Thanks to Liz and thedemonprist for beta-reading help, and animadri and kuramaschibi for encouragement. (And thanks to Madness for picking up the missing italics!)
The next afternoon, Hisoka found Tatsumi waiting for him beneath the big maple tree outside the dojo.
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the brilliant red leaves, casting intricate patterns of dancing light and shifting shadows beneath its canopy. Just as the sakura trees in Meifu blossomed all year around, captured forever in their springtime splendour, so were the maple leaves eternally afire in autumn shades of crimson and copper. But Tatsumi seemed oblivious to their beauty as he paced back and forth, head slightly bowed, hands behind his back. He was unaware of the way the dappled sunlight crowned his bent head with highlights of deep russet, and splashed his sober suit with a riot of swirling shapes that wouldn't look out of place in a carnival.
Hisoka blinked at the incongruity. Tatsumi detested being idle - he thrived on hard work and activity, something Hisoka secretly admired. Such a solid work ethic was a pleasant change from Tsuzuki's layabout ways. But his restless pacing seemed so purposeless, as if he couldn't bear to be idle for a second.
He looked like a salaryman cast adrift in nature's beauty, lost outside the sterile confines of his office.
Hisoka checked his watch and grimaced. Five minutes past three. He quickened his pace, his feet crunching the dried leaves on the ground.
Tatsumi stopped and lifted his head. "Good afternoon, Kurosaki-kun."
"Good afternoon, Tatsumi-san." He executed a hasty bow. "I'm sorry for keeping you waiting. I lost track of the time and-"
"An apology is unnecessary. I only arrived here a few minutes earlier."
Hisoka fumbled for the keys to the dojo. "I had to finish proofing one of Tsuzuki's reports." He unlocked the door and slid it open. "Don't you have a set of keys?"
"I do, but I was under the impression that visitors must seek permission from the sensei before entering the dojo."
"Oh. But I'm the only one here. I hardly qualify as sensei."
Tatsumi bent down to untie his shoes. "You shouldn't underestimate yourself, Kurosaki-kun."
"I..." Hisoka flushed. Even when Tatsumi offered praise, he phrased it as a command. "Yes, Tatsumi-san. But really, there's no need for you to wait outside if I am late."
"As you wish." He bowed his head.
Hisoka bowed as well, an automatic gesture. "I need to change. Please excuse me."
Mindful of his lateness, Hisoka changed in double-quick time. He came out with the katana to find Tatsumi waiting for him. They bowed together to the dojo then stepped on to the training floor.
"Where would you like me to sit?"
"I..." Hisoka looked around, a little bewildered by Tatsumi's deference. "I work in the centre. As long as you're a safe distance away, you can sit anywhere you like."
Tatsumi chose to sit on his knees in seiza by the far wall. With his back to the sunlight filtering in from the paper screen behind him, his features were cast in shadow.
Hisoka bowed to the katana, then went through the stretches and movements of the warm-up. Even in such a mundane activity, his body hummed with the nervous anticipation of performing for an audience. He forced himself to focus on his body, on the way his muscles ached as he tested them. He found himself wishing he were taller, broader in the chest, thicker in the biceps and deltoids. Even with the clothing covering most of his body, he knew the gi hung loosely from his shoulders and upper arms.
If his physical limitations were noticeable to him, it must be even more obvious to the man observing him from the sidelines.
Was that why Tatsumi wanted to watch? Maybe the secretary doubted his ability to improve with the katana. Maybe he wanted to see with his own eyes if Hisoka could ever be a worthy partner for Tsuzuki.
Of course. It was the only logical reason. Tsuzuki was his favourite.
Hisoka went through the sword exercises with grim determination. He would prove himself worthy. He would slice Tatsumi's doubts to ribbons as he sliced the invisible opponents he faced in iaido.
"Iaido is an art that requires correct technique and movement," he began. "Unlike kendo, there is no combat with an opponent, no scoring of points against another. The aim is to develop movements with accuracy and agility. By disciplining the movements, the spirit is cultivated as well. Some have described it as meditation in motion." He paused, a little self-conscious at how he sounded. "Would you like me to explain further?"
"Please do."
"It is said that in iaido, victory lies with the sword in the saya. We only achieve true mastery over the sword when we cultivate our spirit and find inner peace. It also has a literal meaning as well - each kata begins and ends with the sword in the saya." He began tying the saya to his obi. "In practice, there are ten standard forms of iaido kata, each representing defensive manoeuvres in response to various types of attack. I will demonstrate."
He sat on his knees in seiza, and focused on his breathing. With each exhalation, he let out the fear and doubts. He could do it. He knew he could.
"Ipponme, mae!"
The drawing cut was smooth, his posture straight as he stepped forward on his right foot. The tip of the sword ended just inside his right shoulder, as it should. He swung the blade high, both hands holding the tsuka, left knee shifting forward. All his power went into kirioroshi - the blade fell forward, the tip stopping precisely below his right knee.
That was it!
He performed blood removal as dictated by custom, rising to his feet as he snapped the blade down. After a pause to focus his awareness, he resheathed the blade. His heart was pounding, his cry still rang in his ears, but all he could feel was an intense feeling of satisfaction. There was still that delay between lifting the blade and the final cut, but the rest had flowed easily from one step to the next.
It took him a few seconds to remember Tatsumi's silent presence, so preoccupied he was with his technique. "I will demonstrate the other kata now."
"Take as long as you wish, Kurosaki-kun." Tatsumi straightened his shoulders. "I have done my best to control my spiritual emanations so they do not disturb your concentration."
"You can do that?" Hisoka turned to look at him, but it was difficult to see his face. "How?"
"Kagetsu magic." Tatsumi didn't elaborate further. "If you find my presence disruptive-"
"No, not at all." This was news to Hisoka. "I...I didn't know kagetsu could be used in this way."
"Why should you? You are not a practitioner of kagetsu." Tatsumi shifted a little, somewhat annoyed with the discussion.
