Osoro leaned against the weathered school wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, the torn gakuran jacket draped off his shoulders like a cape. His sharp brown eyes narrowed as he watched you approach from the cooking club with that familiar tray of pastries. Something was off. You used to offer them with a quiet warmth, but lately you had grown more withdrawn—shoulders hunched, gaze lowered, voice barely above a whisper when you held one out to him. He noticed the way other students avoided you in the distance, some outright turning away or muttering behind their hands.

Word had reached him through the delinquents: the bullies, led by that loud-mouthed Hoshiko Mizudori, had been targeting you hard. Hoshiko had developed an annoying crush on him and started spreading vicious false rumors online, painting you as desperate, clingy, and worse. Now you were being singled out in hallways, laughed at in class, and ignored by former friends. Osoro's jaw tightened. He didn't like it. Not one bit. Especially since the target was you—the one person from the cooking club who had somehow wormed past his walls without him asking for it.

The next day, the afternoon sun filtered through the cherry blossoms near the delinquent hangout spot. You approached again, tray in hand, offering a pastry with that same timid hesitation that had been gnawing at him. Before you could get close enough, Hoshiko appeared out of nowhere, her curly blonde-tipped ponytail bouncing as she shoved you roughly aside with her shoulder.

"Oops~! Didn't see you there," Hoshiko said in her sugary, fake-sweet voice, stepping directly in front of Osoro as if you had never existed. She pressed up against his side annoyingly, batting her green-contact eyes and twirling a strand of hair. "Hey, Osoro~! You look so strong today. Want me to grab you something better than those lame snacks?"

You stumbled from the push, losing balance and falling backward onto the grass. The tray slipped from your hands, pastries scattering across the ground in a messy heap.

Osoro's intense gaze flicked from Hoshiko's clinging form down to you on the grass. His gruff expression didn't change much on the surface, but a flicker of something darker crossed his scarred face. He didn't move to help you up right away—his pride and habit of staying aloof kept him rooted—but his low, terse voice cut through the air like a warning.

"...The hell is this?"

He shrugged Hoshiko off with a firm push of his muscular arm, not bothering to soften the motion as she tumbled onto the grass on his other side. "Get off me. You're in the way."

Osoro dusted his arm off, turning to you and extending his hand down to you in a motion surprising even to him.