Fic: Spiritual Insinuation [chapter eight] (PoT, AU fantasy)
Title: Spiritual Insinuation [past in motion]
Category: Prince of Tennis
Rating: PG13
Rough Word Count: 5500
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, six, seven a, seven b...
Lovely fanart by kasugai_gummie ♥~ I think I will never stop showing it off.
When Ryoma dreamed, he was back in the city. It was raining again, as it always seemed to be, as if the sky itself wanted to cloud and cover the desolate place. The city had a name and he must have heard it everyday, all the time, but he never remembered it, there was no need to. Nothing that did not concern him or his mother was of any importance. Sometimes, not even that much.
There were still some things she would not tell him, things she deliberately kept to herself. One was the subject of his supposed father, who to Ryoma was a nameless, faceless figure, barely connected to him at all save for the significant look of sadness his mention brought to mother. It was not an angry bitterness, nor was it heart-broken. She would only smile softly, distant, and while she insisted on bearing no grudges, her son was open to the idea.
“Don’t,” she’d say with a small shake of her head, the uneven ends of her short hair swaying alongside her cheek. “It’s not worth it. It doesn’t matter.”
He wanted to argue, it did matter if it made her unhappy, but she would always shush him and laugh it off. He stopped trying, her lack of information clearly telling him it was a lost cause. Quickly, he ceased to care.
The other thing, the one she was more overwrought about, was her work. She kept a regular job as a maidservant for a disreputable inn, low-paying, wretched living conditions and all. If they needed the money she would occasionally accept propositions from customers, but her day-job always came first, even if it paid less. Several times the more classy brothels would offer her a position, she was young and pleasing to the eye after all, and were turned down immediately. When they turned to her son then, who was maturing into an alarmingly attractive youth, she became outright livid. For a period she stubbornly refused any advances, up until Ryoma was gaining too much attention due to the spreading word of her repeated declines. Unable to win, she returned to selling herself so long as her child was left alone.
It wasn’t so much for the sake of innocence she did it, since there was a taint everywhere in the city, but because of pride. It seemed that her own was thrown away long ago, perhaps when his father left, and what remained of it was embodied in him.
“Because you’re all I have, my son.” Her hands would smooth back his hair, the look in her eyes adoring. Her affection was as open as fresh air, she was liberal with it, only between them.
He on the other hand, never exhibited it, but he accepted her fond touches, kind words, and stayed close by her side because as far as he was concerned, no one else existed. The only thing he ever gave her was his cooperation, and feelings unexpressed. Yet for all he resisted and remained silent, it was impossible to not see the reciprocation. Perhaps it was only the city, which always seemed to take and take more, never giving anything back. Ryoma hadn’t known generosity, save maybe for his mother, who spoiled him in her own way, such a way that he would never accept anything from anyone other than her.
At least, not until she was gone.
The rain hadn’t stopped for her, and he knew then that she could not be the only thing in the world for him, mortal as she’d proven to be. People could not last forever, nothing material could. If he looked beyond, though, to see rather than simply look, surely some things were eternal. He’d reach that, past everything else, because if he had to lose things, he’d lose them for a reason.
The city was gone now, it had been for a while, and the bleak rain went with it. Ryoma did not miss them, not even when a storm took their place.
He woke to the sound of it thundering through the walls.
It was a distant rumble, fading, and he shivered from cold in spite of the several blankets he found himself under. He sat up anyway, regretting it when his head swam but didn’t think to lie back down. Instead he stared at his surroundings, the half-lit infirmary smelling of too-clean linen and acrid medicine. An underlying hint of freshwater reminded him of lightening and he glanced to the window as if expecting the flash. The storm was well-past though, the remaining shower only an echo of its passing. Nevertheless, he could still feel the water on his skin, flowing in streams as he moved through that glade and then suffocating from the lake that engulfed him.
Just being conscious was taking a toll and wearily, he sunk back onto the firm mattress, dragging the covers far up to his chin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been sick, so damn the fox twice over for his stupid little joke. Foggy eyes peered into the obscurity of the room as if waiting for the kitsune to appear, but to no avail. Too tired to remain paranoid Ryoma let himself go lax, thinking that someday he really would kill the unbearable annoyance as if it were just a stepping stone along his way. The idea was an appealing one. Without considering probabilities or impossibilities, he latched onto that thought as he faded from awareness.
The fence trailed along the edge of the golden field until it ended at a distant forest, past rolling hills. Sunlight was generous and not shadowed by clouds, infusing the meadow with a bright brilliance that spread as the wind swept the grass in waves of undulating gold, unmarred except here where a rocky outcropping protruded near the wooden posts. The stone was sun-warmed and large enough for him to spread out comfortably - or for two children to play on.
It was ideal, this realm.
He rarely came here, the place where he grew up, since if he ever used the realms at all he would create one of his own. This was made by his family, and the field was where he and Yuuta had once come to play. He’d already paid his sister a visit, she could often be found at home whereas his parents roamed outside as frequently as he did. He privately thought that after raising two close-aged kits, they only needed a bit of a break, a reprieve he estimated to last another few hundred years or so.
The wind blew over his face and he scented grass and trees and all sorts of things, both wild and familiar, all comfortably dry. Oh, it could rain if he wanted it to, but he knew it wouldn’t be the same. Outside was unquestionably better, and the electric taste of a storm was utterly lost within the kitsune realm, if only because everyone else detested it.
Fuji had always been an oddity like that.
“Oi.”
His smile was a perpetual thing, but it might have grown wider at the curt greeting. “Yuuta, I thought you were never around anymore.”
A rough snort came from the gangly youth resting both arms over the fence. “Speak for yourself and spare me your bullshit.” The way his gaze remained fixed on the ground detracted from the harsh words. “Neesan said you were here,” he acknowledged haltingly. “Anyway, I was just dropping by and…”
Fuji sat up, scooting over on the rock and patting its smooth surface, worn down as if by years that didn’t exist. “Stay a while. We didn’t get to say much when we last saw each other.”
Yuuta looked as if he’d rather not, but didn’t leave either, probably because he was polite no matter how he spoke. Fuji paid it no mind, but left the space open.
“It’s rare that we run into each other, anyway.”
The younger kitsune rolled his eyes, this time choosing to humor his brother’s pretenses. “Well, it’s a big world out there.”
“Aa. Lots of interesting people and ways to become distracted.”
Yuuta’s eyes narrowed. He leaned over the rail of the fence, somewhat tensed. “We made our own choices.”
“Yes, and I wonder if that’s too bad…”
“Aniki.” This time he growled, setting both hands on the wood and glaring holes into the back of his brother’s head.
