-1::: The Winds That Blow The Sakura :::
by
- GlazedAndConfused -
DISCLAIMER
I don't own Love Hina. Thanks to GreyWolf4 for allowing me to put his idea inTo words.
Prologue ::: Then And Now
"But, oniichan..." a young girl with black hair pleaded to an older boy, her eyes swelling up with tears, "do you have to join the army?"
"I'm afraid I have no choice, Kanako-chan..." the older boy spoke dejectedly. "There's such hostility in this nation between the Kynamarians and the Molmolese that it's only a matter of time before the whole thing boils over into war, and they want to prepare themselves with enough manpower." He sighed. "I don't want to join the Molmolese Army just as much as you don't want me to... but they're even taking 10 year old children from their homes and training them to be soldiers in case war against Kynamar does go ahead!"
The girl named Kanako's tears finally fell, her shoulders slumping as her brother took her in his gentle arms, sobs wracking her body like waves lapping against the sand. "J-Just promise me one thing, oniichan..."
"What's that, Kanako-chan?"
"Promise m-me... that you'll be home for me." She looked up at him with wet, bloodshot eyes. "Please... promise me. Then we can see the sakura together... I want that at least once. Please, Keitaro?"
The boy named Keitaro looked up once and smiled wistfully, the thought of the "I promise, Kanako-chan… I'll be back to see the winds that blow the sakura."
"Excuse me, sir, would you like any refreshments?"
Keitaro tore his gaze away from the window of the plane going back to Tokyo to pay attention to the stewardess who appeared by his side. Glancing at her with a small smile on his face, he made himself appear somewhat more presentable than he was, sitting up straight.
"Can I have a cup of water, please?"
"Ice or no ice?"
"Ice, thank you."
"Just a moment, sir."
As the air stewardess left to get his refreshment ready, Keitaro looked out the window once again. Had it really been three years since the end of the Kynamar-Molmolese war, he couldn't help but wonder. The five years since the war had started - in which the state of Kynamar, a merger between Kynamar and Molmol - seemed to fly past, but the three years of peacekeeping that had followed had been amongst the slowest in his life. He could not believe just what forms nationalism could take following years of Kynamarian oppression on the Molmolese.
Keitaro thought back to one of the most unlikely catalysts of the war; a football match between a Molmolese and Kynamarian team. What was supposed to be a routine match of the season quickly turned nasty; that he particularly remembered, especially since he was one of the hundreds of servicemen from the Molmolese military on the receiving end of a few flares, seats and planks of wood thrown from the stands during the intense rioting that ensued between the two groups of fans; as a result of this impromptu bombardment, he had suffered numerous burns and cuts.
He knew, however, that the events of that day were nothing compared to what would come up over the next five years, as the already hostile environment quickly spilled into war following the assassination of the Kynamarian dictator.
Nine years earlier...
The national stadium of Molmol was the venue for one of the biggest, most hostile matches of the football calendar, between FC Toudai and ASC (Army Sports Club) Lakuna. This match meant so much more to Molmolese and Kynamarians alike than just a simple game of football. To win would mean national pride; to lose would be the ultimate shame.
A 10-year-old Keitaro stood on the perimeter track that ran around the pitch, keeping a very close eye on the Kynamarian section of fans. Up to two hours before the game, there had been a series of running battles outside the stadium as patriotic feelings had boiled over immensely. Looking around, he noticed that there were several police vans dotted around the stadium and other military servicemen just like himself to try and stop the immense feelings of nationalism from erupting even further.
In the pen in front of him were up to three-thousand Kynamarian fans in full voice, waving flags and scarves as well as singing a number of chants ranging from simple club chants to anti-Molmolian songs. Keitaro listened intently as the hundreds of fans all shouted, their voices unified as one.
"Toudai is Kynamarian! Toudai is Kynamarian!"
The soldier stood next to Keitaro leaned over to him. "I have a feeling things are going to go downhill from here..."
Keitaro frowned. "I really hope not..."
"Death to the Molmolese! Death to the Molmolese!"
"Listen to them, they have every intention of starting a fight."
The sound of metal sheets slamming against bricks interrupted their conversation. Turning around, Keitaro could see four or five Kynamarians run to the top of their designated pen, surrounded by many more cheering in appreciation, and attempt to tear away at the seating. After a few managed to tear the seats from their concrete fixings, they proceeded to lob them over the perimeter fencing that separated them from their Molmolian counterparts. A few more at the top of the pen attempted to tear down the metal sheeting that hung from the wall, blocking off a hidden stairwell that led to the upper tier of the stand. Pulling this sheeting down, the swarm of fans made their way up the stairs to their intended targets; the Molmolese fans on the upper tier.
Twenty minutes later...
What started off as an exchange of seats through the air between Molmolese and Kynamarian fans on the upper tier turned into a fully blown riot, with running battles taking place in the stands, the soldiers unlocking a gate at one end of the ground in order to try and enter the seating areas to disperse the combating fans by way of baton charges, warning shots and tear gas canisters. Keitaro was one of the many soldiers who were firing warning shots with rifles in the middle of the stand, while the older soldiers were rushing in with their batons and sticks drawn.
However, they were quickly overwhelmed by the sheer number of Kynamarian fans who started to retaliate with whatever came to hand; the young Urashima just happened to be at the very front near a large number of fans who started to advance towards him. Without backup, his warning shots were in vain as a bombardment of broken seats and flares showered down upon him like a torrential downpour.
