Chapter 7:

Tabletop Extravaganza


“Are all youths as boisterous as you?”

My body dodges to the right, with the exaggerated style and vigour of a teacher too skilled to care. I'm in an open space right now, the empty area between student desks.

"Nah, youths as great as me are dime a dozen!"

Taking boisterous as a compliment, she lunges at me again.

"Youths as energetic as you, certainly!"

The distance between her hand and my jacket is not even a centimetre away. Just in time I pull back, and with a bit of force, jump. Over her body, using her head as a springboard, I then leap to a desk behind, landing with a perfect median.

There's really no need for flawless balance, so I decide to lift one leg up, striking a pose with it instead.

I believe they call this one the broken clock position!

As if a prompt for an attack, Ceylica sweeps at my feet. She's far too predictable to ever hit me, all strength and no dexterity, one might say.

So, once again, I jump, and flash her a smirk.

Hopping from one platform to the other, I grin as the 'great' Ceylica attempts to keep up, shuffling from right to left, and forward to back.

It's a fun routine, consisting of her ‘barely’ missing, me jumping away, and her stumbling as a result.

"Yer slippery ye know" She states, with an expression as elated as mine. "Ye sure ye ain't part mankey Mr. Azama?"

"Hardly!" I reply. "I'm a hundred percent homegrown human I'm afraid!"

"Oh ye, we'll see about that!"

So she says, this time with her left hand inconspicuously tucked under a table. Wanting to avoid collateral, I brace, and formulate a plan.


A table flies towards my head, moving at a speed beyond mere human input.

Extending my foot ever so slightly, I kick the apron of the table, which, in a second, rotates 87 degrees and aligns perpendicular to the floor. Like I expect, it then stumbles with admittedly shaky movement, but otherwise lands perfectly safe and sound.

Phew, what a waste of quality wood if it would break.

“It’s Larmayan Maple, Ms. Ceylica, do have mercy for Rainee’s infinite wallet!”

As if only fuelling her destructive desires, Ceylica with due vigour, begins to pick up another table.

In any case, one more flies towards me, and once more I give it a kick.

"Hah, yer amazing Azama!"

I know, but thank you anyway!

"Likewise Ceylica, you yourself are doing quite well!"

When I examine her, I can see that she's still far from giving up, and in fact, only accelerates in her movement as a result. Props to her, I suppose it's only fair to respond suitably!

My legs are still very very far from giving way, so why not make it a bit more fun?

Squatting down, I begin the careful act of balancing on the balls of my feet, crossing my arms all the while.

In fact, what I'm about to do is perform a variation of a popular Elvish dance, albeit with a few twists.

All the while, Ceylica, with raised cheeks and a jovial chuckle sprints between a path of tables.

With the power of her legs in full force, she uses her combined momentum and power to throw them from all directions.

Two come at me, the interval between them no more than a half second.

The game has begun. I send one leg upwards. It collides, immediately sending the table spinning.

Then, without pause, I alternate to my other leg. In a heartbeat, with the bounce of my dance incorporated, I kick. Again, the table falls, shakes, and lands.

By now I'm in full momentum, changing from one leg to the other as if running in place.


My view is surrounded by tables, an endless stream of projectiles without end.

My body moves with perfect precision, instinctively responding with a kick each time.

One by one they topple, struck down like stalagmites from a cave ceiling.

That does work as visual imagery right?

Oh well, there's no need to think too hard about it. The joy of livening my joints up a little is more than satisfactory by itself!

As an overly pompous showman might say after a performance, 'such an act is nothing more than child's play.'

I've already blocked nine tables, and by this point they've formed a boundary around me. Even so, Ceylica's still grinning, running to yet another poor student's desk. On the contrary to how one might normally act, Ceylica's even more inspired than ever.

I had expected one of her ego to be dissuaded after imminent failure, but it seems that I'm wrong!

Splendid, always strive for greatness Ceylica, keep up that Azamazing spirit of yours!

In line with that wonderful thinking of hers I now see a table in each hand. A breakaway from the routine of singular throws now paves way for both at the same time.

Tensing the muscles in my leg, I promise to offer my due appreciation, and with it a yet another Azamazing display of ability.

But before she can throw, she's stopped. Not by the physical brunt of a punch, or the mental quell of a shout, but rather the presence of another.

This ‘another’ being the virtuous Jaiga Al Heileweis, who now standing at the entrance of the class, clad from head to toe in armour and all, waits. More importantly however, is that Jaiga also now holds a literal spear and seems quite prepared to throw it.

Despite this, however, no great reaction had been invoked.

Though it did seem that additional interest was riled within the other students, that was to the amount it reached. Merely interest, not agitation, discomfort, or other ill-conceived emotions. Between glances from their cellphones, and somewhat casual comments, all seemed relatively normal to them.

