"They call you 'Bird,' right?" Shotaro's voice was calm, casual—like he was asking for the time rather than addressing the guy who had just tried to break his face.
Bird sneered, rolling his shoulders as he shifted into a proper stance, fists raised. His knuckles were already bruised from his earlier attempt, but the pain didn't seem to register. If anything, it only made him more eager. "Yes, they do. What about it, asshole?"
The bathroom was dead silent.
Le Chua leaned against the sink, watching with an amused smirk, arms folded beneath her chest. Hiyori took another slow drag from her cigarette, her expression unreadable as her dark eyes flicked between the two. Hiroki, still on the floor, looked between Shotaro and Bird with wide, stunned eyes, his body frozen in place as if any sudden movement might draw attention back to himself.
Bird took a step forward.
And that's when it happened.
Faster than anyone could react, Shotaro's massive hand shot out, clamping around Bird's throat like a steel vice. A strangled sound escaped from Bird's lips—half-gasp, half-growl—as his feet left the ground, his entire body lifted effortlessly into the air.
"What the—?" Bird's words choked off as he was yanked forward, his face mere inches from Shotaro's.
The delinquent's red eyes gleamed like molten gold in the dim bathroom lighting. His grip was unyielding, firm but not crushing—as if he were holding something fragile, something he could break with just a little more pressure.
And then, with a voice that carried neither malice nor amusement, Shotaro simply said:
"Then go take a flight."
Before anyone could react—before Bird could even register what was happening—Shotaro twisted his body and hurled him.
Not just out of the way.
Not just into a wall.
But straight through the goddamn window.
Glass exploded outward in a shower of jagged shards, the sound like a gunshot in the confined space. The entire bathroom rattled from the force of it, a gust of wind rushing in through the now-vacant frame as Bird's silhouette disappeared into the open sky.
Silence.
Pure, absolute silence.
Le Chua blinks. Hiyori exhaled smoke. Hiroki made a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat.
Then, finally, someone spoke.
"…The fuck?".
Hiyori felt the fear of God; the daughter of the principal saw her bully partner get chucked into earth's orbit by one hand of the newcomer.
You killed him!" Le Chua's voice was sharp, eyes wide as she stared at the gaping hole in the window. The wind rushed in, making the bathroom feel even more eerie. Hiroki was still frozen, Hiyori was still smoking like nothing happened, and Bird—well, Bird was currently airborne.
Shotaro, utterly unbothered, tilted his head slightly. "Killed him? Nah." He waved a hand dismissively, as if what had just happened was the most natural thing in the world. "He's just taking a good round around the Earth in the troposphere. Should be cruising at about 60 kilometers per hour. Good for his health, honestly."
Le Chua's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. Nothing came out.
Shotaro continued like he was discussing the weather. "Also, I made sure there were no airplanes in his way—super vision, you know." He tapped the side of his head like it was just another everyday ability. "Last thing I need is some pilot reporting a flying dumbass in the sky."
Silence.
The tension was thick.
Then, without skipping a beat, Shotaro turned back toward them, cracking his knuckles as he stretched his neck with a series of loud pops. His crimson eyes settled on Le Chua, unreadable.
"Anyways." His voice was smooth, almost lazy. "The other one. Your turn."
Le Chua, to her credit, didn't hesitate. She immediately dropped into a stance, shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet. Unlike Bird, she didn't rush in recklessly. She studied him, calculating and assessing just how much of a monster she was dealing with.
Then Shotaro asked, "Is Taiwan a country?"
Le Chua blinks. "…Huh?"
Shotaro's face remained blank. "I said, is Taiwan a country?"
For a second, the absurdity of the question threw her off. But instinct took over, and without thinking, she replied, "Uhh… no?"
Shotaro grinned. A slow, knowing, almost entertained grin.
"I knew it." He clenched his fist and smacked it into his palm with a loud, resounding thud.
"You're Chinese."
Le Chua narrowed her eyes, her stance firm, her pride wounded. "Your point being?" she asked, her voice carrying a slight edge of offense.
Shotaro simply gave a lazy shrug, his smirk never fading. "You get it."
Le Chua scoffed. "Tch."
Shotaro, completely unbothered, simply raised a hand and gestured toward the shattered window. "My point is... kindly stand in front of that."
Her brows furrowed. Suspicion flickered in her eyes, but curiosity—or maybe arrogance—got the better of her. She hesitated for a moment before cautiously stepping in front of the open window, her guard still raised.
Then, in that exact moment—
A human projectile blasted through the air.
BOOM.
A thunderous crash echoed through the bathroom as Bird's body came flying back in, slamming directly into Le Chua's back like a human-sized missile. The impact was instant and brutal. Her body crumpled under the force, her limbs flailing for half a second before she collapsed onto the cold tile floor, completely knocked out.
Hiroki's jaw dropped. Hiyori—still smoking—merely arched an eyebrow.
Shotaro just let out an amused chuckle. He stepped over their unconscious bodies and gave them a glance, shaking his head. "You actual retards," he mused with a smirk.
He lazily stretched his arms before flashing a grin at Hiroki. "I lied, by the way," he said, nodding toward Bird's twitching body. "I threw that dumbass in a way that he'd orbit the planet and come back in through that window in exactly thirty seconds."
Hiroki swallowed hard.
Hiyori exhaled a slow stream of smoke.
The two unconscious bodies on the floor groaned in pain.
Shotaro cracked his neck as he slowly turned to face the last one standing—Hiyori Toyotaro.
Unlike the others, she hadn't moved a muscle. She stood there, arms crossed, cigarette loosely dangling between her fingers, her face the very image of indifference. But her eyes—her eyes told a different story. Under that cool, detached expression, she was shitting bricks.
Shotaro stepped toward her, his towering frame casting a shadow over the dimly lit restroom. His crimson eyes glowed faintly, locking onto her like a predator cornering its prey.
"Now," he said, his voice carrying an almost amused lilt. "Time for the princess."
Hiyori inhaled, slowly, deliberately, before blowing out a thin stream of smoke. "What?" she asked, feigning boredom, as if she hadn't just watched him yeet Bird into low orbit and perfectly calculate his re-entry trajectory like a goddamn astrophysicist.
