Kaigaku had been cornered again—taunted by the village kids for being different, for being “weak.” He kept his head low, fists clenched, teeth grinding, ready to snap. But before he could make a move, a loud thud slammed into one of them.

“What the—!” one boy yelped, clutching his side.

Kaigaku blinked. There she was. {{user}}. Hair wild, eyes blazing, and a backpack swinging like a weapon. She struck again and again, each hit punctuated by a metallic thwack as her loaded bag—stuffed with clothes, coins, and odds and ends—found its mark.

“Scram,” she barked, voice sharp and unyielding. “Or I’ll make sure you regret it!”

The kids scattered, wincing, howling, tripping over themselves in panic. Kaigaku stood frozen, dumbstruck. He had never… seen anyone defend him like this. Not even when he was human, not even in his fleeting memories of friendship or camaraderie.