Summary: âPlease set a name for your character,â the system prompted.
Qiao Yifanâs smile, wobbly and tinged with the hysteria of someone who couldnât quite believe what they were doing, widened slightly.
âOne Inch Ash.â
[Drabbles set in an AU where everything is the same except Glory is a VR game]
proprioception
n. perception governed by proprioceptors, as awareness of the position of oneâs body.
i.
As the most advanced VR game currently available in the market, Glory of course provided an option to alter oneâs appearance.
Any feature could be changed, body proportions included. But Qiao Yifan ignored these and went straight for the color editor to change his hair and eye color.
Once done, he brought a hand up to his hair and pulled a piece of his fringe down to his eyes.
Gray hair and gray eyes.
âPlease set a name for your character,â the system prompted.
Qiao Yifanâs smile, wobbly and tinged with the hysteria of someone who couldnât quite believe what they were doing, widened slightly.
âOne Inch Ash.â
Ash for his hair, ash for his eyes, and ash for his name.
To take it a step further, he also chose gray and white clothing for his character.
He must have appeared utterly colorless.
Qiao Yifan was satisfied.
At least everything matched now.
-
ii.
Qiao Yifan neatly folded his clothes, carefully placing them in his carry-on. Everything he owned could fit in a single luggage.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Gao Yingjie twisting his hands together.
Aside from a tentative âhi,â Gao Yingjie hadnât spoken a word to him since coming to his room to watch him pack.
Qiao Yifan had just zipped up his luggage when Gao Yingjie finally spoke up.
âYifan, what do you plan to do?â
For months Qiao Yifan had been worrying about this day.
But today his smile was genuine.
âIâm going to visit a certain internet cafe.â
-
iii.
Qiao Yifan could not remember what class he played before being on Tiny Herb.
But he did remember the two years when he religiously visited the dojo near their house to learn kendo at the urging of his parents.
He kept to himself even then. When asked, he would not be able to name any of the instructors or any of the students. What he remembered was the shinai in his hands and the endless practice swingsârepetitive, soothing, and the closest thing to peace in a noisy dojo.
-
iv.
âYouâve been practicing for only a month and you want to challenge Li Xuan already. Honestly, Iâm completely speechless.â
Qiao Yifan flushed when he finally realized who was talking to him.
Ye Qiuâs feature were slightly different from Lord Grim. But the things that matteredâthe tilt of his head, the slump in his shoulders, even his gaitâwere the same.
His voice was also the same.
And so was the look in his eyes as he peered through his lashes.
âGlory isnât as simple as you think.â
-
v.
Numerous studies had already proven that a personâs actual abilities in real life did not necessarily translate into tangible advantages in the virtual reality. The reverse also applied. Proficiency in Glory did not make anyone an expert combatant in reality.
The famous example for this was a god-level player getting beaten up and hospitalized after he was mugged. The story was a few years old but it never failed to make anyone recounting it grimace in pain. This was a cautionary tale for the young and the heedlessly idealistic. People like Han Wenqing, who could hold their own in a fight both in real life and in-game, were the exception rather than the rule.
Qiao Yifan knew this of course.
But maybe the studies didnât account for things such as reckless desperation or the sentimentality attached to a fond childhood memory.
Because the first time Qiao Yifan swung a tachi in Glory it felt faster, lighter (and just right) compared to the dual blades of his assassin.
-
vi.
Qiao Yifan knew he was not smart enough to think about the philosophical implications of whether virtual objects or virtual sensations could ever be considered as, well, real.
But everything in Glory felt real to him: sight, smell, sound, and especially touch.
That brief second when Lord Grim tapped One Inch Ashâs shoulder and told him, âYouâre a pro-player too!â was real for him. And so were the tears Qiao Yifan couldnât quite hold back.
-
vii.
Qiao Yifan had checkedâdouble checked and triple checked evenâHappy Internet Cafeâs address.
He arrived at his destination with minimal fuss.
Itâs a simple thing really, to push open a door and step through an entryway.
But this feels something more than that. This is a new beginning and Qiao Yifan couldnât remember the last time he felt this hopeful.
-
viii.
âYifan really does have some foresight,â Cleansing Mist commented out of nowhere while they waiting for the dungeons to refresh.
One Inch Ash blinked at her. âSorry?â
âMonochromes are really popular right now. Especially gray on gray. All the models at fashion week are wearing it. Itâs really chic.â
Soft Mist nodded in agreement. âGuo Guo showed me some pictures. It does look nice.â
âI donât get it,â Lord Grim said flatly.
âDonât I look chic too?!â Steamed Bun piped up while striking a pose.
âNo!â
Qiao Yifan laughed. He was still laughing when they entered the dungeon.
Hello, Shoukoku No Altair fan here! I seen your fanfics! I really them! ^-^ You're the only I seen so far besides Altun from AO3 that wrote fics for the series! Have you heard the MAPPA is making an anime out of it? I was wondering, since Tumblr doesn't all the older posts in the search results, I was wondering if you could somewhat get your 2 fics up in the recent column? Please continue support series and tell you friends, fans, followers about the manga & anime series!!
OMG ANON!!! IâVE NEVER EXPECTED THIS TO HAPPEN SJHBSHJDG AND MAPPAâS DOING IT I THINK?!?!?!?!
i let out a high pitched scream of some sort when i read this because i honestly didnât know altair was gonna be an anime TT_______TTÂ
iâm not sure how to get it to the recent column but i posted them in ao3 if that helps: the links are here and hereÂ
also everyone please read shoukoku no altair!! the art is beautiful and mahmut is the dictionary definition of a cinnamon roll <3
the characters are engaging and i admit the plot is a bit heavy. like i have to be in a certain mood to read it because you have to pay attention to the details and admittedly thereâs a bit of a learning curve with the terms BUT THE FOUR SULTANS ARC WILL RIP YOUR HEART INTO SHREDS AND YOU WILL CRY ALL THE TEARS BUT YOU WILL ENJOY IT. iâm not kidding iâve read that arc like three? four times already and I CRIED EACH TIME (please love my child orhan!!)
bless you for shipping hyoudou/tatara, they need more love! i'm so happy with the metropolitan arc focus on "being unable to look away" from those who attract you, either artistically or romantically. so far the argument could be made of hyoudou's interest being purely artistic, but the only charas to get ridiculously jealous 'n/or kind of petty are our canon lesbian, the siscon and hyoudou how-dare-you-ask-others-to-take-care-of-you-i'll-blowdry-yo-face kiyoharu so... yeah, happy <333
thank you so much anon! i honestly love the panels where hyoudouâs ~intensely~ watching tataraâs dancing :DDD
hopefully we get more fics once the anime comes out!! (ăĽďżŁ ³ ̄)㼠thanks again!
Summary: Miyoshi still hated fencing. [Random drabbles about Miyoshi]
-
1.
Miyoshi was five when he started receiving fencing lessons from his mother.
âPick it up, please,â she said softly.
He remembered shaking his head and stomping his feet in a satisfying, but ultimately worthless, show of rebellion.
His eyes shifted guiltily to the foil he threw at his feet but he raised his chin, determined.
âI hate fencing, maman.â
His mother regarded him with a tilt of her head. A few moments pass in silence, then she was slipping off the rings on her fingers and tucking back her fringe with a crook of her pinky finger.
