The Surgeon General's Warning:
Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. Edit: Just corrected a very embarrassing fib. My bad~!
Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm
Chapter 07:
Seasons Greetings
An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards
"Winter Holidays", what a wonderful novelty it was the young people of Earth enjoyed, so foreign that he thought the idea quaint, because for the longest time, Doctor N. Springfield had lived in complicated circumstances. Being the apprentice to one of the most powerful individuals in the universe, alas, did not have a whole lot of lucrative benefits up front, what he had to look forward to growing up in the past ten years was long, arduous work hours, with no overtime compensation and barely a snowball's chance in hell for relief. Because the fact is, The Master lived pitiably astray from the ordinary, dwelling instead in the heart of Dante's dark, Stygian wood, which he called "home", a savage place, so dense and dangerous that recollections in hindsight still instilled fear in Negi.
Raising a child in nightmares so bitter that death would hardly be more severe was the furthest deviation from the norm of a naturally conducive environment that could shape a "correct" human. What had been manufactured in the stead of a boy, with rigorous conditioning and meticulous grooming, was a weapon masked in fashionable human skin. The Master needed an asset not a liability, because he was only a single individual with an inexplicable number of so very fragile lives in hands, whom reminded him daily there was such a thing, as a time limit on trust.
He did not want to let them down. Negi only ever had just enough time to catch half a breath, yet through it all, The Master had tried his best to do right by him: three square meals a day no matter what, at least six hours of sleep. Hell, the abnormal would carry him on his back if need be, reminding him much of a similar premise the professor found recently in a much hailed literary work, Lone Wolf and-something-was-it.
Indeed, those were the good things he could remember fondly to balance out all the bad that had happened. Negi never knew his parents, no surprises there, and he did not have much of anything to be thankful to them either, save for the scar of a broken crystal night, doused in flame. Then again, The Doctor supposed he ought to be grateful because if it were not for their irresponsibility or otherwise impotence, he would have never met his new family.
The whole lot of them were people who would be rejected out right in normal civilization, regarded as monsters and abominations, which was not far from the truth. Still, they were all he had and the best he knew: hoary grandparents, conniving aunts and uncles, and boisterous cousins. What a shame that he was well past the time of his brothers and sisters, whom The Master had many a nostalgic anecdote to recant, for educational posterity.
That said, they had all tried many times to bring the abnormal to task over his excess of taking a child with him into the heart of darkness. The Master, of course, told them off in plain, blunt language that he was not keeping anyone under duress. If Negi wanted to leave at any time, he need only say so, and truth be told, his apprentice had entertained the thought many a time.
It would only take a word to end the adversity of waking the next morning only to face his next pain, but The Doctor was a pertinaciously obsessive creature. Never was it an issue of pride; he liked to believe he just did not like being told that the absurd was impossible for him, when his idol could do the same like breathing. Eventually, the grandstanding and somehow coming out on top against the odds became more than bluster, but the fundamental need to sate his soul. The danger, the terror, and his survival became the metaphysical acknowledgment that he was real and mattered; that he could be an asset.
Negi Springfield did not want to be the one left behind, anymore.
But enough digress, for at present, Doctor N. Springfield really did not know what to do with himself now that the holidays had come, causing much of the student body to flee from Mahora Academy in a virtual mass exodus. Back when, he only ever had a day or two of "R&R", maybe three, because someone, somewhere, some when was always in need of saving, meaning The Master's schedule was backlogged constantly. Thus, the enormity of having a twenty-odd days on his hands was...inexplicable, leaving him at a genuine loss.
His schoolwork was all caught up now in December, thank goodness, and his pet projects were going about as well to be expected. The real surprise was that Yue Ayase turned out to be his real problem child, and not Asuna Kagurazaka, whom by now had established herself formally as his traditional opponent in class. Whatever tomfoolery it might be, the redhead would try her damndest to pin the dirt on him, usually leading to a comical backfire that would cement his position even more. Negi could recant the dodgeball fiasco by wrote, and it still did not bore him.
Accusations of black magic and soliciting a minor? Goodness gracious, the preposterous things she could come up. He had dealt with those three highschoolers in plain sight and just a little bit out of hearing range to tease the gossipers, as the de facto leader of the hags three swooned ripe as red wine, with a nosebleed. The other two did not fare much better, scarcely remembering to catch their leader, some forgettable, shallow wench, whose name he could not be bothered to remember.
Who knew the romance languages were actually that-romantic, and with a little encouragement, spoken French could perfectly substitute itself for latex bound sexual intercourse over the blower? Heh, what fun he had afterwards jerking Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova's chain around. Red to her ears, she was convinced absolutely that Negi had used unauthorized sorcery in broad daylight to serenade the hags three into his thrall. As customary, he tacitly downplayed the accusation at her expense, stopping just short of whipping the frustrated spitfire into an irrational frenzy.
