Morning fog clung to Yokosaki High like something alive, winding between the buildings and curling along the cracked pavement. The courtyard looked washed-out and ghostly, the kind of morning where you sensed trouble before you even saw it.
Akira stepped through the front gate with his hood up and his hands buried deep in his pockets. Students watched him with that half-curious, half-wary stare Yokosaki kids reserved for anything that smelled like danger.
Spray-painted across the courtyard wall, jagged and black:
NO KINGS IN YOKOSAKI.
He didn't break stride.
Didn't frown.
Didn't even slow his breathing.
But his mind flickered.
People talk too much here, he thought.
A few new faces show up… and they already think they know our whole story.
He kept walking until the fog swallowed him.
Classroom Quiet
Class didn't feel any warmer. The teacher rambled about discipline and attendance — the usual lecture for a school that pretended it still had control over anything.
Vincent sat a few rows ahead, lazily flipping a pen between his fingers with bored precision. Nikki lounged by the window with one earbud in, tapping her fingers in time with whatever song she was hiding. Kenji wasn't even there; rumor said he'd ditched again, and nobody was surprised.
Akira leaned back in his seat, letting the monotonous lecture fade into the background. His eyes wandered toward the window.
Near the old gym, a group of upperclassmen gathered — too early for PE, too tense to be social. A bat glinted in someone's hand. Another guy cracked his knuckles like he was warming up for something worse.
Akira exhaled softly through his nose.
Stay quiet long enough, and people start thinking you're weak.
Lunch: A Warning
By lunch, Kenji finally wandered onto campus with a half-eaten sandwich in his mouth and a fresh bandage around his hand. He had that stupid grin — the one that screamed he'd gotten himself into trouble again and had enjoyed every second of it.
Nikki didn't waste a moment teasing him.
Vincent didn't waste a moment pretending he didn't hear.
Akira passed the three of them without a word.
Vincent watched him go, sharp eyes narrowing. "He's heading for the back lot," he said. "He knows they're waiting."
Kenji shrugged. "Guess he wants a workout."
"Or a death wish," Nikki added, smirking.
Vincent tossed his empty juice box. "Let's just see how the ghost handles a crowd."
The Back Lot
The air felt heavier behind the gym.
Six upperclassmen waited near the wall — rough knuckles, cheap weapons, and the kind of anger only bored delinquents carried. The leader, Toru, had a bat slung across his shoulder and a smirk sharp enough to cut asphalt.
"So you're the new guy who put Riku's crew in the nurse's office," Toru said. "Trying to make a name for yourself, transfer?"
Akira rolled his sleeve up slightly.
Silence.
Disrespectful, dismissive silence.
Toru's smirk twitched. "That quiet act ain't gonna save you."
One of his guys rushed forward, swinging.
Akira moved in a blur — sidestep, arm grab, flip. The impact echoed off the wall.
The others lunged.
The Fight
Akira fought like someone who had learned violence before he'd learned algebra.
He ducked under a swing, drove an elbow into a jaw, swept a leg, twisted a bat out of someone's grip. He didn't show off. He didn't hesitate. Every hit had purpose. Every step was clean.
But six-on-one didn't care how clean someone moved.
A punch slammed into his ribs. Another clipped his shoulder. Akira hit the pavement hard, breath knocked from his chest.
A shadow fell over him.
"You're terrible at asking for help," Vincent said.
Akira blinked up at him as Vincent rolled his shoulders and stepped in front of him.
Kenji arrived next, cracking his neck like he'd been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.
And Nikki?
She leaned against the stairs, phone raised.
"For memories," she said.
Unplanned Teamwork
What followed wasn't teamwork — it was four storms colliding in the same direction.
Vincent fought with long, brutal arcs, dismantling two attackers at once with cold efficiency.
Kenji bulldozed through another like the world's loudest wrecking ball, laughing even when he got punched in the face.
Nikki didn't join the brawl until someone swung a bat at Vincent — then she launched her bag like a slingshot, dropping the guy instantly.
Akira got back on his feet, sliding seamlessly back into the chaos.
Ugly.
Messy.
Uncoordinated.
But unstoppable.
When the last upperclassman hit the pavement, Kenji wiped blood from his lip and grinned.
"Guess we can call that teamwork."
"We're not a team," Vincent said, staring at the ground. "We just had the same problem."
Nikki tucked her phone into her pocket. "And I got some great footage."
Quiet Aftermath
The courtyard fell silent except for pained groans.
Akira stood alone for a moment, breathing hard, studying the cracks in the pavement like it held answers he hadn't asked for.
Didn't ask for this. Didn't want it.
But somehow… I keep finding people who swing the same way.
He glanced at Vincent.
Vincent gave him a look — not warm, not friendly, but real.
Kenji slung his bag over his shoulder.
Nikki stretched her arms.
"If anyone asks," she said, "I don't know you guys."
One by one, they walked away.
Akira didn't move.
He stood there, head tilted toward the sky, watching clouds drift over the sun like the whole world was shifting an inch at a time.
Rooftop: Evening
That evening, Akira climbed to the rooftop alone.
Wind pushed gently against him, carrying the scent of the sea and the distant noise of the city. The sky burned orange and gold, painting Yokosaki in a warmth the school didn't deserve.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a creased photograph.
Ichigo.
Desiree.
Cameron.
Eino.
The twins.
His old crew.
His old life.
He stared at their faces, unmoving.
You told me to start fresh, Ichigo, he thought.
Guess I'm building the same fire again.
Below him, Yokosaki High was loud, messy, unpredictable.
Alive.
This wasn't home.
Not yet.
But maybe…
maybe it was the battlefield where everything would start over.
He closed his eyes.
A new wind rolled across the rooftop.
Something beginning.
Something dangerous.
Something inevitable.
And Akira didn't run from inevitability.