-
DISCLAIMER: Oooh! Lookie! There's a copy of the document for Leslie N's intellectual property rights for Hana Yori Dango! Wait a minute… that's just air.
Yeah. I own nada. :(
The title is derived from the 2002 film 'Life or Something Like It', directed by Stephen Herek and starring Angelina Jolie. I haven't watched it, but from what I do know, this story will have no bearing to the film whatsoever.
SUMMARY: The next heir to the Doumyouji Empire, Doumyouji Daisuke, has come of age! Cue screaming fan girls, desperate mothers… and one extremely disinterested Aoike Kyoko…
RATING: PG-13/T for occasional potty mouth and constant victimisation of Kyoko's underwear.
-
LOVE OR SOMETHING LIKE IT
-
CAST OF CHARACTERSAoike Kyoko (15), daughter of Aoike Kazuya and Asai Yuriko
Amakusa Ichiru (16) , son of Amakusa Seinosuke and Kurimaki Ayano
Doumyouji Daisuke (16), son of Doumyouji Tsukasa and Makino Tsukushi
Mimasaka Ryouma (16), son of Mimsaka Akira
Mimasaka Yukira (16), daughter of Mimsaka Akira
Nishikado Yoshiko (15), son of Nishikado Soujiro
-
Chapter One:
We're All Friends, Right?
-
"A Fanclub?"
Aoike Kyoko was stupefied.
"Eitoku Gakuen has a FANCLUB?"
No. Aoike Kyoko was outraged. Bolting upright from her seat, she stared out the window to the colourful store erected at the corner of the block where the driveway leading to Eitoku Gakuen began.
"Of course Eitoku has a fan club," Aoike Yuriko said in a bored tone. "It started in my year, after all. I know the president actually." Leisurely, Yuriko poured herself a glass of water from the mini-bar. "Don't you think it is disgraceful? Kyoko? She turns forty this year, too."
Kyoko slumped back into her seat, burying her face in her hands. "I can't believe this," she muttered.
"Sit up straight, Kyoko," her mother snapped. "Now do you know how lucky you are for this opportunity?"
"Lucky?" Kyoko spluttered. Despite not wanting to enter this argument again, she simply couldn't help herself. She glared at her mother. "Don't even—"
"Lucky," repeated Yuriko imperiously. "The Doumyouji eldest son is in your very year! He's still single, so I hear."
"I have a boyfriend," Kyoko retorted.
Yuriko sipped her water, her eyes burning. "His father's a cook," she sniffed.
"An internationally acclaimed chef," Kyoko corrected. "His mother won Miss Teen of Japan in 1989. His grandfather was Prime Minister—"
"You could do better, Kyoko," Yuriko said, cutting her daughter off just as the car stopped at the steps leading up to the main entrance.
Fuukamori, the driver, opened the door. Kyoko murmured her thanks as she shouldered her bag. At the unexpected weight, Kyoko glanced down. To her dismay, instead of the hand-decorated satchel Ichi had given her, she found herself lugging fashionable blue denim brand-name bag. But before she could get her actual bag back or complain, Fuukamori hastily shut the door and had lunged back inside the car.
Kyoko fumed as she watched the car pull away. Reluctantly, she turned around to look up to the school that loomed before her.
Eitoku Gakuen was undeniably beautiful. It was almost like a castle, with lush gardens, arched corridors and sweeping staircases laden with climbing, flowering trellis. For all its beauty, however, Kyoko had a bitter taste at the back of her throat as she considered its glory.
"Kyoko-chan…"
Startled at the sound of her name when no one here could possibly know who she was, Kyoko spun around to see a grinning Amakusa Ichiru. Resplendent in the blue Eirin uniform, he had one hand tucked insouciantly in his trouser pocket. She hadn't even noticed him, though he was leaning on the patch of wall right beside her.
She immediately reached out and grabbed a handful of his blazer. "Why are you here?" she demanded, half giddy with a pleasant sense of elation and shock. "You'll be late for school!"
"We've still got half an hour," he said, grinning. "Dad offered to drive me today. He was won over by the prospect of young love."
At the thought of Ichi's father waiting several streets away, Kyoko blushed. "You didn't have to," she muttered.
