If Honey had one thing to complain about after rebirth, it was the lack of cake.
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"3-E?"
The blond nodded, his purple eyes slightly narrowing as his mind drifted to one annoying redhead.
"Yes, we must put them in their place."
The strawberry blon...
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All of it happened so fast, Mitsukuni didn't even have the time to breathe before he found himself laying on the ground, breath cut short from the impact, and hands drawn on the dirty floor by a sturdy grip.
His eyes shut, from the unexpected pain in his back, he quickly regained his composure. He hadn't expected the surprise attack, hadn't felt his opponent closing onto him, or even seen the other party's face. He had to admit he was careless, a bit overconfident maybe, and although he tried to tell himself he knew when he was doing by planning ahead, he never really understood who— or what, he was going against.
The grip around his wrist was tight, and the strength in it was nothing to scoff at. Mitsukuni knew that with his stature as a teen, he wouldn't be able to get out of it by overpowering it. He stopped struggling for a second, trying to have the man let his guard down, and in one swift motion, brought his legs upward for a kick— both to distract, and get out of his predicament, and to hurt the other person.
He felt the grip on his wrist loosen, his hands freed, he propped his palm against the ground and with the velocity of his kick— which the other party flawlessly dodged, he executed a flip, allowing himself to stand up again. This time, he adopted a guarded stance, one he hadn't taken in years already.
After all, Mitsukuni rarely fought with people out of judo competition. Even more so, people, he needed to tread carefully with. He opened his honey-brown eyes, narrowing them to the point no trace of roundness could be found, as a sharp glint coursed through them.
His eyes sharply looked up, and then—
And then—
And then he saw them, those sharp and cold looking icy-blue eyes. Although it was nothing like the pitchless black of his memory, he swore he would never mistake them for anybody else's. His guard minutely faltered. He wondered if his nostalgia was getting to him, and he bit his lower lip.
On the other side, Shimamori wasn't better off. The moment his pair of cold eyes met the soft honey-brown ones of his dream, he felt his breathing hitch. His head throbbed, and at once, the veil that covered those blurred images was lifted. He didn't understand what got to him, and for a second, he let his guard down.
Mitsukuni didn't need another opportunity to strike. Dismissing the strange thought that coursed through his mind, he bolted forward. The raven's stance was slack, he grabbed his arm, and effortlessly effectuated a shoulder throw. He didn't let his chance go, and hurriedly bound the male to the ground with whatever was in his reach— his jacket and some laying threads.
