Outside of Shujin Academy, just pass the entrance gate so as to not technically be on school grounds, Serori leaned against the wall, hands stuffed inside the pockets of her jacket as a cigarette dangled precariously from her lips. Her earbuds were wedged into her ears, the music cranked up too loud to be healthy, and her gaze was fixed on her motorcycle parked nearby. A thick-framed two-seater, custom parts from the chop shop back home installed instead of the factory standards, gorgeous dark carmine red in color, with her name artfully sprayed onto the side in katakana - her baby.
There was nothing in the world she loved as much as her bike, and she hoped this Futaba Sakura was appropriately appreciative of the opportunity to even see it, let alone ride it. A trip with her wasn’t something she just handed out. Normally, she wouldn’t even have ridden it to the school, but the arrangement had been a little last minute, and she hadn’t actually been at school since the morning. Even so, it was all simple enough, she figured. Help the nerd pass her gym class, get some absences stricken from her record and some extra credit thrown in for her weaker classes. Corrupt and back-alley, but at least in the way she could respect, at least in her favor, rather than the normal corporate bullshit.
As far as Serori knew, the younger girl had been told about the tutoring - if it could even be called that, being physical education of all things - but she wondered how much specific she’d been told about her. If it wasn’t much, then the admins were really setting this Futaba girl up for a shock by tapping a nearly 180 cm delinquent third year with a motorcycle as her training partner. A bridge to be crossed later, she guessed, checking her phone for the time, wondering just how long this nerd planned on keeping her waiting.
