Dokyusei
by
Nana
Chapter 11
Resolutions
****************************
Disclaimer: But you guys know it all by now!
Author's Note: Gomen nasai! I can't help it, but I've taken the liberty to give Miroku a mom in this story. After all, he is only 17 years old here. No need to be too harsh as to deprive him of a family in modern times ( She's first mentioned here, but her character will take shape later as the story progresses. Also, certain rambles by Miroku are actually lines taken from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet Act II Scene I. (Thanks, Kaerra!). Please R&R and tell me what you think!
****************************
Fukuzawa Miroku walked down the sunlit avenue, hands in the pockets of his jeans, his thoughts far away.
Saturday morning had found him wide awake and irritable. He had dozed off in the late hours of Friday night and had awakened with a jolt from some nameless, troubled dream long before daybreak. Much to his irritation, he found he could not go back to sleep and, after much tossing and turning, decided to lie back quietly in bed to put his disheveled thoughts in order.
And it seemed his thoughts had taken over completely since then.
So here he was, walking down the street. The sky above him was a deep powder blue, the sun was shining benevolently, but he was oblivious to everything around him.
Everything was beyond him.
Except, maybe, for some memories that kept rising to tease and torture, no matter how firm his resolution to keep them shut out from his mind.
No matter what angle he tried turning to view the events that happened yesterday, it all emerged as an unqualified disaster.
Never, in a million years, would he have thought himself capable of losing his cool like that.
It was a total disgrace.
And no amount of arguing, no amount of weighing the pros and cons of the situation would change that fact.
Perhaps what had shaken him really badly was the fact that Sango did not do anything at all--perhaps the girl may not even realize she had won. Everything that happened, he had brought down upon himself.
His motive in showing up yesterday at the track oval had been simple enough: it was another round of engaging Mikagi Sango in a battle of wits. Come to think of it, he was really looking forward to these sparring matches more and more.
He had not been prepared for the consequences, though.
And all it took was for Sango to smile at Takagi THAT way.
And that remark! What the hell kind of remark was that?! What did it mean???
"Ask Takagi-senpai…"
Of course he had not believed the implication. In fact, he had been a little disappointed at Sango for having to resort to insinuations that were obviously untrue.
Only, it wasn't.
Maybe that was when things really started to get out of control--when Sango had gone into the dressing room to change, and he had continued to stare tersely at Takagi with raised eyebrows, waiting for his confirmation that Sango had lied.
Takagi merely shrugged. "Well, we did go out a few times during junior high," he admitted, nonchalantly.
That answer had completely thrown him off course.
Miroku did not bother to analyze what went through him just then. It was completely irrational, this sudden, violent urge to throw a punch at Takagi. He was, after all, his friend.
Instead, he managed to smile sardonically, thinking all was not lost. Yet.
So what if they really went out a few times in the past? Sango had better not think to hide behind Takagi. He's got a girlfriend already, so he really shouldn't matter to her at this point.
Should he??
The more he thought about it, the more he fumed. He knew he was making a ghastly mistake, but all of a sudden it was important that he should hear it from Sango herself. He needed to hear her say her past relationship with Takagi, or whatever it was, did not matter.
And so he had waited for her.
And got what he deserved.
In the bright morning light, he touched the bruise on his left cheek gingerly. Thank goodness the angry red handprint had disappeared, but after all the cold compresses he had applied the night before to make it go away, it still stung a little.
He made a turn down the road and stopped at the gate of a two-story house. The placard outside bearing the name of the family residing in the house read: TAKAGI.
He rang the doorbell.
When his own mother opened the door of their house yesterday and noted the bruise, he had replied easily with, "I ran into the door of the debate room."
Of course, Okasan did not seem entirely convinced, but she had let the matter drop.
Now, with Takagi answering the door to his home, he said just as easily, "I ran into the open door of my closet in the dark."
"Oh." Takagi looked at the bruise curiously, but he seemed satisfied and left it at that. After all, he was not someone to ask too many questions.
"You know you didn't have to come all the way here just to do the pictures," said Takagi as they made their way to his room. "I can easily do that on my own."
"No sweat. I said I'd come so I did," Miroku said. "Assembling the pictures will be much faster this way."
Of course, Takagi was right. The article for the school paper was complete. Miroku didn't have to bother coming here except for one reason: Takagi was from the photography club and he had loads of school pictures. Miroku was interested in seeing some of them.
