"Did I turn into a delinquent or something?"
His reflection doesn't answer.
The kunai fit comfortably, one in each hand. He tries to relax and his body shifts into a rough stance instead—the sort of posture it might be easy to stab someone from, maybe.
He unrelaxes, quick.
They even come with accessories—a set of sheaths, and he's not surprised when it turns out they fit under his coat, around the belt area. A lot of things are making sense, too much and all at once.
"They're as big as my arm," he mutters.
His reflection doesn't comment.