Shotaro's gaze flickered toward Hiroki for a second before returning to her. "I noticed something." He gestured lazily toward Hiroki. "The burns on that fat fellow's arms. The little round ones. Cigarette burns." His expression darkened. "Are they your doing?"
Hiyori's grip on her cigarette twitched.
"Um... no," she said.
Before Shotaro could respond, Hiroki suddenly pushed himself up from the floor, still bruised and shaking but fueled by something deeper—rage. His voice cracked as he yelled across the room, "YES, SHE DID!"
Hiyori's head snapped toward him so fast it was a miracle she didn't get whiplash. "No, I didn't!" she shot back, her voice rising in pitch. Then, in sheer frustration, she turned fully toward Hiroki and spat, "Hiroki, you food slut!"
Hiroki recoiled. "The fuck does that even mean?"
Shotaro, completely unfazed by their little exchange, let out a slow, almost disappointed sigh. He motioned toward her hand.
"I can see the cigarette in your hands, Princess."
Hiyori's smirk wavered for just a second. A flicker of hesitation, almost too quick to notice, but Shotaro caught it. He always did.
She had been in control of this situation, or at least she thought she had. She was the daughter of the principal, the untouchable princess of this school. Nobody told her what to do. Nobody questioned her. Nobody looked her in the eye and asked her why she did what she did.
But Shotaro Mugiwara wasn't nobody.
He just stood there, towering over her like an immovable force, his hands lazily stuffed into his pockets, his posture relaxed yet completely unyielding. His silver hair caught the dim, flickering light of the restroom, giving him an almost ethereal glow, but it was his eyes—those deep, glowing crimson eyes—that sent an uncomfortable chill down her spine.
Not because they were angry. Not because they were disgusted.
Because they weren't anything at all.
Just pure, casual curiosity.
Like a scientist watching a bug squirm under a magnifying glass.
"Just going to ask," he murmured, tilting his head slightly, "I never really got it. Burning someone's skin with a cigarette—what do you get from that?"
Hiyori kept her expression neutral. "What?"
"Does that make you happy?"
Silence.
The kind of silence that dragged just long enough to become suffocating.
Then, with a casual shrug, she answered. "Yeah."
Behind them, Hiroki flinched, his hands balling into fists. His breath hitched, rage simmering beneath his bruised skin. But Shotaro didn't move. He didn't scowl. He didn't frown.
If anything, his smirk widened.
"Honest this time, are we?" he mused, his voice carrying no judgment, no surprise—just mild amusement, as if she had just admitted to cheating on a pop quiz.
Hiyori let out a dry chuckle. "Guess so."
Shotaro exhaled through his nose. A slow, measured breath. "Okay then…"
And then, he took a step forward.
It wasn't aggressive. It wasn't rushed.
But it was deliberate.
Hiyori barely resisted the urge to step back as his broad frame loomed closer, forcing her to crane her neck just to keep eye contact.
"I need some happiness too," he said.
Hiyori blinked.
"Umm... what?"
"You know what I mean."
His voice was light. Almost teasing.
But his eyes?
His eyes told a different story.
Hiyori swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. For the first time in a long while, she hesitated.
With stiff fingers, she extended her cigarette toward him, her hand barely steady. She knew what was coming—retribution. The same cigarette she had used to burn Hiroki was about to be used against her. A taste of her own medicine.
She hated the idea of pain. Hated the idea of losing control. But she wasn't stupid. She wasn't going to beg. She knew how these things worked—if you acted weak, people doubled down. If you acted tough, sometimes they let you off easy.
Maybe, just maybe, if she took it without a fight, he'd go easy on her. Maybe he'd just press it against her arm, let it sting for a second, and move on.
Maybe.
But Shotaro had other plans.
Before she could even process it, he flicked the cigarette out of her fingers with a single motion, sending it spinning into the air. It twirled once, twice, before falling in a perfect vertical drop straight into one of the sink holes of the nearby wash basin.
A soft hiss of extinguished tobacco followed.
Hiyori just stared.
Her mind lagged behind reality, struggling to comprehend what had just happened.
Shotaro, on the other hand, had already shifted his gaze back to her, his expression unreadable, his crimson eyes gleaming with something both infuriatingly casual and deeply unsettling.
"Did you really think I was gonna burn you?" he asked, voice smooth as ever.
Hiyori didn't respond. She wasn't sure if she even could.
"With that," Shotaro added, his voice carrying a casual finality as his fingers effortlessly grasped the fabric of her uniform.
A sharp tear echoed through the tiled restroom as he ripped open the front of her blazer and shirt in one swift motion, exposing the skin beneath to the cold air. Hiyori flinched, her breath catching in her throat as she instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, her mind scrambling to process what had just happened.
But then—she saw it.
A faint glow flickered within his crimson irises, like embers igniting within a furnace. The temperature in the air shifted ever so slightly. It wasn't visible yet, but she could feel it—an overwhelming presence pressing down on her, the heat of something unnatural, something terrifyingly beyond human.
She took an involuntary step back, her throat dry. "Wait… what are you—"
"You liked burning people, didn't you?" Shotaro interrupted, tilting his head ever so slightly, his voice still carrying that same frustratingly casual tone. "It made you happy, right? So, I figured—maybe I should try it too."
Hiyori's stomach twisted. Her bravado shattered into dust.
The glow in his eyes intensified.
"U-Uh… hold on—"
A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, not from exertion, not from fear—but from the sheer heat emanating from his gaze alone.
his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as he stepped toward Hiyori. The girl had always carried herself with an air of untouchable arrogance—an heiress to the school, untouchable because of her mother's position, feared because of her cruelty. But now, face-to-face with something beyond her comprehension, she looked small. For the first time, the predator had become the prey.
She took a sharp breath, forcing herself to meet his gaze, though her fingers twitched ever so slightly. "I—I'll stop, okay? You got your revenge. Just let me go."
Shotaro tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Revenge?" he mused. "You think this is about revenge?"
Hiyori flinched, gripping her arms as she felt the weight of those words. The air around her grew warm—no, hot.
"Let's get happy," Shotaro said, his voice steady, unreadable.