Takagi opened the door to his room. The low table in the center was filled with photographs from all sorts of clubs. The finished article was already posted onto the dummy newspaper they had been working on, but it still had sections and sections of free space for photos.
They sat on the floor and started sifting through the pile, talking idly about anything and everything. Pictures from academic events mingled with sports activities. Here and there were familiar faces: a pretty good shot of sword practice with that senior Sesshou Maru in full Kendo gear, his long white hair tied at the back and a bokken raised in the air, sending his opponent to the ground. Scattered were some of Miroku's own pictures when he got elected as president of the debate team. Another picture showed a flurry of bright colors from the cheerleading squad with that freshman-- what was her name? Murukami Kagura?--at the front, pompoms in hand.
Drama Club's Mizuhara Yura suspended near the ceiling of the school auditorium by fine wirings as they tried to re-enact a scene from Peter Pan. Miroku smiled, remembering how the wirings had not been able to support the weight of a guy, so they had to use Yura instead. More pictures from the English Club, headed by adviser Mrs. Kaede with vice-president Kitahara Kikyou by her side. Pretty, but too serious. Way too serious, Miroku reflected, gazing at her calm face before flicking the picture away.
A picture of Takagi with fellow photographer Murukami Kanna, whose long white locks, delicate frame and blank features contrasted sharply with those of her vivacious cheerleader-sister Kagura.
He pasted a picture of the school's disreputable (but highly popular) basketball club whose top five players were from the so-called Shichinin- Tai gang headed by Bankotsu Keiji, onto the newspaper dummy. They never really played fair, these goons, but their teamwork was something else. These vultures stuck to each other through thick and thin, no matter what.
Miroku suppressed a shudder as he turned a picture over and saw the grinning face of Jakotsu Shuiichi, one of the younger additions to the Shichinin-Tai. That stupid moron. Miroku, cool as he'd like to think he was, was nearing freak-out stage where this…er…admirer was concerned.
Central Student Council president Mizuno Naraku's picture came tumbling out of the scenery before him like a fly that refused to be swatted away. Miroku was familiar with the hushed, vague rumors about the CSC president, but so far none had dared to step forward with any concrete evidence. Miroku spared him the barest of glances before flicking his picture out of his sight.
More pictures…Science Club, Glee Club, separate shots of the school faculty outside the main building. Spare pictures of students shot at random. A shot of Kouga Shizuki and his gang prowling moodily around campus. A pretty aimless lot, thought Miroku.
What's this? Miroku picked up a picture of a boy taken a good distance away. His scowl, though, was still pretty much evident. Wasn't this the guy whom he had a skirmish with just days ago? The one who's been following the beautiful Higurashi around relentlessly? What was his name again? Oh, yeah. Inu Yasha. Weird name.
A bunch of track photos came behind, and there she was. Frozen forever in time, her long, graceful legs a vague blur, seemingly never touching ground as she ran. A second picture, a close-up, of her grinning delightedly at the camera as she held up her medal. Another one with her in a group of fellow runners.
Miroku kept up his stream of idle chatter, his face giving away nothing as he appeared to look at Sango's pictures casually. He flipped the pictures as he ran through them quickly, as though he was not at all interested. A careless shuffle, the nudge of an elbow sent pictures tumbling to the floor.
When it came to selecting pictures for track and field, Takagi came to shuffling at the untidy array of pictures on the table and on the floor.
"I know I had this shot of Mikagi with her medal somewhere," he muttered, spreading out the photos. "It was from the last tournament."
"Where?" Miroku asked, his face a study of polite interest as he leaned over to take a better look at Takagi's side of the table.
After a short, confused search, Takagi said, "Odd. I can't find it anywhere."
"You sure you had it?" Miroku searched his side of the table and floor.
"Yeah. But--"
"Hey, wait. How about these?" Miroku offered some of the other group pictures he found by his side. "They'll do just as well."
"Yeah," said Takagi, frowning slightly. "I suppose they will."
Miroku watched placidly as Takagi pasted three pictures neatly onto the newspaper dummy. "It'll turn up," he reassured him a few minutes later.
"Huh?" Takagi looked up. He appeared to have forgotten Sango's picture altogether.
Miroku sighed inaudibly, fighting a sudden wave of impatience he could not understand. "Nothing."
*********************
Miroku sighed again as he made his way back from Takagi's house sometime later. For some weird reason, he felt…bad.
