In accordance with the Japanese authorities the parents of the victim, we bring you a copy of the diary of Cibil Ashikaga, with needed grammatical fixes and extra pages of contextual passages. This is only a temporary document and should be discharged with proper care [Look at back of packet for more information] and if not, we will not hesitate to consult our lawyers for suiting punishment. This is sensitive material and should not be in any view of any unrelated individuals away from the investigation at hand as that could have devastating consequences on the case and the already fixed procedure. Please be careful, Mrs. Suoh, for the host club and Tamaki's sake.
•~ glowing regards,
DR H. HITACHIIN
Who am I? I don't know anymore. The moment my fist hit her perfectly symmetrical face, I felt unchallengeable even by the most muscular, intelligent and unstoppable individuals. I felt just like her, and I felt even superior when she fell to the floor, in tears, begging for mercy. Do you know that feeling when you do something in such a blatant show of impulse and immediately after you know there isn't any backing down now from the consequences of your at the whim choice. That's the feeling I felt during my slow stride away from her weeping frame.
As I left the school, students looked with bewildered faces at the sudden perkiness in my mannerisms and expression, they must have thought that I was having a good splendid day, but if they knew the real cause for such sudden change of way from the timid shyness of my past self, they would be so shock for words that the only syllables they'd be able to utter would be "That isn't her!" and "Why would such a shy innocent soul commit such a violent action when all she preached was peace and prosperity." and those were all the exact words I heard the next day at Ouran, and with my clean profile and absolutely no evidence of my crime to back me up, I was able to clear the whole situation with the school principal in only 2 periods, as I had expected and I came back scotch free. Life was as good as it were last time.
HARUHI looked with a expression of utter confusion as she read the first diary entry. Yes, it's unbearably confident, maybe psychopathic, and clearly distorted out of vanity but still, it's not illegal. The person themselves is a child and the action was mild, school brawl-out aren't common but the proper punishment shouldn't be incarcerating a child, maybe some needed anger classes and other psychological help. Nonetheless, why would the government take such a position like taking a juvenile to court over a measly conflict that took a wrong turn, isn't that what childhood is? A slight smack on the wrist should have done it enough, but this is Ouran, the prestigious school where blood tell and money talks, so shouldn't they have enough budget for psychologist and other helpers, but rich people there aren't know for their sense and moral...
She sighed, flipping through the paper, case file, and that ominous note written by Hikaru, drinking brewing coffee while she did it. she didn't understand, nothing led toward any depraved crime. There must be something she's missing.
Haruhi's brain was wired to look at life with a practical focus but with the innocent packet, the ambiguous note that hinted towards Tamaki, and the fact that Tamaki is unusually late from his business trip, she was a tint at edge. And it made this feeling even worse when unexplainable words started to appear on the case file in her hand. She put her coffee down. Was she hallucinating? The words etched carefully almost like an invisible man was writing and with such rapid familiar pace that it seem like he was right here. Hikaru? It must be Hikaru, Kaoru doesn't write with such impatience and carelessness. Her notion was suddenly proven when the sudden swirl of Hikaru's signature appeared at the bottom of the paper and the writing stopped. And for a moment that would be etched in her existence forever and more, Haruhi believed that the whole occurrence was a figment of her sleep deprived imagination. But this thought was long gone because soon the writing was on the wall, spreading like a set of evergrowing elapsing vines. Her study walls was filled with sentences, paragraphs, books even of words. She looked around and even her furniture was covered in words. The writing was incoherent just like the one on the paper, or maybe that was her eyesight. She was sure this wasn't real, it must be a hallucination from her weeks, maybe months, of sleep deprivation, it has to be, it has to be. She just had to be calm and let it past. But the more she look at all that writing on the wall her stomach turn over more and more. Hallucinations can't make you ill, can they? Now, she regretted not read that book on hallucinations back in highschool. At this point, it could be anything. Was this real or was she having her first psychological delirium, because that black figure in the doorway sure looked real...
A/N: I tried to make the Cibi Ashikaga passage as terrible as possible and dear god, I've done it. But I promise it gets better. I don't wanna know how many future readers I'm going to deterred with that diary passage but I bet it's a handful. Please review and comment, my last few patient readers. Au revoir!