Chapter Four

The next day, after school, as Miho and Haruhi were walking down the hall together, Miho asked, "Haruhi, have I done something to offend the twins?"

"Hikaru and Kaoru?" Haruhi said, puzzled. "No, I don't…why would you think so?"

Miho wore a faint smile, with just a hint of exasperation that suggested she was used to Haruhi's obliviousness.

"Well, they've been leering at me all morning," the other girl said dryly. "And while it's not exactly harming anyone, it's a bit distracting."

Haruhi threw an alarmed look over her shoulder, and sure enough, the twins were following them, wicked grins on their faces. Their amber eyes glinted in the sunlight.

"I can't think of anything—" Haruhi began, and then she remembered yesterday's discussion in the Host Club. She had not been able to extract a promise from either of the twins that they would refrain from "settling" matters on their own, and though they had dropped it easily enough, she knew better than to believe that they had forgotten about it.

"Miho-san…this may sound a little startling, but…please run," Haruhi murmured, dropping her voice to a level she hoped the twins wouldn't be able to hear. The other girl raised an eyebrow, but Haruhi shook her head. "Please. Go to the Third Music Room. Now."

"The Host Club room?" Miho frowned. "If I'm running from the twins, Haruhi, that hardly seems like the wisest—"

"Customers will already be there," Haruhi said, shoving the other girl ahead. She flashed her a tight grin. "And if customers are there, Kyouya-senpai won't let the twins cause any trouble."

"Do you really think this merits…" Miho began, but then she shook her head and simply did as she was told, resigning herself to the fact that she would have to see Kyouya, again, when she had promised herself—and him—that she wouldn't. What would it seem like now? It wasn't that she intended to avoid him, precisely—that was, after all, an altogether immature (and not to mention illogical) thing to do. But she didn't want to seem like she was deliberately throwing herself in his path, either. Oh well, she told herself as she ran toward the Third Music Room, there wasn't much else she could do about it, was there? A thin smile crossed her lips. That was definitely getting to be the trend in her life.

When she entered the Host Club's room, there were indeed already a handful of customers in the room, chatting excitedly as they waited for whatever host suited their fancy—at least, that's what Miho assumed, because the only boy she could see in the room was, of course, Kyouya. He rose when she entered, not looking surprised at all. She wondered if he had more than one facial expression, and decided that he didn't. At least the one he had was handsome, she thought wryly.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, taking her slightly harried appearance in stride, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be running to him in a moment of need. Her innate independent spirit soured at the thought.

"Not exactly," she told him, in a voice low enough that no one else could overhear—not that anyone was paying them the least bit attention. "Haruhi sent me. She seemed to think the twins are staging an attempt on my life, or something equally dramatic. I hardly think I'm in any real danger, but she was quite insistent."

"She?" he repeated, peering down at her through his glasses. She smiled radiantly back at him. He straightened. "I see."

"I am sorry, I know we agreed to stay out of each other's way," Miho continued. Kyouya considered her.

"Is that what we did?"

A slight frown creased her features, but before she could reply, he turned toward the back of the room, to the suddenly convenient appearance of double doors. He knocked once, sharply; one of the doors creaked open to expose a sliver of darkness.

"Yeees?" a thin voice whispered.

"Nekozawa-senpai, I'm sorry to disturb you and your club," Kyouya said politely, "but I was wondering if you would allow Miho-san passage through your rooms? She's trying to get back outside to her club…without being seen, it seems."

"Of course," the soft, sibilant voice assured him. "I regret that I myself will not be able to oversee this, but I am sure one of my club members will be happy to escort her out."

Kyouya bowed slightly. "Thank you." He turned to Miho. "I trust you are not afraid of the dark?"

She laughed, an expression of genuine mirth. "No, I am not," she said lightly, and without further ado, slipped into the shadows beyond the door, which closed with a soft click behind her. The entrance faded from sight. After a moment, Kyouya resumed his seat, opening his laptop again, but this time he found that he couldn't quite concentrate.

The problem, he decided, was that she was more of a wild card than anything. He had to admit that she was more unpredictable than he would have expected, and he wouldn't be able to peg her down, file her neatly away into this personality category or that one unless he grew to know her better, and he just couldn't take the time.

Besides, she had made it perfectly clear that she liked their lives the way they were—separate—and he was inclined to agree. Then why couldn't he get her out of his mind? His fingers now automatically flipped to her file, as if wanting to remind him time and time again, of the blanks that followed her name, the appalling lack of detail on one who would so soon be integral to his own life and success. They were to be allies, would be expected to present a united front to the world, and yet he didn't know what to expect from her. He couldn't read her, and suspected it was not something to be overcome merely with time; no, it would take effort—on her part as well as on his. But was she willing? He had no way of knowing.

