First posted to my writing archive on LJ on May 28, 2007.
Title: Planeswalker 2/4: Marionette Maker (Part 1)
Characters: Isumi, Zhao Shi, Li-sensei, Le Ping
Wordcount/Rating: 3450+ words (this part) / gen
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for insei examination arc and beyond.
Summary: In China, Isumi meets two young planeswalkers, and feels the edges of his world begin to fray even further.
Author's Notes: Thanks to A and V for the beta! MM was getting too long--I had to break it up. Planeswalker is turning out to be a REALLY extensive work, and I don't like having single chapters too far on that side of 5000 words. (I should have gone with gut instinct and cut Emissary for a two-part posting. Hindsight's always 20/20, just like Isumi's.) If you have concrit, I am one of those who actually takes it well. (I don't know how well I am at putting it into practice, but ... I try, really I do.)
The Chinese must have felt that a planeswalker could only be properly welcomed on the planes, for Isumi had been scheduled for three matches that week. This was the third. Isumi appreciated the gesture, for the planes were the same no matter where one transcended from. Yet he hoped there wouldn't be any more for a while; he couldn't shake the feeling he was being tested.
"Here is your next opponent," the Academy's translator told him.
He's so young, Isumi thought, looking down at the smiling boy before him. "How do you do? My name is Isumi Shinichirou," he said in Japanese. "It's nice to meet you."
The boy smiled as the words were translated. "My name is Zhao Shi," he said in very simple Chinese-accented Japanese, reaching out a hand to shake. Isumi took it, and received a firm handshake. Zhao Shi grinned up at him, short hair neatly combed.
Absently, Isumi noted that the boy barely reached to Isumi's chest in height. He wondered if Zhao Shi was younger than Ochi. Too young to be walking planes, Isumi thought. Was China underestimating Japan by asking Isumi to duel with this young boy?
Well, young boy or not, Zhao Shi was Isumi's opponent for now. Isumi bowed to Zhao Shi, who returned it politely, and they transcended to the plane.
He's one of the chosen, Isumi told himself. He wasn't sure if he believed it, but surely there was no mistake. Just duel as if he were Fuku or Waya.
Zhao Shi laid plains that abutted Isumi's, and the first creature that appeared was a Serra Angel.
White mana, Isumi thought. White was good for defensive strategies, but slower when attacking. If Isumi could launch a quick offensive, it would be over before the younger planeswalker could build any momentum.
Ten minutes later, Isumi realized he'd made a great mistake in judgment. No matter what sort of offensive Isumi sent towards Zhao Shi's territory, each and every one was neutralized before it began. Zhao Shi was only two-thirds his age, but the battle tactics the other used spoke of decades of experience. The boy wasn't just a white mage either.
Just because his first mana drawn from the planes was white, Isumi thought, angry at himself. The most amateur of mistakes, and I made it! He clenched his jaws as he watched his Serra angels fall from the sky under the formidable assault of Zhao Shi's never-seen-before blue lightning elementals.
I have to do something, Isumi thought, summoning his goblin brigades. Red is faster than blue. Before he gathers enough blue mana for counterspells ... Even if both Isumi and Zhao Shi both drew upon white mana, Isumi was gambling on his red mana's ability to augment his offensive power and speed.
But Zhao Shi didn't need the dreaded blue counterspells, or any of the other manipulative sorceries blue mages were feared for. He doused Isumi's goblin fires with a tropical storm timed perfectly when Isumi was short of mana to prevent it. The storm wet the goblins' gunpowder, and then Zhao Shi's merfolk (lying in wait all this while, tridents at the ready) speared them from the sky.
Isumi cursed himself as the goblins fell. He'd been too hasty and hadn't prepared enough of a back-up plan for this possibility, and now he scrambled to defend his territory and stabilize it before Zhao Shi's influence came too close. Already, he could feel the plane shifting itself to the other's momentum as his mountains began to strain. He was losing, he realized with a stab of unease. He had to act, and quickly.
The merfolk advanced on the cliffs, tridents raised. Isumi almost cast the firewall, but something inside him hesitated, memories of his previous defeat pushing back into his mind. He dithered a moment, arguing with himself.
It's offensive and defensive both at the same time. You don't have to worry about timing right now. Just cast it.
I mustn't fail here. There are other ways, more elegant and more effective. And foolproof, with no danger of backfiring.
Too late to finish the complicated spell, he sent Serra angels and defenders racing down the hill instead, while goblins threw firebombs down onto the invaders.
