The first afternoon bell had not even finished trembling through the air when the door opened and the teacher strode in, robes whispering against the floor.
"Seats, all of you. We begin where yesterday left off."
Chairs scraped, notebooks fluttered open, the symphony of a classroom settling. Yet Kil, by the window, leaned his chin into the crook of his arms, letting the sun's warmth and the drifting breeze smother his thoughts into drowsiness.
'If the day is this warm… I'll sink into sleep again,' he mused, lids heavy as stone.
And as the stars ordained, he was gone.
The lesson began, ended, and departed without him. Kil did not stir once.
"Unbelievable," Miggy muttered, scratching his head as he glanced at George. "He's really asleep again."
George only snorted. Napoleon crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Surprised? That's his legend."
Their amusement was short-lived.
The door shuddered against the wall with a violent slam.
Ken Clinton entered. His steps were iron, his gaze a blade searching for prey.
"Who is Kil?" His voice rumbled, heavy with promise.
The room froze. Not a breath dared to rise.
Ken seized the nearest boy, lifting him as though he were but a rag doll.
"You. Where?"
The boy's trembling hand rose, pointing with dreadful weight. "B-by the window."
Ken's grin curled, sharp and cruel, as he released his captive. The boy crumpled to the floor, a soft thud that made the others flinch.
Miggy, George, Napoleon—no laughter left on their tongues. Only silence.
Elsewhere, word traveled swift as fire through dry grass.
In Class-1, a boy stumbled in, panting.
"Ken—Ken of Class-4! He's stormed into Class-2!"
"What reason?" someone demanded.
"They say Kil betrayed him… told the principal after the canteen brawl."
Gasps and whispers bloomed like wildfire. Aika sat frozen, the truth or lie heavy as stone upon her.
And from the shadows of the room's back corner came a sound.
A laugh, low and amused.
Keiran Leclerc—black hair like midnight, eyes the red of smoldering coals. A boy who rarely spoke, whose presence slipped from memory as easily as smoke. Yet now he leaned in his chair, crimson eyes alight with mischief. Few noticed him, fewer cared. But fate does not waste its laughter.
Back in Class-2, Ken reached the rear. Still, Kil slumbered, cheek pressed to his folded arms, as though storms and swords alike could not wake him.
Ken's patience snapped.
His fist crashed upon the desk.
*CRACK.* The wood split like bone.
Kil stirred, rubbing at one eye, his voice thick with sleep.
"…What's this racket?"
He lifted his head—and found a wall of muscle looming over him.
Ken's hand shot forward, seizing his shirt, dragging him up like prey.
Kil's brow furrowed, but his lips betrayed him, tugging into that dangerous grin. A grin that spoke of fire beneath the ashes.
"So, this is it? You tore through another class just to throw your tantrum?"
The air thickened, buzzing like a storm on the horizon. From the hallway came shuffling feet, whispers rising as students gathered to watch. Among them, Aika stood, her eyes fixed upon the unfolding scene.
Kil tilted his head, grin sharpening like a blade.
"Tell me, Ken… is that skull of yours only good for flexing? Seems books and manners slipped your grasp."
Ken's grip hardened, fury carving into his face.
"Don't toy with me. You're the one who sold me out to the principal. Admit it."
Kil chuckled, long and mocking.
"And if it *was* me? What then? You'll throw fists to hide your shame?"
Ken's grin returned, mirroring his foe.
"So you confess."
From the corner, Miggy exhaled a laugh, low and grim. Napoleon and George exchanged a glance.
"That look again," Miggy murmured. "If Kil snaps… Ken's fate is sealed."
Kil's hand curled, knuckles white, shoulders shifting as though the fight had already begun—
—but then his eyes strayed. To the doorway. To Aika.
And the fire faltered. His fist slackened.
Ken saw it. He sneered.
"Ohhh? You had the strike, but you faltered. Lost your courage?"
His arm reeled back, knuckles bared for Kil's face—
—but before the blow could fall, another hand caught his wrist.
George. His voice rang low, steady, and unshaken.
"Enough, Ken. You've crossed the line."
Ken's head whipped around, eyes burning with the fury of a beast denied its prey.
"Stay out of this!" His voice cracked like a whip. Muscles bulged, straining against George's grip as he tried to tear free.
Then—like fate itself had grown weary of their clamor—the door slid open with a thunderous bang.
A teacher stood there, his face carved from stone, irritation sharp as a blade.
"Enough," he commanded, his words cold iron. "This is not a pit for fighters. It is a hall of learning."