Thereâs a wry twist to her mouth when she said, âSometimes we have to do things that we donât like. And even then we must do them well.â
âSo pick it up, mon petite.â
-
2.
The histories of D-Agencyâs candidates were all considered as top secret military information. But for the candidates themselves the lives of their fellow trainees was just another prize to be won.
Itâs not a subtle game. Nothing could be more blatant than Hatano mockingly saluting to Odagiriâs face or Kaminaga adopting a grating British accent whenever he teased Tazaki.
When asked, Miyoshi would say he hated this particular game because it was artless.
No one believed him.
In a lull between their lessons, Jitsui took his left hand to trace the characters of his fatherâs surname in his open palm.
(Defeat was never an inevitable outcome for Miyoshi, but in this particular game it had to be expected since his fatherâs name appeared frequently in newspapers.)
Miyoshi refused to let anything show on his face.
He smiled slightly, softly and offered Jitsui his congratulations.
-
3.
The truth was that his birth certificate may say otherwise but Miyoshi had always used his motherâs surname.
-
4.
In another time or in another life, Miyoshi wouldâve been content to study art (and history, and philosophy, and literature) and to live in idle luxury, trying his hardest to fritter away the wealth of his fatherâs family.
But adrenaline and intrigue were the most potent of drugs and he couldnât imagine living a life of peaceful monotony.
-
5.
The best kind of deception was grounded in truth and the most effective seduction was subtle.
All it took was a softer tone, lowered lashes and lingering touches. Â
And in the space of the scant half hour heâs allowed, he made the targets believe that theyâre the only person in the room worth paying attention to.
The coup de grace is a reluctant goodbye, a pout, and a crooked finger tucking his fringe behind his ear. Â
Eight out of ten times, when Miyoshi stood up to leave, thereâs a hand around his wrist and a plea for him to stay just a bit longer.
-
6.
And since nothing can be left to chance, Miyoshi depended on a quick sleight of hand and the most potent of aphrodisiacs when his natural charms failed him.
-
7.
Miyoshi sat closer than necessary to Sakuma, ensuring that their shoulders and knees bumped constantly.
All his efforts yielded nothing but a furrow between Sakumaâs brows and a suspicious glint in his eyes.
A pity Yuuki had just issued a strongly worded memorandum that mixing any form of substances in Sakumaâs food and drink was strictly prohibited unless under special circumstances.
Miyoshi was good, but even he couldnât find an angle to defend a failed flirtation as a special circumstance. Â
-
8.
Yuuki warned them constantly of the all-consuming loneliness that awaited them in their career as spies.
But Miyoshi had always thought that there much worse things than being alone.
-
9.
Miyoshi was twenty-five and he still hated fencing. A knife was more convenient and a gun more efficient.
But as his motherâs lessons taught him, personal taste should never be an excuse for incompetence.
He smiled gently at Tazaki from across the piste.
Tazaki grimaced at him. His previous confidence in his chosen sport had already been broken by Kaminaga and Hatano.
Miyoshi holds the foil limply in his hand, his stance languid and casual.
He was almost (but not quite) regretful about continuing the trend.
Summary:Â In which Sakuma and Miyoshi play badminton. [means, motive, opportunity âverse]
-
Sakuma hurried through the gym doorway, hair askew and slightly out of breath.Â
âIâm sorry Iâm late!â
Miyoshi ignored him. He held the shuttle in front of his body, wrist locked, right hand ready to swing a forehand long serve. The shuttles that littered the opposite side of the court told Sakuma that Miyoshi had been practicing his serves for some time now.
Sakuma watched Miyoshi strike the shuttle. The follow through was textbook perfect and the shuttle predictably dropped at the backline of his imaginary opponentâs service court. Â
When Miyoshi finally turned to acknowledge Sakuma, he did so with an air of practiced nonchalance. He deftly twirled the badminton racket in his palm before gesturing vaguely towards the other side of the court.
âSo youâve finally made an appearance. I guess we can start after youâve picked up the shuttlecocks.â
If it were anyone else, Sakuma wouldâve bristled at the mere idea of someone casually ordering him around. But this was Miyoshi. So instead, he arched an eyebrow and made a show of surveying him from head to toe.
âOkay. But you do know that this isnât Wimbledon.â
Miyoshi wore white on unrelieved white, from his shirt down to his sneakers. Even the wrist band wrapped around his deceptively delicate wrist was the color of driven snow.
He inclined his chin and peered at Sakuma through his lashes, lips pressed together in a painfully a straight line.
It was the exact same look Miyoshi leveled at people who wore socks with their sandals.
âI look good in white,â was the succinct explanation.
Sakuma lied through his teeth. âI donât know. It kind of washes you out.â
If he wasnât waiting for a reaction from Miyoshi he wouldâve missed the brief flicker of irritation that passed through his face.
âI beg to differ. Numerous people have told me that white goes nicely with my skin. I believe it gives me a certain glow.â
âNumerous people?â
âYes,â Miyoshi replied shortly.
âAnd can you actually name these people?â
âOf course. But that would take all night. So are we going to play or do you want to hear me rattle off a list of people who think I look divine in white?â
Sakuma tried not to grin too widely. âNope, letâs play. Tell me about all those people some other time. Best out of three?â
âLetâs make it best out of five.â
Sakuma blinked. âFive games? Up to how many points?â
âTwenty-one.â
âTwenty-one?! Thatâs going to take all night!â
Miyoshi tilted his head sideways and paused.
And Sakuma suddenly remembered how heâd had to cancel on their last two meetups because of work. So he grimaced and bit out, âFine. But youâre buying dinner.â
Miyoshi smiled, pleased to be finally getting his way. âThe loser will buy dinner as per usual.â
âThatâs exactly what I meant,â Sakuma said as motioned towards the other end of the court to pick up the shuttles.
Summary: âI give up. This is a disaster. I donât know why you keep asking me to play chess. You always win anyway.â [means, motive, opportunity âverse]
-
Miyoshi sighed.
Then he carefully took off his glasses and set it beside the chessboard.
Sakuma glared at him because one: those glasses were fake and he hated them. Two: the action screamed I wonât be needing these. Â
Propping a cheek on one hand, Miyoshi sighed again.
âShut up,â Sakuma hissed.
Miyoshi stared blankly at the clock on the wall. âI didnât say anything.â
âYou were thinking it,â Sakuma accused.
Miyoshi pouted but he didnât bother to deny it.
Sakuma huffed. There was nowhere for his king to run. Every possible move would end in checkmate.
âYou know, chess really isnât my kind of gameââ he started.
ââOh please,â Miyoshi rolled his eyes. âSpare me.â
âI mean! For one thing why canât we use the opponentâs pieces weâve won? Theyâre spoils of war! Why canât I add them to my army?â
âWhen you take your opponentâs piece, youâre killing them. Thereâs no use for dead soldiers.â
âBut you can use them in shogi!â
âWell then, I guess we must give credit to the man who made shogi so flexible. I suppose when you capture pieces in shogi youâre making them surrender instead of killing them.â
âChess should be the same way!â
Miyoshi tucked his fringe behind his left ear, only for the strands to fall back into his face. âI donât think going turncoat sits well with the spirit of knighthood.â
"I give up." Sakuma shook his head. âThis is a disaster. I donât know why you keep asking me to play chess since you always win anyway.â
âWell then, do you want to play something else? One of the students left a monopoly board lying around somewhere in this lab.â
âNo. You cheat in monopoly.â
âHow does one cheat in monopoly exactly? How about poker?â
âAbsolutely not.â
âStrip poker then?â asked Miyoshi, eyelids falling to half-mast, lips forming a sly smile. Â
Sakuma refused to blush. âI donât know what youâre talking about,â he said in the flattest tone he could manage.
