Disclaimer: I don't own Randy Cunningham; 9th Grade Ninja

Title: An Excellent Teacher

Summary: An unnamed student finds himself with a strange connection to the newest Ninja History Teacher, Randy Cunningham.

Warnings: Uh, possibly O.C.?

...

He coughed, awkwardly straightening his tie. While it was obvious to the younger counterparts of the room that the young man was unused to wearing fancy clothing, especially clothing in any likeliness of a suit, it suited him well. It showed off his small build and somewhat broad chest, while not overdoing it to the point of obvious flattery. The tie brought out his eyes, the collar showing off his square jawline while also helping with his slightly longer than average neck. He coughed again, hands instinctively finding his pants pockets. "Hello class, I'm your Ninja History teacher; Randy Cunningham." He walked around the side of the desk, hands falling out of his pockets to comfortably sit him on the front of the table. "I graduated here, but it's my first year teaching, making me a newbie. Kind of like all of you." He chuckled.

"While I may be new here, I do expect respect. I'm not asking you to go out of your way to make me feel welcome and not 'the old annoying teacher guy', but I am asking for you all to call me 'Sir' or 'Mr. Cunningham.' That's not too hard, now is it?" He smirked. "I'm warning you now, I'm one of those 'involved' teachers. I will make sure that all of you pass my class, no matter what I have to do too do it. Understand?"

A muffled swell of grumbles swirled around the room, the voices pitched just low enough to be indiscernible from each other yet just loud enough to be registered as complaints. "Good. Glad to be on the same page. I also have my counselors degree, and due to school cutbacks, that also makes me one of your counselors. If you have any problems, any at all, I want you all to be aware that you can come to me." He slapped his book on a front row desk, startling it's inhabitant awake. He smirked. "Got ya." The boy glared, lip trembling to keep the retort at bay. "Hey, you want to take a snooze, save it for study hall. No one in my class is allowed to sleep. Not if you want to pass, that is, and while you may not care, I do."

He leaned back against the desk, once again fiddling with his tie, attempting to loosen the tight knot. He crossed his arms. "Any questions? Any at all? None?" He slapped the book against his hand, fully waking any drowsing students as he turned towards the chalk board. "Let's get started!"

"Uh, sir, may I use the bathroom?"

He glanced up from his book, a stern- and quite out of place- frown adorning his features. The boy was shy, somewhat larger-sized then most his age, his backpack slung sheepishly across his back and books spilling out of the unzipped side. "Is it an emergency?"

"Yes, sir."

"It'll just have to wait until af-" He paused, his hands- and book- falling further down, slowing down just enough to not make a clatter as they fell onto the desk. The black and red book, stuck half-in and half-out of his bag, glowed once again. He coughed. "I understand. You may go. But first-" The boy paused as the older man grabbed his shoulder, giving him a look akin to terror. He gave him a helpful smile. "You might want to zip up your bag. Something might fall out."

He glanced at the bag, then at the man, then the look he was giving the book. "Er, right, I'll do that."

"Good." The boy zipped by, heading straight for the door. "But I still expect the homework to be done by next class!"

"I'll be back before the end of class!" He called, opening and closing the door with a slam.

"Right." He chuckled, sinking further down into his seat as he brought the book back to his face. "'Back by the end of class?' Hah. He'll learn soon enough."

"I thought I told you to zip up that bag."

He glanced up from his packing of said bag, the class quickly exiting the room. Behind all of the traditional clatter of the typical high school hallway, the bell rang. He flushed. "Sorry sir, it makes it easier to get my stuff out of my bag."

"And it makes it easier for you to lose your books." He crossed his arms, non-subtly directing his gaze at the dark book hanging out of the bag behind his ninja history textbook. "What if you drop something important? Say, a journal? Who knows who'll find it then. What if that boy that keeps giving you trouble finds it and reveals your secrets to the whole school?"

He dropped his head, the flush deepening to a darker red. "You noticed that?"

