Chapter 1: The Girl Who Doesn't Flinch
The first time people see Rei Kisaragi, they never forget her. Maybe it's the cigarette tucked behind her ear, even though she never lights it.
Maybe it's the long, messy ponytail tied with a strip of torn red cloth, or the unbuttoned uniform shirt with sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing half-healed bruises and bandages she never bothers to hide.
But most of all, it's the way she walks—as if the ground itself should make way for her, The Queen of Thorns.
She arrives at Shirasagi High like a storm, silent and impossible to ignore. Her transfer papers are barely dry when rumors begin to spread.
"She got kicked out of three schools," someone whispers in homeroom.
"No, five," another insists. "She broke a teacher's arm."
"She made a gang leader cry."
"Worst of all, she even made all those gym bros cry begging for mercy."
The truth? Rei doesn't care what people say. Let them talk. Let them stare. She's used to it.
Her records don't lie. Expelled from five different schools. Fighting. Vandalism. Disrespect.
Rei never tries to explain herself. Never bothers with excuses. No one wants to know the reason behind her fists, and she has no intention of sharing with anyone.
The school counselor at Shirasagi—a tired-looking woman with glasses too large for her face—tries to give the usual pep talk. "Rei, this is your last chance. You're seventeen years old now. One more mistake and no school will take you."
Rei looks her dead in the eye and says, "Then don't give me any chances, it's that easy isn't it?"
In the halls, students part like water around her. They think she doesn't notice the whispers, the way people cling to the walls when she passes. They think she's just a thug with no future, no family, no heart.
They're right about one thing—Rei doesn't have a family. Not anymore. Not since she was thirteen. And the streets taught her faster than any classroom ever could.
On her first day, a boy tries to grab her shoulder from behind.
"Hey, new girl—"
He doesn't finish the sentence. Rei slams him against the lockers in a blur of movement. Her knee finds his gut before he can blink. She lets go just before he pukes.
She doesn't look angry. Just bored.
"Don't touch me."
Word spreads. Fast.
By lunch, she has a whole table to herself in the back corner of the cafeteria. Not because she wants it, but because no one dares sit near her. She eats like a soldier—fast, silent, eyes always scanning. Old habits. Hard to kill.
What people don't see is the way her fingers shake when she reaches for her carton of milk. Or how her knuckles are raw from punching a brick wall the night before.
What they don't know is that Rei Kisaragi doesn't fight because she's angry or her mood is easily swing.
She fights because it's the only language the world ever taught her.
Rei finds the rooftop by accident.
A broken lock. A rusted stairwell. A place where the wind drowns out the noise of classrooms and gossip. She makes it her territory. Her quiet kingdom.
She sits on the ledge, one leg dangling into the air, arms crossed, gaze sharp and distant. The city sprawls below like a map of somewhere she doesn't belong. Somewhere she might burn down just to feel something.
From up here, she watches everything. The fights, the flirting, the fake smiles. She doesn't envy them. She doesn't hate them either. She just doesn't care.
But they care. Oh, they care.
To the school, Rei is a storm they can't control. The teachers call her a delinquent. The students call her a freak. Some even whisper curses under their breath as if that'll keep her away.
And Rei? She walks through it all with her head high, shoulders squared, and a silence sharper than any insult they could throw.
One afternoon, she finds a kitten behind the gym, trembling under a bench. It's scrawny and soaked from the rain. It hisses at her.
Rei stares at it.
"…Tch. Dumb thing."
She turns to walk away.
But she comes back. With a can of tuna stolen from the teacher's lounge and a torn gym towel.
She doesn't tell anyone. The kitten becomes her secret.
The next day, her knuckles are bruised again. No one asks why.
No one sees the tiny ball of fur curled up in her locker, purring softly.
One evening, as the sun bled into the sky and cast long shadows across the rooftop, Rei leaned back and stared upward.
Her eyes weren't just tired—they were ancient. Eyes that had seen too much for someone so young.
She lit the unlit cigarette between her lips, more out of habit than desire, and sighed.
"What am I even doing here?" she whispered to the wind, knowing no one would answer. Or so she thought.
Down below, hidden behind a stairwell door, a first-year student had watched her. Not with fear, but awe. The way she moved, the silence around her, the bruises that never slowed her down. That student would later become the first to speak to her without flinching.
But for now, Rei remained alone—just the wind, the city, and the weight of a life too heavy for teenage shoulders.
Later that week, a teacher dares to stop her in the hallway. A young man, new to the staff. Naïve, maybe, or just brave.
"Kisaragi," he says, carefully. "You're not as invisible as you think."
Rei doesn't slow down. "I'm not trying to be invisible."
"I know," he replies. "That's what makes you stand out."
She pauses—not long, just a second—and then keeps walking.
He doesn't see the faintest flicker of confusion in her eyes. The smallest crack in the wall.
Shirasagi High doesn't know it yet, but the girl they fear—the one they call trash—is about to become their strongest shield.
They just haven't given her a reason to fight for them yet.
But they will.
They always do.