Miyoshi slumped in his seat elegantly. (Sakuma wasnât quite sure how one went about slumping elegantly, but Miyoshi managed to do just that.)
âThen what do we do now? We still have quite some time before dinnerâ! Oh! I think Hatanoâs doing a really important experiment at lab eleven.â
He raised both eyebrows meaningfully at Sakuma. âMaybe you can make something explode again.â
Sakuma tried not to grin too widely. âThat was one time and it was accident! But yeah we should go check up on him.â
Miyoshi was already standing up, hands smoothing down the non-existent creases in his clothes.
âYes. Maybe we could even offer him some help.â
Miyoshi carefully unwrapped the candy. âI told you Iâm quitting smoking, didnât I? Itâs bad for the skin.âÂ
-
Sakuma was nocturnal because of his chosen career.
The working hours of a detective in homicide were not for the faint-hearted. There were days when he got home at two in the morning only to set his alarm at six am sharp. And that was the best case scenario. The worst case scenario was passing out on top of case files at his desk and wearing the same suit for three days straight.
But Miyoshi was different. He was nocturnal entirely by choice and he seemed to thrive on it.
So theirs was a friendship built on midnight meetups at bars filled with smoke and eating stale popcorn at empty cinemas during the last screening.
Which was why Sakuma found it a little disconcerting to stand by Miyoshiâs side in front of a fashionable restaurant during the lunch rush.
Sunlight seemed to agree with Miyoshi. His hair shone reddish brown under it and his skin seemed to glow. (Clearly, the small fortune he was spending on skin care was yielding great returns.) Sakuma, on the other hand, knew that it only made his pallor more pronounced.
He shifted from one foot to another.
Miyoshi, on the other hand, seemed content to watch the passing traffic in utter stillness. He was the picture of understated elegance in his dark fitted pants and crisp white shirt. The tortoise shell glasses perched on his nose were nothing but an affectation but it suited him nonetheless.
The effect was rather ruined when he pulled out a lollipop from his pocket.
âAre you serious?â
Miyoshi carefully unwrapped the candy. âI told you Iâm quitting smoking, didnât I? Itâs bad for the skin.â He popped the candy into his mouth before eyeing Sakuma speculatively.
He glared back defiantly as Miyoshi raked his gazed over him.
Miyoshi slowly pulled the lollipop from his mouth. âYou should also consider quitting Sakuma-san. Your skinâs looking a bit rough. And please do something about the bags under your eyes.â
He took a step closer towards Sakuma, and in one smooth movement raised his hand to his face and swiped a thumb lightly under one of the aforementioned shadows under his eyes.
âYour concern is noted,â Sakuma said with a huff.
âStill making no headway in the case? You seem to be sleeping badly these days. Well, much worse than you usually do anyway.â
âIt just doesnât make sense. The ex-wife has a solid alibi but I donât knowâŚâ Sakuma worried his bottom lip. He knew Miyoshi was going to tease him about this but he couldnât think of a better way to explain it.  âSome guys at the department think she didnât do it but I feel like something doesnât add up.â
âYou feel? But you donât have any evidence against her, right?â Miyoshi asked archly.
Sakuma sighed. âYes, thatâs right.â
âYou canât accuse someone base on intuition alone. Try to be a little more logical here, Sakuma-san. Surely youâve developed some theories about this case. This time tell me what you think.â
âSure. But can we do it somewhere else?â
Miyoshi gasped, lips forming an O. âSakuma-san, are you trying to proposition me in broad daylight?â Â
âNow thatâs a leap of logic.â Sakuma said dryly as he grabbed Miyoshi by his upper arm and lead him towards the entrance of the restaurant. âI just want to be sitting down when you prove all my ideas wrong.â
âOr we could save some time and I could just tell you right now: youâre wrong.â
Sakuma frowned heavily as Miyoshi asked the waitress for a table for two.Â
âYou never know, I could be right,â he grumbled.Â
âYou just admitted yourself that youâre wrong.â
They were still arguing when the waitress led them to a booth.Â
âBut itâs different when Iâm hearing it from someone else. Especially when itâs coming from you.â
A menu was placed in front of them but they paid it no heed. Miyoshi rested his elbows on the edge of the table and steepled his fingers. Â âFine then. If I donât find any holes in your theory, Iâll pay for lunch. But if youâre wrong then youâre paying.â
Sakuma raised his chin.Â
âYouâre on.âÂ
Miyoshi smirked. âIâm ordering the most expensive thing on the menu then.â
Summary: 4 Times Miyoshi Called Sakuma (+ 1 Time Sakuma Called Miyoshi)
-
1.
The shrill ringing of his mobile forced Sakuma awake. He shot upright and barely caught himself from falling off his bed.
He groped for his phone and immediately accepted the call. âThis is Sakuma. Has there been any development? Did they find any newâ?!â
ââGood morning, Sakuma-san.â
Sakuma paused. Then uttered with extreme feeling, âFuck. You. Miyoshi.â
âHmm, Iâll have to think about it. Anyway I called you to ask which route youâd suggest for an early morning jogââ
Sakuma ended the call abruptly then plopped down face first into his pillow.
-
2.
Sakuma was in the middle of typing out a text message to one of the junior detectives when his cell phone started ringing.
The words flashed at his screen: Incoming call. Miyoshi.
The temptation to decline the call was overwhelming. But experience has taught him that it was better for everyone involved to simply indulge Miyoshi and his whims instead of ignoring him.
âWhat do you want,â he asked, struggling to keep his tone even.
âWhat did you have for lunch?â
âHuh?!â
Miyoshi sighed on the other line. âIâm asking you what you had for lunch to give me some idea. Hatano cancelled on me so now I donât know what to eat.â
âChicken nanban bento from Family Mart. And just go eat where you were planning to eat lunch in the first place.â
Miyoshi didnât answer immediately.
Sakuma could almost see him wrinkling his nose in disapproval.
âA convenient store lunch box. How predictable. As a grown man you do know you should eat better right? And I donât want to eat at Joel Robuchon again. I feel like I eat nothing but French cuisine when Iâm with Hatano.â
âEat something Japanese then. Youâre Japanese, arenât you?â
âMostly Japanese to be exact. And now that you mention it teppanyaki sounds good. Hmm, but maybe not beef. Crab and lobster teppanyaki would be nice.â
âI hate you,â Sakuma said flatly, before pressing the end call button with a vengeance.
-
3.
Sakuma had carelessly left his cell phone at his desk when he went out to interview a suspect.
When he got back, he had five missed calls and one unread text message from Miyoshi.
the nyt crossword misspelled amenhotep :(
-
4.
Sakuma was reviewing a presentation when the landline at his desk rang.
He had a briefing to give in a few hours time and he still hadnât gone over all of the slides. He didnât bother taking his eyes off of his laptop screen; sheer muscle memory allowed him to press the speaker phone button correctly.
âSakuma hereââ
ââDo you think I should change my eye cream? I donât think my current oneââ
Someone had left the volume on high, so Miyoshiâs voice reverberated in the tiny room Sakuma shared with Odagiri and Tazaki.
