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The clouds had gathered over night, darkening as they grew in mass to block out the sun.

And then it rained.

Color seem to fade as the cold water fell from the sky washing away all pleasant feelings to be had as the world just felt darker on this day out in this field of lush grass and the crows taking shelter under the arms of trees crying out in echo. George, or... John, stood alone in the open, an umbrella in hand along with a priest and the grounds-keeper, who was holding his shovel instead.

"We are here to bid farewell to a good man and beloved friend," the priest spoke on trying to give the only present audience something wise to think about.

After the hour long speech the casket hovered over the six foot hole was now being lowered into the earth revealing the tombstone that stood behind the name, George Stuart, etched onto it. Once the bottom of the casket settled onto the bottom the grounds-keeper started dumping the mound of dirt down covering up the wooden box until his uncle's coffin can no longer see the sky. Before long the hole was filled and the soil was stamped evenly flat to match the rest of the ground, the grass will reclaim that small shape of moved dirt very soon.

John painful said goodbye to man who acted as better father than the man he must go back to.

After a long and depressing walk back, the rain beating down on him relentlessly from up high to down low as his shoes had to drag through shallow ponds, its cold and damp sensations will only be ignored to a young man who's already more depressed than the weather. Coming to the front steps of his house John reached out only to jitter a locked door. His so-called family has a guest over, but John had enough of his family's rules, he wasn't going to sneak around the back anymore, and so he busted the door down.

The people inside screamed in a short burst of terror before the guests looked on in confusion as to why a young man had forced his way in.

"I'm home you grateful sons of bitches!" John yelled as he stormed right in finding his parents and their guest in the living room with a lit fire to keep them warm looking startled.

"What are you doing here!" his father demanded in seething anger.

But John ignored him instead walkng over to his emotionally dead mother who was the only one remaining seated with as she was about to reach her tall glass of wine only snatched away and tossed to the ground by John forcing her to look at her child for once.

"Do you know where I just came from?" John questioned her having lost all patience for his mother, "Or do you wanna keep pretending that you're invisible."

"I don't know what you want," the guest spoke up to him as if to stand ground, "But punks like you should remain on the street, so go!"

"Go!" John retorted, "I live here," he told as he walked over to the piano and started playing finely to prove his point leaving the guest speechless.

"You have a son?" he spoke out in shock.

Mr. Smith sputtered to come up with an explanation, but while he stumbled on his own tongue John looked back to his mother without pitty.

"Uncle passee away. You're brother is dead!" George spoke up in growing aggravating tone, his mother tried to look away, but John grasps her face, and forced to look at him in the eye, "You don't even care! All you ever do is feel sorry for yourself, drink, and lay around all over town."

"That's enough!" his mother finally show emotion standing up from her chair, "I will not be spoke down to, especially by my own child. My own... mistake!"

*POW!*

Without hesitation John's fist balled up and smashed up against his own mother's face, his knuckles colliding right onto her left eyes.

"My god!" the guest screamed, "I think I've seen enough here."

In a haste the guest picked up his coat and rushed out of the house as if it were on fire and Mr. Smith grew tired of his "son's" existence and so he rushed over to grab John by the the neck lifting off the ground in a fit of rage.

"I have had enough of YOU!" Mr. Smith roared in anger as he strangled John, "You are nothing, but a shit stain on MY legacy! You and that whore mother of yours. Both of you know NO respect or decency, but that should be expected. You are not. MY. SON! you never were, you are just some disgusting spawn of a bastard-"

*BAM!*

As John struggled he swung his legs high towards Mr. Smith kicking right the gut, dropping him to clenching his stomach as he weezes for air only to knock over the table John's mother had her wine on, and tumble near the fire place. Mr. Smith's sleeve caught fire yanking his limb out to save himself however the embers followed out landing on the rug, curtains, and couch. The embers began to eat away at the fabrics growing larger and hotter soon enough the flames became wild, spreading across the house, smoke choking up air, and the residence were forced to flee out into the rainy ourdoors as the fire devoured the manor from the inside.

