Warnings: Language


Lucky Child

Chapter 15:

"Truth Hurts"


Waiting just wasn't my style. As soon as I got to the bus stop at the foot of Genkai's mountain, I slipped coins into a nearby payphone and dialed Uehara's number. It rang and it rang (thought maybe no one would answer at all, to be honest), but eventually the connection engaged. I heard a rustle on the line—paper, or maybe cloth. Wasn't sure, despite straining my ears to hear it.

Then a voice edged through the silence.

"…what?"

I damn near jumped out of my skin. The man on the other end had a curt voice, like he'd gargled with glass that morning. It made the impolite greeting sound all the more gruff. Didn't let it phase me, though. I had a Genkai-approved sensei to acquire.

"Hello and good afternoon," I said in my best taking-care-of-business voice. "I'm looking for Uehara Hideki. Is he available?"

A low grumble. "Who's this?"

"Yukimura Keiko."

"Never heard of you. What do you want?"

Very to the point, this guy. Two could play at that game.

I said, "I want aikido lessons."

A very long paused followed thereafter. If I hadn't heard another papery rustle, I would've assumed he'd hung up on me. Seemed well within his grouchy character.

Right as I geared up to say his name, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"What makes you think I'm offering aikido lessons, Yukimura?"

No honorific. And he had a totally mild voice all of a sudden, rough texture smoothing into bland inscrutability. His tone was so neutral I couldn't discern anything about what he was thinking, like he'd taken steel wool and scrubbed every last ounce of feeling from his vocal cords.

I girded my nerves with a deep breath.

"A woman named Genkai referred me to you," I said. "You know her?"

I hadn't wanted to pull the Genkai card so early. Not if pulling it meant getting a trip to training hell. But something told me the fastest way to get this man's help was to use the old woman's recommendation to my advantage…and if my aim was to be psychic, it was about time I started trusting my intuition.

Uehara didn't reply. The silence on the phone buzzed against my ear like wasps. Just as I started suspecting my intuition was a massive piece of untrustworthy bullshit, he spoke.

"Great," he said. "Another one."

"Excuse me?"

"Tomorrow at 7 PM. Block 12, building C. You know it?"

"Um." Wracked my brain a minute. "Warehouse by the bayous?"

"Right." His voice dipped back into its glass-gargling growl. "Do not be late, Yukimura."

And with that, my new (and thoroughly weird) sensei hung up on me.


I considered it a small miracle when I returned to Sarayashiki at a reasonable hour—a reasonable hour by my standards, anyway.

My mom's standards were a bit different.

Before catching the bus to the mountains, I'd stashed my schoolbooks in one of the station's lockers. After I got back around 10 PM, I snagged the books and walked home on tired feet. Mom thought I'd spent the day at the library; the books were part of my cover story, though hopefully I wouldn't need a cover at all. Hopefully Mom and Dad were asleep, or busy, and hadn't noticed that I hadn't come home, or assumed I was with Yusuke…anything would work.

A narrow alley ran around the back of the ramen shop, where we kept the dumpster and received supply deliveries. As I rounded the corner down this alley, movement behind a pile of empty vegetable crates caught my eye. I tensed, but the only thing that sauntered out of the shadows was a pale grey cat with a white patch over half its face. My shoulders slumped.

"Oh, Sorei. It's just you."

Sorei didn't look at me, but he did take a moment to wind his rangy body through my calves before disappearing around the corner. I'd learned to not expect much more affection than that from the creature. Aloof little thing, but we had an understanding: he killed any and all of the rats that would inevitably try to invade the restaurant, and I left my window cracked at night so he could sleep on my desk out of the cold. Quid pro quo. Sorei was a no-nonsense sort of cat. He and Genkai would get along.

I pulled out my key and fit it in the back door. The concrete Buddha by the threshold beamed, cheeks pudgy from his beatific smile. I wasn't religious, but just the same I offered the statue a prayerful plea before turning the key in the lock. Couldn't hurt, right?

