FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I seem to have some indigestion, a faint ache radiating from my stomach, reprimanding my earlier act of wolfing down food.

Fortunately, today’s schedule is almost over. I shook my head vigorously, forcing myself to perk up as I stepped into one of the classrooms designated for safety lectures.

“Welcome, Richter!” Master Annihilation greeted me with a voice brimming with warmth. “Having a Snow as the assistant for this session couldn’t be more fitting!”

“Master.” I bowed respectfully to the dragon with black scales. “It’s an honor to assist.”

“Take a seat for now,” Master gestured toward a row of seats against the wall. “We’ll begin shortly.”

I nodded and sat down, quietly observing as the Master lectured the new cadets.

Given Master Field’s decision, I had rarely attended safety lectures as a cadet. But it didn’t seem like much of a loss—after all, I’d already spent significant time mastering self-defense techniques. So, as fragments of memories from evening training sessions surfaced in my mind, Master Annihilation’s lecture became little more than background noise.

“…The primary goal is to familiarize you with things once thought unimaginable and to redefine the concept of limits for psychics,” the Master’s voice gently tugged at the edges of my consciousness, signaling it was my turn to take the stage.

“…Starting with the defensive circle, you’ll become familiar with the privileges psychics possess and gain a basic understanding of the hierarchy,” Master continued.

I stepped into the center of the room, focusing my attention on the table-like structure that rose from the floor—a veritable arsenal of weapons, rather than the stares from the crowd, far more lethal in their intensity.

“Less than 5% of people will ever become high-level psychics, but understanding what they’re capable of remains essential.”

The Master explained that, depending on the user’s knowledge, a defensive circle’s rejection traits could block all threats. High-level psychics—those ranked Gamma or above—possess a passive defensive circle that remains active instinctively, protecting them even when their conscious mind is unaware.

I always suspected this part of the course was designed to show cadets how difficult it is to kill high-level psychics—perhaps to encourage harmony and dissuade conflict. Then again, it might unintentionally achieve the opposite effect.

“…Any volunteers?”

When I noticed the overly eager Chocolate Labrador stepping forward, a cold shiver ran down my spine, traveling from the tip of my tail up to the back of my neck.

Master Annihilation likely wanted the cadets to trust their defensive circles, demonstrating that although they have their limits, those limits are exceptionally expansive. But I worried that Hunter might not quite grasp this nuance.

The Chocolate Labrador picked up a large-caliber automatic rifle and, without hesitation, fired at me.

I had no interest in figuring out how this Labrador knew how to chamber a round and disengage the safety, or why his movements seemed too practiced. When Hunter emptied the magazine and stared wide-eyed at the flattened bullets on my defensive circle, his expression—a mix of excitement and envy—struck me as odd. It wasn’t just the look of a pup discovering a new toy; it was the gaze of a bully wanting to snatch it away.

I hoped I was overthinking things, but if I excelled at anything, it was recognizing bullies.

“…This is dangerous and disregards the safety of others,” I returned to reality as Master Annihilation appeared to be reprimanding Hunter.

“I’ll be more careful next time, Master,” the Chocolate Labrador replied with an overly obsequious tone, though his gaze likely conveyed something entirely different.

“…Because adamantine occupies the same space as the defensive circle, it bypasses its rejection traits. By applying sufficient kinetic energy to adamantine, it’s possible to breach a defensive circle.” Master stopped Hunter before he could raise the rifle to shoot me again. “However, adamantine is extremely sensitive to Domination. Any psychic capable of wielding Domination can easily intercept these bullets to protect themselves—this is one of the most critical lessons of this course.”

Under the Master’s supervision, Hunter conducted a series of shots with the automatic rifle. I casually intercepted the adamantine bullets, stopping them in mid-air at various positions.

Compared to Master Field’s training, this exercise was pup’s play. However, one of the reasons Master agreed to my participation today was to help me practice interpreting intent through the externalized mental waveforms of others—I needed more exposure to crowds. That, I assumed, was his reasoning.

While it was a bit difficult to focus on the Master’s voice, my only task is standing still, I probably wouldn’t result in missing anything critical. So, I concentrated on the deluge of information, attempting to listen and comprehend Hunter.

Pride, insecurity, longing, envy, and a buried fear he didn’t want anyone to see.