Sakuma couldnât have grabbed the handset fast enough.
âWhy are you calling me here?!â Sakuma hissed.
Miyoshi huffed impatiently. âI told you, I need your opinion onââ
ââI didnât mean that! And stop calling me on the landline!â
âWhy? Is Tazaki there? Odagiri?â
Thankfully no.
âNo. Both of them went home already,â Sakuma answered shortly.
He could hear Miyoshi chuckle on the other end.
âThey left you to do all the work again, huh?â
âShut up,â Sakuma muttered. âAnd why donât you try getting some proper sleep instead of wasting your money on eye creams?! Itâs three am! You should be sleeping!â
Sakuma hung up before Miyoshi could point out the hypocrisy in his statement.
-
5.
Miyoshi answered on the third ring. âIs this about the murder along the old river?â
Sakuma sputtered. âHow did youâ?! No! Itâs not about that!â
He winced at the denial. He was calling because of the murder along the old river.
Miyoshi seemed to know it too because he had adopted a faux hurt tone. âNo one ever calls me to say hello.â
Sakuma refused to give him the satisfaction. âIâm going to drop by your lab later. I expect you to treat me to ramen.â
He could just ask Miyoshi his opinion about the murder over dinner.
Summary:Â Sawamura snorted. âFine, Okumura! You shouldnât squabble with people over petty stuff you know!â
-
âBe prepared to lose, Koushuu!â
Koushuu went rigid. âWhat did you call me?â he asked, tone arctic.
Sawamura frowned, eyebrows furrowing. âKoushuu! Isnât that your name?! The guy whoâs always with you calls you that, right?â
Koushuâs lip curled. Slowly, so that even a simpleton like Sawamura could understand, he gritted out, âItâs Okumura. Koushuu is my first name.â
Sawamura narrowed his eyes at him and tilted his head at an angle. âSo whatâŚ?â
âSo you should call me Okumura! Donât use my first name!â
Sawamura snorted. âFine, Okumura! You shouldnât squabble with people over petty stuff you know!â
Koushuuâs eye twitched. He didnât want to hear this from the very same person who went on about the nuances of the shapes of rice heaps. He certainly didnât want to hear this from the very same person who thought settling their differences could be done through arm wrestling.
âWhatever. Letâs just start.â
âYeah! Prepare to lose!â
Sawamura set his left elbow on the table, flexing his fingers in what he probably thought was an intimidating manner.
Koushuu stared at him with incredulous disdain.
âAre you seriously going to use your left arm?â
âWhy?! Whatâs wrong with my leftâ?!â Sawamura then gasped in outrage, realization dawning on him. âAre you discriminating against lefties?! Is that what this is about?!â
Koushuu could feel the beginning of a headache developing in his right temple. âAre you seriously going to use your pitching arm in something like this?â
Sawamura blinked and looked at his left hand. âOh. I didnât think of that.â
He chewed on his lower lip and muttered to himself. âThat was close. I shouldâve thought of that!â
Koushuu usually had better self control than this but Sawamura made him irrational. He couldnât help biting out, âYou wouldâve if you actually did any thinking.â
Sawamura squawked at him. âW-WHAT?! Now youâve done it! I wonât go easy on you!â
Koushuu set his right elbow on the table, using his other hand to push back his fringe.
âPlease donât Sawamura-senpai. Because I wonât be going easy on you.â
Summary: One of their cows is named Raskolnikov. [Gin no Saji AU]
1.
This isnât the first time Kazuya has heard the words, âWeâre going to Koushien.â There are countless books and movies about the subject containing the same iteration, each only slightly different in execution.
But this is the first time heâs heard it said unironically in real life. Itâs almost nauseating in its earnestness.
And of course it has to come from Sawamura Eijun.
-
2.
Kazuya has long stopped playing baseball but he will always have an interest in the game. So he knows that their baseball club is above average at best.
Theyâll win a few rounds but Koushien will remain as a dream.
Sawamura doesnât seem to think so though.
Kazuya hates that kind of baseless optimism. But he finds out, after watching game after game, that what really annoys him is the teamâs increasing dependence on Sawamura.
Sure, Sawamuraâs an idiot who only has stamina and boundless energy to recommend him but even Kazuya could see how each and every game chips away at him slowly.
-
3.
It ends with a one run difference.
Kazuya expects hysterics and tears and snot.
When it ends, Sawamuraâs lips are quivering and his eyes are bright with tears.
He is frighteningly quiet.
The tears remain unshed.
-
4.
Kazuya hears the news from Kuramochi about Sawamura dropping out of school to find work.
Things click in to place: Sawamuraâs desperation, the weeks of absences after their loss, the empty desk in their dorm room which used to contain piles of shoujo manga.
He feels helpless at first. (Thereâs really nothing he can do about Sawamurasâ debt or the unselfishly selfish decision to stop school.)
But the overwhelming urge to wring Sawamuraâs neck and shout at him wins out in the end.
He knows itâs shameless but he begs Kuramochi to take him to the Sawamurasâ ranch.
-
5.
Kazuya stands right next to Sawamura as they watch the the cows being led to the livestock transport truck.
Sawamura mutters each of the cows names in an increasingly tight voice.
Heâs outright bawling by the time he says goodbye to the last cow, which is named Raskolnikov of all things.
Kazuya stares straight ahead. He watches the truck get smaller and smaller, until itâs completely gone from sight.
Sawamura doesnât stop crying for a long time.
-
6.
Sawamuraâs eyes are red-rimmed when they sit together in silence drinking fresh milk. Itâs the last batch of milk from the cows that Sawamuraâs family has lovingly cared for for years.
Itâs the most delicious milk Kazuya has ever had.
Characters/Pairings: Yukimura Tooru, one sided Yukki/Mattsun
Summary: Somewhere around middle school, Yukki has stopped thinking of himself as âTooru.â Yukki is what Mattsun calls him, so Yukki he becomes.
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Somewhere around middle school, Yukki has stopped thinking of himself as âTooru.â
Yukki is what Mattsun calls him, so Yukki he becomes.
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Yukki drafts his first manga in the hospital while his foots is in a cast. Because he lives up to the cliche, it is, of course, a sports manga.
Art imitates life, so his protagonist is seriously injured during his third year in middle school.
Art imitates life but only up to this point. Yukkiâs protagonist recovers within a prodigious amount of time and is eventually made a member of the Japanese national team.
Yukki, meanwhile, is left with scars that snake around his calf and the bittersweet memories of when he used to be able to run freely.
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Itâs a classic story. One he has read over and over again, illustrated in black and white and screentones. Mattsun is a stereotypical shounen protagonist: cheerful, charismatic, and someone who never gives up.
So when Mattsun befriends him, Yukki immediately thinks of his himself as one of those secondary characters being collected by the hero arc after arc to round up his group.
Except thereâs only Yukki.
Mattsun can hold a conversation with probably anybody in class but during lunch thereâs only the two of them, tables arranged to face one another, knees bumping, while they steal food from each otherâs bento.
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Mattsun is a striker. His play is aggressive and he attacks relentlessly. Yukki wouldâve like to be able to run beside him but by his second year heâs assigned as the goalkeeper out of need and not because of his abilities.
There are advantages to the position though.
Watching Mattsunâs back is an important job, one which he considers as his lifeâs worth.
