"Raiden! What have you been doing? You could have—"
Miss Hilda's voice cracked through the alley like a whip. Her usually calm tone carried enough weight to make even the lurking thugs flinch.
Raiden froze mid-step, one hand half-raised as if caught stealing pastries. "I didn't do anything! I was just—"
"Just what?" Her eyes narrowed, sharp and disbelieving. "Playing tag with drunk men twice your size?"
The boy grinned weakly. "I was, um… conducting a field experiment?"
"Raiden."
"…I'll be quiet now."
The alley smelled of cheap ale and damp stone. Broken crates lined the walls, and a stray dog padded through, sniffing at a knocked-over cup.
Somewhere nearby, music from the city streets echoed faintly — a reminder that the world outside this small disaster still moved on.
The thugs glared, their earlier confusion simmering into anger. The bald one, clearly their leader, crossed his arms and spat to the side.
