Utena, Revolutionary Girl Fan Fiction ❯ Memory of the Rose ❯ Chapter Five ( Chapter 5 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

"I learned from the best," he had calmly explained at her first painful thud to the floor. "I know you can do better than that. Now," he prepared himself for her next attack, "again."

"Again," cried Mitsuru from the sidelines. "Sari, again!"

Hissing in pain, Sari pushed off from the floor and grabbed her foil with her numb left hand. Her right one was a mass of jangly nerves from the most recent recoil of her weapon. He was beyond good; her opponent was god-like on the floor. This was quickly going from exciting to a major pain in her ass. He was far better than she, so much more so it was ridiculous. For every thrust she made, he had a parry; for every swipe, he had the perfectly timed dodge.

"I'm moving," she cried out, warily circling the motionless fighter once more. They'd been dueling for almost half an hour and she had yet to even see his face, this slender figure straight out of Mitsuru's past. Her sword swished through the air again--

...and again...

...and again...

...and again...

At long last Sari curled on the floor, her lungs working overtime, wheezing in every breath across cracked lips. Even her teeth hurt at this point; she had a bad habit of grinding them in the middle of battle, and she'd given them a workout today along with the rest of her. There was a momentary pause -two voices talking across the room- and she just concentrated on getting enough oxygen to her lungs. .

Two pairs of feet by her head. .

"You did well," the voice was accompanied by a slender, long-fingered hand and large blue eyes. It should have been a musician's hand, but was a fighter's hand instead. Sari found herself helped to her feet and supported in part by a slight man much shorter than Mitsuru. He, unlike her teacher, was delicately made, and had eyes the color of fine Danish china. "You say you only started four months ago? Impressive."

"That's what I say," Mitsuru broke in happily. "I really think she's ready for competition Kaoru-sempai."

The man frowned. "Are you certain, Tsuwabuki-kun? She's good, for a beginner, but I would say another year of training at least would be necessary to have her in good enough form to compete."

Her mentor looked crestfallen. "But...Kaoru-sempai... you were fighting internationally at her age."

The man looked Sari over again; his eyes were warm and forthright. She found she didn't mind the slow appraisal at all. "Tsuwabuki-kun," he softly replied, "I had been trained to fight from the day I began playing the piano. Even I wouldn't have improved as quickly as you say she has. I think it's wonderful she's a natural; however, I really don't believe throwing her into a competition with only four months training will help her skill level any. Now if you want to bring her to the competition, I suggest it. Let her get a sense of the fighters around her. Let her watch master swordsmen at work." He paused again, and his pretty features darkened. "Touga and Saionji will be there," he said in a low Japanese, unaware that Sari spoke Japanese almost fluently. Even Mitsuru didn't know about the lessons Yamika-momma had given her for all those years. "I suggest you go. There might be news of Nanami's condition." He looked over at Sari with an almost embarrassed air, as if he knew it improper to speak in another language in front of her, but needed to do so. By the sound of the conversation, it seemed he had to. .

Nanami, a little voice reminded her, that is Mitsuru's girlfriend. Right?

Mitsuru also glanced her way. "If you'll forgive us, Sari-chan," he smoothly interjected, "Kaoru-sempai and I have things to discuss. If you'll go rest on that bench and allow us to finish our conversation, then we can work together on your form. Kaoru-sempai will only be here a few days, so we're going to make good use of his time here."

Kaoru-sempai chuckled and rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Yes, well, I have a meeting with a few old friends in Tokyo in about a week. A reunion of sorts, and I wouldn't want to miss it. Really, Tsuwabuki-kun, you should consider attending."

"I would, Sempai, but my duties here..." Mitsuru trailed off.

Sari fought to keep her feet, and moved quietly over to the side. Oh, how she hurt! Out of the corner of her eye she followed Mr. Kaoru's movements and Mitsuru's responses; to them she would appear to be studying the glass sword. But their voices dimmed as they moved away, and she found her attention to the sword grew more intense. She hadn't had a real chance to look at it since that time four months ago. Her blood had been mopped from the floor but...

...was it her imagination, or did the sword seem almost pink? Like her life fluid had been absorbed into it rather than being wiped off? Shuddering slightly at the thought, Sari forced her protesting legs to stand and moved toward the weapon. Was it some trick of the light? A mirage, perhaps?

(Did you know?)
(Have you heard the news?)

Sari spared a quick glance over her shoulder; Mitsuru and his companion had long since disappeared into the offices above, leaving her alone with the weapons and the silent hall. It wasn't normally like Mitsuru to do such a thing, but she didn't blame him; the look on his face when Mr. Kaoru had walked through the door had been priceless. His hands had come together, almost a clap of joy, then the two men had met with equally friendly grins in the middle of the room. In a way it was warming to see that there was someone who could touch Mitsuru so. Other than his elusive Nanami, that was. Just behind her, on the wall, two shadows danced and spun. The slight movements were so quick Sari didn't catch them even from the corner of her eyes.

(Once upon a time there were two boys, playing in a wood. They were best friends...)
(You're not telling it right! They were horrible enemies!)
(Well, if they were horrible enemies, why would they be _playing_ in a wood? Why wouldn't they be fighting?!)
(They _were_ fighting! They had bokkens and rapiers and daggers. They were fighting one another, except one of them always won.)

