Please read Disclaimer in Chapter One.

Title: Codename Moron (C4, Unidentified Flying Objections)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: T

Summary: The case isn't exactly going well, which does not improve Hiei's mood.

A/N: My summer update schedule tends to lag behind a bit-- gomen!--but thanks to a week with no storms I got this update finished. As always, thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews! Character sketches on my LJ homepage.

"Hey! Who threw that thing?"

Codename Moron (C4: Unidentified Flying Objections)

by

Kenshin

The following day, Hiei started work with a scowl on his face, and things went downhill from there. He didn't like riding the train to St. Joe's. Didn't like the nonstop chatter, nor the people pressing in all around him, nor having to talk to the moron first thing in the morning. He would have much preferred his normal means of transport: flicking from rooftop to rooftop.

But in fact, Hiei simply wasn't yet up to that sort of high-speed maneuvering. So he took the train, with a large dose of poorly disguised ill grace and a barely contained snarl that had passengers inching away from him on the crowded morning commute.

Good.

However, this infinitesimal lift to Hiei's mood was soon dashed by another tedious argument with Kuwabara over what had caused the Unidentified Flying Sharp Objects.

Bad.

Then, that little pleasantry was followed by a call from Father Brian, asking about their progress.

And what progress did Hiei have to report? That he had discovered a previously unknown phenomenon known as "bullying"?

Not to mention the fact that Hiei happened to be in Science class when the call came, and Itako himself came to fetch Hiei to his third-floor office, and every eye in the classroom tracked his sojourn from desk to door.

Worse.

After Hiei hung up, he asked Itako, "Do you have any idea what's behind the UFO attacks?"

"No," Itako answered. "That's why we called you in. You're supposed to be a professional."

Hiei gnashed his teeth.

And as the day wore on, his mood blackened. Whenever possible, Hiei had attempted to question the kids he encountered in the hall or in class, struggling as best he could to disguise such prying as the simple curiosity of an American transfer student: 'Do all Japanese private schools have wood chisels flying through the halls?'

All to no particular avail.

And Itako proved to be not quite as unpopular as Hiei would have liked. "Itako-sensei teaches a tough class but also makes sure we understand everything. He never just kicks anyone upstairs merely to pass him to the next level," said a beaming underclassman in response to Hiei's questioning. "I wish all teachers were that diligent!"

Yes, a lot of the kids weren't keen on the Watanabe Trio, but they were unable--or unwilling--to get more specific. Yes, something was going on at the school: objects flew through the air. The original reported had said as much. This, Hiei thought, is going nowhere--slow.

Then, just before History class, a lanky and affable senior gave Hiei what he hoped was his first break in the case.

As tall as Kuwabara and as scrawny as Itako, Tsuboi Atagi's pale hair was like a dandelion gone to seed above his long, plain features, and Hiei suspected artifice had nothing whatever to do with it. As sloppy a dresser as he was a good student, Tsuboi ran around with his shirttails perennially half-tucked.

But Tsuboi had a theory. As they lingered in the hall between class, Hiei settled in to listen.

The senior proceeded to spin Hiei a tall tale of ghosts that had haunted St. Joe's since 1549, when the Spanish and Portuguese brought Catholicism to Japan.

"Ghosts in St. Joe's." Hiei folded his arms, flatly disbelieving. "Would these be Portuguese ghosts or Japanese?"

"Both, actually." Tsuboi's eager face lit up. "And let's not forget the Spanish. They like their revenge served cold."

"Cold is right. St. Joe's wasn't built in 1549," Hiei reminded him. "It went up in 1960. And the Portuguese missionaries arrived in Kagoshima. That's 600 miles from here."

"Ghosts are like that." Leaning against the classroom door, Tsuboi's dark eyes fixed dreamily at a far point, presumably in the vicinity of Kagoshima. "They'll wait around for someplace new to haunt."

At that moment Watanabe stomped by, Neanderthal brow furrowed in a vicious scowl, as though he had run out of nails to munch. Tsuboi buttoned up until the coast was clear.

"Then they possess guys like Watanabe," he continued smoothly. "It's the only explanation for his personality."

I have another, thought Hiei, tracking Watanabe's departure. If he's not half-demon then he's in league with one.

"Gotta go!" Tsuboi gave Hiei a cheery wave and ducked into the classroom.

"You should write novels," Hiei said, under his breath. Tsuboi had given him nothing of substance, just more stupid pet theories and rumors. You couldn't build a case on rumors, no matter how tempting it seemed.

Back to Square One. Hiei trudged off to his own class.

And to make matters worse, Hiei's classmates started nagging him to join any one of a billion idiotic after-school clubs: Martial Arts in Manga. The Forensics Club. Science Projects Unlimited. The Chesterton Society. Future Farmers of Japan.

They importuned him in the halls, in the classrooms, at recess, whenever and wherever Hiei went to escape them--and it was only Wednesday. Hiei resisted the urge to strangle the lot of them and declined, as politely as he could manage.

