Two Years Ago, today...

The student body of Shiroyama High School was rigorously assembled. They had not been told why they were meeting, nor had they been told how long it would be. Just that attendance was mandatory, and that they would be privy to some newly-instated school rules. Most of the students didn't have any idea what these rules would be. Shiroyama High School, one of Japan's fourteen battle schools, had been an easier place then most of them fought. Battles were hardly mandatory and when they did occur they were usually over pretty quickly. Indeed, Shiroyama had a reputation as the 'slacker school' among the battle schools, and for a while it seemed as if it would be out of the running for any kind of tournaments that may have occurred. It seemed like Japan's number of battle schools was destined to go down by one, now.

At least, that's how it had seemed.

Until she stepped onto the stage.

Radiant and resplendent, there walked the stage Yukimura Atsuko. Her flowing, black hair, and fair, beautiful features... the militaristic, heavily-modified school uniform... In her hand, she clutched the sheath of a katana.

Following behind her was another girl, much shorter, much more young-looking. She was clad in a less modified uniform, this one more along the lines of the standard sailor uniform... only pink and blue.

When Atsuko reached the center of the stage, she stopped. The black-haired girl turned on her heel to face the assembled students of Shiroyama High School, slamming the tip of her sheathed katana down on the wooden stage with a sound that echoed through the room. The murmuring students found themselves suddenly falling quiet.

"Students of Shiroyama High School!" declared Yukimura Atsuko, her voice carrying across the room, "I, your new Student Council President, have seen what kind of school this is. One of indolence and relaxation, hardly worthy of being known as one of Japan's Fourteen Prestigious Battle High Schools! This is an outrageous and unacceptable degeneration!"

An irritated muttering swept over some of the crowd, but another slam from Atsuko's sheathed katana silenced them for the moment.

"As a result, I have worked with Shiroyama's faculty. This school is in need of a drastic restructuring in order to ensure that it does not lose its place among the fourteen schools! I have created a new set of rules, and incentives to temper yourselves in battle!"

"Oi oi!" interjected a voice from the crowd, a boy. He had a jacket, a pompadour... stereotypical delinquent, it seemed, "Whaddaya doing, messing with our daily school lives? What if we like it all relaxed 'n stuff?"

He placed a heavy AE club on one shoulder, like a baseball bat.

"... Then you cannot be considered a student of Shiroyama High School," Atsuko responded.

"Eeeehhh?" the male student glared, "... Fine! You wanna battle!? I'll knock your block off!"

Raising his bat, the boy charged the stage and leaped onto it.

What happened next was almost impossible to observe. Atsuko's arm had moved, but her katana had remained sheathed. The delinquent boy had been sent across the stage, skidding across the wooden floor, unconscious. He rolled off silently and fell to the ground with a thump.

"... As I was saying! I have put in place a new set of rules for all students of Shiroyama High School!" the resplendent girl declared, "These rules will be conveyed to you via the tablets each student has been provided with!"

Indeed, there was a box at the feet of each student. Within was an identical tablet, labeled with the student's name and a... chibi of the girl who was accompanying the Student Council President, winking and giving the thumbs up.

"Be prepared to regain this school's lost glory, Students of Shiroyama High School!"

---

Present Day

It has been two years since the new rules were introduced. In those two years, Shiroyama High School had become one of the most intense and competitive of the fourteen Battle Schools in Japan. In those two years, the rules that determined rank and student privileges had brought a vast change over the student body.

But right now, it was lunch time.

Right now, students were having their meals.

Right now, it had been a day since the rather explosive lunch time of the previous day. Akamatsu Yuusuke, a Level 10 student, had felt rather cocky and decided to pick on the transfer girl who had shown up earlier that day. First he tried hitting on her, and then mocking her when she turned him down. Then he got angry.

Moments later, he had been flat on his back, a thin cut along the front of his body. He'd been defeated in seconds by a Level 0 student no-one had seen fight before.

That Level 0 student had promptly declared that her goal was to defeat Shiroyama's Unbreakable Student Council President.

That Level 0, or rather, that Level 5 student was now eating lunch on the roof.

Chiba Chinatsu's lunch consisted of octopus-shaped sausages, egg, rice, some vegetables... umeboshi in the rice, as well. All in all, it was fine and she was fine with eating it. It didn't particularly leave an impact on her. It was just something to eat. She didn't need anything more then that. Her focus, today, was instead on her goals for her time at Shiroyama High School.

Her single goal, rather. To defeat Yukimura Atsuko. Absolutely, completely, defeat Yukimura Atsuko. Chinatsu was determined not only to beat the Student Council President, but beat any student that stood in the way of her doing so. She'd take on the whole school if she really had to.

But for now, no-one else had stood up and challenged her yet. So she quietly remained, eating her lunch.

Ryu was sheathed on her lower back. Indeed, nearly all students carried their weapons on them at all times. In this regard, Chinatsu was no different. So far, she had rejected using her battle points, or any privileges offered to her by her rank up. She hadn't even chosen to modify her uniform, nor had she joined any clubs.

Chiba Chinatsu was perhaps something of enigma.

But right now, students all across the vast school grounds were simply enjoying lunch.

For now.

But who could say what would happen on this Daily Battlefield?