\Sometime Later/

The manor was ruins, nothing but smoking, wet, charred wood, the famed manor was no more as the firemen walked, and surveys the destruction left behind by the accident. Expect that they didn't know it was only an accident. Staring outside from the back of a police car John could nothing, but watch as Mr. Smith strung out his lie.

\Present/

"They believed every word he said," George explained near the end, "And I've been in juvie ever since."

"So you ditched family's name and took your uncle's name," Alisa put together along with Kay and Naomi.

"No," Daulton stopped her, "He took his REAL family name."

It was something to think about, but it was obvious that the people who merely housed him were far from family.

"But none of that matters now," Kay spoke up in optimism, "Because in the end they couldn't stop you."

"You think after coming this far some little piece of paper is make us think less of you?" Naomi restated her confidence in him, "You were meant to roll with us."

George smiled, it was a warm feeling that you get when you finally return home, that what George felt. He found himself home.

"I feel like the luckiest guy on earth," he stated joyously and the girls hugging tightly in loving embrace, "I think it's time for us to kick some Reds' ass," he remarked with and the girl cheering on in motivation, "But... " he stopped them there, "There's some stops I need to take care of first."

\Later On/

On a quiet day at the Nishizumi household Mrs. Nishizumi was in the main living room going through her mail and Maho was giving the family dog much needed attention as the canine rolled around on the floor. Filling the ambience in the room was the tv left on the sports channel talking about the match for the semi finals.

"It's surprising to say that, George Stuart, Sensha-do's first male tanker, has managed to take the Saunders to the semi finals," the caster stated, "People are already on their toes for their match against Pravda."

Hearing the news brought back the memories of the crushing defeat on the hill.

"Don't dwell on the past Maho," tried to lighten her daughter's mood, "I too underestimated him."

"Perhaps we should've talked strategy with Mr. Daulton while we had the chance," Maho added.

"And that's another boy we underestimated," Maho said with a soft smile that she is rarely seen doing.

*KNOCK* *KNOCK*

"I'm back," Daulton called out making the two ladies dread at the sound of his voice.

Slowly inching towards the door Mrs. Nishizumi peeked through the peep hole of her front door, but Daulton held his thumb against the looking hole.

"Open up it's important," he shouted out from the other side leaving the proud woman to relent.

"Haven't you tormented me enough?" Mrs. Nishizumi asked as she creeks open the door.

"Well this isn't really for me," Daulton corrected her as he brought George up front to her, "But this young man really need to say something to your daughter."

It was a confusing visit as Mrs. Nishizumi had plans to meet George in person on her own terms, but the two boys decided to come to her first. Maho and Shiho Nishizumi sat quietly on one side of the table while Daulton and George sat on the opposite end with Daulton being the most calm as he sips on a glass of water.

"Sorry for not giving a heads up, but I really needed to speak to you before the match begins," George explained clearly.

"But punctuality is not our strong suit," Daulton remarked.

"And this meeting?" Maho requested to know the whole purpose of this.

"Go ahead George, tell them."

"... I just wanna apologised for how behaved during our match," George wanted her to know, Maho feeling a brief sense of puzzlement, "I... acted like a complete villain out there and it was unacceptable. I've... already apologised to your vice commander and that girl I made cry in my first match." He noted to her thinking back to Erika and Rosehip, but those conversations weren't as polite as Rosehip slapped him across the face several time before forgiveness, and Erika want to blow him up.

Maho glances over to her mother who was just as perplexed as she was, Maho looked backed at the boy who looked to be completely humbled throughout the past couple of days.

"It's awfully polite of you to come all this way just to drop by to apologise, but there's no need," Maho assured him, "You won fair a square."

"But I acted like a total ass-hat," George recalled.

"True," Maho confirmed, "But you proved yourself to be a versatile opponent and can't wait to see how you handle yourself against Pravda."

"Oh yeah, we gotta get going," Daulton checked his watch, "Don't wanna miss the match."

"Thank for having me," George concluded.

"It was nice meeting the first boy tanker," Mrs. Nishizumi noted, "You do your best now."

"I will," George finished.

Outside Daulton started up a Bell 47 that Kay lent him to make these trips possible, the blades spun around faster and faster picking up the leaves