"You'd have to be a fool not too." He sighed. "I meant what I said on day one, you know. If you want to talk about it, then I'm all ears. If not, then it's none of my business."

"Thank you, sir." He smiled, completely zipping up the bag before slinging it onto his shoulder. "I'll remember to zip up my bag."

"Good."

Sweating and panting, he collapsed against a rock. "Nomicon, can I ask you a question?"

His samurai opponent nodded and bowed. He stood and bowed in return. He drew his sword, prompting the boy to do so as well. "Well, this may sound a little silly, but... did you ever train someone named Randy Cunningham?"

The samurai dropped his sword, stony face staring unwaveringly at him for a long, awkward, moment before pointing to the clouds swirling above them. The air shifted, changing and rearranging as marker flew across the sky and painted the words across the air around him.

"While most ninja's move on, some do not."

"So he was the ninja?" The samurai nodded, pausing for a moment, quite possibly remembering days gone by, before raising his sword once again. He did as well, taking a moment to find the proper footing before charging forward.

Heaving, he propped his hands on his knees, biting his lip to keep down a groan. His hand bled heavily, staining the dark fabric of his glove. He sighed. "Stupid stank..." He spat, letting his hand hang towards the floor.

"Agreed." He turned. Mr. Cunningham smiled, mentally taking a few notes for a later class. "Although, you might want to dodge next time."

"Thanks, sir." He grinned, then, remembering his current get-up, he stood up straight and coughed. "Were you injured in the attack, uh... civilian?"

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly in good humor. "No, I wasn't. By the way, you're supposed to use a smoke bomb when a 'civilian' talks to you."

"I-I am?"

He shrugged. "That's what you've been doing for so many years, right Mr. Ninja?"

"Er, right. I... merely forgot."

"Understandable. You might want to get out of here." He pointed towards the direction of bustling shoes. "The principals coming."

"Oh, shoot! Thanks for the tip." He hurriedly dug through his pockets, pulling out a smoke bomb just as the principal turned the corner. "Ninja smoke bomb!"

Coughing horribly, Principal Slimovitz waved a hand across his face. "Were you talking to the Ninja?"

Surprisingly unfazed by the sudden difference in the air, Mr. Cunningham shrugged. "I dunno. It might have been the ninja, or it might have been another imitator."

"R-right." He turned. "I'm going back to my office. It's easier to breathe in there. By the way, your class is getting the best grades I've seen in Ninja History in years. What's your secret?"

"Oh, nothing much." He waved. "See you at lunch tomorrow." Opening his book, he scribbled down a few notes before turning tail back into his classroom.

"So, uh, sir, why'd you decide to teach Ninja History?"

He glanced up from his notes. He crossed his hands on his desk, gaze shifting towards the clock then back at his teacher. "You've still got an hour before detention ends. I'd work on any missing homework I might have, if I were you. Why the sudden question?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, I just thought of it. You don't really seem like the teaching type..."

"I'm not." He sighed, standing up to readjust the large plastic throwing star hanging from the display on top of his file cabinet. "But... I admire the ninja, and the job market for something like that is... really small. It was either this or being one of those creepy old groupies you see in the news."

"Oh." He fiddled with his hands. "You don't like teaching then?"

"Oh, it's a joy, really. Lecturing to a class of blank faces about things they aren't really interested in is just the way I wanted to spend my life." He sighed once again. "Actually, I do like it, in a strange way that makes no sense. It's... a lot of fun."

He glanced back at the clock, then back at his teacher. He grinned. "No, it's still not time to go." He gathered some papers from the file cabinet, tapped them against the metal surface, and returned to his desk. "Get your homework done."

He sighed and pulled out one of the textbooks from his bag. "Yes, sir."

"Sir, what're you doing here?" Mr. Cunningham glanced up from his soda. The usual suit had been replaced with a red t-shirt, baggy jeans, and a thin sweatshirt. The stern frown was replaced with an relaxed grin.

