A/N: Greetings, people of the world, welcome to my humble story. A little heads up for those of you unfamiliar with me and/or the term "Yuri"; this is a lesbian story like all my other works. If you are against it, please leave, or you can continue reading and make yourself upset. For those of you who are not, especially those readers who have graciously stuck by my side for such a long time, this story is for you, and I hope you will enjoy it.

BTW, this is an Alternate Universe (AU) story, so it doesn't take place in Runeterra. Katarina will more or less be in her usual outfit most of the time; while Ashe will have it reduced to the dress, cowl and boots (a cape and armored gauntlets would be weird on a schoolgirl).

Haruka

Katarina's POV

The wind rakes through my hair as I speed through the streets to my new school, scoffing at the bright red "School Zone, lower speed now" sign as I rev the engine on purpose, hitting a lofty 120 when the speed limit is 40. They will not bother arresting me for speeding any longer, juvy's pretty tired of seeing my face, and they loathe having to be on guard whenever I am incarcerated in case my gang comes around and tries to break me out. Giving me tickets doesn't make them feel any better either, as the money I pay them with is "dirty", stolen or obtained through illegal dealings.

The gang is feared all over the country, rumored to have connections absolutely everywhere, even with members of Parliament (yep, it is true), and infamous for their ruthless, cold-blooded treatment of their enemies; even the cops do not dare to cross them. Hence, they keep my sentences short, a couple months a pop, and never dare to touch even one hair on my head. Without the gang behind me, I would probably have gotten life imprisonment for all the crimes I have committed, instead of a few stints at juvy. How fortunate I am, to have been born into the Du Couteau Clan!

Slamming the brakes, I slide into the school parking lot with a loud screech, the motorcycle's wheels leaving dark skid marks in the ground. The school's principal glares at me with icy disapproval from her perch on the school porch, obviously unhappy that it is her school's turn to endure me, but she keeps herself calm and approaches me with one eyebrow raised.

"Miss Katarina Du Couteau, we have been expecting you," she does not bother to rebuke me for the skid marks that now mar the school parking lot, or for driving recklessly, or for driving at all at the age of sixteen, or for wearing a crop top when the school rules clearly state they are not allowed, or for reporting to school late, it seems that my social worker has told her how useless that is, "Now, please hand over all your visible weapons and step through the metal detector so we can ascertain you are completely unarmed within the school compound."

Ugh, this is the sixth time a new school has done this to me; I guess they grew wary after I gutted half of a school's "tough" guys two or so years back for annoying me and got them sent to the ICU and / or killed. Fortunately, I have grown smarter and have a little trick up my sleeve, turning to face the principal with a mock sigh, "Aww, I guess I have no choice but to give up now." I remove a knife from my belt and toss it to her, making her yelp and scamper away as the blade clangs at her feet; the fool, if I had wanted to hurt her, I would have before she could even react.

"That's dangerous!" she snaps, obviously flustered, and I grin like a cat who has cornered her helpless prey, replying lightly while tossing another knife into the air, "I'm sorry, I thought you would be able to catch. It's easy, see?" The blade falls back down with the edge pointed straight at me, and the principal lets out a frightened gasp as I easily catch it between two fingers, tossing it up yet again almost immediately.

I catch it with practiced ease and toss it to her, a smirk clear on my face, and she backs up so it clatters at her feet once more. Removing the three belts that keep various blades holstered to my thighs and waist, I chuck them to her as well, watching them clang onto the asphalt; fortunately, these blades are much too strong to be scratched by rough treatment. Picking them up, the principal examines the intricate engravings on them and pales, knowing that she will have to return these to me after school or face the wrath of Noxus, my gang. These knives are the Du Couteau Clan's heirlooms, passed from leader to leader, and are in surprisingly good condition for blades that have been working for so long. I am not yet the leader of Noxus, though; Father passed these blades to me early, seeing that I like knives much more than any other weapon.

Even though there is not a single stain on any of those knives, the principal seems aware of the fact that they have spilled much more blood than she can imagine, she is holding them very gingerly and attempts not to look at them. Trying to reassert her authority, the principal warns, "Keep that up, Miss Du Couteau, and you've got yourself detention on day one."

