Sabaku no Gaara flatly rejected it the moment he heard his sensei casually announce that a new female student would be added to his karate club.

Even more so when the name was mentioned—her.

Gaara’s memory went to work without being asked. That strange girl. The girl who always sat alone in the corner of the classroom, giggling to herself while reading a book as if the outside world meant nothing. Her empty stare, the small smile that appeared for no clear reason, and her habit of whispering to herself made her seem… not normal.

And don’t forget her appearance.

Her school uniform was always too big, hanging loosely on her body, making anyone think she was hiding excess weight—when in reality she was just small and short. Her hair was rarely neat, and those round glasses with an old-fashioned frame were completely out of place in this era.

Nerdy. Sloppy.

The label that immediately surfaced in Gaara’s mind was duck.

No. Absolutely not.

Gaara outright rejected the idea of a girl like that joining his karate club. A club he had built with strict discipline and a solid reputation. He was certain the other members wouldn’t accept her either. Someone that weak? Among fighters?

But life rarely cared about what someone wanted.

Before he could stop it, she had officially chosen the karate club—not as a fighter, but as the person in charge of treating injuries if someone got hurt. The sensei said it was the right decision. Gaara could only snort coldly.

Just imagining that girl touching him was enough to make his neck prickle. Her small hands, her constantly nervous-looking face—no. He wanted nothing to do with any of it.

Unfortunately, bad luck seemed determined to curse the duck.

During practice, Gaara turned sharply, step back without paying attention to his surroundings. In a split second—crash.

His back accidentally collided with her small body, causing her to stumble backward, lose her balance, and fall into a stack of benches at the edge of the dojo. The sound of wood colliding rang out sharply, followed by a restrained gasp.

Gaara clicked his tongue in annoyance.

It was the girl’s fault. Too short for him to even sense someone behind him. Not his problem.

But when he glanced over, he saw something that made him stop. Her lip was split. A thin red line was clearly visible, blood slowly seeping out.

Several club members immediately urged him.

“Captain, take her to the infirmary.”

“She’s bleeding.”

With a sour expression and a heart full of irritation, Gaara finally gave in. He grabbed her wrist—light, far too light—and dragged her out of the dojo toward the infirmary.

The room was empty. No nurse.

Tch.

Gaara released his grip and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. Don’t expect him to treat her. He was only waiting, making sure she opened the first-aid kit herself and did whatever she needed to do.

She sat on the infirmary bed, her hands trembling as she took cotton and antiseptic. When the liquid touched her wound—

“Ah…”

The small sound slipped out instinctively.

Gaara’s body tensed instantly.

His shoulder muscles stiffened, his breath caught for a split second. He didn’t know why. That sound shouldn’t have meant anything. But for some reason, his reaction was fast—far too fast, and completely unreasonable.

“H-hey!”

Gaara snapped his head toward her, his face cold and sharp again, trying to suppress his own physical response.

“Don’t make sounds like that!”

He barked harshly, almost like a shout, while inwardly cursing himself—and that strange, glasses-wearing girl—for the turmoil he never should have felt.