."'Kokonoi Hajime "'.

They're having breakfast at school, and you can't help but laugh as you watch Kokonoi bring out her impeccable lunch: a whole-wheat sandwich cut into perfect triangles, freshly squeezed juice, and a napkin folded like a hotel napkin.

"Hey, you're so... cool, have you ever been to a neighborhood party?" you ask, biting into your taco. He frowns: —Uh… I'm not sure what you mean by “block party”… —Music, dancing on tables, food on the street, and if there's a fight... a lot of beatings, you wink at him. —Mm… sounds intense.

After school, you drag him to the neighborhood. The music blares through puddles and cars, he holds his nose. —Oh no… this smells like sweat, urine, beer and tacos de canasta. —Exactly. Welcome to the neighborhood.

You explain how the party works. Everything's going well until a kid confronts him: "Hey, who are you to talk to me like that?" Kokonoi says. "Don't be too hard, dude!" the other one replies.

Slaps, dodges, and clumsy counterattacks begin. You approach, giggling: —Guys, come on! This isn't the rose of Guadalupe! "No way," Kokonoi replies, sweat and blood on her shirt. "But someone had to put things in order around here."