At this point, the master has no choice but to shake off his usual torpor and rush to retaliate. The same master who, reposing on his living room floor, had listened contently to the lecture on ethics, is on his feet in a flash. With flaming eyes he hurries out, and before one knows it he's clutched his prey. He congratulates himself on a job well done. Congratulations may be in order, but his prey, it seems, is a young lad of no more than fifteen. For the master, a mature man sporting whiskers, it's hardly a worthy foe. Be that as it may, though, the master has what he wants. The pleading lad accompanies the master, under compulsion, back to the veranda. A word here on the enemy's tactics is in order. Having witnessed the master's outrage the day prior, they fully expected his hands-on response today. In such case, should one of the older boys fail to escape, there'd surely be consequences. The best course of action, to mitigate such risk, was to send the younger first and second year students in after the ball. Let a youth be detained and berated at length. The repute of Rakuunkan would in no way suffer. On the contrary, the master would be called to question for ill-treating a child. So the enemy reckoned. And this reckoning, where most men are concerned, was perfectly sound. What they neglected to account for, however, was the eccentricity of their present adversary. Had the master been a man of better sense, he'd have excercised restraint the day prior. A man with a burning head is free from the bonds of normalcy and common sense. A man who discriminates, be it between women, children, rickshaw pullers, or packhorse drivers, is no hothead of boastworthy proportion. To number among the great hotheads, one must, like the master, have no qualms about waging war with first-year students and taking one of said students captive. The unfortunate victim of all this was the captive himself. For simply performing his duty, acting on instruction from his upperclassmen to go and retrieve a ball, and for failing to clear the fence in time, he'd haplessly ended up in the clutches of a madman, a hothead of epic proportion, and here he languished, coerced to sit in the madman's garden. The enemy camp, at this point, was not about to turn a blind eye to the indignity visited upon their comrade.