The hero falls for quite a great distance, his instincts are the only ward against doom. The glint of crystal below signals a grim fate- his body soon to be a bloody splatter against it. With the smell of blood filling his nostrils, his fingers begin to tremble.

The glint of the steel blade is his only beacon in the darkness and he feels the wind through his hair as an armoured hand drives the tip into the ground. A blast ripples outwards as the sword connects, sending shards of crystal flying.

He steps down from his makeshift pillar before retrieving the blade from the cavern floor. Just then, a deep rumbling emerges from the bowels of the cave, beginning to spread to the center.

His intuition tells him to look up and the outline of mounds of gold that stretch to the ceiling. The mounds shake and gold floods his eyes as…

Splash.

The chill that permeates her scalp takes her out of the cave back to her classroom. Ayame closes her latest read with a snap, and just in time. The liquid drips down her hair onto the plastic cover, leaving the previous contents untouched.

When Ayame brings her fingers to her hair, it feels sticky and reeks of saccharine. The chuckling behind her sounds like a demon's cackle, and the orange stains on her fingers begin to feel like slime.

Her chair crashes to the floor in her bid to get to her feet. Ayame turns to the source of the chuckling. His brown eyes dart around and her ruby ones are locked onto him. He stumbles back but it is futile. Ayame manages to grab him by the collar, his legs flailing in the air as she lifts him off the ground.

Her usually cheery voice drops to a dangerous whisper, and her gaze intensifies. Ayame can almost count the eyelashes on his eyes and see her flecks of spit glisten on his face. "What the fuck are you on about?"

The act itself is not what enrages her. But the chuckling makes it clear the action was a deliberate one.

His mouth twists into a sneer, and he chuckles "Never thought a hero's sister would act like a delinquent." At this, Ayame's mind goes blank and her grip on him loosens.

That's right.

Ayaka was a hero. An example she had to uphold. Just because she dressed like a delinquent didn't mean she had the liberty to act like one. Ayame gives a sharp exhale, her flailing hair falling back to her waist.

Yet, her classmate's voice rings in her ears again, his voice like honey dripping off a knife. "Then again, that washout wasn't ever really a hero." Her glare softens but her hands resume their vice-like grip on his collar.

The chattering of everyone else fades away. In her mind's eye is the sickening smirk on his lips and though she can no longer hear his voice, she sees his mouth open and close. The words register, and the final thread of restraint is snapped.

All her sorrow from the past year spills out as pure wrath.

Her hair picks up her intent and makes a swipe at his face. Surprisingly, he shouts, drawing Ayame's attention to the fist hurtling towards her face.

The punch connects, sending Ayame stumbling back. The image of her classmate on the floor is watery but she can make out the faint line of crimson running from where a red welt should be.

Her vision clears but not before a force pulls on her skirt, sending her tumbling to the floor. Ayame cares not that her skirt is riding up her calf, her arms already raised in defense.

The next fist comes as if suspended in water. This allows Ayame's hand to snake around his wrist. She tosses him to the side as if he were made from scrap fabric, the force of his impact sending multiple desks out of alignment.

From there, Ayame's mind goes blank. When she next comes back to her senses, she finds her palm is bruised from the chair in her left hand. One classmate has their arms wrapped around her shoulders and another around her waist.

Her right eye is swollen shut and she can taste blood spilling into her mouth but she is the one who is better off.

Ayame's vision flickers to her assailant, now the victim, prostrating at the teacher's podium. Her head stings, moving her hand to the bump on her head. Flashes from moments ago resurface. Her face drops as the realisation sinks in.

Yup, she definitely slammed his head into a table and the footprints on his shirt only confirm her stepping on his stomach.