Morning came quietly.
Too quietly.
Akira stood beneath the hood of a battered sedan at Ashworks Garage, wrench turning with a slow, steady rhythm. Sunlight crept through the open bay door, dust floating in its path like it didn't want to settle. The radio was off. No music. No voices. Just the hum of metal and the faint sound of traffic somewhere far away.
On the wall above the workbench hung a faded poster of an old car—his parents' car. The edges were worn, the colors dulled by time, but it was clean. Carefully kept.
Akira tightened one last bolt and stopped.
He wiped oil from his hands and looked out at the empty lot beyond the garage door. No footsteps. No yelling. No one waiting to test him.
The silence pressed down harder than any fight ever had.
We've been swinging for weeks, he thought.
So why does it feel worse when no one does?
Peace, he was starting to learn, wasn't relief.
It was tension without direction.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Nikki: Lunch meet-up again? Kenji's already causing problems.
Akira let out a breath that was half a sigh, half a laugh. He grabbed his jacket, killed the lights, and stepped out into the morning.
Yokosaki High felt different.
Not hostile. Not friendly.
Aware.
As Akira walked through the hallway, conversations dipped just enough for him to notice. Eyes followed him—not with fear, but curiosity. The kind that lingered, measuring distance, testing stories against reality.
"That's him," someone whispered.
"The one from the courtyard."
"Didn't he fight like six guys?"
"Yeah—and that tall one, Vincent. Didn't even flinch."
Akira kept his head forward.
People notice you, he thought, right before they decide whether to respect you… or try you.
He didn't like that moment in between.
Kenji, unsurprisingly, had found it.
He sat on a low courtyard wall, chewing loudly, boots kicked up like he owned the concrete beneath him. Three upperclassmen hovered nearby, postures loose but eyes sharp.
"You think you can park your bike out front again?" one of them asked. "Rookie?"
Kenji didn't look up. "I don't think I can."
He took another bite.
"I did."
The air tightened.
Then Vincent stepped in behind them, calm as still water.
"You really want to do this," Vincent said evenly, "in front of half the school?"
The upperclassmen hesitated. Not afraid—but calculating.
Nikki watched from a bench nearby, unimpressed. "You two are like magnets for drama."
Kenji grinned. "Can't help it if I'm popular."
"Or reckless," Akira said, stepping into view.
Kenji's grin widened.
The four of them stood there—not because they planned it, not because they agreed on anything… but because everyone else kept forcing them into the same space.
And slowly, people backed away.
That evening, the rooftop belonged to them.
The sun bled orange across the campus, painting the fences and concrete in tired light. Vincent sat against the railing, picking at his knuckles, still healing. Akira leaned near the edge, eyes on the horizon.
"You ever think," Vincent said quietly, "we're walking into something bigger than us?"
Akira didn't answer right away.
"Always," he said finally.
Vincent glanced over. "You don't act like it."
"If I did," Akira replied, "none of us would still be standing here."
A quiet laugh slipped out of Vincent—not friendly, not bitter. Just honest.
Nikki joined them, tossing a gum wrapper into the trash without looking. "For once, can we not talk about fighting?"
Kenji yawned as he flopped down. "You started it."
No one argued.
They sat there in the quiet—not a crew, not friends, not anything official.
But closer than they'd been before.
That night, the ripple spread.
First-years whispered about the courtyard four.
Seniors argued over whether they were worth challenging.
A rival class huddled by lockers, voices low, plans half-formed.
And across the city, Akira locked up his shop, unaware of how many eyes were already turning toward him.
Power's a strange thing, he thought.
You fight to earn it…
…then fight even harder to keep it.
In a gym storage room, long after the lights went out, shadows gathered.
A handful of unfamiliar faces leaned in close. No bravado. No jokes.
"We've been sitting back too long," their leader said.
He slammed his fist into his palm.
"Tomorrow—we test the new blood."
The lights buzzed overhead.
And somewhere across Yokosaki, the calm held its breath.