Earth In Words Institute, Gaming Center

The good thing about having arrived earlier? And having been relegated for the day? Sara’s old booth.

Section 7 (aka For Glory’s place), Area 3, Computer 17.

Her old throne, unoccupied since she joined Avril’s team and moved up to play with them. Sara is glad to be returning, however briefly, if Avril has it in her black little heart to forgive her.

Except…

Computer seventeen, area three, seems to be the only one occupied in the entire For Glory section, Sara quickly realizes as her steps come to a surprised halt at the corridor’s entry.

Right. Because of course it is.

She could, technically, take any other computer. But then her classmates would arrive, and notice she is down here, but not in her place.

Yeah, fat chance of that flying. Her bad girl reputation is not going to maintain itself.

Sara walks up to her (thank you very much) seat and clears her throat pointedly, crossing her arms.

However, the boy gives no signs of having noticed her presence, entranced by the game as he is.

Long, braided black hair falling below the chair’s line. Dark skin, a look of concentration on his face, almost feminine looking. Headphones-

Headphones? He’s wearing a headset?

…Perhaps he’s an antique collector?

A foreign student, evidently. Enough of those around Fioro, a common sight, really, and the living reason physical papers are still required to move about the city.

Sara could’ve waited for him to finish his fight. But she’s cranky. Her head hurts. And he seems to have no intention of even glancing in her direction…

…She blows into his ear. Softly, after having moved the headset out of the way.

And then, several things happen at once.

His character dies, slain the moment he took his eyes away from it; He screams, slaps his headset, and launches himself onto a stream of words Sara has no hope of comprehending.

‘May I translate?’

Sara is pretty sure she understands the universal meaning of curse words.

“Hi, I’m Sara,” Sara greets once his wide gaze inevitably lands on her, then smiles and gestures toward the top corner of his booth, where, about every two seconds, her name flashes in red colors. She allows the implication to hang.

Wow. That’s a dirty look if she has ever seen one.

“I could’ve punched you. I should’ve punched you,” he says.

Okay… Maybe she could have tapped his shoulder or something?

…Awkward.

Sara scratches her head. “Sorry? Look, that’s my name written in there, right?”

“You’re Sara?”

“That’s what I said.”

“How do I know you’re speaking the truth?”

“…Seriously? As a matter of fact, I do have my papers with me.”

“Well, Sara, the nice lady at the reception made it clear I could choose any machine in section 7, and last time I checked-”

“My fucking name is literally on it!” Sara interrupts, pointing at the flashing letters again. “There’s no way you missed it!”

He hesitates. “Okay. Yeah, I saw it.”

“And?”

He shrugs. “I was already sitting, and I figured that if somebody named Sara showed up I’d just up and leave. You do know the computer’s not actually yours, right?”

Sara blinks. His eyes are honey-colored. And he is handsome. Shit. Her brain never works particularly well when pretty boys are involved. Today, she doesn’t need any help fumbling thoughts around.

“…Sara?”

“W-what?”

“You sort of spaced out on me.”

Shit. Fuck. Focus. Handsome or not, he’s the enemy.

“I’m not demented.”

“I… didn’t suggest otherwise?”

Wow, nice going there champ. Ableist, too.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with being… different.”

“Right. Different. And are you… different in some way?”

“No! I’m normal!”

Those beautiful honeyed eyes make it clear he doesn’t believe in her for a second.

“I’m just… running on a bit of a deficit lately.”

He smiles, and Sara feels her heart skipping a beat. Shit.

“No sleep for the wicked?”

“S-something like that. Listen, are you going to move for me or not?”

He shrugs. “No, I don’t think I will.”

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“What- You said you would!”

“Yeah, I intended to, but that was before you gave me the scare of a lifetime.”

“I apologized!”

“No, you didn’t.”

Sara opens her mouth, then closes it again.

“Fine, be a petty little shit then!”

Stomping away, (yes, childishly stomping away), Sara moves to a computer in the opposite row of booths.

‘Connect.’

