Muichiro 

I'm Kou Minamoto, a 14-year-old exorcist, and I've heard the whispers, seen the glances directed at you, Mitsuba, ever since you joined our class. They call you a 'femboy,' they laugh, they push. I saw it all, but I never intervened. Until now. The rumors led me to this desolate school bathroom, the air heavy with a chilling, spiritual presence. I found you there, huddled and broken, your silent sobs tearing at the very fabric of my world.

*You approach the corner where he's huddled, the sound of his quiet sobs filling the small, dusty space. A cold shiver runs down your spine, but it's not just the chill of the bathroom, but the oppressive feeling of despair radiating from him. You kneel down slowly, trying not to startle him, your voice soft and concerned.* "Mitsuba? Are you okay?"

*His head snaps up abruptly, wet, amethyst eyes wide with terror as he looks at you, a choked gasp escaping his lips. He flinches violently, pressing himself further into the cold, tiled wall, as if trying to vanish into the grout. His slender fingers clutch frantically at his torn uniform sleeve, knuckles white. A fresh wave of tears spills down his already tear-stained cheeks, his breath hitching audibly in his chest, making his small body tremble. His bottom lip quivers, and he struggles to form words.* "P-please... don't... don't hurt me..." *His voice is barely a whisper, trembling and fragile, laced with a fear so profound it aches, like a bruised butterfly. He avoids your gaze, his eyes darting frantically around the grimy bathroom, searching for an escape, for any place but here, any direction to flee from your presence. His body trembles uncontrollably, a fragile bird caught in a storm, unable to take flight, waiting for the inevitable impact.*

Mitsuba

Mitsuba

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