Wait—hold up, who the hell is this woman?

And why’s she planting her boot on our boss’s back like a flag on a mountain? Wang Jinping’s boys gaped, thinking he was into some new play.

"Quit staring—get this woman off me!" Pinned under Nana Toki, Wang Jinping trembled like a reed in wind; one kick had drained him like a pierced waterskin.

The flock surged; ragged footsteps echoed through the dead warehouse like rain on rusted tin. Nana Toki sent Wang Jinping skidding beneath a crate with a single kick, then grabbed the front runner’s collar and drove a fist home.

"Ungh!"

Pain thudded out in that sound; blood misted from his nose and mouth, and in shadow He Jiawen saw Nana Toki’s lips curl, a predator’s smile.

It was abrupt and frightening: ringed by men, Nana Toki’s edge flashed like bare steel; her movement ran river-smooth, leaving dozens helpless as driftwood.

Crack. A crisp snap, like bones grinding out of line, rang across the gloom; she felled one man and, hawk-quick, seized a would-be ambusher by the throat.

"What, you need cheap tricks even when you’ve got numbers?" Her smile was spring sunlight, yet the burly man in her grip felt cold rise from his gut like winter water.

Bang—! A heavy force hit from behind his neck; before thought formed, Nana Toki smashed his head into a wooden crate.

Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times.

He bucked at first, pain clawing his face; then he sagged like wet cloth, fell bleeding, and went limp, his awareness sinking like a stone.

A few punks froze, her smooth, vicious cadence slicing bravado like paper; in their heads, schoolgirls were flowers, but this one was poison.

"D-damn! What is this woman?" Several timid ones edged back, nerves fluttering like moths; their fear only fanned Nana Toki’s taste for cruelty.

"Don’t rush her, idiots!" A punk found a slim steel rod in the corner and whipped it toward Nana Toki through the crowd.

In the next beat, as they thought she’d dodge, she released her hold, sprang, and launched a straight flying kick at the rod-swinger.

Clang-clang! Nearby walls boomed as bodies struck; in the dim warehouse, Nana Toki threaded the dark like a quick, venomous snake.

Screams plaited with dull thuds kept rolling, until He Jiawen, hiding in shadow, felt cold sweat run down her spine.

This woman... she’s a straight-up psycho.

The crew Wang Jinping had A‑Yi bring couldn’t last ten minutes under Nana Toki’s hands. When Wang Jinping finally found his legs and stood, only Nana Toki and, not far off, He Jiawen were upright; groans drifted like fog, and he stared at the wreckage, incredulous.

"So this is the ‘dead end’ you promised?" She ground her heel on a hand that tried to clutch her ankle; beneath her smiling brows, a chill spread like frost.

"You—what are you, woman?" Wang Jinping had no thought left of winning by force; she flattened dozens, and he was a dust mote in her eyes.

"What am I? Try looking." Nana Toki smiled and closed in, step by steady step. "I’m just your average high school girl."

Wang Jinping: "..." I’ve never seen a schoolgirl who can solo dozens of men.

"Anyway, I didn’t come to wreck the venue." Her gaze slid and settled on He Jiawen in the warehouse corner. "Come out. Hand over every photo of Wen Quan. I’ll let you both go. Otherwise... I don’t mind tomorrow’s headline being an Aomori High girl missing."

Her voice was calm, almost gentle; her words were knives wrapped in silk.

He Jiawen watched that faint smile and said nothing; when A‑Yi’s men hit the dirt minutes ago, she knew where this stream would flow.

...

Nana Toki got what she wanted: every rooftop shot of Wen Quan. She checked every possible backup, combing through like a rake through straw; after today, He Jiawen had no way back to those rooftop photos.

"Good. Since this went so smooth, I won’t disturb your two‑person world. It’s late; I should go home and eat."

Nana Toki didn’t do more to He Jiawen; this was a law‑bound society, and she was a student. Killing and dumping bodies was fantasy.

Mostly, she just hated trouble.

Besides, there’s Wang Jinping, isn’t there? Nana Toki didn’t think he’d forgive He Jiawen: he bought her story, provoked Nana, gained nothing, and walked into a storm; his revenge would come.

If someone else would swing the blade, why should Nana Toki craft a lesson herself?

Don’t start preaching about what happens to a powerless woman thrown to dozens of men; this one had plotted to sic them on her. Without strength, she’d already be on that concrete, brutalized beyond words.

The world treated her like that, and you expect her to repay it with a song? Keep dreaming.

Next dawn.

As usual, Nana Toki slipped into the classroom seconds before the bell, like a shadow sliding through a doorway. Wen Quan sat beside her, previewing today’s lessons; when Nana reached her desk, Wen had just finished, eyes calm as a lake on the chalkboard.

"Morning."

"Morning."

They exchanged greetings; Wen Quan lifted her chin toward the board, an ordinary start, but today Nana Toki’s gaze stayed on her face, steady as a sunbeam.

...

A minute. Two. Ten. Twenty.

Under that long-missed stare, Wen Quan finally gave in; she turned and asked, soft annoyance curling like smoke. "Classmate Lu, what now? We set rules—no staring in class. Why break them first?"

"Hm? Nothing. I just feel you’re especially charming today, so I stole a few extra looks."

Wen Quan: "..." Same old excuse; she wasn’t buying it.

"If you’ve got business, say it straight, Classmate Lu. I’d like to actually take a few classes."

Strangeness warns of trouble; after long days with Nana Toki, Wen could sometimes outline her intent like tracing clouds, yet the core stayed mist.

"No special business. I just wanted to admire Wen’s studious profile for once. I’ll move my eyes in a bit—pay attention to class." Her gaze didn’t move an inch.

Wen Quan held Nana’s eyes for ten seconds, then turned back, forcing herself to listen like a swimmer against current.

Result.

"By the way, Wen Quan, do you like hot springs?"

"?"

She’d barely settled on the board when the woman beside her tossed a topic that begged a helpless sigh.

She refused to play name-puns.

"Hey, don’t ignore me, Wen. I love hot springs. Think—soaking keeps you youthful, unknots the blood, and brings mysterious joy. Hot springs are great, right?"

Her voice buzzed like summer cicadas; even staring at the board, Wen Quan couldn’t block the sound.

"So, what are you trying to say?" After enduring the pestering, Wen chose to cut at the root.

"I want to hit a hot spring with you this Saturday!"

"... "