Before Hiyori could process what he meant, heat flared from his crimson eyes, bathing her skin in an invisible fire. A sharp gasp tore from her throat as a sudden, unbearable warmth seared across her collarbone—hot enough to make her nerves scream but controlled enough not to leave a mark.
Her body locked up. The sensation was suffocating, crawling over her like a slow, scorching tide. She had done this to others before—felt the heat of a cigarette press into flesh, watched them flinch, beg, cry. She had enjoyed it.
Hiroki watched, wide-eyed, as Hiyori screamed like a gender studies student realizing—too late—that human chromosomes only came in two sets. It was a raw, visceral sound, echoing off the tiled walls of the boy's restroom, a far cry from the usual smug, untouchable tone she carried herself with.
He had never seen her like this. Hell, he had never seen anyone put her in her place. The so-called "princess" of Toyotaro Miracle High, the untouchable tyrant who could burn anyone she pleased and get away with it—reduced to gasping, clutching at her skin, trembling.
And the one who did it?
A goddamn first year student.
Shotaro Mugiwara.
Hiroki was still struggling to process what had happened. Just moments ago, he had been on the receiving end of their cruelty, like always. He was used to it by now—the slaps, the jeers, the constant humiliation. He had learned to take it, to accept that he was just the fat kid at the bottom of the pecking order.
But then, out of nowhere, this guy—this absolute unit of a human being—had appeared, like some kind of divine punishment wrapped in silver hair and crimson eyes. And he hadn't just stopped the bullying.
He had flipped it.
He made Bird fly—literally.
He baited Le Chua into getting hit by a goddamn human projectile.
And now, he had turned Hiyori's own sadism back onto her, making her feel what she had done to others.
It was justice. Brutal, poetic justice.
Hiroki swallowed. His body still ached, the burns on his skin still stung, but for the first time in his life, the pain didn't feel like a dead end. It didn't feel like a sign of his own weakness.
Because for once, someone had stepped in.
For once, the bullies had lost.
And that, more than anything, made him feel like maybe, just maybe, today wasn't such a bad day after all.
It didn't take long for the agonized screeches to reach the ears of Principal Sakura Toyotaro. The moment the blood-curdling cries of her daughter tore through the school halls, she bolted—heels clicking sharply against the tile as she stormed toward the source.
The boys' restroom.
Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows twitched in irritation.
She shoved the door open with enough force to send it bouncing off the wall.
And what she saw made her blood run cold.
Bird, the delinquent, was crumpled against the floor like discarded trash, groaning in pain. Le Chua, the Chinese exchange student, was sprawled nearby, unconscious, as if someone had used her for target practice.
And there, standing in the center of the chaos like he owned the damn place—was him.
Mugiwara Shotaro.
The new first year student.
The first-year punk with the physique of a final boss, silver hair glinting under the fluorescent lights, crimson eyes glowing faintly.
And in front of him—her daughter.
Hiyori Toyotaro.
The self-proclaimed princess of Toyotaro Miracle High.
Her skin was scorched, her body trembling, her breath ragged. She was clutching her collarbone, eyes wide in absolute disbelief, as if struggling to process what the hell had just happened.
A sharp, bitter smell lingered in the air. Burnt fabric. Singed skin.
Sakura's gaze snapped back to Shotaro, her thick violet hair swaying with the movement. Unlike her daughter's long, straight ponytail, hers was tied up into a high, voluminous straight locks that cascaded down her back like a thick, royal curtain. Strands framed her sharp, mature features—features that now twisted with unfiltered rage.
Dressed in a crisp navy-blue blazer, a white button-up, and a tight pencil skirt that accentuated her powerful stance, she radiated pure, unshakable authority. She had always commanded fear and respect in this school, and she damn well wasn't about to let some upstart first-year disrupt that.
Sakura Toyotaro had always known.
She had always been aware of the things her daughter did—the torment, the cruelty, the way she treated weaker students like playthings to be broken for her own amusement. Especially Hiroki Mazino.
The poor boy had been her favorite target for years, an easy victim for Hiyori's whims. A punching bag for Bird. A source of twisted entertainment for Le Chua.
And yet, Sakura never intervened.
Not because she was oblivious. Not because she was ignorant.
But because it was Hiyori.
Her daughter. Her pride. The person she loved unconditionally, no matter how rotten she was.
Even if Hiyori was cruel. Even if she was scummy.
Even if she was exactly the kind of person Sakura would have expelled if it had been anyone else.
She had turned a blind eye. Again and again.
But now—seeing her daughter trembling, burnt, her voice hoarse from screaming—Sakura's heart twisted.
Not with guilt.
Not with regret.
But with pure, seething rage.
Because no matter what Hiyori had done, no matter how much of a monster she had been to others—no one had the right to lay a hand on her daughter.
Shotaro exhaled sharply, a thin wisp of smoke curling from his lips. His crimson eyes, still smoldering from the residual heat, flicked toward the woman standing at the entrance of the ruined bathroom. Principal Sakura Toyotaro.
Without a word, he released his grip, letting the burnt, marshmallow-looking mess that was once Hiyori collapse onto the floor with a weak thud.
His gaze remained locked onto Sakura's, unwavering, unreadable. His body was still, yet the air around him felt heavy, charged with something unseen. His breath was slow, measured—but beneath that eerie calm, there was an undeniable heat.
Then, he turned.
"Fatass."
Hiroki flinched.
Shotaro's voice was casual, as if he hadn't just charbroiled the principal's daughter in the middle of the school bathroom. As if he wasn't about to get into very deep shit.
"Name's Mugiwara Shotaro," he said, smirking slightly. "Remember that. Now go. I'm in trouble."
Hiroki hesitated.
Shotaro's presence was overwhelming, like a storm given human form. But in that moment, despite everything, Hiroki felt something strange—something almost warm.
A weight settled in his chest. A name to remember.
"Mazino Hiroki," he responded, his voice barely above a whisper.
Then, without another word, he moved.
With a grunt, he grabbed Bird by the arm, dragging the unconscious delinquent across the floor. Then Le Chua. Then Hiyori, still twitching from the burns seared into her skin. Despite everything they had done to him, despite the years of torment, despite the suffering—Hiroki couldn't bring himself to leave them behind.
