As the title says, this is just a possible explanation for Jounouchi's superstition. Nothing too dramatic, nothing too drastic, just a quiet little story with an equally tiny plot. T
his was originally submitted to one of the now closed YGO archives from yesteryear. Sadly, after my backup crashed, it took most of my YGO and other fiction with it; this one being one of the few survivors. Needless to say, it is pretty old. Still, I hope you enjoy.
Dsiclaimer: only thing I own are my Ocs and the plot. The rest is whomever holds the rights.
Summary: He didn't believe in ghosts way back when. Jounouchi-centred
Superstition
I watch the lanky teen sprout nonsense on national TV and brag about his duelling skills, before I sigh and turn off the screen.
Has it really already been ten years since?
Amazing, how much a person can change in that time, particularly children.
I have known this boy since before he could crawl, and it makes me wonder, how the once so bright, sceptical, smart child could turn into this boasterous, gullible, ignorant-eh?
Pardon my manners, I should introduce myself first.
My name is Fujigara.
Keichiro Michael Fujigara, and as you might have guessed from my middle name, I am half-japanese, half-british, originated from Okinawa.
The reason I even hassle you with my little story is because I am partially to blame for Jounouchi Katsuya's superstition.
And I am also the reason why his hair is blond.
Don't give me that look.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
The first time I met Katsuya was in the back of my yard. My garden was separated from the neighbour's plot by a picket fence; low enough to allowconversation, yet high enough to grant privacy.
Being an ex-marine pilot, my pension paid enough to grant me a comfortable life on the outskirts of Domino City, which over the years have turned into a slum, but at the time was the place to live for upwardly mobile salarymen and their families.
It was a dewy summer's morning, and I was busy plucking the weeds wrecing havoc upon my roses, when I saw a tall, slender brunette approach the fence, a burly, darkhaired man trailing behind her.
As the couple drew closer, I noticed a bundle on the woman's arm, and really, even before they had reached the fence, I could hear the soft cooing noises coming from the precious load.
Before long, the family had arrived at the barrier, greetings and introductions were exchanged and soon enough, Azuko, as the young mother was named, proudly presented me her firstborn of six months.
The very moment however those big, pale-golden eyes met mine, the infant let out a shrill wail and, much to his parents' surprise and embarassment, would not be soothed until his mother had carried him out of my sight. Only then the crying and screaming would die down, yet, as soon as Azuko attempted to return to her husband's side, the crying rearose, even louder than before. Hijiri, the young father who stood before me, only shook his head.
"Odd," he commented, "he has never done so before. Usually he get's accustomed to strangers rather quickly."
And that had been my very first encounter with Jounouchi Katsuya.
The years passed quickly, and in short, there were two Jounouchi siblings crawling and running through the vast garden surrounding their home. I often watched them when tending to my roses and would greet them, but whereas little Shizuka, I believe was her name, always waved or smiled back, Katsuya would merely glare at me and pull his imoto behind him as if to protect her from me.
Yes, do not fear the stranger in the car, normally it's the people you think you know best who proof to be the most lethal threat.
Smart kid.
And curious.
He would often be found playing Sherlock Holmes or Indiana Jones or something the like, always looking out for the next adventure and more than once bringing himself into quite hazardous siutations. Needless to say, his mother had both hands full keeping him at bay and his 'discoveries'- mostly rocks, flowers, bugs, frogs, caterpilars and once even a small snake- out of her house.
And out of my garden.
Up to this very day, I have no idea, how and where there was a hole in my fence. I repeatedly checked it, but could never find a single loose nail; yet Katsuya managed to somehow sneak through the pickets onto my ground.
Then again, I suppose, boys are like that.
It was a Monday in late June -I had just arived from a four-days trip to Nagasaki- when I found my ride blocked by a civil police car and the entire neighbourhood swarming my yard, systematically working through the underbrush.