Ichi gave her a look. "Of course I had to," he said. "What happens if the first person you see when you walk in through those gates is Doumyouji Daisuke? If I'm not careful, you'll be seduced away by the all conquering sex appeal of the Doumyouji family." He sighed gustily. "I'll be sad and alone and pining after you forever more."
"What kind of girl do you think I am?" Kyoko demanded, smacking him. "I should be worried about you! All those Eirin girls and their short little skirts and their tendency to run around everywhere so that said skirts flip up and…"
"The only skirt I'm interested in looking up is yours," Ichi teased.
Kyoko tugged her skirt further down. "Pervert," she hissed.
Ichi chuckled. "It's just that I don't plan on joining the long list of lovers spurned in preference of those Doumyoujis," he told her. "So I'm working extra hard."
She smiled at him. "Oh? How so?"
In a great display of showmanship, he unveiled the item he had come to give her. It was a little boxed package. "Open it," he told her.
Tentatively, Kyoko eased up the lid. Inside, there was a strawberry cream cake in the shape of a heart. "Did you make it?" she asked, awed.
He nodded.
Her mouth near watered at the prospect at tasting the cake. Ichi, just like his father, was an excellent cook. "Can I eat it now?" Kyoko asked excitedly.
"Of course," said Ichi. Carefully, he eased the cake out of the box and held it to her.
Kyoko took a bite, and then another. As the taste settled in her tongue, she sighed. "This is wonderful!" she told him blissfully. "I can taste cinnamon," she told him. "And a little hint of red bean."
"I thought to add a few twists here and there," Ichi said, a glimmer of amusement in his eye.
At the fifth bite, Kyoko suddenly felt something hard underneath her teeth. Drawing away, she stared at the edge of a box that was poking from the cake. "Wow," she said, not knowing what else to say. She felt like a cup of light overflowing.
"Finish the cake first," Ichi said, grinning.
Kyoko hated to rush through good food, but there simply was no time. Savouring the morsel as hastily as she could, she licked the final crumb from the tip of her index finger. "I love presents," she sighed.
The present turned out to be a delicate white-gold necklace with an amethyst pendant the size of the iris. Ichi helped her fasten it on. "It's a first-day-of-school present," he told her.
"But I haven't got anything for you!"
Ichi just smiled and brought her close. But just as he inclined his head towards hers, his other pocket rumbled. He groaned. "That's Dad," he said disappointedly. "I've got to go." Hurriedly, he kissed her on the forehead, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip. "Good luck!" he called, turning back one last time before walking away.
"You too!" Kyoko responded. It was Ichi's first day in Eirin as well.
Overhead, the clock face on the highest turret of the Eitoku building chimed eight fifteen. Kyoko sighed and squared her shoulders.
It was time.
-
The difference between junior school mathematics and senior school mathematics was purely aesthetic. At first.
Kyoko appreciated the plush material of the chair as she sat down to sit her first class. The top of the wooden table was so polished she could practically see her reflection.
Students were still entering the classroom after the introductory assembly. Throughout the speeches given by the faculty and representative students, Kyoko had been uncomfortably aware that practically all of the audience's attention was riveted to the seat three spaces in front of her. There, Doumyouji Daisuke reclined like a golden deity, basking in limelight as though he was getting a tan in the sun.
Just as her thoughts reminisced this disgruntling matter, the boy himself sauntered into the classroom. Immediately, whispering raced around the room.
One girl with hair perfectly coiffed in smooth curls stood up from her seat, her chair scraping against the carpet. "Doumyouji Daisuke-sama," she said loudly, as she struck a pose. "My name is Hinashi Fuuko. My measurements are 32-21-31." She actually twirled to show off said figure before continuing. "Please give me the honour of your company, Doumyouji-san!"
Her bravery elicited a horde of copycats. Instantly, eight other chairs pushed back and introductions were made.
Interested despite herself, Kyoko watched very carefully for Doumyouji's reaction. His father's temper had been legendary. The son, however…
Doumyouji Daisuke smiled, to devastating consequence for the female respiratory system. "I am honoured," he said, bowing slightly, "Hinashi-san, Yushira-san…" He rattled off the list of names, much to everyone's astonishment. "However," he concluded, "I am obliged to refuse."
