Einosuke Sakurai slumped against the bench-seat of the train-car, his arms crossed over his chest, head tilted, longish bangs hiding his eyes. Even to a casual observer, it was clear something was wrong. He looked glum, but more than that, the small cut beneath his left eye, made by flying debris in the last seconds of his “battle” with Otomo, and a discolored spot on his neck from some bruise he wasn’t even aware of yet, made it clear he was having a hell of a day. And it wasn’t over yet.

“Failed again,” Einosuke muttered to himself. “I’m such a freaking loser.”

I know this stuff. I studied my butt off, he thought. I trained until I should be able to do this stuff blindfolded and in my sleep!

He took a deep breath and let it out hard, as if he could expel all the frustration and negative thoughts along with the air. If only it were that simple.

I know the forms and incantations… So why do I freeze up every single time?

“Arrrgh!” he shouted, slamming his fists against the sides of his head in exasperation. “I know it all, so why can’t I just god-damned get it right?!”

The lack of combat sense and tactical awareness Einosuke was bemoaning—the very things that deserted him in his battle with Otomo—finally kicked in at that moment. He felt the weight of many eyes on him and realized he must look like a maniac. His face turned red and he rubbed the back of his head, grinning sheepishly at the young woman across from him. She held a small boy on her lap, arms wrapped around him protectively as she looked askance at Einosuke, suspicion on her face.

“Um, please forgive my outburst,” he said, with a little nod of the head. “It’s… been a long day.”

The woman averted her eyes and pretended she couldn’t hear him. Einosuke fell back into his seat with a sigh. Could this day get any worse?