See, the good professor thought in the present stage of their relationship, Miss Cocolova was not ready yet to take things to "the next level", so to speak. Negi, honestly though, could not wait to see the proud little redhead unleash her wild side, for there was an animal in every human, regardless of how high the species has elevated itself. Men were still just that-educated apes, barely uplifted primates according to some of the more abominable abnormals in The Society, and some days, The Doctor found himself agreeing with their cynicism.
But again, he was going off on a tangent here: Yue Ayase was a problem child. In the three odd months since his arrival, Negi had failed to make any significant progress in cracking the Ayase Code. The girl had the sex drive of a bricked game console, and all the passion of three red rings of death, the combination of which effectively neutralized almost all of his advantages. Her dossier provided some hints, an interest in children's literature, philosophy, and volunteer work at the library, but to be honest, his ethics as an educator was getting in the way and allowing her to fly right over the cuckoo's nest.
It was frustrating, a setback. True, her grades had improved, thanks to his constant haranguing, but it was a temporary solution. In the long run, the seemingly apathetic girl needed to pull her head out of the clouds and realize the only reality she was permitted to live in was here and now. Yue could blame it all on the misfortune of her birth as much as she wished, but when ignorance was bliss, than ignorance can be said to be a form of wisdom. It certainly protected the masses from pure, unadulterated defecating terror of the truth.
"Ho... What's with the sourpuss face, Springfield?" interjected a familiar petticoated voice, dripping with venom.
You're the sourpuss pussy cat around here, Cocolova. In fact, let me remind you, snorted Negi with a harmless smile that did not reach his eyes. It was awful rude of her to interrupt his ruminations, yes. "Goodness gracious, my dar~ling cousin, I think your eyes have gained a most fascinating color of ill green as of late. It suits you quite well, actually."
Even before the lovingly poisoned retort had left his lips, Anastasia, perched across the way on the comfortable khaki-hued settee, had braced for the worst of the incoming flak. In the months they had lived together, she learned quickly that the young professor's smiles were all too often an omen speaking of some terrible deceit to follow. Slowly, painstakingly, the magistra magi was assembling a more proper dossier of the capricious heir to the "Earl of Ibrasel", a powerful title that had not been in use for well over a hundred years.
It was strange, very strange to interested parties at The Clocktower to think an heir would resurface, after so many years of inactivity. Negi Springfield, certainly, possessed all the narcissism and fastidiousness of a nobleman, which could be contained just barely in his youth of fourteen years. He was a wretched creature, smiling with one hand while sneering with the other, as if people existed for his sole enjoyment, puppets to dance for his social experiments.
Anastasia did not take long to conclude she hated the handsome rogue, loathing every second she had to spend reviewing his activities daily and uncover the inner workings of Negi Springfield. Therefore, why was it she was flushing beet red, breathless, at his capricious word that was both a compliment and an insult!
"Wh, what?" the redhead shrieked shrilly in girlish befuddlement that was quite proper for her age.
Oh, how Doctor N. Springfield savored the sensual chill of seeing his precocious, poison chihuahua act her age, showering the cute~ little bugger with a pleased eyesmile. Alas, his gratification did not last longer than a heartbeat for he nearly tore his morning Sunday paper in tow reflexively upon spotting the glamorous, translucent figure of a young woman hovering several feet off the ground by his poisonous chihuahua. The mouth watering expression she wore on that beatific, yet so cruel face screamed with childish naivety:
"Master, Master! Can Levia eat it? This fragrance; this flavor! Ah, so~ tasty~! Levia, y'know, is so~ HAUWN-GRY! Nyrorororororo~n!"
Poor Anastasia, though, was blissfully unaware of the horrible fate that hovered over her head as certainly as the headsman's axe. Lacking the superior perception provided by his A.R. glasses, developed using the closely guarded pearls of arcanoscience gleaned over the centuries by The Society, she would be slain easily in an instant by a foe she never saw coming. Hell, it had taken a lot of tinkering and cajoling the Sisters of Purgatory, before Negi himself found the correct "frequency" to attune his autosenses to recognize.
Not to mention, the professor had been quite surprised to discover The Stakes possessed such a sophisticated "cloaking" function that closed the gaps between themselves and true "Weapons", quite significantly. What a shame that their meister had not seen it fit to include an owner's manual with the girls because he was still trying to figure out the telepathy thing. As for Leviathan of Envy, well, Negi knew for a while now the daemonic homunculus had her eye on the Ruskie girl, except obviously he had grossly underestimated how serious Anastasia's green-eyed streak was becoming.
To his relief, a madly giggling Mammon of Greed, whom appeared out of the clear blue, tackling the former with manic glee through the walls, delivered him from his predicament. Negi swore it might have been his worst mistake yet, allowing The Stakes to roam freely about the apartment, but the concession was not necessarily without its benefits. For starters, he could procrastinate just a little longer on finding out what was making his precious~, poisonous pink polka dot chihuahua so green!
Still smiling, Doctor N. Springfield continued his consultation, "To be frank, recalling an experience with my uncle tends to do that to me I am afraid so."
