Fic: Spiritual Insinuation [chapter six] (PoT, AU fantasy)
Title: Spiritual Insinuation [where loyalties lie]
Category: Prince of Tennis
Rating: PG13
Rough Word Count: 4300
Summary: In an unforgiving world of myths and magic, Ryoma loses his family only to be adopted by another.
Past Chapters: one, two, three, four, five...
Lovely fanart by kasugai_gummie ♥~ I think I will never stop showing it off.
The days after the tumultuous clash with St. Rudolph fell into something of a pattern for Ryoma. To his annoyance, the bandage over his eye would stay in place for a week, the amount of time Sakuno deemed was necessary for the cut to heal. He was pretty sure a week was overdoing it, but everyone agreed with the little girl so he kept his mouth shut. Thankfully, he was still allowed to train with the Seigaku warriors, not just the regulars, but the other students as well. Even handicapped as he was, Ryoma proved to be adept, noticeably so alongside his peers.
He was confident, but held back momentarily by his injury. It may be just as well, to keep him humble. He was one who seemed destined to be great and that sense was acknowledged, but it must be carefully managed. His downfall could be himself, and no, they didn’t want that.
Fuji knew Tezuka, knew how his mind worked. The captain would do well to groom this boy into a strong warrior, a leader. Echizen could truly shine if properly cared for. And Fuji knew, painfully, that was what Tezuka wanted. Or maybe it only hurt because he recognized it himself. The only time the fox was a fool was when he fell for his own folly.
The corners of his lips turned upwards in a mild smile while Seigaku’s students milled around. Afternoon practice was over and most went for the showers. Fuji abandoned his musings on the kit (and the captain) as he glanced at the bouncy redhead chattering animatedly over the younger children with fellow teammate and long-acquainted partner, Oishi. The two had always been close, uniquely so, but they had maintained a certain barrier that buffered their relationship for many years. Now though, when he looked at the two, he could practically see the fine red threads connecting them like spun blood. This was no special kitsune ability; anyone with eyes could tell Eiji and Oishi had always been promised to one another.
Even when he had been with Eiji, Fuji knew the boy already belonged elsewhere, in someone else’s arms. It was fair, he thought, and Kikumaru deserved to be loved as preciously as Oishi offered. Fuji could not give that to him, and they’d known that, all along.
Still, a part of him was ruffled at having to hand over the boy, even knowing he would be safe and cared for. Kikumaru hadn’t said anything, hadn’t spoken directly, but when they ran into each other in the halls… The wide cobalt eyes staring at him revealed what had finally come to pass. They lowered in something of an apology that wouldn’t come to closed lips. Fuji had smiled, a part of him glad for his friend, as well as unwilling. The hand that had reached out to pet familiarly along smooth red curls was an accepting gesture, lightening the young kittenish face. Eiji returned the smile, one that spoke volumes of gratitude, of apology. ‘Thank you for understanding,’ ‘thank you for caring,’ ‘I’m sorry I used you,’ ‘I’m sorry you used me.’
The kitsune knew selfishness, egocentric creatures that they were. The kitsune also knew a fair exchange when he saw it, favor given for favor owed. And this kitsune in particular knew love, and the sacrifices that went with it. Some sacrifices he wasn’t through with, though for the first time a few days ago he asked if he was being punished, or if he was punishing himself.
He wasn’t sure if he was through with that, either.
Irritated, Ryoma swiped a finger under the edge of the gauze covering his eye. It was annoying how the sweat gathered there, absorbed into the padding. At least the injury had stopped itching as abominably as it had for the first few days. It was a test of control that he didn’t just rip the whole eye out of its socket, gore notwithstanding. Tempting as the thought had been at times, he abided to the healing girl’s instructions, leaving the wound to mend on its own slow and frustrating terms.
It didn’t impede his lessons, and that’s all that mattered. Not just combat, but other things as well. Though these sort of classes were one-on-one sessions with the older warriors, since he was behind the other students in academics due to his previous upbringing. He learned fast though, always surprising his teachers, and it wouldn’t be long before he caught up with the others.
Reading and writing were mainly taken care of by Oishi, his genteel mannerisms making him easy to work with. Often though, the rambunctious Kikumaru would drop in to help and generally distract from any learning. Ryoma found that anything studious wasn’t the redhead’s expertise, requiring too much patience that the boy simply lacked. Maybe Ryoma wouldn’t have cared if these interruptions had not been slowing him down. It was obvious even to him that Eiji was now attached to his partner like a limpet. He had seen the two work their tag-team magic on the field, and they did make a remarkably compatible pair, but recently they’d been joined at the hip. It was just a little ridiculous.
Mathematics and science were left in the hands of Inui, a double-whammy that Ryoma quickly learned to fear. The strange man was relatively harmless when it came to numbers and equations, though his student habitually napped throughout the lesson. It was the science that kept the boy wide awake and anxiously alert. After his first unfortunate encounter with a supposedly edible experiment and his second sad trip to the infirmary, Ryoma would never again accept any odd-looking, foul-smelling concoction the scientist put in his hand. Never, never, never.
History, ironically enough, was taught by a regular by the name of Kaidoh Kaoru, the unsociable young man that had been just a tad put off by Ryoma’s informal adoption into the clan. At first Ryoma thought him to be nothing more than a snarly intimidator, but both action on the battlefield and formal manner indoors changed his mind. The Viper’s battle name was aptly chosen, and he was nothing short of a terror to his opponents. Ryoma found it in himself to admire him, in return gaining a degree of respect from the hostile warrior. Kaidoh, interestingly, had a hidden passion for ancient history and mythology. Ryoma suspected he knew more about kitsune than the other students here combined. But he wouldn’t ask for any information, and he knew none would be offered.
