[2000]

At the farthest edge that his transportation could carry him, there stood a man on a bridge. His face was aghast, mixed in sweat, a barely trimmed beard over his pallid features. The blue pools of the river and oceans beyond reflected in his eyes.

And on the distance, his death sentence. Like red and blue devils across a midnight horizon, he was shooting his vision between each end of the bridge on which he was tottering, in a drunken, tousled stupor. He caught sight of his cargo still tucked away in the back seat of his car, the two sleeping so soundly, and an odd calm tinted with sorrow fell over him.

In a single motion, he fell limply back, and the bubbling of water and smashing of rocks below marked his grave.

[2004]

From within the luxury district, among the skyscrapers and bejeweled homes of the aristocracy, there crouched a man shrouded by the moonlight above. A blade twirled like a plaything between his fingers, dripping with a sickly green liquid.

Stealing stealthily yet swiftly, he vaulted over a fence, the height of which served only to shroud the two-story house within the perimeter. No lights shone within its windows, and there was no figure that could be seen; yet at any moment, he knew the inhabitants could awake, and if they caught sight of him, he would be as dead as they would soon be. Along the walls, he slunk like a rodent, leaning and pressing his thin frame against the painted pink, like a paper between a folder's margins.

The key to the back entrance had already been given to him, and it was there that he was making his way to in shallow footsteps, with shallower breath.

Then, from within the home, roused a single sound. In a single and practiced motion the man laid as still as a statue against the freshly trimmed glass, negotiating his lithe body as best as he could against the foundation. He could not know if the sudden awakening betokened a caretaker or an executioner, though it was certain that they had not been warned. If they caught sight of him, he would be rend to mince in short order.

In a sharp yet quiet intake of breath, he held, still as a statue, as he heard the house above echo with the lightness of footsteps. Within the dark windows spoke a single voice, with a masculine tenor, but what he was saying could not be made out.

Then, silence reigned over the home once more. It was likely this, and nothing more. Crawling like a snake, the man resumed his journey, brushing up the dirt and coating his mask, which read "N.B.", in the blades of grass. Before long he had arrived at the back entrance, a gray door that was a dull beacon against the luxury of the rest of the mansion, and of the district in which it was located.

With a careful hand, he unlocked it, and with a careful hand, a light push served to open it. His footsteps were as quiet as a mouse as he stole across to kitchen, to which opened a hallway of other days, a menagerie of bronze-trimmed entrances. Form prior preparation and keen senses, he knew his two targets laid within the room at the farthest left, and his third was sleeping so soundly in the room at the farthest right.

Again, as a paper smacked against the wall, he pressed his narrow shoulders to the margins between these chambers, his nude upper half flattening underneath it. The blade between his fingers still shone with the light of the moon peeking from windows not shrouded by a blind. If he was not careful, it might reflect, and alert the twin figures within that doomed bedroom.

And with a far less gentler hand than before, he shoved his way roughly in to the chamber.

Moments later, there was the shriek of two figures, followed by a twin thud.

And once more, silence fell over the house of luxury.

[2013]

A set of thick double doors slammed shut, and the beating of fists against it broke like mallets against glass. There was no sound to be heard within the chamber at the other end, other than the shriek of a begging wail, piercing the empty air like lightning. The entrance was locked and would not budge; a thousand men could not have opened it, and a hundred swords could not have sliced it apart.

And yet, the girl still tried. Desperate, thrashing, sweating and sobbing like a cornered animal, she drew her blade and attempted to cut straight through the marble, reinforced like stout oak and utterly, painfully invincible.

Then from within the chamber on the other end, began a series of wails. It was as if her own voice was being thrown back to her, and tears soaked her cheeks like freezing rain as again, and again, she threw her weight against it; limply, she sank with her back to the door, cognizant of the horrific failure she was as her every movement felt as heavy as the weight of her emotions.

And once more, the shriek of a begging scream cracked the air. It called her name, writhing, screeching like a broken instrument, and choked with sobbing.

[2015]

The scene within the skyscraper, that loomed like a black terror, was one of utter cacophony. The alarm had been roused within these offices, and from the lower floors, agonized screams. A series of explosives had cracked and shook the foundation, near-set to burst under the immensity of the bombs.