"Y, Your uncle?" Anastasia blinked at the sudden change of subject, bouncing her poor fluttering heart about the walls to its wit's end.
She was still reeling from the shocking retort, but her professionalism could not resist the tasty morsel her target had thrown her way either. Most likely, it was a trap but the best lies had some truth to them, and like a prospector sifting for gold at the river, the magistra magi lived and died for such an opportunity. Besides, the distraction, erm, the revelation would address a priority objective in her investigation, for now would be the first time Springfield even gave a hint of his family history.
"He is a git. Definitely not the type of material you want to introduce to the family of your future significant other, as the best man at the wedding."
"W, Wed-ding!" again, in spite of better logic, Anastasia found herself shrieking shrilly at the bombshell that had just been dropped into her lap with all the grace of a hot potato, causing her to leap up to her feet. "Y, You have a fiancée? Wh, Why didn't you tell me-"
"Me? Engaged?" he asked incredulously, before his smile split open in a shameless grin. "Ha ha ha ha! What a wildly, raunchy imagination you have there, my darling cousin. It almost makes me wonder if you have entertained such debauchery yourself with some scoundrel who struck your fancy. Heh. If I had my way, I would see to it that the git be vetted thoroughly, and afterwards, tarred and feathered, before he could even think to share the same breath of air with you. I found you first, and I happen to not appreciate the conception of sharing is caring very much."
Now, what was a girl in her right mind supposed to say to such an outrageous statement? Anastasia was hardly prepared for the new landmine in the road of a working relationship with Negi Springfield, who did not seem to mind the implications at all.
"Wh, wha, WHAT!" suffice to say, the poor girl's wit failed her again. She just could not understand why it was that his words made her feel so-good? Gods... Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova, desperately, needed to get her act together. That Springfield bastard was aw-ful! Contrary to his magnanimous rhetoric, she believed firmly he was nothing more than a realpolitik beast, a hated Machiavellian enemy of the common man.
There was no way a magistra magi of her caliber could be falling into his thrall, in spite of the fact, she was utterly hopeless at dictating the ebb and flow of their battles. Every time they spoke, Anastasia felt the ill maggoty slivers of doubt wriggling their way into her skull, suspecting that in fact Negi Springfield already had her dancing like the mouse to his pied piper. She refused to accept such a reality.
"By and by," said the young professor, folding his newspaper neatly before setting it down on the coffee table, "I am more surprised actually you are staying here for the holidays."
Anastasia scowled at the seemingly innocuous inquiry, but found herself willing to risk humiliation once more for the sake of truth, "O, Of course! I would never shirk on my duties to The Clocktower."
"Oh heavens, darling cousin, cannot your sense of duty rut itself for a little while? Christmas and New Years are on the way soon, arguably one of the most important times of the year in the modern world. Surely, you have friends or family you would rather spend a precious moment with than me? I can imagine your honorable mother and fa..."
Instantly, he regretted his wry slip of the tongue, spotting the brief flicker of genuine blackhearted hatred in Anastasia's eyes. Negi forgot in his excitement that most people were not as compartmentalized as himself. There was a time and place for everything, when to be angry, when to be hungry, when to mourn, when to be bored, and so on. He lived his life in a surrogate family unit, scattered about by vast distances and differing priorities. Ordinary plebeians, on the other hand, had a much more passionate, closely knit circle in comparison.
She sneered scathingly at him, baring her pearly white fangs. "Why, of course, I do! With tens of colleagues and friends, and my parents I should be, instead I am here kowtowing to your wretched hide, Negi Springfield."
Great, I guess, it was too soon in our relationship to be joking about that, thought the professor with an inward sigh. He must have been neglecting the poor thing more than he first estimated. Still, it was not as if the situation was not unsalvageable. "What is your favorite confection?"
"K, Kuhhhh! And what's THAT got to do with anything?"
"Oh, Cocolova, but of course, it has to do with eve-ry~thing!"
Unfortunately for the incensed magistra magi, glaring contests were Doctor N. Springfield's forte. He had plenty of practice thanks to the attentions of The Master, and when his prowess failed, he knew of a dirty trick to help even the odds. Hunching over forwards, Negi steepled his fingers together as if considering the meaning of the universe and bowed his head just enough to catch a beam of light, causing the lenses of his glasses to refract and glow with a disturbing backlight.
He coined the position, "The Arch Bastarde Pose". The Doctor's colleagues, on the other hand, recognized the particular technique he employed to be "The Shiny Death Glasses", with great trepidation. As it turned out, Negi was a natural at the skill too, having many intimidating examples to learn from, and though still young, on a good day he could even influence a surly grizzly bear to crap itself.
Thus, reeling quite possibly from the worst sunburn ever, or so she thought, Anastasia reconsidered her position. She arrived at the grudging conclusion that it was still too soon to confront the inglorious basterd on his own terms. There were too many unknown factors about the Heir to the Earl of Ibrasel, and her injured pride would have to wait. The magistra magi consoled herself with the fact that indignation was a debt best repaid ironically.
