Love Hina: Outsider Looking In
Chapter Two
(Reception was good, and so, I continue. I think I ought to mention, by the way, that this is in no way a self-insertion. Just for example, I haven't been on a bicycle in… I can't even remember how long. Plus, the Keitaro depicted in this fic is not really similar to myself—he's not spooky at all, for one thing. :D
I will approximate Kitsune's kansai accent as, of course, a Southern accent. There will be minor uses of foul language, as well as somewhat sexual situations—this is a harem manga universe, after all! Now then, enjoy.)
The air was fresh and clear and a little cold, but Keitaro couldn't have it any other way—not at ten feet off the ground, moving at an easy thirty miles an hour.
His jump ended with an impact that would have broken the bones of most cyclists—as well as their machines—but Keitaro and his bike were one organism, just then, designed by God Himself to cut down the mountainside.
Of late, he'd taken an interest in YouTube, and after getting a few guys in Islamabad to tape him doing tricks and things in the city, Kei had gotten somewhat of a following on the massive video site. That's why he'd bought a special camera, designed to be attached to his helmet. It was an expensive thing, but Keitaro got it for free—the manufacturer had dismissed the price when Keitaro promised to give him a shout out on his YouTube channel.
The slight weight above and to the right of his head escaped his notice entirely. When his blood was pumping through his veins almost as fast as his legs pumped down on the pedals, nothing mattered to Keitaro except the wilderness, and the best way through it—everything else was simply unimportant.
The camera didn't pick up much, in terms of sound. Breathing was recorded, as well as the cracking of downed branches as Keitaro drove over them, but the main attraction was the picture itself. When the video was uploaded, anyone who watched would get a first-person view of what the best in the world of mountain biking were capable of.
There were few jumps Keitaro found, but he took them at full speed, kicking off the ground to launch himself into the air—maybe later he'd slow those parts down and add in some sort of sound effect to maximize the feeling of gravity defying freedom. For now, though, all Keitaro wanted to do was ride, ride and ride some more, until it was too dark or he was too tired or the Earth itself split open to tell him to stop.
"How long has he been doing that, sempai?"
"Mm, gotta be a few hours by now, Shinobu-chan. After Haruka-san left, he went upstairs for, I dunno, two minutes. Then he came back down in some kind of protective outfit… think he's been out there since then."
"Huh. Then it can't be much longer until he gets a broken neck."
Khan believes that he doesn't need to explicitly state who said that last line—we all know, and hate, the only one who's regularly that cruel.
The girls were gathered, of course, outside, and in the hot springs. The Sun hadn't quite set yet; there was just enough light left in the sky to lend an intimate, almost magical feel to the place. Naru and Motoko were sipping at two still-hot glasses of tea—Kitsune's drink of choice was, of course, sake, cold and straight.
They were all different in a thousand ways—in fact, it was hard to say what most of them had in common. And yet they all got along, somehow held together by the magic that flowed freely through all of Hinata Inn and its surrounding properties. They didn't question it, didn't test it—they just acknowledged it, silently, and appreciated it, like they appreciated one another.
"How do you think he does it, though? I mean, from the sounds of things, he's going pretty fast—and for this long. I guess that's how he got so skinny, but damn. He's got some kind of stamina; kinda makes ya wonder how he is in be—"
"When you're doing something so important to you," Motoko said calmly, "it's easy to go beyond what your body is normally capable of. It happens to me all the time—every morning, in fact, when I practice my katas."
There was silence, for a brief moment—silence, save for the distant whirring of wheels running out of lubricant fast.
"So… this is interesting," Kitsune said. She stretched upward, briefly, and those looking directly at her averted their eyes. When she moved like that, her chest rose a bit above the water line. "A guy at Hinata Inn… that's really somethin', isn't it? Gotta be the biggest thing that's happened around here in some time."
"Huh. Big deal." The brunette at the vixen's side was still moody—her arms were folded, crossly, and she didn't look anyone in the eye. "So what if he's Granny Hina's grandson? This is wrong, and we have to do something about it. Kitsune, you write for a paper, right? Maybe you could do an op-ed about the falling standard of morality in Japan—"
"Fat chance, sugar," the vixen interrupted. "I just got that job, and I don't want to ruin it so quickly by pulling something like that."
"Then—Motoko, maybe you can do something about this. If you told your family about this, I'm sure they'd act. They're powerful enforcers of the law—and this clearly goes against every martial artist's code of honor that I know of. They can get him out of here—right?"
Motoko actually considered, for a moment, before shaking her head. "I'm afraid not, Narusegawa-san. My family might not like this at all, but Hinata Inn is normally not under our jurisdiction. I'll check our laws, but I don't think I can attack Urashima in any way, unless he does something that truly crosses the line."
"Like peeping on us?"
"That would truly cross the line, Narusegawa-san. I'd give him a thrashing he'll feel in his next life."
That answer satisfied Naru, but not very much. She wanted him out, out, out, dammit, and she would do whatever it took to get him out—but her course of action was unclear. She couldn't just beat him up without specific provocation… and she couldn't directly bully him either, or he might simply use his power as the resident manager and kick her out—that was the last thing she wanted. She'd have to be subtle, it seemed, and careful—she had to get him out by making it look like he was incompetent or perverted, that was the only way to get him out and keep her in.
Such parameters would make things quite difficult for her indeed, but Naru forced herself to focus. He was clumsy, she already knew that, except for when he was on his bicycle, apparently. Maybe that was a possibility—she could set up some sort of trap, and as long as he wasn't able to get onto his bike…
Opportunities were starting to open up. But Naru promised herself that she would not act before she was ready—and that meant that for the moment, she'd have to bide her time. She didn't know much about this strange, mixed-race man, not yet—sure, she knew that he was from Pakistan and he loved biking, but that wasn't enough. She had to know his weaknesses to really hurt him… and finding out things like that would take time.
She would have to wait a little bit. But she promised herself that within the week, she'd do something—maybe not something big, but something.
"Someone's thinking about something… what's on your mind, sug?"
Kitsune, stealthily, had made her way to Naru's side. There was the faintest trace of a devilish smirk on her face, but even her best friend didn't see that—she was too adept at hiding her plans, after years of practice. If only Naru could learn how to be so secretive…
"I was just thinking, Kitsune. With a man around here, we'll all have to be a little more careful. I'm getting a lock on my door for one thing—and some of us will have to remember to dress properly every time we leave our rooms." To make it clear who she was referring to, the brunette glared at the vixen next to her, albeit not in an unfriendly manner.
Kitsune had a witty response formulating in her mind, but Motoko spoke before she could.
"Narusegawa-san is right," the kendo girl concurred. "We'll all have to be careful to protect ourselves. Shinobu-chan, Su-chan… you may not be able to overpower him if he tries anything. Just call for help, and all of us will come running—and then we won't let him escape. Alive, anyway."
All except for Naru were vaguely chilled by speech like that.
"Hmm… sounds like he's finished," Kitsune observed, what felt like a long time later. "I gotta see what kind of shape he's in right now. 5,000 yen says he's crawling back on his belly—anyone want to take me up on that?"
Of course, no one would bet against Kitsune. The vixen was more experienced than them all when it came to gambling, after all—and when she realized that, she just shook her head and sighed.
"I guess none of you like fun. Spoilsports." She lifted herself out of the water, and, still nude, made her way to the tall, bamboo walls that prevented eyes distant and near from spying on them. She bent over a little when she found a small hole—and peeked out, just in time to see Keitaro pass by.
"Well, I'll be."
"What is it, Kitsune?" Naru had averted her eyes, but at the vixen's mild exclamation, she looked up. Then, she stood, and walked forward with her head tilted to the side in case she had to back her friend up.
The vixen looked up from her slight spyhole, and faced her friend with an astounded smirk.
"He's riding back, would you believe it? Didn't look at all tired—a little sweaty, maybe, but that's it. Damn," Kitsune said, looking down with her hands on her hips. "Talk about tough. Wonder what he eats for breakfast—cereal bowls full of nails and broken glass? With the blood of the infidel oppressors for milk?"
Naru tried hard—with marginal success—to stifle laughter at that. "That's not funny," she groaned. "And move over; he's got to be a little tired."
Despite the wetness of her hair, the brunette's antennae were at full structural integrity. She too bent over to look out, and though Keitaro was farther away when she saw him she couldn't really deny it—he looked completely normal, as if he'd just returned from a leisurely stroll around the block—not hours of intense physical activity.
When Naru stood up, her eye had an unhealthy twitch to it.
"Told you," Kitsune said smoothly. She sashayed to where the towels were kept and put one on. "Now, if you ladies will excuse me, it's six o'clock, and we all know what time that is."
She made her way back to the spring, briefly, to pick something up off the ground.
"What time is it, Kitsune-san?"
The vixen paused and turned to face Shinobu over her shoulder.
"Time to lose the game."
Keitaro left his gear on until he was in his room. Only when he was behind closed doors did he begin to remove the protective clothing that had protected him, down the decades, from blaster fire and slugthrowers, explosions and knives, from all the various insults the universe was apt to throw at a man in his line of work. Indeed, Kei's gear was his battle armor; it had come to define him as much as hobbies and personality did.
From his helmet to his gloves to his boots to his elbow and kneepads, to the heavy, reinforced fabric that covered him head to toe, he was black, mostly, save for a few broad stripes of red that he'd added on himself for style's sake. He wasn't yet covered in brand names and logos, and he wasn't sure he ever wanted to be—it was one thing to endorse groups that made good products, but it was something else to be a walking commercial.
Once he'd taken off his suit, he began to pull his shirt off. It was soaked with sweat, but that was unsurprising. He was about to take it off when there was a knock on his door. He turned around, with the bottom of his shirt caught around his lower chest; damn it, did it have to furl up into a tight, wet ball at such an inconvenient time?
"Oh, hello… Kitsune-san?"
"That's my name, sug."
Keitaro managed to pull his shirt back on, properly, and give the foxy lady a smile. "What can I do for you, Kitsune-san?"
She laughed quietly, a pleasant, tingling sort of sound, and invited herself into his room. Keitaro felt the slightest bit embarrassed—but he was just being prudish. There was nothing inappropriate about being in the same room with someone of the opposite gender, even if they were both alone … And besides, the way her hips sort of swayed from side to side—that was definitely his imagination and nothing more.
