Tami Zulaika—based on the information I have—has a fiery personality, marked by her love for sport and combat that involves nothing but her fists and body. She thrives on challenging strong opponents, feeling alive and motivated by the prospect of facing someone powerful or even just knowing there are still strong people out there she hasn't fought yet. Her above-average physical abilities are the root of future disaster, where she becomes one of the most dangerous individuals—not just because she's strong, but because she eliminates people indiscriminately. Beneath it all, though, she's actually a pretty simple person. The only issue is, I wasn't prepared with the one thing that's essential when dealing with her: food.
"So, which one of you will be my opponent?" Tami asked, her eyes ablaze.
"Huh? Opponent?" Najam replied, startled.
"Yes, I was told if I came here today, I'd find a worthy opponent. And since you're the only ones here, it must be one of you. Now come on, let's head to the track—just one warm-up lap," she explained, still fired up.
"Uh, honestly, we didn't come here to fight you," Najam said cautiously.
"Nope, I didn't hear that," she responded, plugging her ears.
"What's with this girl?!" Najam muttered, clearly annoyed.
Tami looked excited at first, but once she realized we weren't going along with her game, her aura suddenly turned menacing.
"Anyway, if none of you want to fight, that means you lose—so I'll be taking all your valuables. I didn't want to resort to violence, but if you won't hand them over willingly, I'll just have to take them by force," she said with a wicked smile, stepping into a fighting stance.
"Whoa, whoa, what the hell?! Buddy, this girl's nuts," Najam panicked, glancing at me.
"This is exactly why I didn't want to deal with her yet," I replied with a small smile.
Tami doesn't stop unless someone beats her—or feeds her.
"You, in the purple jacket. I bet you'll entertain me just fine," she said, pointing at Najam.
"Huh? Why me?" Najam asked in disbelief.
"I can tell your body's trained. Now, fight me," she said, her tone serious.
She wasn't wrong. Out of the three of us, Najam was the most athletic. Based on Tami's preferences, it made sense that she'd target him. I walked over to Najam, hoping to deliver some good news.
"I think you can take her, Ijam," I said, patting his shoulder.
"What do you mean?" he asked, confused.
"As you suggested earlier, I think now's a good time to switch targets. Don't worry, I know a way out of this. Whether you win or lose doesn't matter," I whispered to him.
"Oh, okay then," he replied, nodding.
I turned to Tami.
"Alright, we'll fight—but let me choose the events," I offered.
"Fine! Add a handicap if you want—I'm still in!" she replied, even more excited.
"I propose three events: 40m sprint, medicine ball throw, and solo target toss."
"Hmm, alright. Warm up for 15 minutes, I'll be waiting," she said, clearly thrilled.
Tami walked off, looking pleased.
"Do I really have to go through with this?" Najam asked, still unsure.
"Relax. Despite her attitude, she's actually simple and quite friendly."
"Yeah, I guess so. If she only cared about winning, she wouldn't have let me warm up."
"Exactly. She's genuinely just looking for someone stronger. She ran over here because she saw you."
"Seriously? I thought she just guessed. I even wore a jacket to hide my physique."
"Too bad. She doesn't rely on her eyes—she relies on instinct."
"Hmph. Alright, alright. Guess I'd better warm up. You better not be lying to me, buddy. I hate losing, but I need a guarantee," Najam said, dropping his bag and removing his jacket.
"Of course."
Just then, Betania approached me.
"Will Najam be okay? He hasn't been training much lately," she asked, worried.
"That's exactly why I hope this motivates him to start again," I replied, gazing into the distance.
The first major world-ending incident isn't far off. While gathering information on Class 95, I also want to prepare those who can help when it matters most. Najam's physical abilities are above average, and I believe he'll be crucial when the time comes.
"If you say so," Betania replied with a smile.
"By the way, I think I need to head to the cafeteria."
"Huh? Why?" she asked, surprised.
"I need to buy some food. Remember when I mentioned preparation? That's what I meant—food for her."
"Oh. Does it need to be a lot?"
"Not necessarily. If it tastes good, even a small amount works better."
"I actually brought a lunchbox. Want to use it?" she said, pulling out a lunch container from her bag.
"Wait, really? Didn't you eat one in class already?"
"Yeah, I just happened to bring two today," she replied shyly.
"But are you sure it's okay?" I asked, concerned.
"Don't worry. I'm not hungry anymore—I think I overthought things this morning."
"Well, if you're sure... Thanks, Betania."
She nodded and smiled. I was about to join Najam for his warm-up when suddenly I felt a tug on my sleeve. I turned and saw Betania holding me back.
"Wait, I think you should test it first. What if it's not to her taste?" she said, almost pleading.
"Um, I'm sure if it's from you—" I started, but she cut me off.
"Please!" she interrupted, locking eyes with me.
She held out the lunchbox with both hands, eyes wide and shimmering with pride and nervousness, like this meal carried more than food—it held effort, trust, maybe even a bit of her heart. Her gaze pleaded with me to accept it before I even opened my mouth.
"Just one bite," she said softly. It felt like a challenge, but her voice trembled.
There was something so sincere in her expression—hopeful, slightly embarrassed. This little box held more than lunch; it carried her intent to be seen. How could I say no to that?
"Um, alright," I agreed.
She beamed. I opened the lunchbox and took the chopsticks with a small smile, stealing a glance at her—she watched intently, like my reaction meant more to her than she'd admit. The lunch was almost too perfect to eat: carefully shaped rice, colorful vegetables, neatly rolled omelets in the corner. I took a bite. The flavor wasn't just good—it was filled with effort, care, and sincerity wrapped in soy sauce and warmth. When I looked at her again, she was trying not to grin too widely, but her eyes sparkled with pride. I couldn't help but wonder if all her lunches were this thoughtful. If so, her effort deserved serious praise.
"How is it?" she asked eagerly.
"Do I even need to say it? It's amazing! I'm sure this will do just fine."
"Well, if you'd like, I can make you one tomorrow too," she offered.
"Really? I'd love that," I replied cheerfully.
Suddenly, a third presence interrupted us.
"Ahem, must be nice. While I'm over here warming up for hell, you two are busy flirting," Najam grumbled.
"Wait, you misunderstood! This is your guarantee—I'm testing it," I said, holding up the lunchbox.
"Huh? Food?" Najam asked, confused.
"Yup. She just needs to be fed."
"Well, alright then," Najam replied, sighing.
"You warmed up enough?" I asked.
"Yeah, no need to overdo it. We're just here to gather intel, right?" he said, wiping sweat from his face.
"Yeah? Doesn't look that way to me," I teased, noticing how sweaty and serious he looked.
Najam only responded with a smile, glancing toward Tami as she cheerfully jogged over to us.
"Alright, here comes the battle of the sports freaks," I muttered.