Hisoka remained standing, unsure whether to be pleased by Tatsumi's thoughtfulness or disturbed by the implications. Did Tatsumi routinely use kagetsu to hide his emotions? Or was Tatsumi only hiding them now to spare his feelings? Gingerly he reached out, searching for a stray thought, a fleeting emotion with his empathic powers.
Emptiness. Not even the still lake.
"Does my use of kagetsu trouble you so much?"
"No. It's just...I can't sense anything." A barrier to his empathic powers - he never believed such a thing was possible. "If I didn't see and hear you, I wouldn't know you were here."
"Good. This is how it should be. Please continue your training, Kurosaki-kun."
Hisoka knelt back down in seiza position, still uneasy. How was he going to tell if Tatsumi was satisfied with him if he couldn't sense his emanations? He couldn't even rely on ordinary cues such as facial expressions because of the position Tatsumi had chosen for himself. How annoying. Hisoka had come to rely on his empathy to understand the people around him. As a child, his family had instilled in him a hatred for his talent. It was only as a shinigami that he discovered its true value in understanding and helping others. So to be bereft of it now, even temporarily, troubled him.
But there was nothing he could do, except demonstrate the kata. Tatsumi would come to his own conclusions. As to whether he would share them...only time would tell.
So he worked his way through each of them, calling out each one before performing the exercise.
"Nihonme, ushiro!" Similar to 'mae', except the enemy was behind him. He drew the katana as he turned counter-clockwise, left foot stepping out, delivering a horizontal cut, followed by the vertical cut of kirioroshi.
"Sanbonme, uke nagashi!" In response to a standing attack from the left, Hisoka deflected the strike using the flat of the blade, then cut diagonally down from the imaginary opponent's left shoulder to right hip.
And so it went. With 'Yonhon-me, Tsuka ate,' he fought off two enemies by striking one in the solar plexus with the hilt of the katana, stabbing the other behind, then vertically slicing the first one. In 'Gohon-me, Kesa giri' he faced an attack from the front while standing upright, and dispensed of the enemy with two diagonal cuts across the torso.
More opponents surrounded him from behind, in front, from left and right. Hisoka twisted to face each of them, light and graceful on his feet, using the hilt and blade to strike them down. The blade swung through the air, reflecting the sunlight, fast and sure as it moved from saya to cut the air and back to the saya.
By the final kata, 'Jyupponme, Shiho giri,' he faced four men diagonally placed around him. He struck the wrist of a man in front, drew his katana and stabbed one behind him, then dispensed of the remaining three with vertical kirioroshi cuts.
He stood still after he sheathed the blade, his chest rising and falling, a film of sweat over his brow and the centre of his chest. He knew he was getting careless towards the end, his precision lost as his muscles tired. Usually, he rested longer between kata, but he did not want to show a hint of weakness to his audience. He ignored the cramp in his calf, and the ache in his shoulders and arms.
Tatsumi was watching for weakness or fault, assessing the wisdom of his investment. Hisoka knew he couldn't show any failings now.
He turned to Tatsumi and bowed, shifting the saya to the right. "I still need to improve with the later kata. I know I sometimes pause when I shouldn't, so I need more practice in making my movements natural and flowing. My breathing also requires closer coordination to the movements. Sometimes my positioning is not quite correct, but I hope to improve over time."
Tatsumi said nothing for a long moment.
"Tatsumi-san?" Hisoka lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight, squinting to make out Tatsumi's face.
"Kurosaki-kun..." There was a husky catch in his voice. His gaze was lowered to the floor, making it impossible for Hisoka to see his eyes. "Have you completed all your exercises?"
"Yes." Hadn't he been watching?
"Good." Tatsumi pulled up the sleeve of his left wrist to check his watch. "I should return to the Shoukanka now. I have some important letters I hope to finish before the end of the day. Please excuse me."
"I...of course, Tatsumi-san." Was that it? Didn't he want to see more?
Tatsumi wouldn't even look his way, walking past Hisoka without so much as a second glance.
"I practise every afternoon here. You're more than welcome to come again."
"Thank you, but I wouldn't want to disrupt your training any further." Tatsumi was already at the entrance putting on his socks.
"But you haven't! Your presence hasn't troubled me in the slightest!" Hisoka felt again for any emanations, but came up empty. "Your kagetsu powers are very good."
"I'm glad you think so," Tatsumi replied, voice muffled as he tied up his shoelaces, his movements quick and impatient.
Hisoka watched him, bewildered at his rush to leave. Had his performance been so abysmal? Why wouldn't Tatsumi say something, anything? He never hesitated to criticise the other workers at the Shoukanka, freely chastising those who didn't meet his uncompromising standards.
"Are you trying to protect my feelings? Do you think I'm so dumb I can't work it out?"
Tatsumi's head shot up. "I beg your pardon?"
"I don't want to be treated differently to anyone else! I'm not a child anymore, even if I look like one to you!" Hisoka bowed his head, sick with humiliation. "If you think my iaido was bad, then say so."
"Kurosaki-kun." Tatsumi's voice was gruff. "I do not claim to be an expert on iaido. My knowledge comes from what little I've seen and read. My opinion is of no value to you."
"That's not true!" Hisoka strode quickly across the floor to where Tatsumi stood by the entrance. "You may only be a layman, but you can still perceive basics such as balance and flow and agility of movement. I want to hear what you have to say. I...I wouldn't have asked you to watch me if I didn't. I can take criticism without falling apart."
"I know you can."
"Tatsumi-san, if you were appalled or disgusted-"
"Not in the slightest." Tatsumi pushed his glasses up, his lips twisted in an ironic smile. "You have no idea, do you?"
"No idea of what?" Even standing close to him, Hisoka couldn't feel any emanations. He looked up, wishing he were a little taller so he could better see Tatsumi's eyes.
"You were beautiful. Fiercely graceful in motion, the katana was like an arc of light in your hands...but as I said, my knowledge of iaido is limited."