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The first manga Yukki submits to an actual editor is a psychological thriller about students trapped in a school building while a killer is on the loose.
His manuscript is returned to him with comments saying that itâs not what theyâre looking for, that itâs too bleak and that his art needs improvement.
Yukki reads the criticisms in harsh red ink once. He runs through them again before thrashing it.
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Mattsun doesnât realize it but he and Yukki have their first argument during their first year in middle school. Itâs over something petty and childish so Yukki bites down on his bottom lip and he only nods or shakes his head to the enthusiastic questions directed at him.
Heâs trying his best to sulk but Mattsun doesnât even notice.
By the end of the day, he decided itâs no use getting angry with Mattsun at all.
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Yukki tries to write a shounen manga. They praise his art but the characters and plot apparently fall flat.
He traces the face of his hero. Itâs mere ink on paper but the character he created reminds him so much of Mattsun.
Actually, every hero he creates reminds him so much Mattsun.
Maybe he should try writing female protagonists instead.
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Yukkiâs world crashes around him at fifteen.
His parentsâ divorce devastates him even though heâs been expecting it for some time.
But itâs nothing compared to the thought of being separated from Mattsun.
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Yukki knows, better than anyone, how desperately he clings to Mattsun.
Itâs a fact he accepts, one he knows as truth.
But it surprises him to know that Mattsun clings to him just as tightly.
Heâll never forget the desperation in Mattsunâs voice, when he falls to his knees to beg Yukki to stay.
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Yukki hits the jackpot with erotic manga.
Itâs an amalgamation, a careful study of the hundreds of titles heâs consumed over the years, calculated and designed with all the popular tropes to appeal to readers.
He chooses the penname Kotori Piyoko. Itâs a fun, flirty name, at odds with his personality, appearance and outlook.
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Their reunion isnât ideal. For one thing, Yukki is running away from his editor and his leg is starting to fail him. For another, the Mattsun that stands before him is practically a stranger, defeat clinging about him along with the smell of cigarette smoke and heavy perfume.
But itâs still his Mattsun and something warm settles over his chest. It overwhelms him as it rises up his throat and he tries his best not to cry.
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Looking at Yukki at first glance, one wouldnât have guessed that he played sports. His mother scolded him repeatedly about his bad posture and he could never ignore the dark circles under his eyes when he looked into a mirror, the consequence of staying up late reading manga.
But football was freedom. He liked the smell of grass and he liked the feel of the ground under his feet as he ran as fast he could.
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Heâs twenty three when he starts to feel a constant pain in his lower back. He also finds himself massaging his wrist often and he canât even remember a time when he didnât have a stiff neck.
Yukki is usually indifferent but heâs body is rebelling loudly against the twelve or more hours he spends everyday hunched over his table.
His doctor recommends light exercise, to take brisk walks and to join a gym and get a personal trainer.
Yukki frowns and nods his head, promising his doctor to take his suggestions into consideration.
Itâs a blatant lie. He doesnât have the time to exercise.
But then Midori happened and Yukki found himself playing survival games weekly with with Mattsun.
A gun in his hands and the sweet, sweet recoil accompanied by ricocheting bullets and Mattsunâs laughter makes him forget temporarily about the chapters heâs churning out weekly like a robot.
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Yukki wants to write a shoujo manga.
He wants to do floral backgrounds and bubbles and write about two characters falling in love. It would be sweet, innocent, something to make oneâs toes curl in pleasure.
But he has no experience in love and every attempt feels like wistful thinking.
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Yukki opens his door one day to find Mattsun grinning at him wearing a white military uniform for one of his games.
And there is a quiet revelation.
Itâs a silent gasp, a sigh, like curtains being pulled back from a dark room.
And oh, he remembers. He was so happy and excited, about meeting Mattsun again that he forgot about his problem.
Yukki allows himself to straighten Mattsunâs tie then he forces himself to take a step back. He lays on the compliments thick, repeatedly telling Mattsun he looks good wearing a military uniform. And he takes another step back when all he really wants to do is run his hands over the lapels of Mattsunâs jacket and kiss him senseless.
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Heâs always loved Mattsun one way or another. So it doesnât really matter how he loves him.
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Falling in love with your best friend is also a cliche.
He doesnât even bother making a manga out of this storyline because no one would want to read about a weak-willed hero and his unrequited love.
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Mattsun attracts all sorts of people. Yukki is completely unsurprised when he finds out he that his table is usually booked days in advance in the host club. People tended to take second, third looks whether Mattsun is dressed in his work clothes, shirt crisp and tie impeccable or if heâs wearing shorts and an old t-shirt.
Itâs unfortunate but Mattsun also tends to attract the worst kind of people.
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Yukki has never loathed anyone before Midori. He will be the first to admit that heâs temper is kind of short (an understatement, as Mattsun would attest) but he forgets easily.
But loathing someone with every fiber of your being required too much energy, and he has barely enough to divide between his work and survival games.
Midori is the sole exception. Because of him, Yukki fully understood how anger could turn oneâs vision red and how the promise of revenge could turn the blood running in his veins ice cold.
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Yukki also learns how to feel inadequate.
It was bad when he used to watch Mattsun happily trail after Midori.
It was even worse when Mattsun barely cracked a smile after ending his partnership with Midori.
He has always knows his weaknesses and accepted them but some truths are harder to swallow than others.
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Yukki drafts a gory horror manga. His editor looks at the first page of the manuscript and immediately says, âNo. Absolutely not.â
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Tachibana reminds Yukki so much of Mattsun.
They have the same characteristics of a shounen protagonist. If heâs honest Tachibana fits the mold more so than Mattsun. A strong sense of justice, the painful earnestness, and the occasional declarations about the power of friendship read like a high-selling title on Shounen Jump.
So Yukki tries to hate him a little. (He fails though because Tachibana is kind as he is strong.) Because Tachibana is whole and healthy and he can do what Yukki canât.
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âMaybe I should write a shounen manga,â Yukki mutters, cutting off his editor. âI have a lot of inspiration right now.â
Because his editor knows him so well by now, he simply shrugs and says, âSure, show it to me when you think we have something we can work with.â
Yukki never does get around to drafting a shounen manga.
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Yukki learns to love playing survival games eventually.
He canât be an attacker but the role of sniper fits him to a tee.
He grows to love the position just like he grew to love playing as goalkeeper. He likes protecting Mattsunâs back.
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Aside from his parents, Haruki is the only one who calls him Tooru nowadays.
(Well his editor uses his full name when heâs pissed but thatâs not really the point.)
He finds that he doesnât mind. Itâs kind of nice in a way.
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Yukki admits to himself what he could never admit to Mattsun.
He wouldâve never made it as a professional football player.
He doesnât have Mattsunâs reflexes, Harukiâs dedication and knowledge, or Tachibanaâs sheer physicality. And since heâs already started being honest, he knows he could never win against Midori.
So Yukki chose his profession because itâs the one thing heâs truly good at, which is to put pencil to paper and escape for a few moments.
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Yukki knows that his series is past its prime. His title is still selling well but he has always been brutally honest with himself. He canât do any better than what heâs already done.
So he whines a lot to his editor.
His editor is a nice man with two kids and a loving wife who has a tendency to nag him. He also has more patience in his pinky finger than what Yukki has in his whole body.