Literature lessons started a little later, after he had gotten the hang of reading the common language. This one was led by Tezuka, the captain himself. Ryoma was attentive in his presence out of habit, not interest in the subject. Tezuka just had that charisma about him, and it was clearly as effective when studying as it was issuing commands. The man held a concealed fondness for the literature he discussed with Ryoma, lingering warmly on in-depth analysis. He had a model storytelling voice when he wasn’t barking orders, Ryoma thought during one such session. The deep voice carried a lull not unlike that of a hazy spring sunbeam, a lovely comparison to the breezy lilting tones his mother had whispered to him. The reminder of the deceased woman did not trouble him during these moments, not when he could just imagine Tezuka’s resonating words overlapping with hers in a soft-spoken melody.
He admitted to looking forward to literature lessons, which was why this one day he was displeased to find not Tezuka waiting for him, thick volume under arm, but Fuji. Fuji with his complacent smile, unassuming stance, stacks of parchment held in poised hands. Chin lowered stubbornly and hands thrust in his pockets, Ryoma approached the mysteriously-placed fox. He characteristically glowered from under his dark fringe of bangs.
“Where’s the captain?”
Only a few days since being assimilated into the People’s culture and he had picked up on the customs as if born into them. An adaptable creature, this kit - were Fuji’s thoughts.
“Literature classes will alternate with Nihongo lessons from now on,” he explained to the apparently despondent boy. “Aside from me, only Eiji is fluent enough to teach, and, well…” He let that statement speak for itself.
Ryoma frowned, unappeased. “Why bother then? If no one else knows it…”
The kitsune made a brief tsking sound, shaking his head. “It’s not spoken among humankind anymore, but it is still our root language. Many terms stem from it, and the children of the Spirits use it still.” When the boy’s skeptical expression did not lift, he nettled, “The other students are learning it. In this, they are your superior.” Expectedly, Ryoma’s eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed in a scowl. He stood with his arms crossed for some moments as Fuji waited.
“Well, are we going to the library or not?” He finally demanded, already turning on his heel with a decidedly focused air, luckily missing the flash of an amused grin over the kitsune’s sharp-featured face.
They breezed through the basics, Ryoma with a mild boredom and Fuji with veiled vigilance. The children of the Spirits: the water sprites, the dryads, the fire nymphs, and once ago the wind angels, they all used Nihongo, as did the kitsune. Languages came easily to them.
Although, Fuji noted with a wry smile, our kit seems to be talented at everything. And without the waking power of his sealed blood, this was a feat indeed. Perhaps we have another Tezuka on our hands. That would be a marvelous coincidence, him being dropped into Seigaku’s lap like he was.
Ryoma was staring at him thoughtfully, as if contemplating something. Fuji let his chin rest in an upturned palm, returning the look minus the glinting edge. A muscle twitched on the youth’s face and he breathed out exasperatedly.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did,” the kitsune pointed out, earning him a nasty glare. “Go ahead and ask another,” he said acquiescently, adding as the boy opened his mouth, “But ask in Nihongo.” He grinned outright at the murderous expression that was sent his way.
Ryoma shut his eyes, hands folding on the tabletop in front of him. After a moment’s concentration he punctuated the air with pieces of comprehensive speech. “You. Kikumaru. And now Oishi. Explain for me.”
…Of all questions the kit might have harbored, that was one Fuji had not anticipated. “Why?” No trace of surprise marked his face, but Ryoma would know just by his tone.
The boy was eyeing him again. “It’s what everyone else is wondering about,” he said carefully.
So you’re trying to get ahead again? You won’t admit to being curious yourself.
“You said yourself that was our business alone, didn’t you?”
There was actually a spark of indignation flaring in golden irises, though the ember quickly dulled down to a light copper. “Kikumaru just seemed honestly taken with you, is all,” he spoke offhandedly. He could pretend he didn’t care, but really… For a while he had thought the fox was more human, showing simple tenderness towards the acrobat. He didn’t want to find out he was wrong. Knowing the aloof, untouchable kitsune could be affected by mortal affairs was a wondrous thought. He had wanted that, the detached safety of social distance, he’d thought he could be that way to bury pain.
But he didn’t want it anymore. He couldn’t say for certain what would assuage the hurt, but he thought it could be found in Seigaku. It was in the people, the halls, filled in every breath of air, soaked into the stone foundations. Tezuka’s authoritative silence, Momo’s offered companionship, even the smiling kitsune was a part of the whole that somehow felt like home. He’d never known any home, his place had always been with his mother. He did think, that maybe, she would have approved of this situation. Perhaps her memory was sound with Seigaku as her replacement.
Softly and slowly came an affirmation. “I see.” And Ryoma had to wonder just how much Fuji could see into him. A lot of him was annoyed, as always, at this. A smaller part of him was relieved that the words wouldn’t have to leave his mouth. How embarrassing that would be…
Assuming his traditional blank expression Ryoma shrugged and went back to leafing through a book, but his skin crawled in the acknowledgement that he was being watched intently. He lifted his gaze, surprised and not surprised to meet Fuji’s cutting gaze.
“Did I not tell you?” The kitsune spoke deliberately, drawing the boy in with words bearing a smirk. “We’re more human than you think.”