To his dismay the merfolk submerged and continued their advance undersea where Isumi had not been able to maintain his barriers. The Serra angels were repelled when they neared the surface, and the goblin firebombs passed through the water harmlessly.
When the merfolk emerged and began to dismantle Isumi's coastal defenses unhindered, Isumi resigned.
Outside in the ready room, Zhao Shi said something to Isumi, but Isumi couldn't register the words.
Perhaps even if he had heard them, he wouldn't have understood. He stood still, seeing-but-not-seeing, watching Zhao Shi try again, thinking detachedly that he really was a very young boy.
As if realizing his opponent couldn't respond to him right now, Zhao Shi stopped talking, gave Isumi a look (was that pity from a child?) and looked up at the translator as if for permission. When the translator nodded, Zhao Shi bowed to Isumi, smiled tentatively, and then left. Isumi barely registered the gesture, didn't even notice he was bowing back absently. His mind was still going over the entire battle.
It had been avoidable, Isumi thought, cheeks flaming with shame. He'd underestimated Zhao Shi, and suffered one of the most mortifying defeats he'd experienced since he'd played his first game at the Institute. And it could all have been avoided if he'd kept his head and left his pride outside the planes where it belonged.
You idiot, he chided himself. You represent Japan. That was a national humiliation.
He felt bitter bile rise in his throat, and swallowed to keep it down.
The rest of the week passed in a haze. Isumi wasn't sure what he was doing, or where exactly he thought he was going at this moment. Perhaps it was lunchtime and he was supposed to be in the cafeteria, he thought, and turned the corner, not really knowing or noticing if this was the right way. In his mind he saw the merfolk advance again, pressing at his mountains while the lightning elementals easily defended them from Isumi's counterattacks.
He was a child, Isumi thought, angry at himself. And I was too soft on him, just because he was a child. He's here in the Chinese Academy, and therefore he's trained to be one of the best. Aren't I supposed to be one of Japan's best? Why didn't I face him as one befitting that status? If the child Zhao Shi--if everyone at the Academy thought that was the best Japan could do, Isumi would have shamed his nation forever.
He hadn't even realized he was turning yet another corner when he was rudely shaken from his trance by a jolt of pain. "Ow!" cried an indignant voice, followed by some angry Chinese words.
"I'm so sorry, please excuse me," Isumi gasped, shaken out of his reverie. He winced a little as he got up--that knock would bruise soon. Served him right for not looking where he was going. He needed to snap out of this reverie.
Isumi reached out, looking for the person he'd knocked over. Then he paused.
"Waya?"
"Hah?" the boy said, rubbing his rear, then looking up. He was small and looked about Zhao Shi's age, had a shock of somewhat unruly red hair achingly familiar to Isumi's eyes.
Under Isumi's scrutiny, a quizzical but friendly grin spread on the boy's face. Isumi's heart relaxed. "Waya! You've gotten smaller!" he said, chuckling, reaching down.
The boy looked at him even more quizzically, and then said something unintelligible.
Isumi frowned--that was probably Mandarin, but he didn't understand a word. Waya didn't speak any Mandarin, or any other language besides Japanese and a tiny smattering of broken English. Isumi opened his mouth to attempt an apology in Mandarin, but then he felt a light hand on his shoulder.
Li-sensei's voice came from behind him. "What's going on?" he asked Isumi in Japanese. He then switched to Mandarin before Isumi could reply.
Isumi watched as the smaller version of Waya gestured and spoke in rapid-fire Mandarin that sounded like gibberish to him. Li-sensei chuckled and patted Isumi's shoulder. "Le Ping here says you ran into him."
"I'm terribly sorry," Isumi said, bowing to Le Ping again. "It was all my fault. I wasn't paying attention."
Presumably Li-sensei explained that to the smaller Waya--no, Le Ping. Le Ping said something else, and Li-sensei asked, "He says you keep repeating Waya. What is that?"
Isumi blushed a little, slightly embarassed. "I-- er ... He looks like a good friend of mine, only younger. I mean, Le Ping looks very much like a younger Waya."
Li-sensei laughed, and then said something to Le Ping, who grinned. To Isumi's confusion, Le Ping parted his shirt and pulled the hem of his pants down, pointing to his bellybutton, jabbering something in Chinese.
"LI PING!"