@Rin@Rabidporcupine@HereComesTheSnow@HereComesTheSnow@Crowvette@RoflsMazoy@Bartimaeus@Gentlemanvaultboy@King Cosmos@MonkeyBusiness@OwO@Cerces22@Duoya@RolePlayerRoxas

Relka sat inside the library flipping through a book, her lunch barely touched next to her. She flipped through the pages on Norse Mythology studying for a massive test. The sound of battle rang outside the library windows, she casually looked and saw a couple low ranks going at it. Relka turned and went back and closed her book, she opened up a notepad with a list of names. Every person who was the highest ranks in the school. Each page was dedicated to a single person, below each name several notes were scribbled. The journal detailed everything she knew about an individual persons abilities. Their fighting styles, what their AE's and IE's where if known, what weapons they preferred. After watching the new student dominate the cocky rank 10 her notes needed to be adjusted, the fight was over in a blink giving no discernible information to Relka.

She closed the book with a huff and stood up. She understood this was a Battle School, but the current President built a system that purely dealt with combat. Education was all but forgotten in favor of the Darwinian structure, so now, she had plans to get stronger and one day dismantle the entire student council. When that day came she would institute a balanced middle that allowed students to battle but still encouraged forward thinking. Relka undid her messy bun and put her glasses away while packing up, the next class was soon to begin and unlike her fellow student body she didn't want to be late.

A normal day at Shiroyama, a normal morning for Nori Mori. There were very few people who knew exactly what was going on in that mind of his. A lot of people thought he was obsessed with his snack cart, and like almost everything about him to a certain extent he was. Maybe. It was only to the extent someone would obsess over their creation because they rattled it together and they're worried it'll come apart at the seams. You know, the normal thing any young 'inventor' would worry about.

The word inventory was a bit strong but hey, what could you do. The thoughts on his mind today were back again on Nori Mori, the childhood nickname he'd been given one day.

...Now that he thought about it he hadn't managed to shake that nickname until entering high school.

Anyway, he had a mind to get a new one. The plan he had to get it was utterly devious. Long term, volatile, annoying, it had all the right elements for a perfect storm. It was something that'd shake up the foundations of the school. Maybe. Possibly.

He entered the Repair Club club room.

@Duoya "Hey Fukunaga, you in here?" He called as he walked in.

He didn't really wait for a response before pulling his torch out and shining it on himself. Any passing students would probably find it strange, but this was normal for him and the Repair Club. He set the torch down on the table and looked back to judge whether his shadow was big enough, then with some effort he pulled out the Snack Cart. Anybody who thought it was weird that he set a torch on himself would've found it weirder that he pulled a big metal cube that was bigger than he was half-way out of the wall. Those that didn't find it weird knew of the famous, or infamous snack cart.

Mori wasn't sure which one it was to be honest, he never heard anyone complain about his prices though so surely it was at least OK.

Anyway, anyone familiar with the Snack Cart would've also noticed the new, perhaps ominous addition on top. A megaphone.

"My Mic broke, I wanted to test the sound system out on some unsuspecting fools but I need to get it fixed first." He said.

This was step 1 of his plan. Become the Heckler. One thing was missing from his Snack Cart that'd give it that mass appeal, the one thing most people didn't get just from seeing him there, personality. He could commentate on fights with this set-up and establish a personality and a presence in Shiroyama. It'd a surefire way to increase his profits in the most annoying way possible.

He plunged his hand into his shadow again and pulled out a blue binder.

Step 2 was already in progress. Step 2 was blackmail. He hadn't quite gotten that far yet but Step 2 involved getting information on anybody he was likely to be commentating on in the background. Fights were going to be boring if there was nothing he would be able to say. The details weren't so precise but it wasn't as if there was an information broker he could ask for information from.

Step 2 actually involved being the broker but he needed to build up a reputable database first. Right now he had what he knew of as many people as he remembered's IESs and AEDs, but as a personal touch he added a ring name to every entry which fit. The Repair Club for instance was Dirty Mike and the Boys. His parents liked the English shows and he watched one called the Office or something. He didn't really get it but it was fun.

He listed the student council prez as Emperor Titus I. He'd have to explain that one later, it wasn't something he could say to her face but he totally would if he had the chance. He was waiting for an opportunity to say it to everybody.

Anyway the plan was pretty simple in the end, do some Heckles and get some Shekels. Maybe that joke was a bit off colour.

Pffft, Dr. Heckle and Mr. Shekel. He thought to himself while holding his folder.

He was aiming for a professional heckling scheme, the Dr. qualifier seemed like it'd fit quite well. Of course harkening back to the famous novel Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Heckles by day, Shekels also by day but he wasn't Heckling and Shekeling at the same time of course. But he could.

But first he had to get his microphone fixed.

Everywhere I look, a weapon.

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'm not letting you take my money, dammit! You could lose the weight!"

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 hungrier, 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.

Everywhere I look... They rely on these weapons. They are the lynchpin in a fight. Are these people nothing without them?

There had been no craft in either man's movements, no understanding of positioning, no generalship of the space. 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.

"I guess it's time I got a little serious about that."

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.

Daichi Fukunaga is your average, everyday first-year High school student. He goes to classes, has a pretty large number of friends, scores decently on exams, and tries to keep his head down around the bigger kids on campus. Really, the thing that stood out most about him was the fact he went to one of 14 Battle schools in Japan, alongside hundreds of other students at Shiroyama High. Really, that was the only stain on what Daichi would consider an otherwise flawless life - something he did his best to avoid. It took a lot of heckling from his club members for Daichi to ascend beyond rank 0, and he only did so by paying off higher ranking students to lose on purpose. He saw no problem with doing so, and only really wanted to be concerned with his friends and the next exam.

He was just coming back to the Repair Clubroom from the cafeteria, carrying a tray with a pretty decent selection of food - Shiroyama at least had that going for it. Hell, he even had a small pack of cookies! Today was going to be glorious. As he entered into the clubroom, he got a cheerful greeting from quite a few students - him being one of the Generator Students in the club meant a lot of builders 'borrowed' him to help them on their projects. A few minutes of providing temporary tools later, Daichi was just about to begin digging into his lunch when someone called out as they opened the clubroom door.

