Croc barrels after Yukio, eyes on the metaphorical prize.

Not metaphorical, not really, actually. His broad shoulders push the poor bookcases out of the way, some onto the ground; books scatter.

The book that Chara throws bonks him on the head but doesn't do much else. It's not magic, after all; it's just a book, and Croc is not that type of monster.

"You impudent little wretch!"