“Oh, no!” Manami’s blush deepens, mystifying Kayano further. Her friend is shy, but they’re still close, aren’t they? The other girl twists her hands, staring down at the floor. “I — I have a request.”

“Of course.” Kayano shuts the oven door and pulls off her oven mitts, setting them on the table. “What is it?”

“Teach me to fight.”

Kayano stares, sure she didn’t hear Manami correctly. “I’m sorry?”

“I said,” the girl replies, looking up and meeting Kayano’s eyes with an unexpected ferocity, “teach me how to fight. I know you know how to do it. Okano and Kimura were telling everyone about how good you are, and I’ve seen some of your films.”

Kayano’s eyes widen. Manami’s blush doesn’t disappear, but her stare doesn’t waver.

“Yes, I can fight. Not as well as I used to, but I know how. But why do you want to learn?”

“I’m sick of being helpless,” Manami says. Her eyes flash in a way Kayano hasn’t seen before. “I don’t like being so small, hapless, clueless, hopeless at PE — I want to not have to worry about whether someone else can rescue me. That time in Kyoto, I couldn’t save you or Kanzaki. All I could do was run away, and running away won’t always be an option.”

The time in Kyoto. Kayano had never been in any real danger; if they tried to do something to her, she could’ve ripped out their throats and made a necklace of their intestines, but it had been close. She didn’t want to blow her cover. Regardless, it was smart of Manami to rude and hide, not cowardly — but she’s right. Running away won’t always be an option.

Besides, Kayano knows something about being small and helpless. She wouldn’t have injected herself with the tentacles if she didn’t.

“Meet me at the field after school,” Kayano says. Her tone becomes brisk, efficient, more like Akari, but good. No point in teaching someone combat skills if they’re too thin-skinned to actually get in a fight.