And that was that. Afterwards they went back to the lesson, and things proceeded normally. Hours later, Ryoma would find that for the first time he had not been annoyed by Fuji’s vague ways, which he understood perfectly all along, and that, for just a moment, the words were comforting. It was enough to brand one a certified lunatic, but he knew that he wouldn’t question the kitsune like that again, if only for the sake of his own ego.
“Amazing,” Sakuno breathed, momentarily forgetting her own shyness. She neatly folded the unwound length of gauze and set it aside to inspect the fully healed eye. “I didn’t think it would heal so fast!” Nodding her approval, she sat back with awe written all over her face. Then, more bashfully, “Ryoma must be very special.”
He suppressed his dubious snort but watched her warily. The sneaking glances she slipped towards him and the ever-present blush were unnerving, though not yet problematic. Anyway, he figured she didn’t have the courage to say or do anything more than admire from a distance. That much, at least, he was glad for.
He got to his feet, hand rising out of habit to swipe impatiently at the fly-away hair in his eyes. It was a relief when his fingers brushed over smooth skin rather than the scratchy bandage he had become used to. With more eagerness he was about to leave the infirmary when Sakuno’s stuttering call stopped him. A long-suffering sigh passed his lips as he turned to face her.
She squeaked when she saw his frown, hands tangling together nervously and her gaze turned down. “I’m sorry, I just wanted… Um… Ryoma…”
Just as he was dreading the worst a bell tolled from atop the fortification, drawing both their attentions to the ceiling, then each other. Ryoma was the first to break and leave, Sakuno trailing behind in a distressed flurry of skirt and braids.
They traveled the corridors to the foyer where the regulars and some students had already gathered. The atmosphere was a mix of curiosity and disapproval, some of the younger members gossiping eagerly while the elder students scowled. The regulars seemed impassive, clustered together. Ryoma went to them, vaguely aware of Sakuno’s very quiet yelp of protest.
“What’s going on?” He asked no one in particular, but every pair of eyes landed on him anyway.
“Social call,” Momo answered with a pretense of casualness, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Some guys from the city dropped by.”
“I’m sure that’s why everyone looks as if they expect to be knifed in the dark,” Ryoma said dryly. There was a silence and shifting of eyes that made him scoff. “Fine then. I’ll be at the practice yard if a body winds up in a corner.”
Kaidoh hissed, glaring down at the boy that he’d been opposing since the beginning. “A kid wouldn’t understand. A kid should respect his elders.”
A shine that the other warriors would associate with battle-light appeared in Ryoma’s eyes. “Of course, it’s rather hard to understand anything when none of you respectable people tell me what’s really going on.”
Sensing the tension would go from uncomfortable to hostile, Oishi strayed from Eiji’s side to intercede. “It’s no secret - Ryoma, these people are Royalists from the city, from up north.”
He had studied his geography enough by now to know that the only Royalist city in the north was the one now allied with St. Rudolph.
Oishi continued, seeing that his meaning was clear. “They’re just stopping by Seishun on their way to Kairo. It’s completely innocent and they’ll receive all our hospitality,” this was directed at Momoshirou and a portion of the student body, “but with the understanding that the People and the Royalists follow different beliefs.”
“Most of us still do, anyway,” came the low voice of a disgruntled Momo which Oishi politely ignored.
As it turned out, there were only two travelers, father and son. Greetings were made with no mishap and it seemed that the rest would fall into place until their intent was made known.
“We’re from the Megami Church. You likely haven’t heard of it - it’s still quite knew.” The elder informed them airily, like a parent to a naïve child. “My son and I were recently initiated-”
“Sounds like some sort of cult,” muttered Momo wherein he was quickly shushed.
The man hadn’t appeared to have heard the comment. “-And we’re to spread word of the Church down south and enlighten others.”
“For the Heaven’s Lady,” the son added importantly.
His father nodded. “Yes, our Goddess.”
This also went by without so much as a gasp. There were a number of small religious subgroups, each praising some entity that was somehow precious to at least one of the four Spirits.
“Ah, which Spirit does she hail from?” Ever the politely curious one, Kawamura edged out from behind the line of regulars who were formally placed at the front of the Seigaku clan body.
At this both strangers exchanged looks, a sort of knowing, patient smile. “Say rather, the Spirits hail from her,” explained the younger with a visible trace of smugness.
Tremors broke out among the students, subdued only by the collective calm of their superior warriors. The regulars retained their professional air, even Momo had adopted a cool, calculating expression, ever the more suspicious as it was an unexpected divergence from his usual personality.
“We wouldn’t, of course, force our beliefs on any who did not wish to embrace them. Our Lady desires to have only the most loyal followers. I hardly think that doubtful souls would please her.”
As if this was a comfort. Nonetheless, the two men were welcomed into Seishun, and they did not once approach anyone about their religion. In fact, they barely socialized at all during their brief visit. A few were put off by this elitist behavior, but they were kept in check by their peers. Most of the members were glad the two outsiders weren’t hanging around their corridors, invading their normalcy. Let them turn up their noses, the People had long ago accepted the ways of the higher-up Royalists, flimsy and backwards as they often were. It was thought with some relief that all would pass smoothly. This hope was nearly realized until the day of their leave, when some final words were said.
“Before we thank you and depart from your lands, might we have a word in private?” By now most of the students had bored of this uneventful occurrence, the few who were present were there simply for the sake of formality. Among those, Ryoma was not a part of them. He had developed a habit of tardiness that he was constantly reprimanded for, but never unjustly punished. Yet there was an almost challenging air about the captain when he made his reply, causing the regulars to straighten in attention.
