A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.
"Mephisto, you're Satan himself…"
Just looking at the guy was torture. Back straight, face straight, impeccable exorcist robes, starched collar and creases in all the right places. Glasses polished to the point that you could probably use them for Morse communication with space stations. The kind of guy who ironed his underwear. The kind of guy Shiro usually kept his distance from in case it was contagious.
"Todo Saburota, junior first class exorcist. I am assigned to escort you to Mrs. Moriyama for medical check-up."
"Even his voice…" Shiro groaned inwardly. "Fujimoto Shiro. Hi. Ready when you are."
Saburota produced a key. Then another one. And another, and then he put them back and started rummaging around in his other pocket.
"Ever thought about getting a key ring?"
"It's unwise to keep all keys in one place: if the key ring was lost or stolen, all of the keys would be gone. Ah, here it is."
The door opened to a bridge into the sky.
"I have to summon shahrokh and fly here…"
Cool autumn wind ruffled Shiro's hair as they stepped out on an aqueduct soaring high above the rooftops. The Academy looked like a mountain. A mountain with jagged ridges and spiked pinnacles, with weaving crevasses and caves hidden by hanging towers. Looking at it, Shiro felt like he was flying already.
He had seen the broccoli-formation they were headed for when he climbed into Mephisto's office, but only up close did he see the house nestled in the greenery: a big wooden thing with lots of windows and odd outcroppings.
"So – Saburota-senpai, was it? How many demons has your family slain?"
"42,668", he answered with the efficacy of a machine gun. "Do you find something amusing about that?"
"Only that you keep count", Shiro chuckled, keeping his hands in his pockets and dragging his feet in a comfortable gait; walking next to Saburota made him somewhat… polarised. "How many o' those are yours?"
"Thirty-nine." He pushed his glasses up, and Shiro noted for the first time that they hid an abundance of freckles on his cheeks. "I rarely get the opportunity since my main task is guard duty in Deep Keep."
"Deep Keep?"
"A high-security vault beneath the Academy, where objects deemed hazardous are stored for safekeeping. My family has been responsible for guarding it for almost a hundred years."
"Explains a lot", he thought, imagining two Todos standing like statues on either side of a bolted iron door, day after day. "Do you get to see any cool stuff down there?"
"If by 'stuff' you mean the objects of safekeeping, I am not allowed to tell you their exact nature."
Shiro pondered for a moment if it would be worth jumping from the aqueduct. The fall would surely kill him much faster than Saburota did.
"So who leads the demon-slaying contest, Todo or Yaonaru?"
"Todo."
"I have a Yaonaru kid in my class. Would you report me if I beat him up?"
"It's my obligation to report any undesired disturbances occurring at True Cross Academy."
"Just joking, man. Just joking…" He patted Saburota on the shoulder with the dejected smile of one who knows he's whipping a dead horse. "I bet you're laughing right now, you clown…"
Saburota didn't even give him an odd look for the patting, but kept his posture and face professionally straight.
Entering the shop was like walking into the cram school hall for the first time. It was like any other shop, and yet it wasn't. Brushes of dried herbs hung like bats from the rafters, filling the crammed space with smells of parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, and things that he didn't recognise because he'd never eaten them. The two young men were herded into walking single file in the narrow paths between the curious stock, flanked on both sides by wooden cabinets, urns and woven baskets loaded with talismans, bones, silver crucifixes, little white cubes of some sort… The golf club leaning against a trellis seemed a bit out of place, but it probably had some use.
"Good day, Miss Moriyama. We are here to see Mrs. Moriyama."
"And to pick up tea for a certain purple-haired eccentric", Shiro added with a half smile. "Oh yes, she digs me", he thought when she returned the smile and went to fetch her mother.
"Fujimoto-kun, that's not an appropriate way to speak of the principal."
"I'll call him whatever I want if he calls me Shiro-pon", he muttered under his breath.
"Beg pardon?"
"Just saying it's an impressive shop. One of these wouldn't be too bad to have." He traced the elaborate portrait of a woman engraved on the grip of a beautiful M1911 in the weapon rack.
Ten minutes later, they sat at a small crate-turned-table in the back of the shop. Moriyama-san gingerly cut the stitches and removed them with tweezers, all the while giving Sayuri a detailed account of what she was doing. Sayuri might be the shop's new owner one day and paid close attention, nodding intermittently to confirm that she understood what was done and why. The edges of the wounds were jagged and reddish, and the flesh was still sore, but they would heal completely on their own.
