Enter Kagami and Riko. I didn't feel right just dangling Aomine's introduction, so I compiled an appropriate follow-up chapter from the total 28 pages I have in queue to satisfy myself.
TWO
Of the few things he'd come across since his migration to the States, Aomine appreciated that American furniture compensated for larger folk. When the policewoman had swept him into the administration office, she directed him to a line of lobby chairs adjacent to a bowing reception desk. Only after he planted himself did she approach a string-bean-looking kid seated behind the counter, stoop over to mutter a few words, then leave. He assessed the space while he slumped into the barely passable seat cushion, arms spilling into his lap.
Antiseptic was the only acceptable description. Eggshell plaster walls were unblemished by posters, advertisements, or announcements, anchoring only one obscenely large analog clock whose rhythmic cadence did not sound. There was nary a splash of vibrant color anywhere. Just off-white walls, crème-stained tiles, and dismal furniture. Had interior décor been a passion of Aomine's, he may actually feel abashed. He tipped his head back, his skull finding the wall with a gentle tap as he leered over the tall countertop of the reception desk. Twenty feet back he identified workspaces, their contents visible through half-walls of plaster and glass. Hardly private, he thought and wondered the significance of transparency.
He huffed a sigh and eyed the clock again.
8:20 AM.
How long did they expect him to sit here?
It was barely an hour into the day.
What the hell could be occupying the principal's time?
. . .
Kagami silently fumed as he lifted out of the chair and strode to the door, slinging his backpack onto one shoulder. He told himself to just breathe. Simmer down and not let it get to him. The same mantra he'd been repeating for every past incident. Which wasn't easy when his right hand was screaming. And with Principal Aida Riko trailing behind him on their way out of her personal office, he couldn't afford to be hostile.
He pushed the aluminum slab open, stepping aside to allow the petite woman to clear the entrance before releasing it.
She approached a plastic tray on the reception desk and rifled through the submissions for review. Probably more disciplinary complaints. A petulant part of him hoped the offenses, if applicable, were more of Haizaki's work, so that dick would finally face justice.
The thought irked him. But now wasn't the time.
Principal Aida had already dismissed him.
Maybe he would get a chance the next time Haizaki struck.
"Taiga." Her stern voice broke his thoughts. "We're done here. Get to class."
No, he decided.
They weren't done.
"Why isn't he up here getting reamed? He started it."
The stack of papers in her hands was slapped to the laminate countertop and she groaned. "That may be," she said, spinning and leaning against the counter lip, arms folded as either a sign of authority or displeasure—probably both. "But you threw the first punch." She shrugged, arms dropping to clap her dress pants-clad legs. "My hands are tied."
Not this again.
"This is what he does." He was careful to dial down his tone. "Are you seriously not going to intervene because he doesn't hit first?"
Her eyes hardened and she pushed off the desk, posture becoming rigid. "I have enough people to pacify, Taiga. Take a number."
"Principal Aida—"
She raised her hand, fingers and thumb pressed together in a gesture for silence, and said, "Zip it. Control your temper. Be the bigger person and ignore him. You'd probably be the first." She scooped up the discarded pages. "You're excused," she said, motioning with the stack to his injured hand. "Ice that."
He stiffly bobbed his head and headed for the propped open office doors.
Son of a bitch.
. . .
Aomine watched the interaction behind the high-rise of the reception desk, barely able to see a tiny brunette over the lip hashing something out with a student. Whatever they were discussing, the accused wasn't having any of it, his disappointment palpable even through the language barrier.
He wasn't interested in a debate he could not understand but he found himself examining the probable troublemaker under scrutiny. Short choppy hair mutilated with the strangest dye job he'd ever seen. That didn't compare with the forked brows or intense red eyes. This one was probably a hair taller than Cornrows with a meaty build that spoke of dedication to athleticism. Definitely not muscle-building or running; his upper body looked solid but without the obsessive bulge of muscle. Which left sports. With that height, it was either American football or basketball. The sun-kissed skin suggested either.
When he heard the clap of papers and sensed tensions rising, he directed his attention elsewhere. Last thing he wanted was for his bizarre appearance to confound another bigoted American. Even in Japan his abnormal stature and darker skin was approached with gossip and rumor. But back home he could counter the backlash, if provoked to do so. There was a distinction between recognizing a unique characteristic and disparaging the person for it.
"You."
He whipped his head to the sound and spotted that same tiny brunette leaning around the raised counter. She crooked a thin finger at him. From the look on her face and the brooding aura trailing after the departing student, this wasn't looking like a good morning for her. He shared her sentiments.
He rose and slid the abused schedule into his back pocket as he threaded the narrow space between the bank of chairs and crescent countertop of the reception desk. Forked Brows clipped his shoulder upon passing and their eyes met. Aggravation blazed beneath scrunched brows and the curl of his lip kindled a similar irritation in Aomine. The moment was fleeting and a silent agreement passed between them as they continued on their separate paths.
Stay out of my way.
He neared the little woman who commanded a presence of experience contending with unruly teens, no measure of stress behind her vibrant eyes. She reeled the door that she and Forked Brows had come out of minutes earlier open and tipped her head, gesturing to enter.
Aomine obeyed.