They had hurt him. But what Shotaro had done to them… it was something else entirely.
Even they deserved a chance to heal.
And so, with his own body aching, his breath heavy, and his heart pounding, Hiroki ran—dragging the broken bodies of his tormentors toward the school clinic.
Behind him, the bathroom remained still, the air thick with the lingering scent of burnt flesh and smoldering embers.
And Shotaro stood there, unmoving, eyes locked onto Principal Sakura Toyotaro.
Principal Sakura Toyotaro finally spoke, her voice low, restrained—yet carrying the weight of an impending storm.
"You."
Shotaro's crimson eyes didn't waver. He simply stood there, his towering frame relaxed, yet exuding an undeniable presence. Smoke still curled from the corners of his lips, the faint glow in his irises slowly dimming.
Sakura's deep violet eyes, sharp as polished steel, narrowed at the silver-haired boy standing before her. Her thick, dark purple hair, styled into an elegant but strict bun, contrasted against the pristine white of her tailored blouse. A dark navy blazer hugged her form, ironed to perfection, the emblem of Toyotaro Miracle High stitched into its breast pocket. She stood tall, arms crossed beneath her chest, her long pleated skirt barely shifting as the tension in the room pressed down like a lead weight.
She exhaled, the fingers on one hand tightening against her sleeve.
"Do you have any idea what you've just done?"
Shotaro's response was immediate.
"Yeah."
Silence.
Sakura's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her gaze—something deep, unreadable.
The air between them felt like the moment before lightning struck.
The heavy silence in the principal's office was broken by the distinct sound of wooden geta sandals clicking against the polished floor. Each step was unhurried, deliberate—a sound that commanded attention without demanding it.
Rin Akagitsune had arrived.
The guardian of Shotaro Mugiwara, the sole head of Musashi no Yamato's red-light district, a woman whose name carried weight far beyond these school walls. A business magnate who had turned her family's ancient trade into an empire of wealth and power, seamlessly blending the old world with the new.
She was dressed as she always was—in a resplendent kimono, the fabric a masterpiece of traditional craftsmanship. The flowing silk was a deep crimson, swirling with the imagery of an azure dragon twisting through a sea of blood-red waves, an artful contrast that exuded both beauty and quiet danger. Gold embroidery lined the edges, shimmering faintly under the artificial lights.
Her rich chestnut-brown hair, thick and luxurious, was styled in an elaborate updo adorned with all manner of traditional Japanese ornaments—golden hairpins shaped like chrysanthemums, delicate jade combs, and a single dangling sakura-shaped charm that swayed gently with each step.
But it was her eyes that captivated the room.
That impossibly bright pink-red gaze, sharp as a blade yet filled with something far more enigmatic. They held amusement, intelligence, and the unmistakable air of someone who had seen far too much to be fazed by the trivialities of a high school principal's office.
She stepped forward, her presence effortlessly filling the room. Folding her hands neatly within the sleeves of her kimono, she tilted her head ever so slightly, a small smirk playing at the corners of her lips.
Rin stepped forward, the soft rustling of her exquisite kimono barely audible beneath the weight of her presence. The crimson silk, adorned with an azure dragon coiling through a sea of blood-red waves, shimmered under the sterile lighting of the principal's office. Gold embroidery lined the edges, catching the light with every measured movement. Her wooden geta clicked gently against the polished floor, an unhurried rhythm that seemed almost deliberate—each step a statement of effortless control.
She came to a stop just before the desk, folding her hands gracefully within the wide sleeves of her robe. Her gaze, that impossibly vivid shade of pink-red, swept across the room—taking in the tense posture of Principal Sakura Toyotaro, the thick folder of disciplinary reports clutched in the woman's hands, the faint, lingering scent of burned fabric still hanging in the air.
A small smirk curved Rin's lips, amusement dancing behind her sharp gaze. She tilted her head ever so slightly, the golden hairpins in her elaborate updo glinting under the light, a single sakura-shaped charm swaying gently with the motion.
Rin stepped forward, the soft rustling of her exquisite kimono barely audible beneath the weight of her presence. The crimson silk, adorned with an azure dragon coiling through a sea of blood-red waves, shimmered under the sterile lighting of the principal's office. Gold embroidery lined the edges, catching the light with every measured movement. Her wooden geta clicked gently against the polished floor, an unhurried rhythm that seemed almost deliberate—each step a statement of effortless control.
She came to a stop just before the desk, folding her hands gracefully within the wide sleeves of her robe. Her gaze, that impossibly vivid shade of pink-red, swept across the room—taking in the tense posture of Principal Sakura Toyotaro, the thick folder of disciplinary reports clutched in the woman's hands, the faint, lingering scent of burned fabric still hanging in the air.
A small smirk curved Rin's lips, amusement dancing behind her sharp gaze. She tilted her head ever so slightly, the golden hairpins in her elaborate updo glinting under the light, a single sakura-shaped charm swaying gently with the motion.
"So," she began, her voice as smooth and rich as aged sake, "what exactly did my Shotaro do on his first day?"
Sayaka Kurosawa sat forward, adjusting her glasses with the exhaustion of a woman far too young to be this tired. She shot a glance at Principal Sakura, who gave her a slight nod of approval.
"Can I?" Sayaka asked.
"Yes, you may," Sakura replied with a resigned sigh, rubbing her temples.
Sayaka exhaled sharply, bracing herself as she turned to face the elegant yet infuriatingly unbothered woman before her. "Ms. Rin, your ward—on his first day, mind you—came into my class half a day late, through the window, called my boobs fake—"
Rin raised a single perfectly sculpted brow, her crimson-pink eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Then, she let out a soft, amused hum and leaned back, her sleeves shifting as she folded her arms. "Well," she said casually, "they are fake. Trust me, pal, I run an entire red-light district. I know what fake tits look and act like."
A beat of silence passed.
Sayaka blinked.
Then, with the reluctant acceptance of a soldier conceding defeat, she exhaled sharply and slumped against the chair. "Dammit," she muttered, rubbing her temples. "I guess that's how Shotaro was able to call me out."