"I was just curious, Keitaro-kun. About… you." She said that final word delicately, and by then, she wasn't far from him at all—in fact, she was close, quite close indeed, so close that Keitaro found himself leaning backward an appreciable amount.
He waited for elaboration, for a moment, but received none. So, grinning a bit awkwardly, he knelt over his gear and pretended to fiddle with it, just so that he could get way from being so close to the foxy lady.
"I'm, ahm, afraid I don't understand, Kitsune-san…"
She laughed, pleasantly. "Oh, you don't need to be so formal around me, sug." He glanced to the side and saw her approach him again, before sitting down on her knees at his side. "Just call me Kitsune. And I was wondering, y'know, what it's like to live in Pakistan."
"Oh." For some reason, Keitaro's shoulders slumped the slightest bit. He felt relief—that was a perfect innocent, reasonable thing to ask. But Kitsune was getting uncomfortably close again—so he stood and made his way to his luggage. That ought to keep his eyes and handy busy for a while. "Well, I'm an open book, Kitsune-san. What did you want to know?"
Damn, he was being tough. She'd have to take it slow on this one—but that was alright. She turned toward him, but did not advance for the moment.
"Well, you know, the simple stuff. For example… what do folks in Pakistan do in their free time?" She bit back another Islamist joke—now just wasn't the time. She continued to look at him with a polite, interested expression on her face—more obvious advances would come in time.
"Well, it depends," Keitaro said. He looked up—a small victory—and began to explain in vaguely accented, but flawless Japanese. "But people in Pakistan aren't that different from people around the rest of the world, you know. Mostly everyone just wants to get along, have a nice family, some friends, and have some fun from time to time. I guess in Islamabad, people our age generally go out with friends… you know, on road trips, to parties, meet more friends, raise a little Hell. The usual," he grinned.
"There's a fad right now—about a dozen hookah bars have opened up within a block of my place, and everyone wants to try out all the different flavors and things. I'm sure it'll pass in time. Ah, and it's also become very popular, recently, to take trips to Peshawar. From there, you go around a little bit—maybe even set a foot into Waziristan. There's no real reason in it—it's just something to do, because all the Western media can say about northwest Pakistan is how terrible it is."
Kitsune found herself fairly interested in what he had to say—she snapped out of it damn fast, though, and slyly moved somewhat closer to Keitaro. He seemed not to notice, so she continued the line of questioning. It wasn't that she cared, at all; this was just a tool to use to get close to him.
"But isn't it pretty dangerous in Pakistan this time of year? I don't keep up with the news that much—but isn't that area where Osama bin Laden is hiding? With a bunch of his cronies?"
"Well, supposedly," Keitaro allowed. "But once you leave the big cities, there's not much development. There are no suburbs, not like America—just forests, and mountains. Oh, you wouldn't believe the mountains, Kitsune-san. Especially in Kashmir and the far north—that's where some of the most dangerous Himalayan mountains are. There might be a few terrible people hiding here and there, but if you don't go out looking for trouble, it usually won't find you."
By now, Kitsune had scooted close enough to Keitaro that she was on the opposite side of his luggage. She could no longer deny that he was an interesting partner—for conversation—but she kept her goals in mind and worked on a way to get next to him again.
"Call me Kitsune, sug," the vixen reminded him. "And are you sayin' that you've been to this… 'Waziristan' place? What did your folks think of that?"
"We-e-ell… technically, I… suppose I might have been to… maybe the… tiniest… set foot there for just a second… or, maybe just a few hours," Keitaro admitted. "It was when my dad had to make a trip to DC and my mom was out with some of her own friends. I'd set the day aside for biking… but, well, one thing led to another, and a few of us got a driver, and… you know. Please don't tell anyone this, Kitsune-san—I'd be grounded for life. And with good reason."
The foxy lady giggled. She shifted her weight to the side, and began to creep around the suitcase separating herself from Keitaro.
"Kitsune-san, sug; don't make me force ya. So, do you have, you know, a special someone waitin' for you back at home? Or in Washington?"
He shook his head a bit ruefully. "What can I say, it's just… never something that I've had time for, with biking and school. That, and, well, I've never been popular, with, you know, the other gender."
She laughed at that. It seemed that for a second, he'd forgotten that he was talking to a real, live girl—a real, live, damn good looking girl, she might add. She'd managed to sneak her way around the case, by then—and was only about two feet from Keitaro. She'd rolled her upper body forward so that she was in a crawl, and in that position she knew that he'd get quite the eyeful if he glanced down from her face—just for a second.
"Oh, I think you're joshin' me, sugah. If what you said is true and girls in Pakistan aren't that different from the rest of us, they'd hafta be blind to be able to keep their eyes offa you. You're actually sort of a cutey."
Kitsune was hamming it up, but not much. It was true that Keitaro was not the picture of masculine beauty, but he was pleasant to look on. His features were one in a thousand, and he was tall—and Kitsune had gotten more than a glimpse at him midsection when his shirt, still drenched in sweat, had stuck at his chest. Burning thousands of calories a day in extreme cardiovascular training had given Keitaro a defined physique with quite low body fat.
She reached forward and brushed a strand of hair out of his face that simply had never been there. By doing that, she implied that she'd like to admire him more—the expression on her face was picture-perfect because she'd practiced it a thousand times before, on a mirror, and on men in all manner of situations.
But Keitaro stood up and stepped away. He seemed to search for something to do for a tense second—before making his way to the window. Now, he wasn't even looking at her, and Kitsune was starting to get frustrated. This was no longer a game, he was deliberately trying to ignore her increasingly blatant advances—and although she wouldn't admit it, the foxy lady felt insulted. No one could keep their eyes off of her when she really wanted to be seen; he thought he could—then, so be it. Now, she wouldn't play nice.
He leaned on the sill and looked outside at the calming view spread out before him. The slight motion of his shoulders suggested that he was taking in a series of deep breaths to calm himself—but he'd have to have true mental fortitude to withstand the fox's next assault.
"Kei-kun…"
She almost moaned his name. No, she did moan his name, in a low, sensual tone that sent chills up and down the spines of the hardest men—she knew that, because she'd met the hardest men and made them swoon with treatment like that. Indeed, Keitaro turned—just in time to see Kitsune stand, and walk directly toward him.
Now, though, there was no escape. He couldn't walk away, or to the side—his only escape was via the window, and, in fact, a two-story plunge was starting to look mighty friendly, just then, as the foxy lady got closer, and closer, and closer, and closer. She seemed to sway as she moved, and a slight, intentional motion of her hands brought his attention to her chest—and her bosom got bigger, and bigger, and bigger, and bigger.
Fear rose in Keitaro, among other things—and in a second, he was leaning backward again, desperately seeking a way out. But Kitsune just kept coming until she was right there, right in front of him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath—and her body—against his.
"Is-is something wrong, Kitsune-san?" he asked, in an attempt at politeness. His eyes left her, for favor of anything else, anything less… intoxicating than the foxy lady's body, and face, and lips, so close indeed to his own.
"Keitaro-kun, ever since you got here, I…" She paused, tactically, and looked away as if she was nervous herself. At the same time, she took a small step closer, so that her soft, pale thigh, only half-hidden by a sheer cloth miniskirt, pressed against his leg. "I can't explain it, Kei… you have to feel my heart beating to see how I feel about you…"
"Nani?"
She reached up and placed her hands on his. That was actually the first time Keitaro had ever felt the warmth of a woman's touch—in comparison to his, her fingers were so soft, so pale, so delicate. Like fragile china, they wrapped around his wrist and guided it toward her chest. She was so warm, so tender, so vitally alive—Keitaro could feel her heart beat; the blood rushed from the center of her being to the tips of her fingers and sent slight vibrations to him. He focused on that innocent feeling for a second, just long enough to steady his hand in the air, still inches from the vixen's body—and give her a wry, ambiguous smile.
"Don't go any further, Kitsune-san. I think I understand how you feel about me already…"
Now it was the foxy lady's turn to be confused. She looked up at him, bewildered—just in time to see him sidestep past her, and make his way to the entrance of the room.
He continued to smile at her, in a manner that didn't quite reach his eyes. She tried to look into that strange expression, for a long moment, until she realized that he was talking to her.
"It's been a long, exciting day for me, Kitsune-san… but I have a lot of things left to do still. With respect… please leave."
Now this was another new experience for the foxy lady. No one had ever thrown her out of their room before, ever, not for any reason at all. And yet, here stood Keitaro, confident and proud, looking her in the eye even as he plainly—yet politely—kicked her out. She was shocked; she didn't know how to react—her feet carried her forward on their own accord, even as her eyes stayed lock on his… at least, until he modestly turned away and raised a hand to further block his gaze from hers.
A moment later, Kitsune was in the hallway. She was still shocked, but managed to get over the worst of it—the vixen turned back to face Keitaro again and demand an explanation, but she was too slow. The door shut , more or less on her face, and the soft ting of a metallic catch falling into place told her that he'd locked it.
She just stared, for a minute, almost gaping. Had he seriously rejected her, or was he just dumb? And if he had rejected her—why? Was he gay or something? Dangerous and disturbing, this puzzle was… meditate on it, Kitsune would, but certainly not there, standing in the hallway like a fool. She shook her head, and, brooding already, turned on her heel and walked away, asking herself, constantly, what the Hell had just happened.
Keitaro came out of his shower feeling like a new man. He'd tied a towel around his waist after drying off and simply spent a few moments relaxing, stretching, and making muscles in front of the mirror. His biceps were getting bigger, weren't they?... no, perhaps not.
But he was an eighteen year old—he couldn't be blamed for wishful thinking. And it wasn't like his upper body was totally without muscle, though it couldn't compare to his legs—he did do pushups and pull-ups sometimes, after all. Ah, well. Not everyone could have twenty inch arms.
He dressed, then, in a pair of cargo pants and a longsleeved tee. Once upon a time, there had been a graphic on the back, but now it was mostly just a blur of colors text. Keitaro liked it, though—it had been his for months, and it had character. Briefly, he considered doing something to his hair—perhaps gelling it or at least combing it—but then he realized that he preferred the way it looked as it was. He left it alone and simply considered what he ought to do with the rest of the day.
