TACO Run
Chapter 31
"So you're from the mountains?" Master Kamiya kicked her feet idly as they shared the bench, toes dangling above the floor. "That's so nice! I have relatives who live in the mountains."
"Oh?" Olberic raised his brows. Master Kamiya had not spoken of her family before.
"Mm-hm. Distant relatives," she allowed, smiling a little sadly. "Mister Kamado is my… third cousin, I think? I've only met him once, at his wedding, since his health is too fragile for him to travel much. I know he has kids, though I've never met them. The family runs a shrine on Mount Meakan in Hokkaido."
Ah, so her distant cousin was a cleric.
"I'd really like to visit them sometime," Master Kamiya mused wistfully. "One of Mom's friends, mister Urokodaki, is teaching mister Kamado's eldest swordsmanship, and I'd really like to see how our styles compare."
Olberic nodded his understanding. The concept of 'sword-styles', in the sense of formalized methods of teaching, was odd, but not so much so that he could not see its merits. Master Kamiya was not simply a training-master, but also a teacher much as Cyrus was, and her greatest desire was to pass her skills on to her students as best as possible.
She was a charming woman, energetic and fierce, and he had been pleased when she chose to spend time with him after her lesson was concluded. In truth, he had not expected to be allowed to join her class again, after the debacle of his duel with Cait-headed Tamakawa. Yet she had not only allowed him to join her students again, but had insisted upon it.
"Mistakes happen," she had said simply, when he asked if she was certain. "It was as much my fault for not securing the area as it was Chief Tsuragamae's fault for intruding without warning during class time. As long as we correct our mistakes, it won't happen again." A sparkle of blue eyes. "Besides, I made you my student the other day. I'm not going to kick you out unless you choose to leave."
Olberic had been relieved, far moreso than he thought perhaps he should have been.
The lesson had gone well, though Master Kamiya had insisted that he stick to practicing the basic strokes, rather than participate in more sparring matches. "It wouldn't be fair," she'd said simply. "You don't have enough experience using what I teach to spar with just that, and no one else here is good enough to take you on if you use your own style."
When asked if he could not spar with her, as surely she was a swords-master of commendable skill, she'd smiled wryly and shook her head. "I'd love to, but I can't risk losing face in front of my students. Especially since…" A pause and a sigh, smile gone tight. "Well, it's hard enough getting people to respect me as it is."
Olberic had done a poor job of hiding his disappointment, he feared.
Still, she had graciously consented to keep him company, and now they sat on a bench in the training hall and chatted, drinking water that she explained had been sweetened by the addition of tiny amounts of fruit juice. They had already eaten their luncheon in the guard station's dining hall, and returned here directly afterwards, as Master Kamiya would need to gather her equipment before she left.
"So what's your hometown like?" she asked, feet kicking out before her idly. "I think Truthseeker Tsukauchi said something about you having a prentice or something, so you must really miss it."
"Indeed, Cobbleston is a wonderful place," Olberic agreed. "It is no great metropolis, as this land boasts. Merely a humble village in the Highlands. But the people there are kind, and accepting of those with troubled pasts, and I can think of no finer place to call home."
Master Kamiya blinked at him a little, and Olberic wondered if perhaps he had said something he should not.
"Huh," she said thoughtfully. "You don't sound like a Sukottorando person. I mean, I don't speak the language, but I've heard it a couple of times."
Olberic shifted uncomfortably. "I do not know what you are speaking of," he said stiffly. Though it was the honest truth—he did not know the land of which she spoke. Though he could guess that it was a mountainous region, if she confused it with the Highlands.
She blinked at him again, brows up in a skeptical expression that distinctly reminded him of Philip's younger days.
To his relief, however, she did not inquire further. Instead, she let her feet fall again, and took another drink of sweetened water. "So, you have a prentice, right? What are they like?"
Relieved at the change in subject, Olberic relaxed. "Philip is a fine lad. He is in his twelfth year now, and becoming a youth instead of a boy."
"Oh, he's just about to start growing, then!" Master Kamiya said brightly. "That's always uncomfortable; he's going to feel so clumsy while he adjusts."
Olberic nodded rueful agreement. His own youth had been fraught with mishaps and broken crockery, and he had turned to the sword as a relief for his frustrations, practicing the basic strokes until he near-collapsed and the training-master cuffed him about the head for stupidity.
