perving on women or hanging out with
friends, but he’d never miss a track meet, and he definitely
wouldn’t miss out on the last one of the season. Where do you
think he is?”
As
if summoned by their words, a loud, familiar voice shouted from
behind them.
“LOOK
OUT, EVERYONE!!! COMING THROUGH!!”
And
then another voice shouted, this one female.
“IF
YOU PEOPLE DON’T WANNA GET FLATTENED, YOU’D BETTER MOVE
OUT OF THE WAY!”
The
entire male track team looked behind them to see Eric and…was
that Heather Grant? Yes, it was. Their new PE assistant coach was
also running down the hallway, and there was a large cloud of what
looked like dust chasing after them.
Everyone
present jumped away, their backs pressing against the wall, just as
the two ran past them.
“There
they are!”
“Get
them!”
“Hurry
up! Don’t let them get away!”
“Come
back here, you stupid perverts!”
“I
can’t believe we trusted you!”
“KILL
THEM!!!”
Before
anyone could even think about relaxing, the track team was forced
back against the wall as a horde of outraged teenage girls rushed by.
Several drops of sweat rolled down Kevin’s face as he noticed
that every girl was carrying some kind of household appliance: a
broom, a mop, a rake, a strange pole thing, and…
“Holy
shit! Is that chick carrying a claymore?!”
Kevin
nearly did a double take when he saw that one of the girls rushing
past them was, indeed, carrying a claymore: a two-handed longsword
with a cross hilt of forward-sloping quillons with quatrefoil
terminations. The weapon was gigantic, literally a foot or so longer
than the girl was tall. That she carried it so easily spoke much of
her strength, or her anger, or both.
Angry
women tended to gain a substantial increase in strength proportionate
to how upset they were. It was one of the basic laws of shōnen
manga.
“Is
that a prop? Please tell me that’s a prop!”
“I
don’t know…
it
looks pretty real to me.”
“B-but
just look that that thing! It’s huge! And look at the way she’s
carrying it! There’s no way a waif of a girl like that could
possibly carry a real sword that large!”
Kevin
had to agree. Claymores were heavy. While he didn’t know
exactly how much they weighed, he knew that a full-tang steel
claymore was, at the very least, somewhere around 60 to 80 pounds, if
not heavier. It was probably a prop of some kind—although he
couldn’t recall ever seeing a prop like that being used in any
of their school’s plays.
Maybe
that girl’s a fan of Claire and that’s just her cosplay
sword… yeah,
that’s gotta be it. No way someone would be carrying around a
real claymore like that.
The
horde of murderous teenage girls dwindled down to a trickle before
ceasing altogether. Alex, Andrew, Chase and Kevin all looked at each
other with matching “WTF?”
expressions.
“So,
what do you think that was about?”
Alex
asked.
“No
idea,”
Chase
muttered, staring at the last place they’d seen the girl
wielding the giant claymore.
Kevin
shook his head. “I don’t think I want to know.”
“…
Peeping…”
Once
again, Justin received nothing but odd looks, even though, for once,
the group completely agreed with him.
***
“Ha…
ha….
I think…
we
lost them…”
Eric
was hunched over on his hands and knees, breathing heavily as if he’d
just run a marathon—or been chased by a horde of angry teenage
girls. Sweat dripped down his brow and his shoulders heaved as he
tried to regulate his breathing.
He
looked at his partner in crime, the gorgeous blond teacher whose
lecherous streak was even wider than his own, and he couldn’t
help but wonder: where had this woman been all his life? Why had she
just revealed herself to him now? If only they had met sooner!
Unlike
Eric, who looked ready to keel over, Heather hadn’t broken a
sweat. She appeared right as rain and ready to bolt at a moment’s
notice. “Hmm…
I
don’t know. We women are a tenacious
friends, but he’d never miss a track meet, and he definitely
wouldn’t miss out on the last one of the season. Where do you
think he is?”
As
if summoned by their words, a loud, familiar voice shouted from
behind them.
“LOOK
OUT, EVERYONE!!! COMING THROUGH!!”
And
then another voice shouted, this one female.
“IF
YOU PEOPLE DON’T WANNA GET FLATTENED, YOU’D BETTER MOVE
OUT OF THE WAY!”
The
entire male track team looked behind them to see Eric and…was
that Heather Grant? Yes, it was. Their new PE assistant coach was
also running down the hallway, and there was a large cloud of what
looked like dust chasing after them.
Everyone
present jumped away, their backs pressing against the wall, just as
the two ran past them.
“There
they are!”
“Get
them!”
“Hurry
up! Don’t let them get away!”
“Come
back here, you stupid perverts!”
“I
can’t believe we trusted you!”
“KILL
THEM!!!”
Before
anyone could even think about relaxing, the track team was forced
back against the wall as a horde of outraged teenage girls rushed by.
Several drops of sweat rolled down Kevin’s face as he noticed
that every girl was carrying some kind of household appliance: a
broom, a mop, a rake, a strange pole thing, and…
“Holy
shit! Is that chick carrying a claymore?!”
Kevin
nearly did a double take when he saw that one of the girls rushing
past them was, indeed, carrying a claymore: a two-handed longsword
with a cross hilt of forward-sloping quillons with quatrefoil
terminations. The weapon was gigantic, literally a foot or so longer
than the girl was tall. That she carried it so easily spoke much of
her strength, or her anger, or both.
Angry
women tended to gain a substantial increase in strength proportionate
to how upset they were. It was one of the basic laws of shōnen
manga.
“Is
that a prop? Please tell me that’s a prop!”
“I
don’t know…
it
looks pretty real to me.”
“B-but
just look that that thing! It’s huge! And look at the way she’s
carrying it! There’s no way a waif of a girl like that could
possibly carry a real sword that large!”
Kevin
had to agree. Claymores were heavy. While he didn’t know
exactly how much they weighed, he knew that a full-tang steel
claymore was, at the very least, somewhere around 60 to 80 pounds, if
not heavier. It was probably a prop of some kind—although he
couldn’t recall ever seeing a prop like that being used in any
of their school’s plays.
Maybe
that girl’s a fan of Claire and that’s just her cosplay
sword… yeah,
that’s gotta be it. No way someone would be carrying around a
real claymore like that.
The
horde of murderous teenage girls dwindled down to a trickle before
ceasing altogether. Alex, Andrew, Chase and Kevin all looked at each
other with matching “WTF?”
expressions.
“So,
what do you think that was about?”
Alex
asked.
“No
idea,”
Chase
muttered, staring at the last place they’d seen the girl
wielding the giant claymore.
Kevin
shook his head. “I don’t think I want to know.”
“…
Peeping…”
Once
again, Justin received nothing but odd looks, even though, for once,
the group completely agreed with him.
***
“Ha…
ha….
I think…
we
lost them…”
Eric
was hunched over on his hands and knees, breathing heavily as if he’d
just run a marathon—or been chased by a horde of angry teenage
girls. Sweat dripped down his brow and his shoulders heaved as he
tried to regulate his breathing.
He
looked at his partner in crime, the gorgeous blond teacher whose
lecherous streak was even wider than his own, and he couldn’t
help but wonder: where had this woman been all his life? Why had she
just revealed herself to him now? If only they had met sooner!
Unlike
Eric, who looked ready to keel over, Heather hadn’t broken a
sweat. She appeared right as rain and ready to bolt at a moment’s
notice. “Hmm…
I
don’t know. We women are a tenacious
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