There was unpacking, of course. And organizing his stuff. And getting in contact with his parents… in fact, there was no need to wait to do that. Keitaro took his phone off of his bed, where he'd left it before heading off for his shower, and simply sat down for a few minutes to tap out an email to the address he'd marked as "Mom and Dad".
At first, he considered letting them know exactly what was going on—that is, that Granny Hina was MIA and the Inn itself was an all-girls dorm… and that he was supposed to be the resident manager. Then, he decided that they would be better off if they didn't have to worry about such things. He'd have to tell Haruka-san to leave her brother and sister-in-law in the dark soon enough…
His email was finished, and, after re-reading it once, Keitaro tapped "Send" and put it out of his mind. It sounded natural, and told his parents everything they wanted to hear—they wouldn't suspect a thing, hopefully.
For a moment, then, Keitaro simply sat where he was, and tried to let everything sink in. He was in Japan—in a inn-converted-dorm owned by his grandmother, where he'd spend the next several years of his life if all went well. Soon, he'd be distracted by cramming for Tokyo University's entrance exams, but he'd always have to stay at the top of his biking game. The Yokohama Invitational was getting closer and closer by the day, and, no doubt, Keitaro's competition was hard at work preparing as well.
It felt pretty odd, in fact, to be in such an unfamiliar place. Keitaro would not be surrounded by people he'd known for years, and he'd have to spend some time, at least, to know where everything was. Until he got acclimated to his surroundings, he'd be heavily dependent on his phone for navigation and more. It was tempting to simply hang around the inn and surrounding grounds for a few days, while he got used to life in the new time zone—but then, Keitaro realized, no one would stop him from coming and going as he pleased.
3am? 4am? No problem! After all, Hinata Springs was probably the safest town in Japan—among the safest nations in the world. He doubted Haruka-san would care what he did, as long as he didn't do anything bad or irresponsible. And as long as he kept quiet, the girls wouldn't be likely to say a word against him… right? Then again, now that he thought of it, Japan was a fairly conformist society.
Maybe it would be best for him to lay low, at least for a few weeks, so that he'd make a good first impression on his new peers. After that, they'd be far more likely to respond positively, or at least neutrally, to his youthful rebellions.
Sometime during this line of thinking, Keitaro had started to pull his clothing and other possessions out of his bags. For now, he stacked them on the bed in organized sections—shirts, pants, socks and more, and little gadgets and things like that. As soon as he was finished getting everything out, he would put it away—there was plenty of space in his room; it had a closet, a dresser, and the attached bathroom was spacious and extremely clean—
"What's the point of taking all your stuff out? You'll be gone soon enough—why waste the effort?"
"Damn. I should have closed the door…" Keitaro winced—already, he recognized her voice without looking at her.
Still, though, he stood up and turned. His expression, he hoped, was friendly or neutral—or at least that the dread he felt wasn't so easy to see. He smiled, awkwardly, and then brushed a shock of hair away from his eye. Maybe he ought to have dried it…
He looked the brunette in the eyes. For a brief second, he considered a fiery retort—but he couldn't think of one, and besides, just because she seemed to hate him, that did not give him the moral upper hand here. He had to remember that no matter what, he had messed up, big time. What had happened between them was an accident, yes, but it was still his fault.
"Narusegawa-san," he began slowly, "I'm truly sorry for what happened in the hot springs, when I… you know." He tried not to flush—and failed, a little—but continued on regardless. "I don't know what to say… this kind of thing has never happened to me before. Is there something—anything I can do to make it up to you?" He felt a little pathetic and humiliated by the end of that statement, but he had been entirely sincere—and for a moment, it seemed that Naru might have gotten that.
For a moment.
She simply sneered, and moved aggressively into Keitaro's room. Halfway toward him, however, she froze—and realized that this was the opposite of how she had to act if her real goals were to be achieved. She had to be very conservative, for the moment—she had to find out more about him, for the moment, to figure out what her best course of action was.
And so she simply smiled, awkwardly, as her mind raced for words. He looked tense—so, he hadn't missed her anger—and that wasn't good. She'd have some doing if she wanted him to calm down and quit suspecting her.
"I, uhm, don't know what came over me, Keitaro-kun—I'm sorry for saying that." Naru forced herself to bow the slightest amount, and felt her shoulders slump down in relaxation when she straightened up. "It's just… that kind of thing has never happened to me before, either." She tried to laugh—no, damn it, it came out too high-pitched and shrill. "I, uhm… I think it would be best, for all of us, if we just… put everything behind us and started off on a clean slate."
Keitaro found himself nodding. That was a very reasonable request indeed, and yet… something about her just didn't feel right to him. It was almost like she was giving off a bad vibe—but that was just nonsense, right? After all, why would she lie?...
The brunette had calmed down enough, by then, to control what showed on her face. She smiled just a little and closed the distance between them in a calm sort of manner, before bowing for a brief moment. When she looked up, she saw the top of Keitaro's head—and a second after that, the two teenagers were looking one another in the eye again.
Neither of them noticed that the pause that followed was just a little too long to be natural. Each of them was weighing the other—Keitaro was trying to figure out why he was having a hard time trusting Naru, and Naru was trying to look beyond the decent, clean façade the strange foreign maintained.
"Thank you, Narusegawa-san," Keitaro finally replied. He smiled, just a little, and not for very long. "That's very big of you. Thank you," he repeated, and bowed again.
"Don't worry about it," she said, gritting her teeth—but not too much. "Let's just… try to get along, okay, Keitaro-kun? I'm sure we can, if we try."
He nodded in response to that; what else could he do? But as he couldn't think of anything more interesting to say, there was another brief, awkward pause.
Then, Naru considered. She almost winced, but she knew she had no choice. Sooner or later, some way or the other, Keitaro would find out that she too was reaching for Tokyo University… and when he did, he would wonder why she hadn't told him. That would be extremely suspicious indeed, and for now, and the near future, Naru knew that she had to be very normal. Maybe even boring. After all, boring people didn't scheme.
"Oh yeah, Keitaro-kun," she began, conversationally, "I'm also interested in going to Tokyo University."
"Is that so?" Immediately, he seemed interested—and his skepticism of her vanished. She took note of that, and nodded rapidly as if carried along by his excitement. Clearly, he was quite passionate about this topic, and that could be a vulnerability…
"Ever since I was a little girl. I don't know why, but there's something about it for me—a pie in the sky to strive toward, you know?"
"That's exactly how it is for me," Keitaro said. "Even though I've never been there in my life, ever since I was a small boy, going to Todai has been a major goal for me. It's strange, I know, but I feel that my destiny requires that I attend Tokyo U." He looked away from her, for a moment—not at anything in particular, except a distant, invisible future—before returning his gaze to the brunette and giving her a lopsided, somewhat embarrassed smile. "I know that probably doesn't make sense at all; sorry, Narusegawa-san."
"No, no, I understand completely," she said. "Ever since you were a small boy? Then… it'll really be something if you get in, won't it, Keitaro-kun?"
"Yeah, I guess it will. Heh… if I do, I won't know what to do after that. I guess I'll have to make new dreams for myself as I go along… right, Narusegawa-san?"
She had to admit—he definitely didn't come off as a pervert when he was just talking. In fact, he seemed quite sincere, and forward thinking indeed—no! Nope, no, not at all. He was a pervert to the core, he just happened to be a sly son-of-a-bitch as well. Her eyes narrowed the smallest amount, before she smiled, pleasantly, and nodded.
"Just like the rest of us, Keitaro-kun…" She tried to think of something else to say, and failed. So, before things could get awkward again, or she slipped up—she decided that it was time to go.
"Well… I have a lot of things to do, Keitaro-kun. And so do you… oh, dinner is in about forty minutes, by the way. Shinobu-chan cooks, but as resident manager, it's your responsibility to clean up." To her chagrin, he nodded at that as if it was a reasonable request—which it was. It just wasn't in his character to be so mature and rational; after all, he was a pervert.
"Then… I'll see you later, Narusegawa-san. Thank you again for forgiving me."
He did seem to mean that, but that was to be expected. Her forgiveness—phony as it was—was good for a pervert like him. Now, all he'd have to do was to keep his head down, and covertly peep on them, or worse… ugh, the possibilities were as disgusting as they were endless. Naru would have to act soon indeed. But for now, all she did was grit her teeth, bow curtly, and then give him a farewell wave before she left the room.
Then she could gnash her teeth and swear revenge to her heart's content.
"That has got to be the weirdest conversation I've ever had," Keitaro muttered to himself. What had just happened?
Everything seemed so… so fake, in a way that was difficult to describe. It was almost like being at a job or talking to one's boss—the friendliness, politeness, and courtesy were all there, but they were all faked or emphasized. It was like one of them, or both of them, were playing their parts. Something was seriously wrong there—err, right? Or was Keitaro just being paranoid? Or was his perception and understanding of things simply horrendously flawed?
Keitaro didn't know the answer to any of these questions, of course, and he didn't know where to begin to get them. He could ask Haruka-san about Naru some time, but for now, his best move was probably just to be alert and watch what was going on. That was two "interesting" interactions he'd had with two of his tenants within an hour. Kitsune… he could deal with her, he believed. Narusegawa, on the other hand… damn, he wanted to think that she had been sincere, but he just couldn't. Things would be awkward around her…
Oh, well. At least Keitaro had gotten things more or less straightened out with his life. He had housing, a great place to practice for the big YI, and the ability to study for the upcoming entrance exams in peace and qui—
"Hinata Mechanized Assault Force V. 1.0, go!"
"Muh?"
One moment, Keitaro's room was more or less empty. There had just been him, his clothes and a few other possessions—the next second there was a small army of pint-sized machines, all moving rapidly across the floor and through the air, bristling with weapons as diverse as they were powerful.
He was attacked, then, with tiny machineguns and missile launchers. On his bike, he might have had half a chance to get away, but on foot, he was hopeless.