He made a small sound of annoyance, and then turned his attention back to the screen before him, forcing himself to refocus on his usual "games;" his buying and selling of small business through the Internet.

Kyouya owned more than a dozen real enterprises, purchases he had made through careful acquisition and expansion of his own funds and stock options, and they were all of them doing more than tolerably well in their own section of commerce. He was not one for big changes, for anything that would underscore the change in ownership at whatever company he bought out; usually he let the original management and staff continue on as they had been, unless he observed that they were inadequate. In such a case, the offending official—and only the offending official, or the person ultimately responsible—was promptly replaced with more capable people, whom Kyouya would find through recruitment offices or through networking connections of his own.

In most cases, however, the old workers kept their jobs, and and in all cases, though everyone was made aware that a new owner was in control, they never realized just exactly who that new owner was. He managed most of his dealings through secure, trustworthy third parties, preferring to handle business affairs through agents or through impersonal methods of communication (websites, secured private email, and in a pinch, the phone), and was both careful and thorough. He was successful in large part because he held no deep, irrational attachments to the businesses he acquired, and was not bogged down by emotional ties. He was ruthless in his endeavors, making sure to guard his own wealth and identity vigilantly, and tolerated no failures, but he was not, however, so thoughtless as to displace whole factories of workers or whole staffs just because he could. Tactics such as those were not only careless, but dishonorable, and encouraged bad work ethic, after all.

In this manner, he had saved a number of small businesses on the verge of bankruptcy, restoring them to various levels of success. He owned the bookstore Miho frequented, for example (one of an entire chain he had bought out while their sales were drooping; a bold move, but one he had been prepared to make near the very beginning of his move into commerce), and when the Host Club, pioneered by Tamaki's boundless enthusiasm, took one of their many "field trips" to the commoner malls, he always set aside some time to observe things in the stores for himself.

Such habits and his skill in the game had quickly built up his own private fortune to the point where he had now amassed enough funds to take a more serious step—or a more serious gamble, depending on how one viewed the situation. He had been eyeing a small bank chain for some time now—one that had close ties to many hospitals; hospital management staff and a large number of doctors held accounts with Akimoto Banks, and he thought it would be an interesting move, if nothing more. Certainly he stood to gain a lot from it, in influence as well as in material—and monetary—advantages; it also put him in a crucial position, relative to the Ootori circumstances. But it would be a very bold move, and he spent some time wondering if it was perhaps too soon. Kyouya was not one to shy away from confrontations, of course, but he knew how to bide his time, and he wasn't sure he was ready to give away his entire hand so early in the game. Such a daring move so close to home would incite his father's attentions, at the very least, and the third Ootori son did not want the entire will of the Ootori forces bent on seeking him—and his hidden identity on the nets—out.

With such heavy "entertainment" constantly in the background of his thoughts, it was a wonder he still managed the hectic schedule of the Host Club so well, but manage it he did. He finished checking one of his many email accounts; by now the rest of the Hosts had filed into the room, in various dispositions, and set about entertaining their groups of guests. Tamaki was the last, striding gracefully through the music room door to sprawl onto one of the sofas, striking an elegant pose. He was alone for the moment; a rarity.

"Tamaki," Kyouya said, without looking up, "are you serious about this request? The one you wanted me to look into."

"Of course. Why?" Tamaki's violet eyes widened. "You can't mean we've been denied?" His voice rose incredulously.

"Of course not," Kyouya replied. "I've already made all of the proper arrangements. I'm only telling you so that you can start promoting the event." He gave Tamaki a cool smile. "I would hate to be the only ones there."

"Oh." Tamaki recovered with astonishing speed. "Don't worry," he said confidently. "The whole school will be there, I promise." With that, he turned to one of his many doting customers, who had suddenly appeared at his elbow.

"The whole school?" Honey echoed, glancing over as he passed by for more cake, his large eyes filled with curiosity. He looked up at Mori, who shrugged.

"What's this?" Haruhi asked, suspicion narrowing her eyes. The twins turned to her with identical sly grins.

"You'll see," they told her mysteriously—they had apparently not quite forgiven her for thwarting their plans for Miho. "It'll be splendid. Come, we'll show you—you should start practicing again, after all. We know you're a bit rusty."