Li-sensei roared, reddening, as Li Ping ran away laughing. Bemused, Isumi merely stared as Li-sensei shouted something down the hall at the rapidly retreating Le Ping.
"I apologize," Li-sensei said, shaking his head in the universal gesture Isumi had seen Shinoda-sensei use on Shindou and Waya when they made too much noise in the ready room.
"If you'll excuse my asking, what ..." Isumi trailed off, unsure of how to phrase the question.
"It was nothing," Li-sensei said, waving dismissively. "Boys will be boys. He wanted to know if Waya had an ... well."
It had been a quick glance, but Isumi had caught a flash of a bellybutton that protruded. His steps faltered slightly before he tried to catch up again. "Oh."
Li-sensei looked embarassed for Le Ping's sake. "The little delinquent needs to pay more attention in training and spend less time thinking of stupid pranks," he muttered. "But let us not think about that. Do you know the way back to your living quarters?"
Isumi glanced around him, but found the place unfamiliar. He tried to remember how he had gotten here, but drew a blank, and had to shake his head sheepishly. "I'm afraid I was lost in my thoughts," he confessed with a touch of embarassment.
Li-sensei shook his head and smiled. "It's natural for newcomers. I'll get you a map or a guide. In the meantime, follow me."
They turned and walked through a few corridors. Isumi recognized more familiar territory after the third passageway. "I think I know where we are, now," Isumi said, tentatively. Pointing to the left, he said, "That leads towards the library, right?"
"Indeed," Li-sensei said. "I'm glad to hear you have most of your bearings. In time I am sure you will have the rest of the facilities memorized."
Isumi thought he heard a touch of some reluctance in the voice, but there was no reason for Li-sensei to be reluctant. He dismissed the thought. Another one occured to him almost immediately, and his mouth opened before he had the chance to stop it. "About Zhao Shi," Isumi said.
Li-sensei looked over at Isumi. "Yes?"
Isumi forced himself to smile. "He's very strong for someone so young," he said softly.
"We have high hopes for him," Li-sensei said with some pride.
"He beat me," Isumi said. His cheeks felt a little hot at the memory.
"Don't take it too badly," Li-sensei said, almost kindly. "He's good. One of our best."
Isumi nodded and tried to wait for a suitable interval to pass before asking the next question. "How old is he?"
"Twelve," Li-sensei said.
Isumi blanched. Ochi's age--perhaps even younger. Shame welled in him for losing to someone so young. The expression on his face was obvious, he realized, because Li-sensei smiled somewhat kindly at him.
"He is talented. All the planeswalkers here are. They've been gathered here from all the provinces. Many of them leave their families back in the provinces at a very young age in order to work hard at their craft. Don't feel bad. Zhao Shi is almost at the national level. You did quite well, all things considered."
"Not as well as I could have," Isumi said. He turned, pausing in his steps. "Li-sensei, please forgive my selfish request, but I want to play him again," he said.
Li-sensei's eyebrows furrowed. "Aren't you staying for three months? You can play him again in the future, I'm sure."
"If possible, may I play him tomorrow?" Isumi said.
"I'm afraid not," Li-sensei said, shaking his head. "Zhao Shi just departed for the provinces on a recruitment exhibition and tour. He won't be back for another two weeks."
"Oh," Isumi said. He was disappointed, but he tried not to let it show.
"You can use our practice rooms and duel against anyone you'd like until then," Li-sensei offered, seeing the look on Isumi's face. "As an honored guest, you are welcome to. I understand the wish for a re-match. Of course, we need to satisfy our inner selves. In the meantime, I am sure more of our planeswalkers would like the chance to match their skills against the emissary from Japan."
Isumi nodded. Not much was said after that.
They arrived at Isumi's guest quarters without incident.
Isumi looked at the little building, separate from the rest of the Academy, sitting quietly to one side within view of the main gate and the little lookout beside it. The lights weren't on yet, and it looked somewhat dark and gloomy. He wondered if it had been built especially for this purpose.
"Get some rest," Li-sensei said, patting Isumi on the shoulder again. "You aren't bound to a schedule, but the ready rooms and observation lounges are open from eight-fifteen every morning. I'm sure you will always be welcome there."
"Thank you," Isumi said. He nodded to Li-sensei, and remembered to bow and say the right words of thanks. Then he entered, turned on the lights, and closed the door behind him.
The room still felt as empty as it had the first day he'd come.
