SHojo S
Chapter 1: Light of the Fireflies
Cultivate your hunger, before you idealize
Motivate your anger, to make them all realize
Climbing the mountain, never coming down
Break into the contents, never falling down
-WIND, Akeboshi-
Mitsui looked forward to today. He looked for the ephemeral flowers that bloomed and passed away, to be rendered immortal forever. The poetry singers have sung today. The passing days of the sun that Phoebus rendered to shine forever and forever. The zephyr of the Kanagawa air that dragged students to their school, although some were dragged unwillingly, much to his own experience and thoughts. He remembered a time when he let Phoebus join him walk under the sun to sneak out to watch his dream unfold, only to be blown to bits and hurt him far where the sun never shone and Hades blazed.
Tomorrow was another day, he remembered that quote very well. As hat crazy old Scarlett O' Hara said. Crazy old Scarlett, he remembered his mother comment, her face twisting with the skin and wrinkle of age and happiness. Back to the happy days when he often wondered what it felt like to be under the skin of boys with cigarettes in their mouths. Only dreaming what they could not do with the power of choice to value and devalue what was common and rare. Only wishing for more. It used to fascinate him. But he'd been under that skin and it robbed him of almost everything he had had.
An actual third year class. Two years of missing classmates and lessons. All of them replaced by hazy memories. Angst. Pain and great hate for what used to be his greatest love. All in the ignorance of the high school life that jousei and shojo manga bought to the glory, he thought with a jest.
Stupid shojo manga that showed off boys too pretty to be actual men and twisted girls' hearts into thinking guys would like them for all they cared. Manga that made them into creepy fangirls who put too much hope into dreaming as a perfect girlfriend to them. To him, they were a burden and nuisance. Stupid, too. Troublesome women, he remembered someone he knew said. Someone from his old team, the manager, a young man with pretty features that passed for the bishounen of shojo manga.
"What a waste for them to invest into their looks. It's not gonna make them who they are," he had declared. "It's hard work that delivers success, not popularity. Remember this, Mitsui-senpai and you'll know; Experience is the best teacher," he had said cheerfully, grinning. For one a year or two younger than him, Mitsui was impressed. Not naïve, but this boy certainly had the air of someone he wanted to be always by his side. A true friend.
This young boy was popular with the girls; he was a strategist and he took karate. He had flashing eyes a deep shade of blue, pale skin and a thin but lean frame, as well as smart.
Just small flashes of the memories that he burned with the lighter and cigarette smoke.
He didn't need to do that anymore.
He had promised Anzai a clean start. No more beating people up. No fighting. Just something small but clean.
He might as well be back to reality; he had to admit, he regretted not bothering to find out the boy who had told him not to give up at all. The taste of regret filled his mouth with the mirth of a must and must not in the midst of the taste of bitterness, pain and the silence of hope as well as the last goodbyes he had done. Two years.
Shalala, hummed the boy as he viewed the majestic light of the fireflies and stars in the darkness.
"Whatcha singing?" The song sounded hopeful. Mitsui looked at him closer. "Why?"
"Shalala, I know I'll have it someday
Light in my ephemeral heart,
Bloom fully."
He smiled serenely. "There's nothing wrong. It feels good."
Mitsui rubbed his head. Memories. He just couldn't tear his head away from them. All in the shining light of the night he remembered and the daylight of Kanagawa that shone with the hope of a thousand splendid suns and flying fireflies. Damn. He gritted his teeth.
The short hair, the scar on his chin and the neat appearance he projected. Surely, no one would bother him now. Stronger.
Expectantly, he shifted in his loose school coat, buttoning it up. He had been so used to what was left of him being dragged practically not taking a bath. It was disgusting and unhygienic. All in the light of the sun, he took a deep breath and tried to be more confident. Somehow, it just made him more anxious.
