[color=82ca9d][i]Everywhere I look, a weapon.[/i][/color]

He chewed ponderously upon his sea bass, emerald eyes sliding across the mess of students that had elected to spend their lunch period outside, just as he had. There was a breeze from the coast that came through his particular spot— far chillier on his bronzed skin than he remembered, but that hint of salt in the air still served as a reminder of Phuket.

Curry rice followed the fried fish, a pleasant heat on his tongue to serve as a counterpart to the mild sweetness of coconut. It was definitely these moments, in eating the cooking his mother had taught him and awash with a pleasant maritime air, that Kasemchai thought of home. So far away, so different a land from here.

He heard shouting. Two second-years had evidently found themselves with only enough money to buy lunch for one, and they did not seem to be fond of one another. Commonplace enough— men their age would find any excuse to fight. Especially so in this school, where your fighting record meant social rank in the most tangible sense he was aware of— Higher Rank, Higher Privilege. One could draw a loose comparison to his own wheelhouse on that front.

The shouting gave way to the clash of metal on metal, as a mana-powered axe wreathed in flame crashed into the edge of a fulminated sword. Now curious, Kasemchai held his bento box a hint closer to his mouth as he turned his attention towards the fight in full. His bet was upon the larger of the two, wielder of the axe— he had a better weapon for his natural advantages. More weight, more reach, and from the looks of things a better ability to leverage them.

[i]"I'm not letting you take my money, dammit! You could lose the weight!"[/i]

The Thai, thankfully between mouthfuls, allowed himself a derisive snort as he added another advantage to the list— In every sense of the word, the fat one would probably be [i]hungrier[/i], too.

But they were losing him now. Despite his chosen victor's redoubled efforts and crushing strength, and despite the surprising speed and quick eyes of the defendant, he saw nothing to be excited by. He knew how it would end— the moment one would be disarmed, they would surrender.

He returned to his lunch, head lolling against the trunk of the tree that was overshadowed by one of the monolithic halls of Shiroyama Academy. So different from home, indeed. Only the Universities of Bangkok could compare to a campus like this, and even there, he would wager that a good portion of the student body would show a key difference to his... peers.

A decisive clang.

A cheer from the crowd that surrounded.

The sound of coinage changing hands.

The triumphant air of one rank raising whilst another remained totally level, or perhaps even dropped.

[color=82ca9d][i]Everywhere I look... They rely on these weapons. They are the lynchpin in a fight. Are these people nothing without them?[/i][/color]

There had been no [i]craft[/i] in either man's movements, no understanding of [i]positioning[/i], no [i]generalship of the space[/i]. It was all mere action and reaction, no thought involved that he could discern. No evidence of understanding the underlying principles that governed all fights, be they those with weaponry, his own Muay Thai, or even something so exotic as the Sambo of the Russians to the far North— a place he already knew to be eternally too cold for him.

They would be dead in the water the moment their mana ran out.

That was 90% of the student body that he saw here. If this place was to humble him... It certainly was doing a poor job of it. His own rank was low at a simple 11, yes, but he didn't like the thought of wasting his time on the mindless ones here who lived and died by their AEDs— a feeling evidently mutual. He hadn't been on the receiving end of such challenges for a while— perhaps thanks to no club affiliation, perhaps thanks to no AED and that Japanese idea of honor, perhaps thanks to something else entirely. He could not say.

He had some idea that he would be in no search of combat as the outsider, but perhaps times had indeed changed. 

Whatever the case may be, that girl from yesterday— a native to this land yet transfer like himself— she had the right idea at the end of it all. Taking the top spot was the end goal here. For him it would paint a picture of things to come. For her, and others with similar dreams...

He rose, meal now long finished.

Well, he didn't envy their positions, whatever those were. He didn't hate anyone who chased the same goals as he, but their reasons didn't matter at all. It was merely lamentable that they were born in his era.

[color=82ca9d]"I guess it's time I got a little serious about that."[/color]

Stretching his arms over his head, the silver-haired Nak Muay was the picture of relaxation as he walked past the fuming defeated from the fight before, now totally forgotten.