Perhaps this was what guilt felt like. He wouldn't really know, as he had never felt it before. And why should he feel guilty, anyway? Takagi was so clueless. Besides, he had no use for it anyway.
Just what the hell was wrong with him? What could he possibly want this badly?
The answer lay in his pocket, and he took it out slowly, gently smoothing out the creases from the picture.
This was what he had come all the way to Takagi's house for.
Pathetic. He wasn't proud of it, but he couldn't help himself either.
He had seen her angry, derisive, and haughty. He had even seen her look nervous and hell, he had seen how she smiled at Takagi. But he had never seen her smile like this before. It was all happy and genuine. Relaxed. It was surprising to see how it altered her face completely, as if a burst of radiance had crossed her features.
Miroku looked into her smiling eyes. As always, she had with her this bright, clear-eyed expression. As if she understood the situation around her completely. They were the same clear, no-nonsense eyes that had stared into his with contempt.
She was very sure of herself, wasn't she? Sure of the unwavering opinion she had formed of him. Sure that he was nothing more than grub under her feet. Sure that she could handle him.
And Miroku was not someone to disoblige a lady. If she were challenging him to prove her wrong, then far be it in his conscience to decline.
But something different had happened yesterday.
It had started out the usual way. He had seen to it he made her nervous. It was his favorite part of the game. He liked to see Sango jump at the sound of her name. It was proof that she was not as unaffected as she claimed.
But then he had to go look into her eyes.
It had been a fatal mistake. Because once he started looking, he found that he could not bring himself to look away. Between one breath and the next, he had lost himself in the game of his own devising. He stood there rooted, sanity dispersing as he caught himself thinking illogically how he could have missed noticing that her dark brown eyes had small flecks of hazel in them. He should never forget that small detail ever again.
He had been so preoccupied that he had forgotten how to deal his cards properly, had given her a completely honest answer when she threw back her triumphant question of why he wanted to know what Takagi was to her.
"I don't know…"
Miroku sighed as he mentally reviewed the wasted opportunity. He could still have won the round if he had only kept his cool. But he was nowhere near to feeling cool when his gaze shifted to her face, to her cheek, rosy from practice.
Warning bells had been pealing loudly and distinctly in his brain by this time, but there was no stopping the sudden, overwhelming urge to reach out and touch this girl who was nearer to him now than he could ever get her to be. Her skin--could it possibly feel as soft as he had imagined it against his hand?
Gently, almost fearfully, his fingers grazed her cheek, and he lost himself in the moment when she did not move away. When he knew she was not going to bolt, he gradually moved to settle more of his hand onto her cheek, cupping it loosely. Miroku had been surprised to find that it was indeed soft, and so very warm. And as his thumb ventured to brush across her dry, parted lips, he waited to see if his heart would stop.
Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied…? From some distant corner of his brain, a passage from one of his readings came floating by.
But what satisfaction canst thou have tonight?
He had always thought that Romeo was the biggest fool Shakespeare had ever created, but at that moment, he could almost empathize with the character.
In the end, it was a good thing she came to her senses just in time. There was no telling how this scenario was going to end. A boy, touching a girl's cheek in a rapidly darkening garden of the school. Not exactly an innocent scene.
And not just any girl. A girl in need of being taught a lesson. How could he possibly expect a happy ending?
He had seen it coming, had seen her palm trace a wide arc in the air, but he made no attempt to avoid the blow.
He had stood there for long minutes after she had gone, his hand slowly reaching up to touch the angry red handprint on his face as he noted the stinging pain at last. Kami, but she knew how to slap people.
He smiled ruefully. He had never thought he would one day be thankful to Mikagi Sango. Without her realizing it, she had saved him from himself.
Imagine that.
"Only now", he thought, coming back to the present to find his fingers unconsciously tracing the lines of her face in the picture, "I can never trust myself to touch you. Not this way. Never again. I cannot afford to make the same mistake twice. As much as I hate trouble, I hate losing even more. And you have given me no other alternative but to win. In the meantime, I have this. It will have to do…"
But even as he made the pledge to himself, Miroku wondered if he could possibly stick to his new resolution.
Nothing had changed, he thought. The games will go on. He would just have to be more careful, that's all.
In the meantime, perhaps Hachi would be able to present his initial report at the end of the day. Pretty soon, he would have more material from which to plan his next strategy.
**********************
"What we need to do is to fight back. What we need is a plan," said Kagome grimly as she and Sango went around the mall the next day. They were currently seated in a small café, planning strategies.