Fuji relented, not wanting him to stomp off in a temper. “Maa, some other time then. Actually, I was thinking to talk to you about a different matter.”
There was a thoughtful pause as Yuuta weighed the possibilities. “…Well?” He asked after deciding to cooperate.
“Hmm… This is really a little bit awkward…”
Unable to tell if he was hedging or not, Yuuta jumped the fence and sat down - on the ground next to the rock. There were still some boundaries yet to be crossed, if they ever would be. The decreased distance between them might help the conversation along though, and Yuuta wasn’t patient when it came to his sibling. “Just spit it out.”
Obliging, Fuji folded his hands in his lap and questioned, “When you were fighting Echizen, what did you see?”
Long ago Yuuta had come to accept his brother’s unexpectedness, to anticipate it, so even now he was unsurprised. “In the illusion?” He eyed the other’s face cautiously. He knew from the beginning that the other would not approve of the technique. At the answering nod, a careful motion that betrayed nothing else, he thought back to the battle. “At first there was a city. A human city. Miserable, nasty place. After I found him… Well, there were people, but for the most part they just…ignored everything.” His voice lowered roughly, drawing on the memory of a memory. “A death. And all they did was turn up their noses and walk away.”
Fuji wanted to place his hand on the other’s head, recognizing the contempt and while understanding, also wanting to wash it away. He didn’t move though, well aware of the space between them. He only spoke, “Who died?”
“A woman. She was hit by a wagon, I saw her body in the street. She…” He paused, fumbling for the recollection that was a little fuzzy at the point before it had changed. “He said it was his mother.” Silence, as if he was hearing it for the first time. Anger that hadn’t been there before suddenly surfaced. More bitter than ever, he hissed out, “And no one did anything, no one! Echizen was there. He was - he knew, about the illusion - but he… Damn, I don’t even like the brat, but…damn.”
“Yuuta.”
“He took out all the wreckage. Piece by piece. Humans are the worst, they didn’t-”
“Yuuta!” A hand fell overtop his head, stopping him in mid-tirade. His mouth snapped shut and he ducked out of reach. “Yuuta,” Fuji said again, calmly, “It’s fine.”
For a while neither of them said anything, keeping just out of range and to their own thoughts. One was impassive, the other turbulently confused, opposite emotions over similar faces.
“Was there anything else?”
“No,” he answered short - too short, but that was all he was willing to give. Irate, he added, “It’s unlike you to pry so, Aniki.”
A hint of a smile ghosted over moving lips. “Is it?”
“…It is.” He looked away, refusing to risk grinning despite himself.
“Do you think,” Fuji’s tone grew pensive, “His mother was kitsune?”
“Couldn’t tell you.” A line formed over his brow as he remembered the ensuing events, the disruptions and the fire. His arm ached at the recent memory, but it had healed fine as he’d expected. “Did you get the feeling… Like, a seal of some sort…? Ah, of course you knew. Che.” There was only a passive, agreeable noise from the elder. Thinking rapidly, Yuuta glanced incredulously at him. “Is it still there? Or-”
“…Saa… I wonder.” The glare his ambiguous reply earned did little to persuade him to elaborate.
“He literally burned down my spells! I may not be the talent that you are, but I’m not that sloppy. No pint-sized human brat-child could have done that!”
“Yuuta,” he chided, “Echizen performed well before you used the memory technique. His kitsune blood had nothing to do with that, I am sure. No,” he sighed, showing just the tiniest suggestion of frustration, “I agree that a mortal would not have the capability to do what he did-”
“’Cept someone like your captain,” the younger muttered, pointedly ignoring the moment of stony silence that followed.
“…No,” Fuji repeated, giving his brother a significant look. “Ryoma is not like Tezuka.”
“Aniki, what is it you’re not telling me? Why are you telling me this much in the first place?” There was pure and honest puzzlement now, Yuuta had no idea what to do with this conversation that seemed like something he stood outside of.
Shadows fell over the area from clouds that formed overhead. Both kitsune didn’t spare them a glance.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted softly, obviously not happy with the admission. “Something’s changed. You, too.”
“Shut up,” Yuuta grumbled, averting his eyes once more. “You’ll never change, Aniki. I just… Well. Some things have to change, you know? And you can’t go back, you can only move forward.”
Dampness collected in the air, liquefying and falling in a patter of rain. Fuji had been right - it wasn’t the same as outside, certainly no storm, but it was disturbing enough.
“So then, what’s ahead?”
“Why ask me?” The scruffy kitsune hunched his shoulders against the sudden chill, but the weather didn’t yield. “I can’t tell you what happens in the future. Hell, I barely know what’s going on now.”
Fuji breathed in, droplets falling from his face and hair. Yuuta looked up at him, searching, then looked down again. The older sibling wondered if there’d been any possibility for an answer. “You’d better go home. Or back to St. Rudolph, if you choose. Maybe we’ll meet again soon, ne?”
No answer came while he stood, now soaked. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, Yuuta headed off in the opposite direction from where he came. It didn’t really matter where he went, exits were easy to find. Wet grass slid over his legs, swishing with each long stride.
“Oi, Aniki.”
Still perched on the rock, Fuji inclined his head to the unpredicted call. Yuuta’s back was still turned, but his voice rose to be heard easily.
“It had been raining before, you know, with Echizen.”
It always seemed to rain around that kit.
“Just like this...”
But not like a storm.
“…It was sad.”
There were advantages and disadvantages to staying in the healer’s wing. The one that made him most unhappy was the fact he had to be there in the first place, stuck in bed until his fever dropped and he wondered if the brief scuffle with the kitsune was worth it. As soon as he woke he was surrounded by teammates and the three younger students who always appeared to hang around him. There was a flurry of questions, comments, and none of them welcome by the painful ache residing in his head. Ryoma had just barely been coherent enough to recognize the threat when Inui offered him an original blend of medicinal herbs and juices, body involuntarily sinking as far into the sheets as it could.
Thankfully, for once, timid little Sakuno had been very concerned over his health and managed to keep others out of the way - as soon as her tears first began to leak Oishi had more or less banned people from visiting casually. It was as if he was dying, considering all the fuss, but at least it kept things quiet. Having some of the younger boys yammering in his ear while everything was still fuzzy had not been pleasant.
The day of rest was working though; Ryoma would admit that by evening he felt distinctly better, head clear and some energy restored. Unfortunately, being lucid also meant being lectured.
“I’m sure this must have been covered in the basic rules, but there are no unsupervised matches off premises, especially not under adverse weather conditions.” The Elder Ryuzaki fixed a stern gaze on the boy who stared right back, half-lidded eyes showing that he was listening only as much as was necessary. “Normally this would not go unpunished, but would I be correct to assume this resting period is penalty enough for you?”