"Hey Fukunaga, you in here?"

Daichi waved when he saw Mori - Daichi liked to consider the two friends since the latter usually came into the clubroom and Daichi had provided quite a bit of help with Mori's various activities. It was usually a good distraction, and Mori was one of the smarter kids that went to this school - he saw the battles here as a bit unnecessary as well. Daichi waved to the man.

"Hey Noriyama-San, I'm over here!"

Mori quickly went about revealing his AED, which Daichi had always found to be one of the more inventive in the school - among all the swords and weapons, it was nice for another kid to prefer some utility. Plus, Mori's IED was pretty cool - lot's of kids in the Repair club talked about it since it seemed to make things weightless, and that was a big deal to the Matter generators. Even Daichi was a little jealous, but revealing that kind of stuff was really rude, ya know? When Mori got the cart out and wheeled it over, he started to address why he was in the clubroom in the first place.

"My Mic broke, I wanted to test the sound system out on some unsuspecting fools but I need to get it fixed first."

That was a bit concerning, considering who Mori was - a megaphone and the word 'fools' didn't really belong in the same sentence if it was innocent. Then again, it didn't really matter - it wasn't like he was the one using the microphone. Daichi nodded at his friend and responded in between bites of tater tots.

"Sure thing man, I'm sure we can take care of it - kinda surprised you had to come to us though. Not very familiar with sound systems?"

Daichi held out his hand and, upon getting the microphone, quickly screwed off the bottom cap, and removed the plastic shell that shielded the inner circuitry. Daichi was nothing compared to the other guys that worked in the repair club - hell, Mori surpassed him in most areas like this. But, if it was a simple repair job, Daichi was definitely one of the fastest kids in the school - all he really had to do was find the problem, and run his hands over it thanks to his IED. And he didn't even need to find the problem if he just touched everything.

Which he proceeded to do since he wasn't sure if the problem was with the circuitry. As soon as he finished repairing it, he reassembled the disconnected parts and handed them back to Mori, speaking as he did so.

"Alright, good as new - I don't normally do stuff for free, but we're friends, so I don't see a problem with doing something small like this."

Daichi motioned to the seat next to him as he continued to speak.

"Want to hang out for a while, Noriyama-san? We still got a few minutes till classes start, and we can talk shop if you want - you know everyone here is always excited to hear what you got planning!"

A couple of students nearby did seem to perk up at this, but the rest were too engrossed with the usual assignment they were given by the Student Council or occasional student buying their services.

"If not, that's cool. Oh, but I was gonna try and see if you and some of my other friends wanted to have a karaoke night or something - that sound cool to you, or will you be busy? You can text me later if you're not sure right now."

@RoflsMazoy

It was the best seat in the entire cafeteria. She'd made sure of it, of course, having picked it out early on during her first year at the school. A large table, albeit not too big (she wouldn't want any nameless losers getting ideas and trying to sit near her), situated near the window... She could watch the cherry blossoms fall during spring, bask in the sun during summer, approvingly glance as the leaves changed into their fashionable autumn suits, and serenely admire the snow as it fell during winter. Even nature knew that fashions changed as time passed, and it was something that reassured her. Some would call her shallow, but she knew the truth. Being this beautiful wasn't easy, but it was worth it.

After all, power is beautiful, and thus beauty was power.

And in all of Shiroyama High, there was no-one as self-assured of their own powerful beauty then her. Suzume Tsukasa, but please, just call her "Suzie". She insists. Some of the flunkies, fans and hangers-on that surrounded her had probably even forgetten that Suzie was just a nickname. Then again, aside from her and a small handful of others, the Fashion Club were a bunch of morons, their brains clearly addled by the bleach soaked into their hair and by the lamps of tanning salons. Suzie was the one who had brought them to their current lauded status, and according to her philosophy that only served to reinforce the fact that she was clearly the most beautiful girl in school.

"Like, so what's the sitch with this new girl, y'know?" Suzie thought aloud as she ate her lunch. She'd almost finished, but she'd saved the best part for last; a bunch of small riceballs made to look like cutesy baby pandas. She'd always had a bit of a weakness for cute things, really. "She, like, totally just walks on in like she owns the place and, like, totally beats someone that higher level than her? And with that outdated ensembled? Puh-lease! Girl is in serious need of a makeover, y'know what I mean?"

Wrinkling her nose in disgust as half the fashion club and a bunch of other students who just wanted to bask in her glory nodded like automatons, the most popular gal in Shiroyama High daintily lifted one of the rice pandas between her lacquered nails and popped it in her mouth. Seriously, that girl... Hopefully she wouldn't be as much of a pain in the ass as Atsuko was.

"Hey, I didn't know you had other friends," Mori replied jokingly. "Karaoke, huh?"

He fiddled absentmindedly with the audio setup. Like everything else on his AED, it was simple. He knew it inside out because there wasn't really much to it. It could only be the microphone that was broke. He didn't know what was broke about it but that was why Daichi was good.

He plugged the microphone into its stand and an audible crack sounded out on the megaphone. It was fairly quiet though, it wasn't even loud enough to disturb the other members, just enough to know it was probably functional. Mori was a lot of things, but he was no rookie.

He pushed the Snack Cart back into his shadow. It'd be real convenient if his IES made things weightless, but he was kind of glad it didn't. It was real important to get the balance right for the Snack Cart. If his IES was that convenient he might not have ever bothered. If he hadn't bothered he would've never made the Broadsider either.

...You know, maybe he was a little obsessed with his snack cart.

