The last bell rang like a liberation. Ryuta Nakamura slowly walked out of the school gates, adjusting the strap of his book bag on his shoulder. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his uniform trousers, pulled out a pair of massive wireless headphones, and put them on. The world instantly plunged into the powerful beat and aggressive guitars of one of his favorite post-hardcore bands. The music was his shield from the outside noise, an excuse not to talk to anyone on the way.
His path led to the municipal gym, located a couple of blocks from the school. There, among the sharp smacks of punching bags and the clang of iron, he shed the tension accumulated during the day. Not for show, but for himself. Being strong didn't mean looking for an opportunity to prove it to someone.
Turning the corner, he slowed his pace. Up ahead, at the entrance to that very gym, a familiar and always unpleasant scene was unfolding. A tall guy in a tracksuit, too loud and cocky, was blocking a girl's path. She tried to go around him, but he invariably ended up in front of her, spreading his hands in feigned innocence.
Ryuta sighed. "Not my business," flashed through his mind, a familiar, convenient thought. He even took a step to bypass them in a wide arc. To turn the music up louder. To walk away.
But something made him stop. The girl's gaze. It wasn't scared, but… irritated. Tired. And at the same time, firm. She wasn't screaming, wasn't looking for help with her eyes, but was saying something to her persistent "admirer" with a cold, almost icy calm. And this contrast between her fragile, doll-like appearance—long, light hair, porcelain skin—and the steely resolve in her gaze hooked Ryuta.
His legs carried him forward on their own. He took off his headphones, and snippets of phrases rushed into his ears.
«…just go for coffee! Don't be stubborn, beautiful!» — the guy's voice was strainedly cheerful.
«I said 'no.' For the last time. Leave me alone,» her voice was quiet but absolutely clear, without a hint of a tremor. And with a barely perceptible accent.
The conscience Ryuta had been trying to drown out with music finally spoke up in a full voice. Leaving her alone with this idiot would be despicable.
He approached almost silently, honed by years of training. Not aggressively, not attacking, but simply standing half a meter from the jock, slightly behind his back.
«The girl clearly has other plans,» Ryuta said calmly. His own voice sounded foreign to him.
The guy turned around, a grimace of irritation on his face at being interrupted. He sized Ryuta up: an ordinary high school student in a uniform, slightly above average height, but no giant. Nothing threatening.
«What's it to you? Mind your own business, nerd,» he grunted, turning back to the girl.
Ryuta didn't argue. He just put his hand on the guy's shoulder. Not roughly, not with force, but just… placed it there. The guy jerked his shoulder to shake the hand off. The hand remained in place. He tried to pull away—and couldn't. His face gradually began to express first bewilderment, then slight panic. He planted his feet on the asphalt, trying to break free, but Ryuta's hand lay on his shoulder like a lead weight, motionless and inexorable. The muscles under the sleeve of his school uniform tensed, outlining a clear, powerful shape.
«I said,»—Ryuta's voice remained even, almost bored—«she's busy.»
Fear flickered in the bully's eyes. All his feigned bravado evaporated, replaced by confusion. He muttered something about a "psycho" and, finally wrenching himself free from a hold that wasn't even a hold, beat a hasty retreat, throwing a nasty look at Ryuta.
Ryuta exhaled and turned to the girl. Now he could see her properly. Yes, a real doll. Large, light eyes looked at him with unconcealed curiosity, without a trace of gratitude, more like he was an interesting exhibit.
«Thank you,» she said. And immediately, with a slight smirk, added in flawless English: «Though I had the situation under control, Mr. Savior.»
Ryuta froze. He had expected anything—flustered gratitude, fear—but not this calm sarcasm. He felt heat rushing to his ears and was grateful his tanned skin hid it.
«I was just… passing by,» he muttered in Japanese, feeling ridiculous.
«Obviously,»—she switched to Japanese, but her speech was perfectly polished; only a slight accent gave away her foreignness. Her gaze slid over his hands, now shoved back in his pockets, then returned to his face.—«Interesting. «A wolf in sheep's clothing. Quite literally.»
She was teasing him. On the very first day of their… well, not even acquaintance.
«Um… Ryuta. Nakamura Ryuta,» he introduced himself, feeling he had to say something.
«Lena Stoltz. Pleased to meet you,» she nodded, and cheerful sparks danced in her eyes. She was clearly enjoying his embarrassment. «I hope your strength comes in handy for the upcoming festival. Our class is looking for manpower to build a stall.»
With those words, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing there slightly stunned. Her light hair swayed in the gentle breeze.
Ryuta never made it to the gym. He stood and watched her go, still hearing in his ears her mix of perfect Japanese and sharp English. The sound in his head was no longer music, but just one obsessive thought: he absolutely, definitely wanted to get to know this strange, bold, and incredible girl better. The school year had just begun, and one thing was clear—it wouldn't be boring.