The homeroom teacher of Class 1-B stepped through the doorway, and just like every other day, every guy in the room basically stopped breathing. I mean, who could blame them? She was absolutely stunning in that effortless way that made your brain go completely blank. Her long black hair cascaded down her shoulders like silk, catching the morning light that streamed through the windows. She had this porcelain skin that looked too perfect to be real, and those legs – those legs went on forever beneath her fitted pencil skirt. The way she moved was like watching water flow, smooth and hypnotic.
But it wasn't just her looks that had everyone frozen in their seats. There was something about her presence that commanded respect, maybe even a little fear. Her eyes were sharp as a blade, the kind that could cut right through your soul if you so much as thought about stepping out of line. She never had to raise her voice or threaten anyone – one look from those piercing dark eyes and even the biggest troublemakers would shut up and sit down.
She didn't waste time with pleasantries or small talk. Never did. Just walked straight to her desk, picked up that wooden ruler of hers like it was some kind of weapon, and started the math lesson. The sound of chalk against the blackboard filled the silence as she wrote out equations with perfect, precise strokes. Everyone pretended to pay attention to the numbers and formulas, but let's be honest – most of the guys were just staring at the way her blouse hugged her curves when she reached up to write on the higher parts of the board.
Today felt different though. Haruto noticed it right away. She kept glancing in his direction, those sharp eyes lingering on him just a second longer than usual. It happened three, maybe four times during the lesson. Each time, his heart would skip a beat, wondering if he'd done something wrong or if there was something on his face. But her expression was unreadable as always – that cool, composed mask she never seemed to drop.
The guy sitting in front of him couldn't take it anymore. He slowly turned around, trying to be sneaky about it, and whispered under his breath, "Dude, she's so hot, isn't she?"
Haruto just nodded slightly, not trusting himself to speak while she was still in the room.
His classmate leaned in closer, barely moving his lips. "I think she's been looking at you, man. Like, multiple times. What the hell is that about?"
Haruto felt his cheeks warm up a little. He'd noticed too, but hearing someone else confirm it made it feel more real somehow.
"Shit, you two don't have some kind of secret thing going on, do you?" the guy pressed, his eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and envy.
Haruto couldn't help but smirk at the absurdity of it all. He shook his head and whispered back, "Are you crazy? Look at her, then look at me. You really think someone like that would waste her time on a guy like me? It's probably just a coincidence, man."
But even as he said it, he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to those lingering glances.
The rest of the morning dragged on. Haruto tried to pay attention in class.
When the bell for lunch break finally rang, Haruto gathered his books, ready to head to the rooftop for some peace and quiet. But as he stepped out of the classroom, he noticed a group of guys loitering by the doorway, casually leaning against the lockers. They were all wearing Sakura High uniforms, but their postures screamed "trouble." Slouching, sneering, with slicked-back hair and bored expressions. These were the school's resident delinquents, the small-time thugs who thought they ran the place.
He'd heard about them. They were basically the bottom feeders of the local underworld, known for shaking down younger kids for lunch money and occasionally getting mixed up in petty street brawls outside of school. They were the muscle for a bigger "boss," or so the rumors went. Just low-level grunts, but annoying enough.
One of them, a bulky kid with a shaved head and a mean leer, pushed off the wall. "Hey, Kurokami."
Haruto didn't stop. He just kept walking, pretending he hadn't heard. He didn't want to draw attention to himself, especially not after what had happened two days ago. He needed to avoid trouble, not seek it out.
But the shaved-head guy was quick. He reached out, grabbing Haruto's arm and twisting it, pulling him backward. "Didn't you hear me, punk? We need to have a little chat. Behind the gym. Now."
Haruto gritted his teeth. He could feel eyes on them, the whispers of other students. He couldn't make a scene. Not here. Not now. He just nodded, letting himself be tugged along.
They dragged him past the bustling main courtyard, away from the watchful eyes of teachers, toward the deserted back of the school, behind the dusty gym. The air back here was heavy, filled with the smell of old concrete and something vaguely metallic. This was where the real fights happened, the ones that went unpunished.
The shaved-head guy shoved him against the brick wall, a dull thud echoing in the quiet space. Three other guys fanned out, forming a semicircle, blocking any escape.
"So, Kurokami," he began. "You got guts, I'll give you that. Messing with our boss's guys like that. Pretty bold."