Still, he was thinking about his plans for tonight which mainly involved eating chips and watching anime. After he tuned up the Snack Cart, but that was a given.

He thought about it and he didn't think Karaoke rated higher than anime and time by himself. Wait, was Daichi an extrovert? Was this the first extrovert he was friends with? And he didn't know this entire time?

"I guess I'll go to that Karaoke then. Send me the time later on, are there gonna be other people from the club?" He said.

He wasn't asking for any particular reason, but, he did know the repair club a bit better than most as someone who wasn't actually in it. He knew their AE skills well enough that at this point he didn't even have to write them down. When Daichi mentioned whether he had any plans in the future the answer was 'no', really.

His Snack Cart had incorporated a lot of expertise from people that were not him. They'd taught him how to put it together, made most if not all of the components, and tidied up his blueprints he made from his own limited knowledge. But these people had their own lives to deal with. He didn't want to start relying on them again for another project. That'd be... conceited? Either way he figured once was the limit for a lot of them.

But he diiiiiid have something. It was theoretically possible. He'd have to ask for help again. It was much bigger than his snack cart, but it'd involve asking the repair club members for help too so the overall burden would theoretically be the same. It'd also take much, much longer. He didn't know exactly how long. But, if they pulled it off, it'd mean a lot more than his snack cart. He wasn't sure if they were ready for it. How would he even ask?

"Hey do you want to try to make a mech?" He said.

Nailed it.

@Duoya

Normally, Yamamoto Chie did not concern herself with directly recruiting club members. She trusted her current members enough to persuade new prospects into joining the Decadent Failures club; how were they supposed to get better at intimidation if Chie had to handle every task? How could her delinquent flunkies better develop their piercing glares while ganging up on a helpless student if they all relied on their president to get things done? Every school needed an effective gang of troublemakers to balance things out. It was all well and good to see every student as a rival, but without an active, antagonistic force, a lot of the thrill was missing from school life. Or so Chie believed.

She had made her way to the school roof, informed of the new student's whereabouts. She was enjoying her lunch all alone - in any other scenario, this girl would be easy pickings for any mohawk-headed tough guy with a scowl and a desperate need for some extra vending machine money. But the girl's skilled display from the day before made it clear that sending flunkies was a waste of time. For the first time in a while, Chie would be trying to convince someone to join her band of misfits.

When Chie approached, her own small stature provided little in the way of presence, especially when combined with the sunny smile that seemed to belong to a loving older sister. The massive axe slung over her shoulder often made up for that though, towering over Chie as it hung on her back. The sheer size made it look as if Chie's spine should have snapped in half, yet it was no heavier than air to the delinquent.

"...Chiba-san?" Chie spoke with a gentle tone, tilting her head ever-so-slightly, "I deeply apologise for disturbing your lunch. May I have a moment of your precious time?"

Most students were probably aware of the strange, contradictory figure of Chie. Her stature, manner of speech, her looks... none of it matched at all with the typical delinquent, who ranged from the stereotypical to the almost slothful. It was unlikely Chinatsu knew much of anything about Chie, aside from her name, and the existence of her club. Having watched yesterday's battle, Chie was almost certain Chinatsu would have no interest in joining her particular club, but hopefully she could manage something!

@VitaVitaAR

The doors to the school’s cafeteria building opened with a little more force than necessary as Ichiro Fujita stepped outside, stopping in front of the doorway as the doors swung shut behind him. Standing at the edge of the outside area of campus he swept his gaze across it, taking in the sight of students eating lunch or talking to friends, of fights in progress, just starting or in one case just ending as if there was something interesting to see. He looked like a pioneer seeing a new and unexplored land for the first time, or an explorer who had finally found the lost city they had been looking for; this was the land of opportunity and no one would tell him otherwise. “Right! Let’s get started!”

Ichiro was fairly new to the whole battle thing but like anything else he threw himself into it with gusto. He’d had a few false starts, challenging people much stronger than himself before he realised his level and set his sights on more realistic targets, but he’d managed to get into the swing of things a bit now and was starting to climb the ranks at a steady pace. It was harder than baseball was, more painful too, but if anything Ichiro was perseverant and he wasn’t just doing this for himself; his efforts would make the baseball team stronger, his points would let them buy new equipment and maybe if he earned enough of a reputation they would stop getting beat up by other clubs all the time.

So today he would do what he always did and make a nuisance out of himself by challenging as many people as he could with the time he had available. His own lunch had been finished in a hurry to give himself more time for this and he was as pumped as always to get started.

Looking across the campus for someone to give him a good fight Ichiro spotted one of the transfer students; not the girl with the sword who had challenged the president thankfully, she kind of scared Ichiro if he was honest, but the quiet foreigner who always seemed to be by himself. Ichiro’s smile turned into a near grimace as he set his features in determination without dropping the grin. He began to run in the direction of the Thai transfer, weaving through students and tables to intercept the taller student’s path and stopped in front of him. “Hey! Big guy!”

Blocking Kasemchai’s way Ichiro placed his left hand on his hip as his right tightly gripped the handle of his bat, the gleaming red AED resting on his shoulder. He had to tilt his head back to look the much taller boy in the face, but if the size difference bothered him it didn’t show through his determination. “You look tough, and you’re tall too. I bet you’d be great at baseball. How about joining the team?”

@HereComesTheSnow

Reclining in the high sun of near-noon was one of the best ways to begin lunch. At least in Mimir's lunchtime philosophy. He usually went directly from his class to one of the school's yards, which was a usual lunch-spot for many, and today was no exception. He sat comfortably alone on one of the many benches, his posture leaned back as if he was leaning against a very comfortable chair - yet nothing seemed to be supporting the weight of his upper body, as the student seemingly rested with the brim of his hat tilted down over his eyes.

