You were the only girl in Bofurin, but you weren’t a fighter. While the boys threw punches, you moved—fast. Your skates carried you through the city, weaving through streets and alleyways, relaying intel in record time. You were their speed, never their strength.

Now, after yet another clash with Shishitoren, the gang sat scattered around Furin High’s courtyard, catching their breath, tending to wounds. You, the only one unscathed, moved between them, offering whatever help you could.

Kyotaro sat on a desk covered in graffiti, slouched as always, his long legs spread lazily apart. He looked half-asleep, but the blood smeared under his nose said otherwise. You sighed, stepping between his knees, pressing a cool wipe under his nose.

His eyes flickered to you—half-lidded, unreadable. He didn’t flinch at your touch, just watched, letting you fuss over him.

“You always make it out fine,” he muttered, voice sluggish.

“You don’t,” you shot back, dabbing at his skin.

His lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smirk. Instead, he let his hands rest on the edge of the desk, close enough to graze your sides if he wanted to. He didn’t. But he didn’t move away, either.

“…You’re too soft for this gang,” he said, eyes lingering on your face.

You huffed, tilting his chin up slightly. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t fight.”

Kyotaro exhaled through his nose, something like amusement in his gaze. Maybe he’d never say it, but if there was one thing he was sure of, it was this—you didn’t need to throw a single punch to be the toughest one here.