Taking a deep breath and one more glance around, Sari stepped another foot forward and carefully reached up. There was a creak, a soft titter; her arm was immediately at her side again and Sari looked frantically around the Dueling Hall for the origins of the sound. "Is anyone there?"

No answer.

Deciding she was imagining things, Sari reached forward again. A shadow mimicked her movement. The sword, secure in its height above the more common weapons, caught the last bit of sunlight from the dying day and twinkled slightly; rainbow shadows danced along the walls almost as if it had rained earlier, or perhaps prisms had been placed in the high windows. Sari glanced up but could see no telltale sparkle to speak of. The rainbows must all be from the sword, she thought. But behind her another shadow danced with a sword made of rainbows; the absence of light gathering in the corners of the room as the dark warrior thrust with her sword of refracted light.

(One day, during their contest, it began to pour down rain. It rained and rained...like cats and dogs!)
(Don't you mean it _rained_ cats and dogs?)
(Who's telling this? Me or you?!)
(I'm just trying to make a point that it can't rain _like_ cats and dogs so it had to be raining cats and dogs. That's all.)

Stretching on the tips of her toes; Sari blessed her years of ballet and all the rigorous training her instructors had given. Pressing against the case wasn't helping any; her body was flush with the damn thing from toe to nose. She was on _pointe_ and her fingertips were only now just grazing the cool surface of the blade. A black hand supported her shadow's lower back very much like her dance instructors used to. But the sword seemed even higher; glittering up there on the shelf it almost was mocking her shortness, her smallness. "Oh no, you don't," she muttered under her breath; stretching until she could feel the over-worked tendons screaming and bones popping in her back, with dark hands pressing against her waist she pushed it that last inch...
...and the hilt was miraculously in her hand. She realized all of a sudden that she hadn't needed to overwork herself like that, the blade wasn't really that much higher than her. She could have easily gripped the sword by the hilt just standing flat footed. Why had she bothered going all the way on _pointe_ for that? It wasn't even that heavy really. Nothing like it had seemed before. Just behind her the shadows drew away to begin a duel on the walls of the hall; Sari's shadow draped the pig-tailed shadow over her arm and it began.

(A girl had gone missing, the two found as they bicycled home that night. A little girl, about their age. Her parents had died, and they were looking for her. The boy who always lost thought she might have fallen in the river, but the other boy wasn't so certain.)
(I'll say! The two of them broke a lot of rules by going into that church and opening that coffin! Can you imagine what would have happened if they'd opened the wrong one?!)
(But they didn't. That's the point. They found her instead.)
(Lying in a bed of roses.)

Carefully sitting down on the floor beside the case, Sari held the sword in her lap as her ponytailed shadow danced around the hall, waving a shadow rapier. The darkness thickened as Sari stroked the weapon and her shadow stopped its cavorting and slipped up behind her. The other two forms did as well; their anxious whispers went unheard as she delicately touched the weapon. It really was a beauty; it had the look of a katana or something similar, but the edge was honed razor-sharp even now. It seemed to glitter in her loose grip; did it want more of her blood? Mentally shaking herself for such thoughts, Sari carefully began examining the sword. The tip was finer than the head of a pin; barely believable but true. The icy curved edge, the smooth line of thinnest wrought glass...even the hilt was unique. It appeared to be fashioned completely of hematite, carved with some elaborate rose pattern that the touch of fingers could appreciate more than mere faulty eyesight. Running her palms across the pummel and grip, Sari had an urge to stand and go to the center of the hall...to dance with the blade. As if sensing her intent, her shadow dropped her weapon and tried to take the real sword away from Sari, only to be restrained by the other two.

Sari wondered at its texture and its slight weight. How could she have ever thought this weapon heavy? It spoke a lot of her previous weakness that she could heft it so easily now; could even hold it one-handed as she swished it through the air in the center of the hall...the music from a dance sounded in her head; a slow, steady thrumming beat not unlike her performance of six months ago...the performance that took her into puberty...the performance...the dance...the...the...the...

("Don't," the girl in the coffin filled with roses whispered. "Don't try and free me. Don't remind her that you are here. She's gone now, eternity made her sick.")
("But...why?" asked the boy who always won those matches. "We promise--")
("Your promises are lies," the girl wept, watering the living roses beneath her body, giving them life with her body as she always had.)
("No, they aren't," the loser promised. He reached into the coffin to help her rise but a low- pitched humming began as he did so. In the sky sharp flashes of glittering silver light began to circle them like hungry vultures.)

"Sari-chan?"
Gasping, Sari whirled around, her hand opening automatically as _"I've been caught"_ raced across her mind...the sword dropped. The shadows darted forward and the ponytailed one caught it seconds before it shattered on the ground.

"Look out!" cried Mitsuru, dashing forward and launching his body toward her. "The cases!"

There was a creak, a moan, and the whole wall of trophies behind her came tumbling down; so many bricks for all the king's horses and men to reconstruct. Sari turned again, the world began to go in slow motion...

