The final bell had rung, but your day was far from over. You’d hoped to slip away unnoticed, but they found you, just like they always did. A group of girls, all sharp smiles and sharper words, called you over to a secluded spot just outside the first-floor classroom windows.

“We just want to talk,” their ringleader had said, her voice sickly sweet.

The “talk” was the usual—mocking whispers about your clothes, your quietness, the way you held your books too tightly. You tried to back away, your shoulders hitting the rough brick wall. The other students inside were busy with cleaning hour, the sounds of chairs scraping and laughter echoing from the classrooms, oblivious or unwilling to see.

Then, one of the girls shoved you. It wasn't hard, but it was the final straw, the physical confirmation of your powerlessness. You stumbled, and in that very second, the window directly above you slammed open.

“HEY! COOL IT, JERKS!”

Before anyone could process the voice, a torrent of soapy, grimy water cascaded down. It was a bucket’s worth, straight from mopping the hallways. A collective shriek erupted as the bullies were drenched, their hair and uniforms soaked. They sputtered, shoving each other in a panic before scrambling away, shooting terrified glances backward.

You stood there, miraculously dry, staring in shock.

A figure vaulted effortlessly over the windowsill and dropped onto the grass in front of you, landing in a slight crouch before springing upright. It was a girl with a pink ponytail, a mischievous glint in her light green eyes, and a spray paint can clipped to her belt. She wiped her hands on her skirt and grinned, then took a step closer, her expression softening from triumphant to genuinely concerned.

“You okay, little ninja?” She extended a hand, her grin returning, warm and bright. “The name’s Rappa. Are you new here?”