"Please let my mother be asleep," I whispered.

Too bad for me the gods just weren't listening.

From the back door I could see most of the restaurant: to my right I had a view up the stairs to the living area; to my left I could see through the doorway into the kitchen; directly in front of me stood an open archway looking out into the restaurant itself.

Mom stood in this archway. Glaring. She'd pulled her hair up under a sleeping cap and wore a bunny-patterned bathrobe over her pajamas.

It's crazy, how intimidating she looked despite the bunnies.

"And just where have you been, young lady?" she asked.

"Oh, um—the library." I pasted on a smile. "Studying ran late. Sorry!"

Deadly calm: "The library closes at 8 PM, Keiko."

"Well, afterward I went out with Yusuke—"

"Funny." Mom didn't look amused. "He came by an hour ago, looking for you."

Even though I was technically 40 years old and technically the same age as my mother, my spirit withered under the heat of her glare. In that moment I was a teenager again—but luckily I'd come more prepared than your average teen.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was going. I just needed to be by myself a bit—to think."

"Think about what?"

"I'm quitting my lessons with Obuchi-sensei."

My intention with that non sequitur was to throw Mom off-balance. Sort of bamboozle her into not being mad anymore, or just distract her long enough to get to my bedroom without starting a fight.

My intention was not to make her cry.

That's exactly what I accomplished, anyway.

Mom looked like she'd been struck by lightning. Then, to my immense horror, her lips began to quiver. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Her blank expression cracked as a sob wracked through her, and then her face was in her hands and I was flying across the room in her direction. My book bag hit the floor with a thump.

"Mom!?" I said, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Mom, Mom, are you—"

"Oh, Keiko, honey—I'm so happy!"

I recoiled. She wiped tears on her sleeve and breathed quick, heavy breaths—and when she raised her head, she was smiling. Smiling this great big smile she usually saved for when I took top spot on exams, or when we had family dinner and Dad told a dumb joke and milk came out my nose.

"I'm sorry," she said, though she didn't sound sorry at all. "It's just—oh, Keiko, I've wanted you to quit for ages."

She started crying in earnest again, but she smiled all the while. A lightness colored her expression, a weight taken from her soul's heavy yoke.

She was crying…because she was happy?

I knew she wanted me to quit aikido. I knew she hated my lessons. But this level of unabashed relief I did not understand.

Anger bubbled hot and bright. Words spilled. I couldn't stop them.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to defend myself," I snapped. Though I'd posed this argument a hundred times, and though this was a fight we'd fought before, Mom's smile faded into astonishment. "Most parents would be glad their daughter wants to stand up for herself. Most parents—"

"I am not most parents, and you are not most children!"

"—would want their kid to be capable of defending herself and others!"

"Keiko, if I had any other child but you, I wouldn't mind them taking lessons!"

Until that moment, we'd followed the script of the aikido argument to the letter. Mom's last statement, however, veered way off-book. I reeled back because what the hell was that supposed to mean? Mom clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with regret and surprise.

"If you had 'any child but me'?" I asked. My voice sounded fragile and hollow, an empty eggshell. "What's that mean?"

My mother took a deep breath. Her eyes flickered toward the stairs. For a second I thought she might tell me to forget it, go upstairs and avoid this conversation.

Instead, she stayed.

"It means," she said, every syllable metered and clipped, "that you have a pathological need to save people."

My heartbeat drowned out the hum of the florescent lights overhead. Air roiled in my ears like a giant breathing. Mom waited for me to say something, but when I didn't, she sighed.

"Ever since you were a little girl, you've saved people," she said. "First it was Yusuke. Then his mother—someone no child had any business saving. But you insisted. You took care of her." Her helpless shrug made her look frail. Were there more lines around her eyes than I remembered, or was I seeing things? "You've stood up to more bullies than I can count. Your teachers are always sending home notes."

