Don't get me wrong. This is NOT a KilluaxKurapika fic. It's a different
pairing. You'll see.
Ch.2: Pain
When we got to school the next day, we faced a very angry Ubo. But when we described what had happened, his face grew a little thoughtful (yeah, as if the big stupid oaf could think in the first place) and he dismissed us. Word spread that Kuroro had helped a Green, his fellow sophomore teacher Kurapika. Generally, Kurapika was unwelcome in the school at all, to both staff and students. He WAS the only Green. How he managed to get into the school to teach was a mystery that no one could unravel. On a hunch, I think Kuroro knew, somehow – but to the students and the rest of the staff, Kurapika was generally unknown enigma that now everyone wanted to know about. The old rumors about the blonde teacher resurfaced, and the older students now found their arms full of little freshmen, wanting to know about the teacher. Several of the girls, as I heard, actually thought he was pretty hot – but they were quickly shushed. He WAS a Green. We didn't want him thinking we liked him or anything.
Class started quietly, as it did for the rest of the year. On the second part of class, after lunch, Kuroro again stepped inside. This time Kurapika's face didn't turn that pasty color it was yesterday when Kuroro spoke to him. It looked quite normal when he came back inside. And Kuroro didn't follow him this time; we assumed he had gone back to his classroom, which was probably still in session. But as I said before, C-12D was a strange class that always kept quiet. So, I guess Kuroro would be able to keep away from them for a few moments to speak with Kurapika.
Today we had history. Modern history, of course. It talked about the teachings of General Eterny Marks, who developed the system of the Colors way back in the beginning of the 1900s. In a monotonous tone, Kurapika read the script that ran down the pages. It also touched on the five Rebel Color Uprisings of 1920, 1923, 1975, 1981, and finally 1989. After each detailed (too detailed and too long-drawn, like death) description of what happened in each movement, there was a little bio on the main players in that movement. After the last one, to our amazement, there was "Kurapika Kurata (1952 -)", and a little bio about him. I wondered if the older students had forgotten about this part of the curriculum; here was everything.
"Kurapika Kurata was born on Colony Kurata in quadrant 46. His mother divorced his father when he was six. He lived with his aunt after his mother died. During the time, he attended Yorkshire University and earned the greatest honor that could be received at that school. When he was fifteen, he joined the Underground Color Movement and marched with them during September of 1989. He now teaches 12th grade sophomore classes at Brooklyn High, on addition to his music and mythology classes at Lomas University."
I was amazed. Our SCHOOL was mentioned in this book. Our very TEACHER was mentioned. All of us looked up to see what he was doing. He didn't seem fazed at all, that his name was blatantly on the white page in front of him. He read the curriculum like it had been John Fremont or Father Jose Junipera. He didn't seem to realize that that was HIS name that was on the page. And as I looked at the young teacher, I realized that, in a way, he was kind of beautiful. The girls had good eyes, I figured; if Kurapika had not been a Green, there would've been a whole bunch of girls around him. The way his hair fell, the detached concentration on the book before him – he looked like a picture in a book that someday, a millennium later, a student would look at and point and say, "Hey, that's Kurapika Kurata." In a strange kind of way, he looked nice. Real nice.
Shalnark hand was raised. Kurapika nodded. "Kurapika Kurata, do you realize that this is your history on this page?"
Kurapika looked up and gave a nonchalant nod. The class' eyes grew wide. He wasn't happy that his name was in the book (even if it was listed as a rebel)? He wasn't proud that he had gained so much fame that his own students would see his name in the book?
Shalnark cleared his throat again. "Um, isn't it an honor to have your name in the book?"
The teacher looked at all of us for a long moment. His eyes seemed to behold all of us at once. Then he answered softly, almost painfully, "It is no honor to be listed as a criminal."
Shizuku stood. "I don't think it's that…", she withered under Kurapika's gaze, "…bad."
