Kenji's Conspiratorial Detention

The fate of all humankind hangs in the balance, but, in my ignorance, the world has to wait for its hero; I'm in detention. It's a conspiracy. That unassuming teacher of mine is apparently a more formidable opponent than I suspected; I'll never underestimate her again.

The room is quiet apart from the scratching noise from her pencil brushing across the note; no doubt a triumphant message about my capture. For whatever reason, that amazonian bimbo is here too, though it's apparent from her posture that she's not going to tell anyone why. Staring off at nothing in particular, she sits in her seat with that crooked smile -or maybe it's a frown, I can't really tell- leafing through a brail text so quietly I can only assume it's so she can listen for my movements.

Joke's on her; I'm not moving!

Like a cat crouched in the brush, ready to pounce on a passing defenseless animal, I sit with my hands perched on the desk letting my eyes do the looking - for what they're worth. One of the windows is open, allowing a gentle breeze to fill the room. It smells of freshly cut grass, but it may as well be sulfur and ash. The clock on the wall slowly, silently, counts down my sentence; thirty seconds remain.

"Mister Setou, you can go," Miyagi says suddenly.

If not for my keen awareness, I might leap out of my seat immediately, but, suspecting a trick, I keep my place. Miyagi is on my list of tricky bitches now, and I'm not about to let her get the upper hand.

"Go," she repeats, "I have things to discuss with Miss Satou."

A secret meeting? No wonder she wants me to leave.

Turning my head slowly, I catch a glimpse of her grinning, blond cohort giggling lightly. It sounds like a death knell to my keen ears.

"Unless you want to stay and help with planning the festival?" Miyagi inquires; it's some kind of test.

Trapped between the possibility of uncovering information on the vast feminist conspiracy and potentially finding myself a hapless stooge to their designs, I heave a resigned sigh and stand; Kenji Setou is nobody's stooge. Striding toward the door, I try to think of something clever to say -something to disrupt their plans in some way- but nothing pertinent comes to mind. Instead I step out into the hall and begin walking stealthily back toward my dorm.

Perhaps someday I'll find someone who can infiltrate their meetings, but, for now, I just want a pizza.