A lowering of his face was answer enough.
The old woman sighed heavily, but she was used to interpreting conversations with the rest of her people. “You should be fine and on your feet tomorrow morning then.” Hands on her knees, she was about to stand when an unfaltering inquiry took her by surprise.
“If there can’t be any unofficial matches elsewhere, then it’s fine to have them here at Seishun, right?”
The look she gave him was more weighing now but the response was automatic. “That’s right. Those are little more than practice bouts, unless the cause for them is ill-intended. However, I don’t advise you start any more fights with Fuji. He won’t even take you seriously.”
A hint of a grin turned up the corners of his mouth. “Then I’ll make him be serious.”
Ryuzaki half-expected it, both impressed and unconvinced by the display of arrogance. The boy was a wonder, but still had far to go. “Just stay away from large bodies of water if you insist on playing games with him.” Seeing his expression go sour, she kept her satisfied chuckle to herself and didn’t feel bad at all when he glared at her as she left.
“Grandmother,” Sakuno stood waiting outside, nervously glancing at the closing door. “How is he?”
Smiling, she patted the girl’s head that was still covered by a pale blue handkerchief that was to be worn as she did her healer’s duties. “Don’t worry, he’s recovering fast. You did a fine job.”
The girl relaxed and blushed from the praise. “That’s a relief… It was like he was sick, but I couldn’t place exactly what was ailing him…”
“Just exhaustion, I think. It’s getting late, Sakuno, you better turn in for the night.”
She bowed obediently, darting one more longing expression at the door before hurrying to her own room, long ropes of hair swinging behind her. Ryuzaki watched her go, clearly aware of her charge’s feelings for their new adoptee, but not entirely sure how it would develop. She didn’t interfere with any of the personal relations of her people, even though she was fond of Sakuno and it looked like the girl was only going to wind up hurt. There were some slightly obscure politics regarding that one so she only hoped the blow wouldn’t be crippling.
A familiar figure’s approach drew her out of those thoughts and she moved to meet Tezuka half-way. They fell in step together and distanced themselves from the infirmary, speaking comfortably. “You don’t need me to confirm this, but that was the result of expending a large amount of power. The first time it’s happened since he didn’t think it was anything except sickness.”
The captain nodded, continuing the train of thought for her. “Enough to render him unconscious, but nothing that endangered his life. Mere fatigue. Though it shouldn’t have been possible if the seal on his kitsune half is intact.”
“Fuji has given you no answers?”
Lips pressed in a thin line, he shook his head. “He’s nowhere to be found.”
“Tezuka,” the Elder came to a stop with her companion a pace ahead. “Do you think they will cause any problems within our clan? I know it’s superstition, but two kitsune will clash together.”
“Half-kitsune,” he corrected, shrugging an apology when she scoffed. “To be honest, I don’t know, and I didn’t expect this. At first I’d planned to have a match with Echizen myself, but now it seems that Fuji has gotten that out of the way. Nothing I do now will dissuade either of them, whatever they decide.”
Ryuzaki grumbled, “Impulsive creatures. Echizen had his sights on Fuji from the start, didn’t he? He just couldn’t wait to test him.” She resumed walking, Tezuka once again following beside. “I agree there’s little we can do now.”
“There’s more to him though. Fuji will keep his interest, but he’ll have to see that there is more to pursuits than that.”
An ironic brow arched and Ryuzaki ventured, “So you’ll have a match with him anyway? Should be interesting.”
“Not just me, it would be worthwhile for him to find goals beyond Seigaku.”
“Sounds like you want the world to be his goal.”
“…If that’s the same as being unable to judge his potential, then yes.”
The next day Sakuno rushed to the infirmary an hour after the sun rose, but it was empty. Ryoma had already woken at dawn.
“The city?” he repeated, eyes flat and expressionless under sweaty bangs that wavered under a persistent breeze. Three days after his recovery and it was as if he’d never been ill, his presence on the practice courts proof enough of the rapid process. The grounds were filled with younger students today with only one or two of the regulars in sight.
Oishi nodded in confirmation, an apology in his gaze as he dangled a patched-up money purse in one hand, the coins within clinking together. “As you know, today is market day, and Eiji forgot this. I’d be glad to take it to him myself, but unfortunately Tezuka and I are still making arrangements for the next games.”
Ryoma’s stance didn’t change. He was aware of the unofficial holiday that would periodically be declared when the team and a few others made a trip to the city for business. Some of the more exotic spices and medicines were bought there, as well as any provisions that could not be grown in the clan’s own fields. Market day was also a time for personal shopping and since the journey took two days on horseback, it was a relaxing occasion for everyone. However, when previous excursions were announced, Ryoma always opted to remain at the tribe home. He had no desire to return to the city, not so much out of fear but of loathing.
The vice-captain knew this as he made the penitent request. “I’m sorry for asking this of you, but truthfully it’s because I trust you with the responsibility. If you do not wish to do it, I understand.”
Unhesitatingly, Ryoma opened his hand and waited. The cloud of worry evaporated and Oishi handed it over where the cloth-covered weight was tucked against a small palm. The boy nodded his head once in promise, was outfitted with a horse and necessary supplies, and left in less than an hour.
Traveling briskly, he figured that he still wouldn’t be able to catch up to the rest of the group until he reached the city itself. The realization didn’t alarm him at all. It was a little more boring at home without the regulars - most of the challenge was gone. He didn’t mind following them for that, the delivery of coin a convenient excuse so he was able to continue pursuing his own interests. Regardless, it would be at least a day and a half before he reached them. Ryoma didn’t mind the temporary solitude either. Though hill bandits were scattered throughout these parts, they’d become cautious of Seigaku ever since Tezuka had been put in charge, choosing to raid lesser villages to the west and leaving the main eastern road alone. Evening set in and Ryoma eventually stopped for the night, safely encircled by the familiar sky and wind that brightened upon the approach of morning. It only darkened some when he neared his destination.
Kairo. So that was the city’s name. All the years he’d lived there and the word sounded new to him. He thought back to language lessons, snorting when the memory came and he turned a blasé eye on the tall outer gates. Someone had been uncreative when they named this in-between port town. It had quickly become apparent though, that obvious naming was common use of the old tongue, and no one thought anything of it or even realized because Nihongo was only learned among the People now.
