Dante's Perfect Math Class

On a cold afternoon of February, there was a boy no older than thirteen sitting in front of a desk with notes and sketches above, written in a messy, quick handwriting, laying scattered over it. Some of these papers had greasy marks on them -probably because there was this person eating pizza in front of him.

It was an undeniable truth. His teacher was a big jackass. No, not only that. He was also a moron. To put it simply, he was a shitty old man robbing his money in a very blatant way. He knew this, his own step-brother knew this and the man obviously knew what he was doing. Why was he still going to his classes was a mystery. Perhaps because a thirteen year old boy could do nothing against an angry eighteen year old teenager, who happened to be much taller and bigger than him. This sucks so much... the boy fought back groan and a string of insults. Be polite, she always told him. As if it were so easy.

Maybe what irked the boy so much, aside from the laid-back personality of his personal teacher and his almighty shows of bravado, was those freak-ish heads he had hung on the walls as 'trophies' and the strangely shaped weapons and firearms he had placed behind him and the desk, on a huge shelf. It was... unsettling. Staying in his place, even if it was for two hours, was too uncomfortable and creepy. His personal teacher was obviously into some revolting fetish, and to top it off, he didn't seem to be much concerned about it and was blissfully unaware of the attention his things stirred in his students -that or he choose to ignore it, since the boy remembers that, one afternoon, he asked him about those 'heads' and the swords he had hung from the walls and he simply shrugged and kicked him out of his local under the pretext that the classes were over -and that was a lie.

Then he realised: he was trapped in a room with a freaky psycho in red trying to pose as a teacher. This was a deadly trap. ...Well, he knew his step-brother hated him, but this went beyond simple hatred. Homicide was not something he thought Credo would be willing to commit, but that... that would explain why his ever-so-stoic older brother shrugged everything off and called him a liar when he came back home, tired and mentally exhausted of all the nonsense he's had to endure for nearly two hours, after his first class and explained him all he saw.

It got even more funny when his step-sister told him he was just over-reacting, that having weapons was a legal way of self-defense and he shouldn't jump into conclusions. Self-defense his ass!

Since asking the silverette about his belongings was, in fact, pointless and pretty much the same as talking to a wall, he would not waste his time in asking that overly stupid man where he took those things from again. Instead, he stuck on watching them from afar, wondering what kind of mentally unstable person would keep them in display. What he did because he had no other choice was, every once in a while, asking Dante (that was his teacher's name), how he could resolve certain mathematical problems that gave him a hard time.

...The thing was that his teacher didn't know what, exactly, he was doing. To say he was an idiot was an understatement. He had more problems to resolve his homework than the boy himself. Ever since he got there (paying, of course) he has learned nothing and the responses he got from the older man whenever he asked him for help were always very vague or very, very idiotic. No matter how hard he tried, Dante needed to realize that he will never be cool, and for thinking about giving him extra homework over spring break he should be forced to be hit in the head with a chair -his chair, several times. This man evokes repulsion.

Right now, to give an example, that man was stubbornly trying to solve an exercise, a square root the boy asked him to do because of his lack of knowledge. Dante's face turned stern, dour. His straight-across bangs casted sinister dark shadows under his eyes, which were staring at his student's notebook, now in his hands, with such an intensity that he might go blind if he squinted them a little bit more.

Dante made a great show of inspecting that notebook. He surveyed it first from above and then cocking his head to the side all the while nodding to himself, like the true professional he wasn't. If it were possible, steam would leave from his ears.

"Well, well, kid..."

Dante scratched his head. This was embarrassing... solve first grade equations or problems with 'x's shouldn't be so hard. The questioning look on the kid's face, eyes wide, baby-fat cheeks and furrowed brows didn't make it better. While he tried to look confident, his young ninth grade student looked almost angry as he looked at him -or very, very bored, but he couldn't tell.

Dante felt like a jackass when he stared back.

...But a rich jackass, the kind of jackass that can afford paying proper meals and bills.

Ha!

"That's easy, kiddo," there was that grin again, obviously fake. "What ya hafta' do is..."

…

Shit.

The young boy put his elbows on the desk as he made his best to listen to what his math teacher had to tell him, but the boy received anything but silence... as expected. Why was he even there with that idiot, when he could be doing more profitable things, was something he asked himself over and over.

