Author's Notes: This is the first part of my Christmas present to the lovely Sabriel41. She requested a Rude.Tifa story from me and this is what I came up with. The title's from an Owen Pallett song. I really enjoyed writing Rude and Tifa as young kids, which is probably why this story ran away with me. This is officially the longest one-shot I've ever written. I hope that it doesn't drag but, really, Rude takes a long time to say anything.

I wrote this as a long one-shot but I think that it reads quite nicely split into two chapters. The second one should be up sometime this week.

So, this one's for Sabe. Everyone else, enjoy.

Twice was enough
Third would be an insult
To my condition

Diamond of rough
You see opportunity
I see apparitions

Better than worse
Is free from the curse
And when I came to
It all felt rehearsed

- Better than worse, Owen Palllett (Final Fantasy)

Better Than Worse (pt 1)

The boy's first truly life-changing moment came when he was only eight years old. In another city, perhaps that would've seemed young but everything moved faster in Midgar. In a city where children could die before sixteen, eight was not so young.

Orphans ran like coyote packs through the city's under district. This boy didn't run, precisely, since his life hadn't exactly built him for it. He looked more like a child of thirteen than eight. His stocky build made him slow. The orphans didn't always exchange names. His name was somewhat difficult to pronounce and so they'd shortened it to 'Rude'.

He moved like a boy who was constantly afraid of breaking things. The leaders of the orphan gang used him as their enforcer. If a child stepped out of line, he was there to put them back in place. The orphans fought over territory the same way that the gangs and drug-dealers did. Empires were built and broken between a few blocks of splotchy pavement. The boy alone had changed the tide of war just by standing on the sidelines.

The orphans were petty thieves, mostly. Hungry petty thieves. One day they met an unexpected adversary, a man dressed too well for his surroundings. He seemed easy prey and so they closed in. With practiced precision, they set their trap and sprung it. The legions swept in, the boy trailing slightly behind.

It was a mighty battle. The orphans tackled him and tried to take out his legs the way that they had learnt but the stranger was crafty. His legs wouldn't buckle and the orphans soon learnt that his empty hands were weapons of their own. A cry went out and the legions retreated, scattering out into the filth and garbage of their subterranean realm.

The only one who was caught was the slowest of them. The man scruffed him like a cat and lifted him up. The boy struggled and strained but the man's knuckles were surprisingly firm.

The boy had been used to looking down at the world. He was not used to being forced to look it straight on, clear grey eyes fixed piercingly on him. It was mildly terrifying.

"Your name, boy," the man asked with a rasping tone set to frighten any child. His voice was thick with some foreign accent the boy couldn't identify. Terrible ideas of children's ghost stories raced through his head. He thought of the demons that were supposed to haunt the train yards at night looking for human blood.

The man had very white, pointed teeth set against darkly tanned skin. The boy knew that he had maybe seconds to live before those flashing, pearly canines closed on his neck. Soon, he would be dead.

Imminent death was probably the only thing that could've prompted the boy to give his full name.

"Rahul Raheem Jaffer, sir," the boy said. The man blinked at the child's voice coming from the young man's body.

"Your age, Rahul," he commanded in the same gravely tone. The boy swallowed.

"Eight," he replied.

The man considered him a moment before setting him back on the ground. When the boy didn't turn to run automatically the man made a noise low in his throat.

"Why don't you run?" he asked. The boy frowned.

"'Never been much good at runnin', sir," he said looking down at the ground in front of him. The man scoffed.

"Are you always this polite to the people you attempt to rob?" He asked. The boy had no reply and so he scuffed his shoe in the dirt.

"You have no family?" The man prompted. The boy shook his head. There was another long interval where the man considered him.

"Put your hands in a defensive position, Rahul," the man said and the boy cringed. He did so looking a little away, a bit afraid that he was about to be hit.

"Good form," the man muttered under his breath. He walked all around the boy and admonished him when he turned to follow the movement.

"Eyes forward!" the man snapped and the boy twisted around properly again.

"Strong legs," he muttered again. "Excellent build."

By the time he'd returned to face the boy head on again, he seemed to have reached some kind of a decision.

"Rahul," he said, addressing the boy directly. "Besides theft, have you ever done anything very illegal?"

The boy shook his head.

"Do you take drugs or drink alcohol?"

The boy shook his head again. The last question was longer in coming.

"Do you enjoy your life here, Rahul?"

The boy frowned. The question was difficult for him to grasp. He had vague memories of another place and another life. He knew that he'd spent more time indoors then and that he'd been warmer.

