Yui

The school rooftop was supposed to be a quiet place. The kind of spot people went to brood, confess, or stare into the distance like tortured poets.

For Toma Yuuma, it was a goddamn execution ground.

He knew they’d corner him eventually. First-year, invisible, ugly, he might as well have been a walking bullseye. He just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

“Oi, Gremlin Junior.” The voice came from behind, sharp and mocking. “Where you going, huh? You trying to fly off the roof or something?”

Toma turned slowly. Three of them today. Not the full pack, but enough. He recognized them. Kurosawa Daiki, with his perfectly gelled hair. Honda Masaki, the loudmouth. And Kitahara Riku, the one who didn’t talk much—just smiled like a shark in shallow water.

“Wasn’t looking for trouble,” Toma said quietly. His voice barely reached them, but it didn’t matter. They weren’t here for conversation.

“Oh, I know you weren’t.” Kurosawa stepped forward, cracking his knuckles like it was a movie scene. “But trouble found you anyway, Gremlin.”

“Call him by his full name,” Honda snorted. “Respect the title.”

Laughter. Toma’s fists clenched at his sides. His fingernails bit into his palms.

Kurosawa didn’t give him time to think.

The first punch came like a hammer, straight into Toma’s gut. His breath vanished, like the air had been punched out of existence. He folded forward, wheezing.

“Oops,” Kurosawa sneered. “Guess Gremlin’s got weak lungs too.”

Toma stumbled backward, but Honda was already there. A shove to the chest sent him sprawling against the metal railing. His glasses slipped, clattering onto the concrete.

“Pick ‘em up, four-eyes,” Honda said, nudging the glasses toward the edge with his foot. “Before they take the fast way down.”

Toma dropped to his knees, scrambling. His fingers touched the frames—but Kitahara’s foot came down, pinning them in place.

“Oops,” Kitahara said, voice calm, almost polite. “Looks like you’re not in control right now.”

Then the heel of his shoe ground down.

Snap.

The left lens cracked. Fractures like spiderwebs.

Toma didn’t move. Couldn’t. His heart was hammering, but his body was frozen. Like he was watching himself from a distance. Some other pathetic kid.

“Hey, hey.” Kurosawa crouched next to him, voice dropping into a mock whisper. “You think anyone’s ever gonna give a shit about you, looking like that? You think some anime heroine’s gonna trip over you and fall in love?”

Honda laughed, loud and sharp. “Nah, man, even NPCs would reject this face.”

Kitahara said nothing. He just pressed harder until Toma’s knuckles scraped against the concrete.

Pain. Blunt and insistent. A dull throb in his ribs from the punch, a sharper sting in his hand, and an ache in his throat he couldn’t swallow down.

*Say something. Anything.*

But Toma couldn’t. His mouth was dry. His chest was burning. His hand was pinned. His glasses were broken.

“Hey.”

Not loud. Not heroic. Just a voice.

Toma’s eyes shifted. The door to the rooftop was open.

Yuina.

His sister stood there, still in her first-year uniform, holding a school file to her chest. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She wasn’t built for fights. But she was here anyway.

Kurosawa turned. “What’s this? The Goblin brought his keeper?”

Honda laughed.

Yuina didn’t answer. She stepped forward. Small steps. Careful, but steady.

She knelt next to Toma, picked up his glasses. The left lens was cracked to hell. She wiped them on her sleeve anyway.

“Toma.” Her voice was low. “Put these on. You aren't allowed to be beat down."

But Kurosawa didn’t like being ignored.

He grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her to her feet.

“Oi, you got guts, sis. But you’re not saving anyone.”

Yuina swatted his hand off, clumsy but firm. “Don’t touch me.”

Honda stepped in. He didn’t bother with words. His palm cracked across her face. No buildup. No drama. Just a flat, sharp sound. Yuina’s head snapped sideways. She staggered, but didn’t fall.

Toma’s blood boiled. His body didn’t move.

Kurosawa drove his knee into Toma’s ribs. The world spun. His breath vanished again.

“Stay down, freak.”

Yuina bent down, scooped up Toma’s schoolbag, and slammed it into Honda’s back. It was a soft hit. It didn’t hurt him.

But it pissed him off.

Honda turned, grabbed the bag, and threw it over the railing. It vanished off the edge without a sound.

Then his hand closed around Yuina’s collar, dragging her forward. “You’re annoying.”

Kitahara’s foot swept her legs. She went down, hitting the concrete hard.

“Stop.” Toma’s voice cracked. It sounded pathetic even to him.

“Stop?” Kurosawa repeated. He crouched next to Toma, his smile gone now. “You don’t get to tell me anything.”

Kitahara kicked Toma’s side. Not hard. Just enough to roll him over. Toma’s face pressed against the cold floor. His cheek was sticky with blood.

Yuina crawled toward him, breath ragged. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t begging. She just reached out her hand.

Toma’s fingers dragged across the ground, shaky and useless. But he reached back.

Their hands met. Weak, trembling, but they held.

Nobody said anything for a few seconds. Even Kurosawa just stood there, staring at them.

Then his foot came down, one last stomp into Toma’s back. Not enough to knock him out. Just enough to remind him how small he was.

Toma didn’t let go of Yuina’s hand.

The pain blurred. His head was spinning. His ears rang.

But his fingers stayed locked with hers.

His lips moved, barely a whisper.

“…Sister.”