Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This story contains themes of betrayal, emotional distress, and moral dilemmas that may be unsettling to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

Ushijima Wakatoshi was a name that carried weight.

As soon as Keiji introduced him, the room fell into a tense silence. Iwaizumi and the others eyed him warily, their distrust evident. It wasn’t personal—just years of knowing that people with power and influence were rarely on their side.

Ushijima, however, didn’t flinch under their scrutiny. He sat across from them, calm and composed, his presence commanding the room without effort. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady and firm, each word deliberate.

“I have reviewed the evidence provided by Oikawa Tooru,” Ushijima began, setting down a thick folder on the table. “It is extensive. Enough to expose Meian’s illegal dealings—bribery, extortion, financial fraud, and political manipulation.”

Hanamaki scoffed, arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah? Tapos? Enought na ba 'yan para makalaya kami dito?"

Ushijima met his gaze without hesitation. “Not yet.”

A sharp exhale from Matsukawa. “Of course. There’s always a fucking catch.”

Ushijima nodded. “Meian is influential. Even if we expose his crimes, he has connections that can delay or bury the case. As of now, we are at a disadvantage. However—” he opened the folder and slid a few documents toward them “—Oikawa’s information is a breakthrough. This is not just about corruption. There are transactions linked to human trafficking, smuggling, and money laundering. If we find the right opportunity, we can push this case to a level where even his influence won’t be enough to suppress it.”

Kiyoomi leaned forward, glancing at the files. “And what exactly is stopping us from doing that now?”

Ushijima’s gaze hardened. “Oikawa’s safety.”

At the mention of his name, the air in the room shifted.

Iwaizumi tensed, jaw clenching.

Ushijima continued, “He risked his life to obtain these. He continues to put himself in danger to ensure we have enough evidence to build a solid case. Right now, his movements are limited. Meian is watching him closely, and if he makes a mistake, we lose everything—including him.”

A heavy silence followed.

Iwaizumi finally spoke, voice tight with restrained emotion. “So what do we do?”

Ushijima leaned forward. “We play the long game. Keiji and I will work on getting this into the right hands. Kenma is gathering more digital evidence to strengthen our case. Konoha is racing for bail money, and Kuroo is keeping Oikawa in check.” He paused, then added, “Your job is to hold on until we can make our move.”

Hanamaki let out a bitter laugh. “Right. Hold on. Mamamatay na kami dito sa kulungan, hindi pa rin kami nakakalaya."

Ushijima didn’t react. “It will take time, but we have an advantage—Meian doesn’t know how much we already have against him.” His gaze sharpened. “And that is the key to taking him down.”

Iwaizumi exhaled slowly, his hands tightening into fists before relaxing. He looked at Keiji, then at Ushijima. “Fine. But tell me one thing.”

Ushijima waited.

Iwaizumi’s voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “Oikawa… Is he really trying to fix this? Or is he just trying to ease his own guilt?”

A long pause. Then, Keiji answered.

“He’s trying to save you.”

Ushijima flipped through the documents once more, his expression unreadable. “Let’s break down the charges one by one.”

He placed a printed sheet on the table. “The main accusations against you are as follows: illegal street racing, evading arrest, resisting authorities, and alleged connections to organized crime.” His eyes scanned the group. “To clear your names, we need to dismantle each charge systematically.”

Keiji leaned forward, arms crossed. “Start with the street racing. How do we argue against that?”

Ushijima nodded. “Illegal racing is difficult to disprove because it relies heavily on witness testimonies, surveillance footage, and police reports. However, if we can prove that your arrests were based on Meian’s interference, we can challenge the validity of the case.”

Suna scoffed. “So we’re basically saying that we were set up?”

Keiji answered, “Not just saying—we need to prove it. Oikawa’s intel shows that Meian has deep ties to law enforcement. Some of the officers involved in your arrest have financial links to him. If we expose that, the credibility of the case falls apart.”

Ushijima turned the page. “Next, evading arrest and resisting authorities. These two charges are often stacked together to ensure harsher sentencing. But if we prove that the officers were acting under corrupt orders, we can argue that you were running for your lives, not from the law.”

