Chapter Four

"You mean. . ." Fubuki began slowly, as if weighing his choice of words carefully on the tip of his tongue before allowing them to pass his lips into reality. He was not usually this meticulous about his speech, did not usually pick his words in such a way. His brown eyes narrowed thoughtfully, gaze crossing the wide wooden desk to look at Sameshima with some dark emotion hiding just below and beyond the boyish façade. He was angry, of this Sameshima was certain, and it made the principal's skin crawl with an ill sense of foreboding that he just could not place. "I can't go home at all this year. Or next year, for that matter. You're telling me that I'm stuck on this island until I die."

"Please, Tenjoin-kun; there's no need to put it in such a negative light," Sameshima assured him, a strange inflection on the words belying the strain this conversation was putting on him. He took a seat in his high-backed office chair, wringing his hands with uncustomary worry. They had talked about this last year, about why Fubuki could not go home. It had not gone well then, either. Sameshima sighed, no longer toying with his hands but instead letting them grip the arm rests of the chair tightly. Fubuki could not go home because it had been decided by the founder of the Morality Committee that Fubuki – though a good boy and an outstanding former student – could not be trusted to leave the island. Sameshima did not like to admit this, but in the privacy of his own mind, it seemed better to be honest than to be tactful.

On a purely personal note, he did not have much faith in Fubuki's individual agenda. While he would be more than confidant in placing the lives of himself and others in the boy's hands, he did not believe that Fubuki should be allowed free reign over his own affairs. The story of what had happened in the Fourth Dorm had too many holes and did not quite come together as nicely as it should have. What had really happened eight years ago? Was Daitokuji really the only one to blame for the disappearance of so many students? Sameshima thought that until he could be certain that Fubuki was telling the truth, he wanted to keep that boy close at hand where he could be watched and monitored and – yes, as horrible and awful as it may have sounded when voiced aloud – taken care of should he prove to still be 'under the influence' of Darkness. If, he thought with a grim sinking feeling, there had ever been any outside influence at all. Fubuki only snorted at the principal's previous statement, crossing his arms over his chest and continuing in that very serious tone of his.

"What am I supposed to tell my parents, Sameshima-san? They haven't seen me in almost eight years, you know," he pointed out, laying both hands palm down on the desk's glossy surface with fingers splayed wide. Sameshima turned his attention to the small smudge marks they would leave behind once moved. He did not usually look away when talking to his students, but this was different. The boy had been kept on the island all of last year as well, even though they had been understaffed and Sameshima himself had had to leave in the middle of the summer. Fubuki had complained then, too, that he had wanted to see his parents; had said that he had been planning it for quite some time, and that they were expecting him to go back with his sister. Fubuki was angry, but this tension that Sameshima felt in the air was caused by something more. It was low and sinister and seemed to be brewing just beneath the surface; it was something that Sameshima was not sure that he was ready to face. He hoped that it, whatever it was, would not come to light now. "We can't keep this 'student teacher' pretense up forever."

Sameshima dragged his gaze up from the boy's hands, sought an answer to his worst fears in the narrowed eyes across the desk. Whatever dark emotion or fleeting sentiment that he thought that he had seen was gone though – if it had, in fact, ever been present at all. Standing before him was just a confused young man who wanted, more than anything, to go home. Sameshima could appreciate that desire, although he could not allow himself to give in to it. Perhaps he had been teaching here too long; it seemed that the events of the last decade had given rise to an uncharacteristic paranoia.

Or maybe young Juudai was right, and he was simply getting too old to fully appreciate the bizarre and unbelievable things that tended to happen at Duel Academy. Maybe all of these conspiracies and back-stabbings, all of the dirty legislation and twisted, selfish board members were starting to get the better of him. Was he so jaded, so cynical and old that he could no longer see the inherent goodness of people? More importantly, how had he allowed this to happen? If he could not trust his students, if he could not assure himself of their pure hearts and innocent minds, then he did not belong in education. He had no business being involved with shaping children into the kind of adults that the world needed. He offered the boy in front of him a small smile, as if hoping that the change of expression would forgive his transgressions.

