Disclaimer: I do not own Love Hina in any form. What I own, however, is this fanfic.
Author's Notes:
Hello there readers. I'm a new member here in the community and this is my first time writing here. It's been quite some time, three years really, since I wrote fanfiction. I had to stop since I put my college education as top priority, but now that I'm out, here I am writing again.
Since I'm doing a dive here, I had a hard time conceptualizing a plot. It was a good thing the I found Andrew Joshua Talon's fanfic titled "Mirrors" and what's better is that he gave his permission for it to be used as a basis for future titles for other writers.
Alright, now for some disclaimers and things for readers to expect. First, I'm not a native English speaker, so if you find that my use of words maybe out of context, just inform me. Second, I know a good number of people are pissed off whenever there are a lot of Romanized Japanese words in an Anime/Manga fanfic. So to lay down my plans, here goes: I'll be using the honorifics, this is very important since it tells something about the closeness of certain characters in a story. Also, expect some Japanese terms when it comes to food, please don't make me suffer by describing to you a blow by blow account of what a certain dish looks like. So, aside from those two, I'll try to stick to English, though I might still use some other languages, but I will make it relevant to the story.
Now for the story indicators:
"Word" Spoken out loud
"Word" Thoughts
"WORD" Scream/Shouts
***** Change in location, or in some cases time (as in flashbacks)
This fanfic is rated Mature for the use of cigarettes, alcohol consumption, profanity, and other mature elements and themes.
Reader discretion is advised.
Now on with the story!
Chapter 1 : The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit
Urashima Keitaro fumbled for his wallet.
An irritated sigh came from the bartender as she put her arms in akimbo, "Policy of the bar is that you pay first before you get your drink."
Keitaro gave her an apologetic smile. He was about to say sorry to her when another voice, to his left and one barstool away, interrupted.
"Give him another, Maiko-chan. Put in on my tab."
Both of them looked to man who made the request, which made Maiko raise an eyebrow, "Well, well, since when did you become a Good Samaritan, Jimmy?", she asked with slight disbelief as she turned her back on Keitaro to get another bottle of beer.
"Got something to say?"
"Um, yeah..." the manager of Hinata Inn remembered his manners, "Thanks for the beer. Jimmy, right?"
"Yeah, that's me."
"U-Uras---"
"I never really gave you my real full name, did I?" Jimmy swiftly cut in, "I suggest you do the same. I'm still a stranger after all." His tone, while not unfriendly, came out in a rude manner.
Keitaro was perplexed, as his attempt at formalities was rebuked. "Strange, he can speak Japanese just fine but there is something odd with this guy. Well he certainly doesn't look Japanese because of his brown skin. But still, why does he..." His train of thought was stopped when he heard the sound of bottle being opened, he turned to the counter and saw his beer. He grabbed while muttering thanks to the bartender, and sardonically quipped, "So what happened to the 'pay first, get your drink later'?"
"Regular patron", the bartender pointed to Jimmy with her thumb.
Some sort of panic crept up to Keitaro and unceremoniously hit him.
"I'm a man, a young man more importantly, in a bar. My wallet didn't have enough money and here comes another guy who just offered to pay it for me. Wait a minute. Maybe he's..." He swallowed hard as he turned to look at the man who treated him to a drink.
Nondescript. It was spelled all over him. Despite the tanned skin he had, there was nothing really striking about him. His age seemed to be around in the late twenties or early thirties; however, his angular face along with its jagged fine lines made him look older. It did not help that he also wore a five o'clock shadow and square glasses. Other than that, there was little else to describe. He did seem a little short though, since his barstool was adjusted, his height might just be around five feet and six inches.
But it was the clothes that caught his attention, in an ironic way. It was boring to look at, as if it was telling people to pay no attention to the wearer at all. Keitaro then remembered the title of an American film, "The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit". An accurate description, since Jimmy did wear a gray dress suit with a conservative red tie sliced with thin golden vertical stripes and brown leather shoes.
"It's impolite to stare."
"What?" The young manager immediately snapped back to reality.
"I said, it's impolite to stare."
"Oh crap! Was I staring? This is bad! He might think that I'm checking him out. Wait. Calm down Keitaro, you just have to explain that you---"
"I don't swing that way."
"H-huh? What did you say say?"
Jimmy sighed, "Hey Maiko-chan, get me another beer and a pack of Lucky Strike," and turning to Keitaro, "I said, I don't swing that way, if that's what you're thinking."
Keitaro was about to answer but Jimmy cut him off once again, "Look, I'm sorry if I sent the wrong signals. I should have thought about it really, buying a drink for a stranger usually means interest." He hissed a slight stress on the last word.
"No I should be the one who's supposed to be sorry." Keitaro said as he took a swig on his beer, "I mean, jumping into conclusions, just like that." He sounded off with a sad chuckle.
"Can't blame you for that. Nowadays if man shows 'compassion' to another man, people take it differently."
"Compassion?" Keitaro's face showed a little confusion.
"Yeah, you heard me loud and clear. Hell, it doesn't take a damn genius to see that you're so depressed; you're first bottle almost took you forever to finish. Felt sorry for you back there. Then you almost turned your wallet upside down, and I thought, hey, why not do a little act of kindness? So that's it, I took that beer of yours in my tab."
A half-hearted smile etched its way on the troubled manager's face.
"Hey kid, you okay?"
"Y-yeah...actually no."
"So you got something I can call you?"
"Oh, right, my name is Ura--"
"Like I said before, don't give me your full name. Your real name for that matter."
"But why?" Asked the increasingly puzzled Keitaro.
"Names hold great power kid. That's all I'm gonna tell you."
A moment of silence settled on the two men, their eyes locked in a mild staring contest. Keitaro was the first to flinch. He raised his hands in defeat, "Fine, you can just call me...Taro, yeah, that's right call me Taro."
"Nice to meet you then Taro. So feeling like having a little talk?"
Keitaro chuckled at first, then it became more like a muffled sob, but somehow, somewhere, something snapped. And he was laughing hysterically. "I'm sorry," He managed to get those word of apology between laughs, "Sorry, its just that there's no way in hell you would believe me."
"Well, try me. And while you're at it, take a look around."
Keitaro remembered the way he laughed. To his surprise, no one really gave a damn that he laughed hysterically a while ago. All the other patrons just nursed their drinks or talked to their fellow companions. Even Maiko, the bartender, did not even ask him to shut up.
"Yeah that's right, it's as if nothing happened." Without any warning, Jimmy hurled his half-empty beer bottle to another customer.
"Hey what the FUCK!", snarled a patron. Keitaro almost wet his pants. The guy who got hit looked menacing. No, menacing was an understatement; he looked like someone who worked for the Yakuza. And messing with those people could mean dismemberment, slow and painful dismemberment.
"Problems?" Maiko shouted from the counter.
"Some idiot threw his bottle at me. Got fucking wet too."
"Strange, didn't see anyone do that. Just wait a sec and I'll clean that up." Maiko picked a rag and promptly went to where the man was seated.
"You see the fucker who threw this to me?", the Yakuza look-a-like snarled, "I'll fucking kill him and use his skull as a fucking CONDOM!"
"Hey, hey," Maiko admonished him, "Behave yourself."
The other customers began to murmur to each other concerning what they saw. Apparently a bottle of beer just materialized out of the thin air and hit the unlucky guy. All of them were confused. If somebody really did throw something they would have seen it, the bar really was not that big. And if someone were to throw something they would have heard him standing up to get some momentum.
Urashima Keitaro had seen a lot of strange things in his life: girls who can launch him into low orbit with either punches or sword slashes, flying turtles, flying and terrifying mechanized war turtles, and just three weeks ago six copies of himself each containing a dominant side of his personality.
But those things mentioned had some sort of explanation. And he needed one. Fast.
Slowly turning his head to the man beside him, he nearly croaked, "How the hell did you do that?"
Jimmy calmly opened his cigarette pack, took one and lighted it with a Zippo. A grim and a "conspiracy theory" smile cracked his weathered face...
"Magic."
