Chapter One: Little Lion Man
Three firm knocks rapped against the wooden surface of the door before the musician waited patiently. He had left behind his band-mates knowing that they most likely wouldn't want to see the face of his ex-lover ever again, believing her to be the Yoko Ono that had almost torn apart their band, but Arthur and Chun-Yan had broken up on friendly terms. Reluctantly, Mathias and Gilbert gradually began to accept their friendship as well. Slowly, Chun-Yan was beginning to repair their broken friendships after having broken Arthur's heart by not being able to stand against her traditionalist, conservative father. Blocking out all of the background noise, he trained his hearing on the rushed footsteps stumbling over miscellaneous pieces of furniture and other household items or maybe even children's toys. Even though Chun-Yan had yet to give birth, she was more than ecstatic about pampering her boy the right amount.
Finally, the door opened to the size of a thin crack through which a single brown eye peered, focusing its sight on the blond haired man standing outside her door. Upon recognising her guest, the door opened wider, revealing her slender frame with a rounded stomach and her deep auburn hair that Arthur had always loved, and the Chinese woman smiled warmly at her friend. "You're looking better than last time I saw you. Your hair's not that ridiculous red from five years back—or that hideous neon, lime green."
"You hurt me with your kind words, love," he replied light-heartedly.
Laughing, she told the blond, "I'll go prepare the tea." Stepping aside, she allowed him entrance to her apartment flat. Arthur settled down at the white leather couch, curiously studying her quaint living room, before she finally joined him with a tray of two mugs filled with oolong tea. She took a seat next to him and commented, "My father disowned me."
"I don't think I will ever understand your father," was all that Arthur said in response. It was all that Arthur could say on the matter, and Chun-Yan didn't berate him at all for doing so.
Wang Zhao was a musician who focused solely on traditional Chinese instruments and believed that Western music was the devil's way of corrupting all that was right in the world. When Chun-Yan took a course over modern, contemporary music, she was exiled from his home and lived with her uncle, Wang Yao, while he was still in mainland China. A few years later, when she made a début as China's pop diva, her father claimed no relation to her. When she had decided to date Arthur, he had protested loudly and forced them to break up—not at all supportive of an interracial relationship. Recently, she had eloped to Hong Kong with her newest lover and, now, husband. Wang Zhao, who viewed Hong Kong as some kind of abomination as a result of British influence, had refused to accept their relationship and their marriage. It didn't surprise anyone when he disinherited Chun-Yan, but that didn't make the matter hurt any less.
Before she replied to him, Li Chun-Yan kept her brown eyes trained on the steam floating from her mug. "Promise me one thing, Arthur," she responded in a cracked voice, her English tinged with a light Chinese accent. "Promise me that you'll protect my son in the worst case scenario. I have no family left because my uncle's disappeared somewhere to conduct his business, and my husband's parents have already passed away. He has no siblings, and neither do I. I cannot do anything for him if... if something happens to me and his father. He's my only son; it's not healthy for me to have any more children after him."
Arthur raised a thick eyebrow and questioned softly, "Why are you asking me this? I'm your ex-boyfriend, you know?"
"You have sons, too, do you not—with the French soprano, Marianne Bonnefoy?"
"Two of them," Arthur answered shortly. "They're around a year older than your boy; he's due in late June and early July, right?"
She laughed at him and hid her smile behind the rim of her mug. "See, he's not even your child, but you know when he'll come into this world," Chun-Yan remarked playfully. After sipping her tea, she added, "You're a good man, Arthur. I know you are—despite appearances. That's how you've managed to attract high-class girls like Marianne. My husband knows that, too. He's perfectly acceptable with this arrangement; actually, he's more than happy that the punk musician and political and social activist, Arthur Kirkland, would be the godfather to his only son. He knows what you stand for, and he knows the emotions behind the songs you write."
"Your husband is a wonderful composer and pianist, by the way," Arthur complimented with an amicable smile. "I don't know a pianist who's able to move me more than Li Xiao-Fan."
She nudged him lightly in the ribs. "Thank you," she replied shortly, wearing that wry smile on her lips. "He's at a production studio right now, working on a music score for a film."
"You'll certainly invite me to the première."
"You, Marianne, and your boys, of course." Clearing her throat, she redirected the conversation back to its proper route. "You're a family man, Arthur, and you have such loyal friends. I wouldn't imagine anyone else to be the godfather of my son."
"What's his name?"
"Li Xiao Chun," she answered sheepishly with a hint of a blush on her cheeks. "Xiao from Xiao-Fan and Chun from Chun-Yan."
"That's cute. Marianne just named our children Alfred and Matthew because, and I quote, she gave birth to them."
The two of them shared a moment of laughter.
"Your concert is tonight, right?"
"Hong Kong is one of the last stops on our world tour, I'm afraid." He smiled glumly. "Music is still an essential part of my life. I want to share that with my children, my family, and my friends, but with twins and an exhausted wife, I can't keep dragging her across the globe." He chuckled. "Although our band is breaking up, Gilbert and Mathias are relocating to New York with me. Can you imagine that?"
"Well, you three are quite close—you Hopeless Brothers."
He hadn't even thought of having to fulfil his promise to Chun-Yan seven years later. It was all too soon.
"My name is Arthur Kirkland," he told the woman at the front desk in his slur of Mandarin and English. It wasn't that his Mandarin was poor; Chun-Yan had made sure of that when they were dating. At the thought of his dear friend, who had passed away in a car accident with her husband, his heart lurched in his chest uncomfortably. Fortunately, the secretary spoke English quite fluently, and if his mind hadn't been in such disarray, he would have realised that she often had to deal with foreigners who were more than willing to adopt their children. "I'm the godfather of one of the children you're housing here, Li Xiao Chun."
Her eyes widened in recognition, and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing that her eyes glazed over with pity. "Yes," she confirmed, "Li Xiao Chun is here. I can show you to him, but there is something you must know."
"What?" he demanded immediately. Was he hurt? He didn't receive any notice about his godson's injuries. In fact, he was only notified three days after the accident, and it was only the day after that the news about the couple was released. The news raged across the Asian continent like a wild storm that barely managed to touch the rest of the world. Chun-Yan and her husband were more popular among the Asian audiences, after all, and he was exasperated that it had taken them so long to let him know—one of Chun-Yan and Xiao-Fan's closest friends. "What happened to Xiao Chun?"
