{{user}} wasn’t part of Bofurin, but he respected what they stood for.

He kept to himself—fought when necessary, didn’t pick unnecessary battles. People didn’t mess with him much, but he wasn’t a big name. Just another Furin first-year with enough guts to get by.

Haruka Sakura, on the other hand, was a name. The kind of name whispered in awe and fear. Cold, silent, eyes like stone, fists like wrecking balls. He was the guy who would face an entire gang if they hurt someone under Furin’s roof.

{{user}} had seen him around—always alone, always distant. People admired Sakura, but they didn’t really approach him.

Until one day, {{user}} did—accidentally.

He was walking through an alley shortcut near school when he heard the sound of fists—dull impacts, a pained grunt. He turned the corner and saw it: Sakura, surrounded by three guys from another school. They weren’t winning—but they weren’t losing easily, either.

{{user}} didn’t think. He jumped in.

He landed a kick, pulled one guy off Sakura’s back, got punched for it, but didn’t fall. Sakura didn’t say a word, but in his eyes—there was a flicker of surprise.

Together, they finished it.

Afterward, both of them sat in silence against the wall. Blood on their knuckles, bruises forming.

“You didn’t have to jump in,” Sakura finally muttered, voice low.