"I could ask you the same thing." He tipped the bottom of his soda at the chaos below. "I never took you for the football type."

"It's for extra credit in gym." He awkwardly shuffled his feet. "Uh, do you mind if I sit here? I mean, if there's no Mrs. Cunningham."

"Nope, no Mrs. Cunningham." He waved his hand, showing the empty fingers. He shrugged. "It's free if you don't have anywhere else to sit."

"Thanks." He slumped onto the seat, putting his chin on his hands and hands on his knees.

"Extra credit, huh? I find that odd, considering you're supposed to be active during gym." Mr. Cunningham raised an eyebrow. "All you're doing here is sitting and watching."

"I think they do it for better ticket sales." He shrugged. "If I wasn't failing gym, I wouldn't even be here."

"I got assigned to help with clean up." Mr Cunningham sighed and leaned back in his seat. "I figured I might as well watch the game. Who knows? Maybe more kids'll listen to me if I toss a few football terms into my lessons."

"I doubt it." He snorted, taking a drink of his soda. The older man didn't reply, watching the game before them. The players clashed and smashed, some bursting through while others were left behind. He winced as a boy was struck down, falling heavily into the solid ground as large and probably heavy feet stormed over him.

"That had to hurt."

"Did you ever try out for any teams during high school?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not really built for most sports, but... yeah, I did. Tried out for the football team a couple of times, got my butt kicked single every time. Besides, the captain hated me. Even if I had been good enough, he would've made sure I didn't get on just to spite me." He took a sip of his soda, setting it down next to him on the bench. He leaned back and sprawled his arms out, making sure to be just far enough away that things weren't uncomfortable. "That, and my grades weren't good enough."

"You had bad grades?"

He nodded. "They tanked my freshman year and never got any better. Honestly, I'm lucky I graduated with everyone else." He stood and stretched. "Anyway, I'd better go check in with the principal. See you next class."

"Er, uh, yeah, bye." He awkwardly waved.

"I need to be tutored." Mr. Cunningham glanced up from his book, eyebrow raised.

"Summer's coming up in a few months." He paused. "And you have a B minus."

"Well, yeah, I know, but..." He fidgeted with his hands. "I want to get my grade up! Yeah, that's it, I want too get my B up to an A."

"Well... alright, I don't see why not." He sighed, closing his book and setting it aside. "When do you want to start?"

"No, dude, that is not okay!" He paused in the doorway. Mr. Cunningham paced behind the small space of his desk, cell phone perched in his ear. "I'm not-" He paused. He vaguely heard talking coming from the other end of the line, but couldn't make it out. "Yes, we're bros. Yes, bros do everything together, but-" Another pause. "I have homework to do over the summer!" He sighed. "I know we're out of college, Howard, but some of us have school related jobs. My job is not stupid! What? Don't you dare hang up on me Howard!" The line went dead. He sighed and slumped into his chair. "Oh, hey." He gave a weak wave. "I didn't see you there."

"Dude? Bro? I didn't know you could talk like that, sir." He smiled, sliding into the seat in front of the desk.

"Well, believe it or not, I was a teenager once. I try not to talk like that on school grounds, it's a bad influence on the students."

He raised an eyebrow. "You do know that kids say things a lot worse than dude or bro, right?"

"Yes, I do. I was a teenager, remember? It's more or less to please the principal."

"Personal call?" Pulling out his homework, he zipped the bag and set it on the floor next to him.

He sat back, rubbing his eyelids. "My roommate decided it'd be a smart idea to sign both of us up to be advisers at ninja camp... without asking for my permission first."

He raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you a little... old to still have a roommate?"

"Nah. Howard and I have been bros since we were old enough to walk, but... he has a habit of pulling stunts like this. I shouldn't be surprised." He chuckled, sitting up and pulling the chair back into the desk. "Anyway, let's see how you're doing on your homework."

"I think you'd make a good ninja camp adviser." Mr. Cunningham glanced up from his paperwork. He shifted the bag on his shoulder, opening the door behind him. "You already have the skills."