Ryoma had no trouble entering and harbored only a small amount of dread when the gates shut behind him. This place was no longer keeping him in. The dizzying swirl of city-life hit him hard though, both familiar and new. Mixed scents of expensive perfumes and finery through trash and gutter sewage assailed him, a hint of salty sea air presiding over all. He’d never noticed it before, having not ventured often near the docks for the ocean had always been an empty dead-end of water and horizon.
It was late again, the second day of riding had been well-spent. He’d located the inn where the group had checked in easily enough, it was the one closest to the gates, but most of the team was spread throughout the streets. Ryoma left his things at the inn and once more set off into the inner city with a drive born of impatience and skewed curiosity.
Moisture hung everywhere as if it threatened to rain again. The pavement was slick and grimy as usual, the same dirty scene on every alley and corner, but he still knew the city, his feet remembering where to go and which hidden paths were available. He stayed away from them though, no longer needing to make use of their shortcuts and escapes. Despite being watchful, it was entirely by chance that he caught sight of the redheaded blur dodging frantically through the crowd. Or rather, the blur caught him.
“Nyaaa! Ochibi! I need a favor, please, please, please!” Kikumaru fidgeted and bounced in place. “Lend me some money!” Then, the afterthought, “When did you get here?”
As soon as Ryoma delivered the pouch Kikumaru let loose a joyous whoop and was dashing off again. “Thanks, nya! Got to go back to the store before it closes so I’ll see you later!”
Not at all put out by the random encounter, he only shook his head and continued his trek through the streets. It didn’t surprise him when his walk led him to a certain lane, just as bustling as it had been before, but without the shock and horror and the feeling of someone being forcibly torn away from his hold. Hands in his pockets and a face void of emotion, Ryoma stood on the same curb, ignorant of the similarly-ignorant people pushing past him. Time and rain and change had taken away the remains so the cobblestone was wet, bare, and empty of ghosts.
He didn’t linger there. Truthfully, it had been over since he’d taken out every splinter himself, each painful piece removed and cleaned. The memory was still heavy and burdening, but it no longer was sharp enough to cut. Ryoma was able to leave the area under a somber weight but with a sense of satisfaction.
Phantoms were dispelled, but the flesh and blood of the past lingered to stalk the city grounds. He’d hoped to not encounter them - a wasted wish with late hours looming in invitation for those who ruled Kairo’s nightlife. Soon enough they found him, taking little care to conceal their tailing. The last time he’d been running, and he’d sworn to never run again. Stifling a sigh, Ryoma spun around in one quick motion, catching the glimpse of surprise on their faces. He allowed for a small smirk which they glowered at in response. His triumph was insignificant though, fading into vacancy once more as a well-known harassment come to the front.
A long manicured nail tapped against a full bottom lip, both were painted a similar crimson that was stark in comparison to cream-enhanced skin. “My, what a pleasure it is to see you again, Ryoma. You’ve been gone for a while.” His stubborn silence was taken in stride with a feminine laugh. “As you see, you’re still welcome here. Perhaps we could talk now.”
“Being stalked isn’t very welcoming, Mistress Hanamura.” The young proprietress had never been even remotely threatening, but she was persistent and had made various offers to both he and his mother in the past. It was no exaggeration that her whores were taken care of and lived a soft, lavish lifestyle for their kind, and though out of all the keepers she was said to be the most generous to property and clients alike, her proposals were turned down with all the rest. Ryoma didn’t have a strong opinion about the business in general but he remained unmoved in his refusal.
Two of Hanamura’s boys shared a disdainful scoff, their identical features unimpressed.
“He isn’t really worth the trouble-”
“-Is he?”
Her eyes never left the youth in front of her as she corrected them, “But he has so much potential, don’t you think? With a little work, he’d be perfect. See, Ryoma,” a light touch turned his face to the side for her to admire his profile, “You already outshine Rinko.”
The pair of twins grew sulkier by the show of favor and Ryoma chose to stay in place just to gall them. He didn’t look back at the mistress though, thinking her examination fairly creepy, nor did he react to the mention of his mother. Her hands, which sifted through his hair in the ghost-image of a caress, bore the manufactured floral scent from a lotion that smoothed her skin. “I won’t be one of your masterpieces.” A fresher remembrance of wind-swept plains dulled the stale air of the present.
“You say that now…”
“Actually, Echizen can’t belong to anyone else.”
Hanamura’s brows arched in accordance while Ryoma twitched visibly. The boy turned a resentful glower on the intruding kitsune that clearly said to back off, and then he shrugged himself away from the human woman’s grasp to stand separated from everyone else.
“Is that so?” Her expression grew more intrigued, watching the attractive newcomer move beside Ryoma, outward unawareness of the demand for privacy too unbelievable to be accident. Evaluating again, almost scientific in her precision, the mistress found the extended image pleasing. Duality between the two was everywhere, in color, in movement, all contributing to an eerily similar impression. Without reservation, she put forth a proposal. “The both of you together then? I would be more than happy to compromise.” The second time her eyes swept over him, Hanamura was caught by an unintended spell and right then she thought that he must be hers, business or not.
Kitsune glamour was something Fuji could not control. He usually didn’t mind anyway since it often provided amusement. Not about to pass up the opportunity, he draped his arms over an irate Ryoma. “Saa… What do you think?” Predictably, the kit stiffened and flashed a distinctly incensed glare over his shoulder. Fuji smiled. He’d decided it was fun to bother this one, mostly because things turned out surprising.
Ryoma didn’t disappoint. “I think,” he snapped with quite a bit of ferocity, “that you’d get a lot more than you asked for.” There was a certain threat surfacing in vicious gold eyes that added an edge to Fuji’s grin.
“Is it okay if I kill you?”
“Still too early,” he murmured for the kit’s ears only. All at once Ryoma went still and silent, as if lying in wait. The kitsune was wondering whether or not to spring the trap and see what it got him when he recalled the human and her entourage. He unwound himself from his target easily. “Another time perhaps,” he said to the woman, knowing she’d protest and ignoring her when the attempts came. His leave was accompanied by Ryoma and Fuji was interested to see the other making sure not to follow, but match his step. He also noticed the rigid pose carried by the boy and replaced an arm over the back of the youth’s neck; the way he responded to touch was always telling.
This time he stopped walking and Fuji circled around in front without breaking contact. Ryoma was staring at him accusingly and tense. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
Ah, so that was it. A softer smile curved his lips. “You belong to your clan now, don’t you?” The kit’s eyes widened a fraction before sliding away. “I guess it’s a little different from the city though.” Fuji could actually stretch to say that, as presiding kitsune, he did own Seigaku as far as territory goes, but he doubted the information would be taken well.
Ryoma’s gaze was on him again, accepting of the words and still suspicious. Of course, it was wise of him to distrust a kitsune. Fuji wouldn’t say that he wholly trusted the half-breed either.