Pride—knowing how to handle firearms and rebel against authority; the blend of masculinity and power worship would undoubtedly attract attention, making me the focus of admiration.

Insecurity—despite being granted immense strength and validation, I am still worlds apart from the aloof figure standing before me. He hasn’t even spared me a glance, those detestable blue eyes as hollow as their owner’s heart!

Longing—I want recognition. Even if my exaggerated actions earn an eye roll, I’ll do whatever it takes to be noticed. After all, those who only deserve neglect are losers cry and whine.

Envy—that dazzling white fur seemed to radiate brilliance, proclaiming its owner as someone inherently superior. Why? It’s just dumb luck. If I had that kind of chance—being born into a royal House—success and prestige would come effortlessly!

Fear—the exaggerated behavior and ever-present smile were masks for a deep fear, a terror that made me shiver. But of what, exactly?

The alien chill of it made me shudder involuntarily, snapping me out of my detached state.

Was this Hunter’s bitter grievance against me? Or was it merely the unceasing echo of my own inner turmoil?

I glanced at the Chocolate Labrador, hoping to glean some readable sign or body language. Hunter, sensing my gaze, responded with a sinister grin.

“…You may one day encounter this weapon, commonly called ‘Hunter.’ It’s designed specifically for psychics.” Master Annihilation’s carefully measured emotions drew my attention back to her. She was explaining the unique construction of the bullets, how their lower adamantine content allowed them to evade detection and bypass Domination.

I’ve always found those things… bothersome.

Weapons are made for killing, but why take such an extraordinary material and reduce it to mere projectiles? There are so many possibilities—why…

The high-frequency undulations were like tiny thorns buried within fur, slicing through flesh unprepared and delivering excruciating pain.

Hunter moved swiftly; if I hadn't sensed those ripples, I likely wouldn't have kept up with his actions.

Master Annihilation noticed something unusual when the Labrador reached out for "Hunter," but hadn’t realized Hunter’s true intentions.

I expanded my consciousness and, with a clattering sound, disassembled "Hunter" into its smallest components, scattering them across the table as they fell from the Labrador's hand.

I didn’t attempt to analyze the complex emotional ripples erupting from Hunter. Instead, I was more intrigued by my own feelings—what was this? Why did this chocolate Labrador make me feel so... indescribable?

Adopting a detached perspective to examine the ripples in the space allowed me to interpret them more clearly, as if transforming the abstract workings of the mind into a precise representation of lines composed of basic particles.

Yet, it was evident that events in the physical space required my attention, so I decided to delve deeper into this art-like, rather than scientific, skill at a later time and focused on the world around me.

“…This is a serious violation of the rules!” Master Annihilation crossed her arms and sang in a stern melody. If Hunter could understand the Draconic Song, he might have worried about his predicament instead of pretending to feel guilty by lowering his gaze—while keeping his tail raised high.

“My apologies, Master.” I spoke after she concluded her lecture, lowering my ears and gaze in a submissive posture. “It was my lack of attention to Hunter’s emotional state that led to this thoughtless action, which provoked him.”

Master Annihilation whipped her head toward me sharply. I could even hear the sound of her scales scraping as she raised an eyebrow, accompanied by a vivid mental image conveyed through her consciousness—“provoked him?”—that question mark was enormous.

“In any case,” I cleared my throat, sending out a pleading ripple, hoping to redirect the Master’s attention to something more reasonable rather than my nonsense. “I believe there are other matters where you may need my assistance?”

“Yes,” Master Annihilation replied in a disapproving tone, though she at least agreed to my unspoken request to let the matter drop. She continued as if nothing major had occurred. “We will soon begin the practical training session.”

Hunter was sent back to his seat, rejoining the other cadets who seemed utterly baffled by what had transpired. Meanwhile, Master Annihilation began explaining how existence circles are defined and how they can be expanded to shield oneself from other psychics’ influence.

As the lesson progressed, I tapped on the terminal panel, selecting suitable equipment for the cadets based on their physique and prior data. Sometimes, I even had to configure the printer to fabricate items on the spot. Perhaps due to differences in their perceived cool factor, weapons like staves were unpopular, while longswords remained the most favored choice.

Hunter opted for a rapier. Considering the agility the Labrador had displayed earlier, I thought it a fitting choice.

Then, a requisition form with detailed specifications for weight and length caught my attention. Cross-referencing the applicant’s information, I realized it was from Yamato, who had once won the Federation Naval Academy’s saber fencing championship.

