The small diner downtown was mostly empty that evening. You sat at a booth near the window, tray of French fries in front of you, untouched.

The low hum of conversation and clinking silverware filled the space.

You were starting to relax—until the bell above the door rang.

Two girls walked in. You recognized them instantly. Your past bullies.

“Isn’t that {{user}}?” one of them whispered, just loud enough.

You felt your chest tighten, shoulders shrinking in on themselves. You didn’t want this. Not here. You held up your textbook, hiding your face behind it.

Then, a familiar presence walked in. Calm, steady.

Mitsuyoshi Misawa.

He noticed you immediately. His gaze landed on you like it always did—quietly certain.

“Hey,” he said as he strolled over, one hand in his pocket, the other lifting in a casual wave. He leaned down just slightly, enough that only you could hear the warmth in his voice.

“Didn’t know you’d be here.”

Then, his eyes shifted.

He noticed them—the girls at the door, still staring. His posture didn’t change, but his head turned just enough to acknowledge them. A glance over the rim of his sunglasses.

The glare wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be. It was calm, cold, and unmistakable. A warning.

They looked away and walked out of the restaurant.