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Dawn is quite an immense and beautiful sight in California, especially the closer you are to the coast. Sure, the east coast may have the monopoly on who gets to see the sun first, but as its sunsets are golden and red and dance across the state from Eureka to the Bay down to LA and Malibu, so does the sun grace it from blacks to purples and reds above on to gold and white settling into a brilliant spectrum of crystal clear teals and blues as Amaterasu herself makes her grace known upon every pebble and every blade of grass that doth dance below her golden divinity shining down ‘pon all of us without greed or favoritism as to whom is warmest. It’s us. It’s all of us.

To see it go and dance across the deep cerulean tints of the Bay waters and through the coast up north to Bodega and back down through the Russian River where all of this was rapidly centering was a sight to behold for the fishermen and sailors and cargo haulers that routinely started their days long before this, bringing in the goods and the foods that the area was famous for. A real treat for any human, many would go north to camp to see this rise gloriously above them and greet them in a way only nature could, with it creaking in, dappled gold through the leaves of the trees and the branches swaying and speckling the ground with it and past the mountains and hills that rolled across the plains and deep into the heart of the Redwood Empire. It was a place where logging was still a huge industry, trains running on coal still ran on time and tunneled through the mountains, and where farmers and fishermen and other such trades thrived. It was nowhere near as populated up there as it was in the Bay Area proper, but with it only being a couple hours’ drive away at most, it provided a much needed and easily accessible respite for people, such as our Kings.

But no rest was to be had by them today, not even the snoring they were surely sawing now was going to be anywhere near enough to rejuvenate their minds and bodies, but that’s what caffeine and other wonderful drugs were for. Sure, their girls preferred the intense uppers and were probably back at home snorting cocaine off each others’ backs about now and binge watching gods’ only knew what on Netflix and making their queues and recommendations on Kat and Atma’s main account look like shit again, but for the Kings nothing fit them better than California gold. The school had its own hidden weed garden, even if it was legal in the state, because this stuff was just so good there was no way they could put a price on it and the others knew it and would seek it out and try to steal it if they knew it existed at all. Only the luckiest of students were rewarded with this on a non-medical basis, and for some it was incentive to join was the fact it was available in limited quantities as part of the health and care system they had. You had to have a student ID and were limited only to a few bits a day, but for some, it was better and cheaper than a lot of medical care, and moving into the school and using this instead of a more traditional health system literally saved their lives and their wallets both. Such magnanimous creatures, those Kings.

Their brain fog was matched only by the fog rolling in off their pipe hits as they came to by a cruel and crafty combination of cannabis, coughing, and caffeine. It may not provide as immediate or intense a motivational high as the snow that fell on the peaks of the tits of their girls and rolled off into the valleys of their nostrils and throats, but a good sativa is as good as anything else to at least clear the head enough and clear the mind of any horrible dreams or dreadful ideas that may come to as your brain resets, especially in the middle of a goddamn war.

At least it wasn’t meth. Thank fuck it wasn’t meth. Also cheap and plentiful, especially around the area Atma was born and raised in, even the Kings had a hard time combating its prevalence and popularity, and they saw it ruin many a life. Sure, Katsuragi had no idea that by coming to California she would come to love the stuff given her homeland’s draconian laws against it, but even she agreed that, once she got into it long term, that meth just wasn’t worth making a mess out of yourself with. She’ll stick with the natural, herbal remedy. Anything that made ramen taste better and boobs seem rounder, more perfect and still enable her to function and train was a-ok in her book. She just tried to keep it away from Ikaruga whenever she investigated the school. Little Miss President was very aware of her friend’s new drug habits, and while she disapproved, there was nothing she could do while in New Hanzo, but they were at least far smarter to keep it out of the Old one, lest they feel her wrath. Once was enough; a mistake to never be repeated again.

Ayame had woke and greeted the two with nothing but her old shopkeeper’s apron on and a pair of plates stacked high with various breakfast foods of the most important food groups: protein and carbs and hot sauce. A pot of the blackest, most bitter, richest espresso brewed perfectly for them, poured into the steins they called cups, forgoing a nice Columbian roast today and heading straight for the good shit. They’d need it. Now the young apprentice here wasn’t so much into the drugs; she let her two mentors take care of that part herself. But at least unlike the council stooge, she didn’t mind it so much, since it was something that helped her mentors relax. She would nod and smile as they would choke and cough and pass it to the left. Sometimes she’d take if they insisted, but her drug of choice was hugs and smiles, and she seemed pretty content on that. For once, the two Kings agreed she should stay that way. After all, two of them was enough for one planet Earth as is.

