Forward. Diagonal left. Horizontal right. Over-the-head twirl. Bring it down. Duck. Kick the legs out from under them. And—

"Staying after school again, Kaichou?"

She froze, her wooden sword poised in midair, pointing at an imaginary figure on the floor. She liked to think it was Daiki.

Alka didn't bother to turn around. Instead, she silently lowered her bamboo stick and wiped the sweat from her brow. "Good evening, Daiki-kun. What brings you here?"

He smirked and tossed her a faded blue towel, "Oh, the usual." He said as she used it to wipe her face. "Care for another sparring match?"

She smiled back at him, "Always."

For the past four months, they'd been sparring together almost every day, even after school. She could feel herself improving. She could sense the change in him, too, in the way his movements slid like a current around her, adjusting flawlessly to her tactics and seeming to bend and shape her every move. He was good, really good; she couldn't get enough.

The more time they spent together, the more she realized they had more in common than she'd initially thought: each of them were only children whose parents worked too much; they loved Tonkatsu and their favorite movie was Rurouni Kenshin; they could drive both cars and motorcycles (though they personally preferred motorcycles); and, much to Alka's surprise, they each shared an abstract, almost spiritual passion for sparring.

An elated smile lit up Daiki's face as their swords clashed again, making his eyes crinkle at the corners in that cute, boyish way of his. Suddenly, a similar image flashed across her mind: Daiki in tight-fitting midnight-blue armor, clutching two blades as he smiled at her in a dark, cargo-rimmed arena.

"What's wrong, Saber? You're on the defensive!"

She blinked. "What did you say?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "What? You can't be falling asleep already, Kaichou, we've just begun."

Wordlessly she struck again, the too-familiar image already fading from her mind. Daiki just barely blocked it in time, and in the brief moment it took him to prepare for another blow, she tapped his heart with the tip of her sword.

"Looks to me like you're the one daydreaming." She said teasingly.

"You sure about that?" He grinned, glancing down at the spot where his own sword connected with her heart. "Seems like we tied again."

Shaking her head, she retracted her sword, "One of these days I will bring you to your knees."

He twirled his sword nonchalantly, "I'd like to see you try."

She turned her back to him so he wouldn't see her smile.

"Hey!" He greeted her the next morning as she unpacked her notebooks and pens.

"Good morning."

"You free this weekend?" He inquired as he plopped down in the seat in front of her, propping his elbow on her desk. "How about going to the shopping center with me on Saturday?"

She tilted her head quizzically, some loose hairs from her braided bun fell into her face and she brushed them aside. "What for? Do you need help buying something?"

"What? You and I can't just hang out together outside of school?" He teased, but he looked more nervous than usual. Maybe it was just her imagination. "But yes, that too."

"Alright." Alka may have been a master of knowledge and technique, but she was certainly slow when it came to social cues. A throat cleared behind them – it was the owner of the desk in front of her. She glanced up at the girl, mouthing a quick "sorry" before turning back to Daiki. "Perhaps you should move so that Kano can have her seat back."

"Of course! Sorry to keep you waiting, miss." The girl giggled, blushing slightly as he brushed passed. Alka noticed none of this. In her eyes, it was simply the act of a handsome man passing by a nervous girl. It was no secret that a majority of the girls in their school had a crush on Daiki: he was handsome, funny, and a fine gentleman, but there was so much more to him than what their peers seemed to perceive. For instance, everyone knew he was excellent at kendo, but did anyone really know just how much it meant to him? Did any of his fan club girls know just how superficial he thought their attraction was? Or how uncomfortable it really made him feel? Not only at all the attention he received on account of his good looks, but at the sense of isolation it caused inside him? He had told her as much, and more. She had always known that there was more to him than met the eye, so to hear him say it both confirmed her suspicions and surprised her. She wasn't so taken aback by what he said, but rather the fact that he said it to her. Alka had been touched that he trusted her enough to do so, and his honesty had been pure enough for her to be honest with him in return. Not that she made a habit of lying, but it was nice to be completely open, completely at ease with someone other than Ayame, who was currently staring at her with a mischievous grin plastered on her face.