"Right," said Sango. "How to best throw annoying boys off our backs."
"Okay. You know what I've been thinking?" said Kagome carefully. "I was thinking that the only way we're going to get hurt by all their antics is if we care a little."
"What do you mean?" Sango asked suspiciously. "That's vague, don't you think? If you're going to ask me, of course I'll say I care because he's making me look like a fool--"
"Well, do you care about him?" Kagome asked bluntly.
Sango nearly choked on her coffee. "NO!!!!" she hissed. "Well, what about you?! DO you care about Inu Yasha…I mean, that way?"
"Of course not," said Kagome in what she hoped was a dignified way. "I mean it really doesn't matter. Although, you know…your situation with Fukuzawa Miroku is something else entirely…"
She trailed off. Not sure if she should proceed.
"What?" Sango said immediately. "WHAT?"
Kagome was remembering the corridor incident where Fukuzawa Miroku had gotten Sango into a corner.
"Are you sure you don't have anybody else in mind you'd like to visit?"
It was indeed calculated to embarrass, but there had been something else there. She had been thinking and thinking about it, about the tone of voice Fukuzawa had used. And now she was finally able to pin it down. Teasing aside, he sounded almost…hopeful.
She told Sango this.
"Now, don't get me wrong," said Kagome hastily as she saw Sango narrow her eyes dangerously. "It's just that you really have to entertain the possibility that he likes you, because that's where your solution will lie. You can use that, you know."
"But he doesn't!" cried Sango, exasperated. "Kagome! He told me he's just answering a challenge!"
"But it could change. I think the focus is already changing. He took your bait, didn't he?" said Kagome. "For one thing, I don't think Fukuzawa- senpai is the type of guy who would stick to someone he doesn't like. He's not a martyr. Come to think of it, he's acting like a kid--tease your crush to death and all that."
Sango huffed but could not think of anything to say. The prospect of him liking her seemed worse than his hating her. But why did she feel…excited?
"So…what do you think I should do?" she finally asked.
Kagome smiled sweetly. "Why, torture him, of course! It kind of worked yesterday, didn't it?"
Despite herself, Sango smiled. "Yeah. I guess it did," she said a little shyly.
******************************
"Well? What about you? How are you going to deal with Inu Yasha?" Sango asked as they emerged from a clothes store.
Kagome sighed. "Well," she said inadequately. "I really---er…hmmm…well, I'll just ignore him."
"You've been doing that for the last few days," pointed out Sango. "I don't think he could stand being ignored."
"Good point," muttered Kagome. "The trouble with him is he's so stuck on Kitahara Kikyou he thinks I'm her extension just because we look a bit alike."
"Then you have to find somebody of your own!" announced Sango brightly. "That's it! That's your solution!"
Kagome laughed. "Right. Like who?"
"Well…you'll never know," said Sango mysteriously. "There just might be someone out there who really likes you. Then you can torture Inu Yasha! AND he'll have no choice but to stay away, right?"
"Well, I really don't know, but okay. In theory, I guess that might work," said Kagome. "Oooh! Bookstore! Let's take a peek at the Romance section!"
Sango stopped and eyed her incredulously. "You…you mean…YOU, TOO?" She said loudly.
They burst out laughing.
"So who's your favorite author?" Kagome asked as they went through the rows and rows of books, manga mostly.
"Well, it's hard to say. But I'm more into shojo manga," said Sango. "Historicals are pretty nice.. I also enjoy collecting women's manga-- office romances and such. How about you?"
"Sweet romances are more my style," said Kagome.
She picked a Mills and Boon title. "Now this," she said dryly, "would help us with our review for the English exam!"
It turned out to be a highly enjoyable day, but they had to leave early to begin their review.
"So, Sango-chan," concluded Kagome as they were about to go their separate ways. "What is our resolution when it comes to annoying boys?"
"If they cannot be ignored, then by all means torture them!"
************************
I'm not sure if American/European romance writers are a big hit in Japan, although I'm quite sure they sell their books there too. I think Harlequin Mills and Boon sell pretty well. Or maybe not. They only sell these in the big bookstores. Shojo/women's manga magazines are still more popular among Japanese women, I suspect.
Vocabulary:
Okasan- mother. Well, this is actually more of a point of view. Kagome refers to her mother as 'Mama', but I can't seem to imagine Miroku calling his mother that, even in the present time. What do you think?
by
Nana
Chapter 11
Resolutions
****************************
Disclaimer: But you guys know it all by now!