"...P, parfait," Anastasia colored with a huff, snubbing him by the upturn of her nose and chin away from himself in true prissy fashion.
Negi did not expect any less for his transgression, as he pushed his glasses back up by its bridge to clear the previous enchantment. If anything, the young professor got off lightly, but he already expected to receive a reckoning in the future, unless he managed to correct the course of his game. The phrase, "No rest for the wicked," could not be more true.
"Good. Now, darling cousin, if you will excuse me, I have some reservations to go make."
"Reservations? For what?" just like that, with no more than a change of topic, the magistra magi was right back in top form. Spooks were such simple creatures, so easy to please.
"Though most of the student body left, along with a fair number of our faculty, there still remains a healthy flock to tend to... There is a Christmas Party and a New Years celebration coming up, and the planners like to have a general idea of how many attendees will be coming, so they can prepare accordingly. I thought you would like to come with me."
For the umpteenth time, Anastasia found herself flushing red, much to her exponential ire. It was frustrating, so very frustrating, to be at the mercy of his every whim. The Agent of The Clocktower had no control, like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole only to land at the mad, very mad table of the Mad Hatter. Always she was being yanked to and fro, as if by some invisible golden chain on a equally garish, studded collar around her neck.
If she did not know any better, the redhead swore he was corrupting her by his very presence, driving her mad, just like him. Anastasia wanted to scream at the atrocious bespectacled madman, and she would, right now, as she damn well pleased. "You...! YOU. You awful, rotten punk! Th, the nerve! Arrrghhh! Oh, the nerve! Just what goes on in that onion head of yours, huh? Who do you think you are, Negi Springfield?"
In the haze of reckless passion, Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova scarcely noticed she had flown across the living room in a whirlwind of red hair and white lace, determined to bar his escape towards the apartment's entrance door with her very own body. Each furious word she had spoken, punctuated by a sharp accusatory finger jabbing at the unrepentant noble's face. Never mind she did not have a chance of touching him, unless she used a slingshot to hurl a stone into his eye like David against Goliath before her.
Doctor N. Springfield's reply was as endearing as ever.
"'He who would fight with monsters should take heart lest he thereby become a monster himself,' paraphrased from Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil, Aphorism One-Forty-Six."
Meaning he succeeded in utterly befuddling the hell out of her even more, by grasping Anastasia's outstretched hand, with unexpected tenderness, and leaning in close to place a kiss on her knuckles.
"Hweeehh! Wh, what the-HEY!"
The deed done, the Doctor perished the thought and left, leaving his apoplectic "cousin" in shock, though for a moment there, he really did seem the part of an English Gentleman, no?
Some days later, the very same increasingly maddened girl found herself repeating the proverbs her father taught her, like a mantra of protection against evil. Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova still could not believe she would play party to a harebrained scheme by Negi Springfield. Could this be divine punishment, no, the work of demons for her goading the rotten boy to move his haunches on the outstanding issue of Konoka Konoemon's security details at long last? She had only tempted the wisdom of "There was - there wasn't." in the dim hopes of being on the offensive for a change, not to mention gathering critical intelligence on her target's magical aptitude.
Frankly, Anastasia had been very disappointed to observe that he seemingly shunned sorcery in his every day living, a tool set Negi left at home, perhaps, under tight lock and key. He worked diligently, a workaholic in fact, laboring tirelessly to solve human problems with human methods. The professor visited the gym at least three times week to maintain his physical condition in a grueling regimen, aided further by a sensible diet. Indeed, his conduct, much to her grudging respect, was professional beyond word, never favoring but fair to all, and he still found time to unwind after a long day.
The Russian made a face, shadows playing off her cute countenance from the afterglow of her crystal orb. She did not want to admit it, like many matters that concerned her target, but those trussed up trollops in his classes were correct to presume after all that he was some foul manner of superhuman creature. Why The Onion had taken her ruse and made it into an opportunity of his own, while commiserating gaily that he thought she would never ask.
Negi professed he never made a move on the issue out of reluctance to ask her permission to use sorcery. From the first day, he always had the impression that the dean would overlook his methodology so long as it was not invasive upon the privacy of the Kyoto Magic Association's darling princess. Hence, the professor had been using roundabout methods to inquire on her lifestyle, character, and relative happiness from various secondhand sources, while influencing the ever volatile Asuna Kagurazaka to become just a little more protective of her roommate.
It was dangerous work, eavesdropping that is, but he had managed to acquire a line of secure information from 2-A's resident rumormonger, so as to avoid rousing too much suspicion in regards of his intentions. Turns out Kazumi Asakura was a literal gold mine of various going-ons, amongst her classmates, and had quite an impressive backlog worth of data built up over the years. Excellent record keeping aside, it was not to be the start of a pleasant relationship: the little minx had tried to con him, but The Doctor did not come unprepared to persuade the rapacious to consider a more-mutual understanding.
