layered with black at the roots and ends, blonde in the middle, currently loose around his shoulders instead of braided for a fight. He looked relaxed, comfortable, utterly at ease.
But his eyes missed nothing.
"Where did you go?" Ran asked. His voice was light, almost bored, but Rindou knew better.
"Shopping."
Ran's eyebrow rose. "Shopping."
"Yes."
"You hate shopping."
Rindou dropped onto the couch next to his brother, exhausted. "This time was different."
"Oh?" Ran's interest sharpened. He shifted, turning to face Rindou properly. "Tell me."
Rindou hesitated. But Ran was his brother — his only real family, the one person he trusted completely. So he told him.
About the alley. About the fight he had gotten into with some idiots who didn't know their place. About the stranger who had found him and helped anyway. About the shopping trip. About the desserts. About the phone numbers.
About Takemichi.
"He didn't know who I was," Rindou said, still sounding confused. "He just... helped. No questions. No favors. Nothing."
Ran listened silently, his expression thoughtful.
"And?" he prompted.
"And... he's cute." The words slipped out before Rindou could stop them. His ears burned. "Like, annoyingly cute. Small. Blond. Blue eyes. Smiles too much. He stuffed his face with parfait and looked like a happy little—" He cut himself off.
"Like a what?" Ran's lips were twitching.
"Nothing."
"Like a hamster?"
Rindou groaned. "I put him in my phone as Hamster. Don't make it weird."
Ran laughed — a genuine laugh, surprised out of him by his little brother's embarrassment. "Rindou. Rindou, are you telling me you spent the whole day with a random stranger, bought matching jackets, exchanged numbers, and now you're blushing like a schoolgirl?"
"I am NOT blushing."
"You're bright red."
"It's hot in here."
"It's air-conditioned."
Rindou grabbed a pillow and slammed it over his own face. "I hate you."
"No, you don't." Ran's voice was warm, amused, but underneath it was something softer. "Tell me more about this hamster. What's his name?"
"Takemichi. Just Takemichi. He didn't give a family name."
Ran hummed thoughtfully. "And he didn't know who you were. Didn't react to the Haitani name at all."
"No. Nothing. He asked if I was an idol."
Ran snorted. "An idol. That's rich." He leaned back, violet eyes half-lidded. "Interesting. Very interesting."
"Don't," Rindou warned, pulling the pillow off his face. "Don't do anything."
"I'm not doing anything."
"I know that look. You're planning something."
"I'm thinking." Ran smiled — the kind of smile that made lesser men run for cover. "Just thinking. About this hamster of yours. About how interesting it would be to meet him."
Rindou's heart stuttered. "Ran—"
"He's cute like a hamster, you said?" Ran's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I guess I'll have to meet this 'hamster' once. Just to see what all the fuss is about."
"Ran, I swear to god—"
"Relax, little brother." Ran reached over and ruffled Rindou's hair, ignoring his protests. "I'm just curious. Anyone who can make you blush like that is worth knowing."
Rindou opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out.
Because Ran was right.
Takemichi was worth knowing.
And that terrified him.
Meanwhile, across the city, Takemichi arrived home with his shopping haul.
He spread everything out on his bed, admiring the collection. Real clothes. Good clothes. Clothes that wouldn't make Hina cringe when she saw him.
His phone buzzed.
Rinrin: You got home safe?
Takemichi smiled.
Takemichi: Yeah, just got in. Thanks for asking ♡
Rinrin: Don't use that emoji.
Takemichi: What emoji? ♡
Rinrin: That one.
Takemichi: This one? ♡
Rinrin: I'm blocking you.
Takemichi: No you won't ♡
Rinrin: ...
Rinrin: You're insufferable.
Takemichi: And yet you spent the whole day with me ♡
Rinrin: Goodnight, hamster.
Takemichi: Goodnight, rinrin ♡
Takemichi laughed softly, setting his phone aside.
Today had been weird. Unexpected. But somehow, meeting Rindou felt right — like another piece of the puzzle falling into place. Maybe in this timeline, things would be different. Maybe the Haitani brothers didn't have to become enemies.
Maybe they could become something else entirely.
He looked at the matching jacket hanging on his closet door and smiled.
This timeline is going to be different, he promised himself. I'll make sure of it.
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