Time stood still. Mr. Cunningham half-stood, half-sat, staring at him. There was no surprise, nor any shock. The gaze shifted from him to his bag. He vaguely wondered if he had some kind of ninja see-through-everything vision.

"Yes." He spoke slowly, trailing his gaze back up to his own. "Yes, I do."

"I thought so." He stepped into the hallway. "Actually, I knew so."

"I know."

He silently shut the door behind him, turning to rest his back on the door.

"Uh, sir?" He cracked open the door.

He looked up, closing the folder he'd been stuffing last minute papers into. "Yes?"

"Well, um, can you..." He fidgeted with the book in his hands. "Sign my yearbook?"

"Sure." He set down the folder, digging around in his pockets for a pen. He set the book down. "So... ready for summer?"

He groaned. "I get the feeling it's going to be long... and exhausting."

He chuckled. "I know the feeling. I'm going to be at camp all summer. Besides," He smiled good-naturedly. "It gets easier, I promise."

"Really?"

"Definitely." He stretched, then stood. Gathering his things together, he slung the heavy satchel over his shoulder. "See you next year."

"Ugh." He collapsed onto his couch, letting his arm hanging off the side and brush the floor. "This is going to be a long summer."

Rolling onto his back, he flipped through the signatures. There was only one or two per page, most of them in neon gel pens or pencil. The signature nestled in the crook that bent into the binding on the almost last page, written in dark pen with clean and precise handwriting, caught his eye.

Hey, at least you aren't stuck doing homework over the summer, right?

It'll get easier. Someday.

-Signed,

The Voice Of Experience (or, the ex-expert.)

He grinned.

"Man, sophomore year went by fast, huh?"

Mr. Cunningham glanced up from his book. "I'd say so. Hardly any stank attacks this year. Although," He glanced at the scar on his hand. "I suspect the ninja might have something to do with that."

"Yeah." He sheepishly grabbed his hand and cradled it close to his chest. "That's what I hear, at least."

"And rumors are the best info hotspots for things like this." He nodded.

"I guess so..."

Mr. Cunningham didn't acknowledge his lackluster answer, opening and closing his drawers one last time to make sure he had everything he needed. "You coming to the bonfire tonight?"

"I was thinking about it. Why? Are you going?"

"Maybe." He straightened and shrugged. "Probably. There's gonna be a big spread, and my roommate loves to eat. And he likes fire."

"Sounds like a real winner for a roommate."

"Eh. He could be worse. I could be better. It's all a matter of perspective, I think."

"I'll... keep that in mind."

"Don't bother." He glanced at the clock. "You're gonna be late for the bus if you don't hustle."

"Er, right." He jogged out the door. "See you at the bonfire!"

Mr. Cunningham raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say I-... oh, forget it." He shook his head. "I was gonna get dragged along anyway."

"Fancy seeing you here." He snickered as he walked up. Mr. Cunningham looked unamused.

"You're lucky schools out, or I'd give you a detention."

He followed his line of sight to a shorter and stockier man cheerfully grabbing food from the buffet table, bumping people out of the way. "I'm guessing that's your roommate?"

"You gotta try this, Cunningham!"

Mr. Cunningham ran a hand over his face. "What was your first clue?" He raised his voice. "I don't like school food, Howard. That's never gonna change."

Howard shook his head and stalked away, muttering under his breath. "Somethings wrong with you, dude." He chuckled.

"He seems... interesting."

"Howard's not always like that. Something about this school has always made him act a little more... off than usual." He glanced around. "The fire departments gonna come over here if that bonfire get's any bigger."

"Huh?" He glanced at the steadily growing blaze, brow furrowed. "I thought they had a permit."

"That doesn't mean a concerned neighbor won't call in thinking the schools on fire or something."

"True." He squinted. "Mr. Cunningham?"

"Yeah?"

"What're they burning?"

"Wood, of course. What else would they..." He trailed off and squinted. "Oh. Would you look at that. Looks like someone tossed in some McFist junk."

