[ This hummingbird reporter is living his best life. Not only has he gotten the scoop of the week with a violent lovers’ quarrel, now he’s witnessing the birth of the Toilet Paper Charmer. Like a snake charmer but with unique sway over TP—but the photoshoot is cut short as those floating bits of toilet paper slap against the window and block his view. Drats. Unwilling to give up so easily, the reporter circles the wagon, buzzing here and there, looking for another angle.

Rokurou, for his part, is beginning to think that the glass has caused some brain damage. Did he talk to the toilet paper and did that toilet paper just… fly…? Okay. This is normal and fine. ]

I don’t care. That should probably be fine?

[ Cronch, cronch, cronch. He steps barefoot across the glass to drop into a chair, shaking his head like a dog and sending dust flying from his long dark hair. He points at where the pain continues to throb—a comically large piece of glass stuck in his forehead—as if Natori somehow wouldn’t notice it if he didn’t make it clear. ]

Head wounds don’t bleed that much, right? [ wrong. ] Just yank it out. [ a beat, ] Does it look bad?

[ He asks, as blood continues to ooze down his face and plop unceremoniously to the floor. ]