The crowd of people who stared at him. The males, who he had bullied. The girls who labeled him as a loser and paid nothing to him but insults, gossip and hate. Could they dare touch him now? Doubling this was the memory of the friend he cherished, the memories of before, the sweetness of friendship that he lost and had to earn so hard.
Hushed whispers now. He was going to take the first few steps within the school gates. Ignore the crowd. Smile. Play into the old MVP he once was: friendly and grinning impishly with the charm of a tennis player so smooth into his play. But that had to be fake.
He felt something glue him to the spot. A magnetic and powerful source of force. Something that was coarse and raw and somehow polished in the edges. The steel of a katana, the plain gentleness of a goddess who bloomed momentarily to bestow the short-lived blooms into the earth in the April days that marked the start of school. Fire and water.
He craned his head, trying to be brave.
A pair of pretty indigo eyes, and an Oriental face of a girl who stood at one hundred and sixty inches. The great steel in her eyes, the magnetic force she bestowed to him. A round face of fair skin, with a sharp nose, well-arched brows, too-full lips and glowing skin, framed with deep chestnut hair that she had hot-oiled and put up in two fat and plump pigtails that utterly screamed "GIRLY!" It seemed almost obvious that she seemed frustrated with her appearance, like she was trying to tone down her traditional Japanese features that had the feel of a hime-cut beauty, layered with the edge of a fighter.
Like she wasn't happy with her. She had the athletic body of a fighter, with thin legs. Small waist. Liver lips with lip gloss. Ugh.
Harmless.
"What are you staring at?" he asked. He hoped his tone wouldn't give everything he had away. Not this girl with those indigo eyes that haunted him today. It just happened like he was pulled to her, and she to him.
The girl fixed him with her luminous gaze. A pair of indigo mirrors. Lips curved, in a sly and steely way that made him compelled to fight the glow of her presence. It was purely a haunting experience. He might as well be in the presence of Kushinada-hime* or even Audrey Hepburn.
"You have a scar on your chin," she declared. What was creepy was that her voice was high-pitched and ringing and that her sentences were followed by –sa* and for this, some girls exchanged glances. Moreover, the tones she spoke in were bossy.
"So what?" he snapped, trying to argue with her. It was best she left him alone, seriously.
"Your scar will get dirty. And if it gets dirty, you will contract some infection. Besides, the scar's still fresh. It'd be best you protect it." As she spoke, the girl fished a new BandAid from her pocket. She peeled it off.
Her fingers were slender and there were some cuts in it.
"If you insist, I can do it myself."
"NO!" Her protest was urgent and there was a flash of annoyance in her eyes. So it was a mutual annoyance. "Let me do it. I don't trust your hands, at that rate."
There was the shuffling of feet – and the smell of sakura-scented lotion and perfume. Her coat-covered arm to his face, held at a length that alarmed and enraptured him. The swaying of her chestnut hair, hypnotizing with its very texture, and the careless way that she moved with her made him try not to be ensnared in her clever play.
"Closer, Toothless."
"What did you just CALL me?"
"I called you Toothless, Toothless."
She pushed him closer, and he was alarmed. Frozen. She might as well call him Dickless, for all he knew and wondered. A blunt girl with a strong presence; he was already getting a bad feeling from his belly about it.
She placed the Band Aid lightly on his chin, the touch of a flower petal that disappeared too fast.
"There."
Her voice was a soft intimate whisper. Her face was so close. Up close, he could make out her delicate and pixielike features, the kind of pretty and sweet girl he could see her to be once and would ultimately be. He had to admit… She was sure attractive, not a bad catch at all chances.
Their noses touched.
Like a bolt of the fire ignition, they stared at each others' eyes, alarmed by the closeness, the physical attraction between them.
She snapped first.
"Toothless, why… are you staring at me? It's rude to stare."
He was turned off.
Hypocrite.
He looked away from her. Why were girls so troublesome? He would seriously have liked this one. Seriously. His type. Only she was just so troublesome, but a serious looker. Tough and gentle…but way too tough and outspoken for his taste. Girls. UGH.