She gestured for the Englishman to follow after her, and Arthur was hot on her tail, allowing her to lead the way through the halls. "You see, Li Xiao Chun was in the back seat when the accident occurred. A drunk driver rammed the front of the car, but Li Xiao Chun only suffered minor injuries. However, his name brings great pain and memories of his parents." That was to be expected since they wrote their son's name using the characters and pronunciation from their names. "He doesn't like answering to Xiao Chun any more, but we can't see to get his attention any other way than calling him 'you' or 'little boy' in either Mandarin or Cantonese." Arthur's step faltered when his green eyes fell upon a dark haired child dressed in a burgundy duanghua and dark trousers.
"Oh dear God," Arthur exhaled before he bounded for the child. He knelt in front of his godson so that their eyes met and smiled warmly at him. "It's been a while, lad. Do you remember me?"
Of course not, Arthur told himself. He was around four or five the last time the two of them had met. He was uncertain if the six year old remembered the two weeks Arthur and his family had spent with the Li family in Hong Kong. He couldn't help but try, however, and when Xiao Chun nodded his head in response, Arthur's smile widened. "If that's the case, what's my name, lad?"
The boy seemed hesitant to answer and, instead, studied the Briton's face as though it would give away any clues. His gaze paused when he examined the Englishman's eyes—and his eyebrows—before replying, "Arthur—a mā and a bàh's friend."
"That's right. What else do you remember?"
"A mā said you... my godfather."
"That's right as well. Lad, do you want to go to the zoo with me? We can walk and talk."
The flight from Hong to New York took around sixteen hours, and when the guardian-ward duo landed at John F. Kennedy Airport, they were immediately met by a family of three at the baggage claim area right in front of carousel with their flight number. A woman probably only a few years older than Arthur himself with neatly styled tawny brown hair and violet eyes subconsciously shifted her countenance once she spotted him, altering from worried to relieved. Her eyes watered at the sight of the blond man, and she took to him with long, hurried strides in her black heel while holding the hands of the twin boys. They were blond haired just like Arthur, but one had blue eyes and the other violet just like his mother.
Upon reaching the musician, she relinquished the hold of her children and raised her right hand, striking a loud blow across Arthur's cheek that resounded throughout the area. A few passer-bys who had caught the scene stopped and stared before minding their own business—only to steal another glimpse when the women began to spew acidic French—and Arthur didn't bother flinching from his lover's slap. "Do you have any idea how worried I was, Arthur Kirkland?" she finally demanded from him in English that was accented from the French she had uttered earlier. "Do you know how long you've been gone? Do you understand what kind of thoughts I was having when you... you weren't here a few—no, several, actually—weeks ago?"
He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her into his chest. "I missed you, too, love," he muttered into her hair even if she nearly stood equal height to him in her heels. "I know my apologies will never mean a thing to you now, but the adopting process took longer than I had expected." It was the reason why they had first separated, why they had fled to different countries when they realised they couldn't be with or without each other, because the distance between them was already too great physically.
When he was still a musician touring the world with Gilbert and Mathias, Arthur had encouraged her to move back to Paris after four years of their marriage with her family. Her brother inherited their family's chain restaurant, and she was still receiving offers to perform opera in a multitude of European countries. Alfred and Matthew went with her for the academic school year and visited him on every little holiday and every other weekend in England because Arthur's own lifestyle was more unstable than Marianne's.
"I've received a job offer in New York," she told him shortly after she pulled away from her husband. "It'll be a tough start, but I think I can do it. I'm starting up a fashion line for evening gowns and wedding dresses." Before Arthur could even protest, she glanced over at the East Asian boy who had been hiding behind her husband the entire time—shying away from her especially after seeing her reaction to his godfather—and her eyes softened. "Hello, mon chouchou, it's been quite a while, has it not?"
Arthur placed a comforting, encouraging hand on Leon's back. He propelled him forwardly as gently as possible and introduced the Hong Kong boy to his wife once again, "Marianne, this is Leon. Leon, this is my wife, Marianne. Can you say hello?"
Ducking his head shyly, his tiny fists clutched even tighter onto the fabric of Arthur's dark trousers before he greeted the brunette quietly, "Néih hóu..."
Smiling, she replied, "Bonjour, Leon. Welcome to the family."
"He picks up English quite quickly," Arthur told the brunette as she dried off the last of the dishes he had washed. He leant against the kitchen counter beside his wife and added, "I was surprised how he improved so diligently over the past few weeks. He'll be fluent in a few years; it'd be a shame if he was to forget Chinese though—Cantonese especially since not many people still speak it. I don't think Chun-Yan would ever forgive me if that happens."
"So what are you planning to do?" Marianne asked of her younger lover—by only two years as Arthur often pointed out. "He's six years old; he ought to go to school soon."
"After he's comfortable," Arthur answered, "I'm thinking about sending him to the same international private school Alfred and Matthew are attending so that they can help him get along. If there are first or second generation kids there who are bilingual in at least some Cantonese or maybe even Mandarin, I'm sure that will help him if he wants to speak in his native tongue. At the same time, it also encourages him to use more English because of his different setting.
"I'm also planning on taking him on regular trips to Chinatown; I've an... acquaintance there who can teach him Chinese Martial Arts and some reading and writing since all I can do is teach him how to speak Chinese from the book as well as how to box and fight dirty on the streets and how to look out for shady bastards. If he doesn't get any muscle on his arms by the time he's a teenager, it's likely that he'll have to learn aikido as well in order to throw off anybody who attacks him using momentum over power. At any rate, I'll make sure he keeps his roots in memento of his mother and father, and I'll make sure he can at least defend himself if I'm not there to protect him just in case those bloody wankers appear again."
Marianne hummed in thought, her eyes darkening when she recalled the incident in which she and her boys were being threatened by one of Arthur's stalkers. "You've seriously looked into this sort of thing, haven't you?"