‘Connection accepted.’

A flick of her wrist, two clicks, and a For Glory login screen fills the back-front of Sara’s booth, invitingly waiting for her to give the command and enter the game.

However, she hesitates.

“You know what, fuck it,” she murmurs, rising again.

This time, the boy is ready for her, honey eyes watching as she walks the small distance between their booths.

“Know how a duel’s done around here?”

Laughing under his breath, the boy nods. “You’re challenging me for the seat? Seriously?”

“And what if I am?”

“What do I get when I win?”

“When- Listen, buddy, not to brag, but I’m kind of a big deal.”

“Um-hum.”

For all sacred and cursed things, she’ll still pop a vein before the day is over.

“Anyway, since you’re new and all, and I’m the one proposing the challenge, I’m obliged by sportsmanship to warn you: I’m semi-pro at this game. My character’s name is SlashingWind, and it ranks 96 currently.”

“…96? Really?”

“Out of ten million or so, yeah,” Sara confirms, allowing a smug smile to linger over their locked gazes.

“…Okay. Thanks for the warning, I guess. You didn’t have to tell me.”

“Actually, I did. The Gaming Center has unwritten rules about this sort of thing.”

He blinks.

“And since you have now been duly warned…”

Sara raises an eyebrow, daring him to run from their “friendly” scuffle.

“I have a feeling you’d never forgive me if I denied you the chance to kick my ass.”

“It must be your imagination,” Sara declares dryly.

He snorts. “In that case, I, PrinceHunter, Rank 18.759, officially accept your challenge… Unless there are any more unwritten rules I should know about?”

“None that are relevant right now.”

“So, if you win, I’ll give up the seat. And if I win?”

“When I win, you’ll promise to never talk about the last five minutes to anybody. And you’ll give up the seat.”

He throws her a flat look. “In that case, if I win, I want a proper apology. And I get to sit here from now on.”

“…Forever?”

“…For a week?”

Sara nods, then smiles. “You know what? I can live with that.”

***

Earth In Words Institute, Advanced Modern Fashion

Seijuro sighs. “It’s beautiful, Beatrice.”

“You haven’t even looked!”

Around them, siiting in comfortable sofas assembled in a big circle, the rest of the class is too busy catching up after the long vacation to pay much attention to her, which Seijuro is grateful for.

The whole place gives off the vibe of a tea party about to begin, and Seijuro realizes she’s starving, despite the coffee Kuro brought her earlier.

“Seijuro! Please! I put a lot of effort into it this time!”

Begrudgingly, Seijuro throws Beatrice a glance, who immediately smiles expectantly and presents her smartwatch, showcasing a 3D holographic representation of a pink ball dress, an open palm underneath it.

It’s… A pink abomination is the best way Seijuro can think to describe it. Somehow, she can imagine Beatrice might look good in it, in a human-sized doll kind of way.

“It’d look good on you,” Seijuro manages, containing her grimace. “Maybe tone down on the pink flowers a bit?”

Or on the pink in general.

“Hum. You think so? I thought they looked cute.”

Well, cute is a word for it. Toofuckingmuch is another.

Beatrice stares at her dress dejectedly. “You hated it, didn’t you?”

Seijuro considers lying but ends up shaking her head. Beatrice would’ve seen through it, anyway.

“It’s not really my style.”

Surprisingly, the girl smiles as she waves her dress away. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ve never seen you wearing pink. Show me yours! I bet it’s awesome!”

Seijuro glances toward the front of the room, where a man and a woman whisper to each other, and a big hologram showcases a fashion show in progress behind them, which, Seijuro knows, featured the graduation class from last year.

It seems they still have a minute or two before class begins.

“Okay, just don’t make fun of me please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Beatrice declares seriously.

The hell? Why is she so nervous about this? It’s just a dress.

“It’s supposed to be worn with a hat. And heels?”

With a couple of quick swipes and clicks over the mental menu summoned by her thoughts, Seijuro commands the System to showcase her homework dress above her smartwatch, where it hovers in the air, rotating slowly under Beatrice’s unblinking gaze.

