Warnings: None


Lucky Child

Chapter 72:

"Surprises are Overrated"


Relatively speaking, this wasn't the worst thing that could've happened at an aikido lesson.

It could've been Kurama who'd shown up unannounced, you see, not asking ahead of time and giving me ample opportunity to tell Kagome to skip lessons. Imagine the clash of canons had that come to pass. Or perhaps a demon could've attacked and murdered us all one night without Kurama there, taking revenge on Hideki, former friend of a former Spirit Detective. Or, hell, Yusuke could've gotten curious and followed me to practice and then blown up in Hideki's face, maybe, prompting a too-early meeting with Kuroko Sanada herself or something equally unexpected—but instead it was Minato standing before me on the mat, barefoot and wearing a school gym uniform, confusedly staring as the color drained from my astonished face and my mind went absolutely blank.

None of those worst case scenarios occurred to me in the moment I saw Minato, however.

In the moment, his presence felt like the end of the goddamn world—and thus only the feeblest of protests found its way out of my horrified mouth.

"Oh," I said. "Oh no."

Minato, standing with ankles together and back ramrod straight, frowned. "Are you all right, Captain?" he said.

Hideki and Kurama spoke as one: "Captain?"

That's when the demon and demon hunter finally saw each other.

Kurama had entered the room on silent feet, with only the squeal of the door's hinges to give his entrance away. Hideki had ignored him in favor of watching my interaction with Minato, grey eyes as observant as a hawk's—but as soon as Kurama spoke I saw Hideki turn, and from the corner of my eye I saw the two of them bristle, an electric current of tension you could almost taste spiking between them on the dusty air. With enormous difficulty I tore my eyes from Minato, dread pooling hot and leaden in my stomach as understanding dawned on Hideki's face. This was the demon, he realized as he looked Kurama up and down, the barest of sneers curling his upper lip. This was the demon, not the young blonde boy from whom he could not sense demonic energy, and suddenly it all made sense. I don't know if he meant to do it on purpose (though Hideki rarely did anything accidentally) but he took a quick step forward and put himself between me and Kurama, shoulders squared as he stared the demon down.

Kurama, to his credit, didn't move a muscle as Hideki took stock of his gleaming red hair and brilliant green eyes, hands lax and loose at his sides—but in the delicate lines of his porcelain features I read tension like stretched piano wire, lips a thin slash as he glanced for a moment in my direction.

Then his eyes traveled to the center of the warehouse, toward Minato.

Maybe it's something in all of us Switcheroo people, an ability born into in all of the individuals swapped into bodies of fictional characters—but the second Minato's eyes locked with Kurama, I saw in them that he knew precisely who Kurama was. He knew. Recognition sparked like a flame, a blue-hot flame like the fire at the heart of a kiln, and his eyes widened. He took a step back, the unflappable Minato flapped for once in his impressive life. Perhaps he meant to mimic me. Perhaps he didn't. But his lips moved, then stilled, and then he swallowed.

"Oh," he said. "Oh no."

Kurama scowled. "Is this a friend of yours, Kei?"

My name broke the spell cast over me; I could breathe again, a great, hitching breath that sent adrenaline skittering up my back in a thrumming burst. "Uh—yeah, actually," I said. "He is."

And then I hesitated—because which of these smoldering disaster-fires was I supposed to put out first?

My feet decided before my brain could catch up. They moved, marching me stoutly across the warehouse and onto the practice mat, plastic sheeting crunching beneath the weight of my heavy winter boots. My mouth ran, too, as I threw open my arms and gave Minato a wide grin.

"Hey, Minato. I wasn't expecting you!" And I enveloped him in a hug (which he greeted with a small sound of surprise) so I could whisper into the shell of his ear, "What the hell are you doing here?"

For a second he didn't move—and then his arms went around me. His face turned, burying itself into the scarf and puffy coat I hadn't yet had time to take off.

"I intended this to be a surprise," he muttered into my neck—and I probably would've been touched by both the gesture and the helplessness in his voice had the situation surrounding it not been so preposterously dire. Irony dripped from every syllable when he added, "I see now that surprises are overrated."

"I'll bet." I released the hug and stood back, tucking hair behind my ear. "Um."

"Um," he repeated, eyes housing the desperate urgency of a runaway freight engine.

I returned the look with one that matched. "Um?"

We stared at each other in silence—but I could hear a clock ticking, at least metaphorically, and the longer we stood there like a couple of awkward kids at a middle school dance, the fishier we'd look. I pasted on my very best Keiko Face (bless my Keiko Face; bless it to hell and back) and smiled sweetly at Minato.