âThen write something else,â he says before redirecting back their discussion to the new volume cover.
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Sometimes Mattsun knocks on his door at 3 am in the morning to sit at his table and drink beer while Yukki works.
âTheyâre good kids,â Mattsun blurts out.
Yukki doesnât look up. âHmm?â
âI meant Hotaru and Haru-Haruki. Theyâre good kids. And weâre⌠weâre a good team.â
Yukki hums thoughtfully. âI donât think Haru-Haruki counts as a kid though.â
Mattsun groans. âThatâs not the point Yukkiââ
ââAnd weâre not a good team. Weâre the best.â
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Yukki simply tries to write.
Itâs reminiscent of the first story he ever drafted when he stuck in the hospital.
Itâs about a protagonist whoâs aiming to be a professional football player but heâs involved in a traffic accident in his second year of middle school and he has to give up on his dreams.
Years later, his protagonist ends up as a mangaka who moves in a shoebox apartment where dust motes dance in the air and the shelves are lined with books with bent spines.
The peaceful life of his protagonist is interrupted by his annoying, loud neighbors who drag him away from his work to play violent survival games.
It will never sell, Yukki tells himself. Itâs horribly self indulgent and embarrassingly truthful. Thereâs barely any excitement and there isnât even much of a plot. But Yukki submits it to his editor, shaking hands hidden by the sleeves of his cardigan that went past the tips of his fingers.
His editor is utterly quiet when he reads it. He reaches the last page, then he goes back to the first one to read it again.
When he finishes, he smiles at Yukki.
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Yukki is getting ahead of himself but he would like to use the penname âTooru.â
Summary:Â âYou shouldnât get attached, yâknow.â [Gin no Saji AU]
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Kazuyaâs never had a pet and heâs never shown an interest in animals. But watching the runt in a litter of eight getting pushed around by its siblings raised his protective instincts. He skimmed his finger lightly over one of the pigletâs ears and he tried very hard not to smile when it twitched its snout at him.
âI guess Iâm not the only one who doesnât do well in my fights,â Kazuya murmured.
âYou shouldnât get attached, yâknow.â
Kazuya fought down a blush at being caught. He looked up from his crouch to see Sawamura leaning over him. âTheyâre going to be raised for meat. Youâre just making it harder for yourself.â
âIâm not getting attached,â Kazuya replied a little too defensively.
Sawamura snorted and shook his head. He straightened his posture and put both hands on his hips.
âDonât treat them as pets! Listen to me, Miyuki Kazuya! I am being nice to you and sharing wisdom that could be useful to a city boy like you!â
Kazuya stood up and rolled his eyes Sawamura. âLike I said, no oneâs getting attached around here.â
Sawamura was persistent though. âLies! I can see right through you!â He clapped a heavy hand on Kazuyaâs shoulder. âBecause I know exactly how you feel! When I was six I got attached to one of my grandpaâs chicken. I even named him Ichiro! I cried a lot when I had to behead Ichiro but I learned a lot from that experience!â
Kazuya tried not to shudder at the combination of Sawamuraâs awful naming sense and the thought of a airhead like him beheading a chicken.
He tried to pry Sawamuraâs hand from his shoulder.
âYouâre getting ahead of yourself, Sawaââ
ââBut this is really unexpected! Who knew that a cold-hearted city boy who wears glasses could have a soft spot for cute, little piglets!â
To no avail.
âWhat does wearing glasses have anything to do with it?!â
Even worse, Sawamura threw an arm around his neck as they walked out of the pig pen.
âDonât worry! Let Sawamura-senpai teach you all about the heartbreak of getting attached to livestock!â
Summary:Â Hirofumi stares at the batter head on and he takes a deep breath.
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Every team has their own quirks and Hirofumi quickly finds out that animal nicknames is one of Seidouâs.
He knows logically that itâs just Sawamuraâs way of welcoming him but when he throws an arm over Hirofumiâs shoulders and dubs him âGiraffe!â heâs suddenly reminded of that time during elementary school when he would bend his knees and slouch his shoulders, desperately trying not to be a head taller than the crowd.
He forces an uneasy smile and his shoulders only loosen when Sawamuraâs ordered by Kuramochi to play a video game.
Hirofumi retreats to his bed with a book clasped tightly in both hands to act as a shield.
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âGood job, today!â Sawamura says a little too cheerfully and a little too loudly for someone who just ran twenty laps around the field.
The hand he slaps against his back feels heavy with expectation.
Hirofumi canât say anything in reply because heâs breathing too hard.
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They donât have a good beginning.
For one thing, Sawamura greets him by the door with fake blood running down his face, fully intending to scare the living daylights out of him.
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Itâs not that Sawamuraâs quieter on the field.
He regularly shouts ridiculous things to the fielders and his cheers can be heard all the way to the back of the bleachers.
If Hirofumi had to pick a word it would probably be focused.
When Sawamuraâs standing on the mound, he focuses all his boundless energy, all his concentration towards pitching.
In the times before his windup, just after heâs been given the signal, Sawamura takes a deep, deep breath as he stares down the batter.
Hirofumi sometimes catches himself breathing along with him.
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Aside from quirks, baseball teams have their own traditions.
And one of Seidouâs is the annual game between the first years, and the second years and third years.
Hirofumi wants to puke. Or maybe run back to his dorm and lock himself in. Either of those two options would do but then the coach is calling his name and heâs taking one shaky step after the other.
Heâs a wreck when he reaches the mound.
His fingers are cold when heâs handed the ball and he just knows heâs going to do poorly when he hears a familiar voice call out his name.
âAsada! You better pitch well today or Mochi-senpaiâs gonna wrestle you to the ground!â
Hirofumi turns his head so fast to the side he almost gets whiplash.
The first string had free practice scheduled today but Sawamura was right there at the bullpen shouting ridiculous things at him.
âShow them what the tallest land animal in the world can do!â
Hirofumi canât help it. His shoulders are shaking as he laughs. He hopes no one noticed that he surreptitiously wiped at his eyes when he buried his face in his hand.
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Hirofumi stares at the batter head on and he takes a deep breath.
He closes his eyes, briefly thinking of the number eighteen, then he raises his leg for a full windup.
Summary: Seto notices Koushuu staring. âYou could go say hello.â
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Koushuu doesnât mean to stare. Heâs steadily going through (read: dying) his second bowl of rice when a commotion breaks over the first stringâs table.
In the middle of it is Sawamura Eijun as per usual. He looks mightily distressed while pointing an accusing finger at Miyuki and calling him a host of unsavory things.
Koushuu frowns at the scene, chopsticks forgotten in his hand.
He wouldnât have noticed that heâs staring if Seto didnât elbow him rather painfully.
âYou could go say hello.â
Seto, who had just finished his third bowl, damn him, grinned widely, the corners of his eye crinkling in amusement.
âSawamura-senpai seems like a nice enough guy. Iâm sure he wouldnât mind if you introduced yourself.â
Koushuu stares at him blankly before redirecting his gaze to his tray.
His bowl was still half-full.
âI mean Yuiâs rooming with Furuya-senpai and theyâve probably already practiced together. So you should make a move on Sawamura-senpai soon.â
Koushuu snorts at Setoâs choice of words.
âI didnât mean it like that!â
Koushuu almost forgives Seto when he surreptitiously helps himself to a mouthful of rice from his bowl.
