"It's already this late?"
Saeko Busujima lifted her head and glanced up at the full moon hanging high in the sky, letting out a quiet sigh.
Normally, classes in Japan wrapped up around three in the afternoon. Even with club activities, most students were home by five.
Leaving Fujimi Academy at eight or nine at night was definitely not normal.
It was all because the new school year had just started. As captain of the kendo club, Saeko had been swamped recruiting new members.
She wasn't just the club captain. The Busujima name alone carried serious weight in Japan's swordsmanship circles. The famous Busujima style drew in almost every student who cared about kendo.
Add in the fact that she'd won the national high school kendo championship two years straight in her first and second years, and it was no surprise so many freshmen had signed up just for Fujimi Academy's kendo club and the Busujima reputation.
Even though she'd already done one recruitment drive last year after becoming a second-year, doing it again this year was still exhausting.
Just a little longer, she told herself. Then things will settle down.
Saeko stepped out of the school grounds and started walking briskly toward home.
She hadn't gone far before something felt off.
Most people probably wouldn't have noticed, but for someone who'd trained in kendo since childhood, it was obvious.
There was a gaze following her from not far behind—watching, fading, watching again.
Saeko casually brushed aside a strand of her purple hair, tilted her head like nothing was wrong, and quickly scanned over her shoulder.
The person was trying to stay hidden, but she still spotted him.
A figure lurking in the shadows, tailing her.
He wore a mask that hid his face and a long black coat that completely covered his build.
That shady, suspicious outfit screamed trouble. No way this guy was normal.
A robber? Or some perverted stalker?
The thought flashed through her mind.
This wasn't new to her.
Back in middle school, she'd been followed home once before.
It had been a night just like this.
That day was one she'd never forget.
Not because of what the guy tried to do, but because of what she had done.
She could have pulled out her white oak practice sword right away and scared him off. But something dark inside her chose a different path.
She acted weak on purpose. Then, when he tried to attack, she smashed him with the wooden sword—shattering his shoulder blade and leg bones.
It was technically excessive self-defense. But the police looked at a middle-school girl fighting off a pervert and let her go without charges, just sending her home.
That incident left a permanent scar in her heart.
It made Saeko realize she had a very strong violent streak.
And that she might actually be a latent killer.
Because the rush of pure pleasure and excitement she felt while beating that criminal had been impossible to fake.
Yet her rational mind kept screaming that it was wrong.
The constant war between reason and instinct had tormented her ever since.
Now, facing the exact same situation again, the same question came back.
Should she draw her white oak practice sword and scare him off?
Or follow her instincts like last time—wait for him to make a move, then unleash all the violence burning inside her?
Crack.
The sound of her foot stepping on a pebble or stick snapped her out of her thoughts.
Only then did Saeko realize she'd walked straight into a dead-end alley.
She turned to leave, but the stalker stepped out and blocked her path.
His target was clearly her.
Saeko slowly exhaled, gripping her white oak practice sword with both hands. Her eyes turned sharp and cold.
"Leave now," she said icily, "and no one gets hurt!"
Even now, she didn't want to strike first.
Whether it was out of rationality or because she was scared of what she'd become if she really let loose.
If he turned around and left, she'd pretend none of this ever happened.
But if he still tried something after seeing her sword...
The corner of Saeko's mouth curved into a tiny, almost invisible smile.
Even she might not have realized how much her craving for battle—and for release—was already stirring inside her.
As soon as her words faded, the stalker showed zero intention of backing down. Instead, he reached out from under his cloak.
It was an unusually beautiful hand—pale, flawless skin, long elegant fingers, perfectly trimmed nails. It didn't look like a criminal's hand at all.
No calluses. No sign of any training.
Yet Saeko felt like she'd seen this hand somewhere before. It felt strangely familiar.
Too bad his eyes were hidden by the hood, or she might have recognized him.
She didn't have time to think any further. The hand shot forward with shocking speed.
Straight toward the massive pair of breasts on her chest—the ones she usually saw as nothing but dead weight during sword training, way bigger than most girls her age.
"You piece of shit!"
Saeko's eyebrows shot up, her gaze turning ice-cold in an instant.
She swung her white oak sword without mercy, aiming to chop the perverted hand clean off.
She had absolutely zero intention of letting anyone cop a feel.
Whoosh—
The wooden blade sliced through the air with a sharp whistle.
But the result was completely unexpected...
Saeko looked down in shock. Not only had the filthy hand dodged her strike, it had moved with lightning speed and planted itself firmly on her chest.
It even gave her breasts two light, deliberate squeezes while she stood frozen.
"You fucking bastard! How dare you?!!!"
Rage exploded inside her. Saeko's eyes flashed blood-red. She clenched her teeth until they hurt, veins bulging on the back of her hand as she gripped the sword. Pure killing intent poured out of her uncontrollably.