He said the first thing that came to his mind.

"I don't much like bein' cold, sir."

The man's mouth curved up into a very small smile. It made him look kindlier and for the first time the boy felt at least partially at ease with him.

"I run a sort of school for young children, Rahul," the man explained. "It is not a school in the traditional sense. I teach them the martial arts. Do you know what that means?" he asked. The boy shook his head. "It is how to fight with your hands and your feet, effectively. Perhaps to learn self-betterment as well."

The boy frowned. He had some notion of school but this did not follow it.

"...C'ld you teach me t'read?" he asked. The man gave him a strange look.

"Would like to learn?"

The boy thought for a moment.

"'Think so." He nodded to himself. "Yeah."

There was that small smile again.

"Then, Rahul, I would teach you to fight with your hands and feet, perhaps self-betterment, and to read and write. But you would be required to leave Midgar with me."

The boy looked at the rubble around him. He'd seen a map of the world once and so he was well aware that there were places outside of Midgar but the concept of leaving it was entirely foreign to him.

"Alright," he said simply. The man gave him one more deep considering look before turning. He didn't pause to see if the boy would follow and Rude, for his part, didn't hesitate before doing so.

"The other children did not call you Rahul," the man remarked as they walked. The boy wasn't fazed by this observation. The orphans always shouted to each other during their wars. Names were like war cries.

"They c'dn't say it," he replied. The man glanced over his shoulder to the boy who was walking slightly behind and to the right of him.

"Which do you prefer then? Rude or Rahul?"

The boy thought for a minute. It had been so long since he had heard someone pronounce his given name that he was unused to its sound. It was not altogether unpleasant one.

When the boy was quiet for too long, the man replied for him.

"When you know, you may correct me. Until then, it will be either Rahul or boy, depending on my mood."

The child nodded. That seemed fair enough.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Rude was an excellent student and learnt very quickly the shape of his sensei's 'school'. Rude was the only student who traveled with him from village to village. Zangan chose children that he considered potentially gifted and gave them lessons and forms to practice. If they managed to improve between his visits then their lessons continued. If the they lacked the heart to continue, Zangan stopped coming.

"A child with no heart for self-betterment cannot become a martial artist," Zangan would passively explain each time he ended a child's instruction.

Rude soon learnt the world's map by heart and kept in the back of his mind pictures of the places he'd been. Each town earned a small red mark beside its name if he'd ever traveled to it. Soon enough, the time he'd spent on the streets of Midgar felt as distant to him as the one other place he remembered, a place where he'd been warmer and spent more time indoors.

His sensei spoke very little which suited Rude well enough. When the man did speak it was usually to deliver some kind of lesson. Rude accepted all of his truths passively, learning in silence.

Rude soon learnt part of the reason why Zangan had chosen to take him on as his disciple. Some of the smaller villages they visited had only one or two of his students. They needed new sparring partners in order to improve themselves. Rude was large enough to prove challenging for the older students but his temperament was such that he was never overly aggressive with the younger ones. He was, in essence, the perfect match.

Objectively, Rude realized that some of the children he fought with had the potential to beat him one day. His extra size gave him an edge against them but the boy knew that that couldn't last forever. Someday someone would knock him down. That understanding was part of the reason why Rude concentrated so hard on his footwork lessons. Zangan constantly admonished him that he was too slow, that he relied too much on his strength.

"A bear is a brute," Zangan would say. "He is strong but easily brought down by a hungry pack of wolves. Better to be a badger or a wolverine than a bear, Rahul. You need strength as well as speed. Don't forget."

"Yes, sensei," Rude would always reply.

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Rude was nine years old when he first visited one of the last villages on his mental map. Secluded and close to the mountains, they arrived in late October. It was a cold, grey place and Rude disliked it immediately.

"This town is home to one of my most promising students," Zangan explained. Rude looked at the scar line of the mountain range, half blotted out by clouds. Zangan followed his line of sight.

"The Nibel Mountains are some of the most impressive in the world. They say that Dragons live in their crevices."

"Dragons don't exist, Sensei," the boy replied. Zangan made a noise in the back of his throat.

"Perhaps not but they say that the Shinra bring legends to life in the name of science."

Rude asked his sensei to clarify what he meant but the man refused and the boy let the matter slide.

The village square was large but relatively empty. A series of homes lined it. There was, Rude could see, a huge well in the middle of the town. The homes were old and had obviously traded hands between families for generations. Rude scuffed a shoe against a cobblestone.