Curiosity nudged him, and Olberic sat back a little, crossing his arms over his chest. "I had not thought to ask before," he said slowly, "but do women suffer the pangs of growth as men do? The change is not so great, and to my knowledge, is more gradual, yet surely it is an uncomfortable time for you as well."
"Well, yeah," Master Kamiya said, seeming surprised by the question. "Not so much me—I didn't grow much, as you can tell—but a lot of girls get aches and such from growth spurts in their teenage years. Not to mention the other fun problems that come with becoming adult women."
"Ah." Yes, Olberic imagined that was unpleasant. He was perhaps unreasonably grateful that his prentice was a lad. He was not sure he could assist a girl blossoming to womanhood with such troubles. "Have you a prentice, Master Kamiya?" he asked thoughtfully. "I have seen that you train the guardsmen here, as I have the men of Cobbleston, so it is not as though your skills go unrecognized."
Master Kamiya grimaced. "I… don't," she sighed. "Thank you, though."
Realizing that this was a sensitive topic, Olberic inclined his head and changed the subject. "Kikuchi has told me that the people of this land possess what are called 'Quirks'," he began slowly. "And while many such people are strange in appearance, not all are. Would it be rude to ask after your Quirk, if you have one?"
Again, she turned an odd look on him, though this one seemed more puzzled than skeptical. "I don't mind," she said, feet swinging. "I don't have a Quirk, though. My nieces are the first ones in the Kamiya family to develop Quirks—the rest of us are just short." She smiled, but the glitter in blue eyes was more challenge than humor.
"Ah." So her diminutive height was common to her family, and not unique to her alone. "I apologize if I have been rude," he told her, bending his head humbly.
She looked away. "You haven't been," she said softly. "I'm sorry for being kind of prickly; like I said, sometimes it's hard to get respect, being the way I am."
Olberic frowned, head tilting to one side in confusion. "Being a training-master?" He could not imagine it was a path treated with scorn or suspicion, as Therion's was. And he had seen that her students held her in high regard.
She blinked at him, and then shook her head. "Being… a small Quirkless woman," she corrected, seeming confused by his confusion.
Ah. Olberic's bafflement eased a little. "I have seen some men who disrespect those lacking in height, and assume it to mean they are also lacking in other qualities," he admitted. He had obviously not dealt with such problems himself, but he had seen some men be teased for small stature. He had not thought that the same might hold true for women, who were as a whole smaller than their male counterparts… but considering how very small Master Kamiya was, he supposed it made sense that she might not be given due respect. "Or is it that you lack a Quirk, which causes others to treat you ill?" He had not seen it, but those he interacted with here were her students, and would not dare malign her.
"…both," she sighed at last, "though mostly the latter. A lot of people assume being this size is my Quirk, or at least related to it, which isn't exactly an admirable thing in itself, but… when people find out I don't have one, that I'm just small? Suddenly being a tiny woman seems to matter a whole lot more." Her gaze rested on her feet, which didn't quite reach the floor from their bench. "Not having a Quirk is treated a lot like being disabled. People pity you, look down on you… Not everyone, of course, but enough to make things hard. Even though it doesn't really make an actual difference if you've got a Quirk, for the most part. Not for most things. But people still…" Another sigh, small hands clenching in her lap.
Olberic considered her words. "I think," he said slowly, "that to judge an individual by such things is in itself a pitiable act. For it means that one cannot see the merits of their work or choices with clear eyes."
She straightened a little at that, eyes clearing to something altogether fierce and bright. "Exactly!" she said, a smile curving her mouth. "Thank you. It's so rare to—I mean, argh, I've never heard it articulated so perfectly before!" She bounced to her feet, fists clenching in excitement. "Even Truthseeker Tsukauchi doesn't really get it, and he's a great guy!"
He was, at that. "The Truthseeker is a good man, but even so, it is often difficult to see outside of one's own experiences," Olberic said solemnly. "I am a man of action, and so there are many methods of achieving a goal which do not occur to me, which clever individuals such as Cyrus or Tressa might employ." Tressa was, he thought, the most open-minded of them all, when it came to methods to achieve her goals. For she would regularly ask advice of others, inquiring how they might attempt similar achievements, and then decide upon which method or suite of methods suited her best.
Master Kamiya blinked at him, and then laughed a little and sat back down, feet swinging. "…you know you're garbage at hiding things, right?" she asked frankly, blue eyes dancing with amusement.
Olberic gave her a wary look. He did not know how what he had said could give her cause for suspicion, but it seemed it had. "I am not suited to dissembling, no," he agreed.
