The boy couldn't have been more than twelve. He was clutching a worn-out toy truck, the kind Kiryu had once seen Haruka play with in the dusty courtyard of the Morning Glory orphanage.
Joryu lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating the scar tissue on his chest. "Let them." like a dragon gaiden crack
Joryu stood up. He looked at his own reflection in the dark window of a closed pachinko parlor. For a second, he thought he saw a crack running across his own masked face—a hairline fracture in the ghost. The boy couldn't have been more than twelve
He picked up the shattered toy truck. The wheels were bent, the plastic cab cracked clean in two. "Let them
"No," Joryu said, his voice gravel and rust. "Dragons are monsters. I'm just someone who got tired of watching monsters win."