Category: Prince of Tennis
Rating: PG13
Rough Word Count: 5500
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, six, seven a, seven b...
Lovely fanart by kasugai_gummie ♥~ I think I will never stop showing it off.
When Ryoma dreamed, he was back in the city. It was raining again, as it always seemed to be, as if the sky itself wanted to cloud and cover the desolate place. The city had a name and he must have heard it everyday, all the time, but he never remembered it, there was no need to. Nothing that did not concern him or his mother was of any importance. Sometimes, not even that much.
There were still some things she would not tell him, things she deliberately kept to herself. One was the subject of his supposed father, who to Ryoma was a nameless, faceless figure, barely connected to him at all save for the significant look of sadness his mention brought to mother. It was not an angry bitterness, nor was it heart-broken. She would only smile softly, distant, and while she insisted on bearing no grudges, her son was open to the idea.
“Don’t,” she’d say with a small shake of her head, the uneven ends of her short hair swaying alongside her cheek. “It’s not worth it. It doesn’t matter.”
He wanted to argue, it did matter if it made her unhappy, but she would always shush him and laugh it off. He stopped trying, her lack of information clearly telling him it was a lost cause. Quickly, he ceased to care.
The other thing, the one she was more overwrought about, was her work. She kept a regular job as a maidservant for a disreputable inn, low-paying, wretched living conditions and all. If they needed the money she would occasionally accept propositions from customers, but her day-job always came first, even if it paid less. Several times the more classy brothels would offer her a position, she was young and pleasing to the eye after all, and were turned down immediately. When they turned to her son then, who was maturing into an alarmingly attractive youth, she became outright livid. For a period she stubbornly refused any advances, up until Ryoma was gaining too much attention due to the spreading word of her repeated declines. Unable to win, she returned to selling herself so long as her child was left alone.
It wasn’t so much for the sake of innocence she did it, since there was a taint everywhere in the city, but because of pride. It seemed that her own was thrown away long ago, perhaps when his father left, and what remained of it was embodied in him.
“Because you’re all I have, my son.” Her hands would smooth back his hair, the look in her eyes adoring. Her affection was as open as fresh air, she was liberal with it, only between them.
He on the other hand, never exhibited it, but he accepted her fond touches, kind words, and stayed close by her side because as far as he was concerned, no one else existed. The only thing he ever gave her was his cooperation, and feelings unexpressed. Yet for all he resisted and remained silent, it was impossible to not see the reciprocation. Perhaps it was only the city, which always seemed to take and take more, never giving anything back. Ryoma hadn’t known generosity, save maybe for his mother, who spoiled him in her own way, such a way that he would never accept anything from anyone other than her.
At least, not until she was gone.
The rain hadn’t stopped for her, and he knew then that she could not be the only thing in the world for him, mortal as she’d proven to be. People could not last forever, nothing material could. If he looked beyond, though, to see rather than simply look, surely some things were eternal. He’d reach that, past everything else, because if he had to lose things, he’d lose them for a reason.
The city was gone now, it had been for a while, and the bleak rain went with it. Ryoma did not miss them, not even when a storm took their place.
He woke to the sound of it thundering through the walls.
It was a distant rumble, fading, and he shivered from cold in spite of the several blankets he found himself under. He sat up anyway, regretting it when his head swam but didn’t think to lie back down. Instead he stared at his surroundings, the half-lit infirmary smelling of too-clean linen and acrid medicine. An underlying hint of freshwater reminded him of lightening and he glanced to the window as if expecting the flash. The storm was well-past though, the remaining shower only an echo of its passing. Nevertheless, he could still feel the water on his skin, flowing in streams as he moved through that glade and then suffocating from the lake that engulfed him.
Just being conscious was taking a toll and wearily, he sunk back onto the firm mattress, dragging the covers far up to his chin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been sick, so damn the fox twice over for his stupid little joke. Foggy eyes peered into the obscurity of the room as if waiting for the kitsune to appear, but to no avail. Too tired to remain paranoid Ryoma let himself go lax, thinking that someday he really would kill the unbearable annoyance as if it were just a stepping stone along his way. The idea was an appealing one. Without considering probabilities or impossibilities, he latched onto that thought as he faded from awareness.
The fence trailed along the edge of the golden field until it ended at a distant forest, past rolling hills. Sunlight was generous and not shadowed by clouds, infusing the meadow with a bright brilliance that spread as the wind swept the grass in waves of undulating gold, unmarred except here where a rocky outcropping protruded near the wooden posts. The stone was sun-warmed and large enough for him to spread out comfortably - or for two children to play on.
It was ideal, this realm.
He rarely came here, the place where he grew up, since if he ever used the realms at all he would create one of his own. This was made by his family, and the field was where he and Yuuta had once come to play. He’d already paid his sister a visit, she could often be found at home whereas his parents roamed outside as frequently as he did. He privately thought that after raising two close-aged kits, they only needed a bit of a break, a reprieve he estimated to last another few hundred years or so.
The wind blew over his face and he scented grass and trees and all sorts of things, both wild and familiar, all comfortably dry. Oh, it could rain if he wanted it to, but he knew it wouldn’t be the same. Outside was unquestionably better, and the electric taste of a storm was utterly lost within the kitsune realm, if only because everyone else detested it.
Fuji had always been an oddity like that.
“Oi.”
His smile was a perpetual thing, but it might have grown wider at the curt greeting. “Yuuta, I thought you were never around anymore.”
A rough snort came from the gangly youth resting both arms over the fence. “Speak for yourself and spare me your bullshit.” The way his gaze remained fixed on the ground detracted from the harsh words. “Neesan said you were here,” he acknowledged haltingly. “Anyway, I was just dropping by and…”
Fuji sat up, scooting over on the rock and patting its smooth surface, worn down as if by years that didn’t exist. “Stay a while. We didn’t get to say much when we last saw each other.”
Yuuta looked as if he’d rather not, but didn’t leave either, probably because he was polite no matter how he spoke. Fuji paid it no mind, but left the space open.
“It’s rare that we run into each other, anyway.”
The younger kitsune rolled his eyes, this time choosing to humor his brother’s pretenses. “Well, it’s a big world out there.”
“Aa. Lots of interesting people and ways to become distracted.”
Yuuta’s eyes narrowed. He leaned over the rail of the fence, somewhat tensed. “We made our own choices.”
“Yes, and I wonder if that’s too bad…”
“Aniki.” This time he growled, setting both hands on the wood and glaring holes into the back of his brother’s head.
