[ Stop trying to turn this into a heartwarming slice-of-life swimming anime, Oz. It's not happening. Elliot isn't going to vindicate his overwhelming superiority/inferiority mess of a complex so you can absolve him of several counts of homicide through the power of friendship and whatever counts as humility nowadays. Vessalius took that shoe to the head pretty well, though — not in a way that garners respect but complicit hilarity, what with being deprived of everything but the momentary satisfaction of watching Oz duck back into the water. Why rob him of the one joy in his life: tormenting dweebs?! But wait, what was that blur just now — ]
Oi, you idiot! No running!
[ As it turns out, NPC swim instructors don't take to lightly to lifeguards roughhousing each other and inadvertently hurtling their gross footwear at small children. When Elliot eventually appears at the Olympic-sized pool a room over, he's sporting a gigantic welt in the contour of a hand over his stinging cheek, like someone had the gall to slap a Nightray in the face and actually got away with it. He tromps noisily through the resounding hall sans mold-infested sandals and human benevolence, face scrunched up in perusal for any telltale blob of banana hair (and accompanying scrawny body) to rugby tackle to the bottom of the pool. ]
Get out here, pipsqueak! I'm going to throttle you first!
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[ Stop trying to turn this into a heartwarming slice-of-life swimming anime, Oz. It's not happening. Elliot isn't going to vindicate his overwhelming superiority/inferiority mess of a complex so you can absolve him of several counts of homicide through the power of friendship and whatever counts as humility nowadays. Vessalius took that shoe to the head pretty well, though — not in a way that garners respect but complicit hilarity, what with being deprived of everything but the momentary satisfaction of watching Oz duck back into the water. Why rob him of the one joy in his life: tormenting dweebs?! But wait, what was that blur just now — ]
Oi, you idiot! No running!
[ As it turns out, NPC swim instructors don't take to lightly to lifeguards roughhousing each other and inadvertently hurtling their gross footwear at small children. When Elliot eventually appears at the Olympic-sized pool a room over, he's sporting a gigantic welt in the contour of a hand over his stinging cheek, like someone had the gall to slap a Nightray in the face and actually got away with it. He tromps noisily through the resounding hall sans mold-infested sandals and human benevolence, face scrunched up in perusal for any telltale blob of banana hair (and accompanying scrawny body) to rugby tackle to the bottom of the pool. ]
Get out here, pipsqueak! I'm going to throttle you first!