“You may speak your mind in the presence of us all.” If it weren’t Tezuka, one might say the tone implied casual indifference, but the captain was always completely serious.
They were only mildly taken aback by this statement. The father recovered quicker, able to hedge delicately, “I request this for the sake of your own people.”
The wheedling didn’t faze their leader and the snort from within the body of students said that they knew as much. “If it concerns one of my own, then all the more reason for it to be heard.”
It was the more eager youth that rose to this invitation. “With all due respect, we give you a warning from our Lady.” When his father made no move to silence him, the young man went on. “It is her decree that the children of the Spirits soon be united, that those chosen for greatness will rise to their destiny. It is unwise to allow others into this sacred circle.”
“If you would,” Oishi began, brow wrinkled in confusion, “Clarify your meaning?”
“What I’m saying is - the People are considered worthy of the Lady, as they have long been faithful to her Spirits. However, she frowns upon your acceptance of other powers into her creed. We’ve discovered during our stay that, ah, you are allied with one of these alien powers, a kitsune, yes?”
The students turned their collective stare to the kitsune in question. The regulars remained motionless. There was only stony silence from Tezuka. Fuji himself was the same as ever, smiling the guileless smile that fooled so many, and in the end it was he who spoke for himself.
“It’s true that some kitsune are not connected to the Spirits at all. Only the lower-class species are bound to the elements of earth, fire, water, and air. The most powerful kitsune draw strength from entirely different sources; Heaven in the form of all creation, and Void in the absence of everything. But tell me, sir,” and at this Fuji just barely smirked, “how do you know what I am affiliated with?”
Some mutterings broke out in the crowd. It was as they suspected with the outsiders, sneaking and spying and pushing in where they don’t belong…
But the elder man surprised everyone by straightening up with a dignified look. “Nothing so trifle can be secreted from our Lady. However,” he raised his hand in a pacifying gesture. Half the population was caught up in the act while others shook their heads at the histrionic play. “Our Lady is gracious, not a war-mongering tyrant. She will not call for genocide. She will ask for a peaceful departure of the lands claimed by her devoted followers.”
There was silence, whether it was from the sheer audaciousness of the demand, or the hilarity, or maybe some did feel threatened, was not clear. Fuji’s dry chuckle shattered the strange air that held them mute.
“And still, esteemed sir, I am not convinced. I believe it is both Royalist and the People’s custom to prove someone guilty before convicting him.”
Those who knew the fox heard the warning bell in that softly-threaded tone. The others who were not so perceptive were still suddenly uneasy. All of them respected the kitsune enough to know he was a skillfully shrouded threat.
The unknowing pair waved off the comment as if shooing away smoke. “Unfortunately, that is not possible. Those of faith, which includes us, cannot be deceived by a kitsune’s illusions. Whatever you attempt will be useless.”
Fuji’s reply was almost inaudible. “Is that so?” He then seemed to notice the tense atmosphere around them, the edgy shuffling of the students, and Tezuka’s wordless command. With unerring courtesy he inclined his head to the guests, back to innocent games. “Thank you for the information, now, if we may part on friendly terms?” Regardless, there was a degree of mocking in the fox’s voice.
They heard it as well, but as they were unable to find fault in the word choice the two gave a sharp nod of acceptance. Perhaps it wasn’t a friendly departure, but it was peaceful and that was enough. Nothing would get out of hand, not with Seigaku’s leaders around. They saw to it. Hopefully, this was just one more religious fanatic wave that would come and go with all the rest. It wouldn’t be the first. Eventually, it would escalate, maybe not now, but someday there would be someone powerful enough. At present though, the world was balanced, peaceful. The people weren’t desperate enough to follow something obviously unreasonable. Only those with nothing left turn to such measures.
“Seventy-three… Seventy-four… Seventy-five…”
“Nya, Momo,” said Kikumaru from where he sprawled on him stomach, watching his friend with some peculiar mix of boredom and fascination. “You do one hundred push-ups every warm-up, right? But doesn’t Kaidoh do one-fifty?” His cat-slit eyes shone as he glanced towards Momoshirou’s designated rival, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
“Eighty-what? …What?!” He paused in the middle of his position, sweat dampening his brow and eyes snapping. Kikumaru noted how easily he held himself off the ground, thinking wishfully he had some of that strength.
Oh well, but I can do a back flip in the air and he can’t!
“Does he?” Prodded Momo, not really noticing the redhead’s on-and-off attention. “Does Kaidoh really do one-fifty?”
“Mm-hmm.”
A low growl came from his throat. “Fine. I’ll do two-hundred. Uh, geez, I lost count...”
“You were at sixty,” Kikumaru put in helpfully.
“Was I? Well then…”
The redhead sat back on his haunches and grinned. Meanwhile, his more responsibly-inclined partner helped Ryoma wrap his hands with a protective strip of tape. “Since you’re starting to participate regularly in practices matches you’ll eventually have to select a specialty weapon, after that you’ll get whatever gear you’ll need for it.” Oishi stepped back to let Ryoma test the tightness of the wrapping. “Your first real match against Momo. He taught you, so this should be interesting.”
The boy made an offhand sound of agreement, finding the tape job passable and lowering his hands to wait expectantly for his first opponent to finish warming up. Oishi would have shaken his head - the youngster was as aloof as ever. He must looking forward to this though, he seemed to like learning. Here he could at last truly prove his skills.