I shrug in response, unaffected by the threat, "I've got nothing else to do, anyway. Besides robbing a bank, gutting some dudes who think they're tough shit and speeding near a kindergarten crossing, hoping to run over some little children." She pales even further at that, wordlessly gathers my blades and returns to her office in the school compound, leaving who I assume to be the school administrator to take care of me.

"Well, uhm, Miss Du Couteau," the administrator scratches his head, the stench of fear emanating clearly from him as he fidgets under my calculating gaze, absolutely terrified now that he is left alone with me. "You'll be in, uhm, Class 2-1, which is the first class down that corridor over there. Your timetable is, uhm… here you go," he hands me a color-coded piece of paper and shrinks back the instant my hand touches it, as if I am some sort of dangerous animal, "Please adhere to it, and I, uhm, hope you will be able to, uhm, change your ways here."

He allows me to bypass the metal detector, foolishly assuming that a trained assassin such as myself would so easily surrender her weapons; I still have a few blades on the inside of my long pants and a relatively long, uncomfortably shaped knife in my cleavage. They will find out that I am armed if the school's "tough" guy pisses me off badly enough while trying to give me the new kid treatment to prove that he is not afraid of anyone, even a girl with a history like mine: more than fifty confirmed deaths to my name, hundreds of counts of causing grievous hurt, twelve or so stints in juvenile detention (good old juvy), thousands of speeding tickets, driving underage, assaulting police officers, robbing banks, heading smuggling operations… the charges carry on. However, in comparison to what my dear father did by the time he was my age, this is nothing.

On my way to Class 2-1, I easily dodge a purposefully stuck out leg and glare daggers at the smirking boy whom the leg belongs to (for now), my emerald eyes practically saying come on, bastard, make my f**king day. He has long dark hair falling over his eyes, is rather burly, boasts a dragon tattoo on his upper right arm and has a little posse behind him; it seems that I have found the school's resident tough guy. He speaks cockily, obviously thinking himself quite the badass, "What class you in, new kid?"

"2-1," I respond evenly, not in the least intimidated, and he sneers immediately that it is the nerd's class, and that 2-7 is the class where all the cool kids go. Apparently, due to the scar over my eye (which came from a nearly failed mission when I was a kid), he thought I would be relatively tough, but it turns out that he was wrong and I probably got it from some Physics experiment gone wrong or something. He continues speaking, but I do not bother to pay him any more attention. Hmm, they put me in the best class? I guess they hope I will be influenced by some of the goody-two-shoes in it, "mend my ways" and all that shit, since it won't be worth it if they kill me.

"Hey, new kid, I'm talking to you!" he throws a punch which I easily dodge, but I choose not to retaliate for now, instead folding my arms and tapping my foot in a show of boredom, eyes now obviously taunting is that all you've got? It gets on his nerves, as expected, the "tough guys" in schools are not used to being challenged, feared by the entire student body as they are, and it really aggravates them. "Think you're big shit, huh, coming in late on the first day? Don't kid yourself, I'm the king here, and you'd better watch your step if you wanna live, new kid."

"It's Katarina," I respond calmly, "Katarina Du Couteau." The mere mention of my surname makes the members of his posse pale and back away, whispering uneasily among each other. The tough guy remains undaunted, however, proudly announcing that he, Gawain Sanders, is not afraid of "no redheaded French girl". (He must not be very good at French, he would understand that Du Couteau means knife otherwise). One of the boys behind him whispers urgently in his ear, making him pale a little, but this Gawain kid still wants to stand his ground despite being informed of who I am.

"If your little gang didn't back you up, new kid, I bet you'd be nothing," he sneers, and I simply welcome him to try me, one on one, no weapons involved. In fact, he can use weapons or get his lackeys to assist him if he wants, I will take the disadvantage as I am way beyond his league and am graciously giving him a chance. That makes him see red, and he charges wildly at me with a barbaric roar of "You b*tch!"

Rolling my eyes, I sidestep him effortlessly and grab his arm as he passes, easily flipping him and sending him crashing to the ground face first. I twist his arm behind him until I hear the satisfying pop as it dislocates, smirking as he cries out in pain and begins to tear up. Struggling and bellowing like an ox, he attempts to escape my hold, and I swiftly kick the back of his knee to send him crumpling to the ground yet again. He yelps as I apply more pressure against his knee, trembling like a wounded puppy, and I taunt him, "My, my, is that fear I smell?"

