Under the twilight of dusk — that ominous hour when day and night blur — a quiet street lay empty of people. By the shallow stream that trickled softly past the blooming cherry trees of early spring, stood a scene out of some romantic youth painting— A beautiful, tearful high school girl. A handsome boy leaning forward, eyes sharp, posture bold and predatory. It was the kind of moment that made you want to sing hymns to young love—until it was shattered, completely and irreparably, by a chorus of crude, low-class voices. “Well, well, you really ran all the way out here, didn’t you, Nogami-senpai? We had quite the time finding you.” The sudden voice intruded into their “private world.” Harutaki turned his head toward Nogami beside him. ...You just had to cause trouble, didn’t you? He grumbled inwardly. “Seems your enemies have caught up, Nogami-san.” He tried to make light of it—hoping the humor might ease the tension building in her expression. At a glance, the three girls at the front of the group wore obvious bandages on their faces and fresh red marks on their arms. From that alone, Harutaki could roughly piece together what had happened— Some bored students, after the entrance exams, decided to join in on the trend and bully the so-called “witch” who had been publicly shamed. But the “rope” they used to tie up that witch turned out to be much weaker than expected. In the end, the bullies got bitten. Hard. Three girls ganging up on one, and still ending up bruised and beaten? And now they were showing up full of righteous indignation, as if they were the ones wronged? At first, when he saw the faint handprint on Nogami’s cheek, he thought she’d lost a fight and came here to calm down. But apparently, she’d been the one doing the beating. “If it were just you three here to get even, I’d understand. But since there are seven of you—four of whom happen to be guys—mind telling me what exactly you’re doing here?” The leader was a tall, broad-shouldered boy with muddy blond hair that hadn’t been touched up in weeks, his black roots showing through. His uniform shirt hung half-open; his right ear bore a dangling skull earring, and a silver cross pendant rested against his bare chest. A cigarette hung unlit between his lips. Where did this street thug crawl out from? Harutaki, as he’d once told Nogami, was a man with a very realistic understanding of himself. As much as he wanted to sneer, he kept his tone polite. He wasn’t the type to scream “I can take all ten of you!”—and besides, there were no cameras, no witnesses, and definitely no help nearby. If things turned violent, he’d just be the guy getting punched. Judging by the uniforms, the three girls were freshmen from Nichiya High—but their four male companions were clearly from another school. It looked strange at first, but it wasn’t hard to understand. In this country, “early romance” wasn’t exactly taboo. Middle schoolers dating—or even losing their virginity—wasn’t rare enough to shock anyone anymore. For plain-looking girls who didn’t have much going for them, dating a delinquent—someone from the “top caste” of the school—was something to brag about. A bit of danger made things more thrilling. And for the delinquents? Having a girlfriend from a prestigious school gave them bragging rights of their own. “Book-smart, top of her class—so what? Still ended up in bed with us, didn’t she?” “Still begged for more, didn’t she?” “Oi, your girlfriend beat up our girlfriends. You got anything to say about that? Huh?” The others grinned, crowding closer—until their eyes landed on Nogami. And then they really grinned. Apparently, they’d realized this girl was way cuter than their own makeup-caked girlfriends. “With a face like that, no wonder you can’t control her. Tell you what—why don’t we help you teach her a lesson, huh?” “Play with us for a few days and we’ll call it even. Otherwise...” The blond slapped Harutaki’s shoulder and gave a lazy tug at his collar. Your girlfriends’ bandages are about to burst from rage back there, you know. You sure you’re okay with that? “You’re mistaken, She’s not—” “Harutaki, when you confessed to me before, didn’t you say you’d protect me no matter what?” Just as he was trying to think of a way to slip out of this while arguing his case, Nogami suddenly pressed close, wrapping her arms around his. Her voice turned syrupy-sweet—so sweet it made even her cringe a little—as she cooed up at him. ...You really want to see me get punched that badly, don’t you, Nogami-san? “Oh, stop. You promised, didn’t you? That even if it was a gang or a yakuza, you’d take them all down yourself.” Her voice was soft, her tone teasing—but her grip around his arm was tight, the warmth of her chest pressing through his sleeve. How could something that warm sound so cold? “Haha! You? Take down yakuza?” “Guess you don’t even lie well when you’re flirting!” “Think we’re jokes, huh, pretty boy?” They didn’t doubt Nogami’s words—they just got mad. The blond grabbed Harutaki by the collar and yanked him forward. Of course. Brainless muscleheads always solved everything with their fists. Harutaki sighed inwardly, prying the boy’s hand off his shirt and straightening his tie. The blond misread the gesture, backing up a few steps and grinning confidently as he raised his fists. “I see, so you’re that kind of idiot.” He smiled faintly. “Let me guess—you think I’d lower myself enough to actually fight you?” His eyes sharpened, tone dripping with mockery. “You—yes, you with that vomit-colored hair. You really think that skull earring and cross necklace make you look cool? You look like some backwater thug who won the lottery and forgot how to act. Your grades are a joke, your fights are cheap, and you only ever pick on people smaller than you. You cause headaches for your parents, your teachers hate you, society’s written you off, and everyone normal looks at you like a stain they can’t wash off—” “—and yet here you are, swaggering around for what? For three girls whose faces are caked with enough foundation to hide their acne, whose figures couldn’t turn a head in a soapland brothel, and whose only charm is being young—” “—and you pick a fight with me, a top student from the harbor district, son of a family probably connected to the police or government, because you’re too stupid to realize what kind of mess you’re stepping into?” The blond roared and slammed a fist into Harutaki’s