Haruto's mind raced. Their "boss's guys"? So, these punks were connected to the thugs he'd faced two days ago. Maybe they want payback...
"What do you want?" Haruto asked, keeping his voice even.
The leader cracked his knuckles, a sickeningly loud snap. "What do we want? We want to teach you a lesson, punk. Our big brother said to give you a taste of what happens when you cross him. Said you got lucky last time. Well, your luck just ran out."
At that moment, the system interface suddenly appeared,
[SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT]
>• New Mission Unlocked!
▸ Objective: Defeat the thugs using raw strength.
▸ Reward: 150 EXP
▸ Time Limit: 15 minutes
>• [Accept] / [Decline]
"Alright, who comes first?"
The shaved-head smirked, throwing the first punch, a wild, sloppy right hook aimed straight at Haruto's head. Haruto ducked, twisting his body, and the fist sailed past his ear, narrowly missing him. He wasn't going to use his powers. He couldn't. Not here, not now. But that didn't mean he was helpless. Years of watching martial arts anime with Jun, and even a few self-defense classes his parents had made him take when he was younger, had embedded some basic instincts.
He parried the next punch with his forearm, the impact jarring but bearable. He retaliated with a quick jab to the gut. It wasn't hard enough to do serious damage, but it made the leader grunt and stumble back a step, surprise flickering in his eyes.
"What the—?!" the leader muttered, clearly not expecting any resistance.
The other two jumped in then, swarming him. One aimed a kick at his leg, while the other tried to grab his arm. Haruto sidestepped the kick, pivot-turned, and used the momentum to throw the arm-grabber over his hip. The guy hit the ground with a painful "oof."
Haruto was in a dance, a desperate, gritty, unrefined dance. He ducked under a wild swing, spun around, and used the attacker's own momentum to slam him into the wall. He wasn't fighting to injure, not really. He was fighting to survive, to escape, and most importantly, to keep his secret. No glowing swords. No impossible powers. Just fists and feet.
He blocked a punch with his forearm, the impact making his teeth rattle. He countered with a quick elbow, catching the leader squarely on the nose. The leader cried out, clutching his face, blood already starting to trickle through his fingers.
"You little bastard!" he roared, his eyes blazing with anger. "Get him! Don't hold back!"
The remaining two, seeing their leader bleeding, redoubled their efforts. Haruto was getting tired. He parried another punch, but it was sloppy, and a glancing blow caught him on the jaw, sending a fresh wave of pain through his head. He stumbled back, hitting the wall, his vision blurring for a second.
This was it. He was cornered. He could feel the familiar surge of power, the tingling sensation that preceded the manifestation of his blades. It was tempting, so tempting, to just unleash them, end this quickly. But he couldn't. He absolutely could not.
He braced himself for the next wave, knowing that if he didn't find a way out, he was in for a serious beating. He might be Awakened, but without his powers, he was still just a sixteen-year-old kid against three bigger, meaner thugs. And a sixteen-year-old kid could only take so much.
A fist came flying toward his face. Haruto ducked at the last second, feeling the rush of air as the punch grazed his hair. Instinct took over. He pivoted, driving his elbow into the thug's ribs, hearing a crack as the man grunted in pain. Before the second could react, Haruto twisted, grabbing his arm and using his own momentum to flip him onto the pavement with a heavy thud.
The first thug lunged. Haruto barely dodged, but the second grabbed his jacket, yanking him off-balance. A fist plowed into his gut. Air exploded from his lungs as he folded forward—
With a grunt, he drove his knee upward, hard, into the thug's groin. A sickening crunch, a gurgled scream. The man dropped like a sack of bricks, clutching himself, face purpling.
"Y-You little—!" The last thug swung a pipe at Haruto's head. He barely raised his arm in time. Crack! White-hot pain shot through his forearm—but he grabbed the pipe with his other hand, yanked the kid forward, and headbutted him square in the nose. Cartilage gave way with a wet *snap*. The thug howled, stumbling back, blood streaming through his fingers.
Haruto didn't let up. A brutal stomp to the knee—pop!—and the man collapsed, screeching.
The leader, still clutching his bleeding nose, lunged again—reckless, furious. Haruto sidestepped, but fatigue made him slow. A fist connected with his side, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped, staggering, but forced himself to stay upright.
Gritting his teeth, he feinted left, then swung a brutal right hook straight into the leader's jaw. The man's head snapped back, eyes rolling, before he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.