My chest hitched. "Mom—"

"No, let me finish," she said. Her soft, stony eyes booked no argument. "You come home with split lips from defending Yusuke, and that's saying nothing of what you've done for the animals you've helped. Beetles floating in puddles. Baby birds fallen from the nest. Kittens on busy street corners." Her lips pulled into a shaky smile. "I'll never forget the day you ran into traffic to save Sorei. Nearly gave me a heart attack."

I'd bolted away from my mother the second I saw the bedraggled kitten lurch off the curb and into a busy road. Sheer luck had kept this lucky child from 'pulling a Yusuke' and getting both myself (not to mention Sorei) splattered on the pavement. I'd named the kitten 'ghost' in honor of that narrowly-avoided fate. Despite my success, Mom had never stopped lording that moment of impulsivity over my head. I hadn't known she'd connected it to aikido, though, or to my apparent savior complex.

Savior complex. Looks like there was a name for my behavior, after all.

"That wasn't very smart of me," I mumbled.

"It was kind, though," she said.

Warm fingers on my cheek. Mom cupped my face, thumb brushing beneath my eye.

"You are the kindest person I know," she said, voice gentle. "But—you put yourself in danger, to be so kind. All those split lips and skinned knees." Breath shuddered in her throat. "You're too in the weeds to see it, but teenagers think they're invincible."

I knew better than that. I wasn't even a teen. But I couldn't say as much.

Not to her. Not to anyone.

"I thought if you learned to fight, you'd put yourself into even more danger," Mom continued. "I thought you'd seek it out just so you could fix it and save people. But no matter how well you fight, you're still just one girl." Her voice rasped like she'd swallowed sand. "I don't mind you learning to defend yourself. I'm just afraid you'll go overboard, and—"

Her voice broke.

She started crying again.

"I'm just afraid you'll get hurt, trying to save people!" she gasped. "I couldn't take it if you got hurt, Keiko!"

I covered her hand with mine.

At that point, I was crying, too.

We stayed up another hour, just talking, about safety and kindness and the places where survival and altruism intersected and parted ways. About how much I'd worried her, and how I wished she'd told me how she felt sooner, because at least now I knew why aikido bothered her so much. Now I knew how to save her from pain—but there I went again, saving people. We had a good laugh at my expense over that.

When we finally went to bed, her tears had vanished in favor of a serene smile.

She seemed happier after our conversation…but I hadn't had the heart to tell her I was quitting Obuchi so I could get a different sensei. A new sensei, one who would likely prove infinitely more dangerous than the former. I couldn't bear to wipe the look of relief from her eyes.

As I fell asleep, I vowed to never let my mother know of Uehara. Much as I hated lying to her, something—perhaps my untrustworthy intuition—told me the truth would only break her heart.

I'd carry the weight of the truth alone. It was not her burden to bear.


The next day after school—after Yusuke ran off to do whatever it is he did after school, and after telling my mother I'd be at a friend's house studying (more lies, more lies)—I went to the warehouse on Block 12. Warehouse C sat on the edge of a drainage canal, behind a row of similar warehouses made of corrugated tin and splintered wood. It didn't look like a dojo. Nevertheless, as twilight faded and the sky turned violet, I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Flickering lights overhead lit the space like something out of a bad mobster movie. The sparring mats in the middle of the warehouse gave the only clue to this building's true purpose.

Four people sat on these mats. All but one looked up when I came in. My heart thudded.

"I'm here for aikido lessons with Uehara Hideki," I said.

"So are we," said one of them.

Heartrate slowed. Good. Was in the right place, after all. I left my bag and shoes near the door, next to a small pile of other gym bags and tennis shoes, and joined what I assumed were my fellow students on the mat. Four guys and a girl. Two guys looked my age, and one looked maybe 20. All wore standard aikido uniforms and sat in the style I'd learned from Obuchi. The oldest one had his eyes closed—meditating? Not sure. He was the one who hadn't looked up when I came in.

The girl, meanwhile, was only 10 or so, and way smaller than everyone else. She had black hair pulled back in a high ponytail; thick bangs fringed her forehead, framing her amber eyes like curtains. Looked like she was wearing her school gym clothes rather than a proper uniform. Interesting. I wore spandex pants and my aikido uniform top.