("See!" cried the girl, "see what you've done?!" She pointed to the sky and blood tears welled from her eyes.)
("We're sorry," cried the first boy, "So sorry!")

...the first case hit the hardwood floor with what appeared to be no sound at all -then the wave hit her - the crashing was stupendous, almost deafening as hands reached for her shoulders...

("What can we do to make it up?" cried the second boy, the always-loser, as the first of the swords began piercing the ground around them in a large circle. Soon the weapons would begin falling on _them_ instead.)
("Promise me," murmured the girl, reaching out of the coffin with skeletal hands, "promise me...")

...Mitsuru's body crashed into her own; the duo almost flew across the room with the force of the impact. Oh no, she thought she cried out, the sword! The sword! Sword...

(Looking at those bone-white hands, the two boys shared a nervous glance. They were too young to know what they were doing when they took her hands, drew her up from the coffin, and saw her in the dim and striking light from the next lightening bolt. Her skeletal face and pale, bone hands...)
("We promise," wept one, the chosen one, the older blue-haired one. "We promise...")

..."-see it coming?! Is she alright?!"

Sari swam to the surface of her thoughts with an abrupt yell. The two faces hovering above her own nearly leapt back as she snapped to a sitting position with the tribal cry.

("Not just until you die," the faded skeleton insisted, the rotting skin of her cheeks ripping with each word now as bone peeped through, "but until the moment is right. You will know when you've been dismissed. Promise me!" The roses grew black at her touch, rotting away in the coffin as she melted before their very eyes.)
(The second boy, the younger blond boy who wanted to deny his inner innocence, nodded. "I promise." The first agreed; the three shook on the bargain, and the two boys...no young men now... rode off toward the dorms leaving the scarlet-clad woman to weep beside the two remaining coffins.)

"MOTHER!" The word broke from her lips as a swimmer does from the crushing weight of the ocean waves.

"Are you alright, Sari-chan?" asked Mitsuru, his arms wrapped tight around her shoulders. "You had us worried sick."

"Mitsuru?" Sari mumbled as the world seemed to spin around her. "My mother... Momma," she whispered brokenly as she let the blond man support her weight. "My mother..."

"It was a dream, Sari," nervously interjected Mr. Kaoru. "Do you remember the accident in the Dueling Hall?" His slender fingers wrapped around one another as he looked on her with an almost parental concern and worry. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Accident?"

"It was no one's fault," Mitsuru insisted, giving his friend a careful, almost guarded, look. "But almost an entire wall of trophy cases and sword racks decided to detach from the wall and go tumbling down on top of you. You were close enough to the edge that I had to push you out of the way." He laughed jokingly. "You don't have any enemies on campus I should know about huh? No one wants you dead, right? Not that I mind playing bodyguard, but it would be nice to know if you actually needed one."

Confused, Sari took her first real look at Mitsuru since the accident and her subsequent blackout. "Mitsuru...your face." He was sporting a large black eye and a heavy purple welt across his forehead.

Noting her glance, he gingerly brushed his fingers across the marks and grinned with an embarrassed air. "Don't worry about this. I think it makes me look dashing. What do you think, Miki-sempai?"

The blue-haired man only smiled softly. The nervous, coltish look was gone from his eyes. "I hope you get better soon, Sari-chan," he murmured, "But we're going to leave you here for a few minutes. The nurse said to not take up too much of your time. We'll be back when it's time to return you to your dorm."

"Okay," she mumbled sleepily. "You'll take care of me till we get there, right?"

The two men visibly paused at the door and shared glances. "Yes, Sari," whispered Mitsuru. "We'll always take care of you. I swear."

She smiled peacefully as the nurse came in and gave her a shot. "That's...nice..."




"Adam," Juri snapped as his sword drooped low again for the eighth or ninth time. "Keep it up! I want your sword to be level with your shoulders. Now- again!"

Forcing his body forward, Adam swept his foil with a quick twist forward; he was doing his very best to tag his adoptive mother with the tip but Arisugawa Juri was no one's fool. She danced away from his every motion; her scorn might as well have been a tangible thing, he could feel it so clearly. "Again!"

So he lifted his sword and moved forward again...

...and again...

...and again...

...and again...

After hours and hours of practice the only light was that of stars and a few dim bulbs Kozue had flicked on her last go-round before supper. With a derisive snort at Adam's form she'd laid out soup and sandwiches for the two of them; now almost completely untouched they lay in the corner, congealing. On equal ground visually, they now were fighting by sheer instinct alone; Juri had plenty, Adam was tapped out.

"Mom," he groaned playfully, knowing when he used that voice and those words she rarely denied him anything, "can we please take a break?" He watched his adoptive mother carefully for any sign of weakness in her resolve. When she gave a brief nod he only barely kept his sigh of pleasure in check as he flopped to the floor and made himself breathe slowly and regularly. As he drifted a bit Adam glanced carefully over at Juri. She was busy polishing a sword as he rested; she never seemed tired during these matches. He found it was very nice to watch her like this; the quiet companionship consisted of him joking and her instructing. In a very odd way they matched one another; two lonely sides of the same coin.