But on the tenth floor, there was a single room. A roundtable was sat at the center of this room, and none of the twelve women at it had any perturbation over the matters. What group was causing such a ruckus below was easily guessed, and it was far easier for them to shrug off the effects of it, so strong were their uniforms, which appeared to the untrained eye as mere business suits. They knew that at any moment, whatever dogs of men, the half-dressed mongrels carving open a path below, may burst through the stairs and glass door that connected the higher ranks to the lower, like an invisible wall that separated richer from rich.

They mumbled lowly amongst themselves, still occupied with their former business. A knife, hidden beneath a breast pocket, was present on each. They would not need more than one to deal with the assault below.

From the stairs crashed the sound of footsteps like a wild animal running - moments later, there burst a figure from the glass door like a lightning bolt, cracking and shattering as he went. His lower half was thankfully clothed, and drew more attention to the blue hair of his upper. A thick belt was tied around his waist, jingling with hooks of devices too numerous to count or care. At his head, a blackened mask that simply read "N.B.".

The women fell in to uproarious laughter. The boy was playing at being a man. He was thin - there was no uniform upon him, as was the code of the organization to which he was pledged. To taunt him one rose from her seat, her black hair whipping about her pale pallor, sashaying like a fashion model as she strode over to him.

But there was no perturbation in his features, what little could be seen. Before she could make to strike him with her knife he slunk behind her and shot past her as a speeding whirlwind, the table behind erupting in to applause at the raucous display.

"Use your uniform, dog!" he shouted in a voice just as taunting, the litheness of his body sufficing to weave between a dozen strikes.

Aghast and growing tired of the game in to which she had been forced, she ripped a strand of fabric from the collar of her uniform -

"Life Fiber - Synchronization!" she shouted, and too quickly for the sight to follow -

- her body shriveled up like a horrifically desiccated test subject, and in an explosion of blood her organs collapsed in on themselves. In an instant the room was painted red; the corpse sank, limply, with rigid limbs utterly drained of any blood. Quickly and stealing stealthily, the man scooped, judging by the movement of his fingers, something from out of her now-mangled attire, rushing like a crimson-soaked star around the circular enclosure. The eleven women rose to their feet and shot after him in hot pursuit; they saw him weave through the U-shaped stairway above -

- and no sooner than they had entered the stairway behind him did a foul odor stagger their senses. Instantly the scene changed from one of thrill to one of madness and horror. Green gas coated their faces, clung to their clothes, prickled like needles against their organs as they drank too deeply in the poisonous clouds.

The women began to stagger; they ran in drunken circles. The gas clung to their throats and pierced deeply in to their lungs, seeming to stab their internals like living weapons. Froth gleamed at their lips, which twisted in pleading shrieks. Raging, writhing, they fell upon each other in a white, yellow, and green heap, choking on coagulated blood, gazing limply up in to slowly swirling eddies of green.

The last sound they heard in life was that man, cackling like a witch from a higher floor, hoarsely shouting; "How clumsy, I forgot the antidote!"

[2017]

There was a man, bound by red strands like cords to a single chair, his face illumined by a light that scorched his figure with intense brightness and heat. His beard was untrimmed, and his demeanor stoic. He had no fear of the woman before him, the one with a voice like shattering glass, the one with a scarred visage, cracked like the roots of a wilting tree. His mask, which read "N.B.", had been torn to shreds and lay in tatters on his lap. Waiting for her to strike or to lop his head from his wide shoulders, he was a statue as they met in a wry gaze.

But to his surprise, she did not strike. Moving her lips that were as cracked as the right half of her face, she asked a single question to the man.

His eyes blazed in answer.

[2018]

"Sheesh. You still bother running that shit, leviathan?"

'You know it. Until graduation.' I grinned to the student at my right as I placed my hand on the doorknob. It led inside to the classroom that had served me so well over the past four years, and the student beside me as well, a man who had tried to join my Fight Club every year.

And every year, he would get the shit beaten out of him and swear he'd get me next year.

Unfortunately, he had already lost this year. He had challenged me again a week ago, and like every other student at this school that had tried, he had failed. His face was dimpled with regret over one-sided defeats and pimpled with acne, and I was never sure which had come first.

"You gonna keep running it in university?" he muttered with that same hint of regret.

'That depends. You gonna keep challenging me?'

He shook his head. "Nah. Focusing on Tri-City Raids for now."