He screams in rage and attempts to lash out with his remaining arm, allowing me to easily grab and dislocate it as well. I deliver a powerful kick to the base of his spine, releasing his arms simultaneously, and send him flying to the opposite wall. He strikes it forcefully and slides down with a groan, barely conscious; I walk toward his pathetic form and snarl, "Know your place, bastard. I am called The Sinister Blade for a reason." I kick him in the face to finish things off, a flush of satisfaction running through me when I see that I have drawn blood. He yelps loudly in response, and I turn around upon hearing a loud gasp to see a young-looking female teacher staring at me with wide eyes.

"Miss Du Couteau, we were wondering where you had gone," the principal is here as well, I see, "We'll be seeing you in detention today, no excuses." I shrug, not at all concerned, and obediently follow the shocked teacher as instructed; it turns out that she is the head of Class 2-1 and hence, the teacher in charge of me. I bet she hates her job right now…

As with any other school, my classmates prefer to pretend I do not exist, which works perfectly well for me as I always sleep the boring lessons away in a seat all by myself at the back of the class. No one wants me disrupting classes or hurting students, hence, I am kept out of the way; and they hope I will be positively influenced by these good students when I am not within an arm's length of any of them. Seriously, why not just put me in solitary confinement for a few days? I can use the ceiling for target practice again; it is more productive than sleeping my days away in a corner.

Well, the authorities probably think they have a chance in converting me to the good side, since I do not stick with the gang most of the time and am willing to attend school; they assume that if I were serious about taking over Noxus when time comes, I would not let myself get caught nor waste time in educational institutions. Unfortunately, they are quite far from the truth, for I have every intention of taking over my father once he passes away or deems me fit to do so. I allow myself to get caught because the kids in juvy know many things about the underworld that I may not, allowing me to gather information from them, and I attend school because it was my father's wish that his children receive schooling until the time has come for them to officially join Noxus full-time. Father has been missing and presumed dead for years, most of the gang feel that I should take over as leader and abandon schooling now, but I firmly believe that he is still alive and hence, the rightful leader, and will not be taking his position until his death has been confirmed.

"Miss Du Couteau, I would appreciate if you paid attention in class," I snap out from my thoughts to realize it is History right now, and the elderly male teacher, who is more or less bald, raps at the whiteboard in a futile attempt to assert his authority over me. The mere mention of my surname makes most of my classmates flinch and gasp, fidgeting nervously in their seats and throwing occasional, wary glances my way. At the corner of my eye, I notice a girl dressed in a low-cut, short black dress (if it could be called that) patterned with gold, what seems like white bandages wrapped tightly around her midriff, and she has a black cowl similarly decorated with gold drawn up over her head. What made her stand out among the others is the ice-blue bow leaning gently against her desk; it seems that she is in the Archery Club. How interesting, I never thought nerds could do sports.

"I would appreciate if you shut up, old man," I had responded while I was gazing at the girl, wondering what she looks like and why she feels the need to wear a goddamn cowl indoors. Some of the nerds actually snicker at my response, much to my amazement, and the old man sputters angrily, informing me that he is my teacher and I am obliged to respect him due to his position.

"Old man, where I come from, respect has to be earned," I respond lazily, admiring the sharpened edge of my metal ruler in a silent, unspoken challenge.

As expected, he does not take it up, instead backing off and allowing me to do as I please, muttering under his breath about "teenagers these days". A number of my classmates are staring now, noticing the long scar over my eye for the first time and muttering to one another about it with the characteristic curiosity of their kind. The girl in the cowl is one of the few who remain unmoved, ignoring the attempts of her seatmate to engage her in conversation, all attention on the balding old man who is talking about Adolf Hitler and the Holocaust.

I fall asleep for the rest of History, sleeping through Biology and Physics as well, and only awake when the class is dismissed for lunch, flinging the window next to my seat open while the other kids take the boring door. The Physics teacher, Miss Hiebert, panics and yelps pointlessly just before I jump, "Wait, we're on the second floor-!" To her surprise, I land safely and silently like a cat instead of breaking a bone or two as she had expected.

Soundlessly, I make my way to the back garden where I can slack about undisturbed for the duration of lunch, maybe even skip a few classes, toss rocks at little animals and whatever other things delinquents do in their free time. I am delighted to find an assortment of trees with thick, sturdy branches awaiting me in the garden, and I immediately pick one of the taller trees to climb, settling myself on the highest branch I can safely reach. A small black cat meows at me from the neighboring tree, amber eyes gleaming with suspicion, and I make a loud noise to send it packing with a disgruntled meow.