He preferred to begin his lunch this way, his eyes closed to block out visual distractions as he thought about whatever he desired - sometimes schoolwork, sometimes battle, sometimes other things. Today it was the transfer girl from yesterday's lunch period. Mimir had been wandering around as was common for him, as he witnessed the scene. A scene he'd wished occurred more often.

He found that new students with no ranking commonly did not stand up for themselves - a mistake in his eyes. If only they showed some semblance of a spine it would likely boost their initiative, and lead them on a path towards the higher ranks, if they had enough potential. Not only would this improve their stature in the school, but it could benefit him as well. He was always glad to make friends - especially those he could compete with fairly, and gain ranking from.

Perhaps this one would be different. He allowed a slight grin to come across his partially-concealed face.

Soon, his moment of thought was jarred by the sounds of a supposed nearby challenge. He sat up, looking over towards the voice as he removed his hat. The challenger was a rather short character, accompanied by a glaring crimson bat. The challenged - a Thai transfer student by the name of Kasemchai. He was the only Thai student Mimir knew by name - though he didn't know him by level, he just remembered that the student didn't appear to use an IED.

He also liked his hair.

Mimir seemingly stuck his arm far into the innards of his hat, soon after pulling his arm out and drawing a simple lunch pail from within. He set the pail to the side as he replaced the hat onto his head. Opening the pail, he removed a simple whole-wheat sandwich and a smaller canister of rice, and began chowing down as he watched the scene intently. He was always a fan of a good battle, regardless of whether he participated. He often took mental notes, even.

It looked like today he might be having dinner and a show.

Daichi frowned slightly at the comment of his lack of friends - in Daichi's opinion, his large number of friends was the only exceptionally unordinary part about his life, and for good reason. He needed friends to stay safe in this school, and the more he had, the fewer people would try to be picking fights with him.

"Yes, I have friends! In fact, I think I'm popular."

That last part was a blatant lie - Daichi was known due to his repair skills and the fact that he can just clone matter. Other than that, all his friends fit snugly into the 'loser' section of high school, excluding a few people on some sports teams and one of the kids from the music club. Still, no sense in trying to at least establish a veneer of coolness - wasn't it an ordinary person's goal to be popular?

Mori plugged the microphone into his cart, and Daichi cringed slightly at the crackling that followed it. He was worried that Mori would say something and distract everyone, but luckily, the other teenager just pushed his repaired cart into his own shadow and returned to a normal standing position.

God Daichi was jealous of that - he could just turn stuff weightless! That would be extremely useful, especially for someone like Daichi who has to lug around lots of prepared tools to be useful in a fight.

"I guess I'll go to that Karaoke then. Send me the time, later on, are there gonna be other people from the club?"

Daichi smiled, glad that he finally managed to get another person to agree to the outing. To be completely honest, when the club president offered to take Daichi out for Karoke, he didn't know how to react - that was the nicest thing the normally greedy president ever did for him. Hell, he even said Daichi could bring a few friends along with him, which prompted him to ask Mori.

"So far it's just you, me and the Club President, but I'm going to try inviting one or two other people - you can invite someone too if you want!"

Daichi took a few more bites of food, finishing off the tray that he had brought with him from the cafeteria. Normally whenever he saw Mori he got some food from his snack cart, but lunchtime was a different story altogether.

"Oh, maybe we can invite one of the transfer students? They gotta be feeling pretty shy coming to a school like this - inviting them to hang out might ease the stress! I don't their names, but I can probably find out by asking around."

Talking to Mori was generally very relaxing - he sometimes talked shop that Daichi couldn't understand very well, considering he was just a generator and wasn't the most knowledgeable about mechanics, but other times they talked about the new cool anime that came out recently. And the Club President was always trying to get Mori to join the Repair club, especially considering how often the guy came around. But even if he intruded sometimes, he was always nice about it, and rarely asked anything ridiculous.

"Hey, do you want to try to make a mech?"

Daichi stopped drinking from the water bottle he was holding and started to cough slightly in response to Mori's question.

"A-a mech? Like from an anime or something? I mean... I'm sure guys from the club would be happy to help if you paid them somehow, and I'm always willing to lend a hand to a friend, but it really depends on how big it is."

Daichi paused forming a small action figure of a mech from a popular, long-running anime from his AED as a demonstration - he had the same action figure since childhood, and he kept the original in his bedroom.

"Like, if we wanted something like this, we'd kind of have a hard limit at 10 feet tall - we wouldn't be able to work on it in the classroom if it was bigger, and I don't know where we'd store it. I mean, unless you get the president to help, which you probably can - then we might be able to use the courtyard, appeal to the student council..."

Daichi paused as he thought.

"Hell, he's the club president - he could probably just make a new building to house it while we make it."

Daichi clapped his friend on the shoulder and laughed.

"That's all theory though -it would take a lot of time and resources to build and bribe some of the guys here. Definitely sounds possible though, and I'm always willing to lend a hand!"

@RoflsMazoy

@King Cosmos

"Baseball? Hmmm."

As he made a bit of a show of thinking about this offer, he took the time to appraise the man who had so readily approached him. Truth be told, he was a little surprised that a challenge would come through so quickly after he'd told himself to seek more out— Though, this wasn't a man looking for a fight so much as a recruitment drive.

Or so his words said.

