Finally, a chapter! Sorry for the delay, again, I'm SUPER BUSY. It's overwhelming!

Also, maybe it's not the super action-filled chapter you desired, but I promise it has...stuff.

Here you go!

Disclaimer: Let it gooo Let it goooo it's not even Sorachi's anymoreee

dorobooo dorobooo

don't steal that movie no moreeeeee


Eyes of Wolves

- 53 -


.: -HARUSAME 7th DIVISION- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.

"Danchou," drawled Abuto, surveying the flickering screen before him. "Looks like our girly took down the Kaientai."

"Oh?" Kamui grinned. "Has she?"

Abuto threw his commander a disparaging grimace. The scarlet-headed boy hummed to himself, rather cheerfully enjoying the reverberating crash that buzzed through the feed.

"See for yourself," said the vice-captain, gesturing to the live video.

"I see it, Abuto." Kamui's tone went low, his smile withering like ash. "But I don't believe it."

There were times when the younger Yato was frighteningly perceptive, frighteningly keen. But Abuto was deft and subtle and managed all of his years far better than Kamui managed his strength.

"Something on your mind?"

"I'm going to follow up on them."

Kamui, following up personally?

Kamui, failing to smile?

Abuto didn't dare swallow or object; he never glanced at the ring on his finger.


.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.

When he meets Ensign Delong, a peculiar camaraderie bristles between them like an alpha wolf that cannot decide whether the peculiar moon is friend or foe. Almost immediately, they survey one another with brief abandon. They both have hair cropped short, the back buzzed level, and they both sport simple earrings — Zenshi's black obsidian, and Delong's untarnished silver.

They finished initiation about an hour ago and are being assigned to higher officers. Among Zenshi's group are a few he recognizes: Mei, his old friend who ran straight into him maybe fifteen minutes ago, Zhuyi, the skinny boy from their orientation session, and a few Yato that he felt like might have lived in the same town.

"Seaman 373."

Zenshi raises his eyes and meets the ensign's. The man is, Zenshi realizes, not that much older than himself, perhaps residing in his mid-twenties give or take a few years. There is a simple, western-Earth style wedding band on his ring finger; he looks harried but efficient, finding no problem in Zenshi's wordlessness.

"Seaman 374."

Mei raises her hand.

"Seaman 378."

Zhuyi.

And the list goes on until Ensign Delong has a rack of eight newbies on his hands. He spells both death and disgust on his face, as if the thought of having to deal with a clot of young, inexperienced not-yet-pirates was the bane of his existence. And it probably was.

He surprises them all by announcing that they would go through a strength evaluation test. Some, like Zhuyi, nervous by nature, are taken aback. Others scoff at the idea, because they are Yato and simply Yato.

"This is the Harusame," Delong states without ornament. "You'll die if you overestimate yourself."

And so, there they are, oddly enough being observed by Kamui who has had the good fortune of immediate promotion. In fact, he sits with honorary title of captain at the measly age of eleven, to be diligent student of vice-captain Abuto until he "gets the hang of things."

"I don't overestimate myself," Zhuyi whispers under his breath.

"Don't whisper, I hear all," deadpans Delong. He snaps his fingers and points at Zhuyi. "You, skinny kid, you're up first."

"Yessirrightaway," Zhuyi stumbles over his tied tongue. He steps up to the little sparring area in the large training hall.

Without waiting a beat, Delong swings a simple punch. Zhuyi, by mostly luck and mostly Yato instinct, dodges and strikes back. He lacks coordination and skill, so his jab falls short and Delong snags his wrist and throws him to the mat. The boy lands with an unceremonious thump, and the entire group can hear the impact of his skin and bones body on the ground.

