The city streets pulsed with life. Rin had just left a small bookstore tucked between two cafés, her arms full of paper bags. After Mai's relentless "rehabilitation week," she had promised herself small escapes like this — walks, shopping, breathing outside her father's shadow.
She stepped into the crosswalk, her thoughts lost somewhere between the titles she'd bought and the echo of Mai's teasing voice.
Then a voice — steady, unmistakable — cut through the noise.
"Rin."
She froze.
Her head turned. And there he was.
Hayate Miyazaki stood at the corner, tall and composed, his dark suit cutting sharply against the blur of neon signs. For a split second, the world narrowed until there was nothing but him and the memory of a hundred unsaid words.
Her chest tightened. "Hayate…"
They met in the middle of the street, the noise of cars and chatter muted by the pounding in Rin's ears. She hadn't seen him since the gathering. Not truly. Not like this.
"You look…" Hayate began, his eyes softening as they traced her face. "Different."
Rin swallowed. "So do you. Less… polished. More human."
A faint curve touched his lips. "Is that a compliment?"
She clutched her bags tighter, unsure if she wanted to laugh or cry. "I don't know."
For a moment, neither spoke. The city surged around them — horns blaring, footsteps rushing — but the silence between them was louder.
Finally, Rin whispered, "Why didn't you—on the balcony, why didn't you say anything?"
Hayate's gaze held hers, steady and unreadable. "Because I saw that you weren't… ok. I don't chase storms, Rin. I wait for them to pass."
Her breath caught. The words were so perfectly him, calm and patient, yet they unraveled her all the same.
She opened her mouth. The words trembled at the edge of her tongue. I missed you. I wanted you. I can't stop thinking about you.
But before she could speak, a voice sliced through the fragile moment.
"Well, isn't this charming?"
Rin stiffened.
Hana stepped into view, heels clicking like gunfire against the pavement. Elegant in a pale coat, she looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine, not the chaos of the street.
Her eyes flicked between them, sharp and assessing, before settling on Rin. "Nishina Rin. You do have a knack for appearing where you're least expected."
Rin bristled. "I could say the same."
Hana's smile was all sugar and knives. "I'm simply where I belong. With Hayate."
Hayate didn't move, his expression unreadable.
Rin could walk away. She could save herself the humiliation, retreat into the comfort of silence.
But something in her — the Rin who had hauled water on aching arms, who had survived storms on an island, who had stood at a banquet table and refused to break — refused to bow now.
She lifted her chin. "You can play your games, Hana. You can circle him all you want. But I don't need to prove myself to you."
Hana's smile faltered for just a heartbeat, the crack so small only Rin noticed.
Then she laughed again, softer this time, and slipped her arm through Hayate's with the grace of a queen reclaiming her throne. "We'll see, Nishina Rin. We'll see."
Before Rin could respond, Hana tugged Hayate gently toward a waiting car. He didn't resist — but he didn't meet Hana's gaze either. His eyes lingered on Rin until the very last second, steady and unreadable, as though to say: Not yet. But soon.
The car door shut. The engine roared. And then they were gone.
Rin stood on the sidewalk, her bags heavy in her arms, her chest heavier still.
Around her, the city moved on, indifferent. But inside, a storm raged louder than ever.
That night, Rin sat by her window, the books she'd bought still unopened.
She replayed every second — the way Hayate had said her name, the way he'd looked at her, the way Hana had cut in and stolen the moment.
Her hand curled into a fist against her knee.
She had promised herself she wouldn't run anymore.
And if Hana wanted a battlefield, then Rin was finally ready to fight.