The proposed position' in Juri's company Kozue had offered him eventually amounted to no more than a simple companion and friend, though it had begun as an assistant design coordinator of sorts. For all her money and expensive jewels and lavish parties, he had slowly found that Juri was a surprisingly lonely woman. The day he walked into her life her bare flat consisted of almost spartan furniture and one lone nightingale in a gilded cage by the window. He'd never been in Kozue's room.

It had been months ago, but it seemed like yesterday.

"This is your room," Juri's voice was cold and kind. The room he was led to, _his own room_ he marveled, had a small roll-out bed tucked neatly into one corner with a clean blue comforter and one thin pillow. There was a round bedside table with an alarm clock and a banker's lamp resting on it, and a dresser in the corner. Beyond that, the room was bare.

Despite her world renowned reputation for taste and elegance, Juri's room wasn't much different he found, with the exception of one framed photograph hanging above her bed. A black and white panoramic of her sophomore year in high school. He looked over at his new mother and she nodded her assent. He leaned forward and looked carefully at the photo. Juri lounged primly in front row- center; dressed comfortably in a white uniform with darker pants. The panoramic only hinted at her elusive beauty then, but Adam was more interested in the three or four people surrounding her. He could see Kozue two rows back, gazing angrily down at a timid looking young boy to Juri's left. The two of them looked similar; Adam could only guess the young boy was Kozue's elusive brother, Miki. To Juri's right perched a slight blond with knee-high black boots and an obvious attitude. Even in the picture, the haughty tilt to her head indicated she thought she had better things to do than sit around and get photographed, no matter how photogenic she was.

And she was photogenic, make no mistake about that. Adam traced the line of her jaw and hadn't been able to help the small smile that brushed his lips. She looked a lot like the type of girl Sam would love to meet. Two tall men flanked the trio; they were a little blurry but Adam supposed they could be considered handsome. If only he could have gotten a closer look at their faces! Only two figures were clearly noticeable. They seemed a little more in focus than the rest of the students- a little more real- which was odd considering where in the picture they were standing.. One slightly taller than the other; the pair was tucked neatly into the back corner of the shot. They should have been as out of focus as those around them, but they weren't. Something about the smaller girl's face niggled in the back of Adam's mind. Something about the shape of her jaw or perhaps just the tilt of her blank gaze. She seemed familiar somehow. He just couldn't place it.

But that had been then and this was now. Much had changed from that first week. The photo still hung above her bed, but after two weeks of Adam's constant teasing about her spartan living conditions, Kozue and Juri went furniture shopping. The entire flat still had a very Greco-Roman look to it- there wasn't a wasted line anywhere- but it was stylish and very nice for a kid straight from the poor part of New York. The ever-constant frown line between Juri's eyebrows faded a little each more every day until Adam actually began to anticipate when one of his horrible jokes would elicit a small groan or almost-smile from his adoptive mother's lips. The only time the frown returned was when he asked about his mother; Juri was as closemouthed about their friendship as she was about her time at Ohtori.

After the first month Adam learned not to ask- he simply accepted that some random fate had decided to grant him a mother again when most of the orphans in the world didn't have even a sweet dream of adoption after the age of eight. Adam was nearing fifteen-- he knew when it was time to simply count his blessings and move on.

"Again!"

Grunting with the effort, Adam parried the thrust and looked pleadingly at Juri. He dropped his sword as she strode over to the side of the room and sat on her office chair. "Dinner time? Please?"

Taking a long, deep pull of her water bottle, Juri wiped off her face and neck and glanced coolly over to her ward. Adam always felt prickly when she gave him that look; she seemed to be seeing _inside_ him or something. To Juri, eyes were the best weapons; stronger and more powerful than even rapiers. She was a complete master of all kinds of fighting; another fact he'd learned only hours after arriving here. When Juri turned here expressive green eyes on you, you'd better sure as hell hope that it was to express pleasure and not otherwise. She didn't say much, but when she did...wow. She could turn even the most wonderful of compliments into a horrible insult. His first month there she'd sent a burly security guard crying away with four choice words. How she managed it, Adam was never certain, but she did.

So it was no surprise to find that she was truly a master of more than just fighting. She might as well have a black belt in scaring people away; Adam's only company aside form the occasional designers consisted of Kozue and Juri with the weekly visit from the tutor they hired.

Adam worked independently on his school work; something he'd never imagined being able to do though he apparently did rather well according to his scores. Juri helped him whenever there was a problem, and he soon learned that not only was she a genius with cloth or a word, she was also extremely gifted intellectually too. Not like it was a big surprise; nothing she did surprised him much anymore. He was living with a truly accomplished woman.

His musings were cut short when Juri handed him his rapier and smoothed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "I believe we should order in tonight," she conceded, looking over at the skin of milk on the soup with a curled lip. "Keep practicing. I'll send Kozue in with the table settings in a few minutes. When she comes in you may stop." She quickly turned and walked away; the swish of her long braid the only sound in the room.

Grunting, Adam lifted his shaky arm and began practicing his lunges. Ten minutes passed and he barely heard the door open as Kozue slipped into the room on stocking feet. "Hey, kid?"