Fuji relented, not wanting him to stomp off in a temper. “Maa, some other time then. Actually, I was thinking to talk to you about a different matter.”
There was a thoughtful pause as Yuuta weighed the possibilities. “…Well?” He asked after deciding to cooperate.
“Hmm… This is really a little bit awkward…”
Unable to tell if he was hedging or not, Yuuta jumped the fence and sat down - on the ground next to the rock. There were still some boundaries yet to be crossed, if they ever would be. The decreased distance between them might help the conversation along though, and Yuuta wasn’t patient when it came to his sibling. “Just spit it out.”
Obliging, Fuji folded his hands in his lap and questioned, “When you were fighting Echizen, what did you see?”
Long ago Yuuta had come to accept his brother’s unexpectedness, to anticipate it, so even now he was unsurprised. “In the illusion?” He eyed the other’s face cautiously. He knew from the beginning that the other would not approve of the technique. At the answering nod, a careful motion that betrayed nothing else, he thought back to the battle. “At first there was a city. A human city. Miserable, nasty place. After I found him… Well, there were people, but for the most part they just…ignored everything.” His voice lowered roughly, drawing on the memory of a memory. “A death. And all they did was turn up their noses and walk away.”
Fuji wanted to place his hand on the other’s head, recognizing the contempt and while understanding, also wanting to wash it away. He didn’t move though, well aware of the space between them. He only spoke, “Who died?”
“A woman. She was hit by a wagon, I saw her body in the street. She…” He paused, fumbling for the recollection that was a little fuzzy at the point before it had changed. “He said it was his mother.” Silence, as if he was hearing it for the first time. Anger that hadn’t been there before suddenly surfaced. More bitter than ever, he hissed out, “And no one did anything, no one! Echizen was there. He was - he knew, about the illusion - but he… Damn, I don’t even like the brat, but…damn.”
“Yuuta.”
“He took out all the wreckage. Piece by piece. Humans are the worst, they didn’t-”
“Yuuta!” A hand fell overtop his head, stopping him in mid-tirade. His mouth snapped shut and he ducked out of reach. “Yuuta,” Fuji said again, calmly, “It’s fine.”
For a while neither of them said anything, keeping just out of range and to their own thoughts. One was impassive, the other turbulently confused, opposite emotions over similar faces.
“Was there anything else?”
“No,” he answered short - too short, but that was all he was willing to give. Irate, he added, “It’s unlike you to pry so, Aniki.”
A hint of a smile ghosted over moving lips. “Is it?”
“…It is.” He looked away, refusing to risk grinning despite himself.
“Do you think,” Fuji’s tone grew pensive, “His mother was kitsune?”
“Couldn’t tell you.” A line formed over his brow as he remembered the ensuing events, the disruptions and the fire. His arm ached at the recent memory, but it had healed fine as he’d expected. “Did you get the feeling… Like, a seal of some sort…? Ah, of course you knew. Che.” There was only a passive, agreeable noise from the elder. Thinking rapidly, Yuuta glanced incredulously at him. “Is it still there? Or-”
“…Saa… I wonder.” The glare his ambiguous reply earned did little to persuade him to elaborate.
“He literally burned down my spells! I may not be the talent that you are, but I’m not that sloppy. No pint-sized human brat-child could have done that!”
“Yuuta,” he chided, “Echizen performed well before you used the memory technique. His kitsune blood had nothing to do with that, I am sure. No,” he sighed, showing just the tiniest suggestion of frustration, “I agree that a mortal would not have the capability to do what he did-”
“’Cept someone like your captain,” the younger muttered, pointedly ignoring the moment of stony silence that followed.
“…No,” Fuji repeated, giving his brother a significant look. “Ryoma is not like Tezuka.”
“Aniki, what is it you’re not telling me? Why are you telling me this much in the first place?” There was pure and honest puzzlement now, Yuuta had no idea what to do with this conversation that seemed like something he stood outside of.
Shadows fell over the area from clouds that formed overhead. Both kitsune didn’t spare them a glance.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted softly, obviously not happy with the admission. “Something’s changed. You, too.”
“Shut up,” Yuuta grumbled, averting his eyes once more. “You’ll never change, Aniki. I just… Well. Some things have to change, you know? And you can’t go back, you can only move forward.”
Dampness collected in the air, liquefying and falling in a patter of rain. Fuji had been right - it wasn’t the same as outside, certainly no storm, but it was disturbing enough.
“So then, what’s ahead?”
“Why ask me?” The scruffy kitsune hunched his shoulders against the sudden chill, but the weather didn’t yield. “I can’t tell you what happens in the future. Hell, I barely know what’s going on now.”
Fuji breathed in, droplets falling from his face and hair. Yuuta looked up at him, searching, then looked down again. The older sibling wondered if there’d been any possibility for an answer. “You’d better go home. Or back to St. Rudolph, if you choose. Maybe we’ll meet again soon, ne?”
No answer came while he stood, now soaked. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, Yuuta headed off in the opposite direction from where he came. It didn’t really matter where he went, exits were easy to find. Wet grass slid over his legs, swishing with each long stride.
“Oi, Aniki.”
Still perched on the rock, Fuji inclined his head to the unpredicted call. Yuuta’s back was still turned, but his voice rose to be heard easily.
“It had been raining before, you know, with Echizen.”
It always seemed to rain around that kit.
“Just like this...”
But not like a storm.
“…It was sad.”
There were advantages and disadvantages to staying in the healer’s wing. The one that made him most unhappy was the fact he had to be there in the first place, stuck in bed until his fever dropped and he wondered if the brief scuffle with the kitsune was worth it. As soon as he woke he was surrounded by teammates and the three younger students who always appeared to hang around him. There was a flurry of questions, comments, and none of them welcome by the painful ache residing in his head. Ryoma had just barely been coherent enough to recognize the threat when Inui offered him an original blend of medicinal herbs and juices, body involuntarily sinking as far into the sheets as it could.
Thankfully, for once, timid little Sakuno had been very concerned over his health and managed to keep others out of the way - as soon as her tears first began to leak Oishi had more or less banned people from visiting casually. It was as if he was dying, considering all the fuss, but at least it kept things quiet. Having some of the younger boys yammering in his ear while everything was still fuzzy had not been pleasant.
The day of rest was working though; Ryoma would admit that by evening he felt distinctly better, head clear and some energy restored. Unfortunately, being lucid also meant being lectured.
“I’m sure this must have been covered in the basic rules, but there are no unsupervised matches off premises, especially not under adverse weather conditions.” The Elder Ryuzaki fixed a stern gaze on the boy who stared right back, half-lidded eyes showing that he was listening only as much as was necessary. “Normally this would not go unpunished, but would I be correct to assume this resting period is penalty enough for you?”