Then, under her breath, she added bitterly, "A dog raised by pigs will always roll in the mud…"
But then, before the tension could settle, Principal Sakura Toyotaro slammed her hand onto her desk, the sharp crack of wood echoing through the office.
"That delinquent of yours," she snarled, eyes burning with barely restrained fury, "assaulted three students on his first day! Do you have any idea what kind of chaos he's caused in just a few hours?" She stood abruptly, her thick purple hair swaying behind her as she jabbed a furious finger at Rin. "He sent a boy flying out of a window & crash into girl unconscious, and burned my daughter!"
Her voice rose with every accusation, her pristine suit shifting as she moved, her deep violet eyes flashing with indignation. "Your damn Shotaro Mugiwara treated my students like playthings—like he had any right to pass judgment!" Her breath hitched, her chest heaving from sheer frustration as she planted both hands on the desk, leaning forward as if physically trying to press her authority onto the woman in front of her.
But Rin Akagitsune
She merely tilted her head, her pink-red eyes lazily focused on her cuticles, as if she had heard all this before and found it profoundly uninteresting.She turned her sharp gaze toward Shotaro, who stood there with his usual casual indifference, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, as if this entire situation was just a mild inconvenience."Why did you do that, boy?" Principal Sakura demanded, her voice a tight leash barely holding back her fury.Shotaro simply shrugged. "Ms. Rin, Hiyori Toyotaro, Bird, and Le Chua were bullying some fat kid in the bathroom," he said, his voice annoyingly nonchalant. "Beating him, berating him, burning him. Just for fun." He turned his crimson eyes toward the principal, gaze unwavering as he pointed at her with deliberate emphasis. "And this bitch knew about it for years. She knew exactly how big of a couple of dumbasses her daughter and her little goons were, but she kept her mouth shut." His voice was calm—too calm. "So, I just did what I had to do."Silence fell upon the office.
Rin Akagitsune, seated comfortably across from the furious principal, studied Shotaro carefully. Her bright pink-red eyes flickered with something unreadable—thoughtfulness, maybe, or quiet amusement.
Then, after a long, heavy pause, she finally spoke.
"Good job," she said.
"The fuck you mean 'good job'?!" Principal Sakura slammed her fist against the desk, her voice rising with barely restrained rage. The impact rattled the neatly stacked documents and sent a pen rolling off the edge.
Rin Akagitsune, however, remained entirely unfazed. Seated gracefully, her posture relaxed as if she were merely entertaining a casual conversation over tea, she shifted her gaze toward the enraged principal with complete indifference.
"I meant exactly what I said," Rin replied, her voice smooth and unbothered, like she was discussing the weather. "Good. Job."
A mocking laugh, dripping with venom, left Principal Sakura's lips as she leaned back, arms crossed, the very picture of scorn.
"Oh, I see." Her tone was a slow, exaggerated drawl, heavy with derision. "I see that it's not his fault. No, no—how could it be? The real bastard here..." she tilted her head, gaze locking onto Rin with pure disdain, "...is you."
Shotaro remained silent, arms crossed, crimson eyes watching. But Rin? Rin just sat there, composed as ever, her expression unreadable.
Sakura, emboldened by the lack of reaction, continued, her voice sharper now, cutting through the air like a blade.
"I almost feel bad for him, really. A boy raised by a pack of filthy whores and their boss, growing up in that cesspool of depravity you call a district." She sneered, shaking her head with mock sympathy. "What kind of person could come out of a place like that? Certainly not someone decent. Certainly not someone with morals. No, no, no..." She leaned forward now, voice lowering into something cruel, something personal. "He was doomed from the start, wasn't he? Just like the rest of you. A child raised in filth will only ever learn to crawl in it."
She spat the words like poison, like a curse meant to stain everything Rin had built.
"Tell me, Akagitsune." She smiled now, a slow, deliberate curl of the lips. "How many of those 'mothers' of his spread their legs for him too?"
Silence.
The air in the office became suffocating, heavy like a storm about to break.
The teachers froze. Even Sayaka, who had been quietly enjoying the chaos, looked away.
Shotaro's jaw clenched.
But Rin?
Rin did not move.
She did not flinch.
She did not blink.
She simply breathed.
Slow. Calm. Collected.
And then, in a voice softer than a whisper yet sharper than a knife, she spoke.
"Are you done?"
"Because you..." Rin's voice remained dangerously soft, her pink-reddish eyes flickering like embers. "Have just triggered the biggest nuclear bomb on this planet."
Sakura barely had time to process those words before she felt it.
The shift.
The pressure in the room changed—no, the air itself became denser, heavier, suffocating.
She turned her head slowly.
Shotaro.
The boy who had been standing in silence, arms crossed, was now something else entirely.
His fists clenched, trembling with barely contained fury. His breathing was slow, deliberate, but uneven, as if trying—and failing—to restrain something vast. His lips, once in their usual lazy smirk, were now curled in a tight, bitter grimace, blood dripping from where his teeth had bitten into the flesh.
His crimson eyes, those same eyes that had idly watched the chaos of the world, were now burning—glowing. The dim, simmering light of his irises flickered like molten metal, the heat rising. His heat vision, that apocalyptic power buried within him, teetered on the edge of release.
"You..." His voice was low, a quiet rumble beneath the storm.
The floor beneath his feet creaked.
"Say that again."
Sakura's breath hitched.
Every instinct in her body screamed danger.
This wasn't a delinquent.
This wasn't a misbehaving student.
This was a force of nature, a cosmic event, barely restrained by human skin.
For the first time in years—decades, even—Sakura Toyotaro felt something she had long forgotten.
The weight of consequences.
The undeniable, crushing realization that her words, her arrogance, had finally led her somewhere she couldn't control, couldn't talk her way out of.
Her entire world shattered in an instant.
Before she could react, before she could even breathe, a hand—larger than her head, calloused yet eerily steady—wrapped around her throat.
And then, the floor disappeared.
She was lifted effortlessly, weightlessly, as if she were no more than a doll in the grasp of something inhuman.