"Hi!" the girl said in a voice like a chirping bird. "It's sure nice to see another lady here!"

"Same," I said. "I'm usually the only girl in class."

"Yup." She had a smile like a sunbeam—more puppy than bird, eager and sweet. "Nice t' meet ya!"

Bold speaking patterns, frank eye contact, very little volume control. We'd just met and I could already tell she was the fearless sort—especially considering she'd come, seemingly by herself, to a warehouse on the edge of town and sat in a dark room with three men twice her size. Brave or foolhardy? Time would tell.

Before I could ask her any questions, maybe probe and see if her parents knew where she was, the door rattled again. Dim light spilled around the silhouette of a tall man with broad shoulders, frame thin but wrapped with muscle I could see even from this dim vantage point.

"Stand up," the man said.

We scrambled to our feet. The guys all stood with rigid posture, heads up, hands by their sides. The girl clasped her hands behind her back and rocked on her heels, beaming as the man walked across the room and stood before us.

I got a good look at him once he stepped into the light. Grey hair brushed his shoulders, and an equally grey goatee fringed his jaw, but he only looked maybe 40 years old despite the coloring. Craggy face, hawkish nose, narrow black eyes, pasty skin—he looked like a grim, pale specter, standing there with hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

Although his posture appeared lazy and relaxed, I noticed he kept his weight on his back foot, as though ready to duck out of the way or spring forward at any time.

His eyes swept over us.

Then they met mine—and they were blank. Perfectly, flatly blank, emotionless and cold.

My skin crawled. It crawled even more when he spoke. My classmates flinched at my sides.

"Katas," the man said. He had a familiar glass-gargle voice that could only belong to Uehara. "Now."

A pause as we collected ourselves, and then we ran through katas at Uehara's behest. He watched us perform without expression, and when we finished, he swept his hair back into a low ponytail. Then he kicked off his shoes, walked through our ranks, and positioned himself in the middle of the mat. Although he didn't remove his hands from his pockets, a subtle shift in his stance indicated he'd moved his center of gravity low, even more prepared to strike than before.

Another shiver traced my neck.

"Form a circle around me," he said.

We did so.

"Now. Come at me. All at once."

His expression didn't change until we hesitated, students all exchanging uncertain looks—because one on five didn't seem fair, even if Uehara was our sensei. Lips curled back over his teeth in a savage grimace.

"I won't wait all night," he growled.

Another group-wide hesitation…and then the 20-year-old moved, hands fisting as he hunkered into a striking stance. He was tall, and had far more muscle mass than my lithe sensei. Not a fair matchup by any means, going on build alone.

"Yes, sensei," Big Guy said.

He flew forward, coming at our teacher with a basic but powerful strike to the chest. Uehara didn't move. His eyes flickered up and down Big Guy's body, and for a terrifying second I thought he wasn't going to dodge the hefty challenger's blow—but then in a move so fast I couldn't register the details, Uehara grabbed the guy's wrist, shifted his weight, and executed a flipping move that sent Big Guy into a rolling, forward dive. The guy landed on his back at Uehara's feet with a thud.

Uehara resumed his earlier, upright stance.

Hands returned to his pockets.

His expression did not change.

"Come. All of you at once," he said. "You won't beat me one on one, I promise you."

Silence pressed thick around us—and then to my right came a warbling, feral, ear-piercing screech. The little girl leapt at Uehara with both hands outstretched, using no recognizable aikido form whatsoever, face contorted into a lupine snarl as she flew across the mat.

She didn't get anywhere close to punching him, but to her credit, his eyes did widen in mild shock. He caught her by the wrist and shoulder and executed another flipping move—but this time he did something a little odd with his hands, fast and smooth and almost imperceptible. The kid's breath went out of her in a whoosh when she hit the mat. She rolled to her side, coughing and glaring as Uehara resumed his customary stance.

"Whoa," I said.

