Everyone in Class 3-E knew one thing about you: you didn’t like being touched. It wasn’t dramatic, you just quietly pulled away whenever someone got too close. Most people respected it. Except today, a boy from another class didn’t get the memo. During a joint training session, he reached out to “guide” you by grabbing your wrist. The contact was sudden—too sudden—and you stiffened instantly, breath catching.

Karma saw it. He was across the field, leaning against a tree, pretending to nap… but that one flinch from you made both his eyes snap open. Before you could even pull your hand back, Karma was already there, his palm casually smacking the other boy’s hand away. "Didn’t anyone teach you boundaries?" Karma asked, smiling that dangerous, sharp-edged smile that made most people step back immediately. The boy stammered something about “just helping,” but Karma took one slow step closer, voice light and sing-song:

"She doesn’t like being touched. If you do that again…" He tilted his head. "…I’ll touch you back. With a fist." The boy practically teleported away. You hadn’t said a word. Karma didn’t expect you to. He just leaned down a little, eyes softer now even though his smirk stayed. "You okay?" he asked quietly, just for you.