Chapter 5: I Want to Leave the Group

On the first day back in the mansion, the entire afternoon was spent by Shoko at the shooting range, tinkering with the firearms.

After some initially frustrating trial shots, she gradually grasped the knack of handling them, as if they had become extensions of her own arms.

The more she dealt with these weapons, the more suspicious she became of her mother, for Shoko discovered several special guns that appeared to have been custom-modified. Their power was even more terrifying than the so-called "high caliber" described by Mizuhō; a single shot unleashed such immense recoil that it could knock her to the ground, stars flashing before her eyes.

Even more astonishing, she found hand grenades... Shoko had never been to an outdoor shooting range, but she assumed no such place would casually let you toss around live grenades.

It was only now that Shoko realized she understood nothing about her own family. Not just the dark secrets of the Toyokawa household, but even her mother seemed to harbor many mysteries.

Among all the firearms she tried, Shoko favored the SV98 sniper rifle most. Given its weight, it was still manageable to carry in her keyboard case.

However, as a sniper rifle, it was not convenient for immediate use. So, when leaving the range, she took along a PPK pistol for protection.

Uncertain when the assassins might come knocking, this PPK would remain by her side at all times, even pressed beneath her pillow when she slept.

The notion did not surprise her at all; she felt herself becoming like the spies or assassins seen on television, always walking a razor’s edge.

Is this what Ruri Kazama meant by the “real world”? Once you know about the Dragon clan, once you understand the true nature of this world, there is no turning back. Death, like the wind, accompanies you constantly.

That night, her grandfather did not stay at home.

Toyokawa Sadaharu was a very busy man—one of those legendary figures whose every minute was worth millions of dollars. When truly engrossed in work, he wouldn't even bother to retrieve a dropped Maybach. The family’s business demanded his constant oversight, and the mansion was often visited by people from all walks of life arriving in luxury cars.

This was good news; despite being under the same roof again, Shoko truly wanted to avoid unnecessary interaction with him.

Thus, the vast dining room held only her presence. The maid quietly served a dinner specially prepared to help her recuperate, then quietly withdrew. The room was silent save for the faint clinking of cutlery against plates.

After dinner, Shoko entered the shower. She loved baths—always indulging in a milk bubble bath with a little yellow rubber duck, lingering so long in the tub she had once nearly fainted.

But today, she simply had no mood for it. Her delicate, gossamer clothes slipped to the floor like the discarded shell of a beautiful fairy. She glanced at the steamy mirror, wiping away a patch of mist, revealing her golden eyes shining brighter than ever.

Turning around, she placed her hand on the skin of her back and tugged upward with effort, trying to reveal her shoulder blades more clearly.

From the mirror’s reflection, the young girl’s back remained as lovely as a springtime ridge. The doctors her grandfather had summoned were indeed skilled; such severe injuries had left no scars.

Yet the area above her right shoulder blade had been throbbing faintly since that rainy night. Especially after seeing Ruri Kazama and fully awakening her golden eyes, every night at this time, the pain flared like a ticking alarm clock, asserting its presence.

No wounds, no marks—just pain. The doctors found nothing wrong.

It did not affect her daily life, but the strange sensation was undeniably uncomfortable.

Returning to her room, drying her hair, Shoko noticed a white gift box on the table—a new phone she had instructed the maid to purchase upon her return.

Her previous phone had been smashed to bits on the overpass during that rainy night, and during her long hospitalization she had not contacted anyone.

Friends, classmates, bandmates—over two weeks had passed since then, and anyone suddenly vanishing without a trace would surely cause great worry.

Sitting on the bed, Shoko picked up the phone and logged into her Line account. Instantly, hundreds of unread messages flooded the screen, causing the new device to momentarily lag.

“Are you okay? Everyone’s really worried about you.”

“Can you come today?”

“If you see this, please reply.”

“Did we do something to upset you?”

“Are you alright?”

Messages came from many people, some brief, some lengthy. Some persisted daily despite no replies. Through the cold screen, Shoko could almost picture their expressions as they typed.

The tight knot in her heart silently unraveled, and even the corners of her mouth involuntarily lifted.

Warmth was not something that could be conveyed just by saying kind words. Some love, though well-meaning, was too heavy and unsuitable for now; others, though simple, possessed a strength money could never buy.

No matter how exhausted, knowing someone was always waiting for you was enough.

“I see the message is marked read, Shoko, are you looking?”

The phone vibrated softly. A new message came in. It was already 11 p.m.—a time when most students should be asleep, yet someone still clung to their phone in hopeful anticipation.

Sender: Nagasaki Sōsei.

If anyone in the band could make Shoko feel at ease, it was Sōsei Nagasaki.

Sōsei was a calm, steady girl with a middle-parted fringe and long brown hair styled in gentle waves with a curling iron. Though they were all the same age, she felt like an older sister, relied upon by those around her, adept at creating a harmonious atmosphere.

Those who knew Sōsei believed it impossible for her to ever be angry. Her innate gentle temperament made it hard for anyone to treat her coldly. Just thinking about it felt like a crime, prompting deep self-reflection.

“Are you reading this? The last message was read immediately after sending. Why won’t you reply? Did I do something wrong?”

“Thank you for your concern, I…”

Shoko’s fingers hovered over the keyboard but could not complete the polite response.

Friends caring about her safety was, of course, a good thing. They were all members of CryChic, a shared destiny like family.

Yet precisely because she cared, she could not let go easily.

In the past, Shoko would not have bothered texting after disappearing for two weeks. She had so much to say; she should have called Sōsei the moment she saw the message.

But now?

