It started with spaghetti.
A seemingly harmless plate of school lunch spaghetti. Noodles. Sauce. A suspicious meatball that blinked at me.
"Warning," Ayaka whispered, scanning it with her cyborg eye. "This meatball is 83% uranium and 12% disappointment."
"You can *scan* my lunch?"
"I can scan your entire genetic code."
"That's deeply upsetting."
Before I could protest further, the head lunch lady, Miss Kumiko—a terrifying woman with arms like forklift hydraulics—slammed her ladle on the counter.
"Got a problem with my meatballs, Tachibana?!"
Ayaka stepped forward, eyes glowing red. "You've been serving weapons-grade spaghetti since last Thursday. This is a declaration of culinary war."
"You dare accuse the *Lunch Lady Mafia?!*" Kumiko ripped off her apron to reveal a full tactical apron underneath. It had *pockets for meat cleavers*.
The entire cafeteria gasped.
Somewhere, an electric guitar riff played.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!" chanted the third-years.
Kumiko pulled out a baguette—*nunchuck style.*
Ayaka responded by summoning a titanium fork the size of a traffic cone.
"FOR THE STUDENTS!" she roared.
"FOR THE CALORIES!" bellowed Kumiko.
They charged.
**Spaghetti exploded.**
Meatballs ricocheted off walls like grenade shrapnel. Trays flew. Pudding cups detonated on impact. One poor first-year got *yeeted* into a vending machine and now speaks only in marinara-based puns.
I tried to crawl away but was caught in a crossfire of garlic bread shurikens. A lunch tray hit me so hard I astral projected into a memory of preschool snack time.
Then Ayaka unleashed her ultimate technique: **Carbonara Cannon: Extra Crispy Protocol.**
It was beautiful. Terrifying. Smelled faintly of cheese.
Kumiko fell to one knee, sauce dripping down her apron. "You... you fight well, cyborg... but I'll be back. Lunch... *is never truly over.*"
She vanished in a puff of parmesan smoke.
---
**Aftermath:**
The school board declared cafeteria combat illegal. Ayaka was awarded the Golden Spatula of Honor. I got a free juice box and PTSD.
But Ayaka wasn't done.
"Trouble detected," she said, scanning the sky. "Incoming threat level: Maximum. Category: Interdimensional Exchange Student."
I sighed. I just wanted to finish lunch.