Mune no Monogatari
by Mirune Keishiko
Eighteen: Yasashisa no Shouzou
A portrait of kindness
Swift, lithe, unthinking, and so graceful that a move that took years to master seemed but effortless, she somersaulted across the hall, hands and bare feet squeaking softly on the well-polished wood. Her long braid whipped in black arcs behind her. Landing in a low crouch with barely a thump, she tucked into a neat roll, sliding soundlessly into the shadows off to the side. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, she had sprung off a post and now came flying toward him, her dusty sole aiming for his jaw as her kiai rent the early morning hush.
Aoshi easily sidestepped her. As she quickly recovered, stepping off the closed door behind him and whirling for a new attack, approval tugged at a corner of his mouth. Misao's natural talent was undeniable and she had clearly not allowed her skills to rust, but this was a level of agility he had not seen in her before.
He blocked her next kick, then evaded the lightning swing of her foot that would have turned him upside down had he reacted a split second too late. Locking her into a hold, he would have wrestled her to the ground, but at the last moment—ocean eyes flashing bright and hard—she slipped out of his grip and seized him with surprising strength, and he found himself pinned to the floor beneath her. A shock of pain jolted the arm twisted awkwardly around hers.
And Aoshi knew.
With his greater size and weight, it was simple to throw her off. The momentum of his move she turned into a backward flip; the moment her feet hit the ground, she shifted into a defensive stance.
"Not bad."
Her gaze glinted with a whirl of emotions; but she was still Misao enough for surprise and pleasure to flicker across her face, soften her glare for a fleeting moment.
"That you've learned Omasu's grappling technique through observation and practice alone, without direct supervision from her or anyone else"—he observed with mute satisfaction the blush of pride that tainted her cheeks—"speaks to your determination and ability."
He had another moment to watch the drift of conflicting impulses over her expressive face before her pretty features hardened once again.
"Thank you, Okashira," she said coolly.
Misao had never been that difficult to read, but Aoshi found himself impressed at the new measure of control she seemed to have gained over herself and her reactions—impressed, and strangely saddened.
"As you know, I am no longer your Okashira." He settled into a defensive stance, mimicking hers. "But it appears certain other aspects of your training have also gone unattended."
Eyes narrowing, she shifted into an offensive stance; but she hung back, waiting for him to continue.
"It is time we rectified this, then." He beckoned. "Attack."
After another moment's hesitation, she came flying toward him in a flurry of lightning-swift motion, her kiai shrill and sharp. He frowned.
"You lack focus."
Easily he blocked her first kick, then the next, then evaded an awkward knifehand chop.
"You need to concentrate, Misao."
He had to remind himself not to hold back as he slipped into an opening in her guard. Even then, he had a fevered glimpse of wide jade eyes as she just barely twisted out of the way of a punch.
"You cannot hope to win with such uncertainty."
Tears drifted in her wake as she whirled with a cyclone of a kick, aiming for his neck. But at the last moment he spun out of the way, and her balance went awry. Pulled by the force of her attack she would have violently hit the floor headfirst had Aoshi not quickly caught her, breaking her fall seconds before impact.
For a moment she clung to him, shivering, more tears leaking out of eyes squeezed shut.
Then she abruptly wrested free of his grip, perhaps with more effort than truly necessary as he let her go without a word. She moved to pick up the towel that lay crumpled on the floor off to one side and passed it over her neck and face with hands that still visibly trembled.
He sat silently, waiting for her to speak. Studiously he averted his gaze from her in her scanty training garb, fixed his eyes on the floor instead of the exposed skin sinking invitingly into shadow where the neckline had come loose, and the long, lean thighs that seemed to negate the existence of her shorts entirely.
While he had left Megumi sleeping soundly in her room, he himself had been oddly restless for thoughts of another young woman, one he had known and loved since her childhood, one who loved him as well—albeit with a different kind of passion.
After all his years of leadership, he should already have become accustomed to having lives thrust into his care, to handling the dreams and hopes of others as his own. After the countless battles that his icebound heart had won for him, he should have left all fear or doubt behind long ago. But still he found himself dreading that moment when he would open her eyes to the truth to which she had been blinding herself for so long.
It seemed as though that moment had come at last.
"I'm sorry, Okashira." Her voice broke the silence, heavy and dull. "I don't know what came over me."
"Something does seem to have disturbed you." Slowly, Aoshi drew a deep, silent breath and let it out.
Misao gave a strange little smile. "It's very frustrating to keep trying and trying and get absolutely nothing for my efforts."
Involuntarily his eyes fluttered shut at the raw, open pain in her soft voice. But his own tones, when he spoke, gave away nothing of his disquiet.
"Sometimes our attempts at achievement only push it farther away."
She made no answer. He hardly needed one, but—both impressed and puzzled by her uncharacteristic reserve—he turned to look at her. Sweat-damp bangs obscured her eyes as she smiled sadly down at the towel she was twisting around her fingers.
"I hardly expected you to be willing to talk about this."
As I have been willing to talk about little else. Aoshi nodded, accepted the silent reproach she had not dared to make.
He rose to his feet and walked over to part the double doors at the end of the hall. He drew a deep breath, grateful for the cool air that wafted into the stuffy hall. It had rained through the night, and now looked to rain throughout the breaking day as well.
He remembered the woman who had come in from the same rain only hours before. Megumi had wanted no part of Misao's heartbreak. But what the intelligent kitsune onna had not known—could hardly have known—was that he, too, wished the same thing.