Arthur sighed at the recollection of nearly meeting one of his "fans" and almost endangering his family. "I don't know how I felt when Chun-Yan asked me to become his godfather. I was happy, of course, but I was also scared. Chun-Yan is older than both of us, and it always seemed as if she knew... something. When she passed away, I couldn't help but wonder if she saw this coming, but that's impossible, right? Then when I saw him again, I just couldn't leave him alone," the blond confessed to his wife. "I'm at my wits' end trying to make him comfortable and to keep him out of trouble. I don't ever want any of us to go through any of that bloody trauma a second time."
"His situation reminded you too much of your past," Marianne deducted.
A bitter, wry smile danced on Arthur's lips as he mused, "Maybe just a little." The Englishman, once upon a time, also had a shit father who up and disappeared—never to be heard again—and his own mother had passed away from either grief or sickness. He and his brothers had been stunted around, shoved from relative to relative, for quite some time until they reached legal adulthood. One by one, everyone disappeared, and the past was just as good as gone. Even Arthur had vanished from England to move to the United States despite the fact that he didn't really care for the country itself; he just needed to get away. He met Marianne at Niagara, where she was over on the Canadian border, visiting some distant relatives in Montreal. At the brief recollection of his history, worry crossed Arthur's mind fleetingly before he announced, "I'm going to check up on him."
"Before you go," Marianne called out to her husband, "might I ask why you renamed him Leon?"
Arthur smiled at her warmly in fond reminiscence of the memory. "We went to the zoo, and he was most excited when he saw the lions. He said that they were big and strong and powerful. He also said that he wanted to be strong, too, so I asked him if he wanted to be named Leon—at least for his English name. It's not a legal change because I wouldn't want to take away the precious name Chun-Yan and Xiao-Fan gave him, but it'll be used in school and public. He agreed, and that was that. He's now Xiao Chun 'Leon' Li-Kirkland—Leon Kirkland for short."
Marianne smiled. "That's quite a name. You think he can carry the weight?"
"He's Chun-Yan's boy and our godson. He's more than capable of it."
Exiting the kitchen, Arthur climbed upstairs and headed down the hall to the room that was once an empty guest room he never used unless he and Marianne got into an argument of some sort. He passed by Alfred and Matthew's room, glancing into the bedroom briefly to check if his eight year old boys were still sound asleep, before continuing down the hall and into Leon's room. He poked his head inside, taking note of the unopened and opened but still packed boxes, before catching sight of a trembling bundle underneath the bed covers. His heart wavered at the scene, breaking upon hearing the stifled sniffles, before he finally brought himself to enter the bedroom as quietly as possible.
Settling down on the unused mattress, he felt the boy tense behind him. Raising his hand, he set it atop Leon's head before stroking his dark silken strands of hair gently and comfortingly. A silence fell between the two where Leon tried to force himself to stop crying. Arthur simply patted his head and said, "I know." I know what it's like to feel as though you've been abandoned. "It's okay." It's fine because I'm here for you now.
And the tears began anew.
He didn't remember much about his childhood before Arthur came. He could barely recall what his biological father looked like, and the earliest memory Leon had of his biological mother was of her singing him to sleep. It was dark at night, so he couldn't ever make out her face. His next memory was waking up to a loud crash, and the radio was playing another soft ballad. He couldn't make out what was in front of him, but he was still able to see his mother's hand trying to reach out for him. He tried to stretch out his hand, but when his tiny digits brushed against her skin, he only felt cold flesh dampened with some kind of warm, sticky liquid. He brought his hand to his hand and froze at the sight of crimson staining his fingers.
Someone please come, he had pleaded silently. Someone please come help. It's lonely. I'm scared. I don't want to be alone. He had sobbed and choked on his tears, pleading for his mother and father to wake up, but they didn't answer him. They were quiet—too quiet—and there were sirens in the background grating on his ears and someone shouting and—
"Leon?"
Soft brown eyes the colour of caramelised honey snapped open from the sudden surprise, and the sixteen year old shot upright in bed. He met with the bright emerald eyes of his guardian that were glimmering with unabashed concern for his boy. He gave his adopted son a weary smile as though to ask, silently, if he had another nightmare. However, in contrast to the unspoken inquiry, the words that tumbled past his lips were that to inform him that he was to be starting his third year of high school today together with Alfred and Matthew—and, more importantly, that he was a bit late.
Presently, his alarm clock, surprisingly, was still wailing relentlessly, and Leon was surprised that he had managed to sleep through the noise even though the voice of his guardian was enough to pull him out of his unconscious state. He supposed that was how soothing Arthur's presence was to him. Nevertheless, he bolted out of his bedroom after Arthur pulled away and retreated to the dining room, lulled by the smell of morning scones Marianne had baked for him, and locked himself in the bathroom just as Matthew had slipped into the hallway dressed primly and properly in his school uniform while a tiny kitten with a coat of silky, soft white fur Leon had adopted a few months ago danced between his legs as she climbed down the stairs for breakfast.
Leon hurriedly brushed his teeth clean before throwing on his uniform as well. He buttoned up his white shirt, slipped on his trousers and fastened them with a grommet belt, and slipped on an ivory cardigan that hung off his small shoulders. Running his fingers through his silky, thin hair Marianne often commented was catlike in its texture and cleanliness, he quickly rearranged his hair in a natural part before he pulled out his green container of hair wax* and unscrewed the top. Taking a small amount of wax on his forefinger, he spread the styling paste on his palms and then ran his fingers up his hair in a light teasing motion to add a little volume to his normally straight hair before retouching his frame and fringe. Once the Hongkonger finished, he screwed the green container tightly shut and stored it away in his designated drawer from which Alfred and Matthew stayed away—unable to make heads or tails of the Japanese and Chinese characters printed on the products he often bought**—despite the fact that he only had a comb he rarely uses (considering how fine his hair already is), some styling scissors, and a container of hair wax.
Once he left the bathroom, Alfred tumbled out of his and Matthew's shared bedroom with a loud, obnoxious yawn. He stretched his long and huge limbs, nearly knocking into Leon, until he apologised lazily in his sleepy, exhausted state. His foster brother merely rolled his eyes and slipped out of the way to avoid Alfred's unsteadily movements. He snatched his backpack from the floor, a fashionable canvas backpack decorated with ten pins. Each one was representative of one more year that he's spent in America with Arthur and his family. One was the logo of a game he had discovered over a past summer, another was an award for a fashion brand he frequented (though only the sales and clearance racks), several were of artists he appreciated (most of them Asian in origin), and one was of a panda.