Piles of books and scrolls and notepads strewn about the floor made for impressive towers once sorted back out. A few of their bodyguards came to, in various states of dress, leaving no uncertainty as to what the Kings may have been doing with them as a distraction or to relieve the stress of the situation while on break. Sometimes, they’d just pair their guards together and get a free show instead. All were tangled in blankets and pillows cocked sideways. A few lay in a cuddle pile below a pillow fort constructed around two that morning out of boredom. There was one window in this place that oversaw anything outside, lest they give away exactly where in the school this room was to outsiders, but through the curtain the same golden dapples of sun that met the Russian River and the fishermen of the Bay and the surfers of Malibu rolled on in and coated the two Kings’ eyelids, as Amaterasu’s way of signaling them awake and to the duty of her bosom, of which those two were lifelong and extremely devout devotees of. If they weren’t martial artists, they’d make for good leaders of a strong personality cult for the goddess, and own the world’s coolest and most happening temple this side of Takamagahara itself. Maybe that could be their retirement plan.

What’s a lesbian Shintoist swear by? The tit-crack of dawn.

The crisp fat from the bacon, the grease from the sausages, the stickiness of the jellies and jams squished between hot and golden slabs of sourdough, the rich and ever so slightly runny texture of the eggs as the yolk was used as some kind of holy dipping device for perfect triangular bites of fluffy pancakes, all of this topped with a plentiful helping of berry soaked syrups and hot sauce strong enough to put hair on either of the Kings’ chests, giving them an allure unlike any other woman that the ladies of the state had seen on, all of this mingled in the mouths and bellies of the Kings, turning them from groggy and weak to strong like a bear. At least the strength matched the new chest hair. Okay, so they weren’t actually growing it, but the mental image stuck in their heads, making them crack up as they imagined shaving weird patterns into each others’ tit rugs and wondering if they could work on growing mustaches next, if only so they could tell women that they mustache them a question and give them more than the usual face and tongue ride, in which college women get a student discount on entry for. The coffee was thick and strong enough to have to be filtered through their teeth, a chunky bitterness found only in the blackest of brews, warming them from the inside and out as they swirled their cups around and let the grounds settle at the bottom for one of their bodyguards to read their fortune from. Tea reading was out, coffee reading was the new cool. Neither of them took any cream or sugar or anything, as it just meant less room for caffeine in the end.

The Kings liked their coffee like they liked their women: tall, black, strong, caffeinated, and going straight for their bladder.

Ayame gladly took their dishware when done, and only once the fuel had begun to process and churn inside of them and re-energize them did Katsuragi and Atma notice the vast cleavage and bare ass that Ayame was sporting for them. Too bad it was a bit too late to see if they could see anything below, but a free show with breakfast was enough to put them back on track, going in for their special weed stash and taking one more morning bowl together as they grinned knowingly. That girl was gonna make a woman a good wife someday, once she settled her hormones down and found someone not her mentors to get a crush on and play house with. Believe it or not, they believed in the positive, healing factor of tits and ass, and knew sometimes all you needed to get you to pray towards whatever it is you do and put your faith’s stock in was a nice woman. Besides other kinds of juices, it got the creative ones flowing well and they had something to motivate them and make this battle with the upcoming demon summoning whatevers one definitely worth fighting for. A world with boobs in it was one they wanted to protect, and every perky bounce just drove them to train and fight that much harder, in every sense of the word. It was genuine soul food.

The two finally got up and stretched, letting one last yawn escape their lips as they popped their necks and dusted themselves off, Katsuragi adjusting her tie like a professional who just finished an amazing board meeting, Atma slipping Hoshigiri through her obi and slipping her right hand into the top of her robe between the lapels. Inside of it she kept a dagger that Hikage had given her form her own personal collection; she wasn’t as big into her culture’s traditional cutlery and finery as much as she was a fan of more efficient design such as the boxcutter or the serrated edge. There was something more visceral about slicing an opponent’s neck open with one of those than it was something akin to a tanto. Having a guard that big on a knife seemed kind of silly to the snake, so she let the samurai have it, knowing she would at least use it and keep it clean. In her honor, Atma named the dagger “The Serpent’s Tongue” and kept it tucked in her top at all times like a true samurai. It was kind of dorky, Hikage thought at times, but at least she took her role seriously, unlike a bunch of other neckbeards anyone knew. Whatever made her happy, she supposed.

