> "What the hell am I even doing here…?"
Seven sighed, his cheek resting against his palm as he slouched at the back of the classroom. His white shirt was slightly wrinkled, his tie loose, his posture careless—but nothing about him was truly relaxed.
His caramel-toned skin caught the daylight filtering through the windows, while his slightly curly dark hair framed a face that looked too tired for someone his age. And his eyes—an unnatural, striking blue—stood out sharply. Not soft. Not warm.
Just distant.
The kind of eyes that had seen death up close… and learned to live with it.
The teacher's voice droned on about logic and causality, dissolving into meaningless background noise. Around him, students laughed, whispered, lived ordinary lives.
And him?
He didn't belong.
He looked like a memory that had been misplaced in the wrong world.
For a moment, the present slipped.
A recent memory surfaced.
A few days earlier, morning light filtered gently through the curtains of Kael's apartment. The atmosphere was calm—almost too calm. Like a lie pretending to be peace.
Seven lay sprawled across the couch, a can in hand, his arms still wrapped in fresh bandages.
"You can stay here," Kael said, her tone steady.
"I've got my own place. I'll be fine."
"Your place?" She raised an eyebrow. "You mean that dump that smells like death and dirty socks?"
"It doesn't smell like death… it smells like experience."
"A well-organized dump, then?"
"Exactly. Structured chaos."
She stared at him for a second, a faint smile forming—then her tone shifted.
"Then come with me to school."
"…Huh?"
"You said you wanted to protect me, right? Out there… I'm vulnerable."
He exhaled slowly, fatigue still weighing on his body.
"You want me in uniforms, classes, homework…"
"Yes," she cut in. "And you might even see some pretty girls."
"…Tch."
She had already won.
But she added, more seriously:
"And what if another demon shows up? Or that… fallen angel?"
"If someone like Adonis comes back, I'll handle it."
His mind replayed the fight.
Adonis had been strong—fast, violent—but ultimately inferior. Every exchange had confirmed it.
But the fallen angel…
That was different.
"I'm not sure about him," Seven admitted. "Too strong. If he shows up again… we don't fight."
Kael blinked.
"You? Running away?"
"If it's a losing fight, yeah. Not for me… for you."
A brief silence settled between them.
She looked away, but a faint smile betrayed her thoughts.
She understood.
And she trusted him.
The classroom snapped back into place.
Noise. Movement. Voices.
Reality stitched itself back together, clumsily.
Seven blinked once, slowly.
Something light struck the back of his neck.
A crumpled paper ball.
He turned his head just enough to glance at the culprit.
The boy froze instantly, his face draining of color.
> "That aura… what the hell was that…?"
Seven looked away, unimpressed, his gaze drifting back toward the pale blue sky.
"...As long as nobody tries to tear everything apart," he muttered under his breath, "I can stay here a little longer."
The bell rang.
Chairs scraped. Conversations erupted. Students poured into the hallway like a restless tide.
Seven moved through it silently.
Watching.
Not really seeing.
A girl dropped her books.
Nobody stopped.
He did.
Almost automatically, he crouched down and helped gather them.
"Still playing the good guy, huh?"
He looked up.
Silver hair. Clear violet eyes.
Too clear.
There was something about her presence—light, calm… but not empty. Something deeper, hidden beneath the surface.
"You always drop your books like that?"
"And you always help people?" she replied.
"Sometimes."
"With everyone?"
"No. Just the ones who look… alone."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Alone?"
"Or vulnerable."
A brief pause.
Then a small smile curved her lips.
"Want to walk a bit?"
"…Sure."
They moved side by side, the noise of the hallway fading behind them.
"Where are you from?" she asked.
"Somewhere far."
"Not very specific."
"That's the point."
She glanced at him.
"They say you beat up three guys behind the school."
"…You're well informed."
"I pay attention to things that attract trouble."
"And I attract trouble?"
"…Maybe."
She looked away for a moment, as if reassessing him.
Seven remained calm, hands in his pockets, indifference written all over him.
"You ask a lot of questions," he said.
"And you don't ask enough."
A faint smirk crossed his face.
"I'm not great with introductions."
"Good. People who are too easy to read bore me."
They slowed near the end of the corridor.
For a brief second, their eyes met.
Interest.
Caution.
Something else.
Unspoken.
"We'll see each other again," she said, adjusting her books.
"Yeah. Probably."
She turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Seven watched her go—just long enough to realize one thing:
She wasn't normal.
Not even close.
The day slipped into evening.
The sky burned orange as Seven left the school, hands in his pockets, thoughts drifting.
Then—
A disturbance.
Subtle.
Wrong.
His aura picked it up instantly.
Down a narrow alley, a girl backed away against a wall.
A man approached her.
His posture was off.
His presence… distorted.
Not human.
Seven's expression didn't change.
"Don't come closer," the girl warned.
"Too late," the man replied.
He moved.
Seven moved faster.
The world seemed to skip a frame.
A silent invocation.
A pulse of dark energy erupted outward.
The demon didn't scream.
Didn't resist.
It simply… disintegrated.
Reduced to black ash, erased into nothingness.
Silence.
The girl stood frozen.
Silver hair. Violet eyes.
Same as before.
"Seriously," Seven muttered, "you've got a talent for attracting trouble."
"And you've got a talent for showing up," she shot back.
"…Just passing by."
"Sure."
She let out a nervous laugh.
They walked together in silence until they reached her door. The city stretched around them, shadows growing longer, heavier.
Seven stopped.
Looked at her.
Slightly softer, this time.
"Hey… I'm not gonna keep calling you 'the girl with the books.' You've got a name, right?"
She hesitated.
Then smiled.
Small.
Fragile.
"Liah."
"…Liah."
A beat.
"Thanks… for everything, Seven."
"Yeah. Don't mention it."
She stepped inside.
The door closed.
The wind picked up slightly, cold against the quiet street.
Seven remained there for a moment, eyes on the city.
Thoughtful.
Distant.
"…I was right about her."