Author's Note: Gomen nasai! I can't help it, but I've taken the liberty to give Miroku a mom in this story. After all, he is only 17 years old here. No need to be too harsh as to deprive him of a family in modern times ( She's first mentioned here, but her character will take shape later as the story progresses. Also, certain rambles by Miroku are actually lines taken from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet Act II Scene I. (Thanks, Kaerra!). Please R&R and tell me what you think!
****************************
Fukuzawa Miroku walked down the sunlit avenue, hands in the pockets of his jeans, his thoughts far away.
Saturday morning had found him wide awake and irritable. He had dozed off in the late hours of Friday night and had awakened with a jolt from some nameless, troubled dream long before daybreak. Much to his irritation, he found he could not go back to sleep and, after much tossing and turning, decided to lie back quietly in bed to put his disheveled thoughts in order.
And it seemed his thoughts had taken over completely since then.
So here he was, walking down the street. The sky above him was a deep powder blue, the sun was shining benevolently, but he was oblivious to everything around him.
Everything was beyond him.
Except, maybe, for some memories that kept rising to tease and torture, no matter how firm his resolution to keep them shut out from his mind.
No matter what angle he tried turning to view the events that happened yesterday, it all emerged as an unqualified disaster.
Never, in a million years, would he have thought himself capable of losing his cool like that.
It was a total disgrace.
And no amount of arguing, no amount of weighing the pros and cons of the situation would change that fact.
Perhaps what had shaken him really badly was the fact that Sango did not do anything at all--perhaps the girl may not even realize she had won. Everything that happened, he had brought down upon himself.
His motive in showing up yesterday at the track oval had been simple enough: it was another round of engaging Mikagi Sango in a battle of wits. Come to think of it, he was really looking forward to these sparring matches more and more.
He had not been prepared for the consequences, though.
And all it took was for Sango to smile at Takagi THAT way.
And that remark! What the hell kind of remark was that?! What did it mean???
"Ask Takagi-senpai…"
Of course he had not believed the implication. In fact, he had been a little disappointed at Sango for having to resort to insinuations that were obviously untrue.
Only, it wasn't.
Maybe that was when things really started to get out of control--when Sango had gone into the dressing room to change, and he had continued to stare tersely at Takagi with raised eyebrows, waiting for his confirmation that Sango had lied.
Takagi merely shrugged. "Well, we did go out a few times during junior high," he admitted, nonchalantly.
That answer had completely thrown him off course.
Miroku did not bother to analyze what went through him just then. It was completely irrational, this sudden, violent urge to throw a punch at Takagi. He was, after all, his friend.
Instead, he managed to smile sardonically, thinking all was not lost. Yet.
So what if they really went out a few times in the past? Sango had better not think to hide behind Takagi. He's got a girlfriend already, so he really shouldn't matter to her at this point.
Should he??
The more he thought about it, the more he fumed. He knew he was making a ghastly mistake, but all of a sudden it was important that he should hear it from Sango herself. He needed to hear her say her past relationship with Takagi, or whatever it was, did not matter.
And so he had waited for her.
And got what he deserved.
In the bright morning light, he touched the bruise on his left cheek gingerly. Thank goodness the angry red handprint had disappeared, but after all the cold compresses he had applied the night before to make it go away, it still stung a little.
He made a turn down the road and stopped at the gate of a two-story house. The placard outside bearing the name of the family residing in the house read: TAKAGI.
He rang the doorbell.
When his own mother opened the door of their house yesterday and noted the bruise, he had replied easily with, "I ran into the door of the debate room."
Of course, Okasan did not seem entirely convinced, but she had let the matter drop.
Now, with Takagi answering the door to his home, he said just as easily, "I ran into the open door of my closet in the dark."
"Oh." Takagi looked at the bruise curiously, but he seemed satisfied and left it at that. After all, he was not someone to ask too many questions.
"You know you didn't have to come all the way here just to do the pictures," said Takagi as they made their way to his room. "I can easily do that on my own."
"No sweat. I said I'd come so I did," Miroku said. "Assembling the pictures will be much faster this way."
Of course, Takagi was right. The article for the school paper was complete. Miroku didn't have to bother coming here except for one reason: Takagi was from the photography club and he had loads of school pictures. Miroku was interested in seeing some of them.