Shotaro Mugiwara's grip tightened, not enough to choke—yet—but enough to remind her that he could. His fingers pressed against her windpipe, and her legs kicked instinctively, her hands clawing at his wrist. But it was like trying to scratch steel.
She shouldn't have spoken.
She shouldn't have insulted them.
She shouldn't have pissed off a monster that could toss her into orbit like skipping a rock across a pond.
"You actual retard," Shotaro said, his voice carrying an eerie calmness that was far more terrifying than rage. His glowing crimson eyes bore into her soul, flickering dangerously with the rising heat behind them.
A low hum filled the air.
Heat radiated from his face.
A thin, crackling red light traced along the edge of his vision—his heat vision was charging up.
It wasn't the wild, chaotic power of an unhinged berserker. No, this was something far worse. It was controlled. It was intentional.
He was deciding whether or not to erase her from existence.
The realization hit her like a freight train.
She had spent years, decades, believing herself untouchable—untouchable because of her power, her influence, her connections.
But right now, all of that meant nothing.
Because she was dangling in the grip of something that didn't care about politics, authority, or reputation.
She wasn't facing a rebellious student.
She was staring into the abyss.
And the abyss was staring back.
There are certain lines one does not cross. Certain words one does not say.
And of all the people to forget that, Sakura Toyotaro had chosen the worst possible person.
She didn't just insult one of them.
She insulted all of them.
The women who raised him. The women who clothed him, fed him, sheltered him when no one else would. The ones who, despite living in the filth of the world, never let it taint their hearts. The ones who stood in the darkness and still carried themselves like queens.
And she, in all her arrogance, spat on them.
"Shotaro… stop."
Rin's voice cut through the air, smooth yet firm. A whisper against the raging storm.
But he didn't let go.
His fingers twitched around Sakura's throat, his grip neither tightening nor loosening, just holding—as if his body hadn't yet decided whether she deserved to keep breathing.
Rin stepped forward, her wooden geta clicking softly against the floor.
"But, Ms. Rin—" his voice wavered, deep, boiling with restrained fury. "She—"
"I know."
Two words.
Two simple words.
Yet they carried a weight that pressed against him, pulled him back from the edge.
His jaw clenched. His breath was ragged, nostrils flaring as he stared at her. His eyes still burned, but there was hesitation now, a crack in the fury that had threatened to consume him.
Sakura dangled in his grasp, lips parted, gasping for air that barely came. Her eyes darted between the two—between the boy who could incinerate her in an instant and the woman who, despite her delicate appearance, held his leash.
Rin was unshaken.
She met his eyes, unwavering, knowing.
"I know, Shotaro."
Her voice was calm, soothing, yet absolute.
And that was what did it.
His breath hitched. His fingers twitched. Then, finally—finally—his grip loosened.
Sakura collapsed to the ground, wheezing, clutching at her neck.
Shotaro took a step back. His fists trembled at his sides. His eyes flickered, the molten glow fading, but the storm inside him had not passed. Not entirely.
"You did good," Rin murmured. "But enough."
And just like that, he relented.
Not because he forgave.
Not because the anger had left him.
But because she asked him to.
"You're right."
Shotaro's voice cut through the suffocating silence, low and controlled.
"You're absolutely right."
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, crimson eyes locked onto Sakura Toyotaro, who still sat on the floor, hands pressed to her throat where his fingers had been just moments ago.
"I was raised by women who work in Ms. Rin's red-light district. You're right—I am the son of whores."
A pause. A beat of silence where the words settled, heavy, irreversible.
Then, he smirked. A slow, lazy curve of his lips.
"But here's the thing."
He leaned forward just slightly, his massive frame casting a shadow over the principal, his presence suffocating, undeniable.
"The whores who raised me?" He tilted his head, voice steady, calm. "Did it better than you."
Sakura's breath hitched.
"Because you—" he gestured at her, his smirk turning razor-sharp, "couldn't even stop your own daughter from turning into a scummy, bitch-ass excuse of a human being."
His voice didn't rise, but it didn't need to. Every word slashed through the room like a blade, cutting straight to the marrow.
"You can't save her. You never did. You let her run wild, let her burn and break others because you were too fucking weak to tell her no."
His fingers drummed against his knee as he continued.
"But you know who did save a kid?"
He chuckled, shaking his head.
"Yukari. Mari. And most importantly, Ms. Rin."
He gestured toward his guardian, whose expression remained unreadable.
"I know I'm not decent. I know I'm rough, violent, probably just as fucked up as the place I come from."
He exhaled sharply, gaze dark, calculating.
"But I had an excuse. I was raised between prostitutes."
His smirk faded. His eyes turned cold.
"What's your excuse?"
A pause.
"What's her excuse?"
He pointed to the unconscious Hiyori, his words like venom seeping into the room.
"How the fuck does a girl who was raised in peace, in comfort, in a house with a so-called loving mother, turn out to be a bigger piece of shit than me?"
Silence.
Dead silence.
Sakura Toyotaro had no answer.
Because there was no answer.
"The so-called filth raised me, yet I understand the difference."
Shotaro's voice was steady, but the weight behind it was like a hammer smashing through glass. He gestured toward himself, to his own broad chest, then pointed at Hiyori's unconscious form with slow deliberation.
"I know what it means to have fun and what it means to be evil—true evil. The kind that torments others just because it can. Because it has power."
He let those words settle, let them dig into her skin like nails.
"I have power. More than any of you could ever fucking imagine. And I'm not hiding it."
His crimson eyes burned. His voice was calm, yet it carried the weight of a hurricane about to tear through everything in its path.
"But I don't go out of my way to fuck people up. Because they—" he jabbed a finger toward Rin, toward the image of the women who raised him, "taught me what it means to be a mischievous jerk and what it means to be a straight-up, irredeemable piece of shit."
His jaw clenched. His fingers curled into fists.
"You think I don't use my powers for fun?" His smirk returned, sharp as a blade. "I am the single biggest abuser of my own powers for fun on this fucking planet."
He let out a short, almost amused exhale, shaking his head.
"But I do it for fun. I do it for my own dumbass enjoyment. Not what your daughter and her two other dipshits do with theirs."
The silence in the room stretched out, heavy and suffocating.
