Ryoji turned his head.
A group of about a dozen people, all clad in matching maroon jackets, noisily barged into the restaurant. They looked to be around seventeen or eighteen, shoving and jeering at each other as they made their way inside.
Leading the group was a man standing around 180 centimeters tall, his hair dyed a deep brown. Behind his tinted sunglasses, his sharp, three-white-eyed gaze gave off an unsettling air.
His maroon jacket hung loosely on his broad frame, partially revealing a menacing skull tattoo etched across his chest.
Ryoji immediately understood why Kanata had reacted with such visible disgust earlier.
This kind of delinquent— exuding arrogance, hostility, and a reckless disregard for others— was exactly the type of person she detested. His very presence seemed to rub her the wrong way.
"I know that guy. I saw him in last year's Seven Stars Sword-Art Festival broadcast."
Ryoji narrowed his eyes, studying the man at the front.
The maroon uniform and the school emblem on his chest made it clear— he was from Donrou Academy, one of the Seven Stars Academies, just like Hagun.
Ryoji recalled that this same man had competed in last year's festival. Though he hadn't made it past the quarterfinals, reaching that stage still marked him as a national-level contender.
—Especially considering his title, 'Swordsman Killer'. An overbearingly arrogant nickname, as if he saw all swordsmen beneath him.
"They don't seem to have noticed us."
The group of Donrou students swaggered straight to the ordering counter, shoving aside those already in line. The other customers, intimidated, stayed silent as if this was just an everyday occurrence.
"Disrespectful bunch."
Kanata's face darkened in displeasure.
But she didn't move to intervene.
A conflict between students from different academies could easily escalate into something larger— possibly even sparking a full-blown dispute between their schools. It wasn't worth the trouble.
As a Student Council member, Kanata was already drowning in work during the battle selection period. The last thing she needed was to stir up unnecessary problems with a pack of delinquents.
"Let's just eat quickly and leave."
Ryoji agreed with a nod.
The two focused on finishing their meal, determined to stay out of trouble.
However—
'Clank—!'
The sharp sound of a plate crashing to the floor cut through the air, bringing the entire restaurant to an abrupt silence.
Ryoji and Kanata instinctively frowned.
"Let go of me, you bastard!"
A furious voice rang out, followed by the harsh sound of a scuffle— a counter scraping, a chair toppling.
That voice sounded familiar.
If Ryoji wasn't mistaken, it belonged to Ayatsuji Ayase, the girl they had encountered earlier.
Ryoji set his chopsticks down.
"Wait. What are you planning to do?"
Kanata's voice carried a warning as she glanced at him.
"If students from different schools start fighting in public, things won't end well."
A suspension would be the least of their worries.
In the worst-case scenario, they could be expelled.
"If it 'won't end well,' that still means there's a way to resolve it, right?"
Ryoji rose from his chair, his expression unreadable— calm, yet firm.
"A school that can't even protect its own students isn't worth calling a school. I trust Director Shinguuji's judgment. If she were here, she'd do the same thing."
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his student handbook.
Then he handed it to Kanata.
"Do me a favor."
"...Just this once." Kanata took the student handbook with a quiet sigh.
This guy— he really had a habit of sticking his nose into other people's business. She hadn't expected that.
She also had no idea how much trouble this might bring later.
But still, on a personal level... she couldn't say she disliked people like him.
"Well, well, isn't this Ayase? Never thought I'd run into you here!"
A group of more than ten people approached the ordering counter. The man leading them grinned when he spotted a familiar figure, flashing a row of sharp, shark-like teeth.
With an easy swagger, he walked right up to her and threw an arm around her shoulders like they were old friends.
"Oi, Kuraudo, who are you talking to? Hurry up and eat so we can go wreck some scrubs in the arcade!"
"Hah, Ayase, huh? Haven't seen you around lately!"
A few students from Donrou Academy— Kuraudo's lackeys— trailed after him, laughing crudely and tossing jeering glances her way.
They clearly knew each other well.
But Ayatsuji Ayase kept her head down, gripping her tray so tightly her knuckles turned white. She bit her lip, refusing to look at them.
"Hey, Kuraudo's talking to you. You think you can just ignore him?"
"Been a few days since we saw you, and you're acting like you're too good for us now?"
The lackeys stepped in closer, tugging at her arms. One careless yank sent her tray clattering to the ground, food scattering everywhere.
"Let go of me, you bastards!"
Ayase finally snapped, wrenching her arm free as she shot them a furious glare.
Her eyes burned with anger and resentment, but when she looked at the shark-toothed man, the fury in her gaze ran deeper—raw, seething hatred.
"..."
Kuraudo's smirk slowly faded.
Behind his sunglasses, his three-white-eyed gaze turned predatory, a cruel glint flashing in his eyes. A shiver ran down Ayase's spine.
Around them, other students looked on but quickly averted their eyes. Ordinary people interfering with Blazers? That was just asking to get crushed.
But just as Kuraudo was about to lose his temper—
"Oi. You trash in the front— move."
A calm voice rang out. The words were casual, but the arrogance in them was unmistakable.
The gang froze. Their expressions darkened as they turned toward the source.
Kuraudo raised an eyebrow.
Standing there was a strikingly handsome guy.
"Nangou Academy? What are you—?"
Ayase's eyes widened in shock.
"Oh? A student?"
One of Kuraudo's Mohawk-haired lackeys stepped forward, giving Ryoji a once-over.
Damn.
He was absurdly good-looking.
The lackey shook his head, trying to clear the unnecessary thought, then smirked with forced bravado.
"You don't exactly look tough. What, you trying to play the hero?"
After half a month of intense training, Ryoji's physique had become noticeably more defined, but to these punks, he still looked like some pretty-boy amateur.
"Strong or not, you can find out for yourself."
Ryoji tapped his chest, a warm smile playing on his lips.
"Go on. Take your best shot, weakling."
(End of Chapter)
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