Amateur. She has some talent, but Asakura-kun still has a long ways to go, thought Negi with a nostalgic sigh into the wintry air.
Presently, he was waiting by a closed water fountain at a popular idyllic park in the district, made all the more pleasant by the absence of the rowdy youths who normally prowled these evergreen grounds. How they would come to expel their boundless noise and energy seeking potential mates, or simply expend that vital force to past the time in the company of friends. In the former group, most of those naive fools pitifully enough would have benefited greatly with a simple reconditioning into the mind set of a patient hunter.
Hunting; yes, it could be said that Negi was hunting a person, an outrageous analogy some might say, but it was the truth. He had been observing his prey now for the better of some months, learning her mannerisms, her likes and dislikes, her social capability as a human, and he found her wanting.
Setsuna Sakurazaki was a creature of habit and rigid in her thinking, her potential stunted by her own willful ignorance, a poor combination if any, and today, she would have her reckoning with him. The Doctor had set the time and place, the advantage was in his favor. Certainly, it was not his intention to make war, but after much analysis of the facts, Negi deduced that the sharp-eyed bodyguard girl would not submit to his authority without a contest of valor.
Of course, he did not have a clue to the measure of her true capabilities, but judging from his own observations and glowing eyewitness accounts from her activities in the Kendo Club, Sakurazaki was a fine swordswoman in an era where swords had lost their meaning. Coupled with the footage The Doctor had managed to glean from The Society's archives of adepts of the Shinmei Ryu in action, the prospect of having to fight with one arm tied behind his back did not bode well for victory in his favor. As for the reason of his handicap, the world need to look no further than Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova.
In the gently trembling city, there could be none other who could be the bane of his existence, but also very necessary. The Clocktower's agent reminded him on a daily basis that knowledge was power, and he did his best to guard it. Only with many a regret did the professor reveal his prowess in sorcery, demonstrating his creativity too in creating a truly infernal welcoming mat, while Anastasia handled the issue of operational security.
The moment Sakurazaki arrived, the entire park would be temporally displaced, allowing any flagrant action to take place without restraint. It was a wonderful stage for a battle this fine winter's afternoon, yet at the mere sight of the raven-haired bodyguard's cautious approach, Negi could not help but bemoan the fact that all he had on his person was his wand. Tucked away inside his fur-trimmed coat, it was a proud thing of beauty made of elder wood, eight inches long, and a core of Dragon heartstring, nimble and eager, whom meshed with him quite well.
It required a name still, and the professor would hate to see his dear wand smashed by one callous swipe of that Japanese longsword her ladyship's bodyguard preferred, though to be frank, he thought it a ridiculous weapon to carry in defense of one's charge. The uchigatana or standard fare katana was by far superior, especially in close quarters combat or a surprise attack. If she took her duties as seriously as he surmised, than the thought must have occurred to her at some point.
So why was it she persisted? Well, Negi thought he would find all in good time. At the moment, he was pleasantly surprised Setsuna Sakurazaki had come visibly unarmed, save for a utilitarian satchel, and a guarded blush of embarrassment. The professor could almost believe she was an ordinary, if highstrung junior-high schoolgirl.
"Sensei, I must say so," there began her beatific formality, so humble and adult-like, which destroyed any hope of such a delusion, "that I find this a most unusual request, begging your pardon."
"Is that so?" Negi murmured gauging the distance separating the two of them, which turned out to be roughly less than two meters. Talk about feisty; even in a social circumstance, she positioned herself within optimal striking range of her favored blade. It went to show just how uncomfortable Setsuna was about acknowledging his cordial summons. "Us two being masters of the sense of distance, I thought such a request, quite ordinary really."
"The sense of distance?"
"That is correct. Worrying about misunderstandings when you are near and far, but because we are apart humans can understand each other! Indeed, the sense of distance can be said to be one of the foundations in a relationship between all humans! ...so says what I read last night in a sociology journal."
"Ah... I... see..." Sestuna's difficult admission said it all.
Negi raised an eyebrow, and spoke dryly for her benefit, "Do not be shy, now. You are free to say it is a load of rutting bollocks."
Politeness being oh-so-important in the stuffy norms of Japanese society, the bodyguard girl predictably colored at his impropriety, evidence that she needed more bosom friends in his opinion. In fact, her apoplectic reaction just now confirmed Setsuna's largely solitary nature, guilty as charged. Was she apathetic towards people, or simply had difficulty learning to get along? Mayhap, she had not found any stimulating company that struck her fancy?
"S, Springfield-sensei, I meant-mean no such disrespect!" protested the bodyguard hurriedly.