"Oi, Daisuke," said one of the boys behind him. "Where are we meant to sit?"
Another series of sighs echoed around the room. It was the famed Nishikado Yoshiko, boy genius. In addition to his acclaimed family name and his already evident philandering tendencies, his selection for the International Math Olympiad upcoming in August was widely known.
"You ask the stupidest questions, Yoshi," the girl next to him said disdainfully. "In the empty seats, obviously."
Her name was Mimasaka Yukira. Predictably, she was tall and beautiful, with hair that swung to her waist and surprisingly heavy lidded eyes for her oriental features. However, such facts were not important in comparison to…
"That's nice." The last of the foursome leant against the doorway. He was busily texting away on his mobile phone. "They've left seats for us. Four in a row."
Mimasaka Ryouma. The jewel of the Mimasaka family. Unsurprisingly, he was notorious for his playboy antics, even at the young age of sixteen. It was not so much how many he bedded, as compared to who he bedded. It was strongly rumoured that Ryouma was already a prominent figure in the criminal underworld.
Kyoko had picked a seat in the front to specifically avoid being part of the kafuffle. But as the four strolled to their seats, she reluctantly played spectator along everyone else. Doumyouji, the gentleman, pulled out Yukira's seat for her. As Yukira grinned at him and he winked back, all the girls in the class (Kyoko included) sucked in a breath and wondered. Were they or weren't they?
Before any further speculation could occur, however, the maths teacher walked into the room. Placing down his folio on the desk, he turned to the chalk board and scrawled his name in bold characters on the board.
NAKIDA TAMAKI, the kanji read.
Pushing his glasses up to sit high on the bridge of his nose, Tamaki-sensei observed the students. "In your desks in front of you," he intoned, "you will find a copy of your textbook, Year One Mathematics, Volume One."
In all the excitement of what was surely to become the new F4, no one had noticed the dull, staid textbook that lay right beneath their noses. There were a few grumbles and surprised mutters.
Following the instructions, Kyoko flipped to the first page and signed her name in the allocated box with a flourish.
The school year had truly begun.
-
"Bowly."
Hinashi Fuuko stared fixedly at the unnerved Kyoko. The bell had rung for the end of class. Oddly enough, Fuuko had bee-lined straight towards Kyoko's direction.
"I beg your pardon?" Kyoko gaped.
"Your bag," Fuuko said, pointing. She clasped her hands together in a longing fashion. "Monogram Denim from the Louis Vuitton Summer '07 collection. It is designed by Marc Jacobs. It costs one thousand two-hundred and sixty pounds, which is in Japanese yen—"
"Thank you," Kyoko said stiffly, cutting Fuuko off before she could recite any more statistics.
"So what does your father do?" Fuuko asked chattily.
"Investment banking," said Kyoko.
Fuuko became a little warmer. "Really? Which company?"
"Citigroup," Kyoko said automatically.
Fuuko's eyes widened. Kyoko could practically see mental charts hovering in the air as Fuuko ticked and crossed acceptability boxes. Finally, Fuuko straightened and beamed. It seemed that Kyoko had passed the test.
"My name is Hinashi Fuuko. Second daughter to the Hinashi family." She did not elaborate on this, as though the Hinashi family was renowned enough to be automatically known. Kyoko would late discover that the Hinashi family owned a big shipping company. "You may call me Fuuko-chan," she concluded graciously.
Kyoko somehow managed to smile. "Aoike Kyoko," she said, standing up and shaking the proffered hand. "Kyoko-chan, if you like, Fuuko-chan," she added weakly.
"I love your bag, Kyoko-chan," Fuuko purred, as she linked her arm through Kyoko's. "What a wonderful way to make a statement! And I thought I was ostentatious for bringing my Prada!"
Kyoko gritted her teeth at this thinly veiled insult. She knew better, however, than to try an insult of her own. Instead she smiled sweetly and stayed silent.
"Investment banking pays quite well, does it?" Fuuko continued. "Which must be good for you. It's so hard these days, don't you think? When things are dated for more than a season, you wouldn't have a clue on whether the item is genuine or not…" She leaned closer to Kyoko. "You see Oshimura-san over there?" she whispered. "That Gucci is definitely fake. I saw the lining when she opened the bag to get her compact. It was absolutely blank."
