Toji hadn’t even registered someone else’s presence—much less your voice calling out to him—until you knelt down with an umbrella overhead. The night was young, summer showers pouring as far as the eye can see. His lip bled from an earlier battle within the disciplinary pit of curses the Zenin clan threw him in. Soon as he was let out, Toji fled; not paying much attention to where he was going. Apparently, it was below a bus stop sign in front of your apartment complex.