"Where will we meet your student, Sensei?" he asked. A year of travelling with his teacher had more or less obliterated the traces that the Slums had left on his accent. He spoke tonelessly now, much like his sensei.

"Here, Rahul," he replied. "We'll train in the outskirts of town until nightfall."

Rude nodded and they waited in silence for some time. Eventually, Rude saw a young girl leave her house accompanied by her father. When they approached, Rude realized that the man was slightly uncomfortable around his sensei. He kept on shifting his stance.

The girl stood passively beside him, her hand trapped in her father's. She was either very young or looked younger than he age, Rude realized. She was at most a little over seven. Her hair fell to her shoulders and had obviously just been brushed. Her eyes were large and wine-coloured. When they glanced up at her father they softened but the moment she caught sight of the boy beside her teacher, they cooled. All at once, Rude felt very strongly that he was an outsider to this scene and that the girl realized it.

"I don't know why you don't come up to the house, Zangan," the girl's father was saying. "The weather's been rough lately. Wouldn't you rather warm up before you start these lessons again?"

"It's fine, thank you," Rude's sensei replied, his tone neither warm nor cool. The man shifted on his feet.

"Could you have her back before dark, at least? There's been strange noises outside of town lately."

"We'll take care of your daughter, Roland," Zangan promised. At the 'we' the man shifted his line of sight and started.

"Gods I didn't even see you there, boy! One of your students?" The girl's father asked, addressing the question to Zangan. Rude's instructor nodded. Once again the man shifted on his feet. He extended his hand and after a moment Rude clasped it. "Strong grip," Roland muttered. "Roland Lockheart," he introduced himself.

"Rahul," Rude replied.

"Funny name," the girl muttered.

"Tifa," the girl's father admonished, taking his hand from Rude's.

"Roland, I'm sorry, but we're wasting daylight," Zangan said in a tone that was more of a correction than an apology.

"Of course," the man answered. He ran a hand through his hair. "Be good, Tifa," he said.

"Of course, Papa!" the girl replied. She gave her father a large, genuine smile and the man bent down to kiss the top of her hair before turning back to their home.

Zangan looked down at the girl in front of him.

"I trust that you've been practicing, Tifa," Zangan said.

"Of course!" the girl replied. Once again she tossed Rude a dark look. "Who's he?" she asked.

"My student," Zangan replied. "If you've improved enough, you'll fight with him."

"Fight?" Rude asked, surprised. The look Zangan gave him was frosty and Rude shrunk back. "Yes, Sensei," he muttered.

"Good," he replied.

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Zangan led the children to a field slightly outside of town. Tifa, for her part, largely ignored Rude. She ran through her stretches and warm-ups without glancing at the boy. When she was done, she assumed a ready stance, her hands balled into fists in front of her.

"Yang Su!" Zangan snapped, calling off the name of a form. Without hesitation, Tifa flowed right into the movements ducking, weaving, kicking, punching, and dodging. Rude sat at his sensei's feet and watched the girl perform.

He could understand why his sensei had named her one of his best students. There was an artistry in her movements, a sophistication that should've been beyond a girl of her age. Each attack was perfectly placed, each block perfectly timed. On the whole, the form would've been flawless except...

"There's no power," Rude said quietly under his breath. His sensei looked down at him before turning his eyes back to the girl in front of him.

Rude felt an uncomfortable lump in his stomach. His sensei had never asked him to fight with one of the girl students before. He understood why now. With the other boys, Rude had been on equal footing. They understood strength and were intimidated by it. This young girl lived outside of it. Rude hadn't exactly been assisting the other children in their training, he now knew. They'd been preparing him for her.

There was one fatal flaw in the equation, however.

"Enough!" Zangan snapped and Tifa moved back to a ready position. Zangan glanced at the boy by his side.

"You understand?" he asked. Rude slowly got to his feet.

"Yes, Sensei," he replied.

Rude walked forward slowly. Sweat dotted the girl's forehead and she was breathing slightly faster than normal. Her eyes followed him and once again Rude felt very strongly like an intruder, an outsider to the scene.

"Fighting stances!" Zangan called and they both dropped into one. There was a pause - half a heartbeat - before their instructor snapped, "Begin!"

Tifa lunged forward first with a hard left jab. Rude half-stepped back, deflecting the blow. Stepping sideways, Tifa aimed a roundhouse kick to the boy's ribs and again he deflected it. He dodged her spinning kick and the lightning fast axe kick she followed it with.