Hisoka gasped. Languid heat curled up along his spine, and down to pool in his groin. His muscles felt lazy, heavy, oddly lethargic.
"I must leave." Tatsumi's lips curled in disgust as he shook his head. "Forgive me."
"Tatsumi-san...don't..."
He was out the door before Hisoka could even complete the sentence. The door slid behind him with a loud slam.
"...go."
Hisoka clutched his arms, hugging himself. Tatsumi's praise resonated in his ears, but his mind was in too much turmoil to register the meaning. The heat and languor he had felt moments ago was gone. He felt cold and empty, deprived of something he didn't understand.
Numbly he walked back to centre of the dojo to meditate. It took him forty-five minutes before he could begin training again.
Watari and Tsuzuki were having afternoon tea outside when they saw Tatsumi striding back to the main building.
"Hey, Tatsumi!" Watari waved, mouth full of cake. "Come and join us!"
"Afternoon tea is over! Get back to work!"
"But we've just come outside."
"Did you watch Hisoka?" Tsuzuki asked eagerly, licking icing from his fingers. He hadn't bothered with the niceties of cutlery - or even crockery, judging by the crumbs he left on the table. "What do you think?"
"Go see for yourself! As his partner, you should be looking out for him!"
"He told me not to! He said I was a distraction because I fussed over him too much." He looked at Watari forlornly. "Can you believe he said such cruel things?"
Watari gulped down his mouthful and nodded. "That boy can be very tough."
"I don't blame him. The two of you are the laziest people in the Shoukanka! Get back to work or I'll cut both your salaries!" He stomped past them as he went inside.
Tsuzuki frowned as he picked up the teapot and cups. "I wonder what's happened to him. It's not like he's met with the accountants today. He doesn't see them again till next week, right?"
"You know him. He's probably working himself up in preparation." Watari picked up the plate of cake and stood up. "Let's go eat in my office."
The next week there was no one waiting under the maple tree.
At the Shoukanka, Tatsumi treated Hisoka with the usual formal politeness when they met in passing. He never mentioned his visit or abrupt departure from the dojo. Unfamiliar to such a curious situation, Hisoka deferred to Tatsumi's example.
Each afternoon Hisoka practised his kata alone. He focused on his breathing. His blade swept through the air, slicing imaginary opponents. Sometimes he imagined they were demons attacking from all sides. Other times he imagined it was Muraki, laughing like a maniac even as Hisoka cut his torso diagonally and sliced through his neck. Why Muraki found it so funny, Hisoka never knew.
He didn't see what Tsuzuki did to Muraki in the underground laboratory at Shion University. He had no idea if Muraki laughed or cried or squealed like a pig as Tsuzuki stabbed him. Asking for the blow-by-blow details didn't seem appropriate, especially when Tsuzuki was doing his best to forget it ever happened.
So in the absence of facts, his imagination was left to fill in the gaps. Hence, laughing Muraki who found every strike of the katana hilarious.
But even Muraki became a repetitious opponent who failed to hold his interest. Muraki wasn't the reason he practised iaido.
So Hisoka imagined a new opponent: a faceless entity clothed in darkness, lacking voice or expression or emotion. With each slice of the blade, he imagined cutting this mystery man open, hoping to find a motivation or reason behind his shadowy disguise.
He never did. But he kept trying.
One afternoon, Hisoka allowed Watari and Tsuzuki to observe him. They cheered and applauded every kata, blissfully ignorant of his true performance.
"Go, Bon!" Watari's blond hair flew about him as he punched his fist in the air. "That was excellent!"
"He's a master of the warrior arts, our Hisoka-chan!" Tsuzuki closed his eyes dreamily, a silly smile on his face. "Move over Terazuma! He won't be so high and mighty about his skill when he sees you in action!"
It was difficult to concentration with so much noise around him, so accustomed he was to solitude. Their emotions bombarded his mind like waves pounding the sand at the beach - all froth and bubble and mindless enthusiasm. He could have tripped over his hakama and sliced their heads off, and they would have kept cheering. Shinigami had near-immortal bodies, after all.
Nevertheless, he ploughed on for his adoring audience. They meant well by their breezy support and kindness.
But it wasn't kindness he sought.
Tatsumi came to mind unbidden, silent and reserved and severe, as stingy with his praise as he was with the Shoukanka's money.
You were beautiful...
He fumbled his footing, botching Morote Tsuki. His turns were clumsy, his thrusts and cuts lacking precision. If his imaginary enemies were men of flesh and blood, they would have struck him down in an instant.
Watari and Tsuzuki applauded loudly.
Hisoka's shoulders slumped as he sheathed the blade in the saya. He never felt so alone in his life.
A strong wind shook the glorious red maple tree, making the branches sway and creak. Crimson leaves swirled through the air, some pirouetting as the gusts lifted them up.
Hisoka squinted through his bangs and pulled his coat around him as he made his way to the dojo.
Usually the weather was pleasant all year in EnmaCho. There was the occasional rainfall, but most days were pleasant and sunny. But Hisoka couldn't remember a wind this strong before. The sun still shone brightly overhead. The sky was a clear blue. There were no clouds he could see.
Darkness engulfed him the moment he stepped under the maple tree. There was no dappled sunlight. The air was heavy and oppressive. Leaves drifted slowly to the ground, untroubled by any wind.
Hisoka stopped. How could it be? Outside the canopy, leaves still swirled around. It was as if the tree itself formed an enclosed space that operated independently of the laws of nature. No, not the tree, for the branches overhead swayed with the wind.
It was the shadows.
Hisoka whirled about.
Tatsumi leaned against the trunk of the tree, arms folded, completely motionless. He wore a rich brown overcoat over his customary tan suit, and the earthen colours made him blend into the grey-brown hues of the gnarled tree bark.