"What are you smiling about?" Alka smiled tentatively at her friend.

"Oh come on, don't tell me you don't know why he asked you out." She said, still smiling.

"What do you mean? He asked me to go shopping with him and I agreed, what's the big deal?"

Ayame's smile faded into a disappointed frown, and she shook her head sadly. "Oh Alka," she mumbled to herself, "how can you be so smart and yet so dense?"

"What was that?"

Ayame sighed. "Oh nothing. I take it we'll wait until Sunday to study then?"

"That would probably be best, not that you actually study anyway." She teased.

"Hah hah. You may be the smartest of the two of us, but you don't know everything." She tapped her thumb against her puffed out chest. "Just you wait, after this weekend you'll be begging for my help."

Alka raised her brow. "Your help with what?"

"You'll see." She said cheerily.

Whatever it was, Alka thought, it couldn't be good.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully and on Friday after kendo practice they took the train home together. They stood face to face in the doorway of the subway car—well, face to chest. They'd timed it so that they boarded the train in between what they liked to call the work rush, when everyone hurried home after another stressful day of earning a living, and the dinner rush, when the younger generations went out on dates and social gatherings. There still wasn't enough room to sit, but they could at least stand together without the weight of a sweaty crowd crushing them into the door. The sun was nearly set, painting the sky dusky shades of orange and blue. She turned her head from the window to observe the boy in front of her, who had remained unusually quiet on their trip back. Both of them were dressed in their fall uniforms: blue pants and light tan, v-neck sweaters with navy blue trim and white long sleeve shirts underneath. Daiki's shirt was buttoned down to reveal part of his chest. The women on the train could not stop staring, however much they tried to hide it, but Daiki paid them no mind as he stared thoughtfully out the window.

"What are you listening to?" Alka asked, genuinely curious.

He started a bit, momentarily surprised by her sudden question, then smiled as he leaned down slightly to offer her an earbud. "Wanna listen?"

She took the earbud from his left ear and placed it in her own. A moment later her lips curved in a smile. "It's good."

"Right!" he exclaimed, and turned his phone for her to see. "It's a band called Mystic, their guitarist is incredible. I went to one of their concerts and even got an autographed poster signed by all the members."

Alka laughed. She couldn't help it, she had never seen him so excited and boyish before.

"What?" He asked as if her opinion really mattered to him.

"I like it." She assured him with a smile. "Would you show me more of their songs?"

He grinned. "Let's see," His eyes lits up as he scrolled through his playlist. "Oh you'll love this one! It's one of my favorites."

Gentle music filled their ears as the graceful notes of the piano wrapped around them, forming a gentle cocoon. The soothing tones soon gave way to a singer, then a guitarist, and a drummer, until all the sounds collided in a rush of passion and color. It was beautiful and harsh all at once, like the Monkshood flowers that bloomed behind her house. An image of the recurring dream she'd been having drifted to the surface - and stayed: A man with short brown hair and broad shoulders stood with his back to her, his head turned slightly in her direction. His clothes were tight-fitting and his single-sleeved shirt revealed a gap of glistening, tan skin on each of his muscular arms. He held two spears, one wrapped in shorn black cloth while the other glinted polished gold in the moon-lit arena.

They remained silent for a moment after the song ended, unsure what to say. "It's-" He cleared his throat. "It's never sounded like that before."

"Did you play the wrong one?" She asked, still in a daze. She couldn't stop thinking about the image.

"No, it was the right one. I just- it was more- more…" He stuttered, searching for the right words.

"Emotional?" She offered, meeting his eyes at last.

"Yeah, emotional." He said, as if trying out the word. He brought his hand up to the back of his neck to rub away the tension that must've gathered there. "I guess that's one way to put it."

She studied him for a moment, realizing that he was clearly just as unsettled as she was. "What else do you listen to?" She asked by way of distracting them both.

He brightened slightly, clearly grateful for the distraction. "Let's see."