Ken's tongue clicked in annoyance, but his hand uncurled from Kil's shirt. "Tsk… fine." He turned to leave, but not without casting one last shadow over his rival.
"We're not done, Kil."
Kil only leaned back into his chair, grin lazy, unfazed, as if he had not been moments from a brawl.
"Anytime," he murmured, his voice laced with mockery. "I'll make sure you don't fall asleep from boredom."
Ken's eyes narrowed into slits, and then he was gone. The storm drained from the room, leaving only uneasy silence. Class-1's curious onlookers—Aika among them—drifted away like dispersing smoke, their whispers lingering in the halls.
The teacher pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing as though the weight of their foolishness threatened to grind him down.
"Sit." His voice carried no patience.
Chairs scraped. The boys slumped back into their seats, Kil sliding in with his usual air of carelessness, his companions Napoleon, Miggy, and George close by.
"What happened here?" The teacher's palms pressed flat against the desk, his gaze cutting sharp lines across the room.
A hesitant hand rose. "Ken barged in… asked for Kil. Said he was the one who told the principal about the cafeteria fight."
The teacher's eyes shifted, pinning Kil in place. "Well? Was it you?"
Kil shrugged, shameless, a grin still tugging faintly at his lips. "Yes, sir. He was being a jerk, so I reported him."
A sigh escaped, long and heavy. "Do you understand whose son he is? His family's shadow is not one you can challenge lightly."
For once, Kil's grin faltered. He lowered his head, a flicker of pity—perhaps for himself, perhaps for something else—darkening his expression. The teacher shook his head and departed, leaving silence in his wake.
When the hush settled, George leaned close, voice curious.
"Why'd you stop earlier? You were ready to strike Ken… but you didn't."
Kil blinked, scratching his cheek with a small, careless laugh.
"Ah… that? Well, don't girls like it better when guys stay cool, instead of brawling like hotheads? Aika was watching. I didn't wanna look like an idiot."
George exhaled through his nose, half amusement, half exasperation.
"You're impossible. Instead of performing for her, why not just… protect her?"
Kil's grin spread wide again. "That's the plan. I'll confess to her. Two days from now."
The air around their desk froze. Napoleon and Miggy exchanged stunned looks.
"Wait—you're serious?" Miggy leaned in, eyes wide.
Kil nodded, like it was the simplest truth in the world.
"Yup."
Silence lasted but a breath before his friends erupted, whooping and hollering like fools, their voices crashing against the walls. Over the top, yes—but joy has a way of spilling too far.
Meanwhile, across the girls' wing, Aika sat among her circle, desks pushed close. Their whispers were sharp, eager.
"What happened?" Keiran leaned toward his seatmate, voice so low it was nearly stolen by the air.
"No fight," came the reply. "No one threw a punch. Kil's friends shielded him."
Keiran frowned, crimson eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
"So Ken wasn't beaten down?" he murmured too softly.
"Huh? What'd you say?" his companion asked.
"…Nothing."
At the same table, Emma flung her arms dramatically.
"Honestly, how can a guy like that protect you? He couldn't even defend himself."
Aika crossed her arms, voice edged with irritation.
"Exactly. Then he has the nerve to say he likes me? Please. I'm not wasting time on some weakling who needs saving."
Emma nodded briskly. "Right. Anyway—Emily's birthday's tomorrow. Let's grab her a cake."
"After school then," Aika replied, dismissing the subject as if it had never touched her heart.
Back in Kil's classroom, the storm of laughter and gossip had ebbed into calm. The clock crawled toward dismissal.
"You not heading home yet?" George asked, swinging his bag over his shoulder.
"You guys go ahead," Kil said. "I've got something to do."
They didn't press, only waved as they departed. Soon, the room belonged to him alone. The silence pressed heavy. He locked the door behind him, took a breath in the still hallway, and stepped out into the fading day.
The plaza greeted him with the scent of frying oil. He bought skewers from an old vendor, chewing idly, the grease clinging to his uniform. The world felt longer, stretched thin.
Later, he drifted into a small eatery. There, by the window, sat Emma and Aika.
Emma spotted him first, hand waving like a banner. "Kil! Over here!"
His smile was awkward, but he approached. Aika's eyes flicked toward him, unreadable for an instant, before sliding away.
He sat across from them, bag set down with care.
"So," Aika said, her voice calm yet edged with curiosity, "what happened earlier? Why did Ken come after you?"
Her tone was softer than expected—almost gentle. It unsettled him more than fury ever could.