Leon has never considered himself sentimental, but he had a habit of stopping by a small shop and buying another pin before he headed to school. Perhaps it was because how Arthur had bought him his first one—his old, scratched panda button—just when he was nervous of even approaching the World Academy located in Central New York. It just stuck with him now, and nobody in his family and none of his friends ever questioned that little quirk. Rather, he noticed that they found it endearing. Hell, Alfred and Matthew nearly splurged on buying him pins and buttons and key-chains for his birthday after they saw him collect yet another one by his freshman year of high school. Those were all safely tucked away in a glass jar atop his study desk within his room.
"Good morning, Leon!" greeted Marianne cheerily as she set a plate of lightly toasted baguette slices spread with butter and jam in front of him along with a simple croissant. Like Arthur, he had a cup of tea—English breakfast with milk and sugar rather than his usual jasmine or oolong tea—than Marianne's French roast café au lait or Alfred and Matthew's hot chocolate.
"Morning," he replied to Marianne as pleasantly as he could with sleep still clouding his mind. He accepted his small breakfast, reaching out for some freshly cut fruit in the centre with his fork, and took a seat between Arthur, who sat at the end of the table, and Matthew. Xiulan, Leon's kitten that he named after a beautiful orchid flower, settled at her bowl nibbling on her food. The golden bell strung onto a red satin ribbon that was tied elegantly into a neat, pristine bow jingled and chimed lightly as she moved about, hopping onto Leon's lap once she was satisfied with how much she had eaten. Leon welcomed her presence, stroking the fingers of his left hand through her fine white fur while he ate with his right hand.
Once Alfred had arrived, dressed in his jersey rather than his blazer like Matthew or a sweater like Leon, he settled down across from Matthew and next to Leon. Grinning at everyone present, he bellowed a loud good morning that burst Leon's eardrums and startled his little kitten, who leapt off his lap and retreated into the living room instead. Arthur grunted in response to his oldest son while Leon remained mostly unchanged. Matthew was smiling politely at his brother—but not quite pleasantly—and Marianne was quick to ask him to lower his voice. Rather than helping himself to baguette slices, Alfred was quick to devour spoonfuls of sugary American cereal.
"Oh, right, I just remembered," Arthur recalled as he pulled his eyes away from the newspaper in his hands. He glanced at Leon and informed his adopted son shortly, "Yao wants to know how you're doing."
"Sifu?" Leon repeated dubiously.
Arthur nodded curtly. "He says that you really helped him by volunteering over the summer between your practices, shows, and your part-time job. If you have the time, he wants you to help his employees with teaching their classes between your extracurriculars and studies as well as your job—says that his back has been giving out," the Briton explained. When he noticed Leon's lack of a reaction, his guardian added, "You don't have to accept if you don't want to do it. He knows that... you've been busy."
In other words, Leon deducted shortly, his sifu still doesn't approve of how he spends his leisure time. Leon has never known his grandparents, and he's only ever met Marianne's father since Arthur's parents are both deceased. Thus, Wang Yao, a famous proprietor of Chinatown, took upon the grandfatherly role after meeting him through Arthur. Although it wasn't quite explained to him, the two of them knew each other through a mutual friend. It would appear that Arthur had once dated Yao's niece, but the details were unclear to Leon.
Shaking his head, Leon insisted that he would visit Yao after school to let him know that he would be busy the next two weeks because of school events. Alfred, after swallowing the remains of his cereal, crowed, "It's so cool that you know kung-fu though, bro! Hey, if I visit, can you teach me for free?"
"No way," replied Leon shortly with a light smirk on his lips. "If you can wrestle a free lesson from that miser, then we'll talk about me teaching you wushu."
"But I wanted to learn kung-fu!" Alfred protested.
"You can learn kung fu through cooking," Leon retorted, "so ask Marianne."
Alfred blinked slowly at the statement before asking, "Wait, how the heck does that make any sense, man?"
"Kung fu is a way of life," Leon answered his foster brother as patiently as he could. "It refers to any study or practice that requires patience, energy, and time to complete. Sifu is crazy strict on making his students understand that he teaches wushu, martial arts, through kung fu—by, like, strengthening mind and body or something." When he stole another glance at his foster brother and saw that the American was completely lost, he only sighed and shook his head. "Never mind. Besides, you have baseball; you sure you've, like, got enough time?"
Arthur and Matthew shared a short laugh at Alfred's expense. Alfred nodded at his last sentence, however, and agreed, "True, I am the ace. I've got to carry our team, so I probably can't spend that much time learning kung-fu from you, bro."
Standing up from his seat, Alfred dropped his cereal bowl in the sink and dashed out of the dining room with his Jansport backpack slung over one of his shoulders, exclaiming that he's got to help the coach with setting up scouting freshmen. At that, Leon recalled the promise to his friends. Putting away his plate, he told Arthur and Marianne that he was leaving as well before he shortly followed after the oldest of the three brothers.
As he made his way down the pavement, moving along the throng of New Yorkers who were heading off to either school or work, his eyes drifted to the inside of a small toy shop, where he found a collection of key-chains and button pins. His old habit getting the better of him, he strolled inside the shop and admired the little trinkets. Several of the key-chains were shaped like stuffed animals or even Studio Ghibli and anime characters he vaguely recognised. His eyes fell upon a plush puffin—the only one left in stock—with a black belly and a pink ribbon bow and noted the fine, careful detail stitched onto its monochromatic fabrics, admiring its handiwork. Just as he reached out for it, another hand brushed against his before quickly recoiling. Leon blinked at the sudden action before turning his head slightly to find a blushing boy around his age and height, the red stain contrasting his pale skin and equally pale platinum hair. His shimmering violet eyes were averted in embarrassment, and he muttered a nearly unheard, "S-Sorry..."
"It's totally cool, man," Leon assured the slightly taller boy though his expression—or lack thereof—didn't change to match his tone. It was irritating that he's been eating the same meals as Alfred and Matthew, but his foster brothers both insisted that his growth spurt had come early because, once upon a time, he was taller than the twins although they were now several heads taller than him. (Okay, that was slightly exaggerated, but still.) In spite of his fleeting jealousy of the other boy's few centimetres over him, he reached for the puffin and handed it over to the—European, most likely, because Leon was confident that he had heard an accent of sorts—teenage boy, who politely accepted it.
