POV: Haruka Sakura
The school gate looked like it had been punched more times than it had been opened.
Paint peeled off the metal bars. A cracked "Furin High" sign dangled on one hinge, swinging in the wind like it was waiting to fall. Past it, the school building hunched low against the sky, windows fogged and scarred from years of chaos. Somewhere deeper inside, a shout rang out-followed by a crash and laughter.
Haruka Sakura stepped through the gate without hesitation.
He hated noise. Hated crowds even more.
But he didn't hate this place. Not yet.
The morning had started like any other.
Quiet. Still. Empty apartment. Cold breakfast.
Sakura had walked the fifteen minutes to school with his hood up, hands in his pockets. His breath fogged the air, and his boots hit pavement in steady rhythm. He didn't look at anyone. Didn't speak. The streets were cluttered with kids in uniforms, convenience store trash, a delivery guy shouting into his phone.
Every step closer to Furin made his pulse slow down, not speed up. The calm before the fight.
He'd transferred too many times to care anymore. Names blurred. Rules changed. He stopped pretending to start over.
This time, he didn't even try.
The moment he passed through the entrance, conversations stopped. Heads turned. A few upperclassmen leaned against the wall, smoking, watching him with casual interest.
One of them gave a low whistle, elbowed the guy next to him. "Fresh meat."
Sakura didn't look at them. He kept walking.
His new uniform was stiff and clean-still creased from the package. His bag was light, only half-packed. No books. Just tape for his fingers, a switchblade he didn't plan on using, and the transfer form that still felt warm from his hand.
Inside the office, the secretary didn't even bother to look up.
"You the transfer?" she asked, voice flat with boredom.
Sakura dropped the form on her desk. "Yeah."
"You sure you got the right school?"
No reaction. No answer.
She clicked her tongue, stamped the paper, and slid it back toward him. "Class 2-B. Don't cause trouble."
He didn't reply.
He didn't promise things he couldn't keep.
The hallway smelled like sweat and instant ramen. Posters peeled off the walls, some advertising long-past festivals or school fights disguised as "friendly competitions."
As he turned a corner, a guy slammed his shoulder into Sakura's.
Hard.
Sakura didn't stop walking.
"Hey! Watch it, new kid. You don't get to stroll around here like you own the place."
Sakura turned his head, just slightly. "Then don't walk into me like you forgot how legs work."
The guy stepped up, his two friends circling around.
"You think you're tough, huh? We eat punks like you for breakfast."
Sakura looked bored. "You should try something with more protein."
Fists clenched.
A teacher rounded the corner. The guys backed off, muttering.
Sakura kept walking.
Classroom 2-B was loud
The second Sakura opened the door, the room fell silent.
Twenty pairs of eyes locked onto him. Guys slouched over desks. Girls leaned against windowsills. A few looked curious, a few looked annoyed, and one or two looked like they were already picking a fight in their heads.
Sakura didn't care.
He stepped inside and bowed just enough to be polite. "Haruka Sakura. Transfer student."
Before the teacher could even introduce him, someone stood up.
Blonde. Tall. Grinning like he ran the place.
"You the one from Chiba?" the guy asked, walking straight over like it was his classroom, not the teacher's.
Sakura nodded once.
"Damn. Word's been out since yesterday. You laid out five guys by yourself?"
"Four," Sakura corrected.
The guy laughed. "I'm Umemiya. Third-year. I run things here, The students council president so You punch lightly?"
"I punch hard."
Umemiya grinned wider. "Even better."
He slapped Sakura on the back like they were old friends. It stung like hell.
The teacher barely tried to stop it. Just pointed Sakura to the open desk by the window. Sakura walked over without a word. Eyes followed him all the way. He could already feel the tension building. The tests would come soon.
Let them.
Lunch came fast. Too fast.
Sakura didn't wait around. He took the stairs up two at a time, found the rooftop, and slipped through the rusted door. The wind hit his face like a slap, but it was quiet. High. Open. Alone.
He sat with his back to the fence, pulled his hood up against the breeze, and unwrapped the sandwich he hadn't planned to eat.
Footsteps clicked behind him.
He didn't move.
"You're sitting in my spot."
The voice was dry. Feminine. Sharp in a way that wasn't playful.
Sakura looked up.
A girl stood near the edge of the roof, arms crossed, eyes narrow. She had a ponytail tied tight, a bruise fading on her cheek, and the kind of calm that made most people uncomfortable.
Sakura stared at her. "Then find another one."
She didn't flinch. Just sat down a few feet away.
"You're the new kid," she said.
"And you're nosy."
She smirked. "Better than being dead inside."
He almost smiled. Almost.
They sat in silence for a while.
Then she stood.
"You've got blood on your knuckles."
Sakura looked. Faint red. From where one of the guys in the stairwell had tried to shove him earlier. It hadn't lasted long.
"I know," he said.
She gave him one last glance-less judgment, more interest.
"You'll fit in."
And then she was gone.
---
After school, Sakura didn't rush. He walked through the alleys instead of the main street. The city buzzed around him-trucks backing up, music from corner stores, a stray cat watching him from a rooftop ledge.
He passed an old closed-down arcade and stopped. Looked at the boarded doors. Stared like they meant something.
Then he kept walking.
When he finally reached his building, he climbed the stairs to the third floor. Unlocked the door. Stepped into silence.
He dropped his bag. Sat down. Taped his fingers. And stared at them.
The knuckles were still raw.
He wondered how many punches it would take to feel anything.
Later, when he lay down, Sakura realized something strange:
He remembered her face.
And her voice.
More than anyone else that day.
Weird. He thought.