The prodigy student and the instructor who taught him. Oishi wouldn’t have placed a bet on who would appear the victor.
Category: Prince of Tennis
Rating: PG13
Rough Word Count: 4300
Summary: In an unforgiving world of myths and magic, Ryoma loses his family only to be adopted by another.
Past Chapters: one, two, three, four, five...
Lovely fanart by kasugai_gummie ♥~ I think I will never stop showing it off.
The days after the tumultuous clash with St. Rudolph fell into something of a pattern for Ryoma. To his annoyance, the bandage over his eye would stay in place for a week, the amount of time Sakuno deemed was necessary for the cut to heal. He was pretty sure a week was overdoing it, but everyone agreed with the little girl so he kept his mouth shut. Thankfully, he was still allowed to train with the Seigaku warriors, not just the regulars, but the other students as well. Even handicapped as he was, Ryoma proved to be adept, noticeably so alongside his peers.
He was confident, but held back momentarily by his injury. It may be just as well, to keep him humble. He was one who seemed destined to be great and that sense was acknowledged, but it must be carefully managed. His downfall could be himself, and no, they didn’t want that.
Fuji knew Tezuka, knew how his mind worked. The captain would do well to groom this boy into a strong warrior, a leader. Echizen could truly shine if properly cared for. And Fuji knew, painfully, that was what Tezuka wanted. Or maybe it only hurt because he recognized it himself. The only time the fox was a fool was when he fell for his own folly.
The corners of his lips turned upwards in a mild smile while Seigaku’s students milled around. Afternoon practice was over and most went for the showers. Fuji abandoned his musings on the kit (and the captain) as he glanced at the bouncy redhead chattering animatedly over the younger children with fellow teammate and long-acquainted partner, Oishi. The two had always been close, uniquely so, but they had maintained a certain barrier that buffered their relationship for many years. Now though, when he looked at the two, he could practically see the fine red threads connecting them like spun blood. This was no special kitsune ability; anyone with eyes could tell Eiji and Oishi had always been promised to one another.
Even when he had been with Eiji, Fuji knew the boy already belonged elsewhere, in someone else’s arms. It was fair, he thought, and Kikumaru deserved to be loved as preciously as Oishi offered. Fuji could not give that to him, and they’d known that, all along.
Still, a part of him was ruffled at having to hand over the boy, even knowing he would be safe and cared for. Kikumaru hadn’t said anything, hadn’t spoken directly, but when they ran into each other in the halls… The wide cobalt eyes staring at him revealed what had finally come to pass. They lowered in something of an apology that wouldn’t come to closed lips. Fuji had smiled, a part of him glad for his friend, as well as unwilling. The hand that had reached out to pet familiarly along smooth red curls was an accepting gesture, lightening the young kittenish face. Eiji returned the smile, one that spoke volumes of gratitude, of apology. ‘Thank you for understanding,’ ‘thank you for caring,’ ‘I’m sorry I used you,’ ‘I’m sorry you used me.’
The kitsune knew selfishness, egocentric creatures that they were. The kitsune also knew a fair exchange when he saw it, favor given for favor owed. And this kitsune in particular knew love, and the sacrifices that went with it. Some sacrifices he wasn’t through with, though for the first time a few days ago he asked if he was being punished, or if he was punishing himself.
He wasn’t sure if he was through with that, either.
Irritated, Ryoma swiped a finger under the edge of the gauze covering his eye. It was annoying how the sweat gathered there, absorbed into the padding. At least the injury had stopped itching as abominably as it had for the first few days. It was a test of control that he didn’t just rip the whole eye out of its socket, gore notwithstanding. Tempting as the thought had been at times, he abided to the healing girl’s instructions, leaving the wound to mend on its own slow and frustrating terms.
It didn’t impede his lessons, and that’s all that mattered. Not just combat, but other things as well. Though these sort of classes were one-on-one sessions with the older warriors, since he was behind the other students in academics due to his previous upbringing. He learned fast though, always surprising his teachers, and it wouldn’t be long before he caught up with the others.
Reading and writing were mainly taken care of by Oishi, his genteel mannerisms making him easy to work with. Often though, the rambunctious Kikumaru would drop in to help and generally distract from any learning. Ryoma found that anything studious wasn’t the redhead’s expertise, requiring too much patience that the boy simply lacked. Maybe Ryoma wouldn’t have cared if these interruptions had not been slowing him down. It was obvious even to him that Eiji was now attached to his partner like a limpet. He had seen the two work their tag-team magic on the field, and they did make a remarkably compatible pair, but recently they’d been joined at the hip. It was just a little ridiculous.
Mathematics and science were left in the hands of Inui, a double-whammy that Ryoma quickly learned to fear. The strange man was relatively harmless when it came to numbers and equations, though his student habitually napped throughout the lesson. It was the science that kept the boy wide awake and anxiously alert. After his first unfortunate encounter with a supposedly edible experiment and his second sad trip to the infirmary, Ryoma would never again accept any odd-looking, foul-smelling concoction the scientist put in his hand. Never, never, never.
History, ironically enough, was taught by a regular by the name of Kaidoh Kaoru, the unsociable young man that had been just a tad put off by Ryoma’s informal adoption into the clan. At first Ryoma thought him to be nothing more than a snarly intimidator, but both action on the battlefield and formal manner indoors changed his mind. The Viper’s battle name was aptly chosen, and he was nothing short of a terror to his opponents. Ryoma found it in himself to admire him, in return gaining a degree of respect from the hostile warrior. Kaidoh, interestingly, had a hidden passion for ancient history and mythology. Ryoma suspected he knew more about kitsune than the other students here combined. But he wouldn’t ask for any information, and he knew none would be offered.