He glanced over to the end of the hall behind, nearly empty outside of what clubs met after school. The walls were as blue as he was. "I gotta run for journalism club, anyway. You check that shit out, leviathan? Bet you could do some serious damage on the offense."

I shook my head. I had already seen the posters plastered around campus and the residential districts - under the strict eyes of Satsuki and Ryuko Kiryuin, our illustrious student body presidents and heirs to the world's largest fashion company, all of Honnōji Academy had been preparing to raid the three largest academies in the country within two months, in an event known as the Tri-City Raids.

It had started four years ago as a method of corporate warfare between competing fashion companies, and in exchange for paid tuition and housing, every student at the participating academies were required to either invade or defend. As the company with the largest market share, REVOCS and Honnoji would attack first this year, and if we were the victors once more, it was a certainty the illustrious corporation would claim a monopoly on all clothing production.

I had never enjoyed the corporate aspect, though I could never decline the opportunity to enact a guilt-free beating.

The club president who attained the highest body count would gain the privilege of a Two-Star Goku Uniform, woven from Life Fibers that granted incredibly strength in exchange for the blood of their wearers. The discovery of the wondrous materials centuries ago had been a boon for both military and fashion.

But not for myself, unfortunately.

My ability was far more mysterious than that, yet from teenage years I was always able to call upon a ferocious, titanic suit of armor much like the ones uniforms woven of Life Fibers could transform in to. It was a hulking leviathan that looked as if it were made of obsidian, with a left gauntlet that crackled blue wisps, and whenever it was out my skull - and senses - were replaced by the demonic eyes of a bull's skull until it were sheathed.

By the time I looked back from my hand on the doorknob, my annual challenger was gone.

I shook my head again. Though I were eager to prove my strength in battle, there was no reason for me to enter Tri-City Raids as a solo invader for that reward. I had already ascertained Outcast stood as strong as any Goku Uniform, and though I had never had the opportunity, I thought it might even fare well against Kamuis - a subset of uniforms composed of 100% Life Fibers, with the unfortunate side-effect of occasionally killing their wearers if they became too angered.

The left gauntlet would likely serve me well if I ever needed to fight one, regardless.

With an accustomed motion I pressed open the door to the reserved room, an abandoned classroom that I had kept in better condition than it deserved for nearly four years.

At the teacher's desk - or, club president's - were another set of flyers urging all students to join these aside. I swept these aside as I sat, muttering to myself as I looked over the design, emblazoned just as fiercely in to my brain as it was on the paper. On it, the angered eyebrows of Satsuki Kiryuin. Her chin was held high with all the trappings of aristocracy, her jaw almost as powerful as her Kamui, Junketsu. It was a shining white beacon of an outfit, long sleeves and longer pants, giving way to white boots with a blue trim. At the chest, two eyes with blue sclera and black pupils. At her shoulders, golden epaulettes, and her long black hair flowed down her back.

And at her side, a woman who shared far less of a flair for the dramatic, Ryuko Kiryuin. Her chin was held high as if to mock her sister next to her, black bangs with a red streak like a waterfall in her hair. Her Kamui was a deep purple, a schoolgirl's outfit mixed with darker streams, and there were two fearsome eyes with red sclera and blue pupils. At her shoulders, jade spikes.

I had never seen the woman around school before, and what news mentioned the beautiful woman said she was far less public than Satsuki. It was difficult not to feel some familiarity in her eyes.

Satsuki, on the other hand, was a commanding presence in many senses of the word, ready to lead the darkened silhouettes of three men and one woman known only as the 'Elite Four'.

There was text at the bottom stating it was every student's duty to prove their strength in battle, and that extra compensation would be given depending on battle spoils.

She always had a flair for the dramatic. I swept the flyer aside without a second though, glancing tepidly across the room as if someone would burst in at any moment. I had run the school's Fight Club for years, although there was -

"Fight Club President."

I glanced up from my desk, not expecting such an early visitor. I had assumed it to be a new student at first, someone who hadn't heard of the abysmal reputation I'd accumulated over the years - though to be honest, it's hardly justified.

And there, standing within the doorway, as if the flyer had come to life - Satsuki Kiryuin. Her eyebrows were no less terse, inquisitive as she shot her vision around, and she closed the door behind her as she strode over to me. As if I were at attention, I shot up from my seat.

