[B]MATSUOKA MINORU[/B]

Even though I'm personally not the target of that vitriolic tirade, having the white girl jab a finger hostilely in my direction and start ranting still feels hurtful. It's Cloacina that she's started a feud with, but writing me off as acceptable collateral damage makes me want to shrink in on myself, and it doesn't particularly endear me to this girl either. I don't want to be treated like an innocent civilian caught in the blast radius of one of an American drone strike. The purpose for my visit to the training room was to, as the name suggests, train myself in preparation for the big shindig that is the tournament; I didn't expect to be dragged into such a commotion, nor did I expect Cloacina's actions to irritate two upperclassmen to the extent where any future working relationship with them has, to use the American expression, been dragged kicking and screaming around the back of the house and shot dead.

I try and open my mouth up to stammer out a response, but my throat suddenly seizes. Cloacina, what are you plann-

"[color=00aeef]Yer what they call [i][b]tsun tsun[/b][/i]![/color]" she declares brightly, my face nearly splitting open with the force of her smile. I can't actually see or feel it, but I am [i]very[/i] sure that my hijacked eyes are a twinkling blue right now. 'Tsun tsun'? Your pronunciation was horrid, and I don't even know what the context of that is. 'To turn away in disgust'? She does look disgusted at me, but I don't think white people understand horribly garbled Japanese, Cloacina.

[color=00aeef]This is truly akin to the concept prevalent in late night Japanese animation![/color]

What.

In an incredibly frustrating yet perfectly predictable course of events, I don't get any reply from her, because my left arm is already in motion, moving upwards to tap a pondering index finger against my cheek. Please don't ruin my reputation any further, Cloacina. My day has already gone to heaven in a handbasket.

[color=00aeef]The correct word is 'hell', Matsuoka.[/color]

"[color=00aeef]It is goin' ta be difficult change my job,[/color]" she notes aloud to herself before I can get another thought in edgewise. I think she's completely brushed off the white girl's existence already. Or maybe she hasn't. I lack the capability to read her feelings and memories. "[color=00aeef]I already deal with human faeces rather oft? Do I need'ta start smitin' people more fer worshippers? Jehovah always had lots of folks visitin' his place next door and he was an excellent smiter.[/color]"

Suddenly, the upperclassman is directly in my field of vision. Cloacina is staring at her.

I feel very cold.

"[color=00aeef]It is very becoming of yer barbarian heritage,[/color]" she says rather sweetly, in a tone of voice that my mouth rarely brings to bear, "[color=00aeef]that you have yet to apologise to young Matsuoka for your outburst. If you seek quarrel with my course of action, feel free, [i][b]foederati[/b][/i], but no matter whether or not I may have made a mistake, such behaviour rarely garners sympathy.[/color]"