Despite short stature, there was some fair cording on those arms that were all but strangling the rubber grip of that... off-putting bat of crimson metal. His feet were firmly planted— squared up and not looking to give any ground. He wasn't intimidated at all by their height difference, which was to be expected— a man like him almost certainly was used to standing up to taller people. But it was his eyes that spoke the most. Filling themselves with steel, with resolve, they told Kasemchai in no uncertain terms that he had something to prove.

So tense you are.

What did he trust more? The declaration or the tension?

His smile, unfaltering beneath the pressure of this short, loud boy, gave way to a cool baritone of surprisingly fluid Japanese.

"You look rather tough yourself, but I'll have to pass."

He had heard of many comparisons, often made to and by Farang from the English-speaking West, that a proper kick from a Nak Muay was like getting struck by one of those baseball bats— but he was fairly certain even that metaphor was in regards to the wooden ones. And that was as comparable as the two sports were.

"You see, we do nothing for eachother— I've never played your game, and your game could teach me nothing of fighting. Not worth the time."

So, his weapon would dominate the middle range, but he was liable to swing wide and swing hard to really uncork his maximum power with each blow. At least, that seemed the personality he was dealing with. He didn't doubt anyone on the baseball team could swing hard enough to give him something to think about, if nothing else. That impact was more than something he could get away with ignoring. But he could use that power against him just as easily.

But he had grown up poor on the streets of Phuket. He had many times dealt with other boys swinging sticks around to gain an advantage, but that did not change the principles strategy was founded upon— He needed to simply minimize his time in that sphere of power around this baseball player. That was braindead simple to anyone like Kasemchai.

Assuming this turns into a battle, I'll want to keep to extremes. Too far for his swing, or too close for it. He's short...

I wonder how he would like the clinch? Unless he wrestled in his past life, that height will be his downfall. If he's no more cunning than just swinging for the fences, this will be all too easy.

"Unless of course, you're one of those clubs that doesn't let me have a say in the matter."

That pleasant smile widened almost imperceptibly as Kasemchai Sinbimuaythai's right leg twisted outwards by about 45 degrees, and now bore the majority of his weight with a subtle shift in the hips. His lead foot, now not directly beneath his center of gravity, was light on the ground beneath them— barely touching it with the ball of the foot and ready to kick at a moment's notice.

All he needed to complete his stance, if you were really a stickler about definitions, was raising his guard— but for Kasemchai's opinion, stance was all in the position and balance of weight. It was not so exaggerated as traditional and stereotypical Muay Thai, but the principles hadn't changed.

Ready to go.

Now then, what would Baseball Club do?

Fuko stopped at the top of the school's stairs. Someone was already on the roof for their lunch, which took her favourite spot. She didn't really want to share the roof either, despite its size.

'Maybe I'll just go to the cafeteria and watch people trip and ruin their clothes again.' Fuko thought as she carefully descended the steps. An onlooker would note the similarity in her stair technique with an elderly woman - however, it was due to the likeliness of a nasty fall that Fuko descended the stairs so deliberately.

After an eternity of descent, Fuko strolled down the hall towards the cafeteria. She recognized the room that her club, the Fortune Telling Club, met in as she walked past. The door was covered in talismans sealing wickedness, bad luck, and other similar things. There actually were several layers placed over each other. The oldest ones at the first layers simply sealed bad luck, then over them were talismans sealing curses, and evil spirits, and eventually, the newest ones at the top layer simply said "Sabi Fuko."

Fuko had enjoyed watching the Fortune Telling Club suddenly have nothing but bad omens for any students coming in, and their methods to combat the sudden awful luck. The members of course only cared because the bad fortunes scared off many of their normal visitors. It didn't take them too long to realize who the cause was. Fuko was expelled, of course, and wasn't allowed back in the clubroom. Not that she cared too much. She would just need to find a new club to stay in for a week or so before she was kicked from that and had to repeat the process.

Although the possibility of finding some other place to eat alone was somewhat desirable, Fuko eventually decided to go to the cafeteria. Standing in the doorway, she surveyed a good place to sit. Her eyes settled on the 'popular girl' table, which held mostly Fashion Club types, but quickly moved on. While she would have loved to sit there, give out a few hugs, and let them have something horrible happen to them, there was not really any way she'd manage to sit there without being squeezed out in some way. She would have to stick to one of the emptier sides of the cafeteria.

Fuko set her bentou box down on the table. She had heard whisperings from people she recognized, and was given somewhat of a wide berth by some while others were completely oblivious. Some where simply fascinated in her bentou box, which looked more like a heavy-duty construction container, with large, heavy, locking latches. This was due to necessity, as a normal box would inevitably open in her bag, break when dropped, or otherwise somehow mess everything up for her.

Despite its ruggedness and the dividers inside of the box, Fuko's lunch was still all jumbled together. She was used to it, however, and paid little mind as she ate it wordlessly. She disinterestedly scanned the lunchroom, taking note of some commotion or fight about to start at the other end of the cafeteria, and daydreaming of a way to get close enough to the Fashion Club group to really let the bad luck rub off on them.

“Man, it always comes back around to fighting, doesn’t it?” Ichiro’s smile slipped a little at the less than encouraging response he got from Kasemchai. Everyone was so hung up on battling and earning points more than anything else; even his own teammates spent more time figuring out how to win fights than they did practising for the next big game, which was probably why they were so bad at baseball as well as combat.

He supposed he was one of them now, even though he saw battling as a means to an end and that end was playing more baseball! “So what if you’ve never played? I’ll teach you! And it’s not meant to teach you how to fight, it’s meant to teach you how to be a team player and the benefits of hard work and determination! And it’s fun!”