Hisoka's heart leapt in his chest. Unlike his previous appearance here, Tatsumi looked at complete ease, as if his home lay in the darkened hollows of the trunk itself. Camouflaged by his surroundings, his eerie stillness reminded Hisoka of a vigilant sentinel...or a predator waiting to strike.
Was Tatsumi here to test him again?
"Tatsumi-san. Good afternoon." He bowed his head in greeting.
Tatsumi inclined his head. "Good afternoon, Kurosaki-kun. Have you been well?"
Asking about his welfare - this was more words than Tatsumi spoke to him in their curt greetings at the Shoukanka.
"Yes, thank you. How have you been?"
"I am fine, thank you."
Neither of them spoke for a beat.
"The shadows here...are you controlling them?"
"Yes." Tatsumi pushed himself away from the tree to stand on his own two feet. "I don't use my powers regularly now that I am no longer an active Shinigami, but I practise now and then to maintain my skill." He made a sweeping gesture with one arm, instantly dissipating the shadowy darkness. Wind filled the air and leaves swirled around them. Sunlight streamed through the shaded canopy, dappling them both with light.
Hisoka looked around him, eyes wide with wonder. So this was kagetsu magic in action. He knew it had shielded him during the Shion University fire, but he had never seen it properly until now.
"Does it frighten you?" Tatsumi asked casually.
"No. Why should it?"
"I was merely asking, Kurosaki-kun."
Hisoka looked away. He didn't want to be patronised by anyone, especially Tatsumi. But to show his annoyance would only make him appear childish. "Why are you here?"
"I heard from Tsuzuki-san and Watari-san that you were progressing well with your iaido."
Hisoka flushed. What had those idiots been saying? "They know little of iaido, so they are probably exaggerating my progress. But I have been practising daily."
"I know. Even the Chief has commented on your dedication." Tatsumi looked toward the dojo. "Let us speak further indoors. This weather is not conducive to prolonged conversation."
Hisoka's mind buzzed with a million questions as they walked together to the dojo entrance. Why was he here? Did Chief Konoe order him to watch? Was he curious by the report he'd heard from Tsuzuki and Watari?
Inside, Hisoka slid the door shut, enclosing them both in the silence of the empty hall.
Tatsumi removed his shoes. "Have you had the opportunity to practise kendo?"
"Not really. I require a partner to spar with, but I don't know of anyone in our division with such knowledge."
"It's unfortunate there isn't anyone with complete bushido training in our division. I asked around the other divisions as well - no one could be found." Tatsumi sighed as he stood up. "Such skills are difficult to come by these days...as well as individuals with the dedication to learn."
Hisoka bent to untie his sneakers. "It doesn't matter. Iaido is considered the foundation for kendo anyway. For now, I'll continue to work at my iaido until I am satisfied with my standard."
"Humans can't improve without the spirit of competition, Kurosaki-kun. You will learn faster with a sparring partner. This is why I am here." Tatsumi bowed his head. "I have done some reading, and I wish to offer my services in this matter."
Hisoka's jaw sagged. "You think you can fight me because you've read about kendo? It's not as easy as it looks. You can't be an expert after looking at words and pictures!"
"I wasn't offering to spar with you myself," Tatsumi replied mildly. He extended one arm out to the deserted hall, clenched his hand into a fist and slowly lifted it up. "I offer you this."
Shadows raced towards him from every corner of the room, gathering and swirling beneath his fist in a seething dark mass. The shadows expanded to form a humanoid figure the same height as Tatsumi himself.
"He will not possess your swordmanship skill, but he will move faster than any human. Landing a strike on him will be testing for even the most skilled swordsman." Tatsumi's cool gaze flicked to Hisoka. "Would you be interested in a match?"
It was the same shadowy man he sliced with each sweep of his katana. The tall narrow silhouette, the shifting darkness within...this was his iaido opponent come to life. To test himself against such an elusive phantom was an exercise in madness. But the thrill of matching wits with Tatsumi was too precious an opportunity to turn down.
For days he had gone through the motions of practice without purpose. Now he had a definite goal.
"I accept your challenge." Hisoka lifted his chin to meet Tatsumi's gaze. "I will change and return shortly."
Intent blue eyes searched his face, then slid away. "I will wait."
Hisoka hurriedly changed into his gi and hakama. It was only on his way back to the training area that it occurred to him: what weapon would his opponent use? He grabbed one of the wooden swords - it was all that was available.
Tatsumi waited for him at the entrance, his shadow servant on his other side. When Hisoka bowed to the dojo, they bowed with him before stepping onto the training floor.
"This isn't the same as a katana, but it's the closest thing we have available." Hisoka held out the wooden sword to Tatsumi.
"It will be fine," Tatsumi replied. He gave it to his shadow servant. The servant placed it on the ground and bowed to it.
Hisoka watched, impressed. No doubt the servant was merely following Tatsumi's commands, but it appeared to move independently of its own free will. He glanced back across Tatsumi to see if he was making any gestures to control it.
Tatsumi sat in seiza position by the window, hands in his lap. "Is there something wrong, Kurosaki-kun?"
"Nothing." Hastily Hisoka lay down his sword and bowed to it too.
He was allowing himself to be unnerved by Tatsumi's presence again. Damn.
Hisoka knew Tatsumi was here to test him. Driven by his guilt over his inability to care for his ex-partner, Tatsumi depended on him to take care of Tsuzuki. He still recalled Tatsumi's words to him when they were in Hakushaku's Castle of Candles:
The one who works as his partner from now on is you, Kurosaki-kun. Please take care of him. Please support him.
So the burden of responsibility now rested on him...and his katana.
Hisoka banished the thought from his mind as he went through his warm-up stretches. He couldn't fail. His place here at the Shoukanka depended on it. His place as Tsuzuki's partner depended on it.
The approval of Tatsumi Seiichirou, Shoukanka secretary, depended on it.
Preoccupied with his thoughts, he had no idea of the supple grace of his long limbs. He didn't see the how the sun brought out the reddish highlights in his chestnut hair, or the taut lineaments of his muscles as he sought to stretch them that little bit more.