Shotaro leaned forward just slightly, eyes locked onto Sakura's.
"So tell me, Principal—who's really the filth here?"
"You bastard," the principal spat, her voice trembling, not with fear, but with pure, unfiltered rage. Her fists clenched so tightly on the desk that her knuckles turned white. "I HATE YOU!"
Shotaro barely reacted. His crimson eyes, still faintly glowing, flickered with something that wasn't anger, nor amusement. Just an almost bored, knowing look.
"Of course you do." His voice was level, almost detached. He turned slightly, hands stuffed into his pockets as he made his way toward the door. "Get ready to hate me for the next few years until I graduate, because I'm going to make your life a living hell here."
He paused at the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder.
"You've spent years letting people suffer under your watch. It's about time someone gave you a taste of your own medicine."
And with that, he left, his towering figure vanishing beyond the doorway.
The room was thick with tension, the kind that stuck to the skin like humidity before a storm.
Rin remained. She had been silent, watching, absorbing every single moment. Her deep pinkish-red eyes finally shifted, landing on Sakura with a gaze that wasn't angry, nor smug, but something far more devastating. Pity.
Then she turned her attention to Sayaka Kurosawa, the math teacher.
"You were right about something, Kurosawa-san." Rin's voice was smooth, like silk woven over steel. "A dog raised among pigs will roll in the mud."
She let the words hang, let them settle in the air like drifting sakura petals before a sharp gust of wind. Then, just as she reached the doorway, she glanced back, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.
"But isn't that where the lotuses bloom?"
And with that, Rin Akagitsune swept out of the room, her ornate kimono billowing behind her, a vivid masterpiece of crimson waves and azure dragons. A ruler of the red-light district, a woman the world sneered at—yet she carried herself with the poise of a queen.
Outside the office, Shotaro leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his crimson eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. The moment Rin stepped through the door, he let out a dramatic sigh.
"That line was cheesy as hell, Ms. Rin. It actually hurts having super hearing right now."
Rin chuckled, the soft chime of her amusement a stark contrast to the chaos they had just left behind.
"Not as cheesy as your whole damn speech, or that title you decided to give yourself… what was it again? Son of whores?"
Shotaro groaned, running a hand through his silver hair before exhaling in defeat.
"Yeah, yeah… that does sound like something out of Game of Thrones or some shit."
He turned, ready to walk home with her, but before he could take a step, Rin's hand shot out, gripping his shoulder with the kind of firm yet gentle authority only she had.
"Hold still," she said, pulling a silk handkerchief from her sleeve.
Shotaro blinked, watching as she reached up, pressing the cloth to his lips, dabbing away the blood that had pooled from where he had bitten down too hard. He flinched, but Rin's grip on his chin was unwavering.
"How many times have I told you not to do this?" Her voice was soft, but the reprimand was unmistakable.
Shotaro averted his gaze. "Tch. It's a habit."
"A bad one," Rin muttered, carefully wiping away the last traces of red.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them. A rare kind of quiet. The city hummed in the background, but it felt distant, like the echoes of another world.
Shotaro exhaled slowly, finally meeting her gaze.
"You know," he said, voice quieter now, "I didn't mean to lose it in there."
Rin folded the handkerchief neatly, tucking it away in her kimono.
"I know," she said simply.
Rin suddenly stopped walking.
"Lean in," she said.
Shotaro raised an eyebrow. "Get down?"
"Just do it."
"Oi, what? Is my lip bleeding again?"
"Just get down, Shotaro."
"Okay, okay... I guess."
He sighed, crouching slightly to her level—not an easy feat considering he towered over her at nearly eight feet.
Before he could question her further, Rin reached up and ruffled his silver hair, her fingers threading through it with a kind of tenderness that made his throat tighten. It wasn't teasing. It wasn't mocking. It was pride.
For the first time, she saw it—the result of all the years she and the girls had spent raising him, shaping him. A child, abandoned by fate but nurtured by the so-called filth of the world, had become a force of good. A hero. And on his very first day of school, no less.
Ikemoto would be proud. Hell, Rin herself was proud.
"You've grown into a big, handsome young man," she murmured, her voice softer than it had been all day.
Shotaro smirked, rolling his eyes. "Now you can't even hold me anymore with my seven-foot-eleven-something tall ass, huh?"
Rin chuckled, her fingers still lost in his hair. "Maybe not. But I'm happy…" Her voice wavered slightly. "I'm happy that you have a heart bigger than your body."
Shotaro exhaled sharply, looking away.
"Damn it, Ms. Rin, if you keep talking like that, the whole planet's gonna turn into a damn cheese ball."
She laughed, the rich, warm sound wrapping around him like a childhood lullaby.
"Hah…"
There was a moment of silence before Shotaro spoke again.
"Hey…?"
Shotaro didn't even turn his head. His crimson eyes, still faintly glowing from earlier, flicked to the side as his voice rang out, flat and unimpressed.
"I know you're following us. Get your fat ass out from behind that pillar—you're not even hiding well."
A beat of silence. Then, sheepishly, Hiroki Mazino shuffled out of his not-so-great hiding spot, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.
Rin blinked at the sight of him before smirking.
"Kim Jong Un?" she mused.
Shotaro snorted. "No, it's that fatass kid. Your name was Hiroki, right?"
The boy nodded quickly. "Yes… Aniki."
A pause.
Rin blinked. "So he's not Kim Jong Un?"
Shotaro frowned. "No. He's blonde. And not that bad looking." Then his expression twisted in realization. "Wait… what the hell did you just call me?"
"Aniki," Hiroki repeated, his voice full of nervous admiration. "Like how the Yakuza call their big brothers."
Shotaro deadpanned. "I am not Yakuza. And you, my friend, look like one of those guys who goes to church every morning despite being Buddhist."
Hiroki's eyes widened. "H-How do you know that?"
Rin's smirk faltered.
"What the fuck?" she muttered.
Shotaro tilted his head. "What the fuck."
For a second, they just stood there, staring at Hiroki like he had sprouted a second head.
A perfect like mother, like son moment.
Shotaro raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he looked down at the shorter boy.
"Why are you here again? Those three bothering you?"
