Chapter 1

It was a sunny day in Skyloft. The bazaar had just opened for business, as it always did early in the morning, and the skies were their usual pretty blue. Clouds were slowly drifting by, tearing softly apart as they floated into the island's cliffside, before clumping back together at the other end. The breeze was gentle – the perfect kind for taking a loftwing out for flight.

Today was the day of the Wing Ceremony, a day when the undergraduate boys of Skyloft would compete to earn their senior class merits. At the island's edge, they would leap into the abyss of atmosphere below and whistle for their winged companions. Some took a running start, others tumbled forward uncertainly, and the show offs would leap backwards and somersault their way into the sky. In a matter of seconds, seconds that brought meaning to the difference between the sure-footedness on land and the terror of falling forever, they mounted their loft wings, soaring deep into the sky, seeking the ultimate prize that would mark their status from boys to men…

"Don't forget to nail it at each end of the wood, you beetle brain – otherwise the bird's just gonna kick it off!" Groose barked, grabbing the hammer from Cawlin and pounding in a nail himself.

"Yeah, beetle brain," Strich chuckled.

"I was getting there," Cawlin protested haughtily. "Don't get your pompadour in a ruff."

Groose harrumphed and smoothed a hand over his carefully styled hair. He felt his healthy red roots, thick with lush growth from copious conditioning, and the careful curl at the ends. He relished the glide of the mousse beneath his fingertips, which felt as smooth as marble countertop, but slick like dewy fern leaves after a late night rain. This was the way a man's hair was supposed to be – proud, upright, groomed to perfection. A man of his word never failed to dollop a liberal amount of Chu Jelly to his mane in the morning and spread it through like his breakfast butter on toast. Manhood, after all, was about erection in every sense of the word: if your hair stood tall, you stood tall; if you stood tall, well… obviously, everything else would stand tall in its place.

But not if your hair was mussed up, wild and ragged, chopped like an overgrown bush, sticking this way and that with no sense of order or intention or statement.

Not like Link's sloppy mop!

Groose mentally groaned at the thought of that ghastly example of a man's hairdo. What, had he stuck his head under one of the windmill propellers to lop off the bangs that were persistently hanging in his face? Or had he simply slathered his hair in breakfast mush and offered his head to his loftwing so that the beast could chew off the ends he found too bothersome? Perhaps it was neither. Perhaps Link just presided over a club of manless men with most unmanly hairdos and maintained his amateurish, unmanly bob in order to retain his authority. Groose didn't like this idea, though. He didn't like the idea of Link being president of anything, even a club for unmanly, unstylish losers. He mentally demoted him to the position of secretary and felt much better about the whole thing.

As he smiled to himself, pacing back and forth with each idea that bubbled into his brain, Cawlin and Strich watched him warily.

"He's been doing this a lot lately," Cawlin sighed. "You don't think he's nervous about the Wing Ceremony at all?"

Strich shrugged. "With Link as flightless as a Lanayru Ant, he has nothing to fear. I mean, it's not like we're going to try to win."

"Of course not!" Cawling sniffed. "What kind of loyalty is that? We're as true to Groose as… as… uh… as a loftwing to his master! And to no one else!"

"That's not what you were muttering in your sleep last night," Strich replied.

Cawlin's eyes widened. He seemed to have forgotten about Groose who was still lost in his own thoughts. "What do you mean, 'muttering in my sleep?' I don't mutter in my sleep!"

Strich grinned. "Oh yes you do. As snug as a bug in a rug, you were – and bitten by one, as well!"

Cawlin grumbled, "What on earth are you talking about?"

"The love bug," Strich said coyly in a sing-song voice.

Cawlin was catching on. His expression turned from uncertainty to horror. "L-l-ove bug?" he stuttered.

"Oh yes…" Strich continued on, unrelenting. He put his hand to his chin as if in great thought, staring at the sky with a mischievous smile on his face. "I'm quite sure I know who produced the nectar for it, too."

"You couldn't!" Cawlin cried, panicked. "You… you wouldn't!"

"Have you told Groose yet?" Strich asked casually. "Have you told him that the girl you like is—"

"GAH!" Cawlin tackled Strich, knocking the taller boy to the ground despite his smaller stature. There they scrambled and fumbled and rolled with sloppy, misplaced punches and shoves, until they tumbled into Groose, still pacing and pondering in his own subconscious realm, causing him to trip over their two tangled bodies. All the while, Link's crimson Loftwing was squawking louder and louder, contributing its own notes to the commotion.

"What are you two knuckleheads doing?" Groose shouted as he sat up, rubbing the back of his head. "Can't you tell when a man's trying to think?"

Strich was readying his tongue with a shiny glint in his eye, but Cawlin caught in time to leap on him again and recommence their brawling. Groose eyed them pitifully as they continued to struggle down the hill, yelping and hurling insults at each other.

"Dunderheads," he muttered.

He couldn't be too annoyed, though. He had just successfully imprisoned that stupid red bird, which meant that stupid unmanly Link would not be able to compete in the Wing Loft Ceremony. Which meant that he could not claim the ultimate prize – Groose flushed with warmth and sighed. Special time alone with Zelda. Oh Goddess, was she the most beautiful girl in all of Skyloft.

Lovely long gold tresses, dazzling blue eyes, and of course a slender waist accompanied by soft hips and shapely legs… Steamy puffs of breath were pouring out of Groose's nostrils. What he would give to have those few moments alone with her!

Certainly he was willing to sabotage that unrelenting hair offender's loftwing to seize victory. There was nothing unfair about it! Maybe if the lazy sleeper just got up at a reasonable hour in the morning for once to properly tend to his mane, he wouldn't have to worry about other people stealing his loft wing. After all, the sooner you were up and awake, the less you had to worry about other people potentially claiming your possessions for themselves. Groose himself had to protect his fine container of ChuChu jelly from the wandering hands of Cawlin. Stolen hair gel, stolen loft wing? These scenarios were undeniably parallel in Groose's mind. He had no guilt whatsoever about what he and his cronies had just done.

Which reminded him… what they had just done was for the purpose of winning the Wing Ceremony, and this undoubtedly would be starting soon. Cawlin and Strich were still scuffling, but with tired limbs and weary insults.

"Stupid… face!" Cawlin gasped between pants.

"Poop…head!" Strich replied, wheezing.

Groose gave them both a sharp kick. "Get up you morons! We're going to be late for the ceremony."

And so the three boys hurried back to the Knight Academy to make their final preparations.