Interesting.

I glanced up and spotted the impala among the group, intently watching Master Annihilation demonstrate how adamantine weapons could disrupt consciousness circles and penetrate defensive circles.

So far, no one in this cohort had managed to establish a defensive circle. Hence, the primary goal of the lecture was to teach survival in a world where the extraordinary existed—how to avoid freezing in the face of unnamable dangers, and to familiarize them with seemingly peculiar but vital concepts for psychics, like carrying a sword. More advanced self-defense skills would come later. Assessments suggested a few cadets had gamma-level potential, but overall, this batch’s abilities leaned toward the ordinary.

With the lecture portion over, we moved on to practical drills. After distributing weapons, I observed the cadets eagerly playing with their newly assigned blades, their excitement visible in their emotional ripples. I wondered if, during my own initial evening training sessions, I had ever indulged in heroic fantasies starring myself. Likely not—at the time, I was too young to understand anything beyond vague concepts of “responsibility” and “duty.”

As the drills began, I intended to retreat to the corner of the hall and step in only if assistance was required. However, I quickly noticed that when it came to pairing off for sparring, no one was willing to partner with Hunter.

I hesitated briefly before drawing Gray Snow and walking toward the Labrador.

“Ah, Richter senpai!” He raised the hilt of his blade before his snout, bowing respectfully—surprisingly formal for him.

I returned the gesture and refrained from saying much. Remarkably, the Labrador remained well-behaved for the rest of the class.

Various stances and movements were practiced—how to hold a blade properly and integrate it as an extension of oneself, an essential skill for psychics.

Perhaps because the session turned out duller than expected, many cadets lost interest before it ended. Their initial excitement dissipated, replaced by mechanical repetition of the exercises.

No matter—it wasn’t uncommon for some to go their entire lives without forming a defensive circle. Expecting mastery of bladed weaponry from them was arguably unnecessary.

After concluding the session, Master Annihilation summarized the key points before leaving the wrap-up tasks to me.

Marking and storing the cadets’ weapons didn’t take long. Soon, only a handful of herbivores and canines remained, splitting into two small groups based on their dietary habits.

I approached the herbivores, mostly deer, who were gathered around Yamato. The impala appeared to be explaining something, occasionally demonstrating slashes and thrusts with his saber or helping others adjust their stances.

“Does it feel right?” I asked once their discussion seemed to reach a pause and Yamato noticed me. “If there are any issues, I can make adjustments.”

“Oh, senpai, sorry to trouble you!” Yamato stood and tested the saber’s balance with a few swings. “The craftsmanship is excellent, but I might have Kotetsu senpai send over the one I’m used to in the Naval Academy.”

Federation herbivores exhibited nervous body language when I approached, fidgeting or averting their gazes, while those from Luna didn’t. I’d always found this a curious detail.

“That’s a valid option—familiarity is indeed one of the key factors in whether the existence circle accepts a weapon,” I replied, resting a hand on Gray Snow’s hilt.

“Senpai…” Yamato hesitated, but I knew what he wanted to ask. His eager ripples were unmistakable, and I responded with an encouraging wave. Even if he didn’t yet understand how to interpret it, the impala would sense the encouragement. “Master Annihilation mentioned earlier that the wolves from Snow faction are all sword masters?”

“’Many’ wolves from Snow faction are sword masters. After all, we start learning how to wield a blade at six. But not everyone reaches the expected standards,” I replied with a soft chuckle, drawing Gray Snow. “I take it you’d like to verify the claim?”

“It would be an honor if senpai could provide some guidance,” Yamato responded, standing tall, his emotional waves rising in intensity.

“The entire existence circle is valid territory, that’s mean including horns and tails. Strikes that activate a defensive circle count as hits. The boundary is one centimeter above the skin. Simultaneous hits result in a double elimination,” I explained, motioning from head to toe to outline the target area. “I won’t use mental ripples to predict your intent or adjust my movements with Domination.” That seemed fair—or perhaps a slight handicap.

"Understood." Yamato nodded. "But I can’t form a defensive circle." His tone carried a hint of hesitation, but he still raised the hilt of his sword in front of him as a gesture of respect toward me.

“Just not yet,” I replied, adopting a formal stance, heels together, standing tall. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold back.” A smile crept onto my face as I released an inviting wave. “But I hope you won’t go easy on me.”

