Futaba peeked from behind Akechi's back from the neighboring booth. "Whatcha got there, traitor?"

"Cookies." Akechi took a chocolate-covered digestive biscuit from a plastic tray with his off-hand. "Your father doesn't mind me bringing my own food and they pair amazingly well with his coffee."

"Gimme!" Futaba reached for the tray, but Akechi moved it out of her range.

"Nope," he replied. "They're mine, I paid for them with my own money."

She pouted in an exaggerated manner. "What are you, a misogynist?"

"No!" he reacted, in a mix of confusion and genuine offense. "C'mon, Sakura, I've got enough actual flaws that you don't need to make up more!"

"Uhhh," Futaba decided to be direct, "you do know it's a joke, right?"

Akechi stared at her for a moment. "…what?"

"I'm exaggerating for a lark," she explained. "It's like, if you asked me for something and I would tell you 'no', you could then be like 'this is oppression of left-handed people'."

"Oh. Right. I get it, I think." Akechi took a breath to dial himself down a bit. "But seriously, how could I be misogynist if every single woman I know can kick my ass?"

Futaba tilted her head. "Wait, really? This doesn't add up."

Akechi turned around in his seat to face her. "Alright, let me break it down for you. Take Niijima."

"Phrasing!"

"Either of them, really," Akechi ignored her. "A straight fight would last all of ten seconds, unless I had the element of surprise – and even then, it would probably give me five more seconds. Then, there's you."

Futaba raised an eyebrow. "Wait, is that ordered? You think I'm the second most dangerous?"

"Yes. You are a tech gremlin and, at this point, you can probably detect any of my thoughtcrimes and blow my phone up in my face before I act on them."

"Why am I not on the top of the list?!" she reacted with genuine offense.

"Because if I throw away my phone and get within strangling distance, you're as good as dead."

"I'd like to see you-"

Akechi flicked her nose in response.

"Ow!" She hid her nose with both hands. "Fine, point taken. And Haru's third in the sorted array, isn't she?"

"Correct," he nodded. "A bundle of sadism and daddy issues under a prim-and-proper facade-"

"Pot, kettle, black," she butted in.

"I do not deny that, but in this metaphor the kettle is also black."

Futaba put on a shit-eating grin. "Oh, so now you're racist as well?"

Akechi just barely restrained himself from making a quip about her mom. "My point is, what she might lack in technique, she makes up for in ferocity. The best I can hope for against her is a pyrrhic victory. Probably with at least one limb missing. Below her, Yoshizawa."

"An easy win for you," Futaba said.

"Actually, I think it would be a coin toss."

"What?" she reacted. "She's a twig, you'd beat her ass!"

"I ate enough, pardon the obvious pun, crow, to be conservative with assessment of my fighting prowess," Akechi explained. "While Yoshizawa lacks the raw power, she possesses enough flexibility and agility to evade me long enough to tire me out and gain an opening. I could get lucky enough to defeat her before that… or not."

"Uh huh," Futaba remarked. "And that leaves Ann at the very bottom. You won't convince me she has the stats to win a fight with you." Beat. "Maybe if she gets her tits out."

Akechi shuddered. "This won't work. I've dealt with enough creepy stalkers and fangirls. Such a scenario would just activate my fight-or-flight reflexes." He took a breath. "So, I'd beat her to a pulp, and then every lady above her on the list would break my arms and drown me in the nearest puddle. Quod erat demonstrandum."

"I see." A grin manifested on Futaba's face. "So you're actually a misandrist."

"Well," Akechi shrugged, "I hate my father and I hate myself, maybe it's a pattern." Beat. "If I give you a cookie, will you fuck off?"

"There's only one way you'll find out."