Quickly, before the student could ask him if the cat had got his tongue, Dante grabbed his math book (which the boy with similar hair color to his own happened to be holding) and started to turn page after page way too fast for the human eye to see. He had no flying idea of where the answer to the exercise was, but it had to be somewhere, and so he kept turning the pages, his eyes scanning every single mathematical formula they came across, until finally, on the 66th page, he found it.

"A square root of a number is a number y whose square is a. Finding the square root of a number is the inverse operation of squaring that number and the manual method is a long division that... eh..." He trailed off, trying his hardest to come up with something plausible and intelligent. "In other words..." he took the calculator from the boy's hands (again) without asking and started to make operations with it, not minding how rude and asshole-ish that was of him. He clicked the equal button, looked at the result and said: "If you do it right, it must give you 602.58. Do you understand?"

…

It... was hard to admit he had forgotten how to resolve simple square roots and random facts about how algebra works.

The boy frowned moodily and shook his head. How was he supposed to understand all that shit? If he didn't get it when the teacher tried to explain it in class, nor when the boy read it alone in his bedroom, back home after the classes finished at noon, how was he supposed to understand it now when Dante had made a literal lecture?

"Aww, come on! This ain't hard! I'm trying to go niiiice and slooww for ya! Can't 'cha even get the simple questions right? This is easy!"

The boy looked distinctly unimpressed. "Is it now?"

Quite frankly, Dante hadn't understood a thing, either. What's the point of writing something no one will understand, then? No wonder demons used to teach science and philosophy in Hell. It's a way of torture. The damned book was written in the same language Vergil speaks, he could tell, and Vergil and English had never been in good terms, precisely. Like, at all. The only time Dante remembered Vergil being fluent in English was when he got way past drunk with him over an argument. How he got that intoxicated was unknown, as Dante doesn't remember. He was also a drowsy drunkard. Dante got some laughs out of it, until he was hit by a barrage of summoned swords by a headache-y Vergil for dragging him into such a petty, unnecessary situation.

Despite of that, Dante made a disappointed face and huffed exasperated, as though his pupil's cluelessness affected him to an unimaginable proportion, as if this was a horrible crime and wanted to choke himself to death to stop the suffering.

"You've gotta work harder and put some effort, pal. You definitely can't be expecting me doin' the exam for ya, right?"

Dante closed the book, then the notebook shut and put all the discarded sheets on his desk between its pages. He gave them to his black-haired student, along with his schoolbag, left on the floor next to his feet. Said kid stared bewilderingly at him as Dante put everything that was on the desk (the calculator, the pencil-case) inside the bag. He stood up, shoved the yellow schoolbag onto the boy's chest, nearly throwing him out from his seat, and commanded him to stand up, which he did.

The boy followed his teacher uncertainly towards the entrance. That was to be expected when you were following someone that could blast off your head with a shotgun in less than ten seconds.

Dante hurried to kick him out. He opened the door and practically shoved him out of his place.

"Tell your brother to pay me extra hours, 'cause I want ya here two hours more tomorrow. And here, one dollar for ya to take the bus. Count all the stalls it makes and make me the least common multiple."

"How do I do that?"

"Dunno. You have books for a reason," was Dante's less-than-helpful advice.

"But..." he looked at the dollar in his hands and stared down at it for a moment, and then up at Dante alarmingly; "Wait, this is not en-!"

Dante closed the door in front of his face, not even bothering to hear what he had to say. Then, he gave out a groan of satisfaction he'd been fighting back ever since the day started.

He would have to make it up for that kid, though, or else his big brother would come to his place asking for a compensation or something... and the last thing he had was money to give, nor to hire an attorney.

...If they ever believe him, that is.

Both Trish and Vergil have been staring at the duo like hawks, especially at Dante's attempts at amateur math teaching like someone would watch a movie, but without popcorn. They were like that shady group of stalkers that sit at the back of a bar or in some eerie alley whilst they watch people cross the streets. Trish, long legs crossed, was tapping the floor with the stiletto heel of her boot out of boredom. It had made almost no sound, for it was covered by Dante and that poor kid's bickering.

