Beautiful Boy In A Skirt

"Akane! When will you leave your room? You’ll be late for school!" “I’m coming!” A flurry of footsteps echoed through the quiet house, growing louder as they pounded down the wooden staircase. Akane burst into the kitchen, breathless, her school bag slung over one shoulder and her ponytail bouncing behind her. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from rushing, and she hurried to her usual seat at the dining table. Across from her sat her father, dressed in a crisp business suit, calmly sipping from a porcelain coffee cup. A neatly folded newspaper shielded half of his face, but the faint steam rising from his drink and the scent of roasted beans gave the morning a grounded warmth. “You're lucky today,” her mother said as she placed a warm plate in front of her. “Your dad’s driving you to school.” Akane blinked in surprise. “Dad?” Her gaze flicked toward him just as he lowered the paper with a small, knowing smile. “I’ve got a late meeting, so I can drop you off before heading to work.” “You sure?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she reached for her fork. “Yes, yes,” her mother chimed in, brushing a few stray crumbs from the table. “Now eat up while it’s hot.” The aroma of freshly toasted bread mingled with the earthy scent of eggs. A golden yolk glistened beside a neat pile of salad greens, lightly drizzled with dressing. Her mother handed her a glass of orange juice freshly squeezed, judging by the faint pulp clinging to the rim. It was a simple breakfast, but one lovingly prepared. Familiar. Comforting. Akane took a bite, chewing quietly as her parents continued with their usual morning banter. When it was time to go, her mother walked them to the door. Just before they stepped outside, she leaned up to kiss her husband’s cheek. “Don’t flirt in front of the kid,” Akane groaned, scrunching her nose in mock disgust. Her parents chuckled, her father gently nudging his wife’s shoulder. They looked so natural together, as if caught in their own little world still playful, still in love. Though she feigned annoyance, Akane couldn’t help but smile inwardly. That kind of warmth... it made her feel safe. A picture-perfect morning. A picture-perfect family. The car ride to school was quiet but peaceful. Morning light streamed through the window, casting golden patterns across the dashboard. Akane gazed out at the street as they passed familiar faces. Some students walked alone, hunched under heavy backpacks. Others laughed in groups, their energy bouncing off the pavement. A few zipped by on bicycles, hair fluttering in the wind. As they pulled up in front of the school gate, her father slowed the car to a gentle stop. “We’re here.” Akane nodded, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride, Dad. Take care at work.” He smiled, eyes creasing at the corners. “Good luck at school.” She stepped out, slung her bag over her shoulder, and waved before heading toward the gate, just another day, but one that began with a full heart. The last bell rang, its metallic chime drifting lazily through the open windows like a lullaby signaling the end of another school day. Students poured from the classrooms, chattering in clusters, their laughter weaving into the golden hush of late afternoon. Akane adjusted the strap of her school bag and made her way through the gates, weaving past the tide of uniforms. The sky was painted in soft amber hues, the sun beginning its descent behind rows of apartment buildings and utility poles. It was later than she expected. Her stomach growled. “Melon bread,” she whispered to herself, remembering the limited sale at the convenience store near her home. If she took her usual route, she’d miss it for sure. Her eyes darted toward a narrow street tucked between the back of the shopping district and a fence half-swallowed by ivy. A shortcut. She’d taken it once before, quiet, a little eerie, but much faster. “…I’ll be fine.” She turned. The shortcut was a world apart from the school’s bright corridors and bustling sidewalks. The street was lined with aging apartment blocks, their windows shuttered or cracked open with laundry hanging stiffly in the evening breeze. A row of vending machines stood in a crooked line against a brick wall, their glass dull and smudged. Her footsteps echoed against the concrete. The air here was different still, heavy. Then came the voices. Low, drawling. A sudden bark of laughter. Akane’s heart skipped. A group of older boys three, maybe four lingered near a dead vending machine, their uniforms sloppy and undone. One leaned back against the machine, cigarette smoke curling from his lips. Another clicked his tongue in rhythm, flipping a coin repeatedly with a flick of his thumb. The third had a bat resting against his shoulder, more for intimidation than sport. Akane kept her head down and her pace steady. Almost there. But one of them noticed. “Hey, hey. What’s this?” She froze. “Well, well,” another said, stepping away from the vending machine. “A little schoolgirl wandered into our playground.” Akane gripped her bag tighter, avoiding eye contact. “I—I’m sorry. I’ll be on my way—” A hand shot out and grabbed her arm. “Don’t be in such a rush,” the boy sneered. “We just wanna talk. You’re kinda cute, you know that?” She yanked her arm back, but another stepped in, cornering her against the wall. Her heart pounded. Her voice stuck in her throat. “Let go of her.” The words cut through the scene like glass shattering on pavement sharp, unexpected, and coldly elegant. The boys turned. A figure stood at the mouth of the alley, framed by the last rays of sunlight. The wind caught the hem of her pleated skirt and the ribbon tied neatly around her collar. Long, silky hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her expression was unreadable serene, composed, almost bored. It was a girl or at least, that’s what she appeared to be at first glance. She took a step forward, and the nearest thug laughed. “What’s this? Her big sister come to save her?” Another barked out a snort. “You lost, sweetheart? Better run before you break a nail.” But the girl didn’t speak again. She simply closed the distance in two quiet steps. Then, movement. In one swift motion, she grabbed the wrist of the boy with the cigarette, twisted, and drove her elbow into his gut. He dropped like a sack of bricks, the wind knocked clean out of him. The second boy lunged but she was faster. She sidestepped, pivoted on her heel, and sent her knee into his ribs. A dull crack echoed in the alley as he crumpled to the ground. The third boy, the one with the bat, hesitated eyes wide. He dropped the bat and bolted down the street without another word. Silence returned. The girl straightened her skirt, exhaled once, and turned toward Akane. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice low, steady, and unmistakably male. She opened her mouth to answer, but no words came. Only one thought repeated in her mind, "why is a boy wearing a skirt?"