"Yes, Kozue?" Adam turned to the slender woman with a small frown. She still creeped him out even after all these months of sharing quarters with her and Juri. Kozue had her own room in the far back corner of the apartment, though she was rarely home on nights like this one. He had actually been surprised when she'd gone to the trouble of feeding them earlier, even if they hadn't been able to eat the food after all. "What do you want?"

"You're doing it all wrong. The fencing." She tapped the long nails of her right hand on her chin and smiled at him. Her canines glittered in the dim light.

Insulted, Adam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them again, he tilted his head back and looked down from his only just barely superior height at the slender secretary. His sardonic gaze was icy, his face impassive. He was a statue; she couldn't faze him.

Apparently his emulation of Juri was lacking. Kozue merely raised one eyebrow and smirked back at him. He dropped the look immediately and settled for a simple glare. It was much more his style anyway. "Look kid," she purred, "I didn't say you absolutely sucked, just that you needed work. Juri isn't the only one around here that fences you know. My brother and I learned together when we were small." She smiled her fierce feral grin at him and Adam only just barely kept himself from taking a step back. When she did that he always felt like he was Adam a'la king in some restaurant in her mind.

"Why do you care?"

She toned down her smile after a moment and took her time answering. Finally she hefted a small dagger and began paring her nails with it as she spoke. "We're both very good. Miki won awards because he competed. I never bothered. He's the genius with the piano, and a lot of people think with the rapier too. I'm better, though no one really realizes that. I'll tell you a little secret though."

Setting the dagger down, she leaned in, and Adam caught a cloying sniff of her perfume. It smelled like rotting flowers. Kozue turned her cheek toward him with her chin at an angle; this close up he could almost see her tiny pores, and he could definitely see a small scar under her left eye. He was nervous with her this close; Kozue had a way of invading more than just his personal space...she could invade your thoughts if you let her. She leveled her icy glare at him and Adam swallowed hard.

"The thing is...Adam...Miki and Juri don't know how to fight. They know how to point a sword at you and force you to give up your weapon, but they're all about techniques and form. A fight isn't about those things, kid, not where it counts. A fight is holding a flimsy piece of metal in your hand and driving it at someone else's heart. A fight is power. A fight is strength. You have to be brutal, to be an animal to win. They are too collected to let their animal side take over, you know? But you...Adam...you can be both. I watch you two when you practice. The form's down but your will, your..._need_ isn't there. What're you fighting for, kid? To please Juri? To be allowed to stay?"

Adam shifted uncomfortably. He'd never had a clue that Kozue had been critiquing his form when she made her little rounds in the early evening; he'd always assumed her pretentious little looks were her disdain to get sweaty and messy. But now- this close to her and her sharp teeth and fierce eyes- he realized his mistake. "You know how to duel?"

She backed up a step and crossed her arms over her chest. "I can teach you how to win. You can't tell Juri though. She wouldn't approve."

She was right; Adam knew that. If Juri knew he was taking lessons from another teacher she'd be furious. And if she knew that teacher was Kozue it would be doubly so. But something in Kozue's words rung true to Adam. She did walk with a certain lethal animal grace, and he'd never seen a woman with as much raw power in her eyes as the blue-haired secretary. She was the type to go for the eyes if the fight wasn't going her way. But did he really want to learn how to fight dirty?

As if reading his thoughts, Kozue snorted. "If you think I'm going to be telling you to go for the throat when their sword's down, I'm not. We'll be staying within the rules. Playtime will be after I know you can handle it. Until then what I'll be teaching you will be about force and power. About winning."

"Why do you want to help me?" he hedged, looking at her carefully. This didn't appear to be a set up of some kind, but whenever Kozue was concerned he kept on his toes. It just felt safer that way.

She sighed, a long suffering sound. "You're not half bad, okay? I have other reasons than that too, but the main one is I can't stand to see potential go to waste. Not unless I want it to, that is. You could be good. I've got nothing better to do."

"Prove it," he said, throwing her his rapier. He took another one up and held himself ready. "En guard!"

Kozue was at him in a flash. Even Juri didn't move that quickly. Her face was a mask of curled lips and sharp teeth; even her eyes appeared to glow in the dim light of the room as she thrust the point forward and actually hissed as she attacked. It took all of his skill and stamina to parry her powerful thrusts. Even then he could tell his arm was weakening and he still hadn't gotten a chance to attack yet. Her defense appeared unbreachable. With a soft cry, Kozue's free hand jutted forward and tapped him sharply on the chest before she swung around and had the edge of the sword against his neck. Her breasts pressed into his back and her free hand curled into claws at his waist.

"Do you give up?" she growled in his ear. "I can do this all night if you want."

Adam felt each breath clearly and distinctly as the edge of the weapon pressed into his skin. A rapier wouldn't do much damage like this, but if she'd fought with both a dagger and a sword he'd be dead. She'd scored two hits in less than one minute; unless Juri was going very easy on him, even she didn't win that quickly. "Yes," he whispered. "I give."

"Idiot," she growled in his ear, before biting down on his earlobe _hard_.