It was no use. It seems nobody wanted to join a club for the actual club activities anymore; clubs were like the factions of the school, or small armies for the club leader or president. The Thai transfer student seemed to think the same as he asked if Ichiro was going to forcibly recruit him even if he said no; ah, yeah, there were some clubs who did that weren’t there? He even prepared for a fight, his leg turning and his weight shifting to his back leg as his forward leg lifted slightly.

Ichiro’s IES allowed him to calculate trajectories, or to put it another way the ‘path things would take’. It worked best on objects already in motion or objects about to be set in motion, like a ball leaving a pitchers hand or about to be struck by a bat, with the former being the easiest and the latter becoming clearer the closer the moment of motion was. What it wasn’t good with was potential movement; his skill alerted him to the possibility of Kasemchai’s attack but not what it would be as about a thousand alarms bells went off to let him know the dozens of ways the Thai student could kick him in the head if he so chose.

It was dizzying.

“Alright then.” Making a swift decision Ichiro leapt away from Kasemchai, creating as much distance as possible and sliding to a stop a few feet away. At the same time he twisted his hips and turned his upper body, moving his left hand from his side to join his right around the grip of his Slugger, moving into a batting stance with practised ease.

“Batter up!” A glowing red orb, approximately the same size as a baseball appeared in the air in front of Ichiro, hovering for just a moment before gravity took hold of it, falling for just a moment before the gleaming red bat struck it with as much force as Ichiro could put into a single swing. The Clean Hit surged towards the Thai student, a simple attack to kick off this fight with a bang.

@HereComesTheSnow

Chinatsu sighed. Someone was bothering her. In this case, it was someone she vaguely recognized. She didn't know much about Yamamoto Chie, aside from the fact that she existed and lead the Delinquent Club. She didn't expect someone so polite to be the one behind a club like that, but at the same time it didn't really matter very much. She had already decided what her response would be to anyone begging her to join their club.

She wasn't here for that.

Chinatsu wasn't here to just join a club and help them become more powerful. She didn't care about the system that was in place. Not really. Unless it got her closer to taking on the Student Council president, she couldn't care less.

But the diminutive brunette supposed she couldn't just ignore her. If she tried to, it was very likely that the taller girl would simply persist and keep attempting to ask about whatever it was. As a result, in the long run, responding now and shutting her down quickly would mean that the matter would be settled.

"What is it?" asked Chinatsu.

@RolePlayerRoxas

Relka walked the halls of the school, lunch ling forgotten as she studied her notebook trying to plot the perfect way to climb even high in the ranks. Twenty Eight was fine, but in order to take on the student council she had to be at least rank forty. The pink haired girl absentmindily chewed on her glasses as she expertly weaved around people walking.she had to consider actual fight training, her active and inactive engines got her this far with misinforming her opponents but eventually she would come across someone she had to take on where subtlety and decent weren't enough. She glanced down at Loki's Bangle and thought of ways of taking it apart and improve her original design. Maybe she could train Mimicry to go beyond its fifty percent copy abilities, if she could even get to a good eighty percent she could effectively overcome any sort of lack of training.

She passed by a window where a group of students had gathered to watch an other fight brewing, Relka peered outside hoping to see who was at it. The first boy she noted was a new student, no information, rank eleven. She opened up her book to double check the other. Ichiro, rank seven, enthusiast of the baseball club. Able to predict high propabilities of opponents. Relka had never taken him on herself but heard how tenacious he was about getting people to play baseball. He was almost a walking Shounen cliché, after a quick read of both fighters Relka gave Ichiro a 37.43 percent chamce of winning the fight. The other boy looked like he could properly handle himself just a little to well and despite his ability to predict things, he still had to actively dodge any incoming hits. Relka waited to see what the new boy would do, always smart to have information on everyone. She could always use an ally in her goals.

@King Cosmos

So there was something more to that bat.

The Nak Muay's eyes flashed as the crimson orb sailed through the air at remarkable speed straight towards him. As he suspected, the short man could generate brutal force at a full swing. He knew his body to be conditioned well. Even fantastically so. Compared to most of these students he could comfortably say he was made of iron, but there was no sense in betting on it in the face of anything moving with such velocity.

He stepped his lead foot outward, off to his left, the moment his opponent's bat made impact. That glowing orb didn't do anything weird that he could see besides responding as a solid—weird enough in and of itself.

So it was an AED after all, and one that seemed to produce its own projectiles. That changed the plan entirely— he wasn't nearly so safe as he thought out at long range. Not when his opponent could put projectiles downrange this fast. As a pugilist, projectile capability was one of the biggest advantages an opponent was supposed to have against him.

"Well, you misunderstand."

Supposed to.

The Thai's guard naturally raised as the fight had begun in earnest, and as he followed that step off the center line and out of the path of the orb, that outward-pointed right foot became a pivoting point once it returned to the earth, as he almost skipped through the motion like a pendulum— replacing the position of his lead as it rose into the air. With a twist of the hips to follow that prechambered rotation (the outward facing right foot), that lead leg lashed out into an inside low kick. A smooth, practiced motion borne of thousands of repetitions, just as his opponent's grand slam.

And for those paying attention in the audience, this was supposed to be utterly daft— the athlete was wholly out of range. Kasemchai was, by all appearances, kicking air.

And yet.

His IES flared, and for a moment, the transfer student was as Vajrapani.

The baseball player had powerful and accurate swings, by all means. From the smoothness of the motion, he could make a safe bet that this was indeed proper baseball form as well— but horrid for fighting. So long. So committed to raw power. So spread out. His hips had fully turned into the swing, and he had a proper kinetic chain, but he stood to swing a bat. Never in that stance's life did it encounter something that would attack it. Even karetaka, who liked to fight this long, were so much more mobile with their base— the sportsman had planted himself. Yes, it generated as much force as possible—

But it was also easy pickings. Far too easy.