Delong is about to call for the next young recruit, but Zhuyi lurches to his feet and manages to grab the ensign's umbrella, drawing it with a wrenching motion and snapping it open. The older officer raises his arm in defense, but the skinny boy is surprisingly forceful in the next incredible push. It's visible then, Zhuyi's strength and background. He has seventeen years of pushing heavy plows when clogged in mud, seventeen years of throwing sacks of purple barley over his shoulder, seventeen years of cutting and carrying timber when the farm doesn't produce enough profit.

The ensign steps around the parasol and places a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"This is the Harusame," he says, quietly, "but don't underestimate yourself, either."


.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.

"Sir," called a tech, "connection has been lost."

There was no indication of who was addressed, and because three different people immediately attempted to take charge, a disoriented chaos ensued.

"Send out a squad immediately," Jenhao ordered.

"Reestablish camera connection via reconnaissance," Zenshi interrupted.

"Remain where you are, no action shall be taken," Linter commanded.

All three men exchanged glances.

Jenhao looked compelled to listen to Zenshi, but was somewhat torn. He wisely kept his mouth shut, exchanging a wary glance with Tsukuyo and her women.

"We wait. We shan't give them a chance to locate us. It's too risky." Linter's voice was hard, but it was nothing that intimidated his son.

"Send out reconnaissance." His son was equally stubborn, however. Stubborn in that when the time called for a commanding voice, he had it, and he sounded just like Linter.

"Too. Risky."

"Reconnaissance."

"No."

"Will both of ya just shut yer traps?! We'll go."

Everyone turned and stared at Tsukuyo; the room went silent, save for the erratic beeping of the radar struggling to relocate the Kaientai's ship. The shock did not dwindle, but instead it increased when the straw-haired courtesan took the lead and marched herself and her three Hyakka out of the room, motioning for one of the techs to show them the way.

"Well look at that," Linter said, dropping his formal tone in the way he did when he scolded his son, "you let that side show up, and she didn't seem to like it."

Zenshi stared at the man.

"Don't pretend it didn't happen, Zenshi. You're just as confrontational as I am."

But the older Yato had struck the chord, and the notes resounded erratically with Zenshi, who suffered into his enameled silence with a glower.


.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.

"Next."

The brawny Yato girl throws heavy punches, but none land. Delong subsequently announces that she has potential, but no coordination. She pretends not to be offended.

"Next."

Some of the fierce boys that look like they grew up in the gutters are witty and use underhanded tricks. They aren't scolded for their ways, but Delong has seen it all. They, too, have potential, but still remain sloppy.

"Next."

Mei doesn't even step onto the mat when Delong strikes, but she's more than ready, enticed by the challenge. It's almost as if the older Yato can gauge the level of a new recruit just on looks alone, because he enmeshes their spar with great verve and intensity. Mei is no pushover, either. Light-footed and incredibly flexible, she dances.

She lands one hard blow on the man's shoulder; he smiles.

"Not bad," he says, whistling. "Not bad at all. Where did you come from, tigress?"

Mei decides she likes the nickname, because she's grinning from ear to ear.

"Guess."

"Capital city's west side."

"Nope." Mei finds something amusing in the fact that Delong names the capital's shadiest district, and Zenshi suspects it's because she likes looking the part. No longer is she the preppy younger sister of a star.

"Spill, then." Delong crosses his arms.

"Omega Centauri Intergalactic Space Academy, top 99th percentile."

At this, there are only wry smiles of disbelief.


.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.

"Are you going to let your little lady go?"

He was condescending, aggravatingly so.

Zenshi turned sharply on his heel and swept out of the room, in pursuit of the Courtesan of Death.


.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.

"Next."

This time, the young Yato doesn't even have a chance to move, because Delong has drawn his parasol so quickly that most eyes fail to catch it — he shoots and then drives his fist down hard, so hard that the reinforced steel floor endures a painful dent. Most of the recruits leap back in alarm, eyes glued to the spot Delong's fist has made itself present, because there is no one there. One of them probably believes that the ensign's punch has disintegrated whatever being might have once stood there.

But of course, there is always an explanation.