“So, what did we learn from last night’s research?” Atma asked. She was expecting not much, half asking since she already knew the answer and having been raised here and already being aware of all of this like a mentor would as if inferring there was a moral to be taught, and half because she was genuinely curious what theories anyone had come up with beyond wishful thinking it was a bunch of hot co-eds pretending to be Satanists looking to have a couple hot ninja lesbians hook up with them for that refreshing and universal curious college experiment.

“I learned your handwriting fucking sucks.” Katsuragi grinned. Fucking smartass useless lesbian.

“I swear to Amaterasu’s cleavage, Kat, if you insult my handwriting one more time...” Atma began, sharply interrupted.

“What? What will you do? Would I be able to understand your threat? I dunno if you could even if you, ahem, spelled it out to me.” Kat cocked a finger gun, making it the only time she would ever cock anything in her life.

“I’m gonna hit you in the tit, bitch.” snarled Atma as she took the hand out of her lapel and laid a nice backhand strike against Kat’s tits, doubling back with a palm technique that would sound exciting if it weren’t for the fact this wasn’t porn and is instead martial arts and it really fucking stung. The author’s tits even ached writing this. Do not make us do this again.

This really ground down on Kat’s gears. If it were her doing it to Atma or any woman else, she’d probably actually be really turned on about now, and as much as either were surprised they didn’t wake up with the lady equivalent of morning wood, they also didn’t need to induce it. If it did wind up being sexy co-eds trying to get in on devil summoning action, the least they could do is show up, crash the party, introduce themselves as a couple of rare succubi they were lucky to have summoned, and seduce the lot of them and end things in a much more amicable manner than bloodshed. Unless, you know, you’re into that sort of thing. We’re not judging here.

“Atma. You know I top. Don’t you dare desecrate the royal body like that! If you do, I’ll have to demote you from being my royal guard captain, and then who’s going to protect me, hmm? It’ll be your fault if I got assassinated then, you know. And then the world’s women will cry and mourn for ten thousand generations and never ever forgive your skinny, traitorous ass.” Kat huffed. This would sound absolutely insane to anyone else, but from the blonde, it was a serious threat beyond anything else she could say. A rare look of insult passed through her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe Atma’s insolence.

“Bah. My ass isn’t skinny!” Atma balked. Of course that was the only part she took offense to.

“HEY!” Ayame shouted, banging her fists on the table, her still almost naked body jiggling right before her two mentors and distracting them enough to maybe listen to her. “You two can save the erotic roleplay for somewhere more private and at a time less crucial to the survival of us as a state and as a nation! I know we’re all on edge but now’s not the time. Or place. Too many books here, you might get papercuts in your, er, you know...”

“In my cunt?” Atma asked boldly.

Ayame flushed red. “If...If that’s what the kids are calling this nowadays...”

“I’m like 12 years older than you, kid, you’re just lucky you’re legal in every sense of the word, even past age of consent laws.” Atma scratched Ayame’s chin and slowly turned her from a flush of pink to a deep shade of crimson. “Hm, yes, a pity we have work to do, you’re easy to rile up. I like that.”

Ayame squirmed, almost panting like the dog she was, practically eating out of Atma’s hand, suddenly snapping out of it and shaking her head. “Gah! I-Instructor! Don’t do that! Besides, uh, I was finally gonna answer your question! We learned that the only common theme between all the conspiracies was that it all seemed to lead back to some kind of sinister energy emanating from the Grove. Some speculate the Grove itself made it, some people suspect it drove people to build the Grove on that spot. We’ll never know for sure, but everyone agrees, regardless of topic being discussed or theory being proven or disproved, that you at least feel off in some way if you’re around it or in it. Some think it’s an elating feeling, some feared it more than death.”

Atma was almost disappointed that she took the easy way out and was focusing on her assignment. If, you know, it wasn’t so crucial. “Good girl. I see someone was paying attention. What else did we learn?”

“That the ritual paper we found had copyright information in the corner dating it to the 60s.” Ayame continued. “That you said could mean a lot, depending. I don’t get it.”