A change wrought itself over Kurapika's face, just for a moment. The way the light shone right down, the way it slanted right through his bangs and seemed to reveal everything in his hidden eyes – for a moment it seemed like he believed her. It seemed, for a moment, that we were looking at a younger, happier, fifteen-year-old blonde who thought he was doing the right thing, joining the Rebel Color Movement. It looked like hope, like increduousity, it looked like everything good from Pandora's box. That expression seemed to lift all of our spirits – it seemed so inspirational, so incredibly REAL. It was the look of a man who had the world in his hands, holding the Holy Grail, or seeing the Fountain of Youth, or clutching the Sorcerer's Stone. He looked so real, and I thought I saw THROUGH him, and for a moment, truly understood him, stood in his shoes and became him.
And then, it was as if the shutters of the beautiful mansion were closed. Like shutters, eyelids closed over those expressive eyes and he straightened. Again his face became stern and unforgiving, his voice curt. The sun seemed to gray on his face from the strictness, and the ground became cold under our feet again. It was like a dream. Just a moment, then all gone.
"Of course not", he quietly snapped at Shizuku, who cowered in her seat (why? She's an Azure, after all). "I believe that only good biographies should be put in here. It doesn't make any sense to talk about a villainous rogue who led a movement against good protocol. Close up your books. I'm sure you've heard this once, but you'll hear it again."
Taking the pointer, he lifted it to the picture of Eterny Marks above the white board. "This is the great man who developed this highly efficient system of organization. He was a genius, by all means. He led the United Countries under the flag of Sindia to conquer this whole world. This way, we have absolute comfort and order in our country. You see, it is because of hated rebels like the ones in the Rebellion of 1989 that have led some people in our country to believe that our organization to be wrong."
Wrong, wrong. This all shouldn't be coming from him. Didn't he see it? His pride let our proud, proud teacher do this? He was backtalking to himself, didn't he realize? I could see the other's didn't understand either; he was talking about HIMSELF in a derogatory way. I held my face in my hands. Every single word he said against himself seemed to go straight to my heart. And I thought about our society, how it was managed. Unlucky wasn't the ONLY reason people like Kurapika were Greens; it was inequality. And looking around, I could see some people still didn't understand what was wrong with us. I kept this little information to myself, and vowed I would be a little kinder to Kurapika in the future.
"And so, people like Kurapika Kurata, namely ME", he emphasized the word, "are the criminals of our nation. That is why I am here today, why I cannot be like the rest of my family. In accordance to my actions, I have changed my family name to our colony name, Kurata. They do not want to associate with me, which is perfectly understandable because of my previous actions in the Rebel Color Movement. I understand the way society today, and see the light of Eterny Marks' philosophy. I was wrong in my actions, and I was young and brash back then. Now I know to obey the rules of protocol and organization that our great founder has set down for us." He paused, and the bell rang. Wordlessly he pressed the release button on our desks and dismissed us.
I stayed half a second at my desk before getting up. It sounded so painful, coming from his lips. He was talking about himself – I couldn't imagine myself going up there, in front of all your students, and talk about how stupid you were in the past. It made my heart break, to see such a warrior once, in the Rebel Color Movement (as much as that was wrong) be beaten to the ground so thoroughly than Leorio, Gon and I ever could. It had truly beaten him. I felt so sorry; here was a man who spent his life fighting, who now had to make peace with unruly students. It didn't suit him.
On a split second determination, I marched straight up to him. I opened my mouth, "Kurapika –" A hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me before I could complete my sentence. It was Kuroro, and his face was paler than anything I had ever seen.
"Go, now", he urged me. When I didn't move, he spoke again. "The bus is waiting, Killua." I wondered how he knew my name, but before I could do anything, I was shoved out of the door, the last one out, and before I was completely held out, I watched as the door closed on Kurapika's chair, Kurapika's face hidden in his hair and his hands, looking utterly defeated, completely spent. He seemed to be in great pain, by the way his shoulders shook with sobs. But I didn't see any tears. And then the door was closed, and I walked back down the hall and outside to the bus stop. I got on, and looked up at our class window. Kuroro was there, looking down at me, almost as if to make sure I wasn't back at the door, listening. Then he turned away, and the bus pulled away from the school to end another day.
I wondered what it felt like to be Kurapika, to be in pain all day long and not be able to relieve it. It was a prideful pain, and that was the hardest to bear. I didn't want to be a Green, I vowed. I'd stay an Azure. But all the same, I wondered, just wondered, what it would be like to be in pain every single excruciating second you're up there, talking about how horrible you are, talking about how the things you used to fight against but were too strong for you. I wondered, just what it was like to be him.
