Lunch debts are inhumane and ridiculous. They aren't useful, they aren't just, and they shouldn't exist. That's just the truth.
I think Seto, and pretty much everyone who associates with him, would agree with that.
.
"Aniki got wind of this one from an advocacy group," Noa said, as he strode along the hallway past classrooms he would never enter. "On Facebook, I think. People know where to turn when bureaucrats try to fuck over Domino's kids. They know they can call Aniki, and he'll see it done."
"This is about . . . outstanding lunch debt?" Ryo asked, marveling at just how small a middle school looked, now that he was an adult; had his locker been so small? He couldn't remember. Noa was nodding. "Your brother doesn't like the idea of keeping food from children," he said, less a question and more a statement.
Ryo knew Seto Kaiba's general stance on imposing "debts" onto the young and helpless.
"He . . . very much does not," Noa affirmed. "Normally, he would handle something like this. But he's sent me to see how it goes. Kind of a test run. If this works out, I'm going to look into law school, see about becoming one of the company's legal consultants." He winked. "Right now, I'm just a hobbyist."
"Huh?" Ryo tilted his head. "What does that mean?"
"I'm here," Noa said, "because I just so happen to know a lot about Domino's codes and the nitty-gritty of our county's laws. I'm pretty sure I've already got this school's administration on about twenty major violations, and that's just based on what I've seen since we got here. Never mind tossing out kids' meals in front of them because they don't happen to have enough change on them."
Ryo grimaced. "I see," he said flatly.
"I don't have Aniki's experience with giving grand speeches," Noa admitted, "nor do I have his reputation. I probably don't have his charisma, either. But what I do have is an encyclopedic knowledge of how Domino City works and what its civil servants are allowed to do. Also, if Chichiue taught me how to do anything before I died, it was how to throw my weight around."
"Not that I'm complaining," Ryo said after a moment, "as I always like joining you on your errands, but . . . what, precisely, will I be doing?"
"Here." Noa handed Ryo a clipboard with a few documents attached. He slipped a pen out of a pocket and held it up. "While I'm talking, you hold this and look serious. Maybe scratch a note or two down on the margins, there. You don't have to say a word."
Ryo took the offered items and quirked an eyebrow. "You want me to pretend I'm some kind of city official?" he asked.
"You play tabletop games," Noa said.
"I do . . ." Ryo said slowly.
"Think of this as an intimidation check for me. You're giving me the help action."
Ryo frowned. "Huh," he said. "I guess that makes sense."
"Don't worry," Noa said. "Nothing I say today is going to be a lie. I know how this kind of operation works. You need to catch people like this on the lies they're telling, and that means you have to be blameless. No smudging, no fudging, nothing. I'll be as honest as a Catholic grandmother in there."
"Catholic . . . grandmother?"
Noa shrugged. "I dunno. Hahaue used to say that."
Ryo giggled, then cleared his throat. "All right. I guess . . . let's do this."
"Atta boy."
Noa stopped in front of the principal's office, straightened his tie, adjusted his jacket, and strode inside.