A nod. "Most people don't call themselves 'men of action'," she said lightly. "And I don't know where you're from that Quirks are not the norm, but I'm also not going to ask." A sideways smile. "I know when to leave well enough alone, and everyone's entitled to their secrets."
Relief and guilt tripped over themselves a bit in Olberic's heart. "Were I given the choice, I would not deceive you, Master Kamiya," he told her somberly. "Nor even keep secrets at all."
"I'm sure you wouldn't," she agreed. "I'm not upset, mister Olberic. Don't worry about that. Is the local food agreeing with you? I know Truthseeker Tsukauchi said you get carriage-sick…"
The change of subject was a relief, almost as much as knowing that Master Kamiya did not blame him for the deception, nor for his terrible skill at it. "It is not what I am used to," he agreed, "but I find that most of the local fare is appetizing enough…"
Master Kamiya was willing to spend some time with him, but eventually her responsibilities called her elsewhere. Thankfully, it was only an hour or so more before Kikuchi arrived to begin his own duties for the evening, and the clerk was very pleasant company, as always. His genuine delight on Olberic's behalf, when it was revealed that they had confirmation of Cyrus' presence in this land, was gratifying to see, and when Olberic told him of the picture he had been shown, and its contents, the clerk had actually laughed, failing to hide his amusement behind a fist and a false cough.
"That sounds like exactly the kind of person you described your friend to be," he said. "Did Truthseeker Tsukauchi tell you that we might have found evidence of your friend Therion being here as well?"
Olberic blinked at him, sitting straighter in surprise. The odd, unstable-feeling swiveling chair creaked a little, but did not wobble. "He did not."
"He probably didn't want to say anything until we're certain," Kikuchi allowed, twiddling a pen thoughtfully between his fingers. "But there was a series of reports which, when combined, painted a particularly interesting picture…"
His description of what had happened concerning the alms-box at a small, local shrine made Olberic snort and smile wryly. "Aye, that is indeed the kind of thing Therion would do," he confirmed. "He has little reverence for the gods, and prefers to rid himself of that which might incriminate him at the earliest opportunity."
Kikuchi chuckled, already preparing to begin his work for the evening. "It's good to see you smiling," he said lightly.
Olberic gave him a puzzled look.
"You've been very… 'down', I suppose I should say, for the past few days," the clerk clarified. "It's worried us all, so it's good to see you doing better." A thoughtful glance upwards. "Rin was more annoyed by my worrying than worried themself, but they'll be relieved to know I've less to worry about, now."
"Rin is… your wife?" Olberic asked, not quite certain of that.
"My spouse," Kikuchi clarified. "They're a florist, so we have nearly opposite functional hours, but we've made do as best we can for the past twelve years."
Olberic folded his arms over his chest, frankly curious. "Tell me," he said encouragingly.
Kikuchi did, quite willingly. It was plain that he adored his spouse—though Olberic was never truly certain if he had meant that they were his husband, rather than his wife—and that despite the strain put on their relationship by the difference in their waking hours, they were putting in the effort to maintain their marriage. The days that Kikuchi did not work, he would wake early, and his spouse stay up late, that they might spend time together. And apparently they were both capable cooks, so they would each prepare the other breakfast before going to bed, which Olberic found both practical and frankly adorable.
"It takes work," Kikuchi admitted. "A lot of it. Rin… isn't always happy with me, especially if I bring anything work-related home. They're a very sensitive person, so it's difficult for them to hear about many of the more terrible crimes I file the records for."
Olberic hadn't thought about that. A city this immense must, by sheer number of its inhabitants, house many more criminals than a smaller town might—and if Kikuchi must read and organize the records of all of those crimes, then surely that exposure to the ugliest parts of humanity would take its toll on him.
"It does," Kikuchi admitted, when he asked. "I try to avoid falling too deeply into the reports I read, but staying objective in the face of some of them… no. I wouldn't be human, if I could do that." For a moment he seemed very, very tired. Then he straightened. "But if not me, then it would be someone else doing this job. It has to be done. And if my doing this can help even one of these crimes be solved, bring closure to those who suffered, then it's worth it."
Olberic had to admire Kikuchi's strength, for in many ways it took more courage, more resolve, to face such trials over and over with no ability to affect their outcomes directly.
When he said so, however, Kikuchi coughed a little and looked away, flushing just slightly. "Everyone has different ways of being useful," he said. "This is just… mine."