One of the boys my age shot me a look.

"He—did you see what he did with his hand?"

"No?"

"No talking," Uehara snapped. He pointed at the girl. "There's more ferocity in that tiny thing than in the rest of you combined. Take notes."

"Hey! I'm not a thing!" the girl protested.

"Whatever. Now the rest of you—attack, dammit!"

As Big Guy rolled to his feet, the other two boys mounted strikes of their own. I stayed put, trying to analyze what Uehara had done while the boys kept him busy. He'd gone slower with the little girl. More than that, though, he'd somehow rotated her in the air so her shoulder—rather than her face or spine—took the brunt of the impact when he threw her.

He'd protected her. He'd protected her, and the guy so much bigger than him, even while protecting himself…and he'd barely even moved to do it.

Was this the true power of aikido?

The two other boys fell to the mat in short order. Uehara returned to his spot, then surveyed the room.

His eyes fell on me.

"Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to do something?" he said.

I took a deep breath.

I threw my first punch.

I wound up flat on my back.

I got up, and I tried it again.

Fall down seven times, stand up eight, as the saying goes.


Fighting Uehara Hideki was like fighting a ghost.

For an hour we attacked him. For an hour he defended. No one landed a single hit. He fought us without expression, wordlessly, grappling and throwing and dodging like an untouchable phantom. If we stood idle, he'd break his lazy stance to strike and drag us back into the fray. He never let anyone stay still for more than the time it took to catch one's breath.

One by one we each sprawled to the mat in utter exhaustion. When we'd all fallen, and no one got back up to fight again, Uehara loosed his hair from its ponytail. It brushed his shoulders like strands of silken ectoplasm.

Man wasn't even sweating. I, meanwhile, was pretty sure I looked like a disco ball doused in bacon grease.

Uehara surveyed us for a minute. Then he raised a hand and pointed one accusatory finger at Big Guy.

"You," he said, "rely too much on power. Develop your agility."

Big Guy looked thoughtful. Then rolled so he could bow, forehead reverent on the mat.

The finger shifted.

"You," Uehara said, looking between the two other guys, "are both trying too hard to look cool. Cut it out."

Neither of them denied Uehara's words, but both looked remarkably unhappy to hear them.

It was the little girl's turn. To her Uehara said, "You are lacking in even the most basic of fundamentals. Study."

She pouted. "Meanie."

"Truth hurts. Deal with it."

And then he turned to me. His eyes bored into mine, and for a second I forgot the bruises budding on my back and ribs. I forgot my aching lungs and burning muscles. I forgot the sharp pain in my shoulder, the throb arching up my wrists.

Under Uehara's impenetrable gaze, I felt my very soul exposed.

"You," he said. I shivered again. "You think too much. Stop that."

I blinked—and then I snorted, laughter suppressed but heartfelt.

Uehara scowled, emotion finally cutting through. "What's funny?"

"I get told that a lot." His critique was no surprise. I'd been expecting much worse. I mimicked the older guy and pressed more forehead to the mat. "Thank you, sensei."

When I rose from my bow, I saw that he'd retrieved his shoes and slipped them on. He looked at us over his shoulder as he walked out of the warehouse.

"Today was an evaluation," he said. "Be back next week for actual lessons." For the first time, his lips moved into the ghost of a smile. "Don't eat beforehand. You'll throw up."

And with that, our specter of a teacher disappeared into the night.


As we gathered up our things, Big Guy briefly introduced himself as Ezakiya. He seemed cool, if not a little quiet. The other two boys left without a word, grumbling to each other as they followed Ezakiya into the night. Something told me I wouldn't be seeing those two again.

"What a big bunch of babies, right?"

The little girl stood at my elbow, grinning up at me despite the darkening bruise on her milky cheek.

"Not Ezakiya. I meant the others. Those two don't like criticism, but you can't grow without it!" she said. "I like Uehara. He doesn't put up with shit, I can tell. No place for babies in this dojo, no sir."

Wow, cursing from a kid this young? My kind of gal.

