SlamDunk Micchan has a scar on his chin - was that from the fight with Miyagi? Though I wouldn't mind going through the scanlations of the Slam Dunk volumes we have, wading through the 20 volumes after vol7 (when Miichan appeared) will be HELL.

Leviathan
A memory. Kouhei smelling not of the empty scent, but of paraffin. In the way that a line connected two points she connected the paraffin with bulletholes and dead bodies, and for one horrible moment what was standing before her was not her lover, but a corpse with hollowed eyesockets. Her stomach churned, she wanted to vomit, cleanse her mouth and her nose from the stench of death that rose so sharply from the man, and forget how close the death was to him. The urge to scream died at her lips when he smiled.
***

Hikaru no Go
Shindou glanced up, and surprised green eyes met determined brown. There was something in that glance that made him breathless. He was out of balance, falling with vertigo. This conversation was dangerous to his sanity, to the face he presented to the world. How could he keep everything normal, and not risk overstepping what they still can't say?
***

Hikaru no Go
The game played on, and Michio became aware of every nuance of Ogata's play, resonating, touching him, sensing the energies behind every stone's fall on the board the same way he remembered the hard planes of the other man's body. His breath hitched, aware. The stones were not hard, but yielding, warm, the go ke was a marvel of curves and shadow. The next stone would fall at 13-5. Ogata would think it was a threat, but he could capture it later, he knew it. How did he know? He had no idea, but the pattern of their game unfolded itself easily in his mind, as naturally as the unfurling of tightly nipped buds to full bloom, as of birds taking flight.
***

L5r: Ryuumi
Migetsu closed his eyes. The slow, measured steps could belong to an artisan trained in theater, but he could tell by this time who it was. Deliberately, he'd come here earlier than his sensei, just to hear him arrive, and to smell the light musk of his scent when he passed by to take his seat.
"Have you been waiting long? Forgive me."
"No, I've only been here for a short time, Ryuudo."
***

L5r: The Lady of the Blue Pavilion
What he remembered the most were her hands. Long pale hands with tapering fingertips, the skin nearly translucent, and long nails painted in crimson. They were fingertips dipped in blood. Those nails cut through the skin when she touched him, and though the skin looked soft they were calloused. From those hands fine filaments of color were transformed to silk of brilliant hues made to garb their princess.
***

Original: Whitewash
"I lived in constant, oppressive dread - the dread of knowing nameless someones, flickering shadows at the back of my mind, these someones were at the same moment that I was writing, they were making better lines, writing characterization that makes people think, turned phrases with deft touches to make them new again. I lived with this paralyzing fear everyday, and instead of writing I stared at the white screen, seeing those magical words being written, pixel by pixel, appearing like an afterimage burning in my eyes from the screen. Urging me to type them down, but I knew better. I knew I can never put their essence down."