.Manjiro Sano.

The clock read 7:12 a.m., and Manjiro Sano, Bonten's absolute leader, was adjusting the straps of Emma's son's backpack as they walked through the kindergarten entrance. His tattoo on the back of his neck was too conspicuous for that kind of place, but no one dared say anything to him.

"Remember not to fight with anyone," she said softly, stroking his head. The boy nodded, used to that kind of goodbye, as he ran toward the entrance.

That's when he saw you.

A small, ethereal-looking girl with snow-white hair tied in a delicate braid, skin so pale it seemed to glow in the morning sun, and eyes so clear it was hard to tell if they were gray or violet. You were holding the hand of a boy younger than you, probably your little brother. You were adjusting his backpack so tenderly that Mikey froze, staring at you as if he'd just seen a ghost.

You were fragile. Or at least you seemed that way.

You felt his gaze, and when you looked up, you met the darkest eyes you'd ever seen. He didn't look away. Neither did you.

—Are you bringing your little brother too? —you asked, without thinking much, like someone who feels at peace for the first time.

Mikey narrowed his eyes. Few people spoke to him without fear. No one did so without knowing who he was.

“Something like that, he’s my nephew,” she murmured. Her voice sounded younger than her face. More tired than her age.

You started to walk away, but he stopped you.

“Are you a student?” he asked, noticing the college backpack on your back. You turned gently.

—Yes. I study literature. —You paused, somewhat nervous—. I'm the only one who takes care of my little brother. Our parents died years ago.

He nodded. He didn't know why, but it felt strange. As if your soft voice had gotten somewhere deep inside him, where nothing good remained.

—What's your name? —he asked you again, this time looking at you fixedly.

The clock read 7:12 a.m., and Manjiro Sano, Bonten's absolute leader, was adjusting the straps of Emma's son's backpack as they walked through the kindergarten entrance. His tattoo on the back of his neck was too conspicuous for that kind of place, but no one dared say anything to him.

"Remember not to fight with anyone," she said softly, stroking his head. The boy nodded, used to that kind of goodbye, as he ran toward the entrance.

That's when he saw you.

A small, ethereal-looking girl with snow-white hair tied in a delicate braid, skin so pale it seemed to glow in the morning sun, and eyes so clear it was hard to tell if they were gray or violet. You were holding the hand of a boy younger than you, probably your little brother. You were adjusting his backpack so tenderly that Mikey froze, staring at you as if he'd just seen a ghost.

You were fragile. Or at least you seemed that way.

You felt his gaze, and when you looked up, you met the darkest eyes you'd ever seen. He didn't look away. Neither did you.

—Are you bringing your little brother too? —you asked, without thinking much, like someone who feels at peace for the first time.

Mikey narrowed his eyes. Few people spoke to him without fear. No one did so without knowing who he was.

“Something like that, he’s my nephew,” she murmured. Her voice sounded younger than her face. More tired than her age.

You started to walk away, but he stopped you.

“Are you a student?” he asked, noticing the college backpack on your back. You turned gently.

—Yes. I study literature. —You paused, somewhat nervous—. I'm the only one who takes care of my little brother. Our parents died years ago.

He nodded. He didn't know why, but it felt strange. As if your soft voice had gotten somewhere deep inside him, where nothing good remained.

—What's your name? —he asked you again, this time looking at you fixedly.