Hiroki shook his head, a strange excitement in his eyes. "No. They won't be bothering anyone anymore. It's like the entire hierarchy flipped in the past few hours. Everyone's talking about you, Aniki."
Shotaro rolled his eyes. "Oh great. So you want me to arrange you a discount at Ms. Rin's red-light district?"
Hiroki immediately turned red. "W-What?! No!"
Rin, who had been silently watching, chuckled at the exchange.
Shotaro continued, unfazed. "Well, good, because I'm against minor sex. Also, even if I wasn't, you wouldn't be able to reach your dick through that dome of fat on your belly, so it wouldn't work anyway."
"That's not—" Hiroki groaned, pressing his hands together like he was praying for patience. "That's not why I'm here."
"Then what?" Shotaro leaned slightly forward, curious.
Hiroki took a deep breath, then looked up at him with an expression of pure determination.
"I want to be your disciple, Aniki."
Shotaro blinked.
A long pause.
Then, finally—
"Excuse me… what the fuck?"
Hiroki clapped his hands together, eyes gleaming with determination. "Let's be like Saitama and Genos!"
Shotaro stared at him, utterly unimpressed. "No. I love my hair."
"Then Goku and Vegeta!"
"That's not even a master-disciple relationship, dumbass."
"Naruto and Sasuke!"
Shotaro squinted. "Not only are they not master and student, but I'm pretty sure they kissed. Like… twice."
Hiroki visibly flinched, rethinking his choices. "Oh… okay, then what about Dante and Vergil?"
Shotaro's crimson eyes darkened with something dangerous. "You want me to stab you with a katana? Because if I do, your fat ass isn't awakening a Devil Trigger—you're just awakening a one-way ticket to the ICU."
Hiroki gulped, raising his hands in surrender. "Uh… okay, then Cloud and Sephiroth?"
Shotaro sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What you want me to kill your mom & stalk you around with long ass katana...I think Cloud and Zack would be better analogy. And even then, they weren't exactly a master-student duo… but close enough, I guess."
The two stood there, locked in this absurd exchange, when Rin, who had been silently observing, finally let out a tired sigh, folding her arms beneath the long sleeves of her kimono. "Excuse me, but… is this some Gen Z talk I'm too Millennial to understand?"
Shotaro and Hiroki turned to her in unison.
"Yes."
She clicked her tongue. "Figures."
Shotaro folded his arms, his crimson eyes locked onto Hiroki's. "What is power?" he asked, his voice calm yet weighted.
Hiroki blinked. "Huh?"
"Is power something you use to stay on top? Or something you use to throw others down?"
For a moment, Hiroki froze. That same question had been asked of him before—years ago, by his father, a high-ranking yakuza boss. Back then, he had answered wrong. Back then, he had been a dumb kid who thought power was just a means to an end. But now, standing before the guy who had flipped the entire school hierarchy in a single day, he had a different answer.
"Power is freedom," Hiroki said, his voice firm. "The freedom to save others or destroy them. Power itself isn't corrupt—it's a revelation. It doesn't define morality; morality is defined through it. The choices we make when we have power—that's what dictates who we are. And for me..." He clenched his fists. "I'd use it like you, as an ally of justice. Not like Hiyori—a banner of opposition."
Shotaro's expression didn't change, but there was something approving in the way he nodded. "You're right." He stepped closer, placing a heavy hand on Hiroki's shoulder. "But never forget—power and responsibility are a package deal. And above all..." He smirked. "Never forget to use your power for fun."
Hiroki blinked. "Huh?"
"I mean actual fun, dumbass. Not being a jackass. Life's too short to be miserable, so have fun—but not at the expense of others."
Hiroki processed that, then grinned. "Got it."
Shotaro glanced at Rin, then turned back to Hiroki. His smirk widened. "Alright then... let's make a gang."
Hiroki's eyes widened. "A gang?"
"Yeah. A delinquent gang. One that actually stands for something. We'll have fun, but we won't be assholes. We'll use the powers we have—and the ones we awaken—and use that freedom for good."
Rin let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing her temple. "Oh great, you just got here and you're already forming a damn gang. Guess I really did raise you right."
Shotaro laughed. Hiroki, for the first time in years, felt like he belonged.
Shotaro crossed his arms, sizing Hiroki up with a scrutinizing gaze. "But first," he said, his voice carrying a sharp edge, "you need to get your fat ass in shape. No disciple of mine is gonna be wheezing after a short sprint."
Hiroki gulped. "So… what does that mean exactly?"
"It means tomorrow, 4 AM. Red-light district. Akagitsune estate." Shotaro's smirk was almost sadistic. "You're gonna train. Hard. Before you can even think about throwing around words like 'power' and 'justice,' you need to earn the freedom to make those choices. Only then will you unlock your specialty."
Hiroki's face paled. "4 AM…?"
"Yeah. Something wrong, Church Boy?"
Hiroki straightened his back, forcing a determined expression. "N-No, Aniki! I'll be there!"
Shotaro nodded, satisfied. "Good."
There was a beat of silence before Hiroki awkwardly scratched his cheek. "Uh, so… what do we call ourselves?"
Shotaro turned his gaze to the sky, thinking for a moment before a grin spread across his lips. "Let's call ourselves… the Red-Eyed Ronin."
A dramatic silence hung in the air. It was the kind of name that carried weight—the kind that would spread across the city like wildfire.
Until Rin suddenly spoke.
"You took that from an eroge."
Shotaro flinched.
Hiroki blinked. "Wait, what?!"
Rin folded her arms. "Yeah, I recognize that name. 'Red-Eyed Ronin'—it's from that old samurai-themed hentai game, isn't it? The one where the protagonist goes around avenging his fallen master while seducing half the cast?"
Shotaro clicked his tongue. "Yeah, and?"
Rin sighed, shaking her head. "You're supposed to be building a righteous gang, not a damn doujin title."
Hiroki, completely overwhelmed, just stood there, his brain buffering. "I... I don't know how to feel about this."
Shotaro clapped a hand on Hiroki's shoulder. "Feel proud, Church Boy. You're part of something legendary now."
Hiroki wasn't so sure about that, but at this point, he wasn't about to question it.