Ch.2: Pain
When we got to school the next day, we faced a very angry Ubo. But when we described what had happened, his face grew a little thoughtful (yeah, as if the big stupid oaf could think in the first place) and he dismissed us. Word spread that Kuroro had helped a Green, his fellow sophomore teacher Kurapika. Generally, Kurapika was unwelcome in the school at all, to both staff and students. He WAS the only Green. How he managed to get into the school to teach was a mystery that no one could unravel. On a hunch, I think Kuroro knew, somehow – but to the students and the rest of the staff, Kurapika was generally unknown enigma that now everyone wanted to know about. The old rumors about the blonde teacher resurfaced, and the older students now found their arms full of little freshmen, wanting to know about the teacher. Several of the girls, as I heard, actually thought he was pretty hot – but they were quickly shushed. He WAS a Green. We didn't want him thinking we liked him or anything.
Class started quietly, as it did for the rest of the year. On the second part of class, after lunch, Kuroro again stepped inside. This time Kurapika's face didn't turn that pasty color it was yesterday when Kuroro spoke to him. It looked quite normal when he came back inside. And Kuroro didn't follow him this time; we assumed he had gone back to his classroom, which was probably still in session. But as I said before, C-12D was a strange class that always kept quiet. So, I guess Kuroro would be able to keep away from them for a few moments to speak with Kurapika.
Today we had history. Modern history, of course. It talked about the teachings of General Eterny Marks, who developed the system of the Colors way back in the beginning of the 1900s. In a monotonous tone, Kurapika read the script that ran down the pages. It also touched on the five Rebel Color Uprisings of 1920, 1923, 1975, 1981, and finally 1989. After each detailed (too detailed and too long-drawn, like death) description of what happened in each movement, there was a little bio on the main players in that movement. After the last one, to our amazement, there was "Kurapika Kurata (1952 -)", and a little bio about him. I wondered if the older students had forgotten about this part of the curriculum; here was everything.
"Kurapika Kurata was born on Colony Kurata in quadrant 46. His mother divorced his father when he was six. He lived with his aunt after his mother died. During the time, he attended Yorkshire University and earned the greatest honor that could be received at that school. When he was fifteen, he joined the Underground Color Movement and marched with them during September of 1989. He now teaches 12th grade sophomore classes at Brooklyn High, on addition to his music and mythology classes at Lomas University."
I was amazed. Our SCHOOL was mentioned in this book. Our very TEACHER was mentioned. All of us looked up to see what he was doing. He didn't seem fazed at all, that his name was blatantly on the white page in front of him. He read the curriculum like it had been John Fremont or Father Jose Junipera. He didn't seem to realize that that was HIS name that was on the page. And as I looked at the young teacher, I realized that, in a way, he was kind of beautiful. The girls had good eyes, I figured; if Kurapika had not been a Green, there would've been a whole bunch of girls around him. The way his hair fell, the detached concentration on the book before him – he looked like a picture in a book that someday, a millennium later, a student would look at and point and say, "Hey, that's Kurapika Kurata." In a strange kind of way, he looked nice. Real nice.
Shalnark hand was raised. Kurapika nodded. "Kurapika Kurata, do you realize that this is your history on this page?"
Kurapika looked up and gave a nonchalant nod. The class' eyes grew wide. He wasn't happy that his name was in the book (even if it was listed as a rebel)? He wasn't proud that he had gained so much fame that his own students would see his name in the book?
Shalnark cleared his throat again. "Um, isn't it an honor to have your name in the book?"
The teacher looked at all of us for a long moment. His eyes seemed to behold all of us at once. Then he answered softly, almost painfully, "It is no honor to be listed as a criminal."
Shizuku stood. "I don't think it's that…", she withered under Kurapika's gaze, "…bad."
A change wrought itself over Kurapika's face, just for a moment. The way the light shone right down, the way it slanted right through his bangs and seemed to reveal everything in his hidden eyes – for a moment it seemed like he believed her. It seemed, for a moment, that we were looking at a younger, happier, fifteen-year-old blonde who thought he was doing the right thing, joining the Rebel Color Movement. It looked like hope, like increduousity, it looked like everything good from Pandora's box. That expression seemed to lift all of our spirits – it seemed so inspirational, so incredibly REAL. It was the look of a man who had the world in his hands, holding the Holy Grail, or seeing the Fountain of Youth, or clutching the Sorcerer's Stone. He looked so real, and I thought I saw THROUGH him, and for a moment, truly understood him, stood in his shoes and became him.