A lowering of his face was answer enough.
The old woman sighed heavily, but she was used to interpreting conversations with the rest of her people. “You should be fine and on your feet tomorrow morning then.” Hands on her knees, she was about to stand when an unfaltering inquiry took her by surprise.
“If there can’t be any unofficial matches elsewhere, then it’s fine to have them here at Seishun, right?”
The look she gave him was more weighing now but the response was automatic. “That’s right. Those are little more than practice bouts, unless the cause for them is ill-intended. However, I don’t advise you start any more fights with Fuji. He won’t even take you seriously.”
A hint of a grin turned up the corners of his mouth. “Then I’ll make him be serious.”
Ryuzaki half-expected it, both impressed and unconvinced by the display of arrogance. The boy was a wonder, but still had far to go. “Just stay away from large bodies of water if you insist on playing games with him.” Seeing his expression go sour, she kept her satisfied chuckle to herself and didn’t feel bad at all when he glared at her as she left.
“Grandmother,” Sakuno stood waiting outside, nervously glancing at the closing door. “How is he?”
Smiling, she patted the girl’s head that was still covered by a pale blue handkerchief that was to be worn as she did her healer’s duties. “Don’t worry, he’s recovering fast. You did a fine job.”
The girl relaxed and blushed from the praise. “That’s a relief… It was like he was sick, but I couldn’t place exactly what was ailing him…”
“Just exhaustion, I think. It’s getting late, Sakuno, you better turn in for the night.”
She bowed obediently, darting one more longing expression at the door before hurrying to her own room, long ropes of hair swinging behind her. Ryuzaki watched her go, clearly aware of her charge’s feelings for their new adoptee, but not entirely sure how it would develop. She didn’t interfere with any of the personal relations of her people, even though she was fond of Sakuno and it looked like the girl was only going to wind up hurt. There were some slightly obscure politics regarding that one so she only hoped the blow wouldn’t be crippling.
A familiar figure’s approach drew her out of those thoughts and she moved to meet Tezuka half-way. They fell in step together and distanced themselves from the infirmary, speaking comfortably. “You don’t need me to confirm this, but that was the result of expending a large amount of power. The first time it’s happened since he didn’t think it was anything except sickness.”
The captain nodded, continuing the train of thought for her. “Enough to render him unconscious, but nothing that endangered his life. Mere fatigue. Though it shouldn’t have been possible if the seal on his kitsune half is intact.”
“Fuji has given you no answers?”
Lips pressed in a thin line, he shook his head. “He’s nowhere to be found.”
“Tezuka,” the Elder came to a stop with her companion a pace ahead. “Do you think they will cause any problems within our clan? I know it’s superstition, but two kitsune will clash together.”
“Half-kitsune,” he corrected, shrugging an apology when she scoffed. “To be honest, I don’t know, and I didn’t expect this. At first I’d planned to have a match with Echizen myself, but now it seems that Fuji has gotten that out of the way. Nothing I do now will dissuade either of them, whatever they decide.”
Ryuzaki grumbled, “Impulsive creatures. Echizen had his sights on Fuji from the start, didn’t he? He just couldn’t wait to test him.” She resumed walking, Tezuka once again following beside. “I agree there’s little we can do now.”
“There’s more to him though. Fuji will keep his interest, but he’ll have to see that there is more to pursuits than that.”
An ironic brow arched and Ryuzaki ventured, “So you’ll have a match with him anyway? Should be interesting.”
“Not just me, it would be worthwhile for him to find goals beyond Seigaku.”
“Sounds like you want the world to be his goal.”
“…If that’s the same as being unable to judge his potential, then yes.”
The next day Sakuno rushed to the infirmary an hour after the sun rose, but it was empty. Ryoma had already woken at dawn.
“The city?” he repeated, eyes flat and expressionless under sweaty bangs that wavered under a persistent breeze. Three days after his recovery and it was as if he’d never been ill, his presence on the practice courts proof enough of the rapid process. The grounds were filled with younger students today with only one or two of the regulars in sight.
Oishi nodded in confirmation, an apology in his gaze as he dangled a patched-up money purse in one hand, the coins within clinking together. “As you know, today is market day, and Eiji forgot this. I’d be glad to take it to him myself, but unfortunately Tezuka and I are still making arrangements for the next games.”
Ryoma’s stance didn’t change. He was aware of the unofficial holiday that would periodically be declared when the team and a few others made a trip to the city for business. Some of the more exotic spices and medicines were bought there, as well as any provisions that could not be grown in the clan’s own fields. Market day was also a time for personal shopping and since the journey took two days on horseback, it was a relaxing occasion for everyone. However, when previous excursions were announced, Ryoma always opted to remain at the tribe home. He had no desire to return to the city, not so much out of fear but of loathing.
The vice-captain knew this as he made the penitent request. “I’m sorry for asking this of you, but truthfully it’s because I trust you with the responsibility. If you do not wish to do it, I understand.”
Unhesitatingly, Ryoma opened his hand and waited. The cloud of worry evaporated and Oishi handed it over where the cloth-covered weight was tucked against a small palm. The boy nodded his head once in promise, was outfitted with a horse and necessary supplies, and left in less than an hour.
Traveling briskly, he figured that he still wouldn’t be able to catch up to the rest of the group until he reached the city itself. The realization didn’t alarm him at all. It was a little more boring at home without the regulars - most of the challenge was gone. He didn’t mind following them for that, the delivery of coin a convenient excuse so he was able to continue pursuing his own interests. Regardless, it would be at least a day and a half before he reached them. Ryoma didn’t mind the temporary solitude either. Though hill bandits were scattered throughout these parts, they’d become cautious of Seigaku ever since Tezuka had been put in charge, choosing to raid lesser villages to the west and leaving the main eastern road alone. Evening set in and Ryoma eventually stopped for the night, safely encircled by the familiar sky and wind that brightened upon the approach of morning. It only darkened some when he neared his destination.
Kairo. So that was the city’s name. All the years he’d lived there and the word sounded new to him. He thought back to language lessons, snorting when the memory came and he turned a blasé eye on the tall outer gates. Someone had been uncreative when they named this in-between port town. It had quickly become apparent though, that obvious naming was common use of the old tongue, and no one thought anything of it or even realized because Nihongo was only learned among the People now.
Ryoma had no trouble entering and harbored only a small amount of dread when the gates shut behind him. This place was no longer keeping him in. The dizzying swirl of city-life hit him hard though, both familiar and new. Mixed scents of expensive perfumes and finery through trash and gutter sewage assailed him, a hint of salty sea air presiding over all. He’d never noticed it before, having not ventured often near the docks for the ocean had always been an empty dead-end of water and horizon.
