Kazuichi Souda was walking with his head down, glasses pointed to the ground, beanie pulled over his head, when someone rammed into him. This wasn't an unusual occurrence in itself, but then whoever it had been fell down on top of him and he felt boobs pressed against his chest.

He didn't know if he had the courage to look to see who it was, but chanced it anyway.

It was a girl that he didn't know – a girl who could have maybe been around his age, or maybe in high school, or maybe even in her twenties. She was looking down at him, her shiny pink mouth a in a shocked 'O.'

Souda turned bright red and tried to wriggle away. This only resulted in her pressing tighter against him, for some reason.

Eventually, she got off of him. She brushed off her skirt – it sure looked like the uniform of the middle school he went to, even if he didn't recognize her – and looked down at him.

Kazuichi Souda had never felt so small in his life, and he spent a lot of his life feeling small.

His hand inched up toward his beanie, and then he realized that it had been knocked off of his head when he'd fallen. One of the girl's friends picked it up and twirled it around her finger. "Er-" Souda said. He cut himself off. He couldn't concentrate with that girl looking at him like that. He felt his face heating up.

"Who are you?" the girl asked finally, tilting her head to the side. Her face was set in the mask of someone who's not sure how they should act. Like she didn't know whether she should be decent or a monster until she learned who she was talking to.

"Souda," Souda managed, half-wondering if she was going to step on him, half-wanting her to.

Then it hit him who this was.

It was Hardcore Souma, part of that one ninth grade class that had all sorts of terrifying people – the Kiriyama Family, for one, that one transfer bulky, scarred-up transfer student, for two, Hiroki Sugimura who, while he had actually saved Souda once, knew all sorts of martial arts, for three, and Shinji Mimura.

Souda wasn't quite sure why he didn't like Mimura. Maybe because Mimura was everything that he wanted to be, and Souda was having trouble gaining that. Or something like that.

"Hm," Souma said, wrinkling her nose. "Doesn't your dad do that motorcycle shop thing?"

"Y-yeah," Souda said. He bit down hard on his tongue and tasted blood. He wondered if his tongue was okay for half a second before Souma grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him up within an inch of her face.

She studied his face, apparently found nothing of interest, and dropped him again. He landed hard and couldn't hold back a slight squeak of pain. The girl who had his beanie snorted and kept twirling the hat on her finger.

"Hirono, stop messing with that hat," Souma said. "Who knows what things are crawling around on this kid's hair? I'd give it a good bleaching just to kill whatever's breeding in there."

Souda flinched, his hat was tossed into a nearby trash can, and he was left on the ground, the taste of blood in his mouth and wondering how, exactly, he was supposed to feel about what had just happened.

This was written for an anon on Tumblr who wanted some sort of interaction between some DR characters and some BR characters – possibly with Mitsuko Souma. So, I decided to throw in some Middle School Souda.