He had left Kyoto on that very hope—that in his absence she would find the answers she so desperately sought; that without need for harsh words or harsher acts, she would come into a deeper, clearer understanding of her own. In the intuitive sympathy between two men loving the same woman, Okina had sensed this and let him go. But then she had disobeyed the old man, disobeyed Aoshi, and so he realized she had still left this lesson in his care.
Now that his responsibility was clear, he would avoid it no longer.
"I said it was time we rectified the shortcomings in your training," he said at last, still with his back to her as he watched the rain in a distant fascination, "and so we shall."
"So my training is all that matters to you?"
She made no effort to conceal her bitterness; he felt regret close in on him, heavy and stifling. He drew another deep breath of the rain-fresh air, as if somehow to fight the feeling of being smothered.
"As your former Okashira—"
"I don't need you to be my Okashira!" She hurled the towel to the floor. "That's all you ever think about—but I'm different now! I need something more, I need you to be..."
She fell abruptly silent as he slowly turned to face her. With a visible effort, she stared back—as she had not done since they had met again here in Tokyo, when guilt and fear and doubt had always made her avert her gaze.
Had it really only been two months since he had last faced her pleading eyes? Somehow they seemed to have changed since then—grown a little darker perhaps, but also a little clearer. And he, too, had changed: his sorrow no longer a cold, motionless weight in his mind and heart, but instead an odd smoldering urgency that seemed to catch at his breath even as it quickened the blood in his veins.
"I'm sorry, Misao."
He could not remember the last time he had apologized to anyone. Apologies were for mistakes, and Aoshi prided himself on making very rare mistakes indeed. But a strange, wordless regret was tightening around his chest and throat at the sight of Misao's eyes filling with tears; and he was determined to earn her forgiveness, though he could not explain why.
"So that's it?"
At her low quaver, Aoshi remembered to breathe again. She turned away slightly as the first of her tears spilled down her cheek, and he found himself straining to glimpse her strangely pale, taut face. Had he been expecting a different reaction...?
"Aoshi-sama, of all people..." She gave a hollow bark of a laugh that made him grimace. "I thought it would be easy for you..."
"I will do you no such disservice." Determination, sadness, a longing to have it all over as soon as possible—they hardened his voice almost more than he intended. He watched, mutely struggling with himself, as she slowly raised her arms to wrap them around herself.
"How is it a disservice," she said quietly, as though more to herself than to him, "when it's the one thing I've wanted with all my heart for as long as I can remember? When everything I've ever done has been toward someday earning it—"
"Such a thing is not earned." He met the quick, startled glance of jade eyes evenly, thought of Megumi and her scent of summer flowers. "Respect is earned, Misao, admiration, but never—"
She cut him off with a small, frustrated cry, her fingers curling into impotent fists. He fell silent, watching her, weighing her, as she strode over to the side door and tugged it viciously open to the rain outside.
Her back to him, she stood for a moment motionless, her slender figure lined in the unnatural gray light of an unsettled dawn.
"I'm sorry." No longer braced with anger, her voice was fragile and small. "I'm not what you wanted—"
Aoshi frowned in irritation. "You still don't understand."
"Then please, Aoshi-sama"—her tired whisper was barely audible, but with its tiny echoes died every trace of his annoyance—"explain it to me."
Suddenly he wished nothing more than to be back in Megumi's room, taking inexplicable comfort in her quiet sleep, counting away the minutes to the morning with the raindrops on the roof.
"If you do not yet understand, Misao, then I cannot help you."
"Does she make you happy?" she said quietly after another quiet moment.
He eyed the defeat bowing her head, curving her back. "I find peace in her company."
"Peace that you didn't find with me?"
He did not doubt that the hollowness in her voice would haunt him later.
She seemed to accept the silence that was his answer. "Is that why you left?"
"Yes." He stared at the rigid set of her shoulders. "I hoped you would finally understand."
Her humorless smile cut ice-cold into him. "So I guess I disappointed you again, huh?"
He said nothing.
The pause stretched into several minutes.
Then, just as Aoshi turned to leave, she spoke again, not turning to face him.
"Please, Aoshi-sama"—eyes downcast, she was fidgeting with the end of her braid—"will I ever be anything more to you than Oniwabanshuu?"
He was surprised to feel a smile tug at his mouth, his heart lighter for the first time since they had begun to talk. "Of course not." He waited, did not miss the way her entire frame suddenly stiffened. "No one ever will."
And because he knew she did not yet have the strength to leave him, he left her instead.
She was certainly no onmitsu, but she did not question the instinct that abruptly wakened her from slumber. Responding to that impulse that was more urgent than any rational thought, she rose from her futon and, striding briskly to the door, opened it to find Aoshi standing outside.
Cinnamon eyes found blue. Without a word, Megumi reached out her hand.
He touched his fingers to her palm lightly; he would have pulled away immediately but for the firm closing of her hand over his, as he entered her room, his steps unusually slow.
She closed the door behind them and silently enfolded him in her arms.
He realized then that that was exactly what he needed.
tsuzuku
We regret to inform you that the unworthy authoress is currently too depressed to elaborate on the customary thanks and apologies. However, rest assured that she continues to greatly appreciate all her kind readers' support and feedback, that she is very much willing to revise this given constructive criticism, and that she is already working on the next chapter, determined as hell that it not take as long as this one, nor stink as bad...