From his position seated in seiza, Tatsumi saw no reason to inform him about such trifling details. He merely waited, head bowed to avoid further distraction. Beside him, the shadow servant obediently followed his example.
When Hisoka finished tying the saya of the katana to the obi, the shadow servant stood up to face him, wooden sword in hand. To Hisoka's surprise, Tatsumi remained in seiza by the wall.
"I can control the shadows from here without difficulty," Tatsumi told him.
"But you won't be able to prepare for my attack if you can't see me properly," Hisoka pointed out.
"Very well." Tatsumi stood behind the shadow servant. "Is this to your satisfaction?"
Tatsumi was now directly in his line of vision, a distracting presence looking over the shoulder of his opponent. But at least in this position, Tatsumi would have to take the match seriously.
"Yes." Hisoka refocused his gaze on the shadowy figure before him. "Please don't insult me by lowering your guard or limiting your blows." He unsheathed his katana with his right hand, the left holding the saya. "I want this to be a proper match."
"I see." Tatsumi pushed his glasses up. "As you wish, Kurosaki-kun. I will give you...a proper match."
The shadow servant performed a standing bow to Hisoka, the wooden sword held in its right hand.
Hisoka did the same in return, as dictated by custom. Then he attacked, running forward, katana raised over his head. "Men!"
The shadow servant took a single step forward. It angled its sword to the right, flat of the blade exposed to block Hisoka's attack. Wood eased under the strength of folded steel. But instead of resisting further, the shadow servant slid the sword forward - its target Hisoka's shoulder.
"Doh." Tatsumi's low voice - controlled, deadpan, and precise.
Hisoka sidestepped, aborting his attack and narrowly avoiding the sword in a single movement. He separated and whirled around, his back to Tatsumi.
The shadow servant turned to face him, sword upright. The katana had left a single sharp indentation over the wooden surface.
"Fast." Hisoka took a moment to catch his breath. "No hesitation."
"I see what it sees. I hear what it hears. I feel what it feels." Tatsumi began walking around him, arms folded, until he faced Hisoka again. "It wouldn't be a proper match otherwise, Kurosaki-kun."
"Good." Hisoka took deep breaths in and out. "That is how...it should be." Adrenaline roared through his bloodstream, making his heart pound and his muscles twitch in nervous anticipation. His mind was a chaotic jumble of fractured thoughts and half-formed sensations. The mental state of 'zanshin' - the calm alertness expected of all practitioners - eluded him.
But he didn't care. For the first time in weeks, he felt alive.
The shadow servant lunged forward, swift and soundless, sword upraised.
"Kote," Tatsumi said quietly.
The blade sliced through the air over Hisoka's arm.
Hisoka stepped back and swung his katana up to deflect the attack. Steel and wood collided, but both remained intact.
His opponent was strong. With its height advantage, the shadow servant had leverage and reach in its favour. Hisoka gritted his teeth as he tried to swing the katana away.
Neither blade moved. Neither of them shifted their footing. They were locked together.
When it came to brute force, Hisoka knew he couldn't win. He had the superior weapon, but it was useless without the muscle power to wield it effectively. His physical body would never reach its full potential.
The tip of the wooden blade slanted forward an inch.
Hisoka stared into the faceless void of his opponent. Swirling shadows filled his vision, unnerving him. He saw no sign of exertion or fear or determination or triumph...none of the emotions possessed by an entity capable of independent thought. There was nothing to see but impenetrable nothingness.
The steel blade trembled as it fell further. From the corner of his eye, Hisoka saw the blade's gleam wink out as shadows fell across the katana, dulling its sheen.
His katana. His soul.
Hisoka stepped back, abruptly pushing his blade away and free. It gleamed as it reflected the rays of the afternoon sun. The shadow servant fell forward under its own momentum, blade down, body exposed.
Hisoka swung the blade across and lunged for the throat. "Tsuki!" His shout rang out in the dojo.
Wood slammed into steel, deflecting the near-strike.
"Kote," Tatsumi replied. He didn't even raise his voice.
The wooden sword swept forward to strike Hisoka's forearm.
Hisoka retreated, his wrist throbbing with pain, his mind seething with anger. He ignored the shadow servant as he glared at the master himself.
"Is there a problem, Kurosaki-kun?"
This was what he wanted - a proper match. He could hardly blame Tatsumi for giving it to him. But there was something about Tatsumi's detached manner that infuriated him. His suit was neat and immaculate. Every strand of hair remained neatly in place. He didn't have a drop of sweat on his skin.
Hisoka looked away, wrestling his temper under control. "The kiai should be spoken loudly. It's the vocalisation of your fighting spirit. But the way you say it...it's like you're reading words on a page!"
"Forgive me. As I am not directly in combat with you myself, I didn't think an attacking cry was appropriate. However, I did wish to state my intended target to simulate proper match conditions." Tatsumi frowned as he looked at the shadow servant. "Kagetsu is an art conducted in silence."
"I see." Hisoka shook his sweat-damp hair out of his eyes. Tatsumi wasn't trained in martial arts - how was he to know?
"If you like, I can call out each target"
"No. Hearing your shout from one direction while the shadows attacked from another is distracting enough." Hisoka flexed his wrist to test it. It was healing, the pain already fading to a trivial ache. "Silence will do."
"As you wish." With his hand over his face, Tatsumi pushed his glasses up his nose.
Hisoka seized the opportunity. He charged forward. "Men!"
The shadow servant lifted its blade to defend itself, but it was too late. The katana made contact with its forehead, then sliced through its blank face.
No resistance. The blade moved through the darkness as easily as a hot knife through melted butter.
Hisoka blinked at this revelation. Where was the solidity of mass, the source of its strength?
The shadow servant retreated, its movements as light and effortless as a leaf floating in the wind. The strike didn't affect it in the slightest.