“Then, I’ll be in your care, senpai.” Yamato adjusted his stance, extending his right arm with the saber pointed slightly downward toward me, his left hand raised for balance.

Responding with Frost’s opening stance, I signaled my readiness.

I initially thought Yamato would be the cautious and probing type, but the impala struck immediately, stepping forward and slashing at my sword-wielding hand.

His movements were swift—likely unmatched by most in Snow in terms of reacting to such an attack.

But still, it remained within the bounds of my control.

I twisted my wrist, pulling back the hilt of my sword to deflect Yamato's strike. He promptly retreated, raising his blade tip into a defensive stance.

Intending to exploit the reach advantage of a hand-and-a-half sword, I aimed for Yamato's arm. He flicked his wrist, knocking the blade of his saber against Gray Snow, redirecting my attack.

I withdrew to reset my stance, but Yamato decided to capitalize on the opening my assault revealed, slashing once again toward my sword hand.

I’ve always disliked this “finger-chopping” strategy—it just feels... despicable?

Yet, his agility and technique were flawless. I twisted my wrist, using the guard of my sword to block the attack, and countered with a thrust.

Annoyingly, my strike landed on the circle handguard of his saber. Meanwhile, ripples in the defensive circle indicated I’d been hit—Yamato had struck Gray Snow's guard with his blade's flat rather than its edge. This unusual angle allowed him to graze my defensive circle successfully.

"Best of three?" the impala asked, lowering his weapon.

"Gladly." I raised Gray Snow parallel to my ear, adopting the Ice Storm opening stance in response.

Whether it was confidence from scoring the first point or just Yamato’s natural tendency to launch bold, rapid assaults, he again lunged at my sword hand with lightning speed.

But the Ice Storm stance was designed for such situations, and with my superior reach, I employed the same thrusting strategy, aiming for his forearm.

When Gray Snow brushed the fur at the edge of Yamato's arm, I stopped, using Domination to freeze him in place so he could see where his blade was positioned.

"Match point," I announced. Yamato flexed his limbs and adjusted his clothing, perhaps unaccustomed to the all-encompassing immobilization. After some time, the impala nodded in agreement with my judgment.

We each took a step back and reset our stances.

This time, Yamato was much more cautious, testing the waters with feints and minor probing strikes. I maintained my distance, refusing to respond to any non-threatening moves.

Although I tried to avoid actively interpreting emotional waveforms, Yamato radiated a pulse of excitement that pierced through the calm facade he tried to present with his composed expression and measured breathing. It was hard not to notice.

Clearly, Yamato was thoroughly enjoying himself—a kind of joy born from encountering someone who could truly understand him.

A smile tugged at my lips. I decided to share some insights into the possibilities awaiting at higher levels.

Gripping Gray Snow with both hands, I extended the sword in a feint to lure Yamato into attacking. When he slashed toward me, I caught a fleeting hesitation in his brown eyes. He suspected a trap but couldn’t resist the perfect opportunity, relying on his speed to prevail.

I chuckled inwardly, unbothered by being underestimated—I understood the allure of such confidence.

Come, surpass this level, and ascend to greater heights.

I released the sword, stepping forward to place myself between Gray Snow and Yamato’s slashing trajectory. With my right palm, I braced the left side of the hilt while my left hand gripped the forward section of the hand-and-a-half blade.

A crisp metallic clang echoed as the tip of Yamato’s saber struck Gray Snow’s hilt. Realizing his mistake, he tried to withdraw his weapon to defend himself.

But I was faster. In Yamato’s widened pupils, I saw the reflection of Gray Snow poised like a dagger, aimed at his chest.

When I felt the expected resistance, I immediately stopped—there was no way I wanted my junior to experience the blinding headache of having his defensive circle shattered for the first time, especially at the hands of an overly reckless senior.

“Point,” I said with a smile, while Yamato, still processing what had happened, stared blankly. “And congratulations—you’re a high-level psychic.”

The defensive circle rippled with a density that bent light, making its boundaries visible to the naked eye. Around Gray Snow's tip, the field thinned noticeably due to interference from the adamantine material, marking a stark contrast to the rest.

“So this is... a defensive circle?” Yamato murmured, frozen mid-motion as if still trying to retract his weapon.