Seto chews carefully, face carefully blank when he says, âOh. Or did you want me to mean it like thatâŚ?â
Or maybe the forgiveness could wait a little longer.
Koushuu jostles Setoâs side with his elbow in return.
âOkay! Okay! I was just kidding! But Iâm serious about introducing yourself to Sawamura-senpai. I think heâd be thrilled if you went up to him and said something like,â at this Seto cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and narrowed his eyes, trying (and failing) to imitate Koushuu, ââYouâre the reason why I came here senpai, so please let me catch for you.ââ
Koushuu chooses to ignore him in favour of finishing his rice.
Sawamura seems like an excitable person who flushes visibly at the barest hint of praise. Thrilled probably wonât cover his reaction in the unlikely event that Koushuu ever said anything like that to him.
Summary: Inaho woke up with a throbbing pain at his side. [AU]
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Inaho woke up with a throbbing pain at his side.
âYouâre awake.â
He turned his head and blinked.
Count Troyard was sitting by his bedside. The white monotony of the infirmary was interrupted by the plush wing armchair some poor lackey had to drag all the way to medical just for the count to sit in.
His coat was folded over the arm of the chair and he wasnât wearing his gloves. In his hands he held a rather battered copy of Grayâs Anatomy.
âGood morning,â Inaho greeted, for lack of anything to say.
âItâs already afternoon,â Count Troyard pointed out. âGood afternoon would be more accurate.â
âOh. Good afternoon then.â
âGood afternoon. I came here to inquire about your health since the doctor mentioned you might be waking up soon.â
âIâm alive. I remember Yagarai-sensei mentioning that the bullet passed through cleanly,â acknowledged Inaho before moving on to more pertinent matters. âThatâs an old edition. The latest edition is available in the database.â
Count Troyard marked his page with a bookmark before putting the tome down. âYes, I know,â he said slowly. âI was just reading this to past the time.â
Inaho dug his elbows against the mattress and tried to sit up. Count Troyard graciously averted his eyes while he struggled.
The count busied himself with the full tea service that someone had arranged on the bedside table. âWould you like some tea? But I guess youâd prefer water insteadâŚ?â
âWater, first. Tea, later,â Inaho said curtly, once had had managed to sit upright. âI forgot to ask though, are you satisfied?â
Count Troyard leaned back on his seat and handed him a glass of water. He had even remembered to include a straw. âThe folly of most people is that theyâre never satisfied.â
Inaho accepted the glass. âI was referring to the duel.â
âThe same could also apply to the duel.â
Inaho sipped his water. When he finished he had to ask the count, âIâm just curious.â
âYes?â
âTrillram is a vassal under your protectionâ
âYes.â
âAnd as his lord, you do have the right to fight duels in his honor.â
âYes, thatâs correct.â
âBut you donât really like him donât you?â
Count Troyard peered at Inaho from under his eyelashes. âIs it that obvious?â he asked softly.
Inaho found himself choosing his words carefully. âNo. Youâve been nothing but courteous to both Vers and UFE soldiers. But Iâve heard⌠rumors.â
âYouâre right. I donât like him,â Count Troyard admitted. âBut I was curious so I fought the duel in his stead. Would you like some tea now?â
âCuriosity killed the cat,â Inaho said outloud, almost as an after thought. âAnd yes Iâd like some tea.â
Count Troyard smiled at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling. âAnd youâre the cat in this scenario Iâm afraid. Milk? Sugar?â
Inaho shook his head. âBut I have nine lives so it doesnât really matter. No, thank you. They water down the tea so much it tastes like nothing.â
Count Troyard frowned and took an experimental sip.
The annals of history would remember this as the first thing they agreed on.
Summary:Â The ink had barely dried on the peace treaty when the joint military exercises between the Vers Empire and the UFE was launched (aka Slaine challenges Inaho to a duel and Inaho accepts). [AU]
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i.
The ink had barely dried on the peace treaty when the joint military exercises between the Vers Empire and the UFE was launched.
The press release contained improbably optimistic phrases such as âdeveloping mutually beneficial relationshipsâ and âassisting on settling differences peacefully.â
When Inaho heard the news, the new Empress of Vers immediately came to mind.
Not once had he been driven to obscenities in his two years of active military service, but he thought Lieutenant Maritoâs heartfelt âBullshit!â summed up the whole thing rather succinctly.
He had expressed the said sentiment to Captain Magbaredgeâin a more respectful tone of courseâand all she could do was share a pained look with him before downing a shot of whiskey.
Tensions were still high and now they were forced to eat and sleep in the same barracks with the people who were trying their very hardest to kill them six months ago. In the hierarchy of bad ideas Inaho considered this one to rank somewhere at the very top.
In fact, he was mentally listing the worst case scenarios (yes, the plural form was necessary) that could possibly emerge from this situation when he bumped into Baron Trillram.
Inaho looked up from his tablet and blinked. âOh, sorry.â
His alert for emails then decided to chime at that exact moment; the subject line was tagged high priority. Inaho frowned and muttered absentmindedly, âPlease excuse me, I need to answer this.â
He then proceeded to head towards Captain Magbaredgeâs office in haste.
He didnât have the opportunity to see Baron Trillramâs face slowly turning red in anger.
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ii.
Inaho was eating lunch with Calm, Inko, Nina and Rayet when Slaine Troyard approached their table.
Nina let out an involuntary gasp while Calm and Inko looked wide-eyed. The force of Rayetâs glare couldâve stopped a man dead in his tracks but Count Troyard didnât seem to notice.
âKaizuka Inaho.â The count said Inahoâs name carefully, slowly, as if it were the first time he was saying it out loud. âI challenge you to a duel. Pistols at dawn. Please name your second.â
Then Count Troyard unbuttoned the ivory white glove by his right wrist, pulled at each finger, before leaning forward and setting down his glove in front of Inaho.
Calm sputtered in righteous indignation on his behalf. âWhat?! What for?!â
Inko joined in. âY-yeah! Inaho didnât do anything to you!â She paused for a second before whipping her head towards Inaho. âYou didnât do anything, right?â
Inaho shook his head. âNo, I didnât.â He looked up to meet Count Troyardâs gaze and tilted his head. âNot anything that Iâm aware of anyway. But I have passing knowledge on the Versian tradition of duelling and from what Iâve read duels can be demanded from offences whether real or imagined. The slight in this case must be imagined.â
Count Troyard smiled a painfully polite smile. âItâs very much real Iâm afraid. I have it on good authority that you bumped into Baron Trillram in the corridor earlier this morning. And he was greatly troubled by this series of events.â
Inaho had a moment of perfect clarity in that instant. He knew then that the count had full knowledge of the irony in his words.
âI accept,â Inaho said to the shock and dismay of his friends. âInko will be my second.â
Count Saazbaum dipped his chin in acknowledgment before walking away.
The whole cafeteria had fallen silent but Inaho didnât notice. His full attention was on the glove right next to his tray.
Nina leaned over the table and grabbed his forearm, fingers digging into his sleeve. âAre you sure about this?â
Inaho briefly met her eyes and lightly pressed a hand on top of hers. âIt will be fine. If I remember correctly it is de rigueur to delope in duels nowadays. The number of fatalities have steadily declined over the years.â
Inko was unusually silent but Inaho could feel her gaze boring into him.
âHeâs going try and kill you,â Rayet said flatly.
âI wonât let him,â Inaho assured.