Behind it, Tatsumi watched carefully, his blue eyes narrowed. "You attacked me before I was ready."
"You dropped your guard. I took advantage of it." Hisoka kept his gaze on his opponent, waiting for it to make a counter-attack.
It lifted its sword, but made no move. Waiting for him?
He wouldn't disappoint it. Hisoka raced forward, katana swinging up. "Doh!"
Wood crashed down on steel, aborting the attack. It struck Hisoka's wrist before he could avert it.
Hisoka retreated, teeth clenched against the pain. Why did he have to feel pain, but his opponent nothing? The blow to the head should have sent it reeling, but it remained standing before him, unmoved and unbowed.
"Men!" Hisoka charged again.
The shadow servant darted to the right. The wooden sword hit Hisoka's right shoulder.
Hisoka hissed and pivoted around. His opponent was insubstantial and evanescent as the shadows itself. It wasn't bound by the laws of physics that restrained Hisoka's all-too-human Shinigami form.
This wasn't a fair match. Then again, life had never been fair to him. Why would the afterlife be any different?
Hisoka lunged forward. He would heal soon enough. Pain shouldn't matter to a Shinigami. He struck the wooden sword, deflecting it to the left, then continued the swing upward and forward. "Men!"
The blade cleaved the faceless head a second time. The shadow servant slipped away.
Hisoka also retreated, taking some pleasure in watching his opponent retreat so quickly. He waited until it paused a safe distance away, then attacked again.
"Kote! Men! Doh!"
Wood and steel clashed in a fierce barrage of strikes and counter-strikes. Tiny splinters of wood fell from the shadow servant's sword. Hisoka dodged and pivoted as his opponent deflected his katana and responded with strikes of its own. For once, Hisoka found his stature an advantage - he could move faster on his feet than a larger man. He danced away as the sword swept by his head and shoulder. No mark was made - merely the feather-light brush of the air current over his flushed skin.
"Men!" Hisoka lunged forward again.
The shadow servant blocked him with a single blow to his katana. It stepped closer, locking their blades together. With the flat of the wooden blade, it pressed the katana down.
Hisoka's fingers tightened around the tsuka as he tried to bring his blade up. His injured wrist and shoulder protested, the muscles trembled to maintain resistance - they were still recovering from the previous strikes.
But the strength of his opponent was relentless. The shadowy form seemed to tower over him, filling his vision, surrounding him in darkness. Such strength from a being without matter...it defied logic. Even the swordsman of Kokakurou , for all his speed, had a solid form that was vulnerable to attack.
How could he defeat an opponent that possessed no weakness?
A flash of light caught his eye in the darkness, something gleaming and bright. It was Tatsumi's glasses reflecting the sunlight, so bright it penetrated the shadows of his creation. Unmoving, remote, observing his performance.
Dammit.
Hisoka yanked his katana free and stepped back. The shadow servant thrust forward at Hisoka's chest. The wooden blade glanced off his shoulder as Hisoka sidestepped past it.
"Doh!" His blade sank into the swirling shadows of its torso.
The shadow servant slipped free, unfettered by physical restraint. Its wooden blade swerved and swung down.
No escape. Hisoka ducked and swung up his katana to shield himself.
The impact reverberated in the hall. Shockwaves of agony went through Hisoka's entire body, upsetting his balance. His arm and shoulder buckled in pain. The wooden blade slowed, but moved inexorably to Hisoka's throat as he fell backwards.
He wasn't strong enough to counteract it. He was too weak. Unable to protect himself, let alone anyone else - he was too weak to be of use to anyone. Even a servant of shadows would be more useful...
"NO!" He swung his katana in one desperate blind strike.
Wood splintered everywhere. Some of the splinters fell on his face as he hit the ground with a heavy thud. Shavings floated into the air like dust motes, sparkling as they caught the rays of sunlight.
Something clattered to the ground beside his head - the blade of the wooden sword, shattered two-thirds along its length.
The shadow servant looked down at Hisoka, then at the stump it held in his hand. Although without expression, its confused body language spoke for itself.
Saved by his katana. But as long as his opponent remained standing, the match wasn't over. He had to attack the source of its strength.
Hisoka lunged up and charged through the shadow servant, his katana leading the attack. The shadows dissipated around him, silently acquiescing to a superior will.
Tatsumi waited for him, arms folded. He made no attempt to shield or defend himself.
"Tsuki!" Hisoka held the tip of his katana inches from Tatsumi's throat.
Apart from mild surprise, Tatsumi showed little other emotion. Clear blue eyes regarded him steadily over the gleaming blade.
His remoteness made Hisoka's blood boil. "Tatsumi-san..." Hisoka lowered his gaze, but he didn't lower the blade. "I...I have something to say to you."
"By all means, speak." Tatsumi eyed the blade. "After you have put away your katana, of course."
Hisoka withdrew the katana and sheathed it in his saya. "Your shadow servant is an extremely skilled opponent."
Tatsumi acknowledged the praise with a nod of his head. "Thank you. I did a lot of research in my off-duty hours to understand the manoeuvres and technical aspects. I hope it was to your satisfaction."
"You...you must care for Tsuzuki a great deal to go to all this trouble."
Tatsumi paused. "As Shoukanka secretary, I am responsible for the welfare of all Shinigami-"
"You don't fool anyone with such a lame excuse. We all know how you feel about Tsuzuki." His quiet voice held a trace of bitterness. "It must be the worst-kept secret in the Shoukanka."
Tatsumi's eyes narrowed. "This is news to me." He placed his hands behind his back and walked a few steps away to put distance between them. "So tell me, since you seem up-to-date with the latest gossip, what am I supposed to feel for Tsuzuki-san?"
Simmering anger radiated from Tatsumi. Hisoka didn't need empathic ability to identify it. And it made him glad. For one savage moment, he found joy in knowing he could disrupt Tatsumi's rigidly-held emotional restraint.
