The next day.
Liam was sitting with his crew, early morning haze, engines cooling, smoke drifting lazily into the air.
One of them laughed.
"Yo. You remember that girl."
Liam didn't answer.
"Emma. Quiet. Cold. Pretty as hell. Beat a robot in school, danced with some dude like it was nothing."
That got his attention.
"What dude," Liam asked, voice flat.
"Some kid. Arthur or whatever. People saying he touched her waist. In front of everyone."
Silence.
The lighter in Liam's hand clicked once.
Then he spoke—low, dangerous.
"…If he thinks she's his."
The others exchanged looks.
"So yeah," the guy continued, not reading the room. "Figured we scare him. Or worse."
Liam stood up.
Slowly.
"No," he said. "I'll handle it."
—
That afternoon.
Emma walked alone.
Diana had gone another way, still yapping as usual before splitting off. The street was quieter than normal. Wind brushing past her skirt. Steps calm. Mind elsewhere.
Then—
Engines.
Three bikes rolled up beside her.
They stopped too close.
Emma halted.
One of them leaned off his bike, eyes crawling over her.
"Damn… she really is pretty."
Another laughed.
"Way better up close."
Emma's gaze hardened.
"Move."
They didn't.
One stepped forward, hand reaching—not even hiding his intent.
"Relax. We just wanna—"
The sound of a fist connecting with a jaw echoed like a gunshot.
The man flew back, crashing into the pavement.
Everyone froze.
Liam stood there.
Helmet off.
Eyes burning.
"What," he said quietly, "do you think you're doing."
"L-Liam— we didn't—"
He grabbed one of them by the collar and slammed him against a wall.
"I didn't tell you to follow her."
"I didn't tell you to look at her."
His grip tightened.
"And I sure as hell didn't tell you to touch her."
The third guy backed away.
"Bro—we were just—"
Liam punched him mid-sentence.
He turned to the last one, voice shaking with rage.
"If you ever come near her again—"
He leaned in.
"—I won't stop at hitting you."
Silence.
The gang scrambled up, dragging themselves away, bikes screeching as they fled.
Liam exhaled slowly.
Then he turned.
Emma was watching him.
Unshaken.
Unimpressed.
Blood from one of the men stained the ground.
"…You okay?" Liam asked.
Emma replied calmly, "I was about to be."
That answer made his chest tighten.
He nodded once.
"…Good."
Then, without another word, he stepped back, put on his helmet, and left.
Emma watched him go.
Something about that anger—
Not directed at her.
But for her.
She turned and continued walking home, expression unchanged.
Night settled quietly over the neighborhood.
Emma lay on her bed, legs tucked under a blanket, a novel open in her hands. The room was calm—too calm. Words blurred slightly as her mind wandered.
She closed the book.
"…I'm out of snacks."
She stood up, slipped on a hoodie, and peeked into the living room.
Asuka was on the couch, TV volume low.
"I'm going to the convenience store," Emma said.
Asuka nodded, then paused when Emma leaned in.
Emma gently brushed her thumb near her mother's cheek.
The scratch.
Still there.
"…Does it hurt?" Emma asked.
Asuka smiled weakly. "It's nothing."
Emma's eyes lingered a second longer than necessary.
"I'll be quick."
She left.
—
The convenience store lights hummed softly, bright against the dark street outside.
Emma pushed the door open.
Ding.
She walked down the aisle, calm, quiet, grabbing a drink, something sweet, something warm.
Then—
She felt it.
Eyes on her.
At the counter.
Liam.
Leather jacket. Hands in pockets. No helmet this time.
He hadn't expected her.
And she hadn't expected him.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, neither moved.
Liam straightened slightly, surprised—but not in a bad way.
"…You," he said.
Emma stopped near the freezer, gaze unreadable.
"You."
The cashier glanced between them, sensing tension.
Liam broke eye contact first, clearing his throat.
"Late."
"So are you," Emma replied calmly.
Silence again.
He watched her—not like his friends had. No hunger. No reach. Just… attention.
"You shouldn't be out alone," he said.
Emma tilted her head.
"I am."
He almost smiled.
Almost.
"…Those guys earlier," Liam continued. "They won't come back."
Emma didn't thank him.
"I could've handled them."
"I know."
That made her pause.
She stepped closer to the counter, placing her items down. Liam stood beside her now, close enough to feel his presence—but not invading.
The cashier rang the items.
Liam glanced at her again.
"…You read a lot?"
Emma looked down at her bag.
"Enough."
Another silence.
This one wasn't uncomfortable.
Liam spoke quietly.
"Arthur."
Emma's eyes lifted—sharp.
"He shouldn't get hurt," she said immediately.
Liam met her gaze.
"…I won't touch him."
A beat.
"But don't misunderstand," he added. "I don't lose interest easily."
Emma took her bag.
"Then don't confuse interest with ownership."
She turned toward the door.
Liam watched her leave, the bell ringing softly as it closed behind her.
---
Liam stepped out of the convenience store.
The automatic door slid shut behind him, the light cutting off as night swallowed the street again. He put his hands in his jacket pockets, jaw tight, thoughts tangled—Emma's eyes, her voice, the warning in it.
He took two steps.
Bump.
A man staggered into him.
Alcohol hit first.
"Watch where you're goin', you piece of shit, suck my dick fuckboy—", spits on the ground "Think you're tough?"
Liam stopped.
Slowly turned around.
The man was still yelling, words sloppy, fearless in that stupid way only drunk people are.
Liam moved.
One punch.
Clean.
The sound of cartilage cracking echoed as the man's head snapped back, blood instantly pouring from his nose.
Before he could even fall, Liam grabbed his collar and yanked him forward—
Knee.
Hard.
Right into the stomach.
The man gagged, folding, feet barely touching the ground.
Liam leaned in close, his voice low, calm, terrifyingly controlled.
"Shush," he whispered into the man's ear.
His grip tightened just enough to hurt.
"I'm in a bad mood."
He let go.
The man collapsed onto the pavement, choking, sobbing, hands shaking.
Liam didn't look back.
He walked away, shoulders tense, breath steady.
The street stayed silent behind him.
No one followed.