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    Summary

    There were only four other figures, standing just a yard or so away from the agitated students. A woman with a mutation quirk that gave her large ram horns on either side of her head and hooved legs stood protectively in the front of the pack, head bowing and bucking in an intimidation gesture.

    One man is tall and willowy, his silver hair gleaming in the early evening light with his golden eyes narrowed into slits. The both of them seemed to be guarding who Shota assumes is their ringleader, and who was the unfortunate bastard to have his hands on the erasure hero’s protege.

    The man in question had one of his large, meaty hands clamped down on the back of Hitoshi’s neck as he held the lilac haired teen on his knees, blood dribbling from his scratched to hell skin; his kid must have put up a fight when he’d been snagged, but Shota didn’t give the stranger much more than a sideways glance as his eyes land on the normally sarcastic, quick thinking teen in his clutches.

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