The sound that seemed as loud as a thunderclap was no figment of the imagination; the entire room heard it. It was the sound of Yukimura's hand intercepting Konishi's wrist.

"That's dangerous," Yukimura said, the gentle manner of his tone at odds with the contempt in his eyes as he looked past his nose to Konishi's face. The scissors, whether from the startle or from the sudden strength of his grip, slipped from her fingers and clattered against the tile floor. A flutter of green shavings fell around it.

It wasn't a perfect save, but it looks like he made it in time to prevent serious damage.

"You shouldn't be walking with those in the air, Konishi-san. You almost took off Flayn's ponytail. What were you doing?"

If he overheard any of the conversation at the table, it was as good as white noise, buried under a fury that burned deceptively hot under his icy composure. Composure that he kept icy because his anger was so intense he dared not let even a trickle of it out.

Assault. She tried to assault Flayn. The question is not whether to escalate this; it's exactly how far up the chain to climb.