Morning arrived with rumors.
They crept through Yokosaki High the way fog hugged the gates—quiet, invasive, impossible to ignore. Whispers slid between lockers and desks, passed from mouth to ear just loud enough to be dangerous.
Akira felt them before he heard them.
He stepped through the front gate with his bag slung low, hands loose at his sides. The mist clung to his shoes as students turned their heads, conversations faltering mid-sentence. No one blocked his path. No one greeted him either.
"They say a group's coming after him today."
"Lunch. Courtyard."
"Him and his friends."
Akira didn't slow. Didn't look.
But his jaw tightened.
You always know when it's coming, he thought. That stillness that isn't calm—just the pause before something stupid happens.
By mid-morning, the classroom felt wrong.
Kenji tapped his pencil against the desk, loud and careless, like he was daring someone to tell him to stop. Nikki sat beside him, pretending to read, though her eyes kept lifting toward the door. Vincent leaned against the back wall near the window, headphones in, gaze fixed on the outside world like he didn't belong in this one.
Akira entered last.
The shift was immediate. Shoulders stiffened. Conversations died.
Nikki glanced up. "You heard it too, didn't you?"
"Yeah," Akira said quietly. "Let 'em try."
Kenji's grin spread. "Finally. Some entertainment."
"You're an idiot," Nikki replied without looking at him.
Vincent didn't turn around. His voice came out low, almost to himself.
"They'll regret it."
Akira looked at him.
Vincent wasn't posturing. He wasn't trying to sound tough. There was no excitement in his tone—only certainty.
The bell rang.
Everyone moved like nothing was wrong. But the way they rushed, the way eyes lingered, told the truth.
They were all waiting for lunch.
The courtyard was already crowded when the four of them arrived.
Too crowded.
Students lined the edges, pretending not to stare, pretending not to care. In the center stood five upperclassmen Akira didn't recognize—but he recognized the look in their eyes immediately.
Confidence built on numbers.
Smiles sharpened by rumor.
The leader stepped forward, voice loud and deliberate.
"Where's the new kid who thinks he runs the school?"
The crowd murmured.
Akira didn't rush. He didn't hesitate either.
He, Kenji, Nikki, and Vincent stepped forward together—not lined up, not planned, just close enough that it felt intentional.
"You got something to say," Akira said, calm and even, "say it."
The leader scoffed. "You think you're strong? You think you run Yokosaki?"
Kenji cracked his knuckles. Nikki sighed, already bored. Vincent set his bag down at his feet.
"We don't run anything," Akira said. "But if you want to find out who's still standing—go ahead."
That was enough.
There was no warning bell.
No music.
Just movement.
Kenji rushed first, fast and reckless, fists flying with a grin that said he didn't care how this ended as long as it started. One upperclassman staggered back under the weight of his charge.
Someone tried to blindside him.
Nikki swept their legs out clean, controlled, efficient. No wasted motion.
Akira went straight for the leader.
Their fists met in short, brutal exchanges—block, counter, impact. The leader swung wide, angry. Akira stepped inside the arc and drove a punch into his jaw, precise and heavy.
Vincent waited.
Then someone grabbed Nikki's arm.
Vincent moved.
One step. One punch—straight to the ribs.
The sound it made ended the fight faster than any shout could have.
When it was over, it was quiet.
Too quiet.
Kenji wiped blood from his lip, still smiling. Akira touched his jaw, already swelling. Nikki exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulder once.
The leader spat blood onto the concrete and looked up at Akira.
"You done?" Akira asked.
The man nodded once and walked away.
The crowd parted for him without a word.
Something had shifted.
They sat behind the gym afterward, backs against the wall, catching their breath.
No one spoke at first.
Nikki broke the silence. "We look like idiots."
Kenji chuckled. "Cool idiots."
"We didn't start that fight," Akira said.
Vincent stared at the ground. "No. But now everyone thinks we did."
Akira looked at him. Vincent met his gaze this time—didn't look away.
"You with us," Akira asked, "or still watching from the fence?"
Vincent took a breath. "Guess I'm in."
A pause.
"Not because I want to be," he added. "But because I don't trust anyone else to watch my back."
Akira nodded once.
That was enough.
That night, rumors spread faster than truth.
Teachers whispered. Seniors argued. Other crews watched from a distance.
Akira locked up his auto shop and caught his reflection in the glass.
He didn't look like a king.
Just someone who'd stood up once—and realized standing meant never sitting down again.
We didn't mean to take over anything, he thought.
But sometimes… winning once means fighting forever.
The night swallowed the street.
And Yokosaki watched.