Lock and reload. Shift. Aim down the sight, lock-on. Pull the trigger.
It was a mindless operation, one that the young brown-haired boy was definitely not used to. He was always more deft with pens and his mind as a tool, not a firearm. It felt awkward and bulky in his grip, and the smell of the gunpowder filled his nostrils and soaked into his clothing. It was a lingering smell, just as the ringing in his ears every time the trigger of the shotgun was pressed. He definitely did not like it, but he didn't hate it. For what it was, the activity wasn't terrible, and it was for a purpose. He could handle that much, he knew, even though it truly hurt and made every muscle in his body sore in exhaustion. Even if it meant physical strength, something very foreign to him until the past few week he had been in training.
His mind was just not with it, and he was beginning to fear that the actions would never quite click, and that he'd have no choice but to let his father down. ...But, no. It wasn't a question if he would give in, it was an impossibility, and this he promised to himself every weary night when he was seconds away from passing out in exhaustion. This trying physical work meant less time for studies, but his mind was as sharp as ever. He didn't falter in his schoolwork in the slightest. In fact, coupled with the intense training during the day, the nights were still and silent, which allowed him more time than ever to keep up with his studies. First and foremost, he would become a doctor. That was what he wanted more than anything else, then secondly was to become an Exorcist. But with this came a twinge of remorse, a second thought of doubt in the back of his mind. It was possible to be both a doctor and an Exorcist, the Meister classes allowed him that particular freedom. But his father... Shiro, what he promised the man was always echoing in his mind.
Now, many years later, this promise to protect his brother continued to ring in his mind. Along with the gun blasts as he narrowed his eyes behind thick rectangular frames, Yukio could clearly hear the words from that last day. It was a pact not sealed by blood, but by faith. Faith and encouragement from the one man who took the time to care for him all these years. His father no longer walked the earth, but stood by his side, his hand on the Yukio's wrist all the while, just as those many times when the young man had needed help back to his feet. It was retribution and more than that... it was love. Thus Yukio was always one for the concrete and the mundane, emotions really never had a place in his disposition in the slightest. Or, rather, he never let it show.
Quickly, the bespectacled Exorcist turned to his left, arm outstretched and holding a pistol effortlessly, the very firearm he had once found so unbearably heavy that his young muscles ached to steady. It was second-nature now to him. Though the mechanics have changed and he had gained quite an amount of skill as a Dragoon now, it was the same routine he always practiced, those steps he drilled into his mind as perfectly as the vessel pathways in the human body, the simple processes he knew like the back of his hand.
Lock and reload. Shift. Aim down the sight, lock-on. Pull the trigger.
It was no longer mindless, however. This time around, Yukio had a purpose he would never fail to fulfill. Now, as his muscles ached from the strain of fighting the oncoming flock of hobgoblins, he wasn't focused on becoming a doctor, reminding himself of his studies. Yukio was now remembering his father, and the one life vow to care for the one person whom he swore to protect with his life. He moved on, back into his seamless flow under another spray of bullets, the faint flicker of blue flames from his older brother yards away to his side.
Lock and reload. Shift. Aim down the sight, lock-on. Pull the trigger. Protect.