'That's - me, right. What can I do for you?'

She turned to me and nodded, and with a start, I realized she was alone for this visit. There was no gaggle of oddly-dressed figures around her, no line of sycophantic club presidents praising her every movement, and it almost appeared as if this were a more personal matter than business. Her vision swept the room once more, and she turned to me again.

"Hm. No other members this year either, then?"

I shook my head. It was clear she had read my yearly reports, and the high standards I kept for Fight Club membership were serving me as well as ever.

'Unfortunately not. I doubt I'll have anyone to muster up by the time it comes around, either - though you know how I handle defense. I'll sign up for it again, this year.'

"Of course. There's little issue with that." she muttered, tracing her fingers along her neck. Her gaze was drilling me with far more intensity than I had ever seen it before. It would have sent anyone lesser to intimidation.

As if a gesture of good will, I leaned against the front of my desk and matched her gaze. I had never been afraid of her, and in the back of my mind, I silently wondered if she enjoyed the religious adulation from the other club presidents more, or the lack of it from myself.

"… Outcast. I'm certain you're aware I'm not here for a simple annual check-in."

'Of course. What do you need?'

She smirked. "I'll skip the pleasantries. The Tri-City Raids are forty-five days from now, and your club has yet to meet new regulations."

'New regulations?'

"Of course. Each club must have at least five members - there's no point to taking up an entire room for an hour for one person."

Sensing the objection at my lips, she held her hand to me.

"I'm aware that you use the room for try-outs. I have no reason to believe you're lying on the high standards you keep - but I have not ascertained your strength for myself."

From her back, she unsheathed her sword. The Life Fibers of the blade screeched against Junketsu like a knife against metal.

"Will you accept the challenge? If you've truly started this club to become stronger, it would be idiotic to decline it. A single duel - and I'll decide the fate of your club after."

I couldn't help but smile. It was a challenge I had hardly thought I would ever find, and the temptation was immeasurable. Yet my heart lit with worry, mixed with anticipation, and the battle that would occur after if she were to ascertain Outcast was not made of Life Fibers would prove far more difficult.

"Something wrong? You look scared."

I shook my head and put it out of my mind without a second thought. I would handle the fallout after the fact.

'I accept.'

"Prepare yourself. Life Fiber - Synchronization - Junketsu!"

Before my eyes, she underwent a wild transformation. Her clothes disappeared for a moment, her body billowed within flashes of white light that wrapped around her body like bandages - then too quickly for the sight to follow she stood before me again, her clothing drastically different and her demeanor just as determined. From her shoulders raised Junketsu's eyes from wide metal stalks, her body shielded by thicker plates of white armor. The entire ensemble was a shining beacon, and the light of the room reflected in her eyes and Kamui.

'Outcast!'

But I, too, had a transformation. The plated obsidian gauntlets I had become so accustomed to the weight of over the past years replaced my hands - the bull's skull replaced my own, and at my new left gauntlet, blue energy crackled from ventilation slits cut in to the armor.

Now, she was the one regarding me with renewed interest.

"Clearly not a One-Star." she muttered.

We began to circle, predator and predator. Her fingers curled around the hilt of her blade, her eyes searching for weakness in my obsidian skin.

'It's not.' I muttered, a careful step.

She threw her head up with a laugh. "The mystery of the Fight Club president grows by the second. It cannot be a Two or Three-Star, either - I assign those personally." Her tone was as playful as a tiger. In some odd sense, it was calming.

'Would you believe me if I told you it wasn't a uniform?'

"A blatant lie - but you'll reveal the truth of it after I beat you."

I crossed my arms as she rushed at me with her blade outstretched, staying firmly planted to my post. The first blow was always the most amusing. With her momentum she swept herself to my right and raised her blade to the sky, then made to strike my right arm with one forceful blow.

It wilted uselessly against my right shoulder.

"Wha-"

I ripped her by her neck and threw her to the opposite wall, and here the fight truly began in earnest.

We met in a flurry of strikes at the center as she rushed to me again, little worse for wear from the first blow, her anger carrying through as her sword cut and slashed. Yet my gauntlets offered up far more resistance, the force and strength of the obsidian augmenting every strike that broke through her guard.