Takagi opened the door to his room. The low table in the center was filled with photographs from all sorts of clubs. The finished article was already posted onto the dummy newspaper they had been working on, but it still had sections and sections of free space for photos.
They sat on the floor and started sifting through the pile, talking idly about anything and everything. Pictures from academic events mingled with sports activities. Here and there were familiar faces: a pretty good shot of sword practice with that senior Sesshou Maru in full Kendo gear, his long white hair tied at the back and a bokken raised in the air, sending his opponent to the ground. Scattered were some of Miroku's own pictures when he got elected as president of the debate team. Another picture showed a flurry of bright colors from the cheerleading squad with that freshman-- what was her name? Murukami Kagura?--at the front, pompoms in hand.
Drama Club's Mizuhara Yura suspended near the ceiling of the school auditorium by fine wirings as they tried to re-enact a scene from Peter Pan. Miroku smiled, remembering how the wirings had not been able to support the weight of a guy, so they had to use Yura instead. More pictures from the English Club, headed by adviser Mrs. Kaede with vice-president Kitahara Kikyou by her side. Pretty, but too serious. Way too serious, Miroku reflected, gazing at her calm face before flicking the picture away.
A picture of Takagi with fellow photographer Murukami Kanna, whose long white locks, delicate frame and blank features contrasted sharply with those of her vivacious cheerleader-sister Kagura.
He pasted a picture of the school's disreputable (but highly popular) basketball club whose top five players were from the so-called Shichinin- Tai gang headed by Bankotsu Keiji, onto the newspaper dummy. They never really played fair, these goons, but their teamwork was something else. These vultures stuck to each other through thick and thin, no matter what.
Miroku suppressed a shudder as he turned a picture over and saw the grinning face of Jakotsu Shuiichi, one of the younger additions to the Shichinin-Tai. That stupid moron. Miroku, cool as he'd like to think he was, was nearing freak-out stage where this…er…admirer was concerned.
Central Student Council president Mizuno Naraku's picture came tumbling out of the scenery before him like a fly that refused to be swatted away. Miroku was familiar with the hushed, vague rumors about the CSC president, but so far none had dared to step forward with any concrete evidence. Miroku spared him the barest of glances before flicking his picture out of his sight.
More pictures…Science Club, Glee Club, separate shots of the school faculty outside the main building. Spare pictures of students shot at random. A shot of Kouga Shizuki and his gang prowling moodily around campus. A pretty aimless lot, thought Miroku.
What's this? Miroku picked up a picture of a boy taken a good distance away. His scowl, though, was still pretty much evident. Wasn't this the guy whom he had a skirmish with just days ago? The one who's been following the beautiful Higurashi around relentlessly? What was his name again? Oh, yeah. Inu Yasha. Weird name.
A bunch of track photos came behind, and there she was. Frozen forever in time, her long, graceful legs a vague blur, seemingly never touching ground as she ran. A second picture, a close-up, of her grinning delightedly at the camera as she held up her medal. Another one with her in a group of fellow runners.
Miroku kept up his stream of idle chatter, his face giving away nothing as he appeared to look at Sango's pictures casually. He flipped the pictures as he ran through them quickly, as though he was not at all interested. A careless shuffle, the nudge of an elbow sent pictures tumbling to the floor.
When it came to selecting pictures for track and field, Takagi came to shuffling at the untidy array of pictures on the table and on the floor.
"I know I had this shot of Mikagi with her medal somewhere," he muttered, spreading out the photos. "It was from the last tournament."
"Where?" Miroku asked, his face a study of polite interest as he leaned over to take a better look at Takagi's side of the table.
After a short, confused search, Takagi said, "Odd. I can't find it anywhere."
"You sure you had it?" Miroku searched his side of the table and floor.
"Yeah. But--"
"Hey, wait. How about these?" Miroku offered some of the other group pictures he found by his side. "They'll do just as well."
"Yeah," said Takagi, frowning slightly. "I suppose they will."
Miroku watched placidly as Takagi pasted three pictures neatly onto the newspaper dummy. "It'll turn up," he reassured him a few minutes later.
"Huh?" Takagi looked up. He appeared to have forgotten Sango's picture altogether.
Miroku sighed inaudibly, fighting a sudden wave of impatience he could not understand. "Nothing."
*********************
Miroku sighed again as he made his way back from Takagi's house sometime later. For some weird reason, he felt…bad.