“Study our history sometime, especially post World War II. You’ll see why everyone hated us and still kind of does pretty easily, not just your home nation. But the 60s existed alright. It was simultaneously a boom in hippies and counterculture and weed and free love and an amazing crackdown on that. Something like the Grove would be seen as counterculture but ran by those that hated it, abusing their secret society like hypocrites. I got a few hunches, but between the 50s and 70s here, we had a lot of weird shit go down as we grew out of our war phase and into...yet another war phase. We’re not very good at this is what I’m saying.” Atma sighed as she fiddled with her katana.

“Man, for such a young history, you guys a trip.” Kat laughed. “But yeah, the robes are pure silk, so whomever had it had money to burn. The ritual paper mentioned something about a Lieutenant and Magistrate. This is some elaborate roleplay they got going.”

“I think the only way we’re getting answers though is to go out there and take a peek inside. You’ll have to be prepared for anything, but this already is sounding like it could be a Yoma’s nest, a rather nasty one. If it is, we’ll have to keep it on the downlow as to not alert Kagura herself. The last thing we need up there is her deciding to martyr her hot tits and blow up my home area. I’d probably never forgive her, if it weren’t for the fact we’d be dead probably by the time she got out of her egg next.” Atma picked up one scroll in particular and did what every shinobi woman knew how to do with top secret information; she slid it into her pocket dimension between her tits. Now, hers weren’t that big nor anything to write home about, but women seemed to adore her and call her tits cute, so she took care of them anyways and knew they were protecting her transformation scrolls and technique scrolls well, and now their map and information.

“So, camping trip again it is, huh? And I thought it wasn’t the season for it anymore.” Kat laughed.

“Kat, we just got back a couple days ago, it’s not like it was months. But yeah, get shit re-packed. We’ll drop by the house and let the girls know where we’ll be and unload a small bodyguard brigade and house watch patrol just for ease of mind. Not that our women aren’t fine shinobi, because they are, but I do worry.” Atma pondered, looking around and deciding mentally which ones to take.

“You know, until I met Koshka, I had no idea that Russia had shinobi academies. I always figured they did everything with bears out there and that’s why they’ve never been invaded successfully. I mean, even with tanks, it’s hard to fight bears off.” Kat raised her arms and began to grope the air in her signature style. “Oh, and their tall, strong women. Commanding the bears. And then once I cross enemy lines I...”


“Well, I’m just saying, Atma, you’re damn lucky you got one of them Russian babes gunning for you so hard in the bedroom. And an older one at that! You cougar bait, you.” Kat teased her friend. “Then again you look about as young as I am, and if I were her, I’d definitely rob your cradle and...”

“Wow, Kat, I didn’t know you were that much of a predator! Why don’t you have a seat right over here?” Atma rolled her eyes as she got back to packing, cleaning up and getting Ayame to put some damn clothes on. “Come on, let’s get out of here. The girls we don’t take with us will stay and guard the school to their lives. I’ll have Hikage phone in the Crimson Squad when we get there to help watch the school and the house when we get there.”

Atma picked up the keys and lead Katsuragi and Ayame back out, loading up The Pussy Wagon and clicking the trunk, sighing. “We might not be back for a while. Say bye to the school for now. I’ll call Ikaruga and see if she’ll sub for us for a few days. I’ll pay her back somehow.”

Kat jumped in the front seat, Ayame in the back, the only one with her seatbelt on as they clicked on the radio and began to sing along yet again as they made their way with haste to their house for a last minute tactic and supply check. Hikage and Koshka waited in the house, knowing that shit was going to go down again soon, and while neither of them showed fear or worry, a concern or three did cross their minds at times. However, their girls got back sooner than expected, and they were caught doing what they always thought they did when they weren’t around; snorting cocaine off each others’ tits and from the folds in their shoulderblades.

“Another one of life’s mysteries solved.” Kat sighed.

“What? What’s solved? Did we figure something out?” Ayame asked, confused.

“Nothing. We’ll tell you when you’re older.” Atma teased. “Hey, we’re here to pick up our camping stuff. Something’s going on at the Grove up north and we don’t like the looks of it, unless it winds up being co-eds luring us into an orgy by calling us out like this. You know, the kind of orgy full of bicurious co-eds looking to toy with a couple succubi to mark that off their college experience list.”

