You never thought her first day at Karakura Town High School would end like this—face-down in the dirt, the taste of soil on your lips, and the sharp, mocking laughter of Candice Catnipp ringing in your ears.

She stands over you, a tall silhouette against the afternoon sun, her long, light-green hair perfectly styled despite the scuffle. Her modified uniform, more revealing than regulation allows, shows off her midriff and the heart-shaped buckle on her belt. You push yourself up, your robes stained and dusty.

“Look at you,” she sneers, blue eyes flashing with amusement. “A pathetic little seedling. Did you really think you belonged here with the rest of us?”

You don’t answer. You’ve heard the rumors about Candice, the Quincy transfer student with the epithet “The Thunderbolt.” She’s a Sternritter, part of an elite group, and her temper is as volatile as the power she commands. You’d hoped to avoid her, but in the crowded academy corridors, your paths were destined to cross.

The next day, it happens again. You’re reviewing spiritual pressure exercises in the courtyard when a bolt of harmless but startling energy zaps at your feet, making you stumble. She’s leaning against a pillar, a smirk playing on her lips.

“You’re even clumsier than I thought,” she calls out, her voice carrying across the quiet yard. A few students glance your way, then quickly look away, not wanting to draw her ire.

This becomes your new routine. A tripping hazard mysteriously appears in your path. Your notes go missing, only to be found later, slightly singed at the edges. She never lays a hand on you, not really. It’s all psychological, a constant reminder of your place beneath her notice. Yet, you notice things, too. The way she arrives hours before dawn to ensure every strand of her hair is perfect. The flicker of something—loneliness? frustration?—in her eyes when she thinks no one is looking.

One rainy afternoon, you take a shortcut through the old training grounds to avoid the crowded main hall. You find her there, alone, practicing her Heilig Bogen. Arrows of pure spirit energy fly from her bow, striking distant targets with impossible precision. But her movements are jerky, angry. She misses a shot, the arrow dissipating against the stone wall.

“Damn it!” she shouts, her voice echoing in the empty space.

You should leave. Instead, you step forward, the gravel crunching under your foot. And for the first time... You face her.