"Well. Y'know what?" I said, still grinning. "Fuck it. Play along." And with that I spun on my heel, stepping to the side so I could present Minato like Vanna White presenting a particularly choice prize on Wheel of Fortune. Kurama looked quite bamboozled as I held out my hands and crowed, "Well, everybody, you're in luck tonight! This is my good friend Minato, the one and only! I told him he was welcome here any time he wanted to join us for an aikido session, and he picked tonight to surprise us, which is wonderful!" I wagged a finger at Hideki and Kurama in turn. "So please be nice, both of you."

They exchanged a look, the pair of them, dubious and skeptical and just for a moment forgetting they were maybe supposed to hate each other. I just laughed—but from the other side of the warehouse came the pointed clearing of a throat. Ezakiya stood over by the punching bags that were suspended from the warehouse rafters, arms crossed over his barrel chest, one foot tapping the ground. Clearly the big guy didn't like being ignored.

I smiled at him, sweet as candy. "Don't think I forgot about you, Ezakiya. You play nice, too."

He passed a hand over his buzz cut and frowned, looking between me and Minato. "Am I missing something?"

Another sweet smile. "Just the buttons on your shirt."

He looked down—and indeed, he'd missed a button on his shirt, lapels hanging quite askew. Color flooded his tanned face. "Oh," he said, and he turned around to right the wrong.

Ezakiya (shit, shit I had totally forgotten about Ezakiya!) safely distracted, I turned back to Minato. This time I waved at Kurama and Hideki like Vanna White, hoping he understood the manic intention behind my 1,000-watt smile. "Minato, why don't you introduce yourself to my sensei and my friend?" I said. I jerked my head toward Kurama. "I brought him along tonight, too, as my guest. The more the merrier, right?"

He seemed to get it, that I wanted him to take the lead on his side of the story, to control the narrative of why he had chosen to come here tonight. Nodding, he stepped forward and dipped a bow in greeting. "Right. Hello. I am Aino Minato, friend of the Cap—of Keiko's." He didn't pause at all after the cover, passing it off as a natural stutter. "It is nice to meet you both." A bow specifically at Hideki. "You are her sensei, of course. We met earlier."

Hideki had moved inch by inch out of the shadowy corner and into the light, standing at the edge of the mat with his back to Kurama, who lingered near the door—but although he looked at Minato, the set of his shoulders betrayed where his focus remained. "Hideki," he said, with a perfunctory nod.

"Hideki," Minato repeated. He bowed at Kurama. "And you are…?"

Green eyes flickered my way—and oh fuck shit-balls, now I had to play double-agent with Kurama, too?! He looked at me for confirmation, to see how I wanted to play this, like I didn't have an ulterior motive like protecting the identity of a Sailor Scout as well as another Switcheroo buddy—which I most definitely, definitely did. Kurama expected me to protect his double identity from people he assumed were normal, and he assumed Minato was normal, and that Minato didn't have a double identity to protect… which made me, what, a triple agent? A quadruple agent? Christ on a saint-be-damned cracker, this was ridiculous!

Luckily my Keiko Face held strong, and enough of the "you take the lead" look I'd worn for Minato's benefit lingered in my expression to serve Kurama, too. He gave me the faintest of nods before looking back to Minato.

"Minamino Shuichi," he said, voice as smooth as butter. "I am her classmate at school." And then our alliance appeared to end, because Kurama went fishing. "And you know Keiko through…?"

At which point Minato decided he didn't want to play leader, after all, because his eyes darted straight to me. He wanted me to take the reins, I read in them, and fuck it, that was the last goddamn thing I wanted just then. But like a gift descending from the hand of some great deity, an excuse bloomed in my brain like a hothouse flower, which I plucked and presented with all the forced-cheer ferocity of a beauty pageant contestant wearing three-inch acrylic nails.

"Minato and I are study buddies!" I declared. I looped an arm around his shoulders and grinned. "He's going to be my German tutor this semester. I picked it for my elective, remember, Minamino?"

His expression eased a little. "I remember," Kurama said.

"And I figured I'd need a tutor since German is difficult and the school hooked me up with a native speaker." Ruffling Minato's hair, I tipped the room at large the merriest of winks. "You didn't think he got this beautiful blonde hair by being all Japanese, did you?"

And at that Kurama laughed, low and amused. "I suppose not," he said.

"Right, right, of course not!" I beamed down at Minato and hoped he had the good sense to keep playing along, dammit, because we were somehow not totally crashing and burning just yet and the fact that he hadn't reacted or given the game away yet was a miracle. "Anyway, Minato and I thought we'd get to know each other before the semester started through aikido. He expressed interest, I take lesson, ipso facto here we are." I paused. Regarded the ceiling for a moment. Said: "That was the wrong Latin phrase to use in that context but I'm blowing right past it because I'm not taking Latin, I'm taking German, so fuck it." Clasping Minato's shoulders, I looked him dead in the eye and sincerely intoned, "I am very excited to start my German lessons next semester, Minato, you have no idea."