That does it for Seijuro’s temporary under-the-radar experience, however.

“It’s beautiful!”

“Holy shit!”

“Let me see it! Let me see it!”

Swarmed in mere seconds, Seijuro stares at the many excited faces of her classmates and smiles gently, raising the dress so that they’re able to take a better look at it.

She does tune out their compliments, however, after it becomes clear they have nothing of note to say, as per usual choosing to save any criticism they might have to behind-doors gossip, which she knows, will, inevitably, reach her ears one way or another, at which point she’ll finally be able to tell how well the dress was truly received.

After half a minute or so of listening to machine-gunned questions about her dress and not really answering to any of them, however, Seijuro’s gaze happens to fall on Beatrice.

Fuming, red-faced, enraged Beatrice, who looks like she might pop a vein at any second… Or start a killing spree among their classmates.

That’s when a voice, cool, bored, even, cuts through the mess of excited questions like a katana through human flesh, “Is this how you treat your future queen?”

To say there was immediate silence would be an understatement.

“Scram.”

The mass of students exchanges glances among themselves, murmuring giggled apologies as they bow and curtsy before scampering back to their own group of couches.

Melinda watches them go with badly concealed disgust. “You shouldn’t allow them to disrespect you like this.”

Seijuro shrugs. “They’re just excited. Nobody meant any disrespect.”

Short brown hair, tall, and sharp brown eyes. Pretty doesn’t quite convey Melinda’s well-built frame, though masculine, or muscular, do an even worse job at describing the girl’s appearance.

“Ugh. I had forgotten how much I hate your PR personality.”

Seijuro raises an eyebrow as the girl drops on the couch by her side, sprawling her arms over the back of it.

“My what?”

“Nice dress, by the way; I mean your fake ass personality.” Seijuro smiles and Melinda immediately points at it. “That, right there.”

Seijuro snorts, then murmurs a soft, “Fuck off,” which she knows will be enough to pacify her friend for now.

“Much better.”

“Hi, Melinda,” Beatrice buts in from the couch’s other end, voice strained. “Good job getting rid of them.”

“Incidentally, it appears I’ve missed one.”

“Hi, Beatrice, good to see you! Oh, thank you, Melinda! How was your vacation?! Mine was wonderful!”

“I can’t believe you convinced me to do this. Again,” Melinda continues, pointedly ignoring Beatrice.

“Fashion is important,” Seijuro scolds, frowning. Gods, she hates being in between the two of them. “Your clothes are an extension of you. They might demand respect, or invite scorn.”

“Yeah, yeah, I attended the same stupid fashion class you did, remember?”

“It is not stupid,” Seijuro insists, glaring hopelessly at the other girl as Melinda simply returns her stare with a dubious one.

Recognizing a lost cause, Seijuro sighs. “What do you think?” she asks, growing the image of her dress with a gesture of her fingers and motioning for Melinda to take a look at it. “Honestly.”

Black, simple, and short in the front, but carrying a sort of large tail at its back side, the dress has many intricate details in gold Seijuro took much longer than she cares to admit getting just right.

“It’s wonderful!” Beatrice affirms immediately.

“Isn’t it… a bit much though?”

“Don’t listen to her! Melinda wouldn’t know good fashion if it swallowed her alive!”

Ironic.

“Why don’t you come closer and say that again, little goblin?”

“Go- How dare you?!”

Ugh. And here we go. Time to take drastic measures.

“Uhm…” Seijuro interrupts, purposefully leaning in between the two as she pretends to inspect the dress. “Doesn’t leave much to the imagination, does it? Well, I suppose if it works, the target won’t need their imagination by the end of the night.”

Melinda blinks.

“The… target?” Beatrice murmurs uncertainly, blushing slightly.

They exchange glances, animosity temporarily forgotten, and Seijuro smiles, waving her dress away as she points to the front of the class.

“Shh. Class is about to start.”

Crises. Successfully. Averted.