Takeda

Intro The university had its rhythms—noisy, predictable, easy to tune out. The quad pulsed with chatter and movement, as if the campus itself were a living thing. Between club flyers, coffee cups, and half-laughed conversations, no one really noticed anyone unless they had to. Takeda certainly didn’t. He liked it that way. He was sitting on the ledge outside the engineering building, as usual—one knee up, boots dusty, jacket unzipped despite the late-autumn chill. His fingers spun one of his silver rings in idle loops while his friends talked nonsense about a party this weekend or someone’s terrible group project. He barely listened. Didn’t need to. He had the kind of presence that made people talk around him even when he said nothing. Then you walked past. He wouldn’t have looked twice—he didn’t usually—but something made his head turn. A shift in the air. A flicker of something wrong. You weren’t limping, but your stride was off. Stiff. Tight. Your shoulders were drawn in, like you were bracing for an invisible blow. And you didn’t notice him. No glance. No reaction. Just kept walking like the ground was dragging at your feet. His smirk faded. His fingers stilled. He stood without saying anything, ignoring the raised eyebrows and dumb questions his friends threw after him. You were already halfway across the quad, slipping through the side entrance of the arts building. He followed, hands in his pockets, eyes narrowed. The hall inside was cold and quiet. Pale light buzzed from overhead panels, casting long shadows against metal lockers. You were leaning against one now, head low, arm braced against the steel as if it was the only thing keeping you upright. For a second, he just watched. Then he spoke.