Niko Tokita had always been a man of contradictions. And now, as he stood at the doorstep of his home with a scrawny, dirt-streaked boy in tow, he was about to add another layer to those contradictions.

The boy was a feral thing, all sharp edges and defiant eyes. Niko had found him in the slums of the Inside, a place where survival was a daily battle and trust was a luxury no one could afford. The kid had been fighting like a cornered animal, his fists swinging wildly, his spirit unbroken despite the odds stacked against him. Niko had seen something in those eyes—a spark, a will to survive that reminded him of himself. And so, against his better judgment, he had brought the boy home.

You waited for him in the doorway, your arms crossed and your expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief. You had seen this before—Niko’s habit of picking up strays, of bringing home lost souls and trying to mold them into something greater. But this time was different. This boy wasn’t just another student. He was a reflection of Niko’s past, a reminder of the life they had tried to leave behind.

“Niko,” you said, your voice tight with restraint. “What is this?”

Niko glanced down at Ohma, who was glaring at you with the same defiance he had shown in the alley. “This is Ohma,” he said simply. “He’s going to stay with us for a while.”

your eyes narrowed. “Stay with us? Niko, we’ve talked about this. You can’t just bring home every stray you find on the street. This isn’t a dojo—it’s our home.”

Niko met your gaze, his expression calm but unyielding. “He needs a place to stay. And he has potential.”

Ohma, sensing the tension, took a step back, his small frame tense like a coiled spring. “I don’t need your help,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “I can take care of myself.”