The school bus has dropped them off early again and Erza drops back into his own waking nightmare, hoping that today – three days in, c’mon, a whole three days – they’ll have forgotten what he’d said at recess, Monday.

Fifteen minutes before the school opens? Some hope.

“Hey, it’s Erza. Tell us what pacifist means again.”

And it had seemed so obvious and logical when his father’s assistant talked to him on Sunday night – settling differences without recourse to violence, well, yeah that makes sense. The child of a parent with such smarts – the strength of character to guide a team and change the world – would get it.

“C’mon. Fuckin’ egghead.”

Well, smarts, I don’t know, ’cause explaining this to the yard bully and his pals, in hindsight, not so bright. His ears are burning as he hears:

“Pass-a-fist! Pass-a-fist!”

And suddenly strength of character isn’t looking good either, who’s changing the world here, in this yard? Erza stumbles back he’s trying to explain again the bully’s toocloseAND SUDDENLY