For a moment he just blinked at me. "I—ah." He swallowed. "I'm excited, too."

"Good." I clapped my hands together and turned to Hideki. "Well, no time like the present to get started. What's on the menu tonight, sensei?"

His deadpan stare could've melted stone. "Warm-ups," he grunted. "Show them the ropes… Captain."

I almost barfed at the name. "Heh. Sure." Suppressing another nervous giggle, I motioned for Kurama and Minato to follow me and did my best Botan impression when I said, "This way, everyone."

I had to double back and take off my coat and boots, of course, but soon enough I had Minato, Kurama, and also Ezakiya doing the series of sprints, stretches, and conditioning techniques Hideki favored. Did my very best Richard Simmons impression all the while, enthusiasm dialed to eleven, cheeks on fire from smiling so much—even in the midst of running grueling wind sprints, which I hated. I barely had time to marvel at Kurama's lithe running form, at the way he went through the warmup without breaking a sweat and with a kind of preternatural grace Ezakiya observed with his jaw dropped and Hideki watched through narrow, unhappy eyes from the edge of the practice mat (Minato, meanwhile, appeared utterly focused on his own tasks and did not notice). Probably OK that I didn't watch Kurama too closely, though. Would've made me feel self-conscious, him being even more graceful than me.

Still, doing wind sprints and feeling vaguely inferior was preferable to standing around and talking, even if Kurama seemed to take my explanation regarding Minato's presence in stride. Who knew, though? His poker face was unmatched, and I did not react well under pressure. Obviously he had no reason to suspect Minato was from a work of fiction the same way we were, but he probably had some inkling this whole thing had made me feel awkward as hell. Only question now was what did he suspect, and what would he ask me when we got a minute alone—not to mention what would Hideki do when we entered the same situation?

I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

Fortunately for my nerves, physical activity and working up a sweat helped calm me down a little, or at least helped me channel some of my nervous energy into productive behaviors. Unfortunately for me, the warmup ended all too soon when Hideki called for us to settle in to practice katas and aikido form. Kurama sidled up to me with small smile.

"It's been some time since I fought hand to hand," he said, sounding subtly embarrassed.

I did my best to sound breezy. "Think you can keep up?"

Kurama might have winked, or perhaps he just blinked a little sloppily, though Kurama isn't the type to do anything halfway. "We'll see, won't we, Captain?" he said.

My back stiffened. A nervous chuckle squeaked out from between my clenched teeth.

"You do accrue the oddest of nicknames." His head tilted the barest inch to the side, in Minato's direction. "Your friend seems interesting."

When in doubt, make a joke. "There's that word again," I said, rolling my eyes, and I called upon a subject change to save me. "Cut the chit-chat. Let's get started."

Easier said than done, though. I'd never had to teach anyone aikido before and wasn't quite sure how to do so aside from showing them the basics. Ezakiya and I were well past the basics, after all, but I'd heard it said you never attained true mastery over anything until you were able to teach it to others. My eyes cut to Hideki on reflex—but it seemed my ascension to sensei-hood was to be saved for another night, because just then he walked onto the mat and stood between me and Kurama.

Kurama's shoulders straightened an iota, a rope pulled taut between two fists.

"You," Hideki said, looking first at me before nodding at Minato. "Go with him." My teacher turned to Kurama, fists balling at his sides. "I'll handle this one."

'This one' lifted his chin, green eyes imperious and hard as they stared down the length of his nose at Hideki. Minato appeared at my side, frowning, and then Ezakiya (who stood off a few feet looking pitiably confused) cleared his throat again.

"What about me?" he said.

One pitiless silver eye turned his way. "More sprints," Hideki grunted.

"Awwww," lamented Eza, but he had no choice but to obey and trudged wearily away to do as his sensei bade.

Poor Ezakiya. He had no fucking clue what was going on, that sweet summer child, and he was not better off for his ignorance. I would've felt sorry for him had I not been so distracted with everything else. As it stands, though, I grabbed Minato by the elbow and dragged him off toward the punching bags without a backward glance. Sorry, Ezakiya.

As soon as Minato and I were off in our own little corner, I put my back to the rest of the warehouse and mouthed at him, totally bug eyed, "Oh my fucking god."

Minato took a deep, purposeful breath as if to calm himself, but all he said was, "We should begin."