In the meanwhile, Leon snatched one of the buttons printed with a white five-petal orchid flower atop a red background—the flag of Hong Kong—and purchased it silently, pinning it somewhere on his canvas bag as he walked out of the gift shop. Considering the reaction he had gotten from the clerk, the lady most likely hadn't realised she was even selling a pin of the Hong Kong flag—probably thought some girls would go for the flower pattern or something. Quietly, he made his way through the crowd to the direction of World Academy without having realised that he had run into one of his new schoolmates earlier.
World Academy was a private institution most commonly known throughout the entire world as an international school based in New York. A diploma from World Academy could guarantee entrance into any university throughout the world so long as one's grades were more than decent and one had documents hours of some extracurricular activities or volunteer work. Most of the students were of a bright mind in some way or form. Some exceeded in academics while others were more of a creative genius and others still were exceptional athletes. It was a school that was focused on nurturing one's talents from kindergarten all the way to senior year of high school.
There were three notable buildings that compromised of World Academy aside from a kindergarten and nursery school off the main campus. The first and foremost was the primary school for first grade to fifth grade, ages five to around eleven. Then most students from the primary school would feed into the middle school for grades six to eight and then, subsequently, high school for the final four years of compulsory education. However, the high school was also divided into four different sections. There was the general education track for those who are undecided about where or what to study. Then there was the Alaric Beilschmidt Centre of Science and Technology, the Helena Karpusi Hall of Humanities, and the Romulus Vargas Conservatory of the Arts for students who wanted a focus or emphasis on hard sciences and mathematics, social sciences and cultural studies, or fine, visual, or performing arts respectively.
All students were to attend mandatory core classes in the main building used for general studies on Tuesdays and Thursdays before attending the classes in their chosen field on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Students typically choose their studies before attending high school, but it wasn't strange for anyone to change interests within a few months. For instance, Alfred had decided to go into the general education field for a well-rounded education before transferring into the science centre to learn more about physics, chemistry, and biology—anything that would help him in his future career. Matthew had chosen to pursue humanities ever since middle school, and just over the summer, Leon had decided to go into the conservatory of World Academy.
Additionally, despite how each school was sanctioned liked any typical American public school for elementary, junior high, or high school and how the institution itself operated on an American academic year—beginning in the fall and ending in the summer—the classes were arranged more similarly to East Asian schools with a single home room class and rotating teachers. It was an elevator system in which was difficult for outsiders to transfer. Leon had managed to do so when he was six years old and a new citizen of the United States by passing the entrance exam, and he hasn't managed to leave the system since then.
He's gotten used to the large campus, however, and he's gotten used to the people there. Over the past couple of years, he's made his closest friends and, with them, formed his own clique. That didn't mean that he didn't get along with Alfred and Matthew in school, however. Although they were always a grade ahead of him, the twins always made time for him whenever he needed them or vice-versa. He's always been quiet in a way that wasn't like Matthew's shy and reserved nature—rather, a kind of mysterious, standoffish manner, so to speak—that felt as though they had to protect him from becoming broken.
Perhaps it was because he didn't even know his past prior to coming to America.
He didn't mind though. He liked it here with his foster brothers, with Arthur and Marianne, with his friends, and even with Sifu.
After checking the room number for his new home room class in the main building, Leon climbed up the stairs to locate the proper classroom. He shuffled inside, recognising several faces, before taking a seat to the left of a girl with long, straight hair that she had dyed to a lighter brown from the typical dark hair associated with those of East Asian descent and in front of a boy who had dark brown hair with bangs combed over to the side and a pair of square glasses. The girl on his right then turned to him, revealing the honey coloured big circle lenses she had decided to wear today, and snapped in Mandarin that was lightly accented by her native Taiwanese tongue, "Leon, you're late! Lien and Kasem have already left for their own home room!"
"Sorry, Mei," he replied shortly in Mandarin as well. It was becoming easier to speak Mandarin now even though he still infuses little bits and pieces of Cantonese or English. With Cantonese, however, it still came to him naturally like some distant memory or... or like a dream. His eyes drifted away from Mei's worried expression and towards the door, studying everyone who had come through the door. There were mostly familiar faces considering that most people had stuck around since primary school, but there was a few new faces from people he's never encountered before. Leon figured they weren't new to the school seeing how easily they've conversed with other people.
He blinked when he noticed a particularly pale face though. How had he not noticed the boy from earlier had worn the same uniform as he did? Nevertheless, his attention wandered back to his friends when he heard the person behind him speak. He only saw the newcomer slip in the seat in front of him—the only seat available, Leon noted—out of the corner of his eye.
"Well," chimed the boy sitting at the desk behind Leon in Mandarin as well, "it's not really a problem—right, Mei? We'll just talk at lunch about what to do about the club festival next week. We have plenty of time, so don't worry!"
Judging by the worry in her eyes, however, she insisted, "I'm nervous though! It's our first time performing at a school festival! It's different if we were just in the park, but this is a public event for all students and our chance to recruit new members!" Her outburst—still in Mandarin—had caught the attention of their classmates, most of whom were from Europe and didn't understand one bit of Chinese—and, more importantly, the attention of the young woman who had entered the classroom with a pile of documents.
At the front, the teacher—one Elizaveta Héderváry who recently married one of the music teachers, a Roderich Edelstein—coughed into her fist, gathering their attention, and smiled politely at the three East Asians in her class. "If you don't mind," she told the three of them, "I would like to get our first home room session of the year started."
Mei smiled sheepishly at the teacher and apologised in perfectly clear English lightly accented by her Taiwanese tongue with a slight incline of her head as well. Accepting the apology, the brown haired teacher smiled brightly at the rest of the class and announced that she would call out roll. Instead of simply replying that we were present once our name was called, she would prefer that we mention where we were from considering that it was an international school well-known all over the world so that only the brightest and the best could be accepted.
As names were called, the names of the students' home nation was given. There were a few odd glances here and there upon hearing of small and relatively obscure nations. For example, the girl sitting in front of Mei was from Liechtenstein, and the boy next to her (and in front of Leon) was from Iceland. Most people were from Britain, Australia, Russia, China, or South Korea.