Backing off, he tripped over one of the many broken seats that littered the stand and fell just as a flare caught him on his collarbone. Wincing at the burning sensation, Keitaro consigned himself to his fate as the swarm of fans advanced towards him. At least, that was until a number of tear gas canisters were fired into the group of Kynamarians, dispersing them and saving the young Urashima from a severe beating.
Any thoughts of the situation calming down were shattered as he heard a tremendous crash coming from the opposite end of the ground. Turning to look where the sound came from, Keitaro could see part of the perimeter fencing had collapsed and the main section of Molmolese fans were storming onto the pitch in order to get to the Kynamarian end of the ground, armed with flares of their own, launching them at their counterparts.
After another hour of running battles and charges from the soldiers, the fighting had ended with hundreds injured, fans, police and soldiers alike. Lying in the hospital bed, Keitaro was visibly relaxed, glad that the day was over.
He had no idea, however, that this was only the beginning; there was much worse to come over the next few years...
"...ir? Sir?"
Keitaro, snapping back to the present moment, woke up to find the stewardess who he saw earlier standing over him, a concerned look on her face. "Oh, sorry..." Keitaro apologised, "I must have been daydreaming."
The stewardess smiled slightly, handing him the glass of cold water. "Don't worry about it, sir. Here is your water."
"Thank you." Keitaro smiled back, taking a sip of his water. "How much longer until we land?"
"Only an hour left, sir."
Only an hour... The Urashima man mused, leaning back into his seat. Hmm. I may as well try and get some rest; there's nothing else to do. With that, he closed his eyes in an effort to let sleep take over his mind and body.
Keitaro stirred slightly, opening his eyes to find the same stewardess as before standing above him, a gentle smile on his face that made the young man's cheeks slowly redden. Giving her a smile in return, he spoke. "Hello again, is something wrong?"
"We've landed. Please make your way off the plane and don't forget your belongings."
"Okay, thank you."
Five minutes later...
Having passed through passport control and customs, Keitaro made his way through the terminal to the front of the airport. The young Urashima man had a wistful look on his face as he recalled his very early childhood in Japan before he moved to Molmol with Kanako to live with their uncle in Toudai. He recalled the times where he used to visit Haruka and his grandmother, Hina. Yes, it felt good to be back in Japan, although he also felt a certain sense of anxiety and apprehension. What if things had changed since then?
"Oniichan!"
Any sense of anxiety soon disappeared as he heard the voice of his beloved sister, Kanako, call out for him. Turning around, he spotted the young woman rushing towards him, her arms outstretched. Even he didn't anticipate the younger companion's momentum as he was nearly bowled over by her. Regaining his balance, he reciprocated her embrace with an equal amount of enthusiasm.
"I've missed you so much, oniichan!" Kanako cried, burying her head into the young man's collarbone.
"I've missed you too, Kana-chan," Keitaro replied, "but I'm home now."
"It's good to see you back, Keitaro." The Urashima man looked up to find a slightly older woman standing before the two, a cigarette hanging from her smiling lips. "How long has it been, 15 years?"
"It's good to be back, Haruka-obasan."
The woman named Haruka inwardly flinched, hiding her displeasure at the suffix that, if anything, made her feel older. "I'll allow you that one…" she smirked, some of the cigarette ash dropping to the floor. "So how are you, Keitaro?"
"I'm good, thanks. Just can't believe I'm back home." He looked around, a slightly confused look on his face. "Um... where's grandma?"
"Tell you what. . ." Haruka spoke as Kanako released her hold on Keitaro and backed away slightly to give him some more room. "Why don't you come back to the tea house with us, and I'll explain there?"
"Um, okay..." Keitaro scratched the back of his head and shrugged, picking up his luggage as he followed Haruka and Kanako to the outside of the terminal. Upon exiting the terminal, the trio were greeted by a pleasant autumnal breeze, basking in the early autumn sun. Haruka hailed a taxi while Kanako held one of Keitaro's hands in both of her's, taking Keitaro's luggage and putting it into the boot, then climbing into the passenger seat.
"Where to, ma'am?" the taxi driver spoke, turning to Haruka.
"Hinata Tea House," the eldest Urashima replied, "what's the cost?"
The taxi driver looked surprised; he was more used to clients waiting till they got to their location before asking for the price. "750 Yen."
Haruka handed him the money. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Well, we're off!"
With that, he started the engine and started to drive to the intended location. Keitaro relaxed visibly in the back seat, with Kanako still holding his hand, a content look on his face.
Yep... he thought wistfully, it's definitely good to be home. He then turned to look at Kanako, who was asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. I fulfilled my promise, Kanako-chan... I said I'd be home to see the winds that blow the sakura. Now, here I am.
::: END PROLOGUE :::
Once again, thanks to GreyWolf4 for allowing me to put his idea into words. Credit goes to him for this story, not me.
Obviously, Kynamar is a fictional country. The conflict described in this story will be based on the Yugoslav wars that occurred in the 1990s.
Why the football match scene, some of you might be asking. Well, as hard as it is to believe, a football match was actually one of the events that spelt the end for the former Yugoslavia; a match that was supposed to take place between Dinamo Zagreb of Croatia and Red Star Belgrade of Serbia in 1990 resulted in one of the biggest riots in football, where Croatian and Serbian nationalists fought for hours in Zagreb. What gave this match significance was that it took place weeks after Croatia's first multi-party elections for over 50 years; elections which the parties favouring independence had won.
...anyway, that's enough of the history lesson for one day. This fic will also explore the topic of child soldiers and why they are drafted into war.
Sorry for the short chapter, but then again, it is only an epilogue.