In a whirlwind of blows and torn armor we fought for dominance around the arena, snarling like animals as she dodged underneath a gauntlet's sweep, and her sword carved a waterfall of lacerations against my chest with no less violence than the haymakers I cratered against her own.

In one swift motion she kicked herself from me - she shot to the other end of the room, and before I could react she shot back and carved a sheet of armor off in one titanic strike; but like an obsidian horror, I stood, and on the return I caught her by her neck again. As if she were expecting it, her sword butchered deeply through my wrists, and the searing pain unclenched my grip, the clash of gauntlets and sword beginning once more. Jagged steel edges coated my vision and flooded my cheeks with crimson; her blade was pinning, slashing wildly.

Her former decorum was lost in the ferocity of battle, just as my own. The weight of my strikes forced her back against the wall as I rapidly cornered her, the eyes of her Kamui piercing me just as ferociously as the woman who wore it, her sword meeting with my gauntlets in a wild flurry. Foot by foot, she was being shoved back against the wall, and as I made for a titanic, cornered strike -

- she swept underneath my legs with all of the swiftness she had displayed prior, and impaled her sword through my back; using it as a handhold she scaled to the tip of the obsidian mountain, and as I thrashed against the wall and sought to dislodge her, the hornet on my back snarled in my ear as she wove her body between every blow.

And no matter how ferociously I tried, I could not escape by violence alone.

In a moment of feigned stupidity I placed my right gauntlet against my back and removed it just quickly - her blade impaled deeply where it had been and assured her position for precious moments longer, and with tremendous grip I threw her hand from the blade and threw her from me. Her body smashed against a smattering of desks, her sword still trapped within the last sheet of Outcast's armor and pathetically out of her reach.

Wounded predator and predator, we circled again. Her eyes darted to the blade in my back. It was lodged so fiercely within, it would take another moment for her to retrieve it, even if she could find her way back to it again, and the stoic eyes of the bull's skull told that I would never allow either.

We rushed at each other -

- and as she had before, she swept underneath my strikes and slid between my legs; she leaped on to my back again, gripping the hilt to pull the sword from its stone, and before I could react -

- her blade was at my throat and threatening to slit it open.

"Concede." she snarled in to my ear.

The fingers on my gauntlet clenched, and ached to find an escape from the hold she had put on me. I was streaming blood from a score of wounds, on my chest, thighs, and back where she had struck me, and her Kamui was cracked where I had struck her. Her heels assured her position, her grip far tighter around the hilt of her blade than before, and again, I ached to find an escape from the steel prison in to which she had placed me.

Yet I could not find any. As swiftly as she had fought for the previous ten minutes, her reactions were just as quick, and any light twitch of my movement would have sent me to my death in a true fight.

With a sigh, I raised my right hand, and for the first time in years, I marked my surrender. The bitter pill coated my throat like acid as I shook my head in disbelief, disappointment weighing my neck down as Outcast melted against my skin. At my back, I felt her dislodge herself from me.

I could barely turn to face her under the shame of it. Even if she were the best fighter at our school, the thought of any concession - and in so close a battle - was as disgusting to me as the blood we had both spilled prior.

Another flash of white, and she was her former appearance again.

And now, her eyes interrogated for the answer to the mystery. There was no sign in her expression that she had managed to ascertain the true composition of the leviathan that had taken enough punishment as any Three-Star, and no smirk in her lips that held confidence for whatever theory she had formed. In some odd sense, again, it was calming. She sensed the same hatred of losing in me that she likely held in herself.

With a wry smirk, she pulled herself away and crossed her arms. She was waiting for me to accept the reality of it.

After a long pause, I sighed. I was still hoping it was a dream.

'… Unbelievable.'

"There's no shame in losing to me, Outcast. If you had aimed your gauntlets an inch lower -"

'- and gripped you by your hair, I might have kept you at bay.'

I, too, wore a wry smirk. We were still panting like dogs, and blood mixed with the exhaustion running down on our faces.

"Correct. In the heat of battle, it's important to take whatever option is open to you, no matter how dishonorable - or cruel - it may seem. Regardless," she said, wringing sweat-soaked hair with a free hand, "your strength is clear. If you have a secret to your uniform that you would prefer I keep confidential, I shall honor that agreement."