“This is a passive defensive circle,” I explained, sheathing Gray Snow and patting Yamato on the arm. “Only gamma-level psychics and above have one.”

“The so-called elite five percent?” Yamato asked, returning to an upright stance while his empty left hand fumbled in the air, as though trying to grasp the elusive barrier.

“If you ask me, it’s more like a ‘privileged group.’” I shrugged. “In any case, you’re quite impressive!” I tapped the hilt of Gray Snow with my fingernail. “Have you been practicing for long?”

“Since pre-academy, so about ten years. But it’s mostly been a sport—never thought it’d become a practical skill.” Yamato’s gaze dropped to the tip of his saber. “But if we’re talking about impressive... I can feel a vast chasm between senpai and me, one so wide I can’t even see the other side.”

“As I said before, we’ve been learning swordsmanship since we were six, and our natural physique gives us an edge. Even so, I’m certain many Snow I know aren’t as skilled as you.” Tilting my head, I quickly reviewed my memories to confirm. “So accept the compliment graciously.”

After I spoke, Yamato lowered his gaze further and tugged at his ears. It struck me that it’s far easier to ask others to accept praise than to do so oneself.

“Yes, Richter senpai,” the impala said quietly, his eyes wandering the ground. He seemed to have more to say, so I patiently waited for him to gather his thoughts. After a while, he lifted his gaze to meet mine. “But may I ask—why is it that you... seem to feel no passion at all?”

“Hmm?” I tilted my head, inviting clarification.

“Whenever I practiced or competed before, I could always sense my opponent’s emotions and determination conveyed through the clash of blades. Of course, I later understood that it was part of what being a psychic allowed me to perceive.” Yamato rubbed the tip of his saber with a finger. “Usually, the more passion, fighting spirit, or morale someone has, the more effort they seem to have put into honing their skills, and it correlates positively with their level. But I can’t understand why, apart from some... anticipation, there’s no passion coming from your sword at all.”

“Ah, that.” I’d never considered what my waveform might feel like to others. “I suppose I find it difficult to view swordsmanship as a... sport.” Gray Snow emitted a steady resonance from its hilt. “So, lacking passion for killing fits my role as a blemish on the snow rather well, doesn’t it?” I chuckled dryly, realizing I might have made Yamato more uncomfortable and deciding to cut to the point. “Of course, I can still appreciate the technical aspects or the elegance of the dance-like exchange. But as for passion, I’m afraid it’s not my thing.”

“Ah, my apologies, senpai—I didn’t mean to offend.” Yamato scratched his temple, looking regretful. “I just imagined wolves from Snow faction as... less hesitant about killing.” He cleared his throat, evidently reconsidering his phrasing. “I also don’t associate fencing with violence—it’s a bit too old-fashioned. I never expected psychics to rely on melee weapons in combat.”

“I optimistically believe it’s just preparation for fighting Phantom.” Raising my right hand, I held up a finger to test the air’s humidity. “And if psychics do battle, it won’t be with melee weapons alone.”

A sharp clang interrupted us as Yamato’s saber snapped in two at the middle, the tip clattering to the ground.

The impala froze, wide-eyed, struggling to process what had just happened.

Since he’d already mentioned asking Kotetsu to bring his preferred weapon, he probably wouldn’t be too upset about the Academy-issued saber breaking.

"I thought this was impossible," Yamato said as he examined the broken military saber between his thumb and forefinger. When his fingers touched the fractured edge, he recoiled as if burned, a mixture of awe and fear on his face. "Isn't a melee weapon considered an extension of one's body and protected by the existence circle?"

"I didn’t break your weapon by altering its molecular structure from within," I explained, rotating my wrist. A small hexagonal ice crystal formed at my fingertips, growing large enough to be clearly visible. "Approximately ten thousand times, I scraped the blade with tiny crystals, eroding it until it snapped. Competition sabers are pretty thin, so it didn't take long."

"This... is incredible..." Yamato stared back and forth between the broken blade on the floor and the hilt in his hand, as if struggling to accept reality.

"Psychic combat involves battling on multiple fronts simultaneously," I said as the ice crystal sublimated into vapor and my consciousness field receded. "Once you become proficient, you'll learn how to use consciousness union to counter such attacks. Psychic combat techniques can vary greatly, including enhancing physical capabilities, interpreting opponents' intentions, and more. Actual battles between psychics are incredibly complex, where any feasible tactic might come into play."