"McFist?" His face scrunched up. "Isn't that the company that's falling apart?"

"Yup." Mr. Cunningham turned and walked away, as though he couldn't stand to look at the carnage any longer. He followed. He took a sip of his soda. "Y'know, back when I was highschool, McFist was one of the most loved guys of his time."

"Really?" He nodded. "What happened?"

"Well, they found out he wasn't that cool a guy, I guess." He gave him a curious look. Mr. Cunningham sighed and rolled his eyes. "Nosy highschoolers. Well, for the longest time, McFist was the cheese."

"The cheese?"

Mr. Cunningham flushed, but didn't waver. "Shut up. My generation, my lingo."

"It sounds so... stupid."

"I'm not saying it isn't, but that's just how dudes like me talk. Get over it." He shook his head. "Anyway, McFist was a really cool dude, but no one ever saw him in trouble, which raised a couple of eyebrows."

"Whattaya mean?"

"Well, most public icons are usually kidnapped by the stank or attacked by burglars or something, but never McFist. That was warning number one. Then there was the fact he was never seen with the ninja-"

"I thought the ninja didn't work for anyone?"

"He doesn't." Mr. Cunningham nodded. "But, at that point, stank attacks and other things were pretty high, even higher than they are now. Everyone had been rescued by the ninja at least once. Everyone but McFist. Now, the ninja was still pretty bruce at the time, not like he was a couple of years ago, so-"

"Bruce?"

"What did I just say about lingo?" He didn't answer, chuckling. Mr. Cunningham rolled his eyes. "I know it's corny and stupid, but that's how everyone talked back when I was in highschool. It just... stuck."

He chuckled harder.

"See? This is why I don't talk like this in front of kids." He stopped. Mr. Cunningham's glare lightened, and he continued. "Anyway, McFist was the cheese, and the ninja was bruce, so why didn't they ever meet up and discuss commercial stuff or endorsements or something? Sure, the ninja has never been in a real commercial willingly, but this was McFist, so he might just cave. A couple of people got suspicious and... investigated. What they found wasn't very pretty. See, it turns out that McFist was plotting to kill the ninja under the radar."

His breath caught. "W-Why?"

"No one knows." Mr. Cunningham stared directly ahead, telling him that he did know why, and that he wasn't planning on telling. "The public turned on him. The decision was pretty easy for them, when you think about it. Sure, McFist had all the money and fancy gadgets and amusement parks, but the ninja was the one protecting them from becoming overrun by monsters. McFist locked himself in his tower and turned his weapons on Norrisville." His frown deepened. "The ninja intervened and managed to get inside. And then... McFist disappeared."

"Just like that? Poof?"

"Poof." He nodded. "No one's... quite sure where he went. Some say he fled the country and made a new life for himself somewhere else. Others..." He hesitated. "Well, some people say the ninja killed him."

No one said anything for a long moment as Mr. Cunningham shoved his hands into his pockets and came to a stop a few feet in front of him, watching him with one eye.

Eventually he got up the courage to speak. "Well? Which was it?" Mr. Cunningham didn't answer. "Did he flee the country or die?"

He shrugged tensely. "I just told you; no one knows. No one will, no one..." He swallowed. "No one but the ninja."

They stared at each other for a minute, then two. Mr. Cunningham's jaw was set, eyes hard. In that moment, he could easily imagine the older man as the ninja, defending Norrisville from monsters while struggling to keep a secret no one else could ever know.

"Sometimes..." Mr. Cunningham said finally, staring at his feet. "Sometimes, throughout history, the ninja has had to do things he didn't want to do to protect others. What happened with McFist... might have been one of those moments."

"Or it might not have been." He answered gently. "After all, no one but the ninja knows. McFist... The ninja probably did his best, no matter which path he had to take."

Mr. Cunningham studied him for a moment to detect his sincerity, then finally shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. His eyes were no longer hard, but they still had a certain gleam to them that told him he wasn't completely in the present. "The world will never know."

