"Who missed me?"
Kenshin's grin stretched wide as he locked two boys in a headlock—one under each arm, their protests muffled against his sides.
"You've been asking that for the past two weeks," Dean sighed, exasperated.
Since the break began, Kenshin had made it his mission to torment anyone he could find.
"They've had two months without us," Kenshin insisted, tightening his grip. The boys squirmed. "They miss us. They just won't admit it."
For Dean, the first two days had been fun. Then it got boring. Every time he made progress with his flirting—found the right angle, the right line, the right smile—Kenshin would appear. Drag him away. Find some unlucky soul willing to engage in combat.
The professor had warned them about causing too much mayhem. Kenshin had interpreted this as a challenge: find a reason. Any reason.
He was not successful.
