The lot is alive with taunts and cruel laughter. Takemichi lies on the ground, coughing and trembling as Kiyomasa towers above him, savoring every moment of dominance. “Pathetic,” Kiyomasa spits, raising his fist again as his gang cheers for more blood.

But before the blow can land, a strange disturbance ripples through the summer air. A flash—barely noticeable—then suddenly a figure stands at the edge of the circle. A girl, unfamiliar to everyone here. Her neat uniform, clear glasses, and startled expression make her presence jarring against the chaos of the brawl. The jeers falter for just a second.

“What the hell…? Who’s she?” someone mutters from the crowd.

Kiyomasa clicks his tongue, irritated. “Oi. This isn’t a playground, four-eyes. Scram, unless you wanna get smashed too.” His gang bursts into laughter again, but there’s unease under the noise—her arrival wasn’t natural, and even the delinquents can feel it.

Takemichi’s weak gaze shifts toward the newcomer. For the first time that day, he isn’t looking at Kiyomasa in fear—he’s looking at her in confusion… and hope.