"There. All better", she smiled. "Roll your shoulders and move your arms gently every now and then to keep them from going stiff and you should be fine. Would you pour our guests some tea out in the shop while I wash up, sweetie? Oh, and wrap Sir Pheles' tea. Under the counter, top right shelf."
"Wow, best tea I ever had", Shiro admitted, setting his cup down. "Your mom makes it herself?"
"Yes. She grows the herbs, I take care of the purchases. Weapons, ammunition, the lot." She gestured towards the cabinets that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. "It's more my type of work."
"My type of girl." Shiro took another gulp of the aromatic tea. "You training to be an exorcist?"
"Mom won't let me", she replied in a tone that made further comments unnecessary. "Dad was an exorcist; she's afraid I'll end up the same way."
"Sweetie, it has nothing to do with your father", Moriyama senior said, stepping into the shop with a soft, worried look on her face. "You're my child. If anything happened to you-"
"You're just afraid nobody will take over the garden when you can't work anymore. Those plants are your children more than I am." Sayuri disappeared out through the back of the shop, her cold words hanging like toxic dust particles in the air.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that... She has her father's strong spirit – it's more than I can handle, sometimes", Moriyama-san sighed, her kind glow fading like a wilting flower. She took the brown paper bag Sayuri had left on the counter and set to wrapping it, slowly, with hands aged beyond their years. "She's my most precious flower, that girl. I just couldn't bear to lose her. Maybe one day, when she has a daughter of her own, she will understand a mother's worries."
"It's an ungrateful act to neglect one's duty to the family and the family's-"
Shiro kicked Saburota's shin.
"She's lucky to have a mom like you, Moriyama-san. One day she'll understand that. And she will worry just the same with her sons and daughters."
"Daughters", she corrected, her smile faint but warm. "It's a strange thing that runs in the Moriyama family. We only ever give birth to daughters." She selected a deep purple string to tie the parcel with. "Women marry for sustenance, men marry for sons – it's how things have always been. That's how we got into this trade, too. My ancestors learnt the secrets of every tree and plant in the forest to sustain themselves, for no man would stay with them." She tied a fancy ribbon with four arches before she cut the string. "Ironically, that's also what made our fortune here." An apologetic smile turned her eyes down. "I'm getting old, I suppose, turning to nostalgia for comfort like this..."
"Good memories never age?" Shiro suggested with the hint of a smirk. "Honestly, I don't get people who look down on nostalgia. If you've got a nice life to look back on, well – good for you, right?"
"Rather than look back on better times, one should try to change the-"
Shiro kicked Saburota's other shin.
"My, you do look a little like him when you say that, Fujimoto-kun", Moriyama-san smiled into her sleeve. "If he was ever as young as you, that is… Do you mind this old lady indulging some more in her nostalgia?"
"Can't see why not." This time, a glance was enough to make Saburota shut up.
"You see, my great-great-grandmother was the first who knew Sir Pheles. We were forest-dwellers then, and he approached her one day in her orchard and said he could show her the Gardens of Amahara." Seeing as neither young man gave the appropriate oh or ah or really?, Moriyama-san elaborated: "The Gardens of Amahara are the gardens of God, where all the kinds of flowers and trees He created grow. It's the dream in the heart of every Moriyama. Great-great-grandmother turned the offer down, however", she said, a streak of amusement playing hide-and-seek in her words. "I would have, too, I suppose. But he came back, bringing with him a flower that didn't look like anything on earth, and asked again if she would let him take her to Amahara. She was still scared, poor girl, but seeing that flower…"
Moriyama-san turned a gentle smile in the direction of the lush garden. Most flowers were gone by now and the gardens only green. Sayuri's words gained a sting of truth when one saw how Mayu smiled at her garden: like a mother watching her children at sleep.
"It still grows at her grave. Sir Pheles took her to Amahara for the price of twenty years of her life: twenty years that she would work at the school he was building, supplying exorcists with herbs and teaching them how they could be used against demons." She pushed the parcel over to Shiro with the softness of good memories warming her features. "It says a lot about Sir Pheles, that deal. Women back then couldn't earn their own money. By giving her opportunity to teach her skill and make profit from her produce, he essentially sold more than he was paid for. He will never admit it, but there's a human heart behind that smirk."
Shiro had a distinct feeling he was being given pieces from different jigsaw puzzles and asked to fit them together. One could call Mephisto many things, but philanthropist certainly wasn't one of them. It's not in a demon's nature to do anything without gain.
"That sounds awfully cheap for a demon. He didn't ask anything more of her than that? Or of her descendants?"
