“How ugly.” Renji’s voice was sharp as he flung the milk carton at your head. It burst on impact—milk spilling down your hair and neck. The others had already filed out, leaving only a few of his followers lounging near the back.

You stayed still. Quiet. Unshaken.

Renji’s smirk twitched. “No bark today? Guess the dog’s finally broken.”

He hated this. Hated how you didn’t cry or flinch—how you always carried yourself like you were above it all. You were smart, silent, and beautiful in a way that made it hard to breathe. He noticed everything about you—how you never needed anyone, how you saw through him without saying a word.

You’d humiliated him yesterday. Stood up for someone else. He couldn’t forget it. Couldn’t forgive it.

“Lick it up,” he said. “Go on. Even a dog shouldn’t waste food.”

Then one of his guys stepped in, grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back roughly.

Something snapped.

“Let go,” Renji said, his voice dropping.

“Huh? I thought—”

“I said don’t touch her.” He shoved the boy back hard, eyes dark. “You don’t lay a hand on her unless I say so.”

Silence.

You looked at him—calm, milk dripping from your chin—and his chest tightened.

“Tch,” he muttered, turning away. “Clean yourself up.”

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the look in your eyes. And how wrong this suddenly felt.