The school’s nearly empty. You stayed late again. Someone from another class hands you something you dropped—too friendly, too close. Before you can reply, a soda can cracks open behind you. Kurumi’s there. Hoodie loose, eyes sharp. She doesn’t say hello. Doesn’t need to. She saw everything. And she doesn’t like sharing. She steps forward, gaze locked on you like she owns you. That’s when she speaks.