Perhaps this was what guilt felt like. He wouldn't really know, as he had never felt it before. And why should he feel guilty, anyway? Takagi was so clueless. Besides, he had no use for it anyway.
Just what the hell was wrong with him? What could he possibly want this badly?
The answer lay in his pocket, and he took it out slowly, gently smoothing out the creases from the picture.
This was what he had come all the way to Takagi's house for.
Pathetic. He wasn't proud of it, but he couldn't help himself either.
He had seen her angry, derisive, and haughty. He had even seen her look nervous and hell, he had seen how she smiled at Takagi. But he had never seen her smile like this before. It was all happy and genuine. Relaxed. It was surprising to see how it altered her face completely, as if a burst of radiance had crossed her features.
Miroku looked into her smiling eyes. As always, she had with her this bright, clear-eyed expression. As if she understood the situation around her completely. They were the same clear, no-nonsense eyes that had stared into his with contempt.
She was very sure of herself, wasn't she? Sure of the unwavering opinion she had formed of him. Sure that he was nothing more than grub under her feet. Sure that she could handle him.
And Miroku was not someone to disoblige a lady. If she were challenging him to prove her wrong, then far be it in his conscience to decline.
But something different had happened yesterday.
It had started out the usual way. He had seen to it he made her nervous. It was his favorite part of the game. He liked to see Sango jump at the sound of her name. It was proof that she was not as unaffected as she claimed.
But then he had to go look into her eyes.
It had been a fatal mistake. Because once he started looking, he found that he could not bring himself to look away. Between one breath and the next, he had lost himself in the game of his own devising. He stood there rooted, sanity dispersing as he caught himself thinking illogically how he could have missed noticing that her dark brown eyes had small flecks of hazel in them. He should never forget that small detail ever again.
He had been so preoccupied that he had forgotten how to deal his cards properly, had given her a completely honest answer when she threw back her triumphant question of why he wanted to know what Takagi was to her.
"I don't know…"
Miroku sighed as he mentally reviewed the wasted opportunity. He could still have won the round if he had only kept his cool. But he was nowhere near to feeling cool when his gaze shifted to her face, to her cheek, rosy from practice.
Warning bells had been pealing loudly and distinctly in his brain by this time, but there was no stopping the sudden, overwhelming urge to reach out and touch this girl who was nearer to him now than he could ever get her to be. Her skin--could it possibly feel as soft as he had imagined it against his hand?
Gently, almost fearfully, his fingers grazed her cheek, and he lost himself in the moment when she did not move away. When he knew she was not going to bolt, he gradually moved to settle more of his hand onto her cheek, cupping it loosely. Miroku had been surprised to find that it was indeed soft, and so very warm. And as his thumb ventured to brush across her dry, parted lips, he waited to see if his heart would stop.
Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied…? From some distant corner of his brain, a passage from one of his readings came floating by.
But what satisfaction canst thou have tonight?
He had always thought that Romeo was the biggest fool Shakespeare had ever created, but at that moment, he could almost empathize with the character.
In the end, it was a good thing she came to her senses just in time. There was no telling how this scenario was going to end. A boy, touching a girl's cheek in a rapidly darkening garden of the school. Not exactly an innocent scene.
And not just any girl. A girl in need of being taught a lesson. How could he possibly expect a happy ending?
He had seen it coming, had seen her palm trace a wide arc in the air, but he made no attempt to avoid the blow.
He had stood there for long minutes after she had gone, his hand slowly reaching up to touch the angry red handprint on his face as he noted the stinging pain at last. Kami, but she knew how to slap people.
He smiled ruefully. He had never thought he would one day be thankful to Mikagi Sango. Without her realizing it, she had saved him from himself.
Imagine that.
"Only now", he thought, coming back to the present to find his fingers unconsciously tracing the lines of her face in the picture, "I can never trust myself to touch you. Not this way. Never again. I cannot afford to make the same mistake twice. As much as I hate trouble, I hate losing even more. And you have given me no other alternative but to win. In the meantime, I have this. It will have to do…"
But even as he made the pledge to himself, Miroku wondered if he could possibly stick to his new resolution.
Nothing had changed, he thought. The games will go on. He would just have to be more careful, that's all.
In the meantime, perhaps Hachi would be able to present his initial report at the end of the day. Pretty soon, he would have more material from which to plan his next strategy.
**********************
"What we need to do is to fight back. What we need is a plan," said Kagome grimly as she and Sango went around the mall the next day. They were currently seated in a small café, planning strategies.
