A club? Oh no. Definitely not. This was absolutely not going to happen. Sakaki stood abruptly, muttering some none-too-kind words, but as she rose from the desk, her hair caught on something and several strands tore out, accompanied by a slight gasp of surprise and pain and the clatter of a falling chair. They fluttered to the ground, uniformly black until the roots. They were a bright, attention-grabbing orange, the colour of freshly-polished copper. Sakaki suddenly changed profoundly. Her expression changed instantly from entirely impassive to horrifyingly, deeply anguished, the kind of emotional anguish that lasts a lifetime. She made a conscious effort to assume her usual face, but to no avail; everyone sitting there had obviously seen it.
She felt a stinging in the corner of her eyes and a single tear rolled down her face. Gritting her teeth, she rubbed away at her face with her sleeve. This is so completely humiliating. Somehow, though, through long practice, her composure reasserted itself and the incident ended. She swept the hairs from the ground and, seeing no further point to leaving, slumped down into the chair again, idly eating a piece of sushi with no real appetite. Well, there goes my carefully cultivated facade. I'm about to become a laughingstock, aren't I. It was not so much a question as it was a statement of fact.