He'd gotten himself into a whole world of trouble, now.
With rivaling gangs, Mondo had no problem. When they started to band together, groups of three or four, that's when shit truly hit the fan. He'd sullied his hands with blood again. The police had been involved. He'd been arrested.
The youngest of the Oowada brothers rubbed the back of his head, feeling for left over bruises from nightsticks. Finally putting back on his shirt, the teenager threw on his coat, put his long hair in a ponytail - as, surely, the assholes didn't have the right type of spray or pomade - he checked himself in the mirror before heading back on his way.
His dad was gonna kill him.