Chapter 7 : Stray

Shin stood alone in the training hall, the wooden floor creaking beneath his feet as he threw punches into the air, sharp and focused. Or at least, they were supposed to be. His thoughts were elsewhere — replaying the moment Sakura left the room. Something about her expression lingered in his mind.

"She's probably in her room," he muttered to himself, tossing another kick. "She said she needed rest."

But something inside him — a subtle twist in his gut — told him otherwise. A feeling he couldn't shake. Something was wrong.

He paused mid-swing, staring at the far wall. No, he decided, shaking it off. She’s strong. If she needs me, she’ll call. I shouldn’t push it.

But even as he returned to his stance, his fists no longer held the same fire.

The silence of the hall no longer felt calm—it was pressing in on him. He moved through a few more stances, trying to distract himself with form and footwork, but it was no use.

Why does it feel like I should have stopped her? Why does it feel like... she's not okay?

He threw one final punch, then dropped his hands, frustration clouding his face.

The hallway was quiet, almost too quiet, as Sakura stepped forward. The shadow she saw earlier had vanished. Her heart pounded, her feet stiff with uncertainty. But curiosity — and that faint feeling of something familiar — pushed her forward.

Suddenly, something shifted behind her.

She spun around — and there he was.

A boy. Her age. Roughly her height. Jet-black hair. Sharp silver eyes narrowed at her.

He didn’t say a word.

Neither did she.

He took a step forward, and her hands balled into fists instinctively. But he didn’t attack — not really. He simply moved fast. Testing her. Pressuring her.

She dodged back, lowering herself into a defensive stance.

That’s when she noticed.

His stance. His speed. His calmness. He was trained — like her.

She didn’t speak, but her eyes locked onto his, searching for a clue.

He stopped a few steps away, expression unreadable.

“You're not from here,” he finally said. His voice was flat, almost cold.

She neither confirmed nor denied it.

He glanced down at her hand — subtly bruised and lined with small cuts, remnants of a struggle not long ago. She instinctively tucked it behind her, but he’d already seen it.

“Emi’s gonna ask questions,” he muttered, then turned without warning and walked down the hallway. “Follow me.”

Confused, Sakura hesitated.

“Unless you’d rather get lost,” he added over his shoulder, voice tinged with something between sarcasm and challenge.

Sakura clenched her teeth, then followed.

As they walked through the crooked halls of the house, the noise grew louder — faint laughter, clinking metal, the scent of something cooking. A warmth she hadn’t expected.

Kai opened a door without knocking and stepped inside.

Inside, five pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

A tall girl with long black hair and steady brown eyes stood up first. “Kai? Who’s this?”

Kai shrugged. “Stray.”

The girl blinked, then gave Sakura a gentle smile. “I’m Emi. Don’t mind Kai, he’s just being... Kai. You okay?”

Sakura nodded slowly, but her sleeve had slipped just enough for Emi to notice something.

Her gaze dropped.

A few small cuts trailed along Sakura’s wrist and knuckles, some still fresh. “Hey... you’re hurt,” Emi said gently, stepping forward with concern in her voice. “What happened?”

Sakura flinched — just barely — and tugged her sleeve down.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly.

Emi didn’t push, but her eyes lingered. “Okay. But let me know if you need anything. Seriously.”

Sakura gave the tiniest nod.

Another boy — older than the rest, probably thirteen — gave a small wave from the corner. “I’m Ren. And you are?”

Sakura hesitated. “...Sakura.”

She didn’t give her last name.

A younger girl — maybe eleven — grinned from behind Emi. “Pretty name! I’m Hana!”

“And I’m Ryo!” called a boy with messy hair, practically bouncing in his seat.

A tiny, wide-eyed boy peeked out from behind the table. “...Haru.”

Despite herself, Sakura felt her shoulders relax a little.

This didn’t feel like a trap.

It felt... like something else.

Maybe something she hadn’t known she needed.