Aizawa rose from his seat, posture slouched. His eyes skimmed the remaining competitors out on the field once more. "Also, do you honestly think Itou would give it her all unless there was some form of incentive driving her forwards?"

"Oh," Nanako breathed, realisation dawning on her features. "You're a sadist, aren't you?"

"Personally, I think Midnight better fits that description," said Aizawa, head tilted to indicate the announcer's box where Present Mic and Midnight were chatting up a storm. "I'm overly fond of mind games though."

"I can't throw a decent punch," Hajime said around a mouthful of a breakfast pastry from a selection Manual had brought with him to their flat above Ensō one morning, in the following week from her and Suge's conversation. She coughed and dislodged a few scraps of flaky pastry from the corner of her mouth with the pad of her index finger. "I can't punch someone, but my legs are pretty strong."

Manual picked at his own croissant; he'd barely taken a bite of the thing, though he'd sliced it in half and placed some freshly chopped fruit inside. Likely because he was transfixed watching Hajime devour pastry after pastry with terrifying ease. "We can work with that."

At the head of the table, Miwa leant back in her seat with satisfaction and took a sip from her coffee cup. "We should do this more often. It's nice to have someone join us for breakfast."

"Been there, tried that, saved you from a messy divorce," Hajime quipped, wiping her mouth again and then her chest as more crumbs had accumulated below the neck of her t-shirt.

"I was talking about Mister Manual," said Miwa.

Hajime ran her tongue over her teeth, searching out pieces of pastry and the seeds from the jam she knew were stuck against her gums. "Pretty sure Mister Manual has better Hero-y things to do than sit with us every morning."

"Not at all!" Manual blustered. He swallowed, looking at Hajime directly. "It's… I, ah, I don't mind at all."

Hajime blinked and eyed up another pastry. "Sure. Are you going to eat that?"

Wordlessly, Manual handed over the untouched half of his croissant.

"I could do with getting these shipped before tonight," Miwa informed Hajime while the latter stuck another sticky label on a package.

Miwa hand-wrapped almost all her large orders in layers of waxy brown paper and black, yellow, and red twine. Smaller trinkets such as pieces of costume jewellery, had to be sent in protective boxes or jiffy bags – if only to keep them from getting manhandled and damaged.

"Just go then," Hajime told her Aunt. "It's not as if we're going to get busy all of a sudden."

The pair eyed the store. Currently, there was only one customer perusing through Ensō's wares, and they appeared pretty invested in the hat section. Their bright yellow coat was distinctive. In a classical style and cut, the coat was something that Miwa trawled through the internet for so that she could sell on the garment on to 'specialists' like herself.

Her Aunt loved it when 'People of Culture' – Miwa's words, not Hajime's – visited Ensō, and it wasn't every day that people who preferred Period Attire walked through their door. The last had been a middle school child about a year back, who'd purchased a vintage set of goggles that could almost be considered relics from a lost time. Miwa had had the pink-haired girl swear not to dissect the lenses from the stiff leather like she'd intended, but Hajime got the feeling that nothing would stand in that child's way once she got an idea into her head.

"The last time I let you go out alone, you were almost crushed to death," Miwa frowned.

"But I'm not going out alone, am I?" Hajime retorted smugly, patting the counter's top. "You should be worrying over your own safety."

Aunt Miwa sighed, collecting the packages Hajime had piled up behind the counter into her arms. "You seem to be forgetting that Stain waltzed into our shop three months ago."

"I sincerely doubt another career Super Villain is going to walk right in and ask me about snazzy frocks," said Hajime with a roll of her eyes.

Both women looked up as the tinkling bell above Ensō's door sounded. Their customer had walked away.