"Siu—Jia—Xiao—I'm so sorry for butchering your name," Mrs. Edelstein apologised quickly and sheepishly as she peered into her class of teenage students, trying to match a face to a name. "The last name is Li-Kirkland?"
"You can just call me Leon Kirkland," he told the instructor rather monotonously. "I'm from Hong Kong."
This caused a slight stir among the Chinese students since, in Leon, Cheng, and Mei's cases, a few of them questioned whether or not they should have answered with China rather than Hong Kong, Macau, and Taiwan respectively, but Mrs. Edelstein was quick to move on from questions of politics in order to avoid a heated debate or two.
When class started with a lesson of world history, Leon's eyes fell onto the messenger bag sit at the legs of the Icelandic boy's chair and the puffin key-chain hooked on one of the zips. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he mused, He really bought it. Resting his head in his arms, Leon discreetly hid behind the Icelandic student's back and out of the teacher's line of sight, closing his eyes to rest them from the daylight sun's bright rays. He spent world history mostly unnoticed, but the second period, the mathematics teacher didn't let him off so easily.
He had actually strolled all the way down the aisle, lecturing in the meanwhile, before "accidentally" kicking the leg of Leon's desk, making the Hongkonger startle from the sudden noise and tremor. "Rise and shine, kid," he remarked dryly. Mei had giggled from beside him, and he was positive that Cheng was grinning at his misfortune as well.
Nevertheless, Leon managed to stay awake for most of class, lasting until the lunch break, before he was nearly dragged out of the classroom by Mei to their clubroom. The Taiwanese girl made sure to tell Cheng to pick up some lunch for them. As he stumbled over his own two feet in order to regain his balance, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Stealing a glimpse back into the classroom, he met with a violet gaze that quickly turned away from him. The Icelandic boy was now conversing with the girl from Liechtenstein; both of whom were incredibly shy from what Leon has noticed.
Leon and Mei strolled out of the main building and into the Romulus Conservatory of the Arts nearby. The main building was situated between the three schools in a courtyard like the centre of a ring. Their lunch break was around forty-five minutes long, so they had to make the most of it, after all. The two of them popped into the studio room they often used—to the point where they just plastered their names over the plaque reading the room number outside—where they found a girl with dark brown hair pulled into a neat ponytail and golden brown eyes waiting patiently for them. "Leon, Mei," she greeted her friends warmly. "I sent Kasem to get lunch, so I'm guessing you guys did the same to Cheng."
"Lien!" Mei chimed as she bounced onto the Vietnamese girl, wrapping her arms around her best friend's neck in a fond hug. "It'd be so much easier if we were all in the same class!"
Leon scoffed lightly in the manner of a teasing laugh. "If that happened, like, you would be scolded more often for trying to speak with Lien," he pointed out shortly. Mei pouted in response before pulling away from her best friend. He settled down on the ground and began to stretch his limbs. "So what's happening or whatever?"
"We have a week to prepare for the club festival," Mei explained as she joined him in his stretches, "so we need to be ready to perform. Getting new members to join our crew depends on this! It was a miracle we even managed to get five members last year after four years of practising!"
Mei would never let their four years of hard work go to waste after they've painstakingly managed to reach a level where their dancing styles could finally blend. Mei had experience in ballet and ballroom dancing while Lien was familiar with traditional dances from Vietnam and some modern dances. Cheng admittedly had some break-dancing experience back in Macau while Kasem was familiar with jazz and hip-hop styles. Leon had only managed to get usurped into their antics because he often spent time with Cheng and Mei, who in turn spent time with Lien and Kasem, and of all five of them he had no experience dancing at all. He had told them that he was a martial artist, but that was good enough for them to start teaching him the basics of, well, everything.
It had gotten to a point where Arthur had actually sent him to Anya Braginskaya, a Russian dance instructor, for a month once he had discovered what Leon was trying to do with his friends. His adoptive son had been leaving the house more often to hang out with his friends, and he had usually returned home with sores and bruises located in the oddest places—his shoulders, his knees, his ankles, and his elbows—even though it didn't look like he had gotten into a fight. His guardian was supportive in his interests so long as they were legal and reasonable, but his grandfather figure wasn't so much involved in his newly developed dancing hobby and had called it "clowning around."
Still, much to their relief, by freshman year of high school, they had managed to become an official club to ease the burden of finances considering that the school already had studios they didn't need to rent. Over the summer, they had gotten jobs in order to pay for practice rooms by the hour every other week. Otherwise, they found a levelled spot in the park and practised there. Unfortunately, being a new club on campus, they had failed to recruit more club members their sophomore year of high school, which led to their current predicament.
"That doesn't leave much room for new dances," Lien mused aloud. "I'm assuming that you want us to work with what we've already learned over the summer."
"I'd rather not work with too many K-pop songs," Leon requested monotonously with a deadpan expression. "Well, like, pop songs in general get too annoying after a while."
The door open to reveal Kasem and Cheng holding plastic bags filled with snacks. "What are we talking about?" Kasem asked as he smiled warmly at his friends.
"Nothing much," Mei replied. "Just Leon being a whiny baby about pop music. Anyway, as I was saying, most people are interested in hip-hop and pop. I've already done some thinking during class. We'll blend what we've done in a mix. Each performance-related club is given up to ten minutes on stage. If we went with full-length songs, that would only amount to two or three of them. One of our options is to cut bits and pieces of what we've learned and mix them together. Osaka from Lien and Kasem's class said he would help us with mixing multiple songs when we've picked out what we want to do, figure out the timing, and order them."
"All right then," Lien agreed with a nod of her head. "If we have ten minutes, then we should do the beginning doing kind of like an introduction. We could start out with a traditional dance and gradually infuse it with other elements—in a song like 'Senbonzakura,' for instance."
"Okay, totally," Leon replied shortly. "I'm down for 'Senbonzakura'—the one with the fans, right?"
"I think it would be impressive with folding fans," Mei chirped. "If we had the time, I kind of want to incorporate parasols, too. For now, let's just figure out how to arrange the song and touch up the dance. Because of what Lien said about infusing other elements though, I think we should have the song change though."
"Change?" Kasem repeated dubiously. "Like to a different song?"