The bombardment that followed knocked Keitaro clear out the window. Somehow the building was not damaged in the process—more miraculously still, Keitaro wasn't injured or killed, even though he hit a tree with enough force to daze him, and then fell all the way to the ground.
Several canaries waltzed around his head, for a few seconds, until he managed to blink and groan and slowly sit up.
"Why, God, why me? I don't drink to excess, use foul language, or look at naked girls—gosh, I guess I did look at naked girls. Maybe this is divine punishment…"
"Nyahahahaha! A stunning victory against overwhelming odds! Present arms!"
In a second, Keitaro was on his feet again, and ready to run. Present arms—did that mean that he was going to be attacked again? But, no, the several dozen mechanized horrors now crowding at his window simply aimed their weapons into the air—then, shivered, shuddered, and shut down.
"Uwa! I've hit a setback…"
For the first time, Keitaro lay eyes on his attacker. It was the blonde, it seemed, though dressed in a beret and fatigues, he had a tough time recognizing her. She was fiddling with something that looked like an overlarge PS3 controller with apparent frustration and chagrin. Yet, a moment later, her little friends were moving again. This time, they were beating a hasty retreat back into the inn.
"Next time, Keitaro, I'll have my victory! Next time, I swear!..."
Her voice trailed off as she, too, vanished. For a moment, Keitaro could do nothing but stare after where she had been and blink, vigorously.
It seemed that the oddity of his conversation with Narusegawa had been one-upped.
"Now I'm truly confused," Keitaro said. He didn't realize where he was; after all, he was still somewhat dazed after getting conked out of a second floor window. That, however, did not excuse his natural tendency to be somewhat unobservant—except, of course, when he was on two wheels. He began to walk, rubbing the back of his head with a hand and wondering just what the Hell had happened. He took about two steps—and then plunged underwater.
He had, of course, been knocked down to the hot springs. Although he was utterly disoriented and quite honestly scared out of his mind, Keitaro managed to swim, briefly, and throw his head up over the surface of the water—just in time to see another near-death experience fast approaching.
It seemed that someone had decided to take a brief, pre-dinner bath. Whoever she was, she had apparently not heard the commotion, because she continued into the open-air spring as normal. Well, to be sure, Keitaro saw a sway in her hips as she moved that he hoped was not part of her normal gait.
Quickly, he averted his eyes. He opened his mouth to yell that he was there—but just as quickly, he shut himself up, sweating cold bullets down the side of his face. He couldn't be caught in the hot springs again! Then, there would be no way to deny that he was a pervert. He had to get out, and yet, he couldn't, at least not without being noticed. His options had been few initially, and as time continued and the girl got closer and therefore more capable of seeing through the mist that coated the top of the water, they became fewer and fewer still.
In the end, Keitaro decided to simply remain still, at the edge of the bath, and pretend that he was a rock or something. In time, he'd get a chance to escape. Maybe if he was lucky, he'd even get to see a little—no; what the Hell was he thinking of at a time like this?
The girl, whoever she was—Keitaro could still only see her silhouette—had entered the hot spring. In doing so, she had of course removed her towel, and now blood was really rushing to Keitaro's face. (Among other things.)
This was truly, terribly bad. Now, Keitaro was starting to second-guess himself, as the panic in him really started to rise. It probably would have been best if he had shouted when he could—at least then, no one would have been able to maintain that he was trying to peep; if he was, why would he give himself away? Now, he was making himself look guilty. And—
"Oi—where did she go?"
The girl had vanished. One second, she'd been standing there, with her head above the water but the next she was just gone. Had she dived underwater? What was going on—
Keitaro saw something approaching him, then, below the placid surface, and almost panicked. Even realizing that he wasn't likely to be attacked by a shark in such a body of water didn't calm him down. Now he knew where she had gone.
He had the good sense to turn away, at least, as the practical mermaid broke the water's surface just next to him. In doing so, she jumped up, just a little bit, so that the majority of her torso was visible, at least for a split second. Simply standing was enough to cover her in a manner that would have been acceptable for a soft porn magazine—but Keitaro's heart was still hammering in his chest.
"Well hello there, sug. Fancy meetin' you here."
There was no mistaking that Kansai accent.
"K-Kitsune-san, I swear, this isn't what it seems like," Keitaro stuttered.
"Oh? Do tell," she said, in a tone that made Keitaro blink in confusion. She sounded… as if she was amused. Or something else…
"I-I-I-I-Kaolla! It was Kaolla," Keitaro managed to stammer. "She attacked me with some kind of mini-robot army—I swear! She must have some contacts in Raytheon or something. She blew me out of my window, and I ended up here—didn't you hear me?"
"Hmm, doesn't sound too likely to me, sug."
Now, the vixen's voice had taken on a predatory tone. If Keitaro turned around, he would have seen her half-shut eyes glinting in dangerous amusement—she was a toying with him now, even as she slowly, seductively moved forward—until Keitaro felt something remarkably soft, warm, wet, and very feminine indeed against his upper back.
"Quit bleeding into the hot springs, Kei," Kitsune murmured. She seemed to move her face forward, then, to speak directly, hotly into his ear.
"And… I never knew some people were inta elbows."
"Eh—oh. Yeah…"
By now, Keitaro was feeling utterly low, and humiliated. It was surely only seconds before Kitsune shouted for help—perhaps from the samurai girl that clearly longed to lop his head off, or, worse, from Haruka-san. How could he let a relative think so lowly of him? Even if she let him live, he'd die of shame.
And so Kitsune's next move shocked him. He felt a slight pressure on his shoulder, looked to the side, and saw that the vixen had placed her hand on him. She was patting him… but why?
"Relax, Kei-kun. I won't tell on ya," the vixen said, in a friendly tone, before her voice became serious. "Su loves to play, but that's no excuse for you, as kanrinin, to get up ta things like this. I'll let you go, just the once… but next time, I'm gonna have to do somethin'. You understand."
Keitaro was nodded robotically, then, still quite numb from shock. Kitsune was forgiving him? Even after what he'd done (or not done) to her in his room? He smelled a rat, but he wasn't sure what it was yet.
"There's a secret way outta here," Kitsune said urgently, hurrying Keitaro before he could think more. "Head to the far southeast side of the hot springs. There's a part of the bamboo fence that bends back… you should be able to slip out from under there. Now get going!" She gave him a slight shove until he sprang into action and started to climb out of the water.
"And Kei-kun?" She stopped him with that half-sentence—her nearly turned to acknowledge her, but stopped himself at the last second. "You owe me for this, hun. Big time."
"Son of a gun," Keitaro thought to himself. Now he understood why he was being released.
"I won't forget about this, Kitsune-san," the boy whispered, using a hand to cover his eyes so he could crack the vixen a smile. "Arigato."
"Yeah, yeah; now get outta here!" Kitsune hissed. "Someone's coming—I'll cover ya; but run!"
Keitaro didn't need telling twice. He turned away from the hot springs and moved as fast as he dared. He tried to be quiet, but the place was large enough that a little noise wouldn't be noticed. All else he could do was to hope that his clumsiness wouldn't doom him again.
Kitsune had told the truth. At the far side of the bamboo fence, there were a few stalks that lifted off the ground, a little bit. Some brief testing told Keitaro that they could be bent just enough to admit him—and so he immediately dropped down and started to crawl. Behind him, Kitsune continued to keep her word, chatting with whoever else had entered the hot springs to prevent his escape from being noticed.
He managed to get through. At the very end, his foot got stuck, but a bit of twisting and maneuvering got that free, too. Keitaro stood up, dusted himself off, and stared back at the hot springs that he'd just squirmed out of. He looked, and felt, like he'd just swallowed a slug.
"Great, now I owe a crazy girl that likes to throw herself at people a favor. I wonder what she'll make me do?" he grumbled to himself, starting to walk away from the dangerous area.
"God damn it," he sighed. "Now I wish she'd just screamed for the police. Life would be so much less complicated behind bars…"
"Oh, hey, Naru; what's goin' on? Taking a little bath before dinner?"
Kitsune was leaning against the stone wall against her back with her arms luxuriously stretched out. She didn't have a drink with her, and that was rare. According to the alcohol connoisseur, hot springs were one of the best places ever to take sake.
Maybe she just wasn't in the mood to drink—no, no, forgive me, forgive me. Kitsune, not in the mood to drink? That's crazy talk, even in fanfiction. She was probably just out of alcohol altogether.
"Uhm, yeah… I just wanted to, you know, relax…" Naru gave her friend a smile, but she seemed distracted. She was looking around a lot, as if she was expecting to see something that just wasn't there.
"Hey, uhm, Kitsune, when you came in here, did you… see anything… anything unusual?"
The foxy lady blinked—but then, rapidly, understanding within her arose. She shook her head. "Don't worry, sug. Keitaro's definitely not in here. No need to worry about being peeped on."
"Oh…"
Now that was strange. Kitsune had known Naru for quite some time—she knew the subtle differences between when Naru was relieved, and when she was disappointed, and just then, Naru definitely seemed disappointed. The foxy lady looked at her brunette friend a little more carefully—and then simply decided that she had made a mistake.
"Unless… you're worryin' about not being peeped on."
"Eh?"
"Oh, nothin', sug," Kitsune said in a dreamy, singsong voice. "Just… well, there's nothin' unusual about it. Get seen half-naked by a guy while you're bathin', and end up falling for him the same day… it's happened before."
"Oh, no way," Naru said, practically recoiling in disgust. "Kitsune, don't even joke about those things—"
"No joke, sug," the vixen continued, now openly grinning. "Say, maybe you could return the favor. When he comes home all sweaty and tired from biking, you could head up when he's in the shower and give him a little… comfort."
By this point, Naru knew that protest would not stop her friend's teasing. She simply groaned, rubbed at her temples with her fingers and tried to get the throbbing vein in her forehead to calm down. Eventually, she was successful, and Kitsune simply laughed. A moment later, the vixen had her arms around the brunette in a sort of older sisterly hug.
"I'm just joshin' you, Naru. Don't worry about Keitaro—I figure after almost getting killed by you and Motoko, he's gonna give the hot springs a pretty wide berth, if he can, neh?"
Naru rolled her eyes. She sighed, but there was nothing she could do. After all, it definitely didn't look like Keitaro was anywhere.