Yamato nodded and stooped to pick up the fragments of his saber, placing them on the nearby table.

"What a spectacular demonstration, Richter senpai," said Labrador Hunter as he approached. I noticed the pack of dogs nearby shifting their emotional waves to anticipation and excitement.

"Is there something you need?" I adopted a formal demeanor, unsure of the best way to respond—especially considering the unsettling ideas Hunter had projected earlier.

"I’ve dabbled a bit in combat myself," he said, swinging a slim rapier in his hand. "But I’m particularly curious about the 'actual' combat methods psychics use against each other." He sidestepped, pointing the tip of his rapier at me. "Would Richter senpai do me the honor of a sparring match?"

I didn’t see the point in correcting Hunter’s stance or demonstrating the "actual" psychic combat style—he was far from the level where such lessons would be relevant. However, refusing might come across as dismissive, so I decided to humor him, planning to play along lightly, offer some vague praise, and end with a cryptic piece of advice.

"Of course. If it's 'actual' combat, that means no-holds-barred, right?"

"Naturally." Hunter's grin widened with my reply.

"Just remember to stop before causing injuries. This is still a practice match," I cautioned, not wanting him to hurt himself.

Without wasting a second, the chocolate Labrador launched an attack aimed directly at my face.

His speed wasn’t bad—but it was still far too slow.

I couldn’t understand how he thought this approach would work, especially if he had observed my match with Yamato just moments earlier.

With minimal movement, I evaded his strike and lightly tapped the hilt of Gray Snow against his head, using the momentum to position myself behind him.

"The significance of mental waves in close combat is often underestimated," I said, watching as Hunter regained his footing. "Deciphering an opponent's intentions grants a considerable advantage."

The Labrador's eyes narrowed, his wrinkled nose forming an incongruous expression with his faint smile.

His intent was so transparent that I didn’t even need to rely on waves to interpret it.

Sidestepping Hunter's thrust once more, I swept a kick at his ankle, disrupting his balance and sending him face-first to the ground.

"Balance is paramount. Always ensure your movements are secure before focusing on offense," I advised in a calm tone, refraining from looking down at him—Hunter likely wouldn’t appreciate being seen in such a vulnerable position.

Still, he didn’t get up for a while, which made me concerned. Recalling a sharp cracking sound when he fell, I wondered if something had broken.

"Are you okay?" I asked, walking over to the Labrador sprawled on the floor.

He groaned softly, trying to push himself up but wincing in pain. When I noticed dark blood dripping from his nose, I realized I might have gone too far and crouched down to help him.

"You might need to visit the infirmary," I said, inspecting his nose to ensure there wasn’t serious damage. "At first glance—"

Sudden, excruciating pain radiated from my groin, cutting my sentence short.

I collapsed to the ground, my legs curling up instinctively as unbearable agony coursed through me. I realized the pain was caused by Hunter, who had delivered a solid knee strike to my crotch.

Rationalism witness—it hurt like hell!

Tears blurred my vision, and a wave of nausea nearly forced me to empty my stomach right then and there.

Amidst the haze of pain, I faintly heard arguing voices.

"…I did say no-holds-barred!"

"…I was more worried about your safety..."

For a while, I couldn’t think at all, the relentless pain obliterating every coherent thought.

When I finally regained focus, I used my waves to diagnose myself and was relieved to find no actual damage beyond the searing pain.

"I think... we both learned a valuable lesson," I said, forcing myself to stand and take deep breaths. I nodded at Hunter, feigning composure. "A capable psychic should never let their guard down at any circumstances."

"Lesson learned, Richter senpai," the chocolate Labrador said, his tone serious yet brimming with unconcealed glee. "I’ll remember this for sure!"

After mustering a strained smile in response, Hunter excused himself and left with a pack of dogs.

Only then did I notice that the room had cleared out, leaving just Yamato and me—evidently, the herbivores had all vanished earlier.

"Senpai, are you alright?" Yamato asked, clearing his throat cautiously and keeping a safe distance.

"I’ll be fine after some rest. Nothing serious," I joked lightly.

"Ah, good to hear," the impala said, scratching the back of his head. "I was a bit worried for a moment..."

I didn’t catch what Yamato was worried about, because the next thing I remember was emptying the contents of my stomach onto the floor.