Literature lessons started a little later, after he had gotten the hang of reading the common language. This one was led by Tezuka, the captain himself. Ryoma was attentive in his presence out of habit, not interest in the subject. Tezuka just had that charisma about him, and it was clearly as effective when studying as it was issuing commands. The man held a concealed fondness for the literature he discussed with Ryoma, lingering warmly on in-depth analysis. He had a model storytelling voice when he wasn’t barking orders, Ryoma thought during one such session. The deep voice carried a lull not unlike that of a hazy spring sunbeam, a lovely comparison to the breezy lilting tones his mother had whispered to him. The reminder of the deceased woman did not trouble him during these moments, not when he could just imagine Tezuka’s resonating words overlapping with hers in a soft-spoken melody.
He admitted to looking forward to literature lessons, which was why this one day he was displeased to find not Tezuka waiting for him, thick volume under arm, but Fuji. Fuji with his complacent smile, unassuming stance, stacks of parchment held in poised hands. Chin lowered stubbornly and hands thrust in his pockets, Ryoma approached the mysteriously-placed fox. He characteristically glowered from under his dark fringe of bangs.
“Where’s the captain?”
Only a few days since being assimilated into the People’s culture and he had picked up on the customs as if born into them. An adaptable creature, this kit - were Fuji’s thoughts.
“Literature classes will alternate with Nihongo lessons from now on,” he explained to the apparently despondent boy. “Aside from me, only Eiji is fluent enough to teach, and, well…” He let that statement speak for itself.
Ryoma frowned, unappeased. “Why bother then? If no one else knows it…”
The kitsune made a brief tsking sound, shaking his head. “It’s not spoken among humankind anymore, but it is still our root language. Many terms stem from it, and the children of the Spirits use it still.” When the boy’s skeptical expression did not lift, he nettled, “The other students are learning it. In this, they are your superior.” Expectedly, Ryoma’s eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed in a scowl. He stood with his arms crossed for some moments as Fuji waited.
“Well, are we going to the library or not?” He finally demanded, already turning on his heel with a decidedly focused air, luckily missing the flash of an amused grin over the kitsune’s sharp-featured face.
They breezed through the basics, Ryoma with a mild boredom and Fuji with veiled vigilance. The children of the Spirits: the water sprites, the dryads, the fire nymphs, and once ago the wind angels, they all used Nihongo, as did the kitsune. Languages came easily to them.
Although, Fuji noted with a wry smile, our kit seems to be talented at everything. And without the waking power of his sealed blood, this was a feat indeed. Perhaps we have another Tezuka on our hands. That would be a marvelous coincidence, him being dropped into Seigaku’s lap like he was.
Ryoma was staring at him thoughtfully, as if contemplating something. Fuji let his chin rest in an upturned palm, returning the look minus the glinting edge. A muscle twitched on the youth’s face and he breathed out exasperatedly.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did,” the kitsune pointed out, earning him a nasty glare. “Go ahead and ask another,” he said acquiescently, adding as the boy opened his mouth, “But ask in Nihongo.” He grinned outright at the murderous expression that was sent his way.
Ryoma shut his eyes, hands folding on the tabletop in front of him. After a moment’s concentration he punctuated the air with pieces of comprehensive speech. “You. Kikumaru. And now Oishi. Explain for me.”
…Of all questions the kit might have harbored, that was one Fuji had not anticipated. “Why?” No trace of surprise marked his face, but Ryoma would know just by his tone.
The boy was eyeing him again. “It’s what everyone else is wondering about,” he said carefully.
So you’re trying to get ahead again? You won’t admit to being curious yourself.
“You said yourself that was our business alone, didn’t you?”
There was actually a spark of indignation flaring in golden irises, though the ember quickly dulled down to a light copper. “Kikumaru just seemed honestly taken with you, is all,” he spoke offhandedly. He could pretend he didn’t care, but really… For a while he had thought the fox was more human, showing simple tenderness towards the acrobat. He didn’t want to find out he was wrong. Knowing the aloof, untouchable kitsune could be affected by mortal affairs was a wondrous thought. He had wanted that, the detached safety of social distance, he’d thought he could be that way to bury pain.
But he didn’t want it anymore. He couldn’t say for certain what would assuage the hurt, but he thought it could be found in Seigaku. It was in the people, the halls, filled in every breath of air, soaked into the stone foundations. Tezuka’s authoritative silence, Momo’s offered companionship, even the smiling kitsune was a part of the whole that somehow felt like home. He’d never known any home, his place had always been with his mother. He did think, that maybe, she would have approved of this situation. Perhaps her memory was sound with Seigaku as her replacement.
Softly and slowly came an affirmation. “I see.” And Ryoma had to wonder just how much Fuji could see into him. A lot of him was annoyed, as always, at this. A smaller part of him was relieved that the words wouldn’t have to leave his mouth. How embarrassing that would be…
Assuming his traditional blank expression Ryoma shrugged and went back to leafing through a book, but his skin crawled in the acknowledgement that he was being watched intently. He lifted his gaze, surprised and not surprised to meet Fuji’s cutting gaze.
“Did I not tell you?” The kitsune spoke deliberately, drawing the boy in with words bearing a smirk. “We’re more human than you think.”
