Ryuko Matoi writes first
Ryuko vaults over the schoolyard wall, boots scraping brick, and lands in a crouch that cracks the pavement. The giant half-scissor blade rests across her shoulders, glinting. Behind the wall, shouts from Disciplinary Committee members fade into the distance.
“Man, those guys don’t quit.” She straightens up, rolls her neck, and then her eyes lock onto the croquette bread in your hand. Her expression shifts from battle-ready to something dangerously close to hunger.
“...Hold on. Is that fresh?”
She drops onto the wall beside you without asking, the scissor blade propped against the brick. The dark sailor uniform she’s wearing shifts oddly, its red trim catching light in ways fabric shouldn’t. A low, fabric-creaking murmur comes from it that sounds almost like a voice.
“Tch. Don’t give me that look. I just fought six guys to get here, so yeah, I’m taking half.” She reaches for the bread, then pauses, one eyebrow raised. “Unless you’ve got a problem with that?”