It was a really pitiful sight: not only had Dante degrade himself into lying to people, but an innocent boy who wanted to pass the semester was getting robbed and, with him, a dozen more of children were getting confused at Dante's outstanding algebra knowledge.

It was hard to tell because Vergil always wore the same mask as a face: a dull, haughty stare coming from blue eyes that looked like buttons and an expression that betrayed nothing, but he was... he interested. Not excited, not happy, not amused, but interested in Dante trying to explain something that was beyond his knowledge. If the relaxed position he had on the couch, along the raised eyebrow was something to go by, yes, you could say he wasn't as bored as Trish was.

It was unusual for Vergil to be in such... a good mood. Anything different from his nonchalant stance, angry scowl and judging eyes was considered as cheerful, and Dante, as strange it might sound, hated that lack of monotony in his face. There was something smug and very annoying on his face ever since he started to come to DMC in a regular basis. Besides, bad things happened to him when Vergil was in a good mood. Even as children, seeing Vergil laugh only meant there was something in store for Dante, something unavoidable that would put him in a bad position.

Neither of the observing demons said anything, taking pleasure on the silence between them, only between them. They just watched, watched how the albino boy had been staring at Dante as though he talked in a foreign language, how Dante had been dodging his questions as skillfully as he could. They saw Dante trying to resolve an equation in vain and trying to explain simple math concepts not even he understood and how, when finishing the two-hour long classes, the boy was kicked out as he gave a last wary glance at Dante's atrocious decoration.

Now, Dante was hobbling away in defeat to his chair, since his silent watchers wouldn't let him have a seat on the red couch.

"... …" Vergil sighed. "...So, what was he doing again?"

Silence remained, though, until the blue twin with sharp eyes broke it with his voice once all three were left alone.

Trish was quick to reply before Dante had a chance to voice himself.

"Obviously losing his time," was her answer.

Vergil nodded in agreement as he snorted. Time marches on, but his young twin was still a mangy brat in spite of that.

Dante was not in a mood for Trish and Vergil's sarcasm -he was not in the mood for anything at all. He just wanted to take a nap until dawn. Was it really asking so damn much? He was at the verge of forgetting how a soft bed felt like, or how a place without kids sounded like.

"And you, why are you here?" Dante spat out at the remaining people invading his intimacy.

The duo that was sat on the couch ever since what seemed like forever looked up at him, expressionless.

"Hey," Trish said as a greeting. "Finally. We were feeling a bit abandoned here."

"Not to see you." Vergil answered Dante's inquiry flatly after Trish.

The blonde made a dismissive sound and stretched out on the couch lazily, resting her hands behind her neck. This time, she said nothing. Since watching them fight was better than anything else, she had no real desire of getting into that conversation.

Oddly, Dante started to laugh at Vergil's response. It sounded pitying.

"I just found fascinating this whole teaching business you have... … Imparting classes of something you have no idea of for creatures you dislike. Smart move, brother. I expected no less."

Meh... The sour bastard was talking again.

To be honest, Dante had a better idea than selling himself as a teacher, which was making a small street market to sell the stuff they didn't use anymore, or stuff that was valuable enough for people to want and buy, but Trish loved her shoes very much and Vergil wouldn't let him sell his possessions to his most rabid fangirls. Vergil sure was popular. Maybe that was Dante's fault, and he knew that him being Vergil's twin, he could make a big business out of this popularity he had if he took advantage of their shared looks.

Vergil didn't see it his way.

They wouldn't understand.

That was a real shame, Dante thought. He was a misunderstood visionary.

In the end, he thought that making his shop a temporary academy of particular classes was a fucking awesomeidea.

Vergil complained when his twin started to distribute the mandatory advertising for the academy, because he knew this would be a bad idea and Dante was still his little brother, even if he was a slob, but he quieted down when he saw Dante's first class and how his first client ran off the shop screaming bloody murderer the moment she stepped inside. After that, this became quite an entertaining show Vergil couldn't tear his eyes off. Every day was a new story and to say the truth, it was interesting to see Dante being mocked by a younger boy several inches smaller than him.

"I need the money to feed you, shithead. If only you moved your ass to do something... But no, prince charming can't stain his hands 'cause he could break his nails." He rolled his eyes.

"…"

A pause.