chest. The dull thud echoed painfully through his ribs. He really hated this type—the kind too dumb to think past their next punch. Normal people—rational people—considered the consequences of using violence: But these idiots—proud of being delinquents—never thought about any of that. They just lashed out. “Well, Are you satisfied now, my dear girlfriend Izumi?” He shot Nogami a sidelong look, half smile, half grimace. He hadn’t planned on abandoning her—but he sure as hell hadn’t planned on getting hit, either. “Wh-what are you saying?” Nogami forced out a wobbly smile. “I’m worried about you, Harutaki...” ...She should’ve been happy to see him get punched, shouldn’t she? So why—why did her chest twist when she saw the pain flicker across his face? It’s just scum fighting scum. That’s all this is! If he really left her here alone... what would happen to her? The way those boys’ eyes had raked over her just now, hungry and gleaming—she’d wanted to slap them all until their teeth rattled. Worthless. Filthy. Disgusting trash of society. But as she looked at Harutaki—bruised, irritated, still standing in front of her—she realized something that made her stomach churn. Logically, she wanted him to fight back. Emotionally... she didn’t want him hurt. Even though he was the one who’d pushed her into this mess in the first place. Even though he’d mocked her earlier. Even though not even her father had ever scolded her that harshly. It didn’t make sense. None of it did. “I said, that’s enough...” Harutaki was just about to roll up his sleeves, running through plans in his head for how to get both himself and the girl out of this mess—his confidence, after all, only went as far as self-preservation. But before he could move, Nogami tugged lightly at his sleeve, lowering her head as she whispered in a voice as small as a mosquito’s hum. “We can’t beat them... Let’s run...” For all the times Harutaki had mocked her to the point of breaking down, there was one thing about her that was undeniably true— Ever since she was young, she’d excelled in her studies, had strong athletic ability, and could easily charm adults with her quick wit and poise. Even if her worldview was immature and her mindset warped, she still had a clarity and sharpness that far outstripped most people her age. Right now, she and Harutaki are tied to the same rope. Or rather, he was the rope keeping her suspended. With her mind, of course she understood—once that rope snapped, she’d hit the ground hard. “When did I ever give you the impression I was the kind of guy who doesn’t know his limits?” Harutaki said that with a faint smirk, turning toward the punk who’d been spoiling for a fight. He drew in a breath— And yelled at the top of his lungs: “HEEEEEELP!!! SOMEBODY HELP MEEEEEEEEE!!!” The small gang of boys and girls just froze. None of them had expected that. For a second, no one seemed to know whether to laugh or throw a punch. Unfortunately for Harutaki, the cold reality of the “modern civilized world”—especially in this country—was that kindness was in short supply. A few pedestrians did glance their way, curious about the shout. But the moment they spotted the four obvious delinquents, they quickened their pace and walked off without a word. It’s not my problem, why get involved? I don’t know them, why take the risk? What if I get dragged into it? When he shouted again, the only response he got was an irritated bellow from a man leaning out a nearby apartment window: “Where the hell’s all that noise coming from?! Shut up already, you little brats!” “Oh my god, that’s priceless.” “‘Help me’? Seriously? Are you brain-dead?” Not only did the delinquents burst out laughing—Harutaki could even feel Nogami trembling behind him, desperately trying to stifle her own giggles. Her small hand clutching his sleeve was shaking ever so slightly. ...Fine then. If dignity doesn’t work, let’s try something even worse. He took a deep breath—then went all in. “AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” The shrill scream actually did what he wanted—it drew attention. Dozens of pedestrians stopped to stare. Some muttered “so annoying,” others sneered, “what is this, a prank video?” A few even pulled out their phones, eager to record the spectacle for Twitter, Instagram, or YouTube. “Wh-what the hell are you doing?! Don’t touch me!” Harutaki batted away the hand of one of the flustered delinquents trying to silence him and then screamed again— “THERE’S A GUY MOLESTING MEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” “You—bastard! What the hell are you yelling?!” The blond punk who had punched him earlier charged again, grabbing Harutaki by the collar as if strangling him could stop the chaos. The other three scrambled to snatch the phones from bystanders before any footage could be posted—if anyone in their “bad boy circles” saw this scene, their reputations would be done. For all their swagger, nothing scared delinquents more than becoming a public laughingstock. Harutaki saw his chance. He stomped hard—right onto the blond’s foot. The punk yelped, loosening his grip, and Harutaki immediately stepped back— Then kicked straight forward. A clean, merciless hit. “Guh—!” Latest content publıshed on 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩·𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢·𝔫𝔢𝔱 He’d held back, of course—only used about thirty percent of his strength. He didn’t actually want to ruin the guy’s future... or his ability to reproduce. Even so, the blond dropped to his knees with a strangled groan, both eyes bulging like lanterns as his mouth opened and closed, producing nothing but garbled noises. ...He’ll live. Probably. Out of some vague sense of human decency, Harutaki offered a silent prayer—God bless that poor idiot—and immediately grabbed the still-stunned Nogami by the wrist. She barely had time to process before he yanked her along, sprinting down the street. “Get back here, you bastard!” The other three punks—who had just finished deleting footage off someone’s phone—heard their friend’s strangled wail, turned, and saw the pair bolting. Fury flashed across their faces. They took off after them, cursing, their shouts echoing down the street. If they didn’t get revenge—if word of this humiliation spread—they’d be the joke of every high school and every gang hangout in the area. And that was something no delinquent could ever forgive.