'… right.' I murmured, sitting back against a desk and thumbing my bruises. 'It's not a uniform. I - don't know where it comes from or how it appears, admittedly - but I can guarantee that it's not made of Life Fibers. I've always told everyone it's a One-Star - and the school registration didn't want to say no to a two-ton leviathan.'

"I suppose it is above their pay-grade to deal with such things." She shook her head, and a smirk cracked her stoic expression. "You shall provide me samples of your armor, and my analyst will set to swift work on determining if you're lying or not. If your uniform is truly not made of Life Fibers - I may find it useful for my own purposes."

'And if I am lying, you'll expel me and revoke my housing.'

Her features dimpled with the enjoyment she was gaining from the display of authority.

"Astute. I enjoy those who understand their situation so quickly."

With another nod, I scooped broken chips of Outcast's armor off the floor and handed them to her as the precious artifacts they were. Her fingers traced carefully along the cracked obsidian, her nails prickling against the jagged edges as if she could still hardly believe it.

"…hm." she muttered, suddenly pensive as the obsidian flickered between her fingers. "… Outcast. Your report sheets have mentioned you started the Fight Club, for the reason of…"

' "To be the strongest organism on the planet." ' I shook my head and smiled. 'I wrote that when I was fourteen, you know.'

"And yet you've continued to run the same club."

Her gaze mixed stoic grit with shared comradery. I knew that she held the same aggressive spark.

"If your uniform is truly not made of Life Fibers, then I would like for you to join the Elite Four. You'll be better suited with a squadron at your same level."

Sensing the shock on my face, she shook her head. "I won't force you to decide at this moment, of course. If you haven't lied to me, then I shall call you to Student Council's office within the hour, where you will have your first meeting with the others. You may decide whether to join - or not - by the end of this."

Without waiting for a response, she made her way to the door.

'I - certainly. One last thing.' I said, unsheathing the left blue gauntlet. 'I'm not sure if your analyst will find this out, or not - but the left gauntlet possesses remote object manipulation. Telekinesis.'

Pausing for a moment, she glanced back to me as her fingers curled around the doorknob. I had no inkling whether or not she had believed the whole maddening story, or if she were even intending to submit the ridiculous specimens to her analyst.

The same smirk cracked across her face.

"Thank you, Outcast. The honesty is appreciated."

The announcement rang out from the school's intercom an hour later, and I was silently grateful she had chosen to verify the ridiculous story after all.

The office was seated far above the school at towering heights, and as I approached the elevator a dozen guards waved me in for it. My step was cautious, not certain if there was some deeper protocol I were meant to follow. As I walked inside, the sleek chrome slammed shut on me behind.

And when I arrived what felt like fifty floors later, the sight out of the doors was no less guarded than the one below. The walls were thick and composed of soundproof steel. It was illumined by a single chandelier, as if inviting me for a party. A single chair was laid against the opposite wall, adjacent to a closed door, and presuming the chair to be for myself, I sat upon it and waited. It could barely support my weight or width, and I thought it might shatter open at any moment.

From the other room I heard slow murmurs, soft whispering I could not make out. I presumed this to be the Elite Four, the three men, the one woman, and assuredly, our illustrious student body presidents. So low were their voices, I could not ascertain the tone, whether excited for the new arrival, or preparing for a merciless initiation.

After what seemed centuries of waiting, the door opened - and there he was. He was a leviathan as well, more lion than human. His blonde mane gave way to wide shoulders, a wider smile across his face as he regarded me, and with a sense of comradery already built in the muscular stature of the man, I shot to my feet and matched his gaze. At his back, there was a far more illuminated chamber, though I could barely see beyond the sheer size of the behemoth.

With a nod, he gestured for me, and I followed after him as he led me to a longtable where four others sat. Satsuki, at the head, and as I sat next to my fellow behemoth, she regarded me with a wry smirk.

The other four were no less excited a sight than he. The two men and one woman were sitting across from me, the chamber lit enough to see their faces fully.

The man at the left wore a midnight-black suit that looked as if it were about to burst open, no matter how scrawny its wearer. Blue streaks of hair gave way to a set of cyan glasses dipping at his nose, and his eyes were searching my visage with curious glint. His fingers traced absentmindedly over a plastic bag laid upon the table, that was filled with the shards of armor Satsuki had taken.

The second, a childish woman whose face was framed by pink hair. She wore a tall white marching band hat, and an unmistakable aura of narcissism.