"Not quite," Mei replied with a cheeky smile on her lips. "There's plenty of covers of 'Senbonzakura.' There's the original version, then there's a piano version, then there's a jazz version, then there's a violin version, and let's not forget all of the remixes. I say we pick the ones we like, mash them together, and fix up the dance once Osaka gets back to us! This way we can show that we do multiple styles instead of just hip-hop or just jazz, you know? It'll appeal to more people to join if they want to learn how to dance in general."
"So then," Lien continued, "after we're done with our 'introduction,' we could jump into a pop song—like some Korean boy band."
"Okay, sounds good," Cheng chirped. "I know the perfect part for the lead, too."
After stating that, everyone turned to stare at Leon, who only blinked in response. When he realised what they were insinuating, he frowned but was unable to protest because everyone else was already on board. In America, it was majority rules.
"So, pretty boy and friends," Mei sang as she hopped back onto her feet and pulled Leon up by the arm, "let's get started by practising what we know to start figuring out when to cut out times and string things together. We'll talk costumes later!"
Leon shrugged and remarked, "As long as I'm in charge of the finale."
"Finale?" Kasem repeated amusedly, and nobody asked anything more of their Hongkonger friend when a mischievous glint overtook his normally expressionless amber eyes.
Nobody questioned anything when Leon, Cheng, and Mei returned to class breathless and a bit sweaty. Leon suspected it was because nobody wanted to ask. When school ended, Leon was quick to pick up his backpack and leave the classroom after telling Mei and Cheng that he had to see his sifu over in Chinatown before starting his shift at work.
Emil flinched as he felt the fist pound against the wall brick behind him. His hands clutched tightly onto the strap of his bag. His violet eyes trained on the ground as he questioned what else he could do in this kind of situation. Nowhere in his life had he ever been prepared to get mugged in the middle of daylight for God's sake! There was no way that he could easily outrun his assailants either. They were larger by far and certainly faster if one was to judge by the muscles on their builds. There was no escape for him.
"I don't have to tell you twice, right, rich kid? Fork over all you've got."
Rich? He was far from it. He only managed to get into World Academy due to their generous scholarships and grants; otherwise, he would have attended a public school near his uncle's apartment. Not to mention, all he had in his wallet was his ID and his MetroCard that he's only used a few time since moving here a few weeks back to travel the subway or the local buses. Still, it seemed as though these people had the wrong idea, however, and the fact that he wasn't trying to refute or correct them didn't help much either.
This was great, he griped. He moved away from safe, peaceful Iceland—where he was happy—to live in America with his brother, who was studying classical music at some private university on a scholarship as well, because there was no way that he wanted to live alone in an empty house their parents had left behind after their deaths. That was an excellent decision on his part and so was being frightened into actually following these thugs into an alleyway of all places. He was absolutely brilliant.
"Hey, can I, like... I dunno... get through?"
Everyone's attention snapped towards the person who had spoken, and Emil's eyes widened as he recognised the boy from Hong Kong who just happened to be in his class. His rich caramel brown eyes with a faint golden honey undertone didn't reveal a single trace of emotion as he stared at the group of four trying to mug the Icelander. His gaze flickered over to Emil, and the platinum blond froze underneath the calm, collected gaze. Even when they had met at the gift shop that morning he was just as cool and composed that it made Emil wonder if he had any other expressions.
"I know that it's not like any of my business or anything, but... you sure this is a fair fight?" the Hongkonger asked of the four thugs. "I mean, there's like four of you guys and one of him. He's kind of on the skinny side, too. Looks like he'd break if you hit him, and that's no fun."
"What the hell's your problem!?" snapped one of them.
"Let me, like, help you guys out or something," mused his classmate idly as he tilted his head to the side in what appeared to be amusement. Emil wasn't sure because of the darkness of the alleyway, but he could have sworn that his expression was completely unchanged and entirely unaffected. "Let's make this a little interesting."
"He's wearing the same uniform! Get him, too!" exclaimed another one.
When two of them lunged forward, the Hongkonger seized hold of the first assailant's arm and actually tossed him over his shoulder. Emil could only watch with bulging eyes as he did that—not once—but twice. The third growled and charged at him, but the Hongkonger easily deflected his attacks as well and, like with the previous two, flipped him over his shoulder and pinned him to the ground. He glanced over to the fourth person, who was still trapping Emil against the wall, and taunted him, "Hey, like, you want to join them or what?"
Agitated, the last of the thugs dashed towards him with a fist at the ready, but his classmate easily caught the punch and flipped him onto one of his friends who was just getting up for a shot at revenge. The two collapsed onto the ground, and the Hongkonger hummed. "Not done yet? Okay, cool, whatever." Just as they lurched forward all at once, Emil could only watch in awe as his classmate easily used their attacks against one another before delivering his own blows without even a brief moment of hesitation. They were sharp and concise and unbelievably fast. His fists, his palms, and even the sole of his feet, all landed on vital points, staggering his much larger opponents. His movements were so fluid and graceful that it appeared as if he was dancing.
The most infuriating part was that his hair was still perfect.
When they were immobile, he stepped towards Emil and grabbed hold of his wrist, quickly pulling him along and out of the alleyway. Just as soon as they were a good distance away from the site of the fight, his classmate dropped his wrist and asked him sternly, "What the hell were you doing there? Anybody with common sense would know to get out of there and to stick with a crowd of people."
A heavy flush coated his cheeks as Emil was confronted with the foolishness of his actions. "I was scared," he muttered as shame crossed his features. He didn't really want to speak English since, unlike some of the other students who have been here for a couple of years already, his accent was on the heavy side.
"Then why didn't you, like, run away?"
Emil scowled. "Maybe because I couldn't!" he snapped, unable to take any more of this unreasonable questioning. "Not everyone has the guts or strength run away in that kind of situation! Maybe the best option was just to quietly play along and get it over with! Maybe not everyone could think clearly when in the face of danger! Maybe not everyone can run away that quickly!"
