Near Soubu High—a dim, narrow back alley shrouded in shadow.
Three rough-looking guys crouched there, baseball bats in hand, a burlap sack lying nearby. They stood guard at the intersection, killing time with meaningless chatter.
"Oi, Miwa," one of them grumbled, "club hours have been over forever, and no one's shown up. Are we seriously wasting our time here? I've got my eye on this girl from the volleyball club, y'know. Trying to figure out how to make my move."
"Relax," said Miwa Kenichirō, smirking. "I made that idiot Fukuyama stay behind to clean up. With his kind of naive, shortcut-loving personality, he'll definitely try to take the back route home again."
"You're a piece of work, you know that? Making an injured guy stay and clean. What's the deal with him, anyway? He steal your girl or something?"
"Cheh. That wimp? As if. I just can't stand looking at him."
For a moment, Miwa's smug grin froze. A sharp throb of pain shot through his legs and lower body.But in the darkness, the others couldn't see the grimace flicker across his face, and he quickly relaxed again.No way he could let them find out he'd been the one beaten and humiliated. They'd never let him live it down.
He paused, then hissed, voice low and vicious."This time, we won't get another shot for a while, so let's make it count."
"Make it count?"
"Break his damn leg. Let's see how he plans to compete in the tournament after that."
He couldn't beat that arrogant bastard who'd humiliated him before, sure.But this weakling? This useless piece of trash? That he could handle.
If he was honest, it all came back to Fukuyama Keita—that bastard's childhood friend was the reason he'd been beaten so badly in the first place, and he couldn't even retaliate because that guy had connections.
So Miwa blamed everything on Fukuyama—never once considering that he was the one in the wrong for trying to blackmail another guy's childhood friend.
As Miwa and his cronies whispered about what they'd do once they caught Fukuyama, none of them noticed the shadow quietly approaching from behind.
"..."
Clad in a long robe with a hood drawn low over his head, Hikigaya Hachiman stood silently in the darkness, eyes glinting faintly beneath the hood.
He hadn't expected them to still be hanging around Soubu High even after club hours had ended—forcing him to come all the way here again.
But sure enough, Miwa Kenichirō was the perfect embodiment of human garbage.
Too scared to come after him directly, but still scheming to ambush Fukuyama instead.
Originally, Hachiman had planned to use Transformation and Leap of Faith to disguise the incident as an accident—but now that he'd seen Miwa plotting to harm someone else, he couldn't just walk away.
As an Assassin of the Brotherhood, it wouldn't do to cower before a yellow-haired punk.
He was just about to strike when a silver-haired girl walked into the mouth of the alley.
"Someone's coming," one of the thugs muttered. "Is that Fukuyama?"
"No, it's a girl. Damn, she's cute."
"She's wearing a Soubu High uniform too. Never seen her before though. When did our school get girls that pretty?"
"Maybe she's a transfer student?"
"A transfer student, huh? That means she doesn't have any friends yet… So, what do you think—should we...?"
Their voices turned eager, ugly with excitement.
Hachiman's brows furrowed.He'd planned to wait until the girl passed, but that was no longer an option.
He stepped forward, his unhurried footsteps echoing sharply through the narrow alley.
"Who's there?!"
The thugs whipped around, startled.
Too late.
At this distance, it didn't even take two seconds—a flick of the wrist, a flash of steel from a hidden blade, a single clean stroke across the throat.
By the time they turned, one of them was already down.
Blood sprayed across the alley walls, dark and wet, soaking into the Soubu High uniform.A baseball bat clattered to the ground with a dull, blood-stained thud.
"Y-you—!"
Miwa stared in horror at his fallen companion, blood gushing from the man's neck.He shoved the last remaining thug forward, using him as a shield, and bolted toward the exit.
His mind went completely blank, guided only by the instinct to survive.
What the hell—what the hell was happening?!Who the hell was trying to kill him?!
And then, in the midst of his panic, a face flashed through his mind—that bastard, the boyfriend of that slut Hayase Saki.
But that guy had already backed off! He didn't even have the guts to talk back!
Fine. Once he got out, he'd call the police.He'd have those filthy rich brats arrested for this!
"—Tch."
As Miwa's last remaining friend stumbled toward Hachiman, Hachiman moved almost lazily—and drove the blade straight into his heart.
The motion was fluid, practiced. His body remembered it even before his mind did.In one seamless step, he turned and sprinted after Miwa.
He had to admit—Miwa was fast. Years of swim training had given him stamina.Even with the silver-haired girl standing frozen in the alley's center, he barely slowed, desperate to escape into the light.
Just a little more—just a few more steps—
He could already see the street beyond the alley, the warm glow of lamplight, the safety of surveillance cameras—the promise of survival flooded through him like a wave.
But just as he was about to reach the exit, he collided full-force with a small figure stepping into the alley.
The boy fell backward with a yelp, and Miwa stumbled, losing precious seconds—seconds that sealed his fate.
A flash of silver.A cold voice behind him.
"Too bad… I was hoping you'd die in a little more pain."
"Y-you're…!"
The voice—he recognized it. His pupils constricted in shock.He tried to turn, to see the killer's face beneath the hood—
—but his body hit the ground before he could.
Hachiman stared down at Miwa's twitching body.Then, with quiet precision, he sank another blade into the man's heart.
Only then did he step back, retreating into the shadows of the alley.
The small boy Miwa had knocked down sat frozen, staring at the corpse before him and the hooded figure disappearing into darkness.He didn't even feel the pain from the fall—just cold, paralytic fear.
A few meters away, the silver-haired girl stood motionless, her expression blank.She hadn't screamed. She hadn't moved.She just stared at the crimson pooling on the ground, unable to process what she'd seen.
As Hachiman passed her, he glanced briefly her way—then vaulted off the wall and vanished over the rooftops.
Time passed.Only when the sound of sirens began to draw near did the silver-haired girl finally blink, as if waking from a trance.
That man just now…
Even though she'd been so close—she couldn't see his face beneath the hood.
All she'd seen… were a pair of eyes.
Eyes that were calm, distant—and filled with nothing but the stillness of death.