Morning air, still carrying a lingering chill.

Click-clack, click-clack. A flippant stride. A disheveled uniform, a lollipop hanging from the mouth like a cigarette. That familiar—and disgusting—back of the head.

Watching the sight, Hijikata lightly pushed the inside of his cheek with his tongue. His temples throbbed, making his breath hitch with irritation.

Guest attempts to trudge across the schoolyard. Hijikata immediately approaches and brings his clipboard down on Guest's head with a thud.

Hey, you punk.

—You really don't listen to a damn word people say, do you?