The Jounouchis, namely Azuko, were in near hysterics, her husband alternating between lending her moral support and leading the search party. Even before I had parked the car and turned off the engine, the door was thrown open and a scrawny police officer asked;
"Sumimasen; anata wa Fujigara-san desu ka."* I nodded in consent, much to the police man's obvious relief. Guiding me past the people flocking my porch, he explained;
"Sorry about the turmoil, but young Katsuya seems to have disappeared. Last his mother saw him, he was playing near your fence; she went in to look after the girl, and when she returned five minutes later, the kid was gone. She called and looked for him, but all she found was a piece of his shirt hanging from one of your rosebushes. They tried to contact you-"
"I was abroad. How long has Katsuya been missing?"
The officer gave me a sidelong look.
"Saturday afternoon."
I walked faster; even though it's common knowledge that a person can survive up to three days without water, this rule does not abide to children. Already after two days, the infantil body becomes so drained that the child will most likely suffer irrepairable harm or-
"KATSUYAAA!"
Everybody stopped and stared at Jounouchi senior, who crossed my backyard in three long strides and whipped his son up into his strong arms, laughing and crying and thanking kami for all it was worth. Immediately he was joined by his daugther and wife and soon the crowd had flocked about the reunited family, relief emitting off the people.
However, Katsuya struggled out of his father's hold, walked towards and came to a halt no two steps from me. What happened next, I will never forget for as long as I live.
Before the shocked audience, Katsuya's auburn tresses paled into whisps of purest gold, as he declared;
"Mariko-san says, she does not like to be locked in the basement!"
I can't remember much after that, really, the police searching my house and finding my wife's body, the arrestment, the trial…it all became a blur of sounds and pictures. Even the first three months in prison just passed me by without notice.
It was not until I heard the entire story as to what had happened in those few days I was gone, that I overcame my stupor.
Here is the story as I was told:
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Katsuya grinned.
Fujigara-san had left yesterday and now he was free to roam this one's house and search for the secret treasure chamber. It must have a secret chamber; every house that size has one. Even his baby sister said so.
Katsuya wiggled through the hole between two semi-lose pickets only he knew about. Quickly he scurried towards the back of the house, making sure not to be seen by anyone peeking into the yard and came to a halt before the back door. It was an old, western style house, with solid frames, heavy locks and -a cellar.
Katsuya knew that one of the cellar windows was broken since he had once followed a young taki+ and seen the marder disappear through it. Within moments the boy had found the disfunctional screen. It took him a moment to squeeze himself through the wired frame but the moment his belly was past the narrowest part, gravity did its work and Katsuya tumbled five feet deep into the dark, just to land on a pile of old potato bags.
Coughing and gasping, Katsuya worked his way out of the mound, sneezed twice and then took a first good look at the surroundings. Blinking, he stood in the dim twlight, fear creeping up his spine and making his knees feel putty. But no!
There was nothing to be afraid of; Fujigara-san was long gone and far way and everybody knew that there was no such things as ghosts or spirits. Determinded, Katsuya squared his tiny shoulders and began with the treasure hunt.
He was hungry.
And tired.
And dirty.
But most of all tired.
Katsuya had searched the entire house but found no treasure. Sure, there were a couple of gold and silver coins, but those were locked behind glass frames and hung up at the walls for everyone to see. Those weren't treasures; treasures were huge, wooden, iron-plated boxes filled with pearls and jewelry and gold coins and stuff.
Oh, and skulls and bones, of course.
Katsuya yawned as he entered the kitchen; he didn't dare eat anything, since he was sure Fujigara-san would know(his parents always knew when he took something from the cupboard or fridge, though he couldn't figure out how) but sipped some water from the tap. Alas, short as he was, he couldn't reach it, not without help anyway. A kitchen chair made for a perfect ladder for the little boy as he thirstily drank the cold water. Once satisfied, Katsuya put the chair back in place and decided to go home. He tried the front and back door, and all windows, but to no avail. Everything was locked and the window knobs were to high for him to reach. Even if he would have managed to open them, there was no way he could have unhinged the heavy shutters. He had to try to climb out the same way he had come in.
