7

We didn’t get far from the cake shop before trouble found us.

They were waiting near the corner where the street narrowed — five guys leaning against a shuttered storefront, hands in their pockets, faces marked with the kind of confidence that came from never being told “no” enough times. Their uniforms were messy and mismatched, jackets unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to show bruised forearms. One had bleached hair, another had a cigarette tucked behind his ear.

Older, definitely not first-years.

The tallest one straightened when he saw us, grinning in a way that wasn’t friendly. “Well, what do we have here?”

I didn’t think. I just stepped forward, putting myself between them and my friends. My pulse was already picking up, my stomach knotting.

Who was I kidding? I couldn’t fight. The last time I tried was in middle school, and I lost that one so badly I still remembered the taste of dirt. But standing still wasn’t an option, not with my friends right behind me.

The tallest one closed the distance, his shadow falling over me. “You kids from Hatsuzora?”

“…Yeah,” I said.

He smirked like that was the answer he wanted. “Then let me make this real simple. This here’s our turf. We’re from Kurashima Technical. Hatsuzora kids wandering around here? Not smart. You keep it up, and you’ll regret it.”

His friends laughed — low, sharp sounds that made the air feel colder.

Then he leaned in, close enough that I could smell cheap gum and cigarette smoke. “Understand?”

I didn’t answer fast enough. His grin widened.

“Maybe we’ll make sure the lesson sticks—”

He raised his arm, ready to throw the first punch.

“Oi!”

The voice came from behind us, loud and sharp enough to slice the moment in half.

We all turned.

Down the street, a group of students in Hatsuzora uniforms was approaching fast — at least ten of them. They walked like they owned the pavement, shoulders squared, eyes locked on the delinquents.

“Hey, Kurashima trash,” one of them called out, “find somewhere else to stink up.”

The change in the delinquents was instant. The smirks faded. The tallest one clicked his tongue, muttered something I couldn’t catch, and jerked his chin toward the alley.

“Let’s go.”

Just like that, they were gone — slipping around the corner without looking back.

The Hatsuzora group slowed as they reached us, scanning us briefly like checking for damage. None of them smiled. They didn’t need to.

One of them stepped forward, scanning the four of us.

“You guys okay?”

I recognized his face — I’d seen him somewhere in the school earlier, though I couldn’t remember which hallway. He had the kind of presence that made him stand out. Long, slightly wavy black hair tied loosely at the back, a faint shadow of a beard along his jaw. If he hadn’t been wearing the same uniform as us, I might’ve mistaken him for a university student.

“Yeah, we’re good. Thank you,” I said, trying not to sound like I’d just been holding my breath for two straight minutes.

He gave a small nod, then gestured to the others behind him. “Name’s Hayato. These guys are Sho, Ren, and Kota.” The rest just gave casual nods or small waves.

“Kurashima’s been hanging around this area a lot lately,” Hayato went on. “You should be careful walking here after school. Especially in smaller groups.”

Daiki scratched his head. “Guess we got lucky you showed up.”

Hayato smirked faintly. “Luck’s one word for it.”

The air felt heavier now, but not in the same way it had a few minutes ago. More like we’d just stepped into something we didn’t fully understand yet.

“Anyway,” Hayato said, stepping back to his group, “watch yourselves.”

With that, they started walking in the opposite direction, their footsteps steady and unhurried.

I glanced at my friends. Aoi still looked tense, Daiki was trying to play it off, and Satoshi… well, he was unreadable as usual.

The cake shop felt a lot further away now, even though it was just behind us.

To Be Continued