A hypocrite.
As he took one last look at the cute girl, he noticed her hair. The shade was familiar. The way her hips rocked as she walked, head held high with all that pretty hair. Her legs were very visible, attracting potential fanboys and they looked pretty good. The light spring in her step, a girl.
But her voice was taken away by the wind and bought to the room.
Sha la la
I know I'll have it someday.
Light in my ephemeral heart,
Shine.
That song.
That damn song.
The one he heard that boy hum to himself. Sha la la… Stronger, stronger. SHINE! The song about the light of the firefly, of the love that was timeless but ephemeral. That song about a girl who worried about a boy and compared her love to the light of a firefly.
Shalala.
He grit his teeth, the sweat pouring off his face.
He had to get her name, no matter what. This girl was a looker and pretty tough. This girl who sang the mysterious song that friend sang so often. She was the key to the mystery. Despite how she treated him, he had to get her name. Lure her into revealing the truth. That way, he could move on.
He just had to.
As a result, he quickly avoided the gangsters in his break time. He hated study with a passion, and he evaded the following teachers who wanted a word or two with him. It really sucked; he disliked them. Hypocritical, critical teachers who bought you down, called you a monster, like your own father did.
He had to.
Who might know her? Who was she? He didn't even know where to begin. Damn. Damn. Forgetting his lunch was a thing; but recess was another thing altogether.
He had to get a good connection. He wanted to talk to her, but really, he was just so afraid. He flinched. He never had to be scared. He needed this connection.
At the third period, which was the last period before recess, he pulled out a random piece of paper from his own notebook and started to scribble furiously in it. Some things just couldn't be explained plainly in words.
Takeishi Middle manager
l
? - Me
l
Girl
This was more complicated than a typical Algebra problem.
No, it was just like the stupid Algebra problem. He glanced up at the green plane with the white chalk on it. Dusty fading finger marks of students who played with it. The hasty scrawls of an active teacher.
X + Y = 10
5x = 100
Oh crap. He really didn't get the problem. Solving two variables was shit enough. He hated them. Nonetheless, it was such a mystery how to solve for the two variables. Same as the way the Takeishi middle school basketball team manager and the girl who had placed the fragile piece of band-aid on his chin, the one who hummed. A song that connected them. Some thing had to. It was a mystery he needed to know.
Interested shuffling.
It had to be Hotta, wanting to know his business again.
What's her name? he had asked him, after seeing the whole thing. Shining dark eyes. Interested. The burly man had grinned in admiration of her long legs and pretty hair. A looker. I want to know. I'm interested.
So am I, he had wanted to say, but he didn't.
Really, the connection and how to get it was x and y, variables that connected around each other, weaving an ominous and immortal chaplet.
He was irritated.
He just had to ask. Closing his eyes, he visualized her.
Indigo eyes. Pale. Long legs, small waist, long, long hair that's been done in the salon. Sharp-tongued and annoying, humming.
He tapped the paper with his pencil, forgetting that the key to solving his mystery right now was supposed to be replaced by actually analyzing and solving for the variables using the Polya's Method. Which he didn't bother to memorize at all.
"Mit-chan?"
"What?"
"Sensei's looking at you."
"Oh really –"
He stared at his paper, all under the shadow of the teacher.
"What is this, Mitsui-kun?" Surreptitiously, the sneaky teacher snatched the paper from his desk.
Double the doo-doo.
"That's nothing –"
The teacher's eyes lit up when he saw the contents of the said paper. His eyes danced with some youth. "Ahh. Some girl we got here, do we, Mitsui-kun?"
A few people sniggered. How insensitive.
"I hope you don't mind if you tell us about this mystery girl."
"I don't really know her name –"
The bell rang abruptly, and quickly, he left the seat, avoiding the teacher's eyes. It was humiliating and his cheeks burned with it.
It was all over.
Firstly, he needed to get her name. Someone who knew people from all over Shohoku. Someone who also knew girls.