"I guess so," she allowed. "But this place still kind of freaks me out. Ugh, Kitsune, you don't know what it's like to have a guy stare at your chest—"
"Yeah I do—"
"Without your permission—"
"Yeah, I do," Kitsune repeated. "He looked at me, too; don't you remember, sug? Actually, he did a little bit more than just looking… oh me, oh my…"
Naru couldn't help but grin at that. That was Kitsune, always making light of things and kidding around. Naru sometimes didn't know how she did it—maybe that was her coping mechanism. Even after so many years of friendship, the vixen was full of surprises.
Still, as the two girls continued to soak for another fifteen or so minutes, Naru couldn't help but allow her disappointment to show on her face. She didn't know what had gone wrong, exactly—she'd either missed Keitaro, or Kaolla's attack had failed or been rescheduled for some reason. Whatever it was, it seemed that any plans she cooked up in the future would have to have some margin of error. Keitaro, it seemed, would not be an annoying hangnail that could be flicked away at will. He was a tumor that would have to be removed with surgical, deadly precision.
At the same time, Kitsune was mentally rubbing her hands together in satisfaction with what she'd already accomplished. She might have lost face with Keitaro earlier, but she would figure out how to work him in time. Besides, now he owed her a favor. It might take more than copping a feel of her to bring Keitaro under control, but, in time, Kitsune would have him eating out of her hand.
Once Keitaro got to his room, he stayed there. It was simply too dangerous to go out, it seemed—Hell, it was dangerous enough being where he was. He'd already been assaulted in two distinct ways simply by being in his room. If things kept up like this, he'd lose his mind in a week.
Fortunately, he was left alone—at least for the moment. The clock ticked down the time to dinner, but Keitaro couldn't bring himself to leave the room—or his bed—until just five minutes remained.
"I have to talk to that crazy blonde girl," he muttered to himself. "Doesn't she know that it's illegal to blow people up? And Kitsune… …no, I don't want to talk to her alone. I don't want to be with her alone at all. That's not wise… but…"
Keitaro's mind struggled to deal with what he was going through. It then failed, badly. He had to maintain the peace in the inn; he had to avoid Kitsune; he had to figure out Narusegawa while maintaining an amiable relationship with her—and all the while, he had to study to get into Tokyo University.
That was just too much for one guy to deal with. And Keitaro hadn't even started to clean or rebuild or maintain the ancient inn, much less collect rent—forget about properly meeting his other tenants, much less getting to know them, much less dealing with the problems that they would doubtlessly bring to his life.
Why couldn't life be simple? Why couldn't he just study and practice biking for the Yokohama Open—ah, that was another trouble that Keitaro had forgotten to add to his list. Just when did things end—
"Good evening, kanrinin-san."
Keitaro's feet had kept moving without his notice. In fact, he was lucky that he hadn't taken a fall down the stairs, or embarrassed himself in some other way. He'd walked directly into the dining room, just as everyone was starting to sit down. The food wasn't yet on the table, but it was somewhere close by, and hot damn did it smell good. Keitaro rarely ate Japanese—his mother was American, after all, and they lived in a nation that was… not particularly Oriental in its culinary heritage.
His mind was wandering. A little awkwardly, he smiled, and made his way to a seat that seemed to have been reserved for him. To his right was the samurai girl that had—justifiably—tried to kill him and prevent him from staying at Hinata Inn. The seat to his left was empty for the moment, but a quick headcount and a bit of guesswork made Keitaro look like he'd just eaten a live slug.
"Of course it's her. Why wouldn't it be her—why would things ever be easy?" he muttered under his breath, just as "she" made her way into the room.
"Didja say somethin', sug?"
The silver-haired vixen entered her seat in a gliding, almost liquous manner. When she wasn't drunk or buzzed, she was actually quite agile—and it showed. Keitaro simply couldn't help but glance at her, once, before looking at his hands and muttering a soft, "'Lo."
Narusegawa, Aoyama, Kaolla, and now Kitsune were seated at the table in Keitaro's immediate proximity. The only one that was missing was the quite, pale girl—what was her name again? Maehara Shinobu—that was it. Naru had mentioned that she did the cooking… that was odd. She seemed very young indeed, roughly the same age as Kaolla.
A pot of tea was being passed around the table. The girls had all filled small, china cups with the steaming liquid—Kaolla had done the same for Shinobu—and now Kitsune was handing the pot to Keitaro. With a somewhat shy smile, the brown-haired boy accepted the container.
"Remember, Kei-Kun… you owe me," she breathed, too softly for anyone but the message's intended to recipient to hear.
Glumly, Keitaro nodded and filled his own cup with tea. He was really under her thumb, it seemed, and that was the last thing he wanted. True misery was his condition…
And then Shinobu entered the dining room with a tray of food roughly her own size and weight in her hands. She smiled, nervously, at the reactions her entrance received. Although she was constantly told that her cooking was amazing, she still had little to no confidence at all. And yet, even Shinobu couldn't deny it—everyone looked ravenous the moment she came in with the food.
Within minutes, the various dishes had been set down on the table. Keitaro had never seen so much Japanese food before in his life—ever. There were no more than three or four Japanese in all of Pakistan, and the one Keitaro had been to was, shall we say, less than decent. His dad was a klutz in the kitchen, so the only time Keitaro really had a chance to eat Japanese was when he was in DC.
"This looks delicious," Keitaro said. He looked up until he made eye contact with Shinobu, just as she was sitting down, and gave her a polite smile. "Arigato, Shinobu-san."
The young girl did not verbally reply. Or perhaps she did, too quietly for Keitaro hear. It seemed to him that she simply blushed and looked at her hands until everyone started to eat.
Keitaro was no master with chopsticks, but he was competent enough to avoid embarrassing himself. There was a fair amount of attention on him, as he was the only male in the room, and he was a foreigner in addition. No matter that he traced half of his ancestry to the Japanese archipelago—he'd still not set foot in the nation for a lifetime. Even as he enjoyed his first meal in Japan, he couldn't deny it even to himself—he was an outsider looking in.
It was a few minutes before the girls began to loosen up. None of them were used to eating with men—their self-imposed gender segregation had been complete for the past years, and the addition of another person to the inn-turned-door changed the whole social dynamic. Kaolla was the only one that didn't notice (or didn't care about) this, as she was too busy shoveling food into her mouth.
Kitsune and Naru began to chat about this and that. Just little, unimportant things—what did you do today; did you see that new line of shoes; we should head out this weekend… Keitaro felt a little guilty for "listening in" until he realized that he was not expected to keep his ears shut. The conversation could hardly be considered private.
Kaolla eventually began to speak with Shinobu—in between heaping bites of food—but the pale girl didn't seem to have much to say. It was pretty odd—she'd begin to speak, look up, make eye contact with Keitaro, and then blush and look away again. Keitaro couldn't make heads or tails of it.
It seemed that the only one who wasn't mingling—besides him—was the samurai girl at his side. He looked over at her, briefly, and watched as she serenely lifted her tea cup to her lips and took a long, deep sip. She moved with precision and grace that Keitaro could only accomplish on two wheels.
With a renewed sense of respect—and just a little fear—Keitaro smiled at the tall ravenhead.
"Hello… Aoyama-san. I, uhm… haven't… spoken… to you… before…"
His words died in his mouth as the martial artist turned toward him and fixed her best death-stare on him. Her eyes, slim and dark, burned with barely-restrained anger.
He tried not to shiver, but failed, just a little, and almost cowered in his seat.
"We have nothing to say to one another, Urashima-san. I accept your position as kanrinin, but you're still a male at an all-girls dormitory." She nodded, then, and turned back to her tea. "That is all."
Feeling somewhat humiliated, Keitaro simply turned back to his food. Motoko was right, after all. He might not like it—well, he certainly didn't like the way she'd treated him—but she was right. At least, he thought to himself, that was one of the girls he could count on to be stably. Icy, but stable.
A soft sort of snickering make Keitaro turn to Kitsune, though not for very long. His humiliation must have been amusing—she had every reason to laugh, as cruel as it was. Meanwhile, he was likewise completely reasonable in simply turning back to his food and nudging it this way and that with his chopsticks instead of actually eating it.
"Aww, c'mon, Kei-kun," Kitsune said. She nudged him with her elbow a bit until he looked at her again. "Don't sweat Motoko. She's actually a lot worse to other guys."
"Really?... how is that even possible?"
A vein appeared on Motoko's forehead and throbbed, slightly. She looked up from her tea and glared at the back of Keitaro's head as a hand crept toward her blade.
"That's easy," Kitsune said. "Most guys love to do this to her."
Before Keitaro could react—before he dared to react, as his reactions were known to upend tables, knock down expensive vases and more—Kitsune's arm shot past his body. He didn't see what the vixen did, of course, but he guessed—correctly—that she'd touched Motoko in a place that the martial artist most certainly did not like being touched.
"Urashima, you pervert!"
"W-wait! It wasn't me!"
There was no time, though. Motoko's reaction was as swift as it was violent. She drew her sword and struck in the same swooping motion, moving to chop Keitaro's head off. The result would have been bloody—if she didn't stop herself at the last second.
Keitaro had dived backward and raised his hands in a display of surrender. His eyes were wide—terrified, not lecherous—and Kitsune was giggling off by herself as Naru and Shinobu stared. Kaolla, of course, was still nomming away. How Motoko had stopped herself in time was a miracle—but she had, sparing poor Keitaro's life.
"Kitsune-san," the samurai girl said in a low, dangerous growl, directed more at Keitaro than anyone else, "you should be a little less high-spirited. Otherwise, we might have a nasty accident. And we don't want that… do we?" She was practically snarling by the time she was finished speaking, and it was clear that she wasn't talking to the sly fox of Hinata Inn.
"N-n-no, we wouldn't want th-that at all," Keitaro said. Yet, even as the sword continued to hover at his throat, he slowly lowered his hands and looked at Motoko in a concerned—or even chastising sort of way. "But, Aoyama-san… it wasn't Kitsune-san's high spirits that nearly got me killed just now."
