If Honey had one thing to complain about after rebirth, it was the lack of cake.
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"3-E?"
The blond nodded, his purple eyes slightly narrowing as his mind drifted to one annoying redhead.
"Yes, we must put them in their place."
The strawberry blon...
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There was a foul stench, a blend of rot, burnt flesh, and blood that permeated the room. There was no lighting, leaving only the natural light that threaded through the broken windows to lit the rundown room.
The sound of shoes hitting the concrete ground at a steady pace echoed in the otherwise deserted abandoned building site. The man garbed in all black calmly made his way deeper into the dusty corridors, his glasses seemed to glint every time the moonlight hit them, giving off an eery air.
His hands were gloved, he held a metallic suitcase, that was chained to his wrist by handcuffs. The light clinking sound of the handcuffs repeatedly hitting the case followed the man's steps, as if to answer them, it resounded after them.
The man with hair as dark as the starless night mutely made his way deeper into the building, his gait steady, his back straight, his face unreadable. It seems like he didn't have any opening for others to exploit. His footsteps came to a halt in front of a ruined wooden door. Truthfully, it looked more like someone laid a plank to block the wind than a real door.
He put his hand to push it open, and the moment he exerted a bit of force, the wooden board fell backward and into the room, leaving a cloud of dust to rise before it settled down. At once, the heavy metallic stench of blood assaulted his nose. Although he was used to basking in it, the man didn't find any comfort in the smell.
His nose imperceptibly scrunched up, his dirty-blue eyes narrowed. He brought his free hand to cover the lower part of his face as if to block some of the stenches from entering his nostrils. His thin lips tugged down, letting his eyes, hidden behind his spectacles, to roam the room.
It didn't take long for him to find the man— his master, foster father at times, that laid against the walls. The man's breathing was low and almost inaudible. He had his eyes cast down and a hand to his chest, right above his thoracic cavity where the heart was located.
He walked up to him, silently couched down and peeled his glove off to take the man's weak pulse. "Well, I suppose you're salvageable," he enunciated with a wry smile. His answer was a grunt— probably a distorted snort.
Oshiro didn't waste any more time and unlocked the handcuffs, he opened his suitcase, and pulled out a syringe. "Don't worry," he said as he tried to look at the liquid inside of it with narrowed eyes— the lighting was poor. "I'll be quick," and with those words, he injected the fluid into the man's system.
::
Mitsukuni observed his new classmate with narrowed eyes. It was lunch break. Classes resumed in the morning, but the real stuff would only start tomorrow. Since Takebayashi Kotaro transferred out of 3-E to 3-A, it was decided they would make it so the boy could fit easier.