Isumi took in the single set of cooking and dining utensils and the sparse (though admittedly comfortable-looking) furniture. He thought of Waya and Shindou, then of Zhao Shi and Le Ping. He spared a moment for Shinoda-sensei, and the other planeswalker trainees. Maybe Shindou and Waya were discussing theory over ramen. Or perhaps it was sushi. Perhaps Honda and Nase and the other planeswalker peers, whether trainee or Circle, were right now holding a heated debate over something Shindou had said. Always the loud one, Isumi thought with a fond smile.
I wonder what Waya's doing. Someone's probably told him I've come here.
He sighed. It was too late to seek a dueling partner today. He would try tomorrow instead. He retrieved some books from his bags, and laid some clothes out, hanging some others in the closet, and wondered if he should continue to unpack. Three months, he thought, looking around. His chest tightened a little.
Don't let Japan down again.
It was quiet here. Isumi missed his house and his family, or the noisy boisterous camaraderie Waya and Shindou usually provided.
That night, he went to bed early. When he woke, his sheets were tangled and twisted in chaotic disarray.
"Thank you very much," said Le Ping in well-rehearsed English. Isumi could only nod and mutter a response. Le Ping bowed (if a brief dip of the head could be considered a bow), and then wandered off towards some other planeswalkers nearby. Isumi merely sat down in a chair, eyes unfocused, mentally replaying the battle.
If losing to Zhao Shi yesterday had been a lesson in humility, losing to Le Ping today was a master class taught by the Meijin himself. Le Ping hadn't even been that good, Isumi realized as he recreated the game in his mind. There were opportunities and weaknesses, slight but there; Isumi had been so hastily eager to make up for yesterday's defeat that he'd been blind to them, whereas Le Ping had seen the mistake Isumi had made when he'd faltered for mana in the middle of the battle.
For the second time in a row, Isumi Shinichirou had been completely dominated on the planes by a young boy. Not the qualifiers again, Isumi thought to himself as he felt a leaden weight settle in his stomach. He watched as Le Ping entertained questions from those surrounding him. answered flippantly and nonchalantly, looking back at Isumi before shrugging and grinning. Isumi could guess what they were saying.
"So, how is he?" "Hehe, an easy win. Nothing to worry about."
Nothing to worry about? Did they think him so weak he was a negligible waste of time, then? The thought depressed Isumi.
A light tap on his shoulder made him jump for the second time today, and Isumi turned to find another planeswalker, one he hadn't seen before. This man was about his age.
"Hello," the young man said in Japanese. "Do you know how to duel in a limited-mana scenario?"
Isumi had sparred with Waya in similar situations, and he nodded. The man smiled. "Let's have a match."
A limited mana scenario was timed and forced one to play on instinct. It would keep him from second-guessing himself and thinking too much. Isumi nodded, standing. Perhaps this was what he needed right now.
This time it was a battle of speed. They claimed territory quickly, and then began quick skirmishing in places where it was possible to gain even a tiny sliver of ground. Isumi was about ten percent behind, and spotted an area that was not yet fully claimed. He sent his armies in and began to shape it, but his opponent was not about to let him off easily. The other planeswalker's golem defenders marched towards Isumi's Dwarven King, and Isumi sent in his Serra Angels to even the odds.
With no warning at all, suddenly the golems multiplied, and Isumi stared in shock. A duplication enchantment had been slipped in under his nose. There was no hope now. If he lost this force, he was a sitting duck, and it was pretty clear that these odds were so overwhelming it would be a waste of time to continue. "Forisfacio," he said reluctantly.
In the ready room, Isumi's opponent stopped him, a look of surprise on his face. "Why did you stop there?" he asked Isumi. "The battle had just begun. The golems were phantasms and would have dissolved if your Dwarven King had opposed them. Without them, my troops would have been overwhelmed by yours and lost without serious reinforcements, which I couldn't have sent while you were engaging me on the east."
Two other planeswalkers exited the observation room and stopped beside them. "He's right," one of them said. "If you had used the Dwarven King and supported him with your Serra Angels, the territory in this area would have become yours and you would still have been free to eye the southern ramparts while protecting your eastern flank. You molded the plane solidly and you had no real weaknesses he could attack, so you would have had the advantage. He would have been forced to attack elsewhere, which would have weakened himself considerably."
Isumi paled slightly at the revelation. He had been behind on territory, and had gotten impatient. Had he continued playing defensively and considered all aspects of the battle, including the time, he might not have needed to forfeit. "I--" he gasped, "I'm going to think about this."