Olberic smiled faintly, recognizing the manner of a man unused to being praised for his courage, but changed the subject. "I had only yesterday learned that your people put their family name first, and their given name second. That being the case, should I not call you Hanasu, instead of Kikuchi?" It had taken him some time to remember the clerk's given name, as he had not been using it.
Kikuchi started, and then shook his head rapidly. "I, no, please don't," he managed uncomfortably. "That's… a very familiar thing to do."
Ah. The Truthseeker had said as much, but he had wanted to be certain. Makoto had insisted that she did not mind being called by her given name, when he asked. "Kikuchi, then," he agreed, bending his head.
"Thank you." Kikuchi relaxed a little. "Now, I know I said before that the device-training is finished, and it is, mostly, but it won't hurt at all to work on it some more. So if you don't mind, I'd like to continue doing what we were doing before, to see if I can't smooth out some of the rough parts…"
When Naomasa stopped by the Youth Room to pick up Olberic, he found the warrior asleep in the swivel chair, having nodded off around nine pm according to Kikuchi. Once Naomasa woke him, he straightened—briefly flailing one arm as he overcompensated for the chair's wobble—and asked if there was any further news of his friends.
"Unfortunately, no," Naomasa said regretfully. "But I spoke to the chief, and apparently your paperwork for legal residency has been expedited, and just finished being processed earlier this evening."
That didn't get the positive reaction he'd been expecting, instead garnering a blank look from the warrior, before realization dawned and he nodded solemnly.
Well, Kikuchi had told him about Olberic's lack of enthusiasm for the prospect, so he probably should have been expecting that. Thankfully, he did have further good news. "Based on that, the Chief thinks we'll be able to expedite the paperwork for your sword-carrying permit tomorrow," he said. "It will be a provisional permit," he hastened to clarify. "Your sword will have to be bound into the sheath. But if not tomorrow, then by Monday we should have it returned to you."
The look of sheer relief on Olberic's face was… Well, it wasn't simple joy or excitement. And somehow that made Naomasa feel bad, retroactively, for keeping it away from him for even a few days. As if the law hadn't been preventing an unregistered weapon from being carried in public, but instead depriving a man of his vital necessities.
"Even peace-bonded, I will welcome the opportunity to carry my blade again," the warrior said. "It was given to me by King Alfred, when I became his champion."
Oh. Naomasa shared a look of sudden understanding—and maybe a little guilt—with Kikuchi. "I'm glad we'll be able to return it to you so promptly, then," he managed. It was one thing to think of it as a personal weapon, even one he'd had most of his professional life. It was something completely different to know it was a personal gift from his ruler as recognition for his service. Especially as his ruler was more than a decade dead.
"You know," Kikuchi said slowly, "this shouldn't change the speed at which we'll be processing things overly much, but there is extant paperwork for this kind of situation."
Olberic looked at him, confused.
"The imperial family's guards were occasionally allowed to keep their weapons after retiring from their posts," Kikuchi explained. "There was a lot of paperwork involved, of course, but such circumstances automatically confer heirloom status on the blades. That means that if they're confiscated, unless they're part of an active criminal investigation, they're required to be returned to their owners promptly. As I said," he added quickly, "this doesn't actually change how fast the paperwork will get done, since we needed to have your legal residency paperwork completed first anyway—and it would really be best to at least start filing for citizenship status too—but having something resembling precedent for the situation will help set the other clerks' minds at ease."
It would also make things a bit easier on the Chief, if he ever got questioned about the strings he was pulling to make all this happen. "I'll make sure the Chief's informed," he said. "Sir Olberic, if you're ready to go back to my place, Makoto said she saved us some leftovers from dinner."
The warrior rose with a nod, seeming much more comfortable with the idea now. "I look forward to your sister's cooking, despite the late hour," he said solemnly. "Though I fear it may take some time to recover from the trip, first."
Naomasa couldn't help but smile wryly.
A/N: Olberic and Kaname are drinking Pocari Sweat, which is basically the Japanese equivalent of Gatorade, but much lighter.
A/N: When Olberic says he is from 'the Highlands', Kaname's brain doesn't just think 'the mountains', it thinks 'the Scottish Highlands', because her mom was maybe a little bit of a fan of the series Highlander…
A/N: I actually don't know if MHA-verse Japan still has an Imperial Family, but I do know that the whole 'imperial guards going through paperwork to keep their weapons upon retirement' thing is real, even if the details might differ a bit.