Even Kenuichio, who had been raised essentially in isolation, wasn't stupid enough to pick fights with his housemates. If you didn't like someone, you still had to be civil with them; divisive households couldn't function well. Jean-Paul's attitude was perplexing. Not only was the boy younger than everyone else in the house, but he was one of the newest to join. From that alone, Kenuichio would've expected a certain degree of deference, or at the least, basic respect.
There was an audible tearing sound as he clenched one hand into a fist, and four short shards of bone split through the skin over his knuckles.
No, he couldn't do that. Kenuichio was not going to squabble with a childish brat because his food had been thrown on the ground. Forcing himself to uncurl his fingers, he waited until the shards had retreated and the skin had closed before speaking.
"I do not need your approval to keep my food in the refrigerator. I do not trash your room, or destroy your clothes when they bother my eyes. And I will not disfigure your ugly piggy face, even though it spews rude things that would get you killed elsewhere."
Kenuichio was sure he'd done the right thing, even if it didn't feel as satisfying as puncturing Jean-Paul's windpipe would've. At least he knew he had Remy and Kevin on his side.