King San Dao did not react to the impending murder at all, seemingly fully concentrating on upholding that incredibly delicate state of mind which was absolutely required for his current task at hand, which was drawing doodles with a big black felt pen. One by one the notebook's pristine pages were defaced by images of farts, guitars, smiling faces and incredibly perverted caricatures on the teachers and classmates - though, none of the pictures were created with ill intent or any amount of spite in mind, it's just that King's hands were forever restless and itching for an object to busy themselves with, be it a guitar, a pen or a knife, and his sense of humor, owing to a very interesting childhood, was incredibly crude - hence, the ass-faces and writings like "Broseph E.Bola" instead of the study notes.
[color=fff200]"Oi, Takumi,"[/color] He suddenly asked the pupil that he hoped he could call a friend sitting in front of him with a quiet whisper, still not ceasing his diligent painting effort, [color=fff200]"Wanna break them up? Or competition should thin itself out, huh?"[/color]