This, I think, should be considered a crack fic. The actions of at least two of the characters are so very much out of character. And yet I like the thought of it happening....
Girls und Panzer — die Rache
The opening formalities had — finally! — concluded, now with thirty armored combat vehicles on each side. Notwithstanding his rage at the high school girls who’d so insolently come to reinforce Ōarai Girls Academy against the decree of MEXT, Tsuji Renta couldn’t altogether restrain his malevolent smirk when he thought about one particular vehicle, newly added to the University Team, that couldn’t be called a tank by any reasonable definition.
Now, at last, the two sides would be sent to their respective start positions, and the crushing of Ōarai’s hopes would begin. Tsuji frowned as he noticed that Shimada Arisu, the University Team’s thirteen-year-old leader, had drawn the chief referee, Sasagawa, aside, speaking to her in an urgent manner. He couldn’t hear the distant conversation, but saw Sasagawa nod. With a bow, Shimada-kun turned and walked toward Tsuji.
She came to a halt in front of him, at about three meters distance. He felt a trace of unease at the direct way the child eyed him for nearly ten full seconds before bowing … bowing with a crisp exactitude almost as borderline-rude as that measuring stare.
“Tsuji-san,” the girl said, voice flat. Her chilly tone was just barely deferential enough not to be outright ill-mannered. “My officers and I have taken the time to examine in detail the conditions you set for this match. The dishonorable conditions.” That shook him. That was a categorical rebuke, and grossly insulting.
“In spite of our displeasure at being used as your agents in this improper way, the University Team will carry out the mission … because we have come to the suspicion that if we didn’t, you would be even more ignoble and declare Ōarai Girls Academy to have forfeited. We have, however, one further message for you, Tsuji-san. One which we feel appropriate to the shame you have brought upon all Sensha-dō.”
All of a sudden, he became aware that while the girl quietly berated him, the three Chaffee scout tanks had approached to within fifty meters. Their 75mm guns, the bureaucrat saw with dawning horror that hadn’t quite reached the point of being fear, were aimed directly at him. They couldn’t possibly intend killing him, Tsuji assured himself. Not so publicly….
The Shimada’s disrespectful child turned and stepped several paces to one side, giving Tsuji a still clearer view into the three cannon muzzles. For almost five seconds he stared at them, wondering if the obstreperous young females were trying to bluff him into humiliating himself by publicly showing fear. Then the guns fired in unison.
The sound was oddly more muffled than normal; although he’d long privately disdained the practitioners of Sensha-dō, Tsuji Renta had adequate close-quarters familiarity with their mechanisms to know how three cannon firing at once should sound. It was understandable, however. Rather than shells, a spray of yellow paint jetted from each muzzle.
The propelling charge must have been reduced with careful precision, he thought much later, when he had time to consider the matter in stomach-churning detail. Even at such pointblank range, getting hit squarely by all three guns’ worth of paint didn’t even knock Tsuji from his chair. It was very smelly paint, too. Sick with the desire to take vengeance, yet knowing he couldn’t — he dared not — he wondered whether the defiant youngsters had mixed something into the paint specifically to make it smell so filthy.
And the bureaucrat couldn’t do anything about it. Taking any action against Shimada Arisu, or the University Team as a whole, would bring out all the details. At best he’d become a laughingstock. At worst, MEXT would have no place for an administrator who couldn’t even make a proper job of weighting the scales against victims of his grudges.
The aim of the Chaffee gunners, too, was most precise. Kodama-san, sitting within a meter of Tsuji, had not so much as a drop of paint on him. The old man had raised his fan to cover his mouth. Tsuji had dire suspicions as to what expression that fan hid.
One other thing struck Tsuji Renta in that moment. A sound he’d heard distinctly, even with the paint all over him and dripping. Slowly, unable to believe his ears but not willing to leave the question unexplored, he turned his head.
Shimada Chiyo was gazing at her vile daughter with approval, pride, infuriating Tsuji even more than the impudent teen’s words of reprimand, but she didn’t stand near enough to him to be the source of the improbable sound he’d heard.
The person who was close enough looked back at him, as stern as ever, except … that might be, on her lips, the tiny not-quite-smile he’d seen in his office when the Kadotani miscreant demanded — demanded! — he sign the agreement to give Ōarai another chance.
That noise could have come from no one else, he thought. No one else was in the right spot. But it was so unbelievable; so out-of-character. Had his ears in fact deceived the bureaucrat — or had the fearsome Nishizumi Shiho actually giggled when the paint hit him?
