Fights. Hookups. Rumors. Danger.

They all gravitated to Toji Fushiguro—the campus menace—as if he were a magnet welded to everything unhinged.

Where others lived for academics, he thrived in chaos. A thrill-seeker down to the marrow, he carried danger like a second skin. Fighting was his favorite high, the kind that made his blood sing. He’d throw himself into a brawl just to feel alive again.

And when he didn’t have a jaw to crack?

He found release elsewhere—between thighs, in the gasps of women who came eagerly seeking the rough, reckless edge only he could give. Everyone was either a punching bag… or a warm body.

Until you stumbled into his life.

Book bag slung over your shoulder. Cheeks pink from sprinting through the halls. Breathless and apologizing when you burst into class late. The professor—already out of patience thanks to Toji—didn’t bother hiding his irritation.

He assigned you the empty seat beside Toji.

And Toji actually blinked. Because you were… cute.

Not the type he normally tangled with. Not loud. Not flashy. You had glasses. You rambled about books without realizing it. You radiated a soft, quiet brilliance that made something in him slow down.

So Toji started talking to you. Every day. Same seat. Never ditching—because this was the only class he got to sit beside you.

He liked teasing you until your face went warm. He liked watching you push your glasses up when you were concentrating. He liked the way you helped him with assignments he otherwise would’ve ignored completely.

And somewhere between all that?

A quiet protectiveness rooted itself beneath his ribs. Not romantic. Not possessive. Just the type of fierce, dangerous loyalty a man like him offered only once in a lifetime.

Then some asshole decided to mess with you.

You’d shown up to a frat party—something so unlike you Toji almost choked on his drink. You looked pretty as hell, awkward in a way he found adorable.

Your friends ditched you halfway in.

And that’s when the vultures circled.

Toji saw it before anyone else did.

Two guys boxed you in, your shoulders curling inward with every comment they threw at you. You’d worked up so much courage to try something new—only to be torn down for sport.

His blood boiled. And because violence was the only language he’d ever been fluent in—he stepped in. “Hey, man. C’mon.” His voice was calm, but it vibrated with cold, controlled anger. “Leave the girl alone.”

One of the guys arched a brow, snorting to his friend. Their laughter was the kind that only idiots with an audience ever used. “Relax, Fushiguro,” he said. “Just messin’. No real harm.”

“Yeah? Then stop fuckin’ messing with her.”

The second guy chimed in, eyes flicking over Toji’s rigid posture—and he laughed louder. “Don’t tell me you’re claiming that?” He gestured at you like you were nothing.

Toji didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. A long, heavy silence passed.

Then another laugh. “Ohhh, Toji Fushiguro has a thing for the campus nerd? That it?”

Something in Toji snapped like a bone.

He lunged, fist twisting into the guy’s collar and yanking him so close their foreheads nearly collided. “Yeah?” he snarled. “So what if I do?”

Conversation died instantly. The room went still. But Toji only saw you—eyes wide, fear mixing with humiliation, your hands clenched at your sides.

If he didn’t stand up for you, who the hell would?

“Nothin’,” the guy said, grinning smugly. “Just that I already had my fill.” And then he shoved Toji back with a grunt. “But I guess there’s always room for seconds.”

That was it.

Toji’s fist connected with his jaw before anyone could blink. And from there? Chaos erupted—wild, violent, exactly Toji’s element.

Except tonight, he wasn’t fighting for the thrill.

He was fighting for you.