Which was easier said than done.
Never mind how high he jumped, Katsuya just couldn't reach the window; plus, hopping up and down on the potato bags each time evoked a cloud of dust to erupt. Already his clothes were grey and he could barely see, even less breath. From somewhere he could hear his mother shouting his name, but the dust in his throat made it impossible for him to do much more than croak. It burned in his eyes, his nose and chest and made him cough and gag. He thought of throwing something out of the window but everything around was either too big or too heavy to lift. Finally, with no way out, darkness creeping upon him and fatigue taking over, the boy crawled between the potato bags and cried himself to sleep.
The next morning, Katsuya awoke when the sun tickled his face. He yawned and almost tumbled down the mass of bags he lay upon. Once back on safe ground, the little brunet made his way through the house searching for a bathroom. After heeding nature's call and washing himself as good as possible, Katsuya went to the kitchen, deciding that in this case Fujigara-san would surely understand if he ate some of his food.
With some difficulty, Katsuya opened the fridge and stared more than a little bewildered at its contents. There was a lot of the green stuff his mother always insisted him to eat, several boxes with pictures and letters he couldn't decipher and -milk.
Struggling with chairs, shelfs, bowls, cups, boxes and bottles, Katsuya finally managed to ready himself a breakfast consisting of milk, honey, cereals, cold tofu and raw beef sausages. He ate with great appetite, though the tofu tasted bland and the sausages kept on slipping through his small fingers. Once done, the child tried to clear up as good as possible, then searched the house for an escape route. As he passed through the living room, he saw a telephone. An idea struck him; he picked up the receiver and tried to dial, but he couldn't remember his home number. He randomly tried several combinations, but when he either got no connection or a strange, friendly voice telling him that this number didn't exist, he gave up.
Again, he went in search for an escape route, but as the day turned into dusk, Katsuya began to tire more and more. As night set in and the moon arose, the boy returned to his shelter in the cellar, lay down on the rough linen sacks and imagined his mother singing him to sleep. For a moment, he could almost feel her hands gently caressing the crown of his head.
With a small gasp, Katsuya jerked from his sleep. Around him, the pale moonlight danced across the various objects and threw random patterns across the floor. In the corner, next to the window, under which Katsuya lay on his heap of bags, the lights seemed to pool and collect to illuminate the form of a woman. A beautiful woman sporting an exquisitely designed Furisode#, expensive jewelry and a simple, yet elegant hairdo.
Katsuya blinked, rubbed his tired eyes and stared in disbelief at the apparition before him.
"Who are you?"
The woman turned her head and gave a small, sad smile.
"My name ist Mariko. I ..live here. And you are Katsuya, ne?"
The boy nodded hesitantly; suspicion on his face.
"I didn't see you before."
Bitterness tinted the smile he received.
"I can only come out when the moon shines unto my.. place."
She tilted her head and gazed intently at her young visitior. Katsuya trembled slightly, never had he met a person with eyes like Mariko's; they were silver and black at the same time, like the small pound behind their house at night. Her hair, however, shimmered like polished gold, even in the dim lighting.
"What-why are you here?" asked the boy. Again, Mariko gave a sad smile.
"Keichiro put me here. We..had a fight."
Katsuya wrinkled his nose.
"'Tou-san and 'kaa-san fight too, sometimes. But he never makes her go to the cellar. Or anywhere else."
For a moment, the two prisoners locked eyes.
The boy's expression darkened, as he straightened himself and declared;
"Fujigara-san ga warui desu."°
This time, Mariko's smile held the slightest inkling of amusement.
"Hai. Yes, you could say that. Then again, I suppose, he is merely..cowardly."
Katsuya snorted.
"I'm not afraid of anything! Especially bad guys! I will protect you from him and help you escape!"
Mariko giggled softly, then shook her head.
"I am afraid, that is not possible."
Katsuya frowned, impatience apparent on his face.
"Doshite? We can climb out the window-"
"The window is too small for me. Plus, I have been..bound to this place."