And then, it was as if the shutters of the beautiful mansion were closed. Like shutters, eyelids closed over those expressive eyes and he straightened. Again his face became stern and unforgiving, his voice curt. The sun seemed to gray on his face from the strictness, and the ground became cold under our feet again. It was like a dream. Just a moment, then all gone.
"Of course not", he quietly snapped at Shizuku, who cowered in her seat (why? She's an Azure, after all). "I believe that only good biographies should be put in here. It doesn't make any sense to talk about a villainous rogue who led a movement against good protocol. Close up your books. I'm sure you've heard this once, but you'll hear it again."
Taking the pointer, he lifted it to the picture of Eterny Marks above the white board. "This is the great man who developed this highly efficient system of organization. He was a genius, by all means. He led the United Countries under the flag of Sindia to conquer this whole world. This way, we have absolute comfort and order in our country. You see, it is because of hated rebels like the ones in the Rebellion of 1989 that have led some people in our country to believe that our organization to be wrong."
Wrong, wrong. This all shouldn't be coming from him. Didn't he see it? His pride let our proud, proud teacher do this? He was backtalking to himself, didn't he realize? I could see the other's didn't understand either; he was talking about HIMSELF in a derogatory way. I held my face in my hands. Every single word he said against himself seemed to go straight to my heart. And I thought about our society, how it was managed. Unlucky wasn't the ONLY reason people like Kurapika were Greens; it was inequality. And looking around, I could see some people still didn't understand what was wrong with us. I kept this little information to myself, and vowed I would be a little kinder to Kurapika in the future.
"And so, people like Kurapika Kurata, namely ME", he emphasized the word, "are the criminals of our nation. That is why I am here today, why I cannot be like the rest of my family. In accordance to my actions, I have changed my family name to our colony name, Kurata. They do not want to associate with me, which is perfectly understandable because of my previous actions in the Rebel Color Movement. I understand the way society today, and see the light of Eterny Marks' philosophy. I was wrong in my actions, and I was young and brash back then. Now I know to obey the rules of protocol and organization that our great founder has set down for us." He paused, and the bell rang. Wordlessly he pressed the release button on our desks and dismissed us.
I stayed half a second at my desk before getting up. It sounded so painful, coming from his lips. He was talking about himself – I couldn't imagine myself going up there, in front of all your students, and talk about how stupid you were in the past. It made my heart break, to see such a warrior once, in the Rebel Color Movement (as much as that was wrong) be beaten to the ground so thoroughly than Leorio, Gon and I ever could. It had truly beaten him. I felt so sorry; here was a man who spent his life fighting, who now had to make peace with unruly students. It didn't suit him.
On a split second determination, I marched straight up to him. I opened my mouth, "Kurapika –" A hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me before I could complete my sentence. It was Kuroro, and his face was paler than anything I had ever seen.
"Go, now", he urged me. When I didn't move, he spoke again. "The bus is waiting, Killua." I wondered how he knew my name, but before I could do anything, I was shoved out of the door, the last one out, and before I was completely held out, I watched as the door closed on Kurapika's chair, Kurapika's face hidden in his hair and his hands, looking utterly defeated, completely spent. He seemed to be in great pain, by the way his shoulders shook with sobs. But I didn't see any tears. And then the door was closed, and I walked back down the hall and outside to the bus stop. I got on, and looked up at our class window. Kuroro was there, looking down at me, almost as if to make sure I wasn't back at the door, listening. Then he turned away, and the bus pulled away from the school to end another day.
I wondered what it felt like to be Kurapika, to be in pain all day long and not be able to relieve it. It was a prideful pain, and that was the hardest to bear. I didn't want to be a Green, I vowed. I'd stay an Azure. But all the same, I wondered, just wondered, what it would be like to be in pain every single excruciating second you're up there, talking about how horrible you are, talking about how the things you used to fight against but were too strong for you. I wondered, just what it was like to be him.