"Hey, Kat, what do you think cats do in their free time?" A strangely familiar female voice I have never heard in my life suddenly echoes in my head, bringing with it a brief flash of a similar-looking small black cat, someone's alabaster, tapering fingers gently tickling it under the chin as it narrows brilliant amber eyes in delight. My own voice responds, filled with uncharacteristic warmth, "Plot world domination, I swear."

She laughs in response, still tickling the cat, "You know, that actually seems likely."

"I bet Nidalee's working with them, and she being here is part of some scheme to make felines the superior species." She laughs, calling my nickname in a mock-rebuking manner, filling my chest with warm, liquid honey. As suddenly as it came, the voice disappears, leaving a strange hollow feeling where the warmth had been.

Those whom I allow to call me Kat are either dead or missing, and this girl is definitely not either of them. Who on earth is she…? Why does it feel as if she is someone extremely important to me, perhaps more so than my sister and father, when I cannot even recall her…?

A single tear trickles down my cheek, my heart aching, pining for the owner of that sweet, familiar yet unknown voice. Where have you gone? I miss you so much… "Don't go soft on me, Du Couteau," I snarl at myself, wiping the accursed tear away and tensing every single muscle discreetly, all senses on alert as I sense an approaching presence.

"Miss Du Couteau, I believe you should be in… English Literature class right now?" it is the principal, and she is wearing a very displeased look on her bespectacled face. Shrugging, I leap to the nearest tree and make my way to the tree right outside my classroom, kicking the window open and swinging in with ease. The students and teacher gasp in shock at my sudden entrance, and I shout out the window to the principal, "Happy now?"

She nods quickly and motions for me to close the window, her eyes clearly warning me to stay in class and behave. I am not at all intimidated, returning to my seat and leaning back casually, putting my feet up on the desk and daring the teacher with my eyes to rebuke me, to acknowledge my behavior in any way.

As expected, she does not.

-After Class-

My "appalling" behavior has resulted in me being awarded three hours' detention in a private seat in the school's general office, just outside the door to the principal's, and I am to "reflect on the severity of my actions" for the entire duration. Bored out of my wits, I am carving lines into the already well-vandalized desk, carefully etching the symbol of Noxus into the green plastic. The secretary, who is filing papers at the huge wooden desk by the office's entrance, glares at me disapprovingly, but is much too saturated with work to spare more than an occasional glance.

The girl in the black dress enters the room an hour and a half into my sentence, bow slung casually over her shoulder, the cowl still drawn up over her head. Quietly, she settles in an empty chair next to the secretary and begins aiding her in the sorting of papers, making the flustered woman direct her a grateful glance while murmuring heartfelt thanks. Now that she is facing me, I am able to see the mysterious girl's face; she has elegant, virtually flawless features and skin like alabaster, and her almond-shaped eyes are the same ice blue as her bow. What strikes me most about her appearance is her long hair, a brilliant white the color of fresh snow, of blank paper, of purity. She carries herself with an air of nobility, her features carefully kept blank, and I assume that she comes from one of those stick-up-the-ass old, traditional families that still engage their offspring to others' before they are even born. How intriguing, for some strange reason, I desire to get to know this girl…

As the clock ticks on agonizingly slowly, about to kill me with boredom, that familiar female voice from before suddenly echoes in my head once more, now filled with a mixture of awe, joy and warmth, "I can't believe you got two pentakills in one game, Kat, a celebration is in order."

My voice responds, filled with affection, as if I were talking to my lover, "Are you trying to say that I'm too weak to get pentakills, sweetie?"

"Maybe. After all, Malzahar helped by feeding you," comes the teasing response, I can practically see the smirk on the mysterious girl's face as my voice warns her of an incoming attack, resulting in a harmonious mixture of laughter.

As suddenly as they struck me, the voices fade once more, leaving me with a mind-numbing ache in my chest, one that seems to be twisting my heart in knots, one that demands I find that girl as soon as possible. I wonder, am I going crazy or something, hearing a voice in my head that belongs to someone I do not know? Pull yourself together, Du Couteau. The heiress to Noxus cannot fall so easily to emotion.

A/N: Should I continue?

Haruka