Tezuka took another step forward, putting himself right in Tsukishima's face. Pressing a wand with a star on the end of it to the blond's chest, he said, "How dare you. I have properly preserved this shade through more washing than your incompetent self could possibly comprehend."

He brandished the wand toward the door and stared at Tsukishima with cold, livid eyes. The heating acted like a wind machine. "One-hundred laps."