Calm was livid. âThat doesnât make it any better! What were you thinking agreeing to that?! Also I canât believe you chose Inko over me as your second, whatever the hell that means! I thought I was your best friend!â
Inaho had started cautiously poking the glove with his index finger when he clarified, âTechnically, I didnât choose Inko over you. I chose Inko over Rayet and Nina.â
âWhat?!â
âYouâre my fourth choice because after me, youâre the worst shot out of us.â
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iii.
Inaho didnât use to be such a bad shot. Even without machines and computers to aid him in calculating the bullet trajectory and other relevant factors, he more often than not managed to hit what he was aiming for.
But the lost of an eye tended to wreck havoc on oneâs depth perception.
Nowadays, he considered himself lucky if he managed to go through a day without bumping against the edge of a table or a low stool.
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iv.
Everyone knew of Inahoâs duel with Count Troyard by the end of lunch. The Martians regarded him with heightened hostility but the more curious thing was the looks of pity that some gave him. Inaho personally preferred this to the numerous pats to his back and the needless advice he got from his fellow UFE soldiers.
But as expected no one came to put a stop to it.
Inaho thought it was partly because duelling was a cornerstone of the Versian Knightsâ code of honor. But the rational part of him acknowledged that blood had to be drawn, sooner or later. And apparently, sooner was tomorrow at dawn and the blood had to be his or Count Troyardâs. Or maybe even both.
So it wasnât really a surprise when Lieutenant Marito dragged him to an empty firing range after dinner. The surprise was when he handed him a pistol that looked like it should belong to a museum.
Inaho was no expert, but the ornate engraving told him it was an authentic Vers duelling pistol.
The gun felt heavy and foreign in his hand. âDeloping is considered asââ
Marito cut him off. ââI know. But itâs better to be prepared. Donât do it for yourself. Do it for your sister. You know how lucky you are that she isnât here right now?â
Inaho had no answer to that. Instead, he asked, âWhere did you get this?â
Thereâs something sharp and bitter in Maritoâs smile when he said, âSpoils of war.â
By the time Inaho left the firing range, the smell of gun powder clung so tightly to his hair and clothes that not even a shower could get rid of the scent.
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v.
Marito invited him for a drink afterwards.
Inaho politely declined.
âI meant tea you know,â Marito said ruefully.
Inaho was equally rueful. âI know, but I have an early morning appointment tomorrow.â
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vi.
Inaho was half expecting an audience. But when he he and Inko arrived at the appointed place, there was only Count Troyard, his second, who he knew to be called Sir Harklight andâ
âYagarai-sensei. Good morning.â
âG-good morning sensei,â Inko also greeted. If she was shivering because of the cold or because of her nerves, Inaho couldnât quite tell.
Yagarai shifted on his feet and frowned deeply. He seemed to debate with himself for a moment before nodding his head sharply.
âGood morning. Kaizuka, Amifumi. Now that youâre here I believe I should wait a few a feet away and make sure that my back is turned.â
âYes,â Inaho nodded, âSo you can have deniability of the events.â
Yagarai pressed his lips together. The gaze he levelled Inaho was one of extreme disappointment and exasperation.
Inaho had a feeling that even if his sister werenât here sheâd still get a full account of what happened from Yagarai anyway.
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vii.
Harklight approached Inaho and Inko with a heavy leather case in his arms which he promptly opened. âCount Troyard has graciously allowed you make the choice.â
A matched pair of pistols with silver filigree handles stared back at Inaho. He chose one without a thought. Traditionally, duelling pistols came in identical pairs to put both duellists on equal footing.
Rayet wouldâve scolded him for his perceived carelessness but Inaho didnât think Count Troyard would tamper with one of the guns to put him at a disadvantage.
The lost of an eye was a challenge in itself after all.
Inko was as still as a statue beside him. âAre you sure about this?â
Inaho tested the grip of his chosen pistol. âIâm sure.â
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viii.
When Count Troyard approached Inaho, he bade him âgood morning.â
Inaho frowned, mulling over his potential faux pas. Â He wasnât quite sure how duels started but he was pretty sure it didnât start with polite greetings.
âGood morning,â Count Troyard returned smoothly.
Or maybe they did?
Count Troyard smoothed back the hair from his forehead with a hand. Inaho noticed that he was wearing gloves again. But before he could go off tangent and list the reason why glovesâwhite gloves especiallyâwere impractical, Count Troyard motioned with his head. âTen paces as agreed. Ready?â
âReady.â
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ix.
âTen.â
The literature Inaho had read impressed that Versian duels were an exercise in bravery. He would like to disagree though. Inaho felt oddly calm with his back against Count Troyardâs and his feet moving mechanically in accordance with Harklightâs countdown.
âNine.â
Inaho could almost hear him heart beat slowly, almost lethargically. He credited his unusual cool to the process of stress inoculation. Baring the altercation with Count Troyard, he had been shot at in two separate occasions during the war. All things considered, the feeling of absolute helplessness, of holding nothing but air in his hand, was far scarier. Â
âEight.â
He knew he should focus at the situation at hand but he couldnât stop thinking about Count Troyardâs gloves.
âSeven.â
Which had Inaho idly wondering if Count Troyard would aim for his right eye to keep things neat and tidy.
âSix.â
But this was very different from then, he supposed. This time they both had their feet on the ground.
âFive.â
Except Inaho had both of his eyes back then. Except Count Troyard wasnât a count and he didnât wear gloves back then.
âFour.â
A lifetime ago, Yuki-nee had told him to trust his gut and make the call. Inaho had always known, but this is probably the first time that he has consciously acknowledged that heâs going to delope.
âThree.â
The were no formal rules on how to delope but he had read that the common practice was to fire to the ground or to the air.
âTwo.â
Look him in the eye, aim no higher, Marito had advised. Aim for his side. A near-miss is ideal. And Inaho decided to do just that.
âOne.â
When he turned around to face Count Troyard, Inaho felt like this was the first time he could see him clearly since the incident at Count Saazbaumâs landing castle.
He slowly raised his arm.
-
x.
There are some things you learn about a man when heâs on the other side of the barrel and staring you down at point blank range.
Back then, Inaho learned that Count Troyard was very determined.
Summary:Â "Amazing, Harucchi! Amazing! A haircut makes so much difference, huh?! Maybe I should get a haircut too!" [Drabble]
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Eijun tugs at Haruichi's bangs and he watches in rapt fascination as the strands bounce before falling back neatly into place.
There was a time when Haruichi would've blushed under such ministrations but he's long accepted that Eijun has no concept of personal space.
"Amazing, Harucchi! Amazing! A haircut makes so much difference, huh?! Maybe I should get a haircut too!"
Eijun makes another move to touch Haruichi's hair, but the latter manages to catch his wrist in mid-motion.
Haruichi slowly, deliberately shakes his head.
His voice is curiously flat when he says, "So that's how it is."
He's peering at Eijun through his lashes when he delivers a stunning blow. "I would've gotten a haircut sooner if I knew this was the way to get your attention."
Eijun's eyes widen comically and he starts to stutter.
âW-w-what are you talking about?! Have I been neglecting our friendship?! I didnât mean to! PLEASE FORGIVE ME!â
It takes every inch of Haruichiâs willpower to keep his expression blank when Eijun stands up to bow at his waist to emphasize the sincerity of his apology.