Hikage rolled her eyes and handed them a letter from Koshka, to read when they got there. It just said what she felt about this, the usual be safe, come back in one piece, we’ll be fine don’t worry we have food and drugs, and that yes she loved them and wanted them back so at least Atma could keep her warm. Nothing special.

“You’re not even ashamed of what you two were doing, are you, snake?” Atma asked.

“Don’t see anything to be ashamed of. We just figured if you ever saw us you’d tell us not to do it on your couch.” Hikage replied, hand on hip, topless as they come from what she was just doing. “Look, stay safe out there. You two can get reckless sometimes. Okay, a lot. But we care about you and we need you around. Not just us, either. This whole state does, if not the country and the world. You two are big damned heroes, whether you want to be or not, so keep this state golden and its women wanting by staying alive, alright?”

“Yeah, we know. There will be guards stationed here and the school and everywhere in between. Phone the Squad and have them on point ready as backup.” Atma said seriously, trying hard not to stare at Hikage’s bare chest. “I’ll have Ikaruga cover classes until we get back. They won’t drag our good names down.”

“Yeah, you two do that plenty fine by yourselves.” Hikage almost smiled, kissing Atma on the cheek and lingering a bit longer than that on Katsuragi’s lips and huffing. “Don’t let that be the last time I get to do that to you two. Things would be awfully boring without you two brats around. Now go. The sooner this is done, the better.”

It was her way of saying ‘I love you’, a phrase that didn’t come easy to her even after all this time. They knew she meant it, though, and it didn’t matter if it was the exact phrase, the intent was the same to them all. They kissed her back and pulled Koshka’s topless and tan and tall Russian body up and gave her smooches and got paid in equal favor. And just to make things right, they pulled Ayame over and had both their girls cover her in kisses, too, knowing she would be too embarrassed to return any of them, but that was the point.

Knowing they were loved, Katsuragi, Ayame, and Atma packed up and waved goodbye, heading north in The Pussy Wagon. Their eternally rowdy neighbor, Ryobi, noticed them driving off and flipped them off from her balcony, screaming something about “I knew you two were corrupt like goddamn fucking shit took them long enough to find dirt on you” or whatever, knowing she still had about a million left on her probation and house arrest before she could come anywhere close to being free. They’re just words. Or at least, they were just words from a motherfucker. She was of no concern and this time, she had nobody reputable to out them or threaten their girls over. She was hot air of the highest caliber, and at least her sister Ryona had the decency to wave goodbye to them topless. She had no beef with them, and knew when they came back, they’d probably tease her sister from afar, making her take it out on poor Ryona. But that’s the way they liked it. They could use some serious therapy.

The ride there was as quick as it was the other day when they hauled ass home after hearing the news. On they rode north, back to the campgrounds, parking way the hell away from everything and loading poor Ayame back up with the important stuff, checking their equipment and making sure their scrolls were pre-loaded just in case. The walk would take a while, and along the way they sang parts of the miner’s song again. It felt oddly appropriate and somewhat comforting for some reason to them at this time.

When they got to where they had been camping last, remnants of the juices they had used to paint each other in a drug induced haze were still strewn about. Perhaps the spies had used this as tracking on them. The Grove was still another hour west by foot, and they picked up some more fruits and began to make a trail back with it, making sticky the bushes much like they did to their women with yellows and reds of pulp and rind and juice to their old campsite just in case they got lost and just hauling ass one way didn’t seem to get them anywhere good.

A rustling came in from nearby, the air suddenly quiet save for that, the three of them stopping and sensing something nearby. You don’t get to be a shinobi by looks alone, and their ears heard something far up and to the left, far up the trunk of a massive redwood. They could see it, but not exactly what it was. All that could be made out of the shadowy figure was a dark aura that flickered as if coated in small flames, a worn out buttoned gray uniform, and a kepi. They were genderless, faceless, almost automated mooks, armed with old, broken rifles, sabers, and other assorted old weapons.

A shot rang out. The three immediately jumped back and Katsuragi entered a fighting stance, aiming for the tree and running towards it and up the trunk, leaping backwards over the sniper and into its face with the heel of her massive boots. Another shot from another tree fired, this time Ayame leaping up and trying her best to imitate her favorite mentor. A third, and this time Atma took care of things by slicing the branch where that one stood and letting them fall hard to their doom.