The boy blinked, then rounded Mariko, who had been sitting gracefully all through their conversation. Her gown covered her legs and feet plus several inches of the dusty floor. Probably the chain was beneath the Furisode, figured Katsuya. Mariko sighed.
"There are many ways to tie a person down, young Katsuya. I hope, you will never understand."
Katsuya was puzzled, but something about her tone made him decide not to question any further. Instead, he asked;
"Why is your hair yellow?" For once, the smile was both bright and of a bittersweet quality.
"Ah, yes, my Caucasian descent is showing. Well, you see, my full name is Mariko Jeanne-Michélle Asakura. My mother was from Canada and my father from Aomori. I grew up in Hachinohe. Do you know where Canada is?"
Katsuya shook his head. Then he paused and stated;
"You're konketsuji, ne?"^
Silverblack eyes flew wide open.
"My, what a rude thing to say to a lady! But then again, I asusme, you are right. I am indeed only half Japanese. That's why my blond hair. Still, there is no need to be insultive."
She gave Katsuya a mock stern look, who shifted uncomfortably beneath her gaze and scoffed his shoes. Finally, Mariko decided to take pity on him and asked;
"So tell me, Katsuya-kun, do you believe in ghosts?"
The boy fervently shook his head.
"Ie, ghosts are just stuff from fairy-books. Only babies and girls believe in ghosts and spirits."
Mariko smiled, this time amusedly. Gently, carefully driving one hand over Katsuya's brown tresses, she whispered:
"Oh, but they do exist, Katsu-kun, and I will prove it to you. If you do me a favour, I will help you out of this place and give you proof that ghosts really do exist."
Katsuya perked up.
"Honto ni? You can help me go back to 'Tou-san and 'Kaa-san and 'Zuka?" The woman laughed; a small, sweet sound like the chiming of a wind-tousled bell.
"Chotto, chotto, ne, musuko. Sleep fast, and all will come along just fine. You must only promise me to tell Keichiro that Mari doesn't like to be buried in the cellar. I will take care of the rest."
Katsuya nodded and resettled again underneath the potato bags, even as Mariko began to hum a soft, low tune, which soon sent the boy into a dreamless slumber.
When he awoke, the sun stood high in the sky and there was a ladder sitting next to the window, he hadn't noticed before.
He looked around to see if Mariko-san was anywhere, but he couldn't detect her. Instead, he heard his parent's and sister's cries and shouts and hurried to climb the stile into freedom.
For a moment, he thought he felt someone watching him, but shook the feeling off and squeezed himself through the broken frame into the garden.
Behind him, just below the window, there were two large, silvery shimmering orbs, but since Katsuya never once looked back, he missed them close and vanish.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Naturally, the police investigated and soon found Mariko's remains hidden beneath the wine cupboard I had buried her that night, seven years ago.
It had been an accident, a fit of rage, and when it was over, Mariko lay dead and my hands were stained with her blood. I dressed her up in her wedding gown, did her hair and make-up and buried her in the cellar because I knew, how much she loved to gaze at the moon. That night, the moon had been half-crescent.
The very night before Katsuya's family moved in.
Katsuya didn't believe she was dead, until her corpse was carried past him in a body bag. Only then, young Jounouchi finally understood what had happened and, like it or not, had to accept the truth –as well as Mariko's farewell present.
As I said, it's my fault that Jounouchi Katsuya is blond.
And that, for as long as he lives, every look in a mirror will remind him that ghosts and spirits do exist.
owari
So, this is it. A small, slightly spooky explanation to Jounouchi's superstition and famous golden mane. Again, it is obvious how my writing style has changed since this here ficlet. Hope you still liked it; please r&r and see you round.
Felidae
Glossary:
*Sumimasen; anata wa Fujigara-san desu ka : Pardon me, do you happen to be Mr. Fujigara?
+taki: badger
#Furisode: The most formal -and expensive- kimono for unmarried women. The name means 'long sleeve'; the heavy silk is beautifully embroidered and often hand-painted
^konketsuji: half-caste