Sucking in a startled breath, Adam didn't make another sound as her free hand slipped up around his throat and she dropped the sword. Another flash of movement and Kozue was pressed flush against him, her legs wrapped around his waist with her skirt riding up over her hips, her lips and teeth ravaging his mouth. He couldn't breathe, he thought with a panicked calm; she was smothering him. Yanking back, Kozue flashed an angry, hurtful glare at him as she raked her nails down his cheek, savoring his stunned expression. "Don't ever relinquish control," she whispered gutturally as she slid down his body and thrust him away from her. "You die like that."

Adam coughed violently as he turned away and knelt on the floor. To his shame he found he had a raging erection. She towered behind him; she wore a belittling expression like a mask. "We will start tomorrow."

"What makes you think," he gasped out, "that I would want to learn from you after that?"

She leaned forward again. Her nails scraped the back of his neck and Adam shivered. "Because, Adam," she whispered in his ear, her scent enveloping him, "Juri and the others won't teach you how to deal with an opponent like me. And not all of those fighters out there are honorable like my brother or Juri. It's up to people like us to protect them from other people like us. With our teeth and nails if we have to. Your Sari, she's like them, I can tell from your pictures. You're going to have to protect her from fighters like me...so quit your whining and let go for once. Take the bokken out of your ass and meet me here first thing in the morning. Six a.m. Maybe this time you'll know when to push me away."

He gagged as she stood up and sashayed out, her laughter trailing behind like a silken scarf. Juri passed her as she strode into the room. "Adam? Are you alright?" Her voice was all cool concern; she had a clue what had just transpired, he could tell by the way she was holding herself.

"I'm fine, Mom," he replied, scrubbing his lips. "Hungry."

"Well then," came her cool and measured reply; her eyes took him in quickly from the tips of his tousled hair to the flush of his skin, "let's eat."



"And one and two and one and two...Sari, lift the edge of your skirt higher when you turn. You'll get it stepped on. One and two and one and two..."

Sari grumbled to herself but obediently hefted the weight of the heavy ball gown a little higher as Misuru turned her carefully around the dance floor. He was incredibly light on his feet, a trait she assumed he'd learned from all his fighting-- but it was more than that. He was comfortably attired in a loose pair of black slacks and a white dress shirt open at the throat. The warm glitter of a gold chain peeped from the open triangle against his tan flesh. All in all, Sari was in seventh heaven.

It was hard to imagine that she'd been here a whole year and a half already. Her second winter there had come and gone and now the hot summer sun poured through the windows. It was just past noon on the second Thursday of the month, better known as dance day' to the student population of Bara Academy. It was the day all the students except those with medical excuses learned to dance. They cancelled all classes and all the teachers had to help. Those that couldn't dance already were taught along with the students. It was to make them appear more refined to the world as a whole and to bring the faculty and students closer together. For the most part, it was a rousing failure. In the dedicated shuffle of feet an occasional Ow!" was heard from some of the more clumsy dancers. Most of the boys who'd been recruited for the exercise were bearing the indignity of heavy tuxedos and bow ties with some measure of grace, but more than a few were obviously itching to be let go to take showers and return to their dorms.

Some, luckily, were spared the crushing press of bodies. Mr. Kaoru was one of them; within the first month of his residency it was discovered that he was a genius at the piano. Every month since then he was forced to patiently do duty at the instrument; playing for the group of dancers as their instructor wandered among them correcting posture and steps as their teacher moved along.

Another humerous fact about Bara Academy: occasionally there was an instructor who defied explination and was simply _there_. Their etiquette instructor was one such teacher. She did double duty as their art teacher and swimming coach as well. Or at least she had until she'd caught pregnant. And- unlike the rest of them at that moment- she was very young, very round, and very comfortable. There wasn't a young woman in the room that didn't look enviously on her breezy attire.of art smock and shorts. It was downright boiling in the stuffy ball room- even the french doors leading out to the balconies were open to let any stray breeze into the room seemed to wilt.

"You're doing well," Mitsuru commented as they moved effortlessly into the next pattern of steps and their instructor nodded her head once as she waddled by. Her tight bun shimmered in the humid afternoon light and Sari wished for the first time in a long time that she could chop her hair as short as hers. She would settle for her good old ponytail and continue the steps, certain that she would never make it through this dumb class alive.

At long last the tempo wound down and the music slowed to a stop. As was proper, Sari dipped a formal curtsey to her partner; Mitsuru bowed in response. She stepped away quickly, anxious to be free of the confining long skirts and slip into jeans or something equally comfortable. Unfortunately for Sari, her feet were still unused to heels; her left foot tangled in her skirts and with a soft cry she felt her body begin to betray her and slip backwards. Only Mitsuru's quick reflexes saved her from toppling on her behind and slamming her head on the floor. His left arm swung forward with a quicksilver grace as she shot her hands forward and up to try and counterbalance the momentum of her fall. His other arm swept out to the side to counteract the weight he was about to brace and Sari slid neatly into his left arm, bending almost in half it seemed over his outstretched embrace.

The movement was graceful.
The catch was elegant.
In that position it looked for all the world as if Sari was about to pull a sword from her breast.