"You're guilty because you couldn't cope with Tsuzuki's emotions when you were his partner. You felt responsible each time he became upset and miserable. You wanted to protect him from everything out there in the big bad world and you failed." Hisoka saw no reason to hide the truth - he couldn't spare Tatsumi's feelings at the expense of his own any longer. "Well, what makes you think I'll do any better?"
"You've already been his partner much longer than I have. You could hardly be worse than I."
"But you saw how I performed in Kyoto - how hopeless I was in fighting Oriya Mibu. You agreed to help me get the katana because you wanted me to protect Tsuzuki. I understand this." Hisoka lowered his voice. "Really, I do." He held the saya firmly in his hands, reassuring himself of its weight and strength. "I want to help him too. But there's only so much I can do."
"As long as you are by his side, that is enough," Tatsumi said flatly.
"Is it? What if I fail to protect him from a rampaging demon? What if he sinks into black despair because of the nature of his work? Will you want the katana back plus depreciation costs?"
"I have already told you that the katana is for your use alone. Whether you choose to take it on assignment or use it only within the dojo is up to you." Tatsumi was patient and firm - like a teacher dealing with a quarrelsome student. "Your position as Tsuzuki-san's partner was not a factor in my decision to purchase the weapon for the Shoukanka."
"Don't patronise me! Everything you do is for Tsuzuki! Your visits to inspect the dojo and observe my iaido, this match against your shadows - this is how you salve your conscience. You can't be with him, so you want me to be there in your place. You're trying to groom me to be your...your..."
Tatsumi's gaze glinted with icy anger. "Your what?"
Hisoka shook his head and turned away. He was repeating the same stupid pattern all over again - trying to prove himself equal to others who cared nothing for him.
"Idiot," he whispered. He hugged his arms around himself. "I'm such an idiot."
"Kurosaki-kun?" Tatsumi approached him, puzzled by the change in mood. "What is it?"
"Get away from me!" Hisoka whirled around. "I'm not going to be a puppet any longer! Not my father's, not Muraki's...and not yours! I am my own person! I don't have to live up to anyone else's expectations but my own!"
Tatsumi blinked, stunned by this announcement. "Puppet?" he repeated slowly. "What...where did you get such a preposterous idea?"
"All my life I've been used by others! To my father, I was the one who would carry on the Kurosaki lineage. To Muraki, I was a doll he used to practise his magic and manipulate for his own twisted gratification. As for you, you want me to be a stand-in guardian for Tsuzuki. You want me to care for him, support him, give him the things you can't." He looked directly at Tatsumi, green eyes glittering. "You want me to be a version of you!"
"I never said such a thing, Kurosaki-kun," Tatsumi replied coldly. He pulled out his handkerchief, then took off his glasses to wipe the already-immaculate lenses clean. "Please don't put words in my mouth."
"What else can I do, Tatsumi-san? You reveal so little about your true feelings." Flippant, but Hisoka could afford to be reckless now. He had nothing else to lose. "I've always wondered - would you have bothered to save me from Touda's flames if you couldn't save Tsuzuki? But the answer is obvious. I'm only useful to you as long as Tsuzuki's around-"
"Quiet." Strong hands grabbed his shoulders. Tatsumi loomed over him, blue eyes narrowed to slits, his glasses absent. He looked different without them, somehow. More human. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't touch me!" Hisoka twisted, but was no match for Tatsumi's strength. Instinctively he grabbed the tsuka.
"You fool." Tatsumi's fingers tightened in his shoulders. "Tsuzuki-san wasn't the one I meant to save. When I saw the fire-snake's black flames, I understood the sincerity of his death wish. But when you ran in after him - so courageous and impulsive and foolhardy - how could I do nothing to protect you?"
Hisoka couldn't breathe. Heat filled his entire body, a wildfire that raged through his limbs, along his spine and down into the pit of his abdomen. His fingers loosened around the tsuka, filled with a strange lassitude. This feeling...he remembered it from before. He didn't understand what it meant then, either.
But as he looked up into Tatsumi's smouldering blue eyes, Hisoka knew what he wanted. "Tatsumi-san...please..."
Tatsumi seized his jaw with one hand, angling it up. His lips were merciless as they descended, forcing Hisoka's lips open, drinking from his mouth like a man dying of thirst. With his other hand, he pulled Hisoka against him, fingers tangling in the fluffy softness of chestnut hair.
Hisoka's fingers pulled clumsily at his tie, fumbling beneath the suit jacket to stroke the powerful muscles hidden by the shirt. He was trembling all over in reaction, desperately trying to assimilate the torrent of sensations flooding his mind and body. The graze of Tatsumi's teeth as he nibbled his lips, tracing a path from the corner of mouth, along his jaw; the convulsive grip that held him so tight Hisoka could hardly draw breath...
Was this really all for him?
Tatsumi's teeth grazed the curve of his throat. "For so long I've wanted to do this..." He fell to his knees and pulled Hisoka to the floor with him. Yanking at the gi, he dragged it off one shoulder, and pressed open-mouthed kisses against the exposed white flesh.
"Ahh..." Hisoka shivered, fingers splaying over the expanse of Tatsumi's broad back. His entire body was afire. Liquid pleasure flowed from his shoulder where Tatsumi devoured him, making him squirm and writhe in response. Salty-sweet velvet filled his mouth. It took him several hazy seconds to register what it was - the taste of his skin on Tatsumi's tongue.
His pleasure, Tatsumi's pleasure - he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Such a miasma of erotic sensation bewildered him - but not enough to push Tatsumi away. He pressed himself full-length against lean muscle and bone, and lowered his flushed face to the solid warmth of Tatsumi's shoulder, blindly seeking an answer to a question he couldn't express in mere words.
Tatsumi tensed, then wrenched himself away, severing everything. His chest heaving, he staggered to his feet.
Hisoka was too stunned to protest. The warmth, the pleasure - all suddenly gone. All that remained was a yawning black void inside him, keening to be filled. It made no sense. Usually he was glad when he broke empathic links with another person. To be himself again, intact and whole was a relief.