She already knew she was a half-blood bearing dragon’s blood, understood the world’s true nature, recognized the daily battles taking place on Japanese soil, and bore the blood-deep hatred inherited from her father.

Her gaze drifted unconsciously to the side, where the PPK she’d brought back from the shooting range lay nearby—a stark contrast between the pristine white sheets and the cold metallic gleam, as if loudly proclaiming an unalterable fact:

“Toyokawa Shoko, you and everyone in CryChic no longer belong to the same world.”

They were still just girls of fifteen or sixteen, with bright futures ahead, carrying hope in their guitar cases.

But her world was of golden eyes, assassins, Odin, and dragons. Predators watching closely, a storm of blood and violence brewing. If they took out their instruments, would she place the weapons meant for killing assassins on the table? What expressions would they wear upon seeing the guns? Fear? Terror? Screams?

A demon destined for vengeance should stay quietly in the abyss, abandoning all hope of redemption. If she reached out again, her bloodied knuckles would only leave shocking scars on the hem of an angel’s dress.

Yes, she must sever ties with CryChic. Any contact would only bring harm to them all. If even one of them was hurt, it would be a sin Shoko Toyokawa could never bear.

She pressed the delete key hard, erasing the unsent words one by one, along with her restless heart.

“I will come tomorrow. There is something I want to tell everyone.”

This message was sent anew. Watching it turn to “read,” Shoko did not wait for Sōsei’s reply before turning off the phone.

Suddenly, exhaustion overwhelmed her.

The brand-new phone was carelessly tossed onto the floor. She collapsed onto the bed, the soft quilt enveloping every inch of her skin but offering no warmth. Her golden eyes, slightly open, stared blankly at the enamel chandelier on the ceiling.

“From now on, we are a shared destiny, playing music together!”

“I want so much to become human!”

“Did Komu smile?”

“I know it—Spring Shadow was written for us!”

Those things she should have let go surfaced stubbornly when she tried to forget—countless scenes played in an old hand-cranked projector, expressionless, flickering frame by frame.

Some showed the band’s early days, eyes gleaming with hope; others, standing on the overpass shouting to the world, or singing and dancing freely in karaoke rooms...

Humans were such masochistic creatures. The more you tried to force yourself to forget, the more your heart resisted, twisting and turning, saying, “No, no, no…”

You remember, you cherish it—so why run away? Isn’t that what you loved most?

It hurt—not her back, but her heartbeat—each thump as if with all its might, finally striking tears of sorrow.

Suddenly, she recalled a theory from a book: human memory was unreliable, like an easily demagnetized old hard drive. The past was like a drawing on sand; as time passed, wind blew the sand away, memories blurred, ultimately dissolving into an indistinguishable haze.

This was humanity’s self-protection. Imagine if someone had perfect recall, remembering every detail of the past—then the most tragic, painful, sorrowful scenes would torment them ceaselessly, never allowing them to escape their darkest state.

But who would have thought even the happiest moments were vulnerable? The more beautiful the joy once was, the deeper the current sorrow.

Slowly closing her eyes, curling into a fetal position, she hugged her knees and drifted into a deep, weary sleep.

The passing maid noticed the lights still on in the young lady’s room, peeked inside, then quietly switched them off. Darkness fell like a curtain, enveloping her completely.

She knew clearly that when she woke this time, her ties to the past would be severed. From now on, she would be alone in tasting sorrow.

Tomorrow, she would leave CryChic.

(As a note to questions about this book: the current timeline is three years before Dragon III, when Shoko is about to enter the first year of high school at age sixteen, just before spring. At this time, Lu Mingfei is still in his senior year of high school, and the lowercase “i” represents his graduation; he has not yet gone to Kassel.

The Dragon clan story itself begins in 2009, while the GO timeline has the girls using smartphones, resembling the real-world timeline around 2023. Please don’t get hung up on these small inconsistencies; the worldviews have been blended.

This book aims to reinterpret the events and character relationships of MyGo and AveMujica through the Dragon clan worldview, as stated in the introduction: Why desire to become human? What is the darkness of the Toyokawa family? What is the true reason behind Shoko’s night of the black blade? All are rewritten with Dragon clan elements.

Therefore, the main characters from the old Dragon clan—Lu Mingfei, Chu Zihang, Caesar—are not the focus, though they will appear briefly by Dragon III.

The dragon-slaying plotline and direction will likely change due to the story’s themes, including Odin’s portrayal, which reflects ideas from the Mingfei era. Due to limited energy at the time, the ending was rushed, but this version completes my own interpretation of Odin’s Valhalla.

Personally, I dislike Jiangnan’s Dragon King world reboot and the rewritten Dragon IV. This seems more like Jiangnan’s promotional tie-in for the animation, discarding all his old settings. It not only denies his own Dragon clan works but also tramples many past details.

Remember, no Dragon clan member has ever had a skill like Final Fantasy XVI’s summoning transformations. Transforming into a dragon is one thing—they are dragons by nature. But McLaren’s raven circling to become a mounted Odin? What nonsense is that? Uchiha Itachi x Clive? Pompeii speculation? HE~↑TUI~↓!

Jiangnan writes the Dragon clan without a clear outline, just writing as inspiration strikes, causing many contradictions. He is purely an inspiration-driven author, so don’t scrutinize his details too closely; even his own revisions conflict.

I have no doubt that when the Dragon 2 animation airs, Jiangnan will again suddenly announce a new update, likely another promotional stunt...

Everyone forms their own understanding of Lu Mingze and the story after reading Dragon clan. My fan fiction is simply my own interpretation.

A thousand readers hold a thousand Hamlets; the Dragon clan you know is the Dragon clan as you best imagine it.)