Ah, what a cute~ reaction. Who knew even a straight laced Bushido-wannabe girl could be fine, too? These Japanese girls were such fine specimens for his amusement. Negi almost laughed, barely beating down his baser impulses with repeated violent swings of his metaphorical crowbar. "Relax, Sakurazaki-kun. Relax. As you can imagine, I have a sense of sarcasm, and with some practice, I think we could make an excellent manzai comedy duo. Whad'dya say? Wanna go inta show biz wit' me, pard'ner?"
The comical way Setsuna quailed at an impasse showed just how socially inept she was, out of her element, and without a prayer in the world to save her. In the selfish, glamorous culture of the world's elite society, she would have failed right there as a bodyguard, inexcusably embarrassing her employer by losing her bearing. Even if Setsuna was horrible at social affairs, then at the very least she should be as immovable as a mountain.
Doctor N. Springfield, naturally, could give less than a rat's bollocks for such conventions. He liked her enough already; the only thing that needed work was a reeducation in her choice of armament. "Sorry, sorry. Do not take everything I say at face value. I have a horrible habit of teasing individuals palatable to my savvy personality, you see?"
"A, ah... Is that so, sensei?" Setsuna still did not have a clue what to do next. She had not been expecting a social call, after all, since the language worded in the young professor's message had been business-like. Frankly, she was surprised he even knew she opted to stay over on campus for winter break. So just what did her illustrious, popular teacher want with her?
"Hnnn. Now we have that out of the way, would you be willing to walk with me, Sakurazaki Setsuna-kun?"
"Walk with you?"
"I did not mean to mislead you with the venue, but I do have some important matters to discuss with you."
Oh, so it was not a social call. What a relief! thought Setsuna, obliging the boy professor's request, without hesitation. ...although she felt somewhat disappointed, strangely.
During class, at least in her opinion anyhow, Springfield-sensei always seemed to add a little extra insight pertinent to her benefit, whenever she volunteered or was "voluntold" invariably. Not that she was special, as he offered the same service to her classmates, but it was certainly a refreshing change from Takahata-sensei's tutelage where he took a largely hands-off approach. The young man, in comparison, really seemed to understand his students, a quality of leadership and empathy she could respect-w, well, in anyone, really.
Of course, it was still too soon to sign off her blessings on his possible engagement to her mistress just yet, but by far and large, Negi Springfield seemed to be the best candidate for husband to-be. Together, Setsuna could see the couple continue the present golden age of peace amongst the Japanese magic associations, brokered by Konoemon-sama not too long ago. As for herself...
"Tell me, Sakurazaki-kun, where do you see yourself in ten years?" Negi's droll tenor called back to her suddenly, breaking the spell of the reverie. "Twenty years? or even thirty years from now? What do you think?"
My, what a-coincidence. It had to be a coincidence, right? There was no way her homeroom teacher could be something like a satori.
"Oh, you do not have to be dreadfully serious about it. Just think of my question as an exercise in creative thinking, yes?"
"I..." Setsuna bit the inside of her lip in consternation. To be frank, it was a topic she had avoided habitually in her meditations. "I don't know."
"Is that what your instincts tell you?"
"...N, no, sensei."
"Ah, sorry, and here I said not to take it dreadfully serious but we are anyway. Heh. Fancy that, huh?"
Negi chuckled, continuing to string the bodyguard along the cobbled path, snaking through the rustling trees. Privately, however, he bemoaned the inconvenience of speaking to someone who walked behind him, instead of beside him! Goodness, how old fashioned and stuffy these Japanese can be; the professor swore that aside from "upping" her arsenal, he would fix her sense of self-worth too.
"In that case, Sakurazaki-kun, consider this a koan instead, how much potential do you think you have?"
"Potential? Me?" she spoke the word with a reluctant disbelief. "...Sensei, I beg your pardon, but you're just-kidding around, right?"
Right, her humble deference was starting to irritate the hell out of him. Their stroll and now this? Oh yes, The Doctor could barely contain his eagerness at the upcoming renovation of Setsuna Sakurazaki. "I for one think it will be a waste for you to dedicate your entire existence to one person. I understand well that not all of us are meant to be leaders. Some are born to follow, even, but if that is so, should you not follow the dream that burns most brilliantly in the starry night?"
The stuttering scuff in her stride was like music to his ears, and before the sharp-eyed girl had a chance to get a word in edgewise, he exploited the opening with a metaphorical curb stomp.
"If you do not understand, then allow me to illuminate you thus: your perception of the world is too small, too narrow minded, is what I mean. I have met people bound by the inescapable fate of greatness many a time, wherefore great expectations come part and parcel with the silver spoon, but many others still are free to make our own luck, our own destiny, no matter the circumstances we were born into... The former have no such privilege. Indeed, all too often when they choose to reject and flee from their greatness, it only invites calamity."
The crisp, wintry air turned stagnant with cold steel. He might have only been discoursing in existential philosophy at a glance, but clearly, like a seasoned bloodhound, she had already seen through the veil of his words to the truth underneath.
"Valor and wisdom cannot be given, it must be earned. We carefree rogues may walk beside them to help lighten the load, but sometimes... Even us, commoners, become nothing more than a hindrance, stunting their growth."