The third, a man with shaved patches of black hair that gave way to thick pauldrons. As if he were still in the feudal era he wore helmetless samurai garb - a Three-Star Goku Uniform - and a masterwork of a katana at his back.

Yet there was one conspicuously absent seat. I knew not if Ryuko had declined to join my first meeting or if she were occupied by other matters, though as the exotic animal in the room, I knew it would be improper to ask. For all my rough visage and brutish strength, I was well-accustomed to being the center of attention. This, too, was something I shared with the behemoth at my side.

"I told you he isn't as odd as the other club presidents." stated Satsuki plainly, and the other four burst in to laughter. They had kept it held in the entire time we sat.

"I dunno," grinned the pink-haired conductor across from me, "I bet he's got some real skeletons in the closet. What kind of loner starts a club just to fight people?"

"He's just got an aggressive spirit, between lifting weights and eating buckets of food, most likely," the behemoth at my left said as he pat me on the back. He knew well the toils and challenges of becoming so wide. Our shoulders were like two boulders threatening to scrape and erode the other.

"Let alone the mystery of that - ability." muttered the blue-haired man. I surmised quickly that this was Satsuki's analyst, and the scientist looked ready to explode in to a series of interrogations.

I held my hand out to him. 'If you need to ask any more questions -'

"- that shall come later, Outcast." Satsuki smirked and bid me to pause. "However incredulous your story, it appears to be genuine. Inumata could hardly believe his eyes. I thought he might spend the entire day testing it."

"He's gonna poke and prod the shit out of you if you get in a room alone with him, you know." the conductor smirked.

"Can you blame me, Nonon?" Inumata shook his head. "Quite incredible, incredible, incredible. Lady Satsuki said it possessed arms like volcanic rock, legs made of sheer obsidian. You - simply must allow me to take more samples, if that is quite alright."

'Of course.' I grinned, more than pleased to be the center of attention and take the opportunity for bonding. 'I've just always had it - just like a uniform, except always with me and doesn't use Life Fibers. Before I started training, it was as durable as paper, strong as a kitten, slow as a turtle. Now, it's just as slow as a turtle.'

"As poetic as Sanageyama," grinned the behemoth at my left, a small gesture to the samurai.

"And as wide as Gamagoori." he replied.

We shared a laugh. It was clear the meeting was far more for friendship than business, and I was silently grateful that it was proving to be less aristocratic than I had expected. We were students, after all.

Yet out of the corner of my eyes, I could not stop glancing to the empty seventh seat. Like the sun, I could not stare at it directly, and like the sun, I could not avoid seeing it.

Satsuki, astute as ever, caught this as well. She held her hand out to me.

"Ryuko could not make it today, unfortunately. Our mother, Ragyo…" She clenched her jaw like the name was acid in her mouth. "…had asked to spend the day with her."

The room fell to silence for a moment.

"…she'll be alright, right?" Nonon muttered, twisting one of her pink hair strands as if to distract herself. Across all of their faces was that same mix of hesitance and anger, and the tone of the conversation had changed in an instant. I surmised quickly the five held no love for the president of REVOCS, though for what reason, it would, again, be improper to ask.

Satsuki closed her eyes and nodded. "She shall. It's simply a public showing with Nui, Rei, and some other high-ranking employees of REVOCS. Something to calm them down after the latest Nudist Beach assault."

Nonon's eyes shot open, and fresh disgust tinted her cheeks. "She has to spend the entire day with Nui?! Why would you say she'll be okay?!"

Satsuki threw her head up with a laugh, and the others followed with her. Sensing the dozen questions at my lips, she held her hand to me. "Nui is REVOCS' couturier, and Rei is my mother's assistant. Fortunately, Rei never comes to visit, though Nui is quite the annoying pest. She'll show up to these meetings from time to time, always unannounced."

(Nonon) "Lady Satsuki is so diplomatic."

(Inumata) "It would be improper of her to call the bitch by 'bitch'."

(Sanageyama) "She's an oni in human form, truly. Nonon, perform your impression of her for the leviathan - he'll understand what we mean immediately."

All eyes turned to Nonon, and we waited with bated breath. I could hardly imagine a presence so horrifying that it annoyed the five so utterly and equally, and the glint in Nonon's eyes said she would enjoy putting on the performance just as much as we were sure to enjoy watching it.

