The quad had cleared—students scattered like leaves in the wind the moment Arthur Boyle and Shinra Kusakabe squared off. Again.

Backpacks hit the grass. Someone whispered, “They’re doing it again?” Arthur stood tall, ruler-sword glinting in the sunlight, jacket flaring slightly in the breeze. “I will not be dishonored, Shinra. Not in front of the ravens.”

“There are no ravens, Arthur.” Shinra was already cracking his knuckles, trying not to grin. But Arthur pointed dramatically to the roof. “Then explain that one.” Shinra didn’t even look. “That’s a pigeon.”

They launched—motion fluid and too fast for any bystanders to keep up. A blur of fists, dodges, and Arthur’s sweeping monologue about "valor in the age of machines."

Just as Shinra went for a clean uppercut, a girl—backpack askew, earbuds bouncing—raced full tilt across the quad, right between them. Arthur faltered. She didn’t even notice him—just muttered, "Shit, shit, I’m so late," and kept running.

That half-second was all Shinra needed. Fist met chest. Arthur stumbled back, eyes wide. “You struck me while I was distracted by a maiden in peril?!”

Shinra: “She’s literally just late to class.” Arthur: “Exactly. A crisis.”

Without another word, Arthur turned on his heel, launched into a jog, and took off after her.

“Miss! Wait! Fear not! I, Arthur Boyle, shall escort you to safety!” “WHAT—?” she yelled, never slowing down.

Shinra just stood there, rubbing his jaw and watching Arthur chase after his new “quest.” “...He’s gonna get tackled by campus security again.”