He was still scared, to be sure, but he would never be a pushover. He'd never been bullied in his life (largely due to his height and familial status), and he certainly wasn't going to start to be bullied now, no matter that he was in a nation that he barely knew. There was a sort of grim defiance in his eyes, then, that was impossible for Motoko to mistake.
Practically seething, she pulled her sword away. Sheathed it. She stood, then, and faced her body toward Keitaro although her eyes did not meet his. And then she bowed, the teensiest amount, before turning around and walking away.
Keitaro looked after her, for a moment. Then, he shrugged, and turned back to his food. It was not his fault that Motoko was… high-spirited, but Hell if he was going to get threatened like that. He would have to talk to her, later. But for now, he simply turned to Kitsune and shook his head the slightest amount.
Then he too stood and left, albeit after thanking Shinobu for a delicious meal.
The four remaining girls were silent, then. Two of their number had left the table—well, one, and one outsider—and that was something that had never happened before, certainly not in that manner.
"Thanks for the great meal, Shinobu-chan! Hey—why is everyone so quiet?"
Kaolla had finished eating, and only then returned to the world at large. In doing so, she'd made her three companions jump, a little, before smiling thinly at her and ignoring her question. Oh well—it can't have been that important. The blonde left the table, then, at a sprint, and made her way into her room to build her latest version of killing machines.
Eventually Kitsune began to eat again. So did Naru, and then, so did Shinobu. Each of them had their own thoughts, quiet and private and in the case of the former two, schematic and precise. Keitaro had come off as a pretty happy-go-lucky guy, but these developments were significant. He certainly had some guts, to be able to talk to Motoko like that and stare her down—immediately after she'd nearly killed him.
Naru was not prepared to make a major move yet. Or, at least, not an obvious one. Motoko's thoughts toward Keitaro, as yet, were impossible to determine… as were Kitsune's and Shinobu's. Kaolla saw him as a plaything, and that was somewhat useful—but if she was too fast or too obvious or if she even tried to recruit allies against him, she would fail. For now, she'd have to continue to play the rose to hide her true serpentine nature.
As for Kitsune, she knew that she would not apologize to Keitaro. She had guessed—correctly, apparently—that doing such a thing to Motoko would engender a violent response, but he didn't know that. He didn't need to know that. She would simply say that she was just paling around with Motoko, who was clearly having her time of the month… She'd express sorrow, but not much guilt, and that ought to put her back in Kei's good books.
If she was careful, she might strike up a friendship with him sooner rather than later, and that was nearly as good as what she truly wanted, at least in some ways.
"Steady, girl," the sly fox thought to herself. "It's gonna take time, but I'm gonna do it. In just a coupla weeks, he's not gonna be able to get his mind offa me."
Keitaro felt marginally safer and saner in his room. Marginally, at best. Once he was in he simply lay down on his bed, unsure of what else to do. He felt drained, but not physically, and he didn't understand it. He wasn't used to drama—his parents were both no-nonsense people, and he'd selected similar friends over the course of his life.
But these girls were—eccentric, to put it politely; damned crazy to be a little more explicit! Keitaro didn't know how to deal with them. So far, the only one that seemed somewhat normal was Shinobu, and she seemed more like a mouse than an actual person.
No, that wasn't quite accurate. Narusegawa was normal, to all appearances, if only Keitaro could get past that lock in his mind that prevented him from trusting her. She had reacted rationally to everything so far, in contrast with Motoko, who seemed like a powder keg with a very, very short fuse.
Kitsune was clearly manipulative (although Keitaro wasn't yet aware how deep her treachery ran—sorry, that's a really overdramatic line, but I couldn't resist), and willing to use her body as a tool. She didn't seem to have much respect for herself, yet she was capable of being something of a puppet master over other people. That meant that as dangerous as Motoko was, the one Keitaro really had to be on his toes about was Kitsune. Everything he did would be used against him by her, whereas the samurai girl would only cut his head off if he did something wrong, or was perceived to.
Keitaro sat up, and simply shook his head. How on Earth would he get on? He had no problem with doing physical chores and just staying out of everyone's way, but son of a gun, if had to come home to insanity like this… he didn't know how he'd study, practice for the big Yokohama Open, let alone find a few minutes for fun here and there.
"I should have just stayed in Pakistan, where it's safe and sane," Keitaro muttered. He didn't see the irony in that statement, though Khan guesses that you might.
He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. What was his next move? At least, he ought to think about what to do with the rest of the day, and the next as well, but he was simply too mentally exhausted to consider anything of more significance than the color of the ceiling, the pattern of the wood planks, and the fact that one section in particular seemed to be broken or at least damaged…
"Hey there, Pakistan-san. You look beat."
"Nani—oh… Kitsune-san."
That was one of the last faces Keitaro wanted to see just then. One of. He'd have liked to see Motoko even less, but Kitsune was a close second.
He sat up and looked at her a bit suspiciously, but she was acting perfectly normally as far as he could see. Granted, her hips were oscillating like an underdamped (ζ 1) sinusoidal linear differential equation of the second order rather than a manner he perceived as chaste: an overdamped (ζ 1) sinusoidal linear differential equation of the second order, but still. That was just in her character. Just as Keitaro wouldn't equate a linear integral of the functions giving an open curve around a given region with the double integral of the difference between the partial derivatives of those same functions regardless of the orientation of the linear integral around the curve, he wouldn't expect Kitsune to be someone she wasn't.
And yet, he absolutely didn't want to see her then, of all times. He looked away from the silver-haired vixen and sighed.
"Kitsune-san, believe it or not, I'm not in the mood to talk right now. So…" He let his voice trail off tiredly. Hopefully she'd get the message.
And she did, alright. She simply chose to ignore it and keep moving forward, before sitting down just next to the brown-haired lad. Well, not just next to him. A fair foot or so of space separated the two, but she was still pushing his limits, just a little bit. Too much, and she'd be booted out again, but not enough and she'd never make any significant gains.
"Talk about a rough introduction, sug. I could be wrong, but I dunno if Motoko's much of a fan of yours."
Keitaro turned to face her at that. There was a very skeptical expression on his features, and Kitsune feigned surprise, blinking and leaning away from him the smallest amount.
"Why on Earth would you do something like that?" Keitaro said. He mimed what the fox had done to the samurai girl; unfortunately, he did so while facing her. He realized this just in time to pull his hand away from making contact with Kitsune, but that didn't stop him from wincing, blushing, and facing away from her again. "You almost got me killed, God damn it," he sighed. "If I had been a heartbeat slower, thk, that would have been curtains for Keitaro."
"Hey now," Kitsune said in a rather lecturing tone, "it wasn't me that did that—that was all Motoko. I was just joshin' around with her, you know? Us girls do that kinda stuff all the time."
Keitaro looked at the vixen again. She seemed to be perfectly honest, and yet, why would she lie? What could she possibly gain from toying with his life like that?
"Well… just, don't provoke Aoyama-san like that again. Next time, I might not be so lucky," Keitaro said. As if to drive the point home, he rubbed his throat with a hand, making sure that it was still intact.
"Don't worry, sug. If I'da known she'd fly off the handle like that, I wouldn't have done it," Kitsune said comfortingly. She considered, for just a heartbeat, and then added, "And… I guess I am kinda sorry, Kei. If I hadn't touched Motoko's tits, you wouldn't've nearly gotten your head chopped off."
"Yeah…" Keitaro sighed.
Kitsune didn't reply again, at least not immediately. She was watching the boy carefully, as he rubbed the lower half of his face with a hand and—perhaps pointedly—looked away from her. She could practically feel him struggling, or, as she thought of it, doing jihad with his inner demons. Interested, the vixen perked up, a little bit, so that she was prepare to react when Keitaro began to speak again.
"I don't know about this, Kitsune-san," he said… and that was all. There seemed to be a whole lot at the tip of his tongue, though, so she prompted him, just a little bit.
"All what, sug?"
"All this—the inn and everything. Everyone. If I just had to take care of the inn while studying and biking, that would be fine—but I can't—I can't deal with the drama here. It's way too much," he said. And then, he looked the fox in the eye again.
"I'm going to tell Haruka-san that I just can't do this. It's a shame, but it looks like the inn will have to go... It's not my fault that Granny Hina is high-spirited."
"Now hold on a second there, Kei-kun," Kitsune said. She'd suspected that he might express a little bit of stress to her, but this was too much. She had to reel him in before he got away from her forever, throwing her out of her cheap, comfortable home in the process. "It's only been one day, right? Everyone's still gettin' used to you being here and all. And trust me—well, I'm not gonna say that a couple of us aren't a little… well, eccentric, but it's usually not this bad by a long shot. Just… give it two weeks, or maybe three, and then make your decision. After all, opportunities like this one don't come too often. Ya don't just want to throw this away while you've got it, do you?"
He looked away from her again, and she took note of that. Keitaro was not a guy that made big decisions without careful consideration—he probably hadn't been thinking of leaving that seriously, not yet, anyway. It had been more out of frustration than actual thought that had led him to tell her that he wanted out.
"I… guess not," Keitaro finally admitted. "Maybe… I should just give it a little more time. I mean, things can't get any worse, can they?"
Kitsune nodded. "That's the idea, Kei. Though ya might want to work on your fighting spirit, just a little."
She took another risk, then, and gently socked his arm in a friendly sort of manner. He didn't seem to notice.
"Yeah… I'll just talk to Aoyama, and that crazy blonde girl—hey, where is she from, Kitsune-san? Kaolla, I mean."
"That, I don't know," the fox admitted. "She always says we'll find out someday, but someday never comes. I used ta think she was Indian, but now I ain't so sure."
Keitaro shrugged, and turned away from the fox again. Wherever Kaolla was from wasn't that important. What was important was that if she didn't quit starting small wars for no reason at all, she'd find herself out of a home.
"I don't think she's from India… but tell me about Aoyama-san, Kitsune-san. What makes her so uptight?"
Kitsune was smiling on the inside, though she didn't show it. Keitaro might not have realized it, but he was conversing freely with her, accepting her advice, and therefore seeing her as more than a potential hazard or enemy. She was far from being in the "friend zone", so to speak, but these things took time.