That was all we dared do just then, because we couldn't attract suspicion—especially since I snuck a glance at Hideki and Kurama over my shoulder and saw they'd found a distant corner of their own, over by the practice dummies, where they stood murmuring at each other so quietly I couldn't make out the words. Hideki had his back to me, but Kurama faced in my direction. He wore his politest of smiles, the one he wore for teachers and our classmates at school—the one I instantly recognized as a mask, as fake as if he'd carved himself a facsimile of ivory, worn to conceal an expression far darker than the bland smile adorning his fair lips.

A shiver coursed down my back at the sight.

Please, Kurama. Please, Hideki. Keep your tempers in check and let this night pass without incident, please

So as not to arouse suspicion, I dove into teaching Minato the basics as best as I was able, guiding him through the most fundamental ideals and principles of aikido as I knew them. Some of it I had to explain verbally, but other parts I demonstrated through showing him isolated moves—select throws and grapples, how to use an opponent's weight and momentum against them, that sort of thing. It's impossible to sum up any one martial art in a single lesson, of course, but Minato seemed to understand that this wasn't a martial art meant to utterly destroy an opponent, but rather one that prioritized the wellbeing of its practitioners over pain and dismemberment, defense over offense.

And then words became superfluous, and we just had to fight it out.

Well. We had to play-fight it out, I guess.

Hideki had gloves and strike-pads on hand; Minato donned the former while I wore the latter, and to get a feel for his fighting ability I had him lob punches and hits at my covered hands. Sometimes I'd strike back, encourage him to use an aikido maneuver to divert my strike, but mostly I was just trying to get a sense of what he might be capable of and of how quickly he might pick up techniques.

And also to cover the fact that I wanted so desperately to talk to him, of course.

Minato was shorter than me, reach not quite as long as mine, but he struck fast and hard like a biting snake at the pads on my hands and forearms, the shock of the blows reverberating through the material and into my joints. He kept his feet active under his body, weight constantly shifting and moving to accommodate for his change in stance and center of gravity—a sign he'd done this before, I surmised. The fact that he could keep up a conversation while sparring said something about his skill level as well.

"Minato, I'm so sorry," I hissed as I parried one of his punches.

He shook his head, dancing back on his active feet. "I should have called ahead. Surprising you was stupid of me." A punch flew with greater force, the impact like bees buzzing in my wrists. Minato bared his teeth. "I never should have tried to—"

"No. It was sweet. You were being—" Words failed as I ducked under a swing of his arm. "Don't be sorry. It's a coincidence." At that I had to smirk, roll my eyes and laugh. "Story of my fucking life."

That got a smile out of him, wry though it might have been. "Sounds like it," Minato said.

In truth, his gesture of showing up to surprise me would have been welcomed any other night—welcomed with open arms, because it showed an effort on his part to adapt to his canon, and that was a good thing. It was indeed sweet of him to try to be friendly with Kagome and I. Just a shame this was the night he'd picked to make that attempt, and I didn't want him walking away from this too burned to try again on a better day.

Not that I had the time to explain that in the short, stolen snippets between palm strikes and punches. I hoped he got the idea, though.

"Are you actually taking German, or was that a clever cover story?"

He muttered the inquiry at such low volume and between such a particularly rapid series of punches, I almost didn't hear him. I countered the flurry of blows and spun, putting myself on his other side and throwing back up my guard.

"I'm actually taking it," I admitted as Minato reoriented himself. I cracked a smile. "Want to actually be my tutor?"

"If you actually need one." He paused, feet stilling underneath him. For a moment he hesitated, but then he asked, almost under his breath: "Are you taking it on my account?"

"That was a factor," I admitted.

"… I see."

I couldn't read his expression, even though his brow his knit and his lips pursed. "I wasn't going to tell you until I'd learned a little of the language," I told him. "Ironically, I intended it to be a surprise."

At last something recognizable registered in his face: shock, followed by amusement. "Well. Don't feel too bad, in that case." A smile ghosted the corners of his mouth as the lines between his eyes smoothed. "Surprises are overrated, or so I hear."

"Wise words," I said, hand dropping to my hip. "Who said them, again?"

I giggled, Minato chuckled, and for a moment we just stood there looking at each other—and call me crazy, but I think the absurdity of the situation had rendered us both a little slap-happy, because even the stoic Minato covered his mouth with his hand and tried very, very hard not to crack up. I stifled a laugh of my own with the sparring pad, wondering if my face reflected the urgent, desperate humor bubbling in my chest—but Minato's blue eyes caught on something over my shoulder. His fists shot up and his feet squared beneath him.

A glance behind me revealed Hideki looking in our direction, scowling, and his critical grey gaze put the fear of wind sprints into my heart. Ezakiya about to keel