"Think you'll come back next week?" she asked. She tipped onto her toes and shadow-boxed, punching at an invisible enemy. She'd attacked with undiminishing enthusiasm all night, only lying on the mat when she couldn't breathe anymore. Tough little puppy. "I'll be back, and next time, I'll kick Uehara's ass!"

"And I'll be there to watch you do it," I said.

"Really?! You mean it?! Because I'll be real glad to know another girl will be here!" I didn't think she could smile any bigger. She proved me wrong as she stuck out her hand for a friendly, Western-style shake. "The name's Higurashi Kagome. Nice to meet you!"

Oh, a Western shake? Interesting. It was like being in my old life again. Not many Japanese people—

My hand froze midway on its journey to grasp hers.

Wait.

Higurashi…Kagome?

I supposed confusion and burgeoning alarm showed on my face, because Kagome pulled back her hand and tucked a strand of inky hair behind her ear.

"What?" she asked, frowning. "Something on my face?"

"Your name is…Higurashi Kagome?"

"Yup!" she chirped. When my expression didn't change, she frowned again. "What's wrong? Why are you being weird?"

I wasn't trying to be weird—it's just that as soon as she said her name, I saw it. I saw her. I saw the thick black hair and bright brown eyes and pale skin that earlier had looked normal, but now bore a striking resemblance to—

No. It couldn't be. It was just too improbable.

But I had to check, goddammit.

"Um," I said. "Um. Sorry. Sorry, it's just…" I shook my head, composing myself. "Shot in the dark, here, but do I look familiar to you?"

Her head cocked. "No. Not really. Why?"

"Um. What about my name?" I took a deep breath. "It's Keiko."

She did not react.

"Yukimura Keiko."

Kagome continued to look nonplussed—and then her brow furrowed.

"Yukimura…Keiko?" she repeated.

"Yeah." I saw wheels turning in her head, or maybe I was just delusional, but either way I soldiered on. "And my best friend's name is Yusuke."

I stared straight into her eyes, with all the gravity I could muster.

"Urameshi Yusuke," I said.

"Urameshi…" she repeated—and then her eyes opened so wide I feared they'd fall out of her head. "Urameshi…Yusuke?!"

Was I striking it rich here? Was this actually happening? My heart beat like wild horses, adrenaline hot and thick. Time to go for the gold and find out.

"So, um." I heaved a helpless shrug. "You don't happen to know anyone named Inuyasha, do you?"

Kagome didn't move.

Then her mouth fell open.

She jumped back.

She pointed a finger at my face.

"Oh my fucking dear sweet Jesus!" she absolutely screamed. "Yu Yu Hakusho!?"

"Oh my god!" I pointed at her. "Inuyasha!?"

"Oh my god!" Her hands flapped. "Yu Yu Hakusho!"

"Oh my god!" My hands shook. "Inuyasha!"

"Are you—?"

"Are we both—?"

Kagome started screaming, wordlessly—but she was smiling, too, grinning so hard it put all earlier smiles to shame, and the next thing I knew she'd grabbed my hands and was pulling me along as she jumped in circles, screeching a banshee screech of unbridled joy so infectious it got me screaming, too.

Somewhere in the middle of the happy screech-fest, I felt tears on my cheeks.

It was the first time in Keiko's life I'd cried for joy, and though I hated crying, I couldn't keep the tears inside.

At last.

I'd found someone else.


NOTES:

This is not going to become a crazy crossover; waylay your skepticism for just a bit!

Keiko's cat's name translates to 'ghost.'

MANY THANKS to those who reviewed! As always, staggered by the warmth y'all are putting out in regards to this story. I feel so warm and fuzzy! Xenocanaan, wolfzero7, A, Cat Scratch Feve, Death's Apostle, I-Y-T-Y, The Story Teller Sentinel, DiCuoreAllison, Marian, Marine, Kaiya Azure, Sanguine Sky, Bruja Chess, Bruja (are you two the same person? Lol), Kuroyuki no Ryu!