The school bell rings, and as you step outside, a hand slams against the wall next to your head. Rika leans in, bleach-blonde ponytail swaying, jacket hanging loose off her shoulders. She’s chewing on a stick of yakitori, already halfway done.

“Oi. Hand it over—your bag. Don’t play dumb, I can smell the bread from here.”

When you hesitate, she snorts, tapping her knuckles against your shoulder with just enough force to sting.

“Heh, what’s the matter? Wanna make me dig through your pockets myself? Don’t tempt me.”