Ayako.
"You look like you're plotting something," chuckled a voice behind him. Someone who always smiled in the way he said things. His voice said it all. Kogure.
"I- I'm not."
"Well, you look worried. It would enlighten me if you tell me about it. Maybe I can help with it."
Kogure could help.
"There's this girl, and I need to know her name. I'm not interested in her, okay? I just want her name and that's all. I need to talk to her. I want to talk to her about something from the past. It's been annoying me lately."
"Ahh." Kogure breathed in relief. "For a moment, I was worried she dumped you or something like that. What does she look like? I might actually know her, or Ayako does."
"She's really athletic-looking, but petite. Indigo eyes, hair that looks like she got it from the salon and it's realllllyyy long. Long legs, and a skirt that shows it off. She's tough and too outspoken and annoying."
"Indigo eyes and long legs?"
He nodded, pressing Kogure to consider who it was.
"Anything in the way she wears her uniform?"
"She doesn't wear the ribbon at all."
"I got your mystery girl, all right. Not a bad choice." Kogure looked at him squarely. "Ayako's friends with her. She watches the practices most of the time, though I've heard she's in the martial arts clubs."
He knew it.
"So who is it? What year?"
"Tanaka Ami. She's a junior, in the Second Year. Actually quite popular because of her bad temper. Other than that, not really outgoing."
Bad temper?
"Any exact club?"
"Probably Karate. I see her often walking home alone."
"Tell me about her temper."
"It's all the rumours say. I just hear about them. The rumours are she's a Yankee, and that she can beat anyone dead if you piss her off."
"Thanks, I guess."
"You're welcome, anytime." Kogure glanced at him thoughtfully. "You know, I think you should talk to her anytime." His lips lopsided in a downward curve. "It'll really keep her company, Mitsui. She's…like you. Tanaka… She needs the company; I think she's lonely."
Lonely.
It didn't seem so.
For this, he heeded Kogure's replies. "I'll try talking to her as soon as I can," he promised his friend.
So he had actually gotten his x; he needed the y.
Ugh.
"I told you, Hayato, I don't like you. You're just infatuated with me and get out. We're not close!"
"AMI-CHAN, MARRY ME! I WILL HAVE YOUR CHILDREN!"
"I said, STOP IT!"
Furiously, she kicked the guy away as she walked her way through the silvery hallways with her usual quick and bad and difficult temper.
That quick and awful temper that destroyed everyone.
Ami's best feature had been her hair. Her long and smooth and silky brown tresses had played with more than a dozen hearts as she had grown up, in her later years. Grown out of maturity, she had done away with the short crop she used to replace long locks with in order to enjoy the physics of sports. These locks made the boys chase after her.
Her temper was a huge factor.
Through her first year in Shohoku and last year in middle school, she had been popular with various peers. Love confessions were delivered thrice a week in middle school; and in high school, every month. Mainly, it was her appearance. It was all about her aura, her appearance.
Condemned by her looks.
High school, she had ravaged the hearts of those her hair played with. Bought them to their Apollyon.
No boy shall have me. No guy should kiss me. No one to hold my hand. No one to walk me home. I don't need boys.
She had scorned the romance of the shojo. Cruel, hot-headed, and tough. That way, she wouldn't be condemned as a weakling. Pushed everyone away from her. Flesh and lava in the plain reactive anger she lashed out in everything.
Goo-goo eyes from boys, their distaste for her difficult and bitter temper, and rumors that affected her image.
A few friends she had, but not close.
For lunch, she headed outside the building, wanting to calm herself all by her solitary presence.
Finally, she was all alone.
Leaning against the wall, she immediately sat on the green grass and pulled out her homemade lunch.
Away from the rumors and the overwhelming words. Away from the crowds. Away from the teachers who made you stand up in class until you were forced to answer to them. Away from others who bad-mouthed you because you were hotheaded.
Finally.
