It happened on a Wednesday. The kind of day where the air felt thick with tension, though no one could say why. The sky hung grey above the school buildings, not quite storming, not quite still. The kind of weather that made everything feel like it was waiting to break.
Ren should have known something was coming.
He'd taken a different path to class that morning—detoured past the science wing to avoid a group of boys from gym class. It worked. Mostly. But one of them still noticed him later that afternoon, lurking by the courtyard fountain while Ren tried to refill his water bottle.
The boy's name was Satoru.
Tall. Loud. Always surrounded by a pair of boys who laughed too quickly and punched too fast.
Ren didn't even see him approach.
"You think you're better than us, don't you?" Satoru said, voice echoing through the courtyard like it belonged there.
Ren froze, his fingers tightening around the plastic bottle. He kept his gaze down. Not in fear—at least not just fear—but in strategy.
Do not engage. Do not provoke. Do not—
"You walk around here like you're too smart to look at anyone. You can't even run straight. You're a joke."
There it was.
Ren said nothing.
Satoru stepped closer. "Answer me."
"I—I didn't say anything," Ren murmured.
"Exactly. You think staying quiet makes you better?"
Ren flinched as the bottle was knocked from his hands, water splashing across his pants.
Laughter.
"Oops," one of the boys behind Satoru said. "Better dry off before he melts."
The second boy grabbed Ren's glasses and tossed them toward the fountain without hesitation. The world went blurry—fractured by movement and water and sky.
Ren blinked, disoriented. "P-Please don't—"
A hand shoved him backward.
And that's when she appeared.
No warning.
Just footsteps—fast, sharp, slicing across stone—and then a shout:
"Back away from him."
Four words. That was all it took.
The courtyard went silent.
Even Satoru looked stunned.
Aika stepped into view like a dropped gauntlet. Her bag was still slung over one shoulder, hoodie zipped halfway up, a bruise darkening her forearm from a practice sparring match the day before.
But none of that mattered.
She looked furious.
She walked straight up to them and dropped her schoolbag at their feet.
"Pick on someone who can kick your teeth in."
The words cracked through the air like a slap.
Satoru recovered first. "Who the hell are you supposed to be? His girlfriend?"
"No." Aika smiled without warmth. "I'm the one you wish wasn't watching."
He laughed. "Big talk. You think you're scary?"
"No." She cracked her knuckles. "I know I am."
The first punch was his.
Sloppy. Predictable.
She ducked under it and drove her elbow into his stomach. He folded with a grunt. She didn't wait for the others.
The second boy lunged. She sidestepped, swept his legs, and sent him sprawling on the wet stone.
The third tried to grab her hoodie. She pivoted, twisted his arm behind his back, and shoved him forward—right into the fountain with a splash that echoed across the courtyard.
Ren could only watch.
He couldn't see clearly—his glasses were somewhere in the water—but he didn't need perfect vision to know what was happening.
She was winning.
She was always winning.
When the fight was over, Aika stood in the middle of the courtyard surrounded by boys who groaned or sat soaked and stunned. She didn't even look out of breath.
Instead, she walked over to the fountain, reached in, and fished out Ren's glasses.
She wiped them gently on her sleeve. Not out of delicacy. Just routine.
Then she crouched in front of him and held them out.
He reached for them, fingers trembling. "Thank you."
"I told you not to thank me," she muttered. "I hate bullies. That's all."
She placed the glasses into his hand.
But before she stood, she paused.
"Next time, yell. Even if you're scared. Don't just stand there."
Ren hesitated. "Would it… would that have helped?"
She tilted her head. "It would've helped you. That's enough."
And with that, she turned, picked up her bag, and walked away.
As she passed the other students now beginning to gather around the edges of the courtyard—some whispering, some staring—she said nothing. She didn't gloat. She didn't threaten.
She just left.
Like a storm that had rolled in, broken the sky… and moved on.
Ren sat in the courtyard long after the crowd dispersed.
He stared at his now-dry glasses, the blurred outline of the fountain, and the bruises beginning to bloom on his arms.
He should've been embarrassed.
Should've felt small.
Instead, he felt something else.
A heat behind his ribs. A quiet hum in his chest. Not adrenaline. Not victory.
It was her.
The memory of her standing in front of him. Again.
The weight of her words still ringing in his ears:
"Even if you're scared."
That night, he drew her again.
Not just her fists. Not just her fury.
He drew her crouched in front of him, holding out his glasses like they were something valuable.
He drew the blurred fountain behind her. The tilt of her chin. The glint in her eyes that dared the world to try again.
He didn't draw the boys.
He didn't need to.
This wasn't about them.
This was about the girl who stood in front of storms.
This was about the moment she changed the shape of his world.
That night, he taped the sketch into the back of his notebook. He never showed it to anyone. But every time he felt like vanishing, he would open to that page—and remember.
She didn't come to save him.
She came because no one else did.
And that… made all the difference.