Then, Vergil said, quite bluntly, "…Are you finished whining yet? As you may have noticed, giving you my income would only fuel your existence. That would be a terrible hassle."

Dante stared at him for some seconds. "...Gimme a break," he finally moaned non-too happily. Vergil had a rather smug smirk stretching his lips, as usual when Dante felt particularly miserable. Dante looked away, a part of him not wanting to watch Vergil and his oh-so-regal fanfare.

His idea was awesome and it was final. He was going to make enough money to keep his shop and then, everything will go back to normal, with him, Trish and Lady laughing, joking and arguing. In that order. And Vergil would probably be there, too, with a stick very up far his ass, reproaching Dante and everything he did.

"Besides, I'm talking to you. I reckon that counts as an activity; a tiring one if I may add."

Dante scoffed, "har, har, har, smartass."

"Idiot."

"Psycho."

"Imbecile."

"Pffft, 'sides, it's not like parents want their kids to learn nowadays," Dante retorted, ending the exchange of insults. At that, Vergil raised an eyebrow, waiting for what kind of explanation Dante would have to back up that claim. "...They just want to get rid of them for some time." He gave a casual shrug, sounding very convinced of his own words. "That makes it okay~." He gave both Vergil and Trish a thumbs up and a cheeky smile.

Hm.

... Well. All kind of advice wouldn't go through his skull -if Dante wanted to do something, he would do it regardless of what other people told him. Then, parents will mostly get mad at him once they see their children's marks.

Some demons might just follow Dante, too, and something bad would happen. It was painfully obvious, yet Dante chooses to ignore it. Vergil knew this, and he was never wrong when it came to Dante -or everything in general, really.

Those human children would just run away from the violence and the gore and everything would go back to 'normal'. Leaving Dante to his own things wasn't really so bad, even though he might end up in some big trouble with those angry parents and their respective lawyers. Dante seemed to forget he didn't have a license to have an academy. His awesome idea was destined to fail.

Hopefully, once this moronic plan crashes and burns (which won't take long, a feeling Vergil had), Dante would stick to something going more according to his skills; something less nonsensical, which wouldn't get in Vergil's nerves or disturb him.

If that's not much to ask.

"Aren't you worried about the kid outside?," Trish asked, her voice muffled by her own hand as she tried to hold back a yawn.

"Nah, he'll be fine. Someone's up for a game?" He said, changing the subject.

"You sure?" Trish replied as she raised a single eyebrow, unsure. This was not a safe area for kids to be wandering around, and given the fact he was alone by himself, she didn't want a random demon to attack and kill that strange, sulky boy Dante gave classes to.

"Hey, have ya seen him? He's tough."

Trish rolled her eyes, as this was her way to let Dante get away with anything as long as she wasn't involved in any kind of mess.

…

The boy stared at the closed door with annoyance and clenched teeth. It was a good thing the man in the red T-shirt closed the door before he could complete the sentence. Nero knew, if he hadn't, his fist would have met the irritating man's face faster than he could have reacted.

"Jerk."

One thing was sure, and that was that things weren't going to end this way. Nero bowed to himself that, in the name of all the boys and girls -children in general- that that man was swindling, he was going to give the old fart a taste of his own medicine. Somehow. He just needed to polish the details.

A/N: I'm seriously clueless as to how label this thing. Let's just hope it's fine the way I've labeled it ;A;.
I wanted to write some stupid fic about Dante struggling with money. Quite frankly, while I like angsty (if you can call it like that) fics, introspective fics and serious fics, I find that I've written enough fics of those -the same goes for smut. Sooo, I took a little break from that and wrote a stupid AU. If there's someone out there who likes it, then I'll be more than happy~.

This was supposed to be a two-shot with Nero trolling Dante for tricking him and being an asshole until he had no other choice than dropping his idea and closing his "academy", but I also find that I already have enough on-going fics ;A; I might go back to this fic to write the last part... someday, I don't know. For now, I leave what happens next to your imagination.
This damned economical crisis...
Incidentally, I wouldn't mind having Dante as a teacher, even if he had no idea of what he's supposed to teach me (and I had to pay him for that). I would love to have him around as eye-candy~ *shot* But if I were the kid, I would hate Dante a bit, too... like... a lot.