Her footsteps were quickening, but as to not arouse alarm, Negi merely lengthened his stride to beat the pace. Their final destination was coming into sight, a gazebo topped with a fanciful weather vane of a crane, wings outstretched in flight. The wind was blowing, spinning it about chaotically, as if hinting at the precipice he had set foot upon.
"I would hope your strength exists to protect others, but it can also deprive others of courage, make them weak-hearted and servile to you. The yojimbo, I believe, is more than a weapon, but also a companion, we mustn't fight all the battles of our masters lest they become complacent that swords are the first answer to adversity. To be unsheathed lightly and thought of as no more than a murdering tool is, perhaps, the worst fate of a sword."
He made it, just in the nick of time to the foot of the gazebo, and whirled about face sharply, a hand over his heart and the other flourishing outboard, as if he were an actor on stage, pleading his innocence. Try as she might to resist his bittersweet poison, it was not without its noble truths, and so, Setsuna Sakurazaki hesitated.
"Wh, what are you trying to say? I... I don't understand..."
The Doctor smiled suavely, as befits a devil's advocate. There the bodyguard stood poised, approximately two meters away; what a wonderfully consistent creature she was, he would enjoy honing her edge into a mirror finish that would do his reflection proud.
"Do not reject yourself, girl; when you have dreams and courage, even a sword can become a human being. You have someone you wish to protect, I am aware, but all of us have our own paths to walk, including you. Weapons can be left to rust, discarded when their usefulness has come to an end, but true friends will always be treasured, even when it comes time to part. There are only things you can achieve, Sakurazaki Setsuna, and the sword of justice in your heart should not be squandered selfishly, but shine as a beacon of good for all."
The unseen wave of thorny steel piercing, slicing into his ego, was quite painful really, though nothing some quality time toying with his favorite persons could not fix. In the mean time, Negi did his best impression of a bulwark. He gave a cursory glance at the Eldritch spectrum in his A.R. feeds, confirming the background presence of a temporal displacement field, before switching to biometrics: elevated body temperature on his subject of interest, a pronounced decrease in heart rate. The technology helped certainly, but he would have to be blind, not to see the consequences coming.
Hell, the professor had been cultivating the build up for this very climax!
"I have had enough of your trash wanton rhetoric," Setsuna exclaimed hotly in cultured vernacular, quite admirable of her really. He had been expecting something far cruder. "Draw!"
How very noble of her to give him the heads up on a surprise attack, as The Doctor watched with breathless excitement, fueled by adrenaline. Time seemed to be of no value in the instant she stepped forwards first, svelte limbs moving in almost clockwork perfection. Her hand slipped into the satchel serpentine-like to fish out an elegant wakizashi, its black lacquered scabbard lent a most fascinating glimmer to the flash of silvery polished steel.
There was a battle cry at her lips, fierce and valiant, sending electric chills up his spine that made his smile widen into a gleeful smirk. Her bravery should be commended, but the only just dessert for foolishness was defeat, for the professor had not been idle, a similar serpentine flick of his own wrist brandished his wand into broad daylight. Resting previously in the fold of his sleeve over his heart, he, too, now brought the instrument of his castigation to bear, relishing the stark flicker of dreadful recognition in the bodyguard's piercing gaze.
In this contest of speed, the victor was already decided many a breath ago, because Doctor N. Springfield had already been at half-drawn from the start.
"Expelliarmus!" he declared, opening the flood gates of quintessence in his body to a roaring climax.
His aim true, his purpose pure; Setsuna had no chance to escape having already committed herself in full. Near simultaneously, twin bolts of blue light leapt in an instant from the tip of the wand, in spite of the seemingly singular incantation. How could this be? Western mages should not be able to-! Despair blossomed in the girl's eyes, as she desperately willed the honed muscles in her to move even one second faster, even though in the heart of her hearts, the bodyguard knew her fate was sealed.
The first impact met with a wrenching slap, disarming her of the wakizashi. The second impact struck her dead on in the guts, knocking the wind out of her, as she was carried cleanly back through the air. Through the cringing haze of pain and disappointment, air kissing at her ears, Setsuna could only curse herself at her naivety, praying silently for forgiveness in failing her duty.
"Sei Initium!" Negi's symphony was far from over.
With another flourish, his main course sprang to life in array of electric blue arcane circles, swinging shut the jaws of Pandora's Box. Mercifully, tangible tendrils of light sprang forth from the walls in a near incomprehensible whipping mass that arrested the bodyguard's careening flight gently. It was the classic "Flytrap Spell", invented by a magus from Florence in the Renaissance; still popular today as a mid-level "Trap-type" spell.
The spell had some flaws, for example, it would bleed mana while waiting for a potential victim to step into its embrace, reducing its potency in the long term. To make up for that particular shortcoming, he had taken the heavy handed approach of overkill and added a measure of control, by modifying the activation protocols to "on command", so as to ensure his success. Suffice to say, The Doctor's gross overestimation appeared to have paid dividends.
