Three forty-five on a Thursday, the day before the gate. I was sitting on the grass behind Building C with my back against a maple, a half-eaten turkey sandwich on my knee and a bag of East Tower barbecue chips open between my legs, while Belle and Naomi fought the third chip war of the week. Barbecue versus salt and vinegar. I'd stopped following somewhere around sodium content. I let my head fall back against the bark, closed my eyes, and thought about tomorrow: a C-rank gate with abnormal readings, ten people, two squads that hated each other, and a professor who called that character building.
The protagonist of a harem light novel would have had a plan by now. I had half a bag of barbecue chips.