So why did this ache so much? This horrible emptiness...where was it coming from?
"I...forgive me..." Tatsumi ran trembling fingers through his hair, which had fallen over his forehead into his eyes. "I didn't mean to engage in...such reprehensible conduct. I assure you...it won't happen again."
The pain was everywhere, paralysing Hisoka. Even breathing hurt, as if he'd been physically beaten. But inside, his mind was in turmoil. He wanted to scream. He wanted to draw his katana and strike Tatsumi through the chest so he could feel a fraction of this terrible ache blossoming inside him. He wanted...
He shook his head wildly. Too much feeling. He couldn't think with so much emotion. He tried to reign in his empathic abilities, barricade his mind against all feeling... and was left with the dull ache of irretrievable loss.
Was this emotion Tatsumi's or his?
He stumbled to his feet. What a stupid question. He was an empath - any stray emotion he picked up automatically became his. This was his gift. This was his curse - the one he had carried all his life.
Tatsumi was gone. The door to the dojo was already open. A few maple leaves flew inside, scattered by the wind.
Tentatively he touched his shoulder, still wet from Tatsumi's mouth. His lips throbbed from the pressure of Tatsumi's hungry kisses. Muraki had touched him years ago...but it had never affected him like this. Muraki had repulsed and terrified him to the point of gut-wrenching nausea, playing on his helplessness and fear, finding sadistic pleasure in turning his body's involuntary responses against him.
But this was different. Hisoka wanted more. He needed more.
Why didn't Tatsumi? Was it something he did wrong? Did Tatsumi see something?
Hisoka stared down at himself. The curse marks weren't visible to him. But maybe Tatsumi, with his kagetsu powers, had seen the invisible brand. The mark of one who would always be under the thumb of another - an eternal puppet.
Blindly Hisoka went to the entrance and thrust his feet into his shoes. He didn't bother to change his clothes or return his katana or tie his shoelaces.
One way or another, he needed to know.
Leaves swirled around him, obscuring his vision. The gi tunic was flimsy protection against the elements. The wind bit into the bare skin of his arms and throat, raising goosebumps over his flesh. So cold...but he kept walking. He wanted to deaden his nerve-endings with the cold. He never wanted to feel anything again.
In a dream-like daze, he kept walking and walking. Past the maple trees with their tumbling leaves and shifting shadows, to the delicate pink sakura trees in the distance. Such a cold yet beautiful day.
"Hisoka!"
Tsuzuki was running towards him, Watari a few steps behind.
Something crumbled inside him. "Tsuzuki..."
"What are you doing? You'll catch pneumonia dressed like that!" Tsuzuki tore off his black trenchcoat and wrapped it around Hisoka's shoulders.
Watari bent down to look into his eyes. "Are you all right, Bon?"
Hisoka stared at him blankly, then at Tsuzuki.
"Hisoka?" Tsuzuki's voice was soft with concern. "What happened?"
"Can you see them?"
Watari frowned. "See what?"
"My strings." Hisoka pulled up the sleeves and looked down at his arm. "They're here...and here..." He suddenly yanked at the opening to the gi robe, exposing his upper chest. "Here too. See the delicate handiwork?"
Tsuzuki's eyes darkened as he looked for himself. "There's nothing there, Hisoka."
"You're not looking close enough." He thrust his arm up to Tsuzuki. "The curse is everywhere! Muraki said it himself - it's in my cells, a living part of me. There's no escaping from what I am - a puppet! All my life...it's all I'm good for."
"Bon, what are you talking about?" Watari looked from Hisoka to Tsuzuki and back again, hopelessly confused.
"You are not a puppet," Tsuzuki said, his voice low and serious. "Spells can be broken. Curses can be countered. Right, Watari?"
"Of course they can."
Hisoka studied the pale flesh of his arms. "To me, they're invisible most of the time, but I don't have your spiritual power. Maybe you've seen them all this time, but you didn't want to say anything to hurt my feelings." He looked up at Tsuzuki, lips twisted in a pained half-smile. "I know the type of person you are."
"Hisoka, I'm not lying to you. I can't see anything."
"But he saw them! He took one look and..." Unshed tears choked his throat - the ultimate humiliation. "He couldn't...bear to touch me. It disgusted him...so much...he ran away..."
Tsuzuki held out his arms. "It's all right, Hisoka. Come here."
Warmth, comfort, unconditional acceptance stole into his mind - the pure unselfish love Tsuzuki had offered him from their very first meeting. Hisoka knew he didn't deserve it. But he took it anyway, hugging Tsuzuki tightly as he wept against his shoulder.
Tsuzuki's touch didn't fill the emptiness, but it eased the ache a little.
"I'll never be free of it...for as long...as I have...this useless body..."
"Shhh. Don't say such foolish things." Tsuzuki rocked him gently. "Hush now."
The soothing words only made Hisoka more miserable. Reliable, dependable Tsuzuki who accepted him for who he was, curse and all. The idiot.
Over Hisoka's bent head, Tsuzuki and Watari exchanged meaningful looks. Watari shrugged and pointed at the table beneath the sakura.
"Let's sit down, Hisoka," Tsuzuki suggested brightly. "You're just in time for afternoon tea."
P.S. In modern usage, kendo refers to Japanese fencing using a bamboo sword, while kenjutsu refers to the use of real swords in winning battles. So I was in a real quandary over which term to use. I eventually decided on 'kendo' because (1) fan translations use it; (2) 'do' refers to forms that improve the self while 'jutsu' refers to forms that teach war technique - and in this fic, Hisoka does want to improve himself...with a katana; (3) it's possible (according to the very useful Japanese Sword Arts FAQ) that in the past, actual sword fighting may have once been called kendo - kendo/kenjutsu is a modern convention; (4) I had to rip off kendo kata to write the battle scene - I couldn't find any site with details on kenjutsu kata. It is shrouded in much secrecy.