Hanamaki exhaled sharply. “We were. We fucking were.”

Ushijima nodded. “Which is why we need statements, proof of misconduct, anything that contradicts the official reports.”

Matsukawa’s jaw tightened. “And the last one? Organized crime?”

At this, Ushijima’s expression hardened. “This is the most dangerous charge. If they successfully label you as a criminal organization, the penalties increase significantly. But as of now, the case against you is circumstantial. There’s no hard evidence linking you to actual criminal activity—only street racing and association.”

Keiji added, “And that’s where Oikawa’s evidence comes in. The documents he retrieved show that Meian has been manipulating cases, orchestrating arrests, and framing people to eliminate threats. If we expose that, we not only clear your names but also take him down.”

The room fell into a heavy silence.

They all knew what this meant.

They had been hunted, arrested, locked away—but the person putting his life on the line to undo it all was Oikawa Tooru. The same person who had betrayed them. The same person who had walked into their cell just days ago, standing beside the man responsible for their downfall.

Kiyoomi was the first to speak, voice quieter than usual. “He’s the one risking everything.”

Hanamaki clicked his tongue but didn’t argue.

Matsukawa leaned back against his chair, looking up at the ceiling.

Suna said nothing.

And Iwaizumi—he gritted his teeth, fingers curling into fists on the table.

Of course it had to be Oikawa. Of course he had to be the one to ruin them. And of course, he had to be the one to save them.

Hanamaki exhaled shakily, tilting his head back as he blinked rapidly, but it was no use. His vision blurred, his chest tightened, and before he could stop himself, hot tears slipped down his face.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes. “Why does he have to be like this?” His voice cracked. “Why does it always have to be him?”

Matsukawa let out a deep sigh, staring at the table, jaw clenched. “Because it’s Oikawa,” he said, voice unusually heavy.

Because it’s their Berry.

Suna leaned back in his chair, looking away, arms crossed over his chest. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away.

Kiyoomi didn’t speak at first. He simply rubbed his fingers together—a nervous habit he thought he had abandoned years ago. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed in a thin line, but his silence wasn’t indifference. It was frustration. Worry.

Because no matter how much anger they felt, no matter how deep the betrayal cut, Oikawa was still Oikawa.

Their Berry.

The same person who laughed with them during late-night races, who bandaged their wounds after fights, who called them dumbasses but never left their side. The same person who had held them together, who had made them a family—only to be the one to tear them apart.

And now, he was out there, standing on a thin, crumbling line between survival and destruction, putting his life at risk to fix what he had broken.

No matter how much they wanted to hate him, they couldn’t.

Because they were still his family. And he was still theirs.

Silence settled heavily around them, the weight of everything pressing down like a suffocating fog. The case, the hearing, the uncertainty of whether they could win—whether they could get out of this at all.

Keiji exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples before finally speaking. “Alam kong trinaydor kayo ni Tooru,” he started, his voice steady but laced with something unspoken. “Masakit ‘yon sa part niyo. At alam kong hindi niyo siya mapagkakatiwalaan sa ngayon.”

He clenched his fist on the table, knuckles turning white. “But…”

Keiji lifted his gaze, meeting each of theirs in turn. “I could see how desperate he is.”

The room remained still, breaths held in quiet tension.

“The night na kinuha kayo ng mga pulis… diba sobrang bigat ng ulan?” His voice dropped lower, almost hesitant, but firm. “We found him sa shop niyo.” Keiji swallowed. “Crying his heart out.”

A pause.

“He begged on his knees for us to help him,” he continued, voice strained. “God, he begged.”

A sharp inhale came from Hanamaki, while Matsukawa and Suna exchanged tense looks. Kiyoomi only stared ahead, unreadable.

Keiji closed his eyes for a brief moment before shaking his head. “Never in my life have I seen him beg for something.”

Silence fell once more.

It was easy to remember the pain, the betrayal—the way Oikawa had destroyed everything they had built. But Keiji’s words carved through the cracks of their resentment, forcing them to acknowledge the truth.

Oikawa had betrayed them. But he was also breaking himself trying to save them.