Shrimp are often stewed in the shell, but to this day there's no equivalent method of preparing turtle. It goes without saying then, that in ancient Greece there was also no such practice. Just as the eagle was struggling with this predicament, a shiny object, far down below, caught his eye. "That's it," the eagle thought to itself. "If I drop this turtle onto that shiny object, its shell is sure to break. After the shell breaks, I'll float down and feast. It's all too simple." Having chosen a plan of action, the eagle proceeded, without further ado, to release the turtle, dropping it from a great height toward the head below. Regrettably, a writer's head is softer than a turtle's shell. The bald crown shattered, and the renowned Aeschylus met his tragic end. That was that, but what's still unclear is the eagle's intent. Did the eagle recognize the head in question as that of a writer, or did it merely mistake if for bare rock. Depending on interpretation, the master's Rakuunkan adversaries may or may not be much like this eagle. The master's head is not, like the head of Aeschylus and other notable men, bald and shiny. However, he does possess a modest study, where he dozes away, planting his face on the pages of difficult works. He qualifies, in this sense, as numbered among the company of scholars and writers. He still has his hair beccause he hasn't yet earned a shiny head, but in due course he'll no doubt get there. One must admit then, that the Rakuunkan students' concentration of fire toward the master's head is, given the situation, a highly appropriate plan. Just two weeks of continued shelling, and the master's head, starved of nourishment by constant worry and dread, is bound to resemble a kumquat, smooth like a teapot and shiny like a copper kettle. Furthermore, what kumquat can withstand two weeks' shelling? What teapot can hold its water? What copper kettle can resist cracking? It's only master Kushami who fails to grasp this obvious outcome and hence soldiers on in facing down his foes.