"He did encourage us to develop new compounds of herbs – that tea is one of them." She nodded at the parcel in front of Shiro. "I shouldn't give it to him, really: it's what keeps him up and working all day and night. It's an extremely strong blend that boosts metabolism and converts food to energy many times faster than usual."
Shiro turned over the parcel in his hands. Sped-up metabolism…?
"So that's why he doesn't get fat from all those sweets?"
Moriyama-san hid her laughter in her sleeve as was proper in older times. Saburota pushed his glasses up without a word.
"Well, he wouldn't have such a craving for sweets if he didn't drink the tea, but I suppose… he would certainly gain a lot of weight if he kept that diet without it…"
Shiro had his own quite vivid pictures of what she must be imagining. Moriyama-san trembled with laughter, little glittering diamonds taking shape at the corners of her eyes. Strands of brown hair undid themselves from her bun and curled into a spiral at her temple, making her look younger and less work-worn.
"You should wear your hair like that more often, Moriyama-san. Ever thought of opening up a confectionary business on the side?" Shiro suggested with a crooked smile. "You could make millions with a customer like Sir Pheles."
"No, I haven't. But I might. Thank you, Fujimoto-kun", she said, the warm glow back in her eyes. "I see there's a kind heart behind that smirk, too."
"Ha…? What smirk?"
She got that motherly look that made his heart stop and twist, wishing she had been his mother.
"Maybe one day, when you have children, you will understand what I mean."
"It's prohibited to smoke in the Academy."
"I wasn't aware there was a rule against almost smoking", Shiro replied, an unlit cigarette lolling up and down between his teeth as they walked.
"Fujimoto-kun, I have seen your records, and I believe there is a lot more that hasn't been recorded. Frankly, I don't approve of someone like you becoming an exorcist."
"Frankly, I don't give a damn what you think. No, I don't do stuff by the book, but there's stuff you can't learn from books anyway." He gave Saburota a sideways look with one eyebrow hoisted. "But that's never occurred to you, has it?"
"You might want to change your tone towards people who outrank you."
"Rank doesn't mean anything where I come from; only how quick you are with a knife." He didn't miss the glance Saburota gave him: tense disapproval. Being afraid and hiding it. Very predictable. "And how well you judge your opponent. I think you could be pretty quick with a knife", he said casually, smiling crookedly around the cigarette, "but you really suck at judging people. Man, with all your skill and rank you couldn't even keep a conversation running without stumbling into every pothole in the way. Some things aren't learnt from books."
Saburota pushed up his glasses without a word, a gesture Shiro had by now attributed to discomfort and insecurity. Indeed, he had made quite a sudden switch in tone there. And Saburota had responded just as he'd expected.
Mephisto hadn't given him Todo Saburota for escort on a whim, no more than he'd given him detention with Katsuda Agari through coincidence. And whatever he had contracted the Moriyamas for, it sure wasn't charity.
The important thing with haughty bastards is to determine what that haughtiness conceals. Kita was most likely a genuine specimen, with a solid belief that his superiority over all other living beings was the natural order of things: that kind of haughty bastard is rare, either because there is a god or because nobody wants to reproduce with them. Saburota was the kind of bastard that used haughtiness as a shield to cover up timidity, or insecurity, or any other trait that could be called a weakness: more pleasant to deal with than the other kind, but also more unstable. While a genuine haughty bastard fills the otherwise empty haughtiness with belief, thereby making it solid, one that knows his pride is all smoke and mirrors becomes very volatile should the smoke dissipate and the mirrors crack.
Tossing the tea parcel up and down in his hand, Shiro pondered who was likelier to sabotage the academy – or save it. The genuine bastard or the false bastard? The latter, if he was any judge of things. The genuine bastard was already convinced of his excellence, while the false bastard had everything to prove to fill that empty pride with something tangible: like saving True Cross Academy from a demon invasion, or from a demon principal.
When Shiro returned to his dorm that night, all his belongings were standing in the corridor by the door.
A/N: I was toying with this visit in my head when I realised that in this manga, sibling groups are fairly homogeneous. Uwabami Hojo has only daughters, Saburota Todo has two brothers, Rin and Yukio are brothers (and by extension I'll also count Amaimon and Mephisto in), Moriyama has three generations of women but no men… Mind properly blown, I had to explain it somehow. In fact there's already an additional idea putting down roots in the back of my head. I shall follow the example of Anthony Crowley for now and glance at it sideways, to avoid scaring the little one off…