And that was that. Afterwards they went back to the lesson, and things proceeded normally. Hours later, Ryoma would find that for the first time he had not been annoyed by Fuji’s vague ways, which he understood perfectly all along, and that, for just a moment, the words were comforting. It was enough to brand one a certified lunatic, but he knew that he wouldn’t question the kitsune like that again, if only for the sake of his own ego.
“Amazing,” Sakuno breathed, momentarily forgetting her own shyness. She neatly folded the unwound length of gauze and set it aside to inspect the fully healed eye. “I didn’t think it would heal so fast!” Nodding her approval, she sat back with awe written all over her face. Then, more bashfully, “Ryoma must be very special.”
He suppressed his dubious snort but watched her warily. The sneaking glances she slipped towards him and the ever-present blush were unnerving, though not yet problematic. Anyway, he figured she didn’t have the courage to say or do anything more than admire from a distance. That much, at least, he was glad for.
He got to his feet, hand rising out of habit to swipe impatiently at the fly-away hair in his eyes. It was a relief when his fingers brushed over smooth skin rather than the scratchy bandage he had become used to. With more eagerness he was about to leave the infirmary when Sakuno’s stuttering call stopped him. A long-suffering sigh passed his lips as he turned to face her.
She squeaked when she saw his frown, hands tangling together nervously and her gaze turned down. “I’m sorry, I just wanted… Um… Ryoma…”
Just as he was dreading the worst a bell tolled from atop the fortification, drawing both their attentions to the ceiling, then each other. Ryoma was the first to break and leave, Sakuno trailing behind in a distressed flurry of skirt and braids.
They traveled the corridors to the foyer where the regulars and some students had already gathered. The atmosphere was a mix of curiosity and disapproval, some of the younger members gossiping eagerly while the elder students scowled. The regulars seemed impassive, clustered together. Ryoma went to them, vaguely aware of Sakuno’s very quiet yelp of protest.
“What’s going on?” He asked no one in particular, but every pair of eyes landed on him anyway.
“Social call,” Momo answered with a pretense of casualness, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Some guys from the city dropped by.”
“I’m sure that’s why everyone looks as if they expect to be knifed in the dark,” Ryoma said dryly. There was a silence and shifting of eyes that made him scoff. “Fine then. I’ll be at the practice yard if a body winds up in a corner.”
Kaidoh hissed, glaring down at the boy that he’d been opposing since the beginning. “A kid wouldn’t understand. A kid should respect his elders.”
A shine that the other warriors would associate with battle-light appeared in Ryoma’s eyes. “Of course, it’s rather hard to understand anything when none of you respectable people tell me what’s really going on.”
Sensing the tension would go from uncomfortable to hostile, Oishi strayed from Eiji’s side to intercede. “It’s no secret - Ryoma, these people are Royalists from the city, from up north.”
He had studied his geography enough by now to know that the only Royalist city in the north was the one now allied with St. Rudolph.
Oishi continued, seeing that his meaning was clear. “They’re just stopping by Seishun on their way to Kairo. It’s completely innocent and they’ll receive all our hospitality,” this was directed at Momoshirou and a portion of the student body, “but with the understanding that the People and the Royalists follow different beliefs.”
“Most of us still do, anyway,” came the low voice of a disgruntled Momo which Oishi politely ignored.
As it turned out, there were only two travelers, father and son. Greetings were made with no mishap and it seemed that the rest would fall into place until their intent was made known.
“We’re from the Megami Church. You likely haven’t heard of it - it’s still quite knew.” The elder informed them airily, like a parent to a naïve child. “My son and I were recently initiated-”
“Sounds like some sort of cult,” muttered Momo wherein he was quickly shushed.
The man hadn’t appeared to have heard the comment. “-And we’re to spread word of the Church down south and enlighten others.”
“For the Heaven’s Lady,” the son added importantly.
His father nodded. “Yes, our Goddess.”
This also went by without so much as a gasp. There were a number of small religious subgroups, each praising some entity that was somehow precious to at least one of the four Spirits.
“Ah, which Spirit does she hail from?” Ever the politely curious one, Kawamura edged out from behind the line of regulars who were formally placed at the front of the Seigaku clan body.
At this both strangers exchanged looks, a sort of knowing, patient smile. “Say rather, the Spirits hail from her,” explained the younger with a visible trace of smugness.
Tremors broke out among the students, subdued only by the collective calm of their superior warriors. The regulars retained their professional air, even Momo had adopted a cool, calculating expression, ever the more suspicious as it was an unexpected divergence from his usual personality.
“We wouldn’t, of course, force our beliefs on any who did not wish to embrace them. Our Lady desires to have only the most loyal followers. I hardly think that doubtful souls would please her.”
As if this was a comfort. Nonetheless, the two men were welcomed into Seishun, and they did not once approach anyone about their religion. In fact, they barely socialized at all during their brief visit. A few were put off by this elitist behavior, but they were kept in check by their peers. Most of the members were glad the two outsiders weren’t hanging around their corridors, invading their normalcy. Let them turn up their noses, the People had long ago accepted the ways of the higher-up Royalists, flimsy and backwards as they often were. It was thought with some relief that all would pass smoothly. This hope was nearly realized until the day of their leave, when some final words were said.
“Before we thank you and depart from your lands, might we have a word in private?” By now most of the students had bored of this uneventful occurrence, the few who were present were there simply for the sake of formality. Among those, Ryoma was not a part of them. He had developed a habit of tardiness that he was constantly reprimanded for, but never unjustly punished. Yet there was an almost challenging air about the captain when he made his reply, causing the regulars to straighten in attention.