"Yeah, I guess it won't..."

There was another awkward pause before Mr. Cunningham coughed, turned on his heel, and walked confidently down the path from whence the came. "Come'on, I think we walked a little too far away."

Considering his larger-than-normal size and the fact that he hung around the 'uncool' and 'pushy' ninja history teacher, it was no real surprise that he wasn't exactly the most popular kid in school.

Girls scoffed at him, guys pushed him out of the way, but he didn't normally mind. He was too busy to mind.

Operative term; usually. Because it wasn't usually that he walked down the hall to hear a guy spewing rumors about his friend and fellow warrior. And it certainly wasn't often that the rumor-starter turned to him and demanded that he agree with him, agree with him and say that Mr. Cunningham was all these horrible things and more.

And maybe it was his hero ego that took over and made him tackle the boy to the floor, fists raised, but he didn't really care. He was too busy, and too angry, to stop and think about it.

He had weapons training, martial arts skills, and a body honed to take on monsters and win. His opponent had a big mouth. The winner was obvious, even if he tried his best to give him a good chance.

Eventually, however, his ingrained kindness failed him, and he pinned the larger male under him and prepared to beat the crap out of him.

A hand stopped him. And, by a hand, he meant a hand that grabbed the collar of his shirt and easily lifted him off the boy as though he were a feather. Mr. Cunningham's look reminded him of an irritated cat. Patient but angry, tail twitching as it decided the best way to kill you in your sleep. He faltered immediately.

"M-Mr. Cunningham, I-"

"Am in big trouble with my parents." He answered tersely, leaving him to his own devices as he walked over to the fallen boy and helped him to his feet as though he weighed nothing, even though both of them were larger than him. He didn't bother running- it would be a pointless endeavor. Mr. Cunningham was faster, and stronger, than him. He couldn't- wouldn't- win.

Principal Slimovitz appeared next to them a few moments later, anxiously bouncing on his feet. "What the heck happened here?"

Mr. Cunningham gave him a dry look. "Both of these boys are bruised, one I just had to help off the floor- which I'm pretty sure you saw from down the hall-, and a group of cheering students were just dispersed to class. Are you really asking me what happened?"

Slimovitz smiled sheepishly. "Right, stupid question." He glanced around. "I gotta call your parents, both of you. Work or home phone?"

"Work." He answered immediately. "They get off an hour after school ends."

The other boy's jaw tightened. Then, seeing he was intimidating no one, he answered. "My ma's at work, and my dad's off watching wrestling with his buddies."

"Work phone it is, then." Slimovitz nodded.

"They can stay in my classroom, Slimovitz. My last class finished a half hour ago."

"Are you sure?" He pointedly glanced at the male with the more bruising, subtly reminding him that they were both much smaller in stature than him.

Mr. Cunningham looked at him. "I think I can handle two bruised up kids."

"Er, right then. I'll leave you to it, Randy." Slimovitz gave him one last look before disappearing back down the hall from whence he came.

Mr. Cunningham clapped his hands together. "Alright then. My room. Now."

Neither boy was that badly beaten, honestly. Just a couple of bruises. But he had the least amount of injures, and carried himself better injured than the other boy did (from practice, of course), so he would immediately be labeled the winner.

Judging by the way Mr. Cunningham looked ready to shout, however, he wondered if he had really been the one to lose.

Mr. Cunningham wasn't stupid. He didn't sit them next to each other or in front/behind each other in hopes that they would get along. He sat him in the front far left desk, and the other in the far back right desk. Both of their backpacks were kept at his desk, so they couldn't throw anything at each other when they thought he wasn't looking. Not only was he covering all his bases, he was also making things so boring that he never wanted to try for a repeat performance.

"Why can't I go down to the Principal's office!?" The other male shouted from the back.

Mr. Cunningham didn't even bother to glance up from his book. "Because you'd run off."

"What makes you think that I won't now?"