"I am well aware of that, Tenjoin-kun, which is why I have a proposition for you," at this point Sameshima pulled a drawer open, retrieving a bland white folder from inside and setting it on the desk between them. Fubuki's eyes widened slightly, brows arching and his face taking on a rather comical parody of the confusion it had previously held. Sameshima began to explain in a rather roundabout manner. "You're a bright young man, Tenjoin-kun, and due to your—" here, the principal coughed politely "—extended absence, we've been forced to credit you the hours that you missed during your involvement, however unwilling, with the Seven Stars assassins. Because of the circumstances and in order for the Academy to save face, we had to come up with some sort of, ah, cover story, which we then sent to all of the parents of the missing students of the Fourth Dorm. That was the birth of the fictional 'American transfer program,' which we used as the explanation for everyone's absence. So you see, because this lie has had to live for so long, you have already attained your high school diploma from this institution, as well as a Bachelor's Degree focusing in the physical sciences from an American college that agreed to work with us.

"In addition to your Bachelor's Degree we also gave you a teaching degree, in the event that any of you ever returned and this kind of a situation arose," Sameshima paused, opening the file to reveal a legal document of some kind. He placed the papers out on the desk in a line, first a copy of all three of the degrees he had just mentioned and then several pages filled with legal jargon that was sure to slip up even the most cautious of lawyers. "Thus, I would like to offer you a permanent position as Duel Academy's new chemistry teacher. As you know, we've been without one ever since Daitokuji-sensei went missing."

"You. . . want to have me on staff? As a member of the faculty?" Fubuki asked, his tone exposing the utter disbelief that his face kept hidden. Sameshima just smiled. The action seemed to be contagious, as it was soon mirrored on Fubuki. Sameshima placed a pen from his drawer on the desk next to the papers.

"I have faith in you, Tenjoin-kun. And besides. This way, we have a perfectly legitimate excuse to keep you on campus where you can be watched and monitored at all times."

They both shared a good-natured laugh at this, and Sameshima was surprised by how readily the mirth bubbled forth from their mouths. It would not have been so strange had it been in jest, but he was certain Fubuki knew that he spoke in all seriousness. Still, it had not seemed forced on the boy's part. Fubuki picked up the pen, pulling the cap off and dragging the contract closer so that he could attempt to read the fine print before signing.

"Could I be the advisor of the Drama Club?" he asked excitedly, pen hovering just above the dotted line. Sameshima nodded emphatically, clasping his hands together in front of him with schoolboy glee.

"Certainly, my boy! I'll have a talk with Fujiwara-sensei about it at the next staff meeting. We'll sort out all the details then."

"So. . . all I have to do is sell you my soul and my freedom, and I get to be on the payroll? And the Drama Club advisor? Sounds like a deal to me," Fubuki chuckled at his own joke as he signed his name in his typical, slightly strange way. He wrote his first name first, in pure English characters, and then finished his last with his usual flourishes, as '10JOIN.' It was an interesting signature, and Sameshima almost took a moment to wonder where the boy had picked up the habit of writing his name like that. Then, of course, he remembered that this was Fubuki, and nothing he did ever made sense.

A tiny voice of grounded sanity piped up from the corner of Sameshima's mind, but it was abruptly silenced. He did not want to hear what that voice had to say; did not want to heed any cryptic warnings from his instincts. The voice had been going to wonder why there was such a drastic change in Fubuki's attitude, to try to use logic to discern some kind of ulterior motive for wanting to be made a teacher here. But that was not something that Sameshima wanted to dwell on. For whatever reasons, Fubuki was willing to stay on the island and quietly go along with whatever plans the board members and the founder of the Morality Committee deemed appropriate. He knew that he needed to learn how to trust his students again and right now was as good a time as any.