-----
I'm a very forgiving person ... on Lord Vader's terms. "Apology accepted, Captain."
Girls und Panzer — die Rache
The opening formalities had — finally! — concluded, now with thirty armored combat vehicles on each side. Notwithstanding his rage at the high school girls who’d so insolently come to reinforce Ōarai Girls Academy against the decree of MEXT, Tsuji Renta couldn’t altogether restrain his malevolent smirk when he thought about one particular vehicle, newly added to the University Team, that couldn’t be called a tank by any reasonable definition.
Now, at last, the two sides would be sent to their respective start positions, and the crushing of Ōarai’s hopes would begin. Tsuji frowned as he noticed that Shimada Arisu, the University Team’s thirteen-year-old leader, had drawn the chief referee, Sasagawa, aside, speaking to her in an urgent manner. He couldn’t hear the distant conversation, but saw Sasagawa nod. With a bow, Shimada-kun turned and walked toward Tsuji.
She came to a halt in front of him, at about three meters distance. He felt a trace of unease at the direct way the child eyed him for nearly ten full seconds before bowing … bowing with a crisp exactitude almost as borderline-rude as that measuring stare.
“Tsuji-san,” the girl said, voice flat. Her chilly tone was just barely deferential enough not to be outright ill-mannered. “My officers and I have taken the time to examine in detail the conditions you set for this match. The dishonorable conditions.” That shook him. That was a categorical rebuke, and grossly insulting.
“In spite of our displeasure at being used as your agents in this improper way, the University Team will carry out the mission … because we have come to the suspicion that if we didn’t, you would be even more ignoble and declare Ōarai Girls Academy to have forfeited. We have, however, one further message for you, Tsuji-san. One which we feel appropriate to the shame you have brought upon all Sensha-dō.”
All of a sudden, he became aware that while the girl quietly berated him, the three Chaffee scout tanks had approached to within fifty meters. Their 75mm guns, the bureaucrat saw with dawning horror that hadn’t quite reached the point of being fear, were aimed directly at him. They couldn’t possibly intend killing him, Tsuji assured himself. Not so publicly….
The Shimada’s disrespectful child turned and stepped several paces to one side, giving Tsuji a still clearer view into the three cannon muzzles. For almost five seconds he stared at them, wondering if the obstreperous young females were trying to bluff him into humiliating himself by publicly showing fear. Then the guns fired in unison.
The sound was oddly more muffled than normal; although he’d long privately disdained the practitioners of Sensha-dō, Tsuji Renta had adequate close-quarters familiarity with their mechanisms to know how three cannon firing at once should sound. It was understandable, however. Rather than shells, a spray of yellow paint jetted from each muzzle.
The propelling charge must have been reduced with careful precision, he thought much later, when he had time to consider the matter in stomach-churning detail. Even at such pointblank range, getting hit squarely by all three guns’ worth of paint didn’t even knock Tsuji from his chair. It was very smelly paint, too. Sick with the desire to take vengeance, yet knowing he couldn’t — he dared not — he wondered whether the defiant youngsters had mixed something into the paint specifically to make it smell so filthy.
And the bureaucrat couldn’t do anything about it. Taking any action against Shimada Arisu, or the University Team as a whole, would bring out all the details. At best he’d become a laughingstock. At worst, MEXT would have no place for an administrator who couldn’t even make a proper job of weighting the scales against victims of his grudges.
The aim of the Chaffee gunners, too, was most precise. Kodama-san, sitting within a meter of Tsuji, had not so much as a drop of paint on him. The old man had raised his fan to cover his mouth. Tsuji had dire suspicions as to what expression that fan hid.
One other thing struck Tsuji Renta in that moment. A sound he’d heard distinctly, even with the paint all over him and dripping. Slowly, unable to believe his ears but not willing to leave the question unexplored, he turned his head.
Shimada Chiyo was gazing at her vile daughter with approval, pride, infuriating Tsuji even more than the impudent teen’s words of reprimand, but she didn’t stand near enough to him to be the source of the improbable sound he’d heard.
The person who was close enough looked back at him, as stern as ever, except … that might be, on her lips, the tiny not-quite-smile he’d seen in his office when the Kadotani miscreant demanded — demanded! — he sign the agreement to give Ōarai another chance.
That noise could have come from no one else, he thought. No one else was in the right spot. But it was so unbelievable; so out-of-character. Had his ears in fact deceived the bureaucrat — or had the fearsome Nishizumi Shiho actually giggled when the paint hit him?
-----
I'm a very forgiving person ... on Lord Vader's terms. "Apology accepted, Captain."