They danced for a short while and Rude felt his sensei's disapproval settle on him like a weight. Tifa was on a constant offensive, jabbing, kicking, once even trying a knee in close-quarters. Rude always stepped back, evaded, or deflected her blows.

With a sharp growl of frustration Tifa dropped to her hands and knees. Rude's eyes widened but he was too slow to react. The sweep caught his ankle and in a flash he fell. Tifa was on her feet again in a moment and her heel swung down...

"Enough!" Zangan snapped. Inches away from its intended target, Tifa's heel swept away and once again she was standing in a ready position. Rude let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding and touched his neck lightly. If that kick had connected...

"On your feet, boy!" Zangan snapped. Slowly, Rude stood up. His back was on fire and his head was swimming.

"Face each other," Zangan commanded. The children did so. "Bow," he commanded again. Tifa dipped her head slightly, her burgundy eyes never leaving Rude's face. Rude kept his eyes on the dirt. As one, they turned to face their sensei.

"Tifa," Zangan's voice snapped. "Never, I repeat never, strike a man in combat if he loses his footing."

"He wasn't fighting me, Sensei," the girl replied.

"And so he deserves to have his windpipe crushed?" he admonished. The girl looked at the ground in front of her. "500 push-ups," Zangan pronounced. Then, he turned his eyes to Rude. "Boy," he said. There was a pause. "I expected better of you."

With that, he turned his back on the two children. Rude glanced at Tifa beside him before setting off to follow their sensei. Tifa rolled her eyes and lowered herself down to the ground to follow through with her punishment.

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

They spent five days in Nibleheim. Each day, Zangan met with the two children three times and each day forced them to fight each other. Not once did Rude make any kind of offensive move towards his opponent and each class ended much the way the first class had.

During the third day, Rude found himself sitting in the town square. He was watching Tifa and a few of the other children playing some kind of a game. He didn't understand the purpose but it seemed to involve two balls and some makeshift goals. He could see from a distance how Tifa's moods dictated the flow of the game. She laughed heartedly and was constantly teasing her playmates enough to make the boys flustered and distracted. Naturally, her side was winning.

Another boy slinked down beside him.

"It's a stupid game," he muttered. Rude twisted to see his companion. The boy had messy blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. He looked a little undersized for his age.

Rude realized that he was probably supposed to say something in reply.

"They look like they're having fun," he said simply. The boy gave him a sharp look.

"You've been fighting with Tifa," he stated. Rude nodded. "You're losing a lot," the boy said smugly. Rude nodded again.

"Shouldn't you be playing with them?" he asked. It seemed like a fair question. The boy bristled and stood.

"If you hit her, you'll get it for sure."

The boy waited for Rude to say something in response but he didn't. Without another word, the blonde boy stalked off, giving the playing children a wide berth.

"Don't worry," Rude said to himself. "I won't hit her."

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Rude's fourth day in Nibleheim was spent much like his first three. The only thing that kept Tifa from storming off of the training grounds was Zangan's powerful presence. He'd stopped reprimanding Rude verbally after the first match. Instead, he chose the form of punishment most martial arts instructors were fond of: repetitive training exercises. Rude had never felt more exhausted in his entire life.

The night of the fourth day, Rude was sitting on a crate of potatoes left carelessly outside of the town's inn. Sometimes, Rude still marvelled at how at ease people in the country could be. He understood that the people here were poor by most standards but there was a difference between being poor and living in poverty, he believed. In Midgar, anything not welded to the ground was fair game. A crate of potatoes like this could've fed a whole gang of orphans for a week.

He swung his legs aimlessly, looking up at the sky. He didn't mind the ache in his muscles. In truth, he preferred the physical pain to the strange hurt he'd felt when his sensei had spoken down to him. Rude knew that he'd do a lot to keep his instructor from being disappointed in him again.

Except...

"Are you allowed to be out here?" a voice asked from the dark. Rude turned to face it and frowned when a form resolved itself. Tifa was standing a little away from him by another building. She had her arms crossed and once again managed to make Rude feel like an outsider.

To distract himself from her, Rude looked up at the stars. Tifa's eyes didn't follow suit.

"Sensei doesn't mind," Rude replied. He looked down at the girl a few steps away from him. "Are you?"

Tifa made a face and took a few brave steps forward.

"This is my town," she said. "Papa doesn't know if I go walking at night."

Rude nodded and leaned back on his crate, swinging his feet in silence. Tifa gave him a strange look.

