Compared to the distant boats still gliding across the lake, filled with laughter and chatter, the spot where Shirase stood—lit by just two streetlamps—felt strangely silent.
The long-haired guy still hadn't recovered from Shirase's brutal knee strike. His legs shook, ready to give out at any moment.
When he finally managed to lift his head, the cocky arrogance from before was gone, replaced by raw fear and anger.
He'd been the loudest, the first to rush in—and now, the first to crumble.
The instant Shirase's knee knocked the air out of him, he remembered—this was exactly how it went last time too. Beaten down like a dog.
"You bastard, you got a death wish?"
His friends finally reacted. All six of them came charging in, faces twisted in rage.
Not because they were loyal—but because they had the numbers. If they didn't back their guy up now, they'd lose face.
They were typical bosozoku—loud, shameless, pretending not to care about anything. But once embarrassed, they snapped easily, picking fights at the drop of a hat.
Shirase quickly turned back to Itsuki and the others. "You guys, get out of here first."
Then he rushed straight toward the oncoming group. Their movements were full of openings.
He exploded into motion, the system's enhancements kicking in, moving with sharp, controlled power—like a predator closing in on its prey.
Itsuki didn't move. Lips trembling, she bit them hard and fumbled for her phone.
Yumiko had just opened her mouth when Hayama Hayato, his expression unusually serious, said quietly, "Get away from here."
Before he even finished, Hayama—normally the picture of calm—charged forward too.
Compared to Shirase's precise, efficient strikes, Hayama's fighting was rougher. He clearly wasn't used to it, taking a few hits. But his build, agility, and speed kept him in the game.
The fight didn't last long. The six who thought they could gang up and win ended up sprawled across the ground, groaning. Only Shirase and Hayama were still standing.
The long-haired guy, barely recovered, saw his friends beaten and immediately dropped back down, not daring to say a word.
Shirase gave Hayama—bruised and panting—a surprised look but didn't waste words. "Let's get out of here."
Their brawl had drawn some attention, but no one dared get involved.
Shirase turned, grabbed Itsuki's hand, and ran. Hayama hesitated a second before following with Yumiko.
As they ran, Hayama couldn't help being shocked. The way Shirase fought, then escaped—it was way too smooth.
Like someone who'd done this plenty of times.
Wait—fights?
He suddenly remembered: back at the start of the school year, Shirase had a habit of getting into fights, always playing the hero, inside and outside school…
Now it made sense.
Once they were far enough away, Shirase finally slowed down. He was still holding Itsuki's hand, and she was panting hard.
He gently patted her back. "Didn't I tell you to run?"
Then he looked over at Hayama and Yumiko. "You two as well—why didn't any of you leave?"
Hayama just smiled, clothes messy, face bruised, looking like a total wreck.
Shirase went into a nearby convenience store, came back with four bottles of water and some ice packs. He tossed the packs to Hayama and handed everyone water before downing his own.
The street was mostly empty. A few people glanced their way but quickly moved on.
Shirase dropped down to sit on the pavement and sighed at Itsuki, whose face was still pale. "Are you dumb or something? I told you to leave. Why didn't you move?"
Itsuki's eyes widened—half angry, half hurt. She lifted her chin stubbornly. "I am dumb."
Shirase chuckled. "Okay, okay, you're not dumb—I'm the dumb one, happy?"
"You were an idiot anyway," she huffed, squatting down carefully and holding her skirt. "There were six of them, and you still went in to fight."
"If I hadn't, I'd be the one getting hit," Shirase said with a shrug. He wasn't hurt—just a couple of punches to the shoulder. Those wannabe tough guys didn't even know how to throw a proper hit.
Itsuki pressed her lips together and stayed quiet, hugging her knees and watching him from the side.
Shirase turned to Hayama, who was rubbing his shoulder. "Honestly, I didn't expect you to jump in."
Hayama sat down beside him, smiling faintly. "There are things I've been holding in for a while. Tonight just… felt like the right time to let some of it out."
Shirase blinked, a little surprised. He knew Hayama wore a mask most of the time—but hearing him admit it so openly was unexpected.
The girls didn't really get it. They assumed it was some kind of guy talk.
Then Hayama chuckled softly, his tone suddenly thoughtful. "Ever since that day on the soccer field, when you talked to me, I've thought about what you said sometimes. Really thought about it."
"And?" Shirase asked. "Figure anything out?"
Hayama didn't answer directly. He just covered his bruised face and, after a pause, asked quietly, "Is there someone you like?"
"Yeah," Shirase said without hesitation.
Hayama froze for a moment, caught off guard by the honesty, then laughed quietly. "So you really do, huh? Didn't expect that."
Shirase smiled faintly. "I can't be like you, spending all my time hanging out with the guys, even if I know it's just for appearances."
Hayama was silent for a moment, then gave a wry smile. "You're right. You and I really aren't the same."
A bright figure flashed through his mind. As that image lingered, Hayama—praised, admired, envied—felt a sudden pang of frustration.
Because he couldn't be as straightforward as Shirase.
He couldn't even say her name out loud.
"You sure your family won't freak when they see your face?" Shirase asked.
"It's fine. I've already thought up an excuse," Hayama said with a small laugh.
"Alright then. You guys take care—I'm heading out." Shirase stood, brushing off his pants.
As he walked off with Itsuki, he glanced back. "Next match—do your best."
Hayama smiled and nodded quietly.
After tonight, he thought, maybe we can finally call ourselves friends.
---
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