Both Mr. Kaoru and their etiquette instructor turned pale white at the picture the two made. It was only for a split second but it was as if Utena were laying Anshi over her arm once more for them to witness. Both their lips moved with unspoken words. _For the revolution of the world._ They glanced guiltily at one another and quickly turned away as Mitsuru and Sari set themselves to rights. The instructor was exceedingly pale; her lips pressed together tightly as she looked the girl quickly over for what seemed the first time since she'd foolishly accepted the position at this Academy.

It all made perfect sense. But who? Who was the mother? Sari didn't look enough like Anshi to be that horrible woman's daughter-- which left Akio. She cursed softly. She wasn't free; would never be truly free. Never, never, never. She was doomed to teach his damned daughter how to dance for the rest of eternity.

"Class dismissed," she called out to the room at large as she turned away to hide her pale face and frightened eyes. Her stomach churned; pressing her hands to the little one within, she tried to calm the rioting baby outwardly. It wasn't working-- she felt sick. There had never had a problem with Sari until this very moment; it wouldn't be right to begin hating the girl due to her... parentage. Pressing her fingers so tightly into her hand that her nails left bloody crescent moons in her palms, she concentrated on gaining control once more. With a soft, ragged breath, she turned around to see that Sari had quietly left the room. She was left alone with the other two instructors.

"Misturu " she started in shaky Japanese.

"I know," he interrupted, "but I had to catch her."

"I don't believe she is upset about saving Himmemiya-san a spill, Mitsuru-kun," amended Miki. "But rather the fact that she didn't realize whom exactly Sari was related to."

Tsuwabuki opened his mouth to reply, then fell into a pensive silence. The trio stood there a few minutes more, each caught in their own memories.

Finally, she broke the quiet: "I thought she might have been a cousin or something. It had never occurred to me that... I mean she _is_ old enough but... well... who is the mother?"

"We don't know," admitted Miki. "Just that...Anshi knew about her." They shared another glance. "Time is running out for the girl."

"Time running out?" she was confused. "Do you mean she's going to be taken to Ohtori? Wouldn't they have done that already? If Akio knows about her-- "

"I'll kill him if he hurts her," broke in Tsuwabuki. "I don't care if he's The Ends of whatever, I'll still gut him like a fish."

"Calm, Mitsuru-kun," soothed Miki. "If you don't keep your center, you won't survive this. Do you want to end up like Nanami?"

She paled even more; her flesh was now the color of parchment. "That was an accident," she hissed.

"Prove it," snapped Tsuwabuki. "Prove that what happened to Nanami was an accident and I'll believe you. Until then-- "

"Enough," interrupted a voice from the doorway, "that's enough from all three of you."

Miki paused and turned to face the newcomer. A sweet smile broke out on his face, and he looked for one fleeting instant, very much like the Miki of eleven years previous. "Saionji- san."

She also smiled in obvious relief. With a soft laugh she raced across the room and threw herself into Saionji's arms. "I missed you," she mouthed against his neck. The words weren't spoken aloud but they both understood the intent. Saionji stood there a moment in the humid stillness and tenderly brushed his hand up and down her hair in soothing strokes. She had obviously had a fright; her skin was pale and clammy and he could feel the frantic little baby motions even through the layers of clothing.

"Miki-san, Mitsuru-san," Saionji greeted them as he held her close to his side. He fairly dwarfed the tiny woman, but the gentleness with which he held her showed to all and sundry his true feelings. "If you'll excuse me a moment." He drew her forward and hugged her tightly once, before brushing a tender kiss across her forehead and rubbing her swollen belly with his left hand. "How's the baby?" His eyes were dark with worry.

Her smile was wobbly at best. "Unhappy. Guess who is one of my students?"

"Himemiya Sari," Saionji patted her belly nonchalantly and stepped back, oblivious to his fiance's surprised face. "How is Touga's class going, Misturu-san?"

Tsuwabuki shrugged. "We'll have another wonderful year on the circuit. But something tells me you don't care about that."

Saionji ran his hands through his short green locks and Tsuwabuki was struck how much and how little the man had changed in eleven years. He had cut his hair, but his mannerisms remained-- the nervous jerking of his hands through the longer portion of his hair when he was nervous or unhappy being a very obvious one. Or how he looked possessively on his fiancé when he thought no one was watching. Saionji was a far cry from the jealous abuser he'd been in his youth, but he was still overprotective of her and let all other males in the vicinity know that, under no uncertain terms, she was _his_ property.

"Miki-san," he began as he sat down on a nearby settee and pulled her down beside him, "I've been recently in touch with Touga. He said some things that got me to thinking. When was the last time you heard from Anshi?" He tightened his grip on the slight woman when he spoke Anshi's name; with good cause, as the petite woman made a disgusted face and tried to draw away.

Miki frowned and rubbed his chin. "Let's see here...I got a call about... well, no, that wasn't really her just a voice mail left at a hotel but..."

The three of them watched the man as he tried to figure the dates. Halfway through his tabulations, Miki realized their scrutiny and blushed furiously. "Give me a second!" He rubbed his chin with one hand and chewed his lower lip as he thought harder. Tsuwabuki wasn't the only one who noticed his thumb twitching slightly, as if wishing for a button to press down on the moment the epiphany struck.

