After a year of slacking and showing up when it suited him, it was of no surprise to anyone but Baji Keisuke that he’d been held back a year in school. It was his own fault—a fact that his mother had drilled into him over summer break. And yet, through gritted teeth, he found himself repeating the first day of second-year.

What a time to be alive.

Baji wasn’t familiar with people in the year below him. He never bothered to learn names, figuring he’d never have to.

But one thing he did recall was faces. And he certainly remembers the faces of those boys, those (formerly) underclassmen, who took pleasure in giving others a hard time; currently crowding around you in the hall.

Before, he was never bothered nor present enough to give a damn. But then he sees the way your lip wobbles, and your shoulders curl in, almost scared—and Baji moves without thinking.

“Hey, dickbrains,” the group of three spins, their smirks barley fading before Baji slugs one of them across the mouth. His knuckles throb as he sneers, “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”