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"Your truck," Joryu said, handing the pieces to the boy. "It's broken. But you keep it. You remind yourself that even broken things get held."

"Your name is erased, Kiryu. You have no right to save anyone." like a dragon gaiden crack

The first thug's wrist broke with a sound like snapping celery. The second flew backward into a lamppost, his spine folding around the metal with a wet gasp. The leader, the one with the fake dragon, swung a knife. Joryu caught the blade between his palms—a move that would shred a normal man's flesh—and headbutted him so hard the man’s nose flattened against his own face. "Your truck," Joryu said, handing the pieces to the boy

In the space between one breath and the next, Joryu moved. He didn't think. He didn't calculate the political fallout or the Daidoji agent watching him from a nearby rooftop. He simply became the Dragon again. You remind yourself that even broken things get held

Not the vending machine glass. Not the pavement. It was the seal Joryu had hammered over his own heart.

The boy was staring, eyes wide as dinner plates. Not with fear. With awe.

Joryu exhaled smoke into the humid Osaka night. "My name is gone. But my hands don't know that." He walked away, the cracked mask of Joryu now showing the faint, unmistakable glow of the Dragon underneath.