"Be water, my friend."
— Bruce Lee
~ ~ ~
It was afternoon.
The sun cast a dim, amber glow into the classroom, washing everything in a soft orange. The light felt quiet—gentle—but the room itself was far from it.
Everyone was getting along in their own circles, but most of the noise came from the far side of the room. Unsurprisingly, Tadashi was the loudest.
"What the fuck!?" he shouted, glaring at his phone.
"You're too noisy, Mushano," Tsugumi snapped, clearly irritated as she turned to him.
"What's it to you, huh!?" Tadashi barked back.
Their argument pulled the class's attention like a switch flipped.
Me? I stayed quiet.
I was seated near the window, my eyes drifting for a moment toward Reika. Her hair was still neatly tied up, her face calm and unreadable as always, eyes scanning the pages of a book in her hands.
Expressionless.
I stood up and stretched my arms.
"Hungry," I muttered, grabbing my bag and walking out of the chaotic classroom.
~ ~ ~
A Few Minutes Later
~ ~ ~
I stepped into the small school market known as QuickMart.
The place was brightly lit with ceiling panels, bustling with students chatting in clusters. Most were lounging on cushioned seats around polished, painted tables.
I grabbed a large bag of chips and a drink, then headed to the counter.
At the register, I scanned the Payment App QR code displayed on the customer screen with my phone. A soft chime confirmed the payment.
With that, I walked out, snacks in hand.
I leaned against the wall beside the glass door, opened my chips and Coke, and started eating.
Tsugumi had accumulated 5,771,002 Credits in just three days. That wasn't normal. She must be hiding something significant.
And Reika... Sh—
My thoughts stopped abruptly when Yukiha Komori—the pink-haired girl with soft icy blue eyes, the one I had labeled the most beautiful in class—hurried past. Her face was tense, tears slipping silently down. She moved toward the small woods beside the market.
Seconds later, a taller boy followed. He glanced at me briefly—sharp dark eyes, black hair falling in spiky bangs. His expression was unreadable, but there was something cold, almost dangerous, behind it.
Who was he? And why was Komori crying?
I didn't move immediately. I waited, taking a controlled breath—
Then stepped into the woods without hesitation.
Yukiha stood pressed against a tree. The boy blocked her, arms braced on either side.
They didn't notice me.
I listened from behind the trees.
"What!? You did that to her? Are you serious, Yukiha? Are you out of your damn mind?" the boy snapped. His voice trembled with restrained fury.
Yukiha lowered her gaze, unable to meet his eyes.
"No... She called me a whore... said I stole you..."
"And your response was to spread lies about her?" he shouted, stepping closer.
"How could you?"
His voice cracked through the woods—raw and loud.
Yukiha flinched, her body recoiling. Her eyes squeezed shut—not from the words, but from fear.
Hmph. Pity... misplaced.
I didn't know who they were talking about, and I didn't care much either.
But the way she shut her eyes in fear… that reaction said a lot.
Instinct.
Trauma.
Guilt.
Fear.
All worth noting.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I'm caught.
Yukiha and the boy turned toward the sound.
His expression tightened—colder now, though the fury hadn't left.
He didn't move his arms, still braced on either side of her.
"I know you're there. Come out."
Cold. Low. Almost mechanical.
A threat—not a request.
I took a quiet breath—
Then stepped out.
Yukiha's eyes widened in shock.
"Hoshiga...gami...? W-why...?" she whispered, voice trembling, tears still clinging to her lashes.
The boy let out a faint, cold smile.
"Hoshigami, huh?" he muttered, turning toward me as he finally lowered his arms from the tree.
"And who are you?" he added, his tone sharp and cold.
"I'm nobody," I said plainly, glancing at Yukiha, then back at him.
"Nobody?" he echoed, stepping closer.
"Yeah..." I whispered.
I didn't flinch. Didn't step back.
He let out a low hum—
—then lunged without warning.
I sidestepped effortlessly, not striking back. Just watching.
Yukiha's face twisted in panic.
"Hey… hey!" she cried, taking a step forward to intervene.
Without even glancing at her, the boy barked,
"Don't, Yukiha. Unless you want to get hurt."
His eyes snapped back to me, sharp and focused.
"You're quick. I'll give you that."
"I'm not," I replied flatly, my voice void of emotion. I looked at him, then briefly at Yukiha.
"But…" he muttered—and suddenly threw a jab at my face.
I tilted away, dodging cleanly. Then I planted my feet.
"If you want to fight… I won't step aside," I said, steady and cold.
"Fair enough," he said, raising his guard.
Yukiha stood frozen—lips parted in silent panic. She couldn't move.
He approached slowly. Each step deliberate.
I waited.
He launched a rapid barrage of jabs. I dodged each one, clean and tight, then struck back with precision—
—but he evaded every hit.
Fast.
Another flurry. I weaved through, and the moment his stance slipped—chin and ribs exposed—
I struck.
A clean uppercut.
Then a sharp series of punches to his ribs and face.
He stumbled, barely able to guard, then leapt back to break away.
"No way... he has moves?" Yukiha whispered in disbelief.
The man steadied himself, resetting his posture.
"Good enough," he muttered.
"You're still not satisfied?" I asked coldly.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Confident one, aren't you."
He advanced again.
Another flurry—sharp, rapid, controlled. His footwork was tight. His center balanced.
He knows martial arts.
I weaved past his strikes, reading the timing. Slipped under a jab, dipped low, and shot a punch toward his ribs.
He caught it.
His forearm braced, absorbing the force. His hand wrapped around my wrist, locking me down with practiced grip.
Solid guard. Controlled breath. No wasted movement. He's trained.
No leverage. I couldn't throw him like this.
He didn't pause.
A sudden shove knocked me back—and in one smooth step, he snapped a kick into my chest.
Impact.
My breath caught. My ribs throbbed. Balance slipped.
Feet skidded through the dirt—
—I was falling.
But I didn't fight the fall.
I twisted with it.
Letting the momentum carry me, I turned into the motion—arms whipping forward, both palms open.
Sink the weight. Drive from the core.
I struck.
A falling double palm—short, brutal, refined. Not a flashy move. Just a precise application of force.
My palms slammed into his sternum.
The sound was like a muffled crack of air. His body froze—eyes wide, lungs locked.
One staggered step back.
Then another.
He gasped, but nothing came. Panic flashed behind his gaze as the breath simply wouldn't return.
His arms dropped slightly.
I landed on one knee—calm. Focused.
He crumpled seconds later, knees buckling. A cough finally tore loose as he hit the dirt, one hand clawing at his chest.
Yukiha screamed faintly, rushing forward.
"Hey! Reiji!"
I didn't move.
My breathing was steady. My eyes stayed on him.
His technique was good. Footwork steady. Breath control intact. Probably trained in a traditional style—karate, maybe kyokushin.
He wasn't unconscious.
But he wasn't getting up either.
I stood slowly, brushing the dust from my pants, eyes never leaving his collapsed frame.
"Now you're satisfied?" I asked, voice low. Cold.