"The fact that I lifted you off the floor with one hand, and you know that I could easily hold you down, if need be. Or common sense." He shrugged. "Although, right now, I suspect both of you are lacking it."

The larger male 'hmphed' and crossed his arms. "You aren't so tough."

Another shrug. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Heck, I could take you down right now."

Mr. Cunningham didn't look the least bit intimidated. "One; no, you couldn't. And two; even if you could, there are security cameras everywhere. You wanna go to juvy?"

"Man, just shut up." He muttered, hand under his chin. "You're just making things more difficult."

The teacher gave him a look, but didn't answer.

The male muttered some choice words under his breath and leaned back in his seat, smug. He ignored it.

Mr. Cunningham looked at him blankly, shut his book, and stood up. He walked calmly and with purpose over to his desk, nonchalantly putting his hands on the desktop and leaning down to look him in the eye. "Would you like to repeat that?"

He did.

The older man didn't look very surprised, his jaw set in a grim line. "Y'know what? Normally I'd have a student suspended for something like that, but it's not worth it. You're not worth it." He gestured to his chest. "You do know that that'll go straight down to your gut when you're older, right?"

His eyes narrowed. "You gotta point?"

"No, not really. Just that kids like you usually end up as minimum-wage monkeys at gas stations while other people are living good lives with productive jobs. Simply put, I'm saying that you're gonna end up just like a kid I knew back in my day did; a gas jockey with no real future."

He straightened just as the intercoms came on, asking for him to guide the lesser beaten student to the office. Whatever the larger male was going to say was swallowed. He glared darkly as Mr. Cunningham guided him out the door and down the hall.

"He's gonna wreck your classroom, you know."

"I kind of guessed that, and I kind of deserve it." Mr. Cunningham ran a hand over his face. "I lied."

"Huh?"

"I lied about the gas jockey bit. Although, considering that his father's company is sinking fast, I wasn't lying about the future part." He chuckled bitterly.

"You went to school with Bash Johnson?"

"Yup. We hated each other. I was the puny freshman-sophomore and he was the buff junior-senior. Sound familiar?" He glanced at him dryly.

He winced. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"

"Mad? Not particularly. That's your parents job, not mine." He sighed. "You should know better than this by now. You're a junior, for pete's sake."

"Yeah, so? He's a junior too."

"A buff junior." He corrected. "A buff junior who should've been able to kick your nerdy behind."

"So... what you're saying is that I should let him beat me up?"

"I'm saying that you shouldn't have attacked him in the first place. And, yes, if your opponent is bigger than you and you aren't... in costume, it's in your best interest to let them win. If he's smaller or weaker than you and he picks a fight, then by all means, win."

He crossed his arms. "That sucks."

"Yes, yes it does, but no one ever said that highschool wouldn't suck."

"Mr. Cunningham?"

"What?"

"Did Mr. Johnson ever beat you up?"

"Of course he did." He grinned lazily. "He was ten times my size."

"So you didn't-?"

"Wanted too. Didn't."

"Oh."

"Oh indeed." He held open the principal's door and gestured inside. "Your punishment awaits. By the way," He grabbed his shoulder. "Keep on the down low awhile, alright?"

He nodded. "Good. Go on, now, and have a fun in-school-suspension."

Graduation went smoothly.

No attacks, no need to sneak off and defend anyone. He even got a few people to clap for him when he went up for his diploma.

He hesitated at the door.

"I know that feeling."

He jumped, watching in awe as Mr. Cunningham walked out of the darkness and stood beside him, scanning the door. "I'm still scared, actually."

"Mr. Cunningham?"

He waved his hand. "Please. You graduated."

"Er, right." He faltered. "Uh..."

He raised an eyebrow. "Did you seriously forget my name?"

"It's not like people really use it!"

"True, true." He nodded and turned back to the door. "Randy."

"Oh, right, Randy." The name felt strange on his tongue. He turned to look at the door. "Why're you here?"

"Same reason as you. It just took me a heck of a lot longer to get here."

