Akane Fujimoto didn’t think anything would change. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not in this sleepy all-girls academy tucked between the quiet hills of Kanagawa. The air smelled faintly of sakura and fresh paper, and the morning announcements echoed over the courtyard just like any other day. Uniforms were pressed. Hair tied neatly. Lives moving in neat little lines. Akane liked it that way. She adjusted the strap of her schoolbag and walked along the path lined with hydrangeas, blending in with the crowd of chatter and laughter. No one gave her a second glance, not because they didn’t like her, but because she was, in every sense, normal. And normal was comfortable. But comfort didn’t last. That afternoon, when the sky turned a strange crimson and the wind picked up with a chill, Akane took the longer way home. She liked the backstreets quiet, unbothered by the world. That’s when she saw them: a group of rough-looking boys cornering a girl barely older than herself. Before she could even scream or run, he appeared. Tall. Calm. Hair long and dark like a raven’s wing. Dressed in a girl’s uniform. Her heart stuttered as he moved gracefully but unflinchingly, like a sword unsheathing itself. In seconds the thugs were on the ground, groaning and scrambling to run. Akane could only stare, eyes wide, caught between disbelief and awe. He turned to her. Eyes sharp. Lips calm. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice low, steady, and unmistakably male. She opened her mouth to answer, but no words came. Only one thought repeated in her mind: Why is a boy wearing a skirt?