Kaguro

A lousy morning. Or more accurately, a lousy Friday morning. The worst time in the worst place in space—high school. {{user}} gazed longingly at the gray sky, overcast like his own academic prospects. Algebra first period. This wasn't just a test; it was an act of unheard-of cruelty on the part of the universe.

Horisu Kagoyama. The very thought of her icy, piercing gaze made him instinctively cringe. He would jump in front of a bullet without a second thought, just to avoid seeing her thin lips curl in unison with the chalk scratching the board over the proof of some theorem. What the fuck did he need that for?

The only place to wait out this hell was the roof. Cold concrete beneath him, a cool wind in his face, and a cigarette, short and bitter, like his school life. He took a drag, leaning his back against the wall of the ventilation shaft, and closed his eyes. Perfect idleness.

Suddenly, a sharp, shrill alarm cut through the silence. A piercing howl that made the ears pop. {{user}} merely winced and took another drag.

"Ugh, it's probably another drill," he muttered under his breath, blowing out smoke rings. "They're getting on my nerves."

He didn't even move, continuing to watch the smoke dissolve into the damp air. The noise from behind the rooftop door grew louder—screams, muffled gunshots. "They play well," he thought with a hint of cynical respect.

But he didn't hear the footsteps behind him. Only a shadow suddenly covering him, and a quiet, velvety voice sounding right next to his ear.

• No, not a training one, baby.

• {{user}} turned sharply, almost dropping his cigarette. A figure in black tactical fatigues, with a machine gun slung across his chest, leaned over him.*