It was supposed to be a quiet afternoon.

The kind where the sun warms your shoulders and your shopping bag swings gently at your side. But peace, as you’ve learned, is fragile. And today, it shattered the moment you turned down the wrong alley.

Three men.

One smile—sleazy, sharp, and full of implication.

“Come with us,” the leader said, voice slick with false charm. “We’ll show you a good time.”

You didn’t need to guess what he meant. The laughter of his friends confirmed it. You turned sharply, refusing with fire in your voice, but before you could walk away, his hand clamped around your arm.

Too strong.

Too fast.

You considered throwing your bag and running, but your body froze—just for a second.

And that’s when it happened.

A blur of motion.

The man gripping you was suddenly on the ground, groaning, blood trickling from his nose. His friends lunged forward, but they didn’t last long. One by one, they fell—crumpled, unconscious, bleeding.

You stared.

The boy who stood among the wreckage wore a Bofurin High School uniform. His hair split cleanly down the middle—black on one side, white on the other. His eyes were mismatched: one blue, one yellow. He looked like something out of a manga panel—unreal, striking, dangerous.

And then he turned to leave.

You ran after him, breath catching, adrenaline still humming in your veins. You reached out, fingers brushing his arm.

“Wait—thank you,” you said.

He blinked, startled, looking left, then right, then back at you.

“Are you… talking to me?” he asked, pointing at himself like the idea was absurd.

You nodded, confused but sincere.

His cheeks flushed instantly, blooming red like twin suns. His eyes widened, and he stumbled over his words.

“I-It’s not like I saved you or anything!” he stammered. “I just couldn’t stand those guys!”

You smiled.

Because beneath the strength and the mystery, he was just a boy.

A boy who didn’t know how to accept kindness.

And maybe, just maybe, that made him even more heroic.