Sakuramoria

Taking a look at the various types of ranged weapons, which seemingly should appeal to a certain type of person, Futaba shook her head – except for the sight of archers standing in formation in an open field, all these firearms are practically useless in real life. While you're fumbling with trembling hands, trying to nock an arrow and dropping bullets in the mud, struggling with misfires and damp powder, you'll already be split in half or have your head smashed in with a mace.

— My choice is the sword,” said one of the students, picking up a Roman sword, “it might be cliché, but protagonists in stories often use them.

Unable to resist clicking her tongue, involuntarily hearing such shameful childish nonsense, Futaba finally picks up a katana and moves to the side, where she tests its weight and size.
It doesn't look like the most convenient and maneuverable weapon, but it's not as heavy and bulky as some other two-handed weapons, and it doesn't seem to require a long exchange of blows. In her short life, she has learned one thing – in a fight, the one who inflicts the maximum possible damage first, in the shortest possible time, wins. Exchanging mutual jabs, observing formalities, communicating with fists, and other preliminary caresses are best left to those who are naturally predisposed to it – two-meter boars and mares who love to receive pain more than inflict it.
Sheathing the sword and wrapping the straps around the scabbard, she slings them over her shoulder and picks up the bag with the remaining equipment. Apparently, there is no need to register it anywhere – the children simply take what they want, and no one stops them, so, having finished her business, she moves to the side.