There is explanation for the ostensible grin that splits across Delong's features, because he has found something, and that something is unbearably delicious. Formidable opponents are hard to find.

Zenshi lands, light, soundless, and drives his parasol into the back of Delong's head. The ensign ducks and shoots again, but Zenshi melds away from the bullet like it is miles away. Of course, the senior officer has more experience — he has confident, orderly attacks made unreadable by syncopated, random rhythms — but Zenshi is manipulative and difficult to predict.

"You look familiar," Delong calls, not even flinching as the barrel of Zenshi's umbrella gun lines up with his face. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like that damn politician?"

He's pushing buttons, and he knows it.

"Of course," Zenshi replies flatly. The Yato recruit with the scarred face throws his elbow down so hard that he nearly embeds himself in the metal floor.

"Oh really?" Delong clips Zenshi in the jaw with a forceful palm, but doesn't escape the hook of Zenshi's kick.

Zenshi smirks.

"I'm that damn politician's son, after all."


.: ONE YEAR AGO :.

Delong has nicknames for everyone.

Zhuyi, who is now Tabs, is "Skinny Kid," despite the fact that time has livened up his frame and made him into a fine, filled out young man.

Mei is "Tigress," because the moniker caught her fancy on that first day of squad orientation, and it fits her to the nth degree.

Kamui is fondly dubbed "Red Beard," and Delong can get away with it because he's friendly in a terse, unfriendly way by nature. A paradoxical man is never really accepted by Kamui, but Delong seems to be the exception. The fact that everyone has a strange nickname probably lightens the captain's mood.

Abuto is "Whisky," which is probably short for "Whiskers" — the poor vice-captain isn't sure he likes that, but there's nothing he can do. In fact, there are viable suspicions that Abuto and Delong are the same age.

Jinlin, Delong's cousin, is either "Cuz" or "Beverly." Why Beverly, no one knows. In fact, he probably calls her that to make her mad, which is quite the difficult feat knowing the impassive Jinlin.

He calls just about everyone "brat" if they're younger, and the old lady chef and her husband, the physician, are given nicknames that everyone follows. In fact, Delong is the one who coined "Pepper" — short for pepperlily, a fragrant dessert flavor their lovely chef is known for — and "Dr. Steth" for the old man's handy stethoscope that sees enough use to make it break.

And Zenshi. With his lieutenant, Delong is very curt but very sarcastic. "Damn politician" is a common one, and there won't pass a week without Delong fitting in a "Hello Mr. Senator, how do you do?" with a derisive grin here and there.

And, simply because it's Delong, and because Abuto only sighs and no one actually takes it to heart, Zenshi lets him.


.: -KAIENTAI- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.

"Like I said, you didn't have to shoot missiles at us."

"Oh Mucchi, you're such a drama queen." Mei's form of apology was timely but rather insufficient for the harried virtual captain of the well-to-do merchant company. "Now, pick a few people to get out of here with. The rest will be 'captives' for now."

"You also make the most convoluted, inconvenient plans," Mutsu grumbled. Tabs grinned at this, but received an elbow to the ribs.

"Well, whatever works, works," sighed Mei. "Can't have it look like I'm blatantly disobeying Kamui, can I?"

"You blatantly disobey everyone," snorted Mutsu.

"Mucchi, puh-lease," drawled Mei. "Let's get moving, though."

"Yes, let's do that. And where are we going?"

"We're—" Mei froze. Tabs's grip on her shoulder was like ice, like stone, like death. Mutsu turned around, and everyone ceased movement. A single breath would be treacherous. A single breath meant instant death.

"I asked you, where are we going?"

Kamui never waited for a single breath to be drawn.

After all, the admiral waits for none.


Is it just me or is Zenshi becoming more and more talkative? I swear...

And also, if anything between him and his father is unclear, ask away!

...frick frack. Linter why you so mean when you love your son?! WHY.

Also: ZenTsu is so hard to write, but it'll come. Fingers crossed!