They should be grateful I don't break their fool necks.

When the last disappointed club nut (a plump underclassman representing the Theater Arts Guild) was successfully rebuffed, lunch break arrived at last.

Simmering with frustration and annoyance certainly raised a fellow's appetite. Hiei made a beeline for the cafeteria, loaded a tray with Black Ninja rolls, and sat in a corner, his back defiantly to the rabble.

"Oi, Shorty!" Kuwabara's irritating voice preceded the irritating act of plunking down opposite Hiei. "Got a minute?"

Hiei thought about forbidding Kuwabara to join him, but relented. The big oaf's body might block Azabu from sight.

This was a good thing.

Hiei gave him a cool glance. "A minute is about all I can spare, kouhai." Spearing piece of roll with one chopstick and dunking it in soy sauce thick with wasabi, he popped it in his mouth. An explosion of buttery, oceanic tuna with a tail-end sting was his reward. "Haven't you heard? I'm popular."

Kuwabara rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. "World's smallest violin. For the world's smallest Spirit Detective."

"Bite me."

"I would, but I left my magnifying glass at home."

"Got anything to say or did you just run out of other people to bother?"

"Listen." Digging into his bowl of rice, Kuwabara leaned across the table, whispering like a conspirator. "This kid in--"

"Stop spitting rice at me and swallow your food."

"--in my Geography class, what's his name, Shintani Shinji, he just told me that Watanabe stole--"

Out of nowhere, a heavy white dish came hurtling straight for Kuwabara's head. Before debating the wisdom of his action, Hiei flicked out a hand and caught it.

They looked at one another. They looked at the dish. It was just a dish: creamy white, about eight inches in diameter, thick and heavy, typical of food-service ware. Kuwabara's skull was almost as hard as Urameshi's, but this plate would have made quite a dent.

Hiei laid the dish on the table. "Got people wanting to kill you already?"

Kuwabara's angular face was a study in puzzlement.

A second dish flew through the air, this time crash-landing against a wall.

One of the teachers popped out of his seat. Hands on hips, he surveyed the crowd, bellowing: "All right! Who threw that?"

Throughout the cafeteria, students exchanged glances of varying interest and unease. But although Watanabe sniggered openly from his table near the door, no one claimed responsibility for the Unidentified Flying Blunt Object.

"Did you see anyone throw it?" Kuwabara whispered.

"No. But someone could have."

"For once, we agree."

Hiei returned his attention to the excellent Black Ninja roll. But in another second, as if each piece of servingware, flatware, and glassware had conspired with great glee ("HA! Now they think it's safe!"), the air was again thick with dishes.

Gulping the last of the roll, Hiei watched a veritable snowstorm of food-service china, cutlery, and glasses. He noted that the chopsticks weren't playing on the same team; they remained as inert as the ones he'd just dropped beside his tray.

Nor was the tray itself moving. The tray was fashioned of sturdy but lightweight plastic. Whoever was causing these things to fly--and no one student could have been responsible for such a blizzard of lunch-line artifacts--obviously preferred objects with some potential to do harm.

The sound of smashing plates almost drowned out the cries of students frantically ducking china carnage.

Kuwabara rose, scanning the cafeteria. "Food fight?" he suggested, quirking an eyebrow at Hiei.

Hiei darted glances around the room, trying to keep track of the dishes and their trajectory. "Too many plates, no one's throwing them. Where's Watanabe?"

"Hiding under a table. You're too little to see."

Hiei longed to test whether the sound of smashing china would cover the sound of him stomping Kuwabara's foot.

Itako sat at a table near the serving area, his mouth half-open. Peering vaguely back and forth, Hiei's contact seemed not quite aware of his surroundings.

For a while the air rang with the clash of kamikaze china against walls and floor, and the occasional cry of "Look out!" Every now and then Hiei plucked a dish out of circulation that had the nerve to stray too close to them.

Just as suddenly, the barrage ended.

Fielding a final cup, which felt heavy enough to be used as a murder weapon, Hiei placed it on the table. Silence blanketed the room, except for a faint throbbing in Hiei's ears. Students all around the cafeteria exchanged frightened glances.

Hiei had now seen the UFOs in a way he could neither ignore, nor explain away. That it was of supernatural origin, he now had no further doubt.

The flying-dish incident had lasted all of thirty or forty seconds, but that made for a lot of broken dishes. Some of the plates had smashed against the ceiling and fallen to the tabletops, forming a mosaic of white china shards on Hiei's tray. Impatiently, he brushed the pieces to the floor.

As he did so, he met the terrified gaze of Azabu. The kid was huddled alone, beneath a table not three yards away. Reddening, Azabu averted his gaze.

He's got something to do with this! I'd stake my life on it.

Gradually, students and teachers emerged from under the tables. Silence was replaced by inane human chatter and the muffled sounds of cleanup.

The one thing Hiei heard over and over again, spoken in shaky voices: "The school's haunted!"

(To be continued: A night raid brings disaster!)

-30-