His outburst had attracted more attention than he had thought, and he wouldn't be surprised if it had woken up those unconscious thugs back in the alley. His already reddened face darkened into a deep crimson as the Hongkonger stared at him with those cool, calculating eyes of his. Just as he was about to drop his eyes to the ground and tell him to forget everything, he caught sight of the slight smile on the East Asian's lips. "You're interesting," mused his classmate. "You say that, like, you didn't have the guts or the strength to run away, but it looks like you've got 'strength' and 'guts' and all that to me. Anyway, just run like hell next time. Like, don't bother to think about running. At that point, it's not even a question; just get to some place with a shit ton of people to cover your back."
Before he turned away to continue towards his destination, he pressed a forefinger to his pink lips. "By the way, keep what happened back there a secret. The school's got a rule or something against fighting. I'm not sure if what I did counted as self-defence, so that, like, totally never happened. Cool?"
"Y-Yeah," Emil replied slowly. "Cool."
"Stay away from alleys and short-cuts since you're obviously new around here, yeah?" reminded his classmate before he shoved his hands into the pockets of his cardigan and shuffled away.
Emil watched as his form shrunk smaller and smaller with the increasing distance between them, and then he finally pivoted on his heel and headed towards the station. Pouting slightly, he bit his bottom lip and muttered in Icelandic, "Don't tell me what to do..."
A/N:
This is kind of a pilot chapter just to see how this story goes. It's my first time writing a Hong Kong/Iceland high school!AU, and I was a bit taken by how cute these guys are. This story will mostly focus on developing familial relationships, friendships, and, of course, a bit of romance. It's my first time writing about the Asian countries as well, and I'm a bit surprised that I'm quite comfortable with Taiwan and Hong Kong especially. I hope nobody is too terribly out of character though.
There's FACE family with a nyo!France as a very minor pairing though and ex-UK/nyo!China (if you haven't noticed, haha). There's not very many side pairings in this story though, and AusHun is just... there, I guess.
"Hopeless Brothers" also refers to the name of the band Arthur is in with Gilbert and Mathias. I thought it sounded more dramatic than "Fail Brothers."
Footnotes:
* In this story Leon uses Gatsby Moving Rubber (Air Rise) to style his hair because I'm more familiar with using Gatsby, a brand of hair products from Japan. I'm assuming that his hair is normally flat (and still perfect), but because he seems to pay mind to fashion, he tends to style his hair—especially after reaching adolescent age and discovering more of himself as a teen would (according to all of the health pamphlets I've seen and textbooks I've read).
** Although Japanese and Chinese languages are quite different, there are some similarities in their strokes since Japanese kanji adopts Chinese characters. The term itself means "Han characters" in its literal translation, and its characters are the same as "hanzi" in traditional Chinese. I have friends who are familiar with Chinese but are able to read Japanese kanji—same meaning, different readings—and likewise, I can read some kanji and apply a similar meaning to Han characters.
Similarly, Cantonese and Mandarin are different forms of spoken Chinese. Mandarin is considered standard Chinese, but they both use the same writing system from what I'm aware. How they pronounce words is different though. For example, Leon first greets Marianne with "Néih hóu," the Cantonese equivalent of "Ni hao," and he also addresses Yao as "師傅" (master), which is pronounced sifu (see-foo) in Cantonese but shī fu (shir-fu) in Mandarin. Either way, the meaning is the same; "師傅" is a traditional way of addressing non-academic teachers like potters and martial arts masters whereas "老師" (lou-si in Cantonese; lǎo shī in Mandarin) refers to an academic teacher.
Other Notes:
Continuing with the East Asian language tangent:
As far as I'm aware, people in Taiwan speak Taiwanese and standard Chinese (Mandarin), but their official script is traditional Chinese. People in Hong Kong seem to know both Mandarin and Cantonese (considering that Cantonese is a spoken language), and Macau has Chinese and Portuguese listed as their official languages. Since they all seem to have Mandarin in common, that's the language Leon uses to communicate with Mei and Cheng aside from English.
Also, in Vietnam, the Hoa people speak Cantonese natively, but I'm assuming that Lien is purely Vietnamese and not a part of a Chinese ethnic group in Vietnam.
Leon's comment about Marianne teaching Alfred kung-fu:
Kung-fu really is a way of life. Leon explained it to Alfred earlier. However, Western countries typically refer to kung-fu as Chinese martial arts when that is really called wushu, which is literally translated "military arts." In the last scene, Leon is using a mixture of wushu and aikido to fend off Emil's attackers.
Aikido is a form of Japanese martial arts that uses momentum to redirect the opponent's attacks as well as throws or joint locks that prevents the opponent from using a technique. I figured it would suit Hong Kong's build more than judo, where the goal is to throw down or pin an opponent. However, aikido also protects the attacker from injury (thus, why Leon also ended up using wushu to deter his opponents).
My Naming Conventions:
Also, I tend to write the Asian names in the format of surname then given name if the perspective belongs to someone of Asian descent. The only exception to this rule is Hong Kong because his first and last name (as of present) is Leon Kirkland instead of something like Li Xiao Chun. Normally, I use the name Wang Jia Long for Hong Kong, but I felt like doing something a little different.
In this AU, Taiwan is Lin Mei Ling, which combines Himaruya's possible names Lin Yi Ling and Xiao Mei, because I felt like there was enough "Xiao" already in the story. Additionally, Macau is Wong Cheng in order to differentiate from China's Wang Yao (although both names are pronounced similarly), Vietnam is Nguyen Lien, and Thailand is Chao Kasem.
Misc. Comments:
Hong Kong's cat is actually based off nekotalia!Iceland, and she is named after the Hong Kong orchid. (Xiulan is written with the characters for beautiful orchid.)
"Senbonzakura" (千本桜; lit. "A Thousand Cherry Blossoms") is a Vocaloid song produced by Kurousa originally "sung" by Hatsune Miku. It has numerable covers—singing, instrumental, and dancing—and Mei refers to using a blend of the instrumental covers for their performance.
Also, I'm convinced that Leon is most likely shorter than Emil, even if slightly, because the average height of a male Hongkonger is around 171-173 centimetres (between 5'7" and 5'8") and the average height of an Icelandic male is around 180 centimetres (around 5'10"). Since they're teens and still growing, they should be around the same height. However, Emil is most likely taller than 170 since, officially, Finland is the shortest Nordic of the five at 170 centimetres, and Iceland is the second shortest Nordic. At any rate, there's around a five centimetres, two inches height difference between the two of them at most in this AU.