The dutiful bodyguard was bound and brought to heel at her knees, helpless to his leisure. She could not muster possibly even an iota of magical potency, with six flytraps grounding her. Nevertheless, the fire of defiance had not gone out from those sharp eyes, as she struggled mightily in vain against the tendrils, sending electric shivers of feedback to him, an exhilarating stimulus Negi would never tire to experience.
But enough savoring the fruits of his labor, time to collect on what he was due, "My goodness gracious, it appears I have won the test of wisdom, courage, and arms with no contest, yes?"
"K, Kiisama! Filth! Coward! Dog of the West!" Setsuna exclaimed angrily, still not resorting to baser pejoratives. Well, except for "kiisama", it was one of the higher expletives available in the Japanese arsenal, but the value of which was largely lost on the professor. In fact, he considered himself quite honorable, thank you very much. "Face me in single open combat. I dare you!"
"Oh, no, no, no, no! I am afraid I sorely overestimated you, my dear, and I must revise my expectations. Now, it appears plain to me that a true contest of arms would become a macabre festival of blood should I employ the full fusillade of assets at my disposal. Your lack of wisdom is your worst enemy, and courage without wisdom is no more than a blowhard's hot air. Hmph... Immature, so very immature; you still have much to learn in the Way of the Warrior."
"Rrrrghh! D, Damn you!"
Oh, finally, breaking out the dirty guns was she? thought Negi wryly, as he gestured admonishingly with his free hand. "Now, now, is that any way to speak to your new colleague?"
The princess's bodyguard shot him a livid incredulous look that spoke volumes of her thoughts on his statement, much to the professor's private chagrin. It appears a gross misunderstand just occurred, one he managed to come out on top. See, instead of her being honor bound to test his abilities or some such, Sakurazaki had actually been serious about harming his honorable person, and The Doctor knew exactly whom to lay the blame on.
"I presume the old bloody raccoon did not inform you of my true nature, yes? Figures. Well, now you know and knowing is half the battle, Sakurazaki Setsuna-san, because for the foreseeable future, I will be joining Konoka-hime's security detail here at Mahora alongside yourself. I hope we can learn to get along as friends and comrades, so that the Kyoto Magic Association's princess can live happily ever after, and when the curtain calls on our roles, who knows? I might just have a job offer for you, eh?"
Setsuna Sakurazaki gaped at him, dumbfounded, all her righteous fury forgotten with the bombshell of a revelation now in her lap.
"Say, do you think you can find it in your golden heart not to try and strangle me, after I set you free, Sakurazaki? I find being able to affect regular breathing to be most conducive to carrying out a proper apology for a lamentable misunderstanding."
And eavesdropping on the curious scene from a secluded vantage nearby, Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova could not believe she was witnessing Negi Springfield apologize so earnestly for utterly handing someone's bullocks to them on a silver platter. The Russian would have laughed, except the service in humility was not being dedicated to her. That backwater barbarian of a bodyguard did not deserve even an ounce of such good manners and custom, none of which she had earned the privilege to be showered upon by the bane of Anastasia's existence!
Y, yes, Negi's white chocolate, strawberry mouse parfait had been-agreeable, if a little sinful, but it did not come close to him repaying all of his debts to her. Oh no! Why, one of these days, the stewing redhead swore she would see the incorrigible bastard driven before her on his hands and knees, like a stray dog, begging for her forgiveness that he did not deserve. It was not as if Anastasia was jealous in the slightest that once again her nemesis was treating another girl better than her!
Stupid onion.
To be continued...
Production Notes:
Wow, it feels like its been forever. This sure took a while, but it's also long as hell, so I guess we can think of it as an unexpected bonus for y'all continued interest in this gig. Though I think I've exhausted my aside quota, so let's get back to the madness with the next chapter.
By and by, disturbing trend, the number of females who want to do something awful and-or not so awful to The Doctor has risen to five or so now, maybe?
Satori, a type of "monster" native to Japan that is said to be capable of reading the "heart" of others.
"The Shiny Death Glasses" technique. See: Shiny Scary Glasses.
Uchigatana, a type of Japanese sword created during the Muromachi Period, and the predecessor to the iconic katana. Developed to replace the traditional cavalry sword called the tachi, it is a sword that specializes in smooth, lightning-fast draws, and thanks to its shorter length, could be employed effectively still in more confined quarters or on foot. The most noticeable difference arguably between uchigatana and katana is that the former sport a more exaggerated curvature when compared to the katana, which hints to its origin as a cavalry sword. Thus, it does have some shortcomings when employed in thrusts and slashes, post-fast draw, not having the same reach as the contemporary katana.
Manzai, a style of Japanese stand-up comedy involving two comedians, a straight man (tsukkomi) and a funny man (boke), whom exchange jokes back forth similarly to a Western buddy cop drama.
Laters.