Save for one, that is.

“Damn, she’s really about to go for it,” one comments.

“Shit dawg, things are about to heat up in here,” another remarks.

My, these students are surely well adjusted if anything. To see even a literal spear wielding armour clad knight as mere entertainment… How utterly charming!

"Cease your assault you godless infidel!" Jaiga demands, poising the weapon above her right shoulder.

"Oh”. Ceylica answers with a grin. “Nice to see ye too, Ms Yagai".

Good work Ceylica! Anger her more by mispronouncing her name, that ought to de-escalate the tension!

“If you think mispronouncing my name will deter me, then think again.”

“Yagai, Yagai, Yagai, Yagai.”

Keep this up Ceylica, things are getting intense in here!

“Make no mistake, I will not hesitate to maul you.”

“Yer been hesitating for the last minute.”

“I am restraining myself in the name of goodwill.”

“Goodwill this, goodwill that, whatever happened to fighting fer justice?”

So Ceylica believes goodwill and fighting for justice are mutually incompatible. Is this insight into her character, or just a misunderstanding?

Either way, do continue!

“Mauling you is for the greater good.” Jaiga retorts. “Making an example out of a villain as heinous and wretched as you, should serve as a deterrent for future wrongdoers.”

Nice one Jaiga, a conversation’s the best when both parties are going at it!

“Well yer the one who’s wretched and ugly.”

“How immature, I never even called you ugly.”

“Ye but I did, cause ye are, with yer stupid ass two laine haircut that you’re too embarassed to show.”

This is the equivalent of calling her haircut the price of a soda can.

“I am not embarrassed to show it.”

A mildly annoyed knight lifts her helmet off and tosses it to the floor, displaying her hair for all to see. Ceylica, who recognizes this as a sign of victory, only leers with increased intensity.

Try as she might, it seems the poor knight’s defences are wearing down.

“Well, I sure as hell would be, I mean look at ye. Bad moustache, big ass nose, and eyebrows as dense as jungles.”

“I do not have a moustache or any of these traits you’ve attributed to me.”

With the stares of everyone in the room on them, I decide that something must be done. Therefore, as a loving teacher, I resolve to step in as a mediator and offer some good old advice.

“If it’s any reassurance Jaiga, being ugly only means that you’re judged by your character!”

“Enough.” Infuriated to the point of no return, a now reddened Jaiga thrusts her finger in judgement. “I will not suffer such dishonour at the behest of such an impure, promiscuous, and unchaste demon like yourself.”

To the point of no return it is!


“That’s right, impure.’ Placing a harsh emphasis on that word, the once composed knight, is now ready to let loose. “Going around attempting to seduce our teacher, always sitting with that boy on your lap, eyeing men like candy, you’re nothing but an immoral degenerate.”

Sweat, furrowed brows and flared nostrils all manifest on Jaiga's face, the visible traits of one angered.

“Pure this, pure that, who the hael gives a shite? Why the hael should a dumbass knight like ye, who got kicked out of their own tea club judge me!?”

Ceylica’s words serve simultaneously as a means to express her own anger, and fuel for Jaiga to commit to hers. The possibility of a peaceful conclusion seems to be a dream now, as the once continued stalemate shatters.

However, something unnerves me, or to be more specific, sets off my 'someone's overblowing it' radar.

Isn’t it strange that a diligent knight, so virtuous in her action, would be driven to such an action?

I mean, to be flustered is one thing, but to calmly retreat, pick up a spear, and return to fight seems like another situation entirely. There's a clear distinction between an impulse to punch and a premeditation to hurt.

When I look to Jaiga for verification, I manage to grasp a most exquisite sight.


Well, well, I think Mr. Azama has hit the spot!

Call me pessimistic, but the aura I get isn't exactly the air of a haughty yet headstrong knight.

No, no, I think this whole ordeal is far from a case of righteous honour.

What I think I see is a face I'm all too used to in my line of work. Both literally and figuratively.

You see, what I think is written all over Jaiga's face is not a visage of dutiful hostility, but an otherwise unworldly smile.

Yep, I can imagine it now.

A killer with the front of integrity, destroying all those who would cross their path in the name of ethics and morals.

Now where have I seen this before?

Either way, there’s not much to be done now. At this point, any hope of interference from me is gone.

Throwing their respective weapons, a table and a spear both fly through the air.

Unmatched in efficiency as they are, the outcome seemed rigged from the beginning.

But, those two things never collide, or much less make contact with each other.

Because, in that moment before they had been thrown, someone had reacted. Someone, who in an instant, stepped between the two fighters. Someone, who once sat atop Ceylica’s lap, being playfully nudged.

Someone, who now stands with a spear in one hand, and a table in another.

“Now, now ladies, haven’t you heard?” He questions. “Make love, not war.”

Steward McOy
Kya Hon
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