"Right," said Sango. "How to best throw annoying boys off our backs."
"Okay. You know what I've been thinking?" said Kagome carefully. "I was thinking that the only way we're going to get hurt by all their antics is if we care a little."
"What do you mean?" Sango asked suspiciously. "That's vague, don't you think? If you're going to ask me, of course I'll say I care because he's making me look like a fool--"
"Well, do you care about him?" Kagome asked bluntly.
Sango nearly choked on her coffee. "NO!!!!" she hissed. "Well, what about you?! DO you care about Inu Yasha…I mean, that way?"
"Of course not," said Kagome in what she hoped was a dignified way. "I mean it really doesn't matter. Although, you know…your situation with Fukuzawa Miroku is something else entirely…"
She trailed off. Not sure if she should proceed.
"What?" Sango said immediately. "WHAT?"
Kagome was remembering the corridor incident where Fukuzawa Miroku had gotten Sango into a corner.
"Are you sure you don't have anybody else in mind you'd like to visit?"
It was indeed calculated to embarrass, but there had been something else there. She had been thinking and thinking about it, about the tone of voice Fukuzawa had used. And now she was finally able to pin it down. Teasing aside, he sounded almost…hopeful.
She told Sango this.
"Now, don't get me wrong," said Kagome hastily as she saw Sango narrow her eyes dangerously. "It's just that you really have to entertain the possibility that he likes you, because that's where your solution will lie. You can use that, you know."
"But he doesn't!" cried Sango, exasperated. "Kagome! He told me he's just answering a challenge!"
"But it could change. I think the focus is already changing. He took your bait, didn't he?" said Kagome. "For one thing, I don't think Fukuzawa- senpai is the type of guy who would stick to someone he doesn't like. He's not a martyr. Come to think of it, he's acting like a kid--tease your crush to death and all that."
Sango huffed but could not think of anything to say. The prospect of him liking her seemed worse than his hating her. But why did she feel…excited?
"So…what do you think I should do?" she finally asked.
Kagome smiled sweetly. "Why, torture him, of course! It kind of worked yesterday, didn't it?"
Despite herself, Sango smiled. "Yeah. I guess it did," she said a little shyly.
******************************
"Well? What about you? How are you going to deal with Inu Yasha?" Sango asked as they emerged from a clothes store.
Kagome sighed. "Well," she said inadequately. "I really---er…hmmm…well, I'll just ignore him."
"You've been doing that for the last few days," pointed out Sango. "I don't think he could stand being ignored."
"Good point," muttered Kagome. "The trouble with him is he's so stuck on Kitahara Kikyou he thinks I'm her extension just because we look a bit alike."
"Then you have to find somebody of your own!" announced Sango brightly. "That's it! That's your solution!"
Kagome laughed. "Right. Like who?"
"Well…you'll never know," said Sango mysteriously. "There just might be someone out there who really likes you. Then you can torture Inu Yasha! AND he'll have no choice but to stay away, right?"
"Well, I really don't know, but okay. In theory, I guess that might work," said Kagome. "Oooh! Bookstore! Let's take a peek at the Romance section!"
Sango stopped and eyed her incredulously. "You…you mean…YOU, TOO?" She said loudly.
They burst out laughing.
"So who's your favorite author?" Kagome asked as they went through the rows and rows of books, manga mostly.
"Well, it's hard to say. But I'm more into shojo manga," said Sango. "Historicals are pretty nice.. I also enjoy collecting women's manga-- office romances and such. How about you?"
"Sweet romances are more my style," said Kagome.
She picked a Mills and Boon title. "Now this," she said dryly, "would help us with our review for the English exam!"
It turned out to be a highly enjoyable day, but they had to leave early to begin their review.
"So, Sango-chan," concluded Kagome as they were about to go their separate ways. "What is our resolution when it comes to annoying boys?"
"If they cannot be ignored, then by all means torture them!"
************************
I'm not sure if American/European romance writers are a big hit in Japan, although I'm quite sure they sell their books there too. I think Harlequin Mills and Boon sell pretty well. Or maybe not. They only sell these in the big bookstores. Shojo/women's manga magazines are still more popular among Japanese women, I suspect.
Vocabulary:
Okasan- mother. Well, this is actually more of a point of view. Kagome refers to her mother as 'Mama', but I can't seem to imagine Miroku calling his mother that, even in the present time. What do you think?