Sakuramoria

After the demon's remarkable offer and the grandfather's agreement, skillfully feigning susceptibility to age-related brain changes – at best, or masking his own vile nature behind it (one shouldn't forget the example of the Barbarian's former neighbor, who had to leave school after he drugged her and let her sit on his lap), Futaba realizes that there is nothing to do in this circus and leaves after the training session.
"Interesting weapon," she recalls the restrained words of her opponent, who was more surprised than upset that he had lost to her.
Perhaps, "interesting" was the only suitable epithet for it. Not powerful, not convenient, not effective, not easy to use. But interesting – to hang it on the wall as a decoration and drink tea with guests under it. Or to stand on a wind-swept cliff, slit your belly at the same time as the last ray of the setting sun, and fall down into the sea. Or to play in the theater, depicting unrealistic scenes of how your deliberately slow, sweeping blow from behind, as if you were chopping wood, kills the bodyguard, who comically accepts his fate as a defeated warrior, not even trying to dodge or parry it, and then you run away dramatically with a scream and a blade held out in front of you, and simply impale the corrupt magistrate on it like a fly, lifting him into the air, while lightning strikes the blade at that moment and drags you both to hell.
...yes, an "interesting" weapon, but nothing more. It was worth admitting that in training with it, Futaba had reached her limit; this toothpick was not capable of more. But rumors said that there was an armory somewhere here, where tools for killing were sold even to minors. Perhaps a solid coin could improve the situation a little?
For the first time in several months, she went outside the school gates, smoking and walking towards the city, fantasizing along the way about impaling the headmistress on the blade.