"She's from a big martial arts school—a martial arts family, like. I think she's somethin' like a 23rd generation samurai… I don't really know the details, but the deal is that she hangs out around here to get a feel for the rest of Japan and stay focused on her studies. She might go to school, might not… but you really don't want ta mess with her, Kei. I say, give it a coupla days at least before you approach her about what happened at dinner. In fact, ya might as well just forgive her. She's not gonna change."
"Then she will leave," Keitaro thought, but didn't say. Then again, Kitsune had a point. The last thing he wanted was to get his head lopped off because he approached the swordswoman when fiery, passionate blood was still pumping through her veins—he'd come around later, when she was unprepared for it or in a good mood. That way, he could make his points without undue fear.
"What about Narusegawa-san? And Maehara?" Keitaro asked. "What can you tell me about them?"
"Now them I actually know a fair bit about," Kitsune grinned. She was aware that she'd moved just a little bit closer to Keitaro, and then he became aware as well. Yet he didn't get up to move away or even look away, except after a minute—during which she swore she saw his eyes either attempt to or succeed in fluttering below her neckline.
"Naru's my best friend, has been since high school," Kitsune said. "She's a pretty nice girl, most of the time, but she does have a little… well, she can get feisty if you mess with her enough. I wouldn't worry too much about her—she is a little wary of ya, 'cause of what happened, but she'll get over it in a couple days. Just be nice to her, and show her that you're not a perv, and she'll come around."
Keitaro nodded; he'd have to keep those things in mind. As much as his gut didn't trust Naru, he found that he had a strange desire to gain her friendship—what was with that? He'd have to think about things, later, but for now, he wanted to know about the other young member of the Hinata Inn household.
"As for Shinobu, she's… pretty quiet, actually," Kitsune said, after a moment of thought. "It's easy to forget she's around a lot of the time. But she's a good girl. She studies pretty hard, and does her chores… not much personality, but no one's perfect. She's been livin' with us for a couple months now, but I don't actually know her that well," the vixen admitted.
That was one tenant Keitaro could trust to be relatively sane, he thought. And then he realized what was going on—Kitsune was cooperating with him, although not to a particularly astounding degree. Still, she was helping him out in a non-trivial way, when she had no obvious motive for doing so.
Keitaro looked at her hard, for a moment, and saw no duplicity in the silver-haired lass's eyes. It seemed very much like she was simply trying to be friendly, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. And yet there was nothing about what she'd done or said that was remotely suspicious…
Maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe after seeing that he wasn't the kind of guy that was ruled by the primitive needs of his body, Kitsune had decided that there was no use in being slutty… but that didn't explain why she was being so friendly all of a sudden. She hadn't even mentioned the favor he owed her…
"…Arigato, Kitsune-san," Keitaro said with a smile. "Hopefully, I'll be able to get along with everyone here… at least for another three weeks. After that, I'll leave… or else, some others will."
"Alright, Kei," the vixen sighed. "Just be fair about it, and don't let first impressions carry that much weight. Everyone needs time to adjust, neh?"
Keitaro nodded. But then, he faced forward and sighed. Even if things became really bad—well, unless they became really bad in terms of vandalism, theft, assault, et cetera—he was locked to Hinata Inn for three weeks. Most men would have kept in the back of their minds the possibility of just ducking out early if their patience ran thin, but Keitaro had given his word that he would give Hinata Inn a try for twenty one days, albeit not explicitly, and he always kept his word. Always. No matter how many years had passed…
Kitsune didn't know what to think about the way Keitaro's brow furrowed, then. He looked like he was distracted, or concerned, about something that required a great deal of careful, straining thought to understand. It was almost like he was reaching out with his senses, or into his memory for some reason—she couldn't guess why.
She quietly cleared her throat, and that was all it took to yank Keitaro back to the world. He blinked, then looked at her, and by that point Kitsune already knew what she was going to say next.
"Hey, uhm," she offered, in a very innocent, spontaneous sort of tone—although every word, every movement, every strand of hair she controlled was pre-planned and carefully placed, "you're pretty new to the area, right, Kei? Why don't I show ya around a little bit, so ya don't need to consult with your phone every time you step out of the door?"
Kitsune really had to congratulate herself on her acting. Thus far, she was going for the feel of a girl that did not "like" Keitaro—not exactly—but did think fairly highly of him. And after all, why not? She hadn't been entirely lying earlier in the day when she'd called him a cutey, and so far he seemed like a perfectly decent guy, if weird in several ways. Taking about a half hour off just to think about Keitaro and how to manipulate him—and downing three cans of beer in the process—was certainly worth it.
The one thing Kitsune was worried about was moving too fast. She was a determined girl by nature, when she really set her mind to things, and sometimes her patience ran out before she realized it. Well, there was no taking back her question now. But no matter how Keitaro answered, the vixen promised herself that she'd give him a day off at least—maybe just giving him passing waves, smiles, and hellos—before really trying anything with him again.
Then again, if Keitaro didn't see what she was doing, why wait? In the half-second that Kitsune had had all these thoughts, the auburn-haired boy had turned to her and smiled.
"Yeah, that would be great, Kitsune-san. I tried to use Google Maps to figure this place out, and it's not too bad… but Tokyo is…" He searched for the appropriate Japanese term, failed to find it, and simply shook his head. "Do you know your way around Tokyo—is it hard to figure out?"
"Son of a gun, this guy's doing half my work for me," Kitsune thought to herself. Briefly, she pictured herself dressed in a black military uniform from head to toe, tapping her fingers against one another in midair and maliciously cackling—but then, she remembered that she couldn't move too fast. Not too fast, otherwise even the utterly innocent and naïve Keitaro would figure out what she was up to.
"Well, it's not hard ta get to big things, like Tokyo U or cram schools and stuff… but if you want to find, you know, holes in the wall, you need a local. I go to Tokyo pretty much every day—or every other day, basically. I think you oughta just… set aside a day or two, and figure out the places where you need to be."
It was truly an art to speak while mapping out possibilities, opportunities, and pitfalls. Kitsune's advice was sound, but just vague enough that she could later accompany Keitaro on a trip to Tokyo. She had gotten close to suggesting he go with Naru—that's what she would have said if she had been speaking from the heart, but she'd realized, quickly, that that was a no go. Supposing Naru refused? Then the utility of her advice in Keitaro's eyes would drop. And supposing Naru accepted? Then, Kitsune would have another potentially big problem to worry about.
All but the most accomplished schemers would have been overwhelmed by the input, analysis, and output that Kitsune dealt with in real time. She had had plenty of practice, though—they didn't call her The Fox of Hinata Springs for nothing.
"I think I'll do that… I'll definitely do that," Keitaro said. He seemed to ponder things for a few seconds, but that was no big deal. Kitsune knew when a cigar was just a cigar and when she was dealing with a counter-schemer, and although Keitaro seemed to be a reasonably sharp guy, he just wasn't in her class. No one really was.
A moment later, though, the boy was on his feet. He seemed very energetic indeed, though Kitsune didn't know where the Hell he got it from. She was lethargic usually, but after spending hours tearing up the hills on his grandmother's land, she expected Keitaro to be in the same state. But he wasn't—he was practically overflowing with energy.
"So, shall we go?"
It took the vixen a second, while she was standing up, to realize what he was talking about. Then, she had to smile.
"Heh, I guess you really dunno much about girls, do you, Kei?"
"Muh?"
"I'm just teasin' ya," the vixen said. "Give me a couple minutes to change, and then I'll meet ya downstairs."
She moved to leave, giving Keitaro a smile over her shoulder. It was a friendly smile, not a seductive one—well, mostly—and the Kitsune kept those wide, feminine hips of her gyrating just in case Keitaro ever forgot that she wasn't just a face in the crowd. Maybe he'd eventually get used to the way she walked, but she doubted it. Even as she turned to make her way down the hall, she saw him reaching hastily for a tissue to clean up the several drops of blood collecting below his nose.
Picking what to dress next was hard for Kitsune, and it wasn't just because she was a girl. She had to be careful—conservative enough to appeal to the dress codes of Pakistan engrained into Keitaro's genes, fashionable enough to more or less fit in with her peers, sexy enough that she'd get noticed by him, but reasonable enough that he could take his eyes off of her and look at the town, thinking of her as a friend that happened to be a girl rather than a girlfriend.
"Life's a lot easier," Kitsune murmured, as she began to strip down, "when all you have ta do to get the guy is wiggle the girls in his face. Damn it, Kei, why can't you be a lot hornier?" she sighed.
By this point, Kitsune was wearing only her undergarments. They were some of the more utilitarian ones in her collection—a lot of her stuff was, shall we say, heavy on the lace and short on the actual amount of material covering her. Just then, she was wearing rayon and cotton, white in color, nothing special—and that was ideal for what she was doing.
What to dress in, though? A skirt? No, that was probably out, unless it was knee-length and loose. She'd keep that idea on the backburner for now—but what about pants? Say, jeans? She did have a fairly sexy pair—he'd certainly notice her in those, but were they too sexy? Would it be better for her to wear a slightly looser pair?
And what about a top? The bare midriff look was out for sure, but sure tight shirts were acceptable—well, maybe not, unless she wore a more chaste covering on top of them.
Damn it all, maybe it would be best if she just made a burqa out of a bath towel or something. At least that would be sure not to offend him.
In the end, Kitsune simply pulled on a pair of slightly faded jeans that snugly fit her as well as a tank top that did a reasonable job of covering her chest. On top of that, she wore a sort of blouse that Naru had gotten her a while back. When she was finished, she looked herself over, briefly, and gave herself a confident nod. Even when she wore such a ridiculous amount of clothing, she still had it. She definitely still had it.
Keitaro felt a little odd, standing and waiting in the living room for Kitsune to finish changing. Why on Earth had she needed to change—she had been dressed perfectly fine, as far as he was concerned, until just then. And it wasn't like it was oddly cold or hot outside. Then again, this seemed to be the sort of things that women did… huh. Maybe Keitaro could learn useful life skills by being in a practical harem.
He winced when he thought of his position like that, and silently asked for the girls' forgivenesses. Damn, he could have a dirty mind…
"Ready to go, sug?"