"The Nomicon didn't erase your memories after highschool?"

He slowly shook his head. "The place I was going to college at needed a hero pretty badly, so it let me keep my ninja-know-how in exchange for protecting the area while I was there. Then, when the ninja after me sucked lemons, it decided that it needed a second set of eyes to watch over the school- and the ninja. For the next generation, at least. Make sure things got back on track."

"I always did wonder about that." He admitted. "Why did the Nomicon pick that guy, anyway?"

"My guess? It didn't. He probably stole the Nomicon from the real ninja while it was still open and became the ninja by force. The real ninja probably never even knew he was gonna be a ninja."

"Oh." He glanced at the door. "Uh, what exactly is going to happen after this?"

Randy looked at him dryly. "It's a pretty simple process, honestly. I go in, forget I was ever a ninja, then you go in, rinse and repeat."

"Ha ha. I meant for you. The ninja is your life, what're you gonna do after you forget?"

"Well, I might remember being the first in the line of hero's at my collage." He rocked on his heels. "I might become some sort of rogue vigilante or something."

He seriously doubted it. "Or?"

"Or, I'll just forget. I'll probably end up going back to collage for a better paying job and become one of those creepy ninja news groupies."

"Oh." He looked at the floor. "What'll happen to me, then?"

"You'll go to collage, get a job, maybe get married somewhere along the way, maybe have kids. Live a normal life."

"I don't know if I can live a normal life." He admitted after a few moments quiet. "Not now."

Randy sighed. "Neither of us are going to remember not living normal lives. That's how the final lesson works. It... helps erase the scars, I guess."

He glanced at the scar on his hand. "Randy?"

"Yeah?"

"How do you know that all the ninjas are gonna be... bruce, from now on?"

He twitched at the word, but otherwise made no comment. He sighed once again. "I don't."

"Do you think the Nomicon does?"

"Hmm... maybe. Probably. It's a good possibility."

"Well, maybe, if it doesn't... It'll let me keep an eye on things?"

Randy turned abruptly, searching his face to see if he was joking or not. "Maybe, but I wouldn't advise it."

"Why not? You kept an eye on things."

"You know why I stayed, right?" He shrugged. Randy crouched down and put a hand on his shoulder. "I stayed because I couldn't let go. I still can't, honestly, but I don't really have a choice now. I'm honor-bound, here." He chuckled mirthlessly.

"I... I don't think I'm stuck, but... I want to look over things." He looked at the hand on his shoulder. "I want to make sure things don't go to the dogs again."

Randy straightened and sighed, shoving his hand into his jean pocket. "Do whatever you want to, okay? Don't let me stop you." He shook his head. "I just want to make sure you don't end up like me."

"I won't. I promise."

"Good." He glanced at the ceiling. "You hear that, Nomicon? You better hold him to it."

He thought he felt the familiar vibration of laughter in the floors, but heard no sound. "Good luck with collage, Mr. Cunningham."

Randy nodded. "And good luck to you too."

With that, he pulled open the door handles.

He probably shouldn't have gone with the suit. It didn't do much for him other than show off his larger stomach and stockier hands- not to mention the color of the suit clashed against the pink scar on his hand and made it all the more noticeable. Not exactly the impression he was hoping to give.

Well, at least he tried, right?

The class looked half-asleep. The other half looked bored. Even still, he walked to the front of his desk with confidence, his new nameplate shining in the florescent room lighting.

"Hello class. I'm your teacher, Mr.-"

Author's Note: Alright, I know that probably didn't make much sense, so here;

Beginning to Yearbook- Freshman Year

Bonfire bit as a whole- Sophomore Year

Fight- Junior Year

The Final Lesson- Senior Year/ Graduation.

I have to admit, this is my first Randy Cunningham fic. So it may not be up to date or in character, but he's older in here, so I've got an excuse, right? (Well, I could try)

No flames! Don't like don't read! Review!

Updated March 3rd, 2015.