Sameshima stood, taking Fubuki's hand and shaking it enthusiastically as he welcomed him into the faculty ranks. "It's a pleasure to have you join us, Tenjoin-kun. I'm sure that this coming year will be filled with excitement and new challenges. I'm looking forward to working with you."

Manjoume thought that it had been eerily quiet since they had left Amnael's book at the bottom of the elevator shaft almost two days ago. There had been no loud bumps or thumps during the night, no high-pitched screaming from the Ojama Brothers. The Dark Scorpions and several of the other spirits that he had taken in had not shown up since leaving the Academy this year, either. He had only just recently gotten used to the constant noise again, and its absence was both puzzling and frightening when paired with Juudai's uneasy feeling about the Light. Was it really still out there? Did that mean that Saiou had risen from the dead?

He leaned back where he was sitting on the dingy concrete steps leading up to Juudai's apartment complex, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he watched his companion jogging towards him with hands full. Now would have been a bad time to liken Saiou to Christ and praise him for finally shedding his temporary form to do the work of the Lord. Manjoume's fingers itched for the familiar texture of his Bible's thin pages. But Juudai was back now, and only God knew how the older boy would react to such talk. The school's hero sat down beside him with a beaming grin and handed over something cold wrapped in plastic. He had just returned from a trip to the small store a block down, where he had not gotten groceries or lunch, but something far more important.

He had gotten popsicles.

Apparently Juudai had a natural talent for befriending elderly shop keepers, because the boy had gone down there with only a smile and some vapid story and had gotten two popsicles for the trouble. Manjoume's was green, and when he tore the top of the plastic off it tasted like ice and the barest hint of some unrecognizable fruit. Juudai was babbling about the shop keeper's brother-in-law, who used to fly planes for the air force before dying in a crash. Manjoume wondered how the other boy had found out about that, since the original story dealt with neither planes nor the military. He gave Juudai a questioning look.

"I never pay for anything if I can help it," Juudai confided in his friend, adding. "It's against everything I believe in."

"Does that mean you're a thief?" Manjoume's expression had leveled off into a flat glare when he asked. Juudai scoffed loudly at this, taking on an air of wounded dignity. He opened the popsicle's wrapping with his teeth and then turned his nose up to his companion as he replied haughtily:

"Gee, thanks. Stealing isn't the only way to get stuff for free, okay?"

Still, he was not exactly denying the accusation. They lapsed into silence, watching some of the high school thugs that Rintama was so famous for hustling innocent pedestrians on the opposite street as they ate their popsicles.

"Y'know, I think that if an evil supervillain ever tried to destroy the world's supply of popsicles, I would have to become a superhero to stop him," Juudai announced after a moment, breaking Manjoume's previously pensive mood. The boy in black rolled his eyes. While at school, he had learned that Juudai loved popsicles and believed that no bonding outside of public bathhouses could be done without them. He briefly wondered where his companion could have picked up this kind of ridiculous thinking, but was interrupted as the boy continued. "I mean, like a really awesome one, with laser vision and stuff."

"Laser vision, Juudai? That's the stupidest thing you've said all day. Good luck with that."

"Wow, you totally need to work on your people skills, Manjoume."

"–San da," Manjoume added, biting a piece of his popsicle off and chewing it slowly. Juudai stared at him, horrified, as though he had just witnessed someone biting off the head of a puppy. He removed his own popsicle from his mouth to pose a question:

"Did you just use your teeth?"

". . . What on Earth is the matter with you?"

"Dude!" the older boy exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his popsicle. Manjoume scooted out of the frozen juice's way lest it end up in his hair. "You can't use your teeth; that's just wrong. Popsicles aren't meant to be chewed, okay? Only really bad people eat their popsicles like that."

"Are you trying to insinuate that I'm a villain?"

"Well, you never know. . ." Juudai eyed him cautiously, as though thinking very hard about the prospect as he sucked the dye from the tip of his popsicle. "You could be."

Manjoume rolled his eyes again, and was thankful for the silence that they soon fell back into.