"How come you don't want to fight me? I'm littler than you. It can't be hard."

Rude hid a smirk. Sensei would've corrected his grammar if he'd said a sentence like that. Rude thought for a moment.

"It doesn't matter," he replied eventually. Tifa stomped her foot.

"Don't ignore me!" she shouted. Rude eyed her in silence for a while. She was the picture perfect image of childhood anger. He'd never met anyone quite like her before.

"'S nothin' t'do with you," Rude said eventually, surprised at how a long-forgotten accent crept back onto his tongue. Tifa wrinkled her nose at the words and Rude swallowed something thick in his throat. She was so removed from most of the things that he'd known that he ...

Well, he wasn't really that surprised when he found himself telling her the story.

"Y'aint from Midgar," he said, stating a fact. "I wasn't neither. My mom, she was Midleese. My dad, ah, who the fuck knows."

Tifa wrinkled her nose.

"You shouldn't swear," she corrected. Rude looked at her for a moment.

"Sorry," he replied. After a silence, he continued the story.

"There wasn't never work in Mideel so my mom, she took off. Me with her, 'course. We moved t' Midgar. She was a cleanin' lady up in a house on the Plate."

Rude paused and thought.

"I might've been ... dunno, six maybe. I helped Cook in the kitchen. 'House's owner was some big shot Shinra. My mom, she must've done somethin' wrong. Every once in a while, she'd do somethin' wrong. She'd forget things, sometimes, my mom. 'Nyways, one day, the big shot Shinra guy, he started shoutin' at her. I poked by head outta the kitchen. 'Rahul, go away' she said but I d'dn't. Shinra, he shouted at her ag'n 'n hit her hard on the side of the head. She fell back 'n hit her head on some table's corner. She d'dn't get back up ag'n and Cook started shoutin' 'she's dead!' 'she's dead!' so I took outta there 'n neva went back."

Rude paused again. He'd looked away from Tifa when he was speaking, watching the ground in front of them. He glanced up at her again and saw her standing there with her arms crossed, an angry frown on her face. He cringed and finished his story quickly.

"That's why I don't hit girls," he said simply. He swallowed hard, unaccustomed to having to speak so much. He wanted to shake off all the harsh consonants he'd remembered.

Tifa was quiet for a while and then shook her head.

"That's stupid," she replied. Rude's eyes widened at her brashness. Tifa made at face at his expression. "My papa would say that thing with your mom was bad luck. Sensei wants you to fight me so that I can learn. You can't help me if you don't do that. Besides, I'm not your mom. I'm not going to fall down and hit my head on some stupid table. Sensei says I'm twice as good as most of his boy students. Besides, you can't go through life not hitting people. Well, there's good reasons not to hit people but if you have to then I think it's okay. Like say there was a lady robber in your house, you'd have to hit her, right?"

Rude gave her a confused look.

"Girls aren't robbers," he replied. Tifa stomped her foot.

"I said if! If! Besides, you can't like it when I hit you."

"You don't hit me very often," Rude replied. Tifa made another frustrated noise.

"You're just being stupid!" she repeated. She was quiet for a bit and Rude knew that she was hunting for some kind of childish counter-argument. He waited. Eventually, she spoke and he noticed that there was a lot less anger in her words.

"My mom," she said quietly, "she died last year. She was sick. Papa was sad for a long time. I was too. But... I don't think that I'd want to be afraid of getting sick forever because she was sick. I don't think that your mom would want you to be afraid too."

There was a pause before Tifa continued.

"I think," Tifa said, "that if Sensei says it's okay for you to fight girls, then it must be alright. He'd know, wouldn't he? He's our sensei."

Rude thought for a minute and Tifa laughed at his expression. He looked up at her, full of mature wounded pride, and she laughed again.

"You look funny when you're thinking," she explained. Her grin turned a little coquettish. "You and Sensei are leaving tomorrow. We just have a few more matches. If you leave, I'll tell everyone that you were beaten up by a girl and the boys will laugh at you."

Tifa turned to leave and then looked over her shoulder again. She grinned.

"And, if I knock you down again, I won't stop even if Sensei tells me to. You'd better fight back."

With that, Tifa ran off in the direction of her home. Rude couldn't help but grin a little as he watched her go. When she disappeared into her home, he looked up at the stars over top of him again. They were clearer here, he realized, probably because the mountain air was so clean and cool. Eventually, he shook his head.