It was late again, the second day of riding had been well-spent. He’d located the inn where the group had checked in easily enough, it was the one closest to the gates, but most of the team was spread throughout the streets. Ryoma left his things at the inn and once more set off into the inner city with a drive born of impatience and skewed curiosity.
Moisture hung everywhere as if it threatened to rain again. The pavement was slick and grimy as usual, the same dirty scene on every alley and corner, but he still knew the city, his feet remembering where to go and which hidden paths were available. He stayed away from them though, no longer needing to make use of their shortcuts and escapes. Despite being watchful, it was entirely by chance that he caught sight of the redheaded blur dodging frantically through the crowd. Or rather, the blur caught him.
“Nyaaa! Ochibi! I need a favor, please, please, please!” Kikumaru fidgeted and bounced in place. “Lend me some money!” Then, the afterthought, “When did you get here?”
As soon as Ryoma delivered the pouch Kikumaru let loose a joyous whoop and was dashing off again. “Thanks, nya! Got to go back to the store before it closes so I’ll see you later!”
Not at all put out by the random encounter, he only shook his head and continued his trek through the streets. It didn’t surprise him when his walk led him to a certain lane, just as bustling as it had been before, but without the shock and horror and the feeling of someone being forcibly torn away from his hold. Hands in his pockets and a face void of emotion, Ryoma stood on the same curb, ignorant of the similarly-ignorant people pushing past him. Time and rain and change had taken away the remains so the cobblestone was wet, bare, and empty of ghosts.
He didn’t linger there. Truthfully, it had been over since he’d taken out every splinter himself, each painful piece removed and cleaned. The memory was still heavy and burdening, but it no longer was sharp enough to cut. Ryoma was able to leave the area under a somber weight but with a sense of satisfaction.
Phantoms were dispelled, but the flesh and blood of the past lingered to stalk the city grounds. He’d hoped to not encounter them - a wasted wish with late hours looming in invitation for those who ruled Kairo’s nightlife. Soon enough they found him, taking little care to conceal their tailing. The last time he’d been running, and he’d sworn to never run again. Stifling a sigh, Ryoma spun around in one quick motion, catching the glimpse of surprise on their faces. He allowed for a small smirk which they glowered at in response. His triumph was insignificant though, fading into vacancy once more as a well-known harassment come to the front.
A long manicured nail tapped against a full bottom lip, both were painted a similar crimson that was stark in comparison to cream-enhanced skin. “My, what a pleasure it is to see you again, Ryoma. You’ve been gone for a while.” His stubborn silence was taken in stride with a feminine laugh. “As you see, you’re still welcome here. Perhaps we could talk now.”
“Being stalked isn’t very welcoming, Mistress Hanamura.” The young proprietress had never been even remotely threatening, but she was persistent and had made various offers to both he and his mother in the past. It was no exaggeration that her whores were taken care of and lived a soft, lavish lifestyle for their kind, and though out of all the keepers she was said to be the most generous to property and clients alike, her proposals were turned down with all the rest. Ryoma didn’t have a strong opinion about the business in general but he remained unmoved in his refusal.
Two of Hanamura’s boys shared a disdainful scoff, their identical features unimpressed.
“He isn’t really worth the trouble-”
“-Is he?”
Her eyes never left the youth in front of her as she corrected them, “But he has so much potential, don’t you think? With a little work, he’d be perfect. See, Ryoma,” a light touch turned his face to the side for her to admire his profile, “You already outshine Rinko.”
The pair of twins grew sulkier by the show of favor and Ryoma chose to stay in place just to gall them. He didn’t look back at the mistress though, thinking her examination fairly creepy, nor did he react to the mention of his mother. Her hands, which sifted through his hair in the ghost-image of a caress, bore the manufactured floral scent from a lotion that smoothed her skin. “I won’t be one of your masterpieces.” A fresher remembrance of wind-swept plains dulled the stale air of the present.
“You say that now…”
“Actually, Echizen can’t belong to anyone else.”
Hanamura’s brows arched in accordance while Ryoma twitched visibly. The boy turned a resentful glower on the intruding kitsune that clearly said to back off, and then he shrugged himself away from the human woman’s grasp to stand separated from everyone else.
“Is that so?” Her expression grew more intrigued, watching the attractive newcomer move beside Ryoma, outward unawareness of the demand for privacy too unbelievable to be accident. Evaluating again, almost scientific in her precision, the mistress found the extended image pleasing. Duality between the two was everywhere, in color, in movement, all contributing to an eerily similar impression. Without reservation, she put forth a proposal. “The both of you together then? I would be more than happy to compromise.” The second time her eyes swept over him, Hanamura was caught by an unintended spell and right then she thought that he must be hers, business or not.
Kitsune glamour was something Fuji could not control. He usually didn’t mind anyway since it often provided amusement. Not about to pass up the opportunity, he draped his arms over an irate Ryoma. “Saa… What do you think?” Predictably, the kit stiffened and flashed a distinctly incensed glare over his shoulder. Fuji smiled. He’d decided it was fun to bother this one, mostly because things turned out surprising.
Ryoma didn’t disappoint. “I think,” he snapped with quite a bit of ferocity, “that you’d get a lot more than you asked for.” There was a certain threat surfacing in vicious gold eyes that added an edge to Fuji’s grin.
“Is it okay if I kill you?”
“Still too early,” he murmured for the kit’s ears only. All at once Ryoma went still and silent, as if lying in wait. The kitsune was wondering whether or not to spring the trap and see what it got him when he recalled the human and her entourage. He unwound himself from his target easily. “Another time perhaps,” he said to the woman, knowing she’d protest and ignoring her when the attempts came. His leave was accompanied by Ryoma and Fuji was interested to see the other making sure not to follow, but match his step. He also noticed the rigid pose carried by the boy and replaced an arm over the back of the youth’s neck; the way he responded to touch was always telling.
This time he stopped walking and Fuji circled around in front without breaking contact. Ryoma was staring at him accusingly and tense. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
Ah, so that was it. A softer smile curved his lips. “You belong to your clan now, don’t you?” The kit’s eyes widened a fraction before sliding away. “I guess it’s a little different from the city though.” Fuji could actually stretch to say that, as presiding kitsune, he did own Seigaku as far as territory goes, but he doubted the information would be taken well.
Ryoma’s gaze was on him again, accepting of the words and still suspicious. Of course, it was wise of him to distrust a kitsune. Fuji wouldn’t say that he wholly trusted the half-breed either.