More came. The three took care of another round of them, avoiding the shots and kicking or slicing them down as it went, only allowed a brief respite before another round of enemies came out firing, each one getting quicker and their shots hitting closer than the last. This couldn’t go on forever, but it was beginning to look and feel that way. They knew of very few shinobi who used guns, and the ones that did were the ones back at home who just gave them that rude goodbye from next door. Any schools that specialized in it would be new, but the dark auras suggested Hebijo anyways, even if the uniforms didn’t.

Soon, they felt overwhelmed. All of the mooks they had downed kept getting back up, as if being thunked upside the head wasn’t enough to take them down. A circle of them encroached slowly, closer and closer and closer, slow and steady.

The three girls stood back to back, grunting in annoyance. They knew what they had to do. They reached in to the shinobi magic pocket dimensions between their breasts, finding their transformation scrolls and nodding to each other, about ready to toss them up in the air, shouting “SHINOBI---” when they were cut off by another shot.

This time it came from a small, nearby dirt mound. A figure stood on it, one knee on the ground, the other up, as the sun shone behind them, making their visage guarded and indeterminable. They were aiming for the heads of the mooks, and they were good. Damn good. Each time they fired, another mook went down and disappeared in a small, black puff of evil. Soon, the invading group was down to one monster, and it began to realize just how much in deep shit it was, about ready to flee when the figure swooped in and knocked it aside, as if their rifle was a club, throwing it up in the air and twirling their gun around and firing straight up, sun shining down as they fired, the mook disappearing in mid-air, their kepi falling to the ground with a thud before disappearing as well.

The three were suitably impressed, holding on to their scrolls in case whomever this was was just using these mooks as an example and that they were next. As the scene faded in a bit more clear, they saw the figure was a woman. Covered head to toe in leather gear akin to a frontiersman, complete with ammo belts, belt pockets, knives, gloves, boots, and a ranger’s cap tied up under her chin. She grinned wide and tipped her hat to the ladies, knocking it back so it’d hang off her neck.

“I reckon y’all are feeling a might relieved about now. It’s a good thing I found you gals when I did, or you’d be struggling a while with figurin’ out how to if an’ when those fellas.” she whistled. “Gotta get ‘em right between the eyes. Havin’ bullets or a sword or somethin’ blessed by a priest or whatever it is y’all got helps, too, when dealin’ with actual Hellspawn.” the figure laughed a hearty laugh after this.

Kat checked out her rack, not bad at all. Ayame caught her breath and sighed in relief. Atma, ever the professional, took her hand out of her lapel and offered a handshake, other hand on Hoshigiri just in case.

“Well, thank you, miss. I dunno what you were doing out here or how you knew how to kill these, but you have our gratitude.” Atma smiled, extending her hand. She could let Kat fill her in on her measurement details later. “A pleasure to meet a fine warrior such as yourself all the way out here. I’m...”

“Yer Atma, ain’t ya?” the figure asked, not to anyone in particular. “The kid’s yer apprentice, Ayame, and the tall drink of blonde over there’s Katsuragi, or Queen Kat as she if an’ prefers to be called, especially by new belles such as meself.”

“H-How did you know that?” Atma looked, shocked. “Well, besides the fact we’re on the news constantly right now.”

“That ain’t helpin’ yer case, I reckon.” the figured laughed again. “But I knew yous anyways when I was given my mission to come help you. Y’see, I’m an envoy form the Heavens above, sent to help you take care of whatever dark and sinister stuff’s going on out here in the neck of the woods. Now, I know that don’t sound serious, maybe you was expecting one of yer shinobi buddies or ninja academies or somethin’, but swear to Heaven, I’m from Heaven!”

The three shinobi just raised their eyebrows, looking a bit stunned. For once, an immense loss of words took hold of their tongues instead of a need to impress or brag or to stick said tongue down the throat of this girl. Their guts told them this woman wasn’t lying.

“Oh, where are my manners? The name’s Teddy Roosevelet. But you girls can call me The Bear, if an’ you like ta.” the figured grinned, laying her rifle across the back of her shoulders and letting the sun reflect off her teeth, trying her best to impress.

Since Katsuragi and Ayame had no idea who that was, their history classes not covering that yet, it was up to Atma to reply for the group with the only way she knew how to greet a proper historical figure come to life to help them on some kind of crusade.

“B-But...” she began, flabbergasted. “You’re a GIRL!”


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The Hall of Heroes | Atma's Writing Dump

December 2016

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