“You may speak your mind in the presence of us all.” If it weren’t Tezuka, one might say the tone implied casual indifference, but the captain was always completely serious.
They were only mildly taken aback by this statement. The father recovered quicker, able to hedge delicately, “I request this for the sake of your own people.”
The wheedling didn’t faze their leader and the snort from within the body of students said that they knew as much. “If it concerns one of my own, then all the more reason for it to be heard.”
It was the more eager youth that rose to this invitation. “With all due respect, we give you a warning from our Lady.” When his father made no move to silence him, the young man went on. “It is her decree that the children of the Spirits soon be united, that those chosen for greatness will rise to their destiny. It is unwise to allow others into this sacred circle.”
“If you would,” Oishi began, brow wrinkled in confusion, “Clarify your meaning?”
“What I’m saying is - the People are considered worthy of the Lady, as they have long been faithful to her Spirits. However, she frowns upon your acceptance of other powers into her creed. We’ve discovered during our stay that, ah, you are allied with one of these alien powers, a kitsune, yes?”
The students turned their collective stare to the kitsune in question. The regulars remained motionless. There was only stony silence from Tezuka. Fuji himself was the same as ever, smiling the guileless smile that fooled so many, and in the end it was he who spoke for himself.
“It’s true that some kitsune are not connected to the Spirits at all. Only the lower-class species are bound to the elements of earth, fire, water, and air. The most powerful kitsune draw strength from entirely different sources; Heaven in the form of all creation, and Void in the absence of everything. But tell me, sir,” and at this Fuji just barely smirked, “how do you know what I am affiliated with?”
Some mutterings broke out in the crowd. It was as they suspected with the outsiders, sneaking and spying and pushing in where they don’t belong…
But the elder man surprised everyone by straightening up with a dignified look. “Nothing so trifle can be secreted from our Lady. However,” he raised his hand in a pacifying gesture. Half the population was caught up in the act while others shook their heads at the histrionic play. “Our Lady is gracious, not a war-mongering tyrant. She will not call for genocide. She will ask for a peaceful departure of the lands claimed by her devoted followers.”
There was silence, whether it was from the sheer audaciousness of the demand, or the hilarity, or maybe some did feel threatened, was not clear. Fuji’s dry chuckle shattered the strange air that held them mute.
“And still, esteemed sir, I am not convinced. I believe it is both Royalist and the People’s custom to prove someone guilty before convicting him.”
Those who knew the fox heard the warning bell in that softly-threaded tone. The others who were not so perceptive were still suddenly uneasy. All of them respected the kitsune enough to know he was a skillfully shrouded threat.
The unknowing pair waved off the comment as if shooing away smoke. “Unfortunately, that is not possible. Those of faith, which includes us, cannot be deceived by a kitsune’s illusions. Whatever you attempt will be useless.”
Fuji’s reply was almost inaudible. “Is that so?” He then seemed to notice the tense atmosphere around them, the edgy shuffling of the students, and Tezuka’s wordless command. With unerring courtesy he inclined his head to the guests, back to innocent games. “Thank you for the information, now, if we may part on friendly terms?” Regardless, there was a degree of mocking in the fox’s voice.
They heard it as well, but as they were unable to find fault in the word choice the two gave a sharp nod of acceptance. Perhaps it wasn’t a friendly departure, but it was peaceful and that was enough. Nothing would get out of hand, not with Seigaku’s leaders around. They saw to it. Hopefully, this was just one more religious fanatic wave that would come and go with all the rest. It wouldn’t be the first. Eventually, it would escalate, maybe not now, but someday there would be someone powerful enough. At present though, the world was balanced, peaceful. The people weren’t desperate enough to follow something obviously unreasonable. Only those with nothing left turn to such measures.
“Seventy-three… Seventy-four… Seventy-five…”
“Nya, Momo,” said Kikumaru from where he sprawled on him stomach, watching his friend with some peculiar mix of boredom and fascination. “You do one hundred push-ups every warm-up, right? But doesn’t Kaidoh do one-fifty?” His cat-slit eyes shone as he glanced towards Momoshirou’s designated rival, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
“Eighty-what? …What?!” He paused in the middle of his position, sweat dampening his brow and eyes snapping. Kikumaru noted how easily he held himself off the ground, thinking wishfully he had some of that strength.
Oh well, but I can do a back flip in the air and he can’t!
“Does he?” Prodded Momo, not really noticing the redhead’s on-and-off attention. “Does Kaidoh really do one-fifty?”
“Mm-hmm.”
A low growl came from his throat. “Fine. I’ll do two-hundred. Uh, geez, I lost count...”
“You were at sixty,” Kikumaru put in helpfully.
“Was I? Well then…”
The redhead sat back on his haunches and grinned. Meanwhile, his more responsibly-inclined partner helped Ryoma wrap his hands with a protective strip of tape. “Since you’re starting to participate regularly in practices matches you’ll eventually have to select a specialty weapon, after that you’ll get whatever gear you’ll need for it.” Oishi stepped back to let Ryoma test the tightness of the wrapping. “Your first real match against Momo. He taught you, so this should be interesting.”
The boy made an offhand sound of agreement, finding the tape job passable and lowering his hands to wait expectantly for his first opponent to finish warming up. Oishi would have shaken his head - the youngster was as aloof as ever. He must looking forward to this though, he seemed to like learning. Here he could at last truly prove his skills.
The prodigy student and the instructor who taught him. Oishi wouldn’t have placed a bet on who would appear the victor.