Impossibly, the force of that inside leg kick reached far beyond the shin Kasemchai appeared to be striking air with— It was projected, with that full strength of impact, far enough to reach the sensitive inside of his opponent's left thigh. The baseball team member's front leg carried all of his weight, and he had twisted deep into it to cork out that fastball. The Thai doubted he would retract it in time, especially considering he had no reason to think the range of his kicks was any more than what they appeared. He doubted that this small man had ever conditioned his legs for impact that wasn't running. He doubted that he had taken any sort of kick to the thighs in his life— let alone from a Nak Muay. Even a reactive one with his lead leg was still a kick from him, who had been slamming rock-hard shins into bodies from the age of eight. His idea of "a hard kick" and that of the untrained were very different. Back at Sinbi this would be a bit much for their usually playful sparring, but at the stadiums in Bangkok he would need to throw this kick scores of times to change the expression on another fighter's face.

To the untrained? To those who had never tasted a kick in their lives? It may as well have been a lead pipe.

Kasemchai doubted this man was Lumpinee ready.

"I come from a fighting sport. And we are very dedicated to it."

As quickly as it had come, whether his projected strike had hit true to buckle the athlete's stance or by some miracle not, the Thai's lead leg returned to its stance as he coolly judged the outcome of their exchange. He could content himself with reading this man for a while, if this was all he would contend with out this far. He would move in closer when he was ready unless the situation demanded it sooner.

For now, I'll see if he measures up.

"...It sounds like you want me to keep it short~" Chie commented lightly, her smile unwavering. She hadn't expected it to be an easy task, so this was fine. The fairly small delinquent leader slid the weapon from her back, laying it on the floor beside her as she knelt down, legs folded neatly and hands on her lap, "Then, I'll skip right to the question and ask; are you willing to join my club?"

The odds were close to zero, but no harm in trying. Chie would do anything in her ability to recruit more members, especially if they prove useful in ultimately challenging the president. Chie didn't know what Chinatsu's goals were, but with any luck, she could dig up some useful information during the conversation.

"I would just like to add, joining my club provides many benefits, outside of the boons granted by the ranking~" Chie added cheerfully, "for example, it means you can be the one grabbing extra spending money, rather than losing it to us~! You can also take time off any class you want! Though that's limited to four classes per week, in order to maintain the proper ratios and all that. Also..."

She launched into a string of 'benefits' her club granted, all of which seemed to be pre-planned disruptive activities with arbitrary limits. It was quite odd to imagine these delinquents working to some sort of strange quota, which Chie stressed at some point shouldn't be exceeded. The club leader definitely possessed a strange thought process, made more and more evident as she rambled longer and longer, in a playful, friendly attempt to make her club seem more appealing.

@VitaVitaAR

Mori clapped Daichi on the shoulder as well.

"I don't think you understand, Daichi." He said.

He had a mind to think Daichi agreed to things too easily. It wasn't a bad thing per se. Nothing bad at all, but for this project he needed some measure of excitement. He didn't think this would work if the other members were involved grudgingly. Making something was hard work. He was somewhat aware the Snack Cart had attracted so much attention because it was trivial for the most part. It didn't require much expertise but this would require enough to the point that it wouldn't be his creation, it could only be theirs. It would be cooperation of the highest order. Not just to make, but to power it, and to run it.

"We don't need another building. This'll do fine." He said, hand still on Daichi's shoulder.

3 feet was fine. It could be created here. He could move it anywhere with his shadow, they didn't need to be confined to the school.

"I don't think I want the Student Council finding out about this either." He said.

They couldn't exactly do anything without their knowledge, but their funding wasn't something that'd even begin to cover the costs of the tech they would need. Well, if he was going to be honest he just didn't want them to know so he could surprise everyone. He had a plan though. He'd have to ask his parents about it but there was a possibility that it'd work. The reason it would work was because this wouldn't just be any robot.

It was possible that he could pitch this to his parents' company to gain a sponsor. There were other similar cases of mechanics companies sponsoring young teams of inventors in the creation of their own car to enter certain competitions. This could be quite an attractive pitch. It was somewhat more, and could be less complex than just a car, or just a robot. Something that had never been done before.

To solve the pitch to the Student Council he'd give it a suitably obfuscating name. He could say something along the lines of; 'A series of digitally linked mechanical AED vehicles. The systems in place allow for dynamic linking between the vehicles, allowing for spontaneous deployment of a unique formation.'

If this didn't get Daichi a little bit excited for it he honestly had no idea what would.

"Two words," He said. said, leaning in close to Daichi. "Getter Robo."

@Duoya

The music room was always quiet around this time as most of the members chose to enjoy their lunch time down in the cafeteria. That was not the case this time for the president of the music club, Shin Kawaguchi. He sat at a desk in the back of the room with chopsticks in one hand and a clip board in the other as he stared as the the list of equipment that needed to be repaired or replaced. The third year gave a sigh after taking another bite of his bento box, he needed more battle points for the club to afford any of the issues on the list. There was an issue of the club being low on members right now as most of the members last year had been third years and they were still recovering from that lose.

Deciding to put down the chopsticks, he grabbed a sharpie and a cardboard box that hadn't been cleaned up yet and tore off one of the sides.



Hopefully the sign got some attention from the students that had not decided on a club yet or poached by other clubs. After finishing the sign, he grabbed what was left of this bento box and headed out of the room in the direction of the cafeteria.

When he arrived outside the cafeteria, he set himself up across from the doors with his sign. Now he had to play the waiting game and see if anyone took the bait to join his easy going club.