*Should I tell her now?* The thought struck like lightning, leaving his heart pounding. He nearly choked on it, shaking his head quickly.
*No. Not here. Not yet.*
The two maidens exchanged a glance, unsettled by how easily Kil slipped back into his mask of nonchalance, as if the tempest that had swept through their day had left no mark upon him at all.
"Heh," Kil chuckled, scratching his head as though brushing dust from memory. "I'm the one who told the principal about that canteen mess. Guess that's why he stormed at me." His grin was careless, light as smoke. "That guy's too full of himself anyway."
Emma leaned forward, eyes sharp. "If that's true, then yes—you reported him. But the principal arrived too late. By then, Conrad had already taken Ken's fists."
Kil blinked, as though he had nearly forgotten. "Oh. Right. How's Conrad now?"
"He's fine," Emma replied. Then came Aika's voice, edged and clear. "But tell me—why didn't you fight back? Will you always let your friends shield you?" Her gaze narrowed like a blade.
Kil only gave a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's not my way. Fighting doesn't suit me." He rose, gesturing toward the counter. "Besides, I should fetch my food before the line devours me."
"Go on," Aika said flatly.
When Kil slipped away, Aika exhaled, voice low as confession. "That's what I hate. He plays at being cool, but it rings hollow. I won't let myself be fooled."
Emma chuckled, shaking her head. "I see what you mean."
Moments later, Kil returned, tray in hand, grin in place. "Phew! The line was brutal. Felt like I couldn't breathe back there."
He caught their stares and froze. "What? Something on my face?"
Emma tilted her head, teasing. "No. We just realized—you're even more handsome up close."
Kil nearly dropped his spoon. Laughing awkwardly, he rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't say that—it's embarrassing."
The two girls traded secret smiles, mischief in their eyes.
Kil cleared his throat, fumbling for another thread. "So… when did Ken even transfer? Don't remember seeing him before."
"Last month," Emma answered between sips of water. "Already stacked up penalties. Classic troublemaker. But the worst part? Ever since he noticed Aika, he won't leave her alone. He's basically stalking her. Too bad for him, though—Aika only wants someone strong enough to shield her from creeps like that."
Kil froze mid-bite, eyes flicking toward Aika. *So that's what she wants… strength. Conrad must seem a hero to her now. Damn.*
His grin cracked, faltering for a heartbeat before he forced it back. "Tch. Guy's been here a month and already acts like he owns the place. HAHAHA! Don't worry—someone'll put him down soon enough."
Emma nodded, smiling faintly.
They finished their meal, and together they stepped out into the evening.
"Where are you two off to?" Kil asked. "It's getting late."
Emma pressed a finger to her lips. "Secret. Don't tell anyone—we're buying a birthday cake. Surprise for tomorrow."
Aika added softly, "It's Emily's sixteenth. Classes end next month, graduation comes fast… we thought this would be our gift."
Kil's grin softened, stripped of its usual show. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe."
And in that moment, without slouch, without bravado, he seemed most himself—so plainly human that Aika almost thought him handsome in a way she hadn't noticed before.
Emma nudged her friend, whispering, "See that? He's different now. Not pretending."
Aika's eyes lingered, conflicted. "Maybe. But… it still feels like he's forcing something."
The bell above the cake shop chimed as they entered, air rich with sugar and butter. Kil trailed behind, his steps heavy with thought.
*If she wants strength… then strength she'll have. No more shadows, no more fools like Ken standing taller. I'll be the one to protect her.*
"Hey, Aika, look at this one!" Emma pressed close to the display, eyes alight. "Emily will love it."
Aika stepped toward her—but Kil's hand caught her arm.
She turned, startled. "Kil? What is it?"
His grip tightened just so, his other hand buried in his pocket. His voice came low, almost unguarded.
"Aika… from now on, I'll protect you. From anyone who dares belittle or harm you. I'll give it everything I've got."
Her cheeks flushed, heat climbing to her ears. "W-what are you even saying?" She pulled back, too quickly, hiding the turmoil on her face.
The shop stilled. Even the vendor glanced up with a sly grin. Emma's mouth fell open in shock.
Kil broke the silence with an awkward laugh, scratching his head. "Ha… forget it. Pretend I didn't say anything. Just pick a cake that'll make her happy. Wish her a happy birthday for me, alright?"
He stuffed his hand deeper into his pocket, pushed open the door, and paused once at the threshold.
"Take care on your way home."
And then he was gone, his words hanging in the air like the echo of a promise the stars themselves had heard.
Then he was gone, leaving the bell over the shop door ringing faintly in his wake.