Haruhi backed away warily; the twins, not in the least rebuffed, crept ever closer, their grins stretching across their entire wicked faces. Kyouya continued working, letting the twins continue to torment Haruhi for the moment at least, though he knew he would have to step in at some point, if it got too extreme—or if Tamaki got too hysterical in protest. He was spared any action, however, as the twins' usual customers came skipping in and Haruhi, finally exasperated, slumped into the chair across from him, wearing her normal look of irritation. Kyouya recognized that his immediate vicinity was usually a good sanctuary, an effective defense against both the twins' mischief and Tamaki's enthusiasm, and didn't begrudge her the space. She sighed heavily.

"Troubles?" he inquired absently, still focused on his laptop screen.

"How does Kyouya-senpai manage to be so patient?" Haruhi asked wearily. "And keep everyone together, and everything running smoothly?"

He cast a single, amused glance in her direction.

"It's simple to cater to their needs," he told her. "Tamaki only needs to be flattered with attention and ignored, in equal doses. And the twins are the same way."

"Easier said than done," Haruhi mumbled. Kyouya suppressed a smile. Haruhi lifted her head a little, obviously considering something.

"But are those really 'needs,' or 'wants'?" she wondered. Then she shrugged. "I guess it doesn't matter; you can use both to manipulate them."

"Manipulate?" Kyouya repeated blandly. "How nice." He straightened then, closing his laptop; Haruhi was obviously still disgruntled, and he was honest enough to admit that he was not really getting anywhere, not in this preoccupied state. Thus, time for a break.

"Your dealings with people need only be dictated by knowledge of their wants, Haruhi," he told her. "Take the Host Club customers, for example. They are not all exactly the same, of course; they are different girls who come from different families, all with varying degrees of wealth and notoriety. But when they come here, they are all seeking pleasure. At that point, once you know their tastes—prince type, wild type, the little devil type, etc—it is easy enough to please them. And, in fact, we have based our entire club on this principle. Something Tamaki has come up with, as you might recall." He adjusted his glasses; Haruhi was convinced he did it purposely to make sure that the glare was always focused just so on their lenses, so that his eyes were never directly visible. It was probably just as well, she realized—she wasn't so sure she wanted to see his expression.

"Honorable or not, I'll leave that for you to decide, Haruhi," he said. "But the practice harms no one, and to the contrary, we are making many girls happier, with little expenditure on their part and little effort on ours. All together a neat little system, wouldn't you say?" He smiled at her.

"Sounds very cold-blooded," she murmured.

"Disappointed?" he asked.

"Not exactly, no," she admitted, "since it's nothing new to me, I suppose." She stopped, sensing the opportunity to branch into a subject that had always aroused her curiosity. "But Kyouya-senpai, don't you ever try to entertain a girl without thinking of her pedigree or her connection—or possible connection—to your family?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"And you, I suppose, serve as a Host purely out of pleasure and charity…nothing to do with an 8 million yen vase and its resulting debt?"

She blanched. "Well, but…I enjoy it too," she said defensively. "And it's more like 5 million, anyway…"

"¥5,343,333.34," Kyouya replied, "but let's not squabble over details." His perfect, placid smile—the devil's smile, Haruhi had always thought—sent shivers up her spine.

"'Kay," Haruhi mumbled. She knew that she should really let the subject drop, but she was stubborn, and she sensed that such an opportunity might not come by again. "But Kyouya-senpai, what I mean is, don't you ever do something…just for the pleasure of the thing itself?"

"You mean like our King over there, who sincerely believes himself in love with every woman he meets, and endeavors to please them simply because he believes them desirous of being pleased?" Kyouya arched a brow again.

"Well, no," Haruhi hedged—well yes, she thought privately, though maybe not to that extreme—"but hasn't there ever been a girl you truly warmed to?"

He cast her a sidelong glance, and even from that angle she could see the amusement in his face. "I hope you are not referring to yourself."

Haruhi blushed furiously in spite of herself. "Senpai!" she protested. As usual, she couldn't tell whether he was serious or not, and as usual, that made her wary. Well, that's what I get for trying to pry, she told herself. Kyouya chuckled.

"Don't worry, Haruhi. If ever I meet a woman truly worthy of being pleased, I will endeavor to do so. Perhaps even without any ulterior motives—though I can't promise anything."

Haruhi sighed, and gave up.


A/N:

Kyouya's last line is a reference to Mr. Darcy's own thoughts about Elizabeth at some point in P&P...not exactly the same kind of situation, entirely, but I just thought I'd mention the reference, in case anyone caught it.