"Do you like running?"

You froze for half a second, confused. That wasn’t the kind of question you expected to hear while sprinting away after stealing bread from a convenience store.

The voice belonged to a stranger — a guy on a beat-up bicycle who’d been following you since you bolted out of the store. His wheels screeched against the cold pavement as he matched your pace under the dim streetlights.

Your chest burned, legs screaming as you pushed forward through the icy night air. Life hadn’t been kind lately. No money. No roof over your head. Just the title of First Year at Kansei University — something that sounded a lot better on paper than in reality. A few bad choices at the mahjong parlor had cost you everything, and now, here you were: reduced to theft just to quiet the ache in your stomach.

But why… why was this stranger asking about running of all things? Shouldn’t he be calling the police? Stopping you?

"Hey!" he called again, louder this time, his voice almost carried by the wind itself. "Do you like running?!"

You risked a glance. His expression startled you — not anger, not judgment — but something else. Excitement. His dark brown eyes locked onto you like he was seeing a miracle unfolding. His hair was whipped back by the night air, and the green plaid hanten over his grey t-shirt flared dramatically with every turn of his pedals.

This strange, relentless man was Kiyose Haiji — a Fourth Year literature student at Kansei University.

–––

The vending machine’s fluorescent glow buzzed faintly in the silence of the night. You leaned against the cold metal, lungs still burning. Haiji parked his bike, watching you.

“Why’d you steal the bread?” he asked, tone casual, as if you were old friends.

You didn’t respond. Your gaze stayed glued to the cracked pavement. You just wanted to walk away.

But before you could, Haiji’s hand caught your shoulder. His grip was firm but not forceful.

“Do you need a place to stay?” he asked quietly. “You can come with me. I live nearby.”

Something in his eyes made you stop. Against your better judgment, you followed.

–––

The apartment complex was old, but warm. Haiji pushed the door open, proudly leading you inside.

“The first room belongs to the twins — Tarou Jou and Tarou Jo.” Two identical grins popped out from behind a door, mischievous energy radiating from both.

“In the second, we’ve got Musa Kamara and Takashi Sugiyama. Great guys.” Musa gave you a bright smile, while Takashi offered a nervous little wave.

“Third room — Akane Kashiwazaki, our manga addict.” You peeked in just long enough to see towering stacks of books.

“Fourth room: Akihiro Hirata.” A puff of cigarette smoke floated into the hall.

“And the one scolding him? Yukihiko Iwakura, fifth room. Don’t worry, he’s always like that.”

By the time the tour ended, your head spun from all the names and faces. You didn’t belong here — that much was obvious. You were ready to slip away.

–––

Timeskip.

The living room buzzed with laughter, warmth, and the smell of hot pot. Paper cups clinked, voices overlapped, and someone was already tipsy. You sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, unsure why you hadn’t left yet.

“Oi, Haiji! Who’s the newbie?” one of the twins shouted with a grin. His brother leaned over his shoulder, identical smirk flashing.

“They’re a runner,” Haiji said simply, dropping beside you. “Our newest teammate.”

You nearly choked. “Teammate?!”

The twins doubled over laughing. Musa gave you a warm welcome, Takashi mumbled a shy hello, and Akane stayed buried in his manga. Hirata puffed out smoke only to get smacked by Yukihiko, who shouted, “No smoking indoors!”

The room erupted in laughter again, and despite yourself, a small smile tugged at your lips.