You don't say. Come to think of it, you sort of remind me of someone I know from back home.

[ it's like the claw machine's become euphemistic for their egos. makoto can't adequately handle his without risk of permanent self-detonation and nonon's got a competitive streak to hers dynamic enough to rival rin's psyche during swim matches. it's a little humiliating, sure, but he's not the type to cry over spilled milk, either.

after all, makoto makes a habit of taking his losses in stride. he's resigned with whatever outcome she'll eventually arrive at, but he isn't crossing any fingers just in case. for lack of a jinx, makoto speaks like he's got parapraxis lying on the tongue — freudian slips of the innocuous variety. ]

Are you sure you want to spend it talking to me? You've only got thirteen seconds left.

[ if she cheats, she cheats. makoto reads people well enough, but he can't catch lightning-quick sleights of hand with implicit finesse, either. ]