Keitaro turned around and saw that Kitsune was walking down the stairs. She'd changed, alright, into a fair more interesting outfit than the jeans and tee she'd been wearing before—she was wearing a collared white shirt of some sort, buttoned up three quarters of the way over some sort of black undershirt, and her jeans were different. Keitaro barely noticed how much nicer she looked, though. He scarcely looked away from her face.
"Ah, hai, Kitsune-san. Let's just put on shoes…"
The auburn-haired lad kneeled in order to get his sneakers on. He glanced to the side, out of curiosity, and saw that Kitsune wasn't wearing sneakers. She wasn't wearing dress shoes or sandals, either. She was wearing… erm… that is to say… Keitaro didn't exactly know what sort of styles they were. All he ever wore were sneakers, sandals, boots for biking, and rarely dress shoes. He really didn't know what to call the things Kitsune was putting on her feet—so he more or less ignored them.
"It's so nice…" Keitaro began. He saw Kitsune glance up at him, and explained. "In the US, mostly everyone wears shoes indoors… at least here in Japan, it's like how it is at home. Wearing shoes inside is grounds for lapidation."
"Really?" Kitsune asked, actually quite shocked—were things really that bad in South Asia?
"No, it was a joke—forget it," Keitaro sighed. "I should stick to puns and slapstick."
As the fox and her prey made their way down the massive, stone staircase leading up to Hinata Inn, they were not alone. Actually, they were alone, except for in the sense that neither of them was depressed and they were in a densely populated nation and the Lion Sheikh really out to start this paragraph over.
As the fox and her prey made their way down the massive, stone staircase leading up to Hinata Inn, their privacy was not complete. It wasn't that they were doing anything remotely inappropriate, or even significantly suspicious, but Naru had determined to get Keitaro out of Hinata Inn no matter what, though the means by which to accomplish this goal were thus far unknown. For the moment, she was simply reconnoitering; every piece of information was new and therefore valuable and worth pursuing.
That's why the brunette was watching the duo walk away, carefully. She had an extra notebook out—she had lots of stationery from her studies—and even then, she was jotting down a few key details… about how much Keitaro seemed to be talking, laughing; where he seemed to be looking and for how long, and how carefully and slowly he seemed to move to avoid tripping and falling flat on his face. He truly was quite cautious in his motion off his bike…
Eventually, however, Keitaro and the silver-haired vixen were out of sight, so Naru clicked her pen and hid her notebook well in her closet. There were no consequential developments, so far, but every detail had the potential to be useful at a later date.
Briefly, the brunette considered tailing Keitaro—but that was too much. She'd get plenty of chances to watch him while he was at the inn, after all… and besides, she could always pump Kitsune afterward. Actually, come to think of it, Naru didn't even know what the Hell Keitaro was going out for—or why the Hell Kitsune was going with him. Was she up to something?
The answer to that question, of course, was yes. Any time there was a question as to whether or not Kitsune was up to something, the answer was yes. The fox was always scheming or conniving in one way or the other; often she was just up to innocent pranks but now and then her plans had far more significant results than a hearty laugh.
She was doing something that involved Keitaro. Naru didn't know what it was, and it would hardly pay to ask—in fact, it would probably pay to play dumb, that way Kitsune would have her guard slightly lowered around her best friend. Ah—and there was that "event" at dinner, when a little girl-on-girl action—that is, joking—had nearly gotten Keitaro decapitated. Kitsune must have planned that, at least to some degree… but why? What was her endgame?
Whatever it was, it seemed likely that Kitsune wanted Keitaro around, at least for a while… which meant that the brunette had to do her op solo. As helpful as it would be to have the Sly Fox of Hinata Springs on her side, that was a no-go, at least for the moment. Then again, Kitsune had a vested interest in keeping Keitaro around, though Naru didn't know what it was… maybe that in itself might be a weapon.
Naru nodded to herself, satisfied with the possibilities open to her and the thoughts she'd jotted down. She shut her room's blinds and then put the notebook away, hiding it well in her closet. She was far from acting, still, but little pieces of an eventual plan were starting to flit around in her mind.
Keitaro had to admit it—Kitsune could be decent company when she wasn't throwing herself at him, or other girls. She was helpful and polite and didn't seem to get distracted easily—hey, maybe this was her way of apologizing for what had happened between them already. Maybe she wasn't sort of person to grovel and beg forgiveness; maybe she instead preferred to change her own behavior in order to be more tolerable.
He actually preferred that, because actions spoke louder than words, and just then, Kitsune was being… actually, pretty friendly indeed. Both of them were getting second and third glances—him because of his height and obviously mixed heritage, and her because of how good-looking she was. That they were together made them by far the most interesting sight in the sleeping hot springs town.
Keitaro barely noticed this, however. He was too busy looking around and attempting to memorize where this shop was, how to get to that restaurant, and which way to go to get to the bus stop quickly. Of course, he preferred the idea of biking to cram school, and eventually Todai itself, but foot traffic in Tokyo was supposed to be horrible. He'd save a lot of time, and a lot of frayed nerves just by walking and taking the bus…
"And that's Hinata Springs in a nutshell," Kitsune said, some forty five minutes after they'd left the inn. She looked up at Keitaro, grinned, and folded her arms over—not under—her bust. That was a bit of a feat, for her, owing to the size of her—biceps.
Nah, just kidding, you know what I mean. But Kitsune had to watch her body language very closely indeed to be sure not to appear as if she was having another go at Keitaro, and that was hard, after years of using her good—looks, to get her way with men (and, well, one or two women as well).
The vixen was sly and sexual by nature, but for the moment, she had to mask herself around Keitaro. Let him think that she'd acted up in his room; let him believe that the real her was friendly, polite, and sexually conservative. In time, he'd be so smitten with her that he couldn't think… all in good time.
"So, what do you think of our little home town?" she asked. Keitaro was still looking around, as if wondering if that was all there was to the area. She reminded herself that he was from Islamabad, and while she knew next to nothing about the Pakistani capital, she did assume, correctly, that it was a sprawling metropolis.
"Well, it's definitely nice," Keitaro said a moment later. He sounded a bit unsure, until he faced the vixen and gave her a slight smile. "I think I could get used to living here… could definitely get used to living here. …Hey, thanks for showing me around, Kitsune-san. I owe you one."
The American slang phrase came out a bit odd in Japanese, but Kitsune was a fan of several American TV shows, and she got the gist of what Keitaro meant. Then, of course, she grinned as he winced, realizing that yes, in fact, he owed her one, bigtime, for what she'd done—or not done—in response to his crashing into the hot springs uninvited. Again.
"Don't worry about it, sug," Kitsune reassured him. "Just… take your time settling in, and give the girls time to accommodate you. You are a big guy, after all… you can't just slip in and hope for everything to be okay."
"Yeah, I guess not," Keitaro said, still looking around to memorize the layout of the town. "I guess they need to stretch to fit me in their lives… if I go too fast, they might get hurt—bless you, Kitsune-san."
The vixen had just sneezed, then coughed. She took her blowing her nose with a tissue to ensure that she had a straight face—really, Keitaro was too precious. He was utterly naïve—damn it was going to be hard to not just mess with him because she could. With a guy like him, there were so many possibilities…
"Say, Kei-kun, it's getting dark… we ought to head back to Hinata Inn." He started to nod, but Kitsune stopped him from leaving with an inviting, but not sexual grin.
"We ought to," she said. "But that doesn't mean we have to. Remember Dragon Bar and Grill near the bus stop—why don't we head there, maybe get a drink?"
Unfortunately, Kitsune didn't know that Keitaro was not a fan of alcohol. He'd had it, of course, on a few occasions, but it was mostly just sake with his dad. Once, he'd tried beer, but he didn't really like it—and then there was the moral aspect of things. Keitaro had never been drunk, and never planned to be, and in his opinion, one drink led to two, led to three, led to six, fifteen, fifty, ad infinitum…
"Well… I don't know, Kitsune-san," Keitaro said. By then, the vixen was already examining him closely—nothing about him escaped her observation. His brow was furrowed, and he seemed to be thinking. Was he offended? She didn't think so, but with any more pushing from her, he might be.
"I think… I'm not in the mood for drinking tonight. Why don't I buy you a, uhm, margarita, or something, and I'll have some Coke? Just to thank you for everything that you've done for me."
Immediately, Kitsune smiled. "Sounds good to me, sug. C'mon—let's go."
She took another slight risk, then, and tugged on Keitaro's sleeve, not his wrist, much less his hand. Physical contact was a powerful weapon, but in the case of Keitaro, it really might be a double-edged sword.
For now, it worked. Keitaro flushed, the slightest amount, as feminine flesh neared his, but then just blinked and realized he was walking along, zombie-like, to follow Kitsune's rapid jaunt to the bar. She had pulled him along as if he was a dog on a leash, but she had done so without even touching him—just what the Hell was going on?
Kitsune knew, of course, but she wouldn't say it. Not to him, not to anyone, not at this stage, at least. Her plans to permanently ensnare Keitaro with everything about her were far from fruition, but they had already started to have real world effects…
(I guess I could have ended this 'un earlier, but I said to myself, hey, why not give you lads a treat? Anyway, this chapter's a good 17,000 words. It's not massive volume, but heck, I'm working on a few projects just now, plus RL stuff. One reasonably-sized chapter per month is about as good as I can do.
Oh yeah—if you get the several references/shoutouts I made here, you get points! You also get mad points if you understand the math jokes I made. Let me know if you earn any points.
I do have a small dilemma, though, and so I call upon you, the reader, to give me a hand. Please answer the following questions in your (detailed, long, and, of course, shining) review:
Should Keitaro hit up a cram school next, start studying with Naru, or take a trip to Yokohama to check out where the Yokohama Invitational is going to be held? Furthermore, should Shinobu, Su, or Motoko play a secondary (or tertiary) role in the next chapter?
I think I'll probably have the next chapter up sometime next month, if all goes well. Will it be as long as this one? Maybe, maybe not, but you can expect that the story and characters will continue to develop. We've got two schemers hard at work here, plus extra interpersonal forces from the rest of the lasses. What's going to happen?
To find out, review, alert and fave as appropriate, and look out for the next chapter. So, until next time, this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction—see you soon!)