Throwing her voice out with pitch like an instrument tuned too high and too sharp, she began; "Ooo! What's everyone doing? Isn't fashion wonderful?"

The first series of laughter rang out. Now she was incessantly groping Inumata's shoulders at her side.

"Ooo! Is this a Three-Star? Ryuko-ko! You should let me improve it - and install a bunch of shit on it to track all your movements!"

Pleased with the applause she was garnering, she sat back in her chair with just as narcissistic of a grin as when we had first began.

"And that," said Inumata as he wiped tears from his eyes, "is Nui. We should thank our lucky stars every day for Lady Ryuko."

'It's a hell of an act,' I said, repeating the same. 'You don't use Nui as your couturier, then?'

(Gamagoori) "Nothing as horrific as that."

(Sanageyama) "We would never enter a pact with that imp."

'Jeez.' I leaned back in my chair and shook my head. 'Is she that bad? You mentioned something about tracking devices.'

They shot their vision to Satsuki at the head as if they were asking for permission. She nodded, and closed her eyes.

"I'll leave it at two points for now, Outcast. One - Nui's personality is, of course, not the only reason we do not allow her to sew our uniforms. Outside of Ryuko's and I's Kamuis, we're more than willing to sacrifice power with a less skilled couturier.

Secondly - I presume I do not need to tell you what Ragyo will do if she discovers an ability like your's. If Nui drops in unannounced, she'll relay everything she hears back to my mother."

'…right.' I muttered, suddenly tense. 'Poverty will be the least of my worries.'

"Precisely. She won't hesitate to have you executed. Fortunately, your lack of Life Fibers is more of a boon than a hindrance for future plans."

"Sheesh." Sanageyama muttered and shook his head. "Haven't even told the man why."

"He hasn't pledged yet, of course. It's hardly relevant for now."

'Of course'. I muttered. It was clear I would have to wait for the answers I sought, though the scorn in Satsuki's voice when she had said Ragyo's name told me well enough there were unresolved tensions in the family. Whatever theory I could conjure was unlikely to lead to anything that simple patience wouldn't.

"Regardless, Outcast," Satsuki said, throwing her hands up in an attempt to lighten the mood, "you've seen enough to make your decision on my offer. Will you accept?"

Nonon's grin filled her face. "Oh man. This isn't any less entertaining the fourth time seeing it."

"Or the third." Inumata muttered.

"Now, now," said Gamagoori, patting me on the back. "Let's not embarrass the man on his first day."

'I'm almost afraid to ask what pledging entails, now.'

Satsuki threw her head up with a laugh, and just as suddenly her eyes underwent a wild turn. Her expression became stoic and strict, her eyebrows and chin raised as they had on the poster, and it was no less commanding of a presence in reality than it was on paper. She smacked her hands against the table and stood.

"Outcast! You may leave, or kneel to me!"

I shot to my feet and by her side, bowing my head and bending on one knee to her. The snickers of the others came in stifled bursts, and though I thought it may have been a prank at first, I dared not meet Satsuki's gaze. My eyes trained firmly to the floor. I heard her sword unsheathe from its scabbard above me as she placed the tip at my neck.

"Outcast, the leviathan! Do you pledge to uphold my orders without question, no matter what they may be?"

'I do.'

"Do you pledge yourself to the strictest secrecy?"

'I do.'

"And do you pledge your unflinching loyalty to I, Satsuki Kiryuin?"

'I do.'

"Then from this day forth, you shall be a member of the Elite Five. Tomorrow, you shall meet with Ryuko, privately, here, and she shall set to weaving a fraudulent Three-Star Goku Uniform for you. Ragyo must not be allowed to discover that you do not use Life Fibers."

I felt her sword leave my neck, and the other four erupted in to laughter.

"It really does look odd, doesn't it?" said Inumata, extending his hand out as if to comfort me. "We were all in that same position, at one point."

"It's an honorable pledge." Sanageyama muttered, clearly pleased. "The pose, the stoutness in your eyes - a true samurai pledging to his daimyo."

Gamagoori shook his head. The tension lifted from the air as I stood again.

"Whatever. You've got a spot you prefer to eat at, leviathan? We'll ring in the new recruit with a whole feast - make up for the embarrassment, some."

'Anything with a buffet.'

He grinned. "A man after my own heart."