But there was no sudden discovery of a date, or a time. Simply a frightened, blank look. "Too long," he whispered. "It's been months. The last I heard through Juri was that she was going to Japan . . . and she couldn't reach Sari though she was trying. That's actually why I came here to begin with . . . to try and see if Sari would be willing to go with her."

Saionji nodded. "That's why I left the conference early." He turned to his love and held her by the shoulders. "You need to go pack right now. Leave a resignation letter and just go. My Jeep is out front; I'll help you with your bags in a few minutes, but I have to speak with these two. You have one hour. Go."

Swallowing deeply, she nodded and jumped up, hurrying out the door without a look back.

Tswuabuki waited until the click of her shoes had faded to nothing to speak: "It's not like you to run away, Saionji-sempai." The change in honorific went unnoticed by the three men. All were jittery, like over-wound toy soldiers ready to bust a spring.

Saionji ran both trembling hands through his hair again; he was pale and distraught now that she wasn't around. It was as if he'd put on one hell of an act for his fiancee and now he was drained dry of deception. "It's not running away-- I want to see my child born. I will be back, but first I have to stash her where I know they won't find her."

Miki frowned. "You think Ohtori-san "

"Screw Ohtori!" yelled Saionji. "This has nothing to do with Ohtori Akio and if the two of you just put your heads together for ten seconds you'd realize that! He hasn't been in real power of Ohtori Academy for years! He's just been passing time until "

"Until?"

Saionji stood up abruptly and turned to Tsuwabuki. "Touga wanted me to stop by the hospital to pay my respects. I was driving through so I didn't see why not. Why don't you just pull the plug, Mitsuru? She's trapped in there."

Tsuwabuki turned his face away and only a good observer would have noted his body trembling softly. "Nanami-- the doctors say that sometimes things like this just miraculously cure themselves. They say she could wake up any day now. They say "

"She's dead, Mitsuru," Miki's voice was flat; dull. "She's been dead for two years." He would have made an excellent actor. There was no compassion in his voice and no regret on his face. He could have been talking about the weather for all the emotion he showed. "All the doctors are doing is pumping air into her lungs and using machines to make her heart beat. They feed her liquid food through tubes and turn her when she gets bedsores. They are taking your money and keeping her body alive. But Nanami is dead."

"Shut up," Tsuwabuki hissed at the older man. "Both of you, just shut up."

"Do you still wear her ring?" Saionji asked almost conversationally. Unlike Miki he would not have made a good actor; his lips were white around the edges, and there was real regret in his eyes, but he continued on nonetheless. "Did the doctors have to take her ring and put it on a chain around her neck, Tsuwabuki? Like the one you're wearing- the one you try to hide under your shirt? Because when I stopped in she wasn't wearing it on her finger anymore. She couldn't have. They were too thin. The ring would have just slipped off and rolled under the bed."

Tsuwabuki shuddered at Saionji's purposefully cruel words. He had gone stark white; not even the hot sunlight streaming through the windows was enough to warm him up or give him color. "Please," he whispered as the first tears came, "please stop."

"We're not going to stop, Tsuwabuki," Saionji hissed as scalding tears stood out in his own eyes. "Not until you realize this isn't some game anymore! You were there! We all barely remember, but what does come to us-- what she told each of us before she started out-- Anshi's gone! Don't you realize that?!" Saionji reached forward and grabbed Tsuwabuki by the shoulders much as he had his fiance earlier. The only difference was the fact that there was no gentleness in this embrace. Saionji shook the younger man violently; enough that Tsuwabuki's head snapped back and forth several times. Miki stood off to the side with worry stamped across his face. The older man was being awfully brutal.

"Saionji," he began nervously, "don't you think that "

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" cried a voice, breaking into their interlude. The three men all stopped and turned to greet the newcomer. Like a beam of holy light, Sari rushed into the room and broke in between Saionji and Tsuwabuki. "Don't you dare touch him," she yelled as she took her teacher by the hand and drew him away with her. Miki, Saionji, and Tsuwabuki all looked at her with bewildered eyes. None of them were quite sure what she'd seen or heard, but whatever it had been, it had been enough to enrage her. It hadn't yet occurred to them that, to Sari, it looked like Saionji was seriously trying to injure her teacher. She dragged him out the door and down the hall, all the while babbling about reporting Saionji to the campus police.

"Misturu, are you okay?"

Tsuwabuki looked at Sari dumbly for a few moments, then nodded. "Yes. Saionji was just "

"Breaking your neck?" Sari was obviously furious. She had gone to her room and changed into a pair of jeans and an old ratty button-up, but she was still very pretty in her anger. "Talking with me, Sari," Tsuwabuki interjected. "You just came in at the wrong moment."

Sari paused. Proper Mitsuru rarely called anyone by their names without an honorific or title. He must know the green-haired man rather well. And he wouldn't lie to her about what they were discussing so--

"I'm sorry," she whispered as shame flushed her face. "I broke into something I had no right to interrupt. It's just that "

"You thought he was hurting me," Tsuwabuki broke in. "I understand, Sari-chan. No. I wasn't being hurt, just told something I really didn't want to hear. Sometimes doing that takes a little force." He turned his face away and pressed his hand against his chest where the golden chain lay. "Sometimes it takes a lot."