The fall looked bad. Fuyuki's arms bent back behind his body and the braches were thick, sturdy things that packed a wallop. Victorian caretakers called those branches Switches, and used them to beat their charges when they'd been naughty. and the boy had fallen through several. They'd broken his fall, at least. Mariko almost felt bad, untill she rememberd the guy had been trying to peep at her. She wrapped the rubber band around her finger and pocketed the last paper bullet. No need to fire any more, the dude had obviously suffered enough. She hadn't really intended to do that. It had been more of a warning shot to establish communications. The guy wasn't moving, was he? Oh god-sama, had she killed a man? No, not a man, a pervert, it wasn't the same, it was self defenc- Oh, there. He moved. Panic over. Now if her heart would stop skyrocketing, that'd be great. She was holding her breath, too. Let that go. And breath in again. She was breathing manually. And her head felt... Okay, her head felt fine. No sudden pressure spikes or anything. Pretty good, in fact. 

Breath out.

She turned away from the window, walked to the door, and fished for the button for the lights. There were two buttons here, and she pressed the less used button. And somewhere, the promise went, one of Yamaku's famous 24-hour nursing staff would come running with all their medical know-hows and she'd be able to explain why there was a kid lying on the ground like he'd just tried to climb a tree and why she'd shot at the guy with paper bullets and most likely they would be so wrapped up in just trying to get their head round the sequence of events that the poor kid would bleed out or stroke or whatever sick disease perverts had and die. Good riddance, really. No, she shouldn't think like that, people were still people even if they were perverts. And paedophilic, at her age. Was it pedophillia if you were the same age as the lolicon you were fetishizing? Concentrate, Mariko! 

She ran downstairs, taking care to grab the railing. She'd fallen over in this spot one too many times in first year, the last being when she'd been late to an exam, and she'd failed it due to the concussion. Her socks did little to mask her steps as she barrelled down the stairs and round the tight corner and past the suspiciously empty common rooms, The lobby was more packed then usual, with the centre of attention being...

The boy looked worse up close, His shirt had torn sleeves, and his face had torn cheeks. Blood was leaking out his cheeks, and some girl was holding the worst of it with a paper towel. Torn branches and leaves festooned his body like bad bunting. He was wearing a wierd apparatus on his arm, like an oversized smartphone. It hadn't cracked in the fall, thank goodness. It was Fuyuki. The guy in the class over. Mute. He needed the machine to speak. All the androgyny he usually displayed had been swept away by the fall, it seemed. The help ought to be arriving soon, and it wasn't like she knew any first aid, and the boy looked conscious, even though he wasn't moving. Somebody was telling people to move back and give the guy space, and she complied, with the rest of the small crowd.