Again, Kyoko had nothing to say.
Fuuko heaved a sigh. "I mean, she couldn't even afford a good fake," she said cattily. "God, I would hate being that poor."
Ten minutes later, when the two girls mingled more and clustered in a group of ten, Fuuko repeated this story again. By the time she finished, Oshimura in the corner, close enough to eavesdrop, was milk white. As the group burst into laughter, she fled the room.
Pretty pig-tailed Kitani Haruna smirked. "So what odds would you place?" she asked everyone. "Eight on the fact she'll have all her exit forms signed by tomorrow?"
Eight thousand yen. This was implicitly understood.
"There's no point in putting a wager on something that's guaranteed to happen," drawled Fukori Keisuke, ruffling through his hair.
"You can't be sure of that sort of thing these days," Fuuko murmured.
"That kind of thing hasn't happened in Eitoku since—" began Haruna.
Makino Tsukushi. Precisely twenty-two ago. Upon pondering on that topic, a better one came to mind.
"We are so lucky," tiny Harida Natsumi sighed, "to be in the very same year as the F4!"
"It's about time," Fuuko said. "I heard the year after three of the F4 married, the birth rates tripled—"
To plunge down miserably the next year, Kyoko thought. This was an oft-quoted statistic from her mother.
The girls in the circle were now eying each other, syrupy sweet smiles still on their mouths. They were sizing each other up. Eyes flickered to consider height, guessing at possible weight. The lustre of hair was examined, as was the clearness of skin and the state of hands and clothes.
"Why did you choose Eitoku Gakuen, Haruna-chan?" Yushira Nabiki asked, in a very smooth tone.
"It must have been for the very same reason you chose Eitoku Gakuen, Nabiki-chan," Haruna cooed back.
"Eitoku Gakuen has a very good law school," Keisuke said at once. "That's why I'm here."
Haruna smiled falsely. "As am I, Keisuke-kun."
"We are all friends here, right?" Nabiki asked sweetly. "Friends are always honest, which is why I shall be very honest with you," she said. "I am here save our nation!"
The fervour in which Nabiki said this had everyone goggling.
"May we ask how, Nabiki-chan?" Fuuko ventured.
"I plan to marry Doumyouji-sama, of course," Nabiki stated matter-of-factly, "and reverse our country's plummeting birth rates."
Fuuko's smile became distinctly plastic. "What do you know?" she purred. "That's why I came here as well!"
There was a murmur of agreement from very many people.
"Nabiki-chan," Fuuko said. "I shan't hold that against you at all! In fact, since we're working at the same goal, we should even help each other!"
"Of course, Fuuko-chan!" Nabiki responded hastily. "May the best woman win."
Hinashi Fuuko smiled. "Well, that's given," she said confidently.
-
"Kyoko!"
"ARGH!"
"I see you're enjoying Eitoku very much indeed." Ichi's voice was amused.
Kyoko leant her forehead against the cool brick of the stairwell, cradling her phone to her ear. "How's Eirin?" she asked wearily.
"No flipping skirts quite yet, but I'm still waiting," he told her.
"You look up one skirt, buddy," Kyoko hissed in a threatening tone.
Ichi chuckled. "Where are you now? It's pretty quiet."
"At some set of stairs," Kyoko sighed. "It took me at least ten minutes to find somewhere deserted. There's nowhere else in the entire school which doesn't have at least two people sitting in the corner giggling about Doumyouji Daisuke."
"Really?" Ichi was amused.
"There's an entire legion of girls with visions of puffy white dresses and ten Doumyouji children," Kyoko told him exasperatedly. "He's never around without at least three people surrounding him and trying to get him to impregnate them…"
"Must make class hard," Ichi commented.
"They could be a little quieter about it," Kyoko said unhappily.
"What would the fun be in that?" Ichi laughed once again.
"So where are you?" she asked him.
"In a little private alcove," he murmured. "It's actually quite easy to find an isolated niche in Eirin. I was just thinking about it, when I was trying to decide which one to settle in. All those opportunities for semi-public groping…"
"Perhaps it is a good thing I'm in Eitoku," she returned solemnly. "My virtue is guaranteed to remain intact."