She picked at the onigiri she had made herself and sunk her teeth slowly into it, savoring the filling inside. Not a bad try, she complimented herself. Her progress in cooking was getting more satisfactory every try she made.
After finishing her meal, she got up and started to walk.
Everyday at lunch, she walked around the school, out of boredom. She enjoyed the long walks. It made her enjoy the fresh air the school offered. It made her appreciate the beauty of the transient blossoms that bloomed in the April days.
No.
She had to be crazy.
Walking just gave her something to do than feel all alone.
"Who do you like? Why do you watch?"
"…"
"Come on, Ami. Really." Ayako laughed. Her voice had a teasing tone to it. "I'm really and inextinguishably curious about it. Majority of practice, you watch. Ever since first year. I bet you like someone!"
"Me?"
"Yup!"
"…."
"Geez. You're so monotone. How ironic for a girl who gets angry all the time!"
"HEY! I'm not angry all the time," Ami deadpanned.
"You do. But back to the question: who do you like?"
"Umm…"
"Rukawa!"
"WHAT?"
"I knew it!"
"No; he's useless."
"Ryota?"
"YUCK."
"Kogure-senpai?"
"…"
Ami facepalmed.
The next time he spotted her, it was after practice, and she was outside of the basketball gym, obviously besotted with Romeo and Juliet. Weirdly enough, it looked like she was waiting for him.
Her face was sweaty, and her hair was wet. It trailed down her waist, wet and tied loosely.
"Is it me or are you waiting for me?"
"Nope." She was deadpanning now. "It's just your imagination. I have a piece of advice for you: KEEP IT TO YOURSELF."
"Then what are you doing here outside of the gym? Stalking me? Waiting for me?" He scratched his head. "Annoying," he muttered to himself.
"MIT-CHAN HAS A GIRLFRIEND!"
Sakuragi was teasing him.
Annoyed, he craned his head to Sakuragi. And so did Tanaka.
"SHE'S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!" he snapped.
"For crying out loud, he's not my type! He's really annoying, you know," Tanaka retorted. Her voice was loud.
The thud of a heavy bag and Shakespeare book made Mitsui look at her.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
A vein throbbed in her forehead. Her eyes flashed, and her face was turning red. "Showing him that it's bad to piss me off!"
She ran towards the gym in the direction of Hanamichi Sakuragi and started to beat him up.
Uppercut. Lowercut. A headkick. Roundhous kick. Man, she could fight. The speed. The pure anger in her eyes.
No wonder the boys feared her.
She was strong and hotheaded and too opinionated for her own good.
Forty-five minutes later, she was leaning on him, with a pissed expression on her face. Her arm brushed against his shoulders. Her brushed hair was frizzing out of its respective scrunchies and her cheek was dirty.
They were walking home already.
"DAMN GORILLA! WHY DID HE RUIN MY FUN?" Tanaka furiously ranted. "KILLJOY!" Angrily, the second-year student shook her first melodramatically at the night sky. Her loud voice echoed through the corners of the night and the Moon smiled at her qualms. "GOOLLY!"
Mitsui snickered.
Akagi had not punched her, but rather tore her apart from beating Sakuragi up fully. She was unstoppable in her fury, and pretty scary. Even Kogure had looked embarrassed.
"Did you just snicker?"
He nodded.
"Stop snickering at me, Toothless!"
"You're not my mother. You don't tell me what to do."
She sighed. "Jeez, Toothless, stop being so stiff. You know, if you're that way, you'll get white hair faster than you can say 'Basketball.'"
It was his time to fire out something at her.
"I should say the same to you, Tanaka."
She scowled at him.
"What makes you think so? You barely even know me. It's not your business, Toothless." Her hands balled.
"You," he grinned at her, "are very bossy, Tanaka Ami."
Instead of the conversation he wanted to have, he ended up annoying her.
* - Kushinada - the wife of Susanoo, who he first met when he saved her from Orochi, a monster. He ended up marrying her, being astounded by her beauty. A Japanese deity.