"Girls are weird," he concluded. He headed back inside the inn, still unsure what he was going to do the next morning.

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Rude's fifth day in Nibleheim was cold. The air was clear and the sun was crisp but there was a fierce wind. Zangan seemed untroubled by the cold but Rude shivered in it.

"Pay special mind to your warm-ups today, children," was all he said about the weather. Rude followed the instructions and took extra care with his stretches. He cast wary glances in Tifa's direction. Once again, the girl was ignoring him. She seemed almost jubilant in the fierce mountain wind, completely in her element. When their sensei called them together, she could hardly keep still long enough to bow.

"Begin!" Zangan snapped and Tifa launched at her opponent. Rude was immediately on the defensive. Tifa didn't give him any reprieve. Kick followed kick and when she managed to close the distance between them she attacked with a flurry of punches that Rude barely deflected. Twice she forced him out of the ring their Sensei had drawn up outside for them. Each time, Zangan forced the two children to stop their fight and brought them back to the ring's centre only to start the match again.

Rude lost track of time. His shirt was drenched in sweat but he was too warm to feel its chill. Tifa was still grinning fiercely at him. There was sweat on her forehead and in her hair but she obviously felt it even less than Rude did. She tried to sweep him three times the way she had in their first match and each time he managed to avoid the attack, if barely.

A quiet voice inside of Rude's head was telling him that she was over-confident in her attacks and that they lacked the power to really inflict damage on him. Tifa wasn't a street fighter. She didn't see how her balance was precarious when she threw her perfectly timed axe kicks or her spinning kicks. She was fast but if the attack alone wasn't enough to down her opponent...

You could knock her down, the quiet voice promised. Rude shook it off.

Time slowed down for Rude as he ducked and weaved avoiding Tifa's attacks. There was a clear pattern to them. Her most effective attacks were aimed at his knees or shins. When he gave ground to those, her confidence grew. Then he would witness those perfectly timed kicks. Oh, she was quick but she'd grown used to him acting on the defensive. If he only...

Tifa flung her right foot up in an axe kick. It sailed over her head and her heel came flying down. Rude felt it move in slow motion. With complete disregard to his own safety, he stepped into the kick. Instead of Tifa's heel landing on his collarbone, it missed its target and her calf muscle brushed harmlessly against his shoulder.

Tifa's eyes widened and Rude's left fist connected to her rib cage. Tifa let out a short cry and fell back, her balance gone. She collapsed on the ground and curled around her rib cage, coughing around the pain. Rude watched her in a daze before taking a half step forward to help her to her feet.

"Stop!" Zangan cried and instinctively Rude fell back into a ready stance. It took a moment for Tifa to get back to her feet and do the same. Zangan walked up to them and looked at each of them in turn.

"Face me," he instructed and the children did so. "Bow," he said and they complied. "Face each other, bow."

"Tifa," Zangan said, and the girl faced him at her name. She was still red in the face but her breathing was already slower. "Most fighters are not martial artists. Cowards will give you distance but true opponents will not. If your attacks are not powerful enough they will knock you down. In the real world, your matches will not end after the first blow."

Then Zangan turned to the boy beside her.

"Rahul," he said and for a moment he paused. "Every opponent is dangerous. You need never be cruel but you have to understand that kindness is not always awarded. If someone is willing to stand and fight you, treat them with respect but understand that they would not hesitate to knock you down."

"Yes, Sensei," Rude replied. Zangan nodded.

"Now, fighting stances!"

The children dropped back and raised their fists again.

"Begin!"

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

That night, Zangan and Rude left Nibleheim. Rude was moving carefully and deliberately, his ribs aching with a few of Tifa's well-timed blows. She'd limped away from the practice yard that evening but not before she'd flashed him a winning smile.

Next time I'll be even stronger, she'd promised.

Rude cast a glance back at the town as they left it.

"Sensei," Rude asked and Zangan looked over at the boy beside him. Rude was a long time before speaking but Zangan never urged him on. He was used to Rude's lapses.

"Sensei," the boy started again. "Could you please call me Rude from now on?"

Zangan frowned. He still remembered the conversation that they'd never finished the first day they'd met.

"Is that what you wish, Rahul?" he asked. Rude nodded and Zangan gave a slow nod in return. "Very well then. You'll be Rude or boy, depending on my mood."

"Yes, Sensei."

They continued their journey in silence. It left Rude ample time to consider a young girl with burgundy eyes and to wonder when he'd be able to return to a sleepy town at the base of the Nibel mountains again.