Ichi chortled riotously. "As long as the sight of Doumyouji Daisuke doesn't make your panties melt."
Even though it was just a phone conversation, Kyoko crimsoned. "You!" she said furiously after moments of spluttering. "Don't even think about my underwear, you perverted bastard!"
"But I think about them constantly," Ichi said, sighing gustily.
"I'm hanging up on you," Kyoko threatened.
"How can you be so heartless?" Instantly, Ichi was desolate. "Kyoko-chan…" he whined.
Kyoko was very heartless indeed.
She hung up.
Only to call Ichi back mere seconds later.
"Hi, stranger," she said.
She could almost see his smile over the phone.
"Hi back," he replied.
-
At one thirty in the afternoon, Aoike Kyoko woke from her reverie involving herself, a certain Amakusa Ichiru and a deserted beach. She found herself face to face with Doumyouji Daisuke.
She looked at him.
He smiled back at her. "Your pen, Aoike-san."
She blinked.
"Your pen." He held it up. "You dropped it."
Kyoko started as she realised that the golden pen Doumyouji Daisuke held in his hand was actually hers. "Oh, my pen," she said, barely hiding her mortification at her zoning out. "Thank you, Doumyouji-san."
"Aoike Kyoko, you little minx!" Fuuko hissed to her the moment Doumyouji had returned to his seat.
"What?"
"Dropping your pen like that and MAKING Doumyouji-san pick it up! I thought you had a boyfriend!"
"I do have a boyfriend!" Kyoko said at once. "And I didn't deliberately drop my pen! It was an accident!"
"Of course," Fuuko said, shaking her head and smiling superiorly. "Aren't you terribly clever?"
Approximately ten minutes later, in the midst of a lecture about cell walls, Fuuko wailed. "Oh no! My Bvalgari earrings!"
The said earrings, golden hoops picked with diamonds, were approximately half a foot from Daisuke's desk. So of course, he stood, picked them up and handed them back to Fuuko.
"Thank you, Doumyouji-san," Fuuko breathed, as if he had rescued her from the flames of a burning mansion.
Of course Nabiki, in the name of 'friendly competition', had to one-up Fuuko.
It was a beautiful autumn day, with not a breath of breeze in sight. But somehow… just somehow, at two forty-seven, a gust of wind blew Nabiki's aquamarine-edged white Hermes scarf right onto Doumyouji Daisuke's face.
"I'm terribly sorry!" gasped Nabiki, hands on her delicately flushed cheeks.
"It's all right." Daisuke managed a weak grin.
Nabiki had to stand and walk over to Daisuke's desk to take back her scarf. "Doumyouji-san," Nabiki began bashfully. "I was wondering. Do you like the scent on the scarf?"
Daisuke sniffed obligatorily. "Very nice," he said approvingly.
"Amoureux Seulement De Toi," Nabiki told him breathlessly. "Only In Love You You. That," she added, as Daisuke's grin became slightly strained, "is the name of the perfume."
Hinashi Fuuko seethed.
-
Notes and blah blah:
So, what do you think:)
I should say now that there are probably inaccuracies with the minor details. Firstly, I disclaim ANY statistic on Japanese birth rates. I do know they are low, but other than that… everything mentioned in this fic is fictional! Also, I'm not French or Japanese or in vogue with fashion. If any of the details or translations, such like, are wrong, just pm or review me and I'll change them right away!
- Thank you BB for your correction of my dodgy (tryhard) French. :p
For general interest, most of the names of the characters are picked at random. The on-purpose ones, however, have no bearing to the characters of those manga.
DAISUKE: from DNAngel. Thus, cue the obligatory Daisuke/Daisuki jokes. :p
KYOKO: Skip Beat!
FUUKO: From 'Fuu', Parfait Tic
ICHIRU: From 'Ichi', Parfait Tic
NABIKI: Ranma 1/2
The 'old generation' will of course make their presence felt. And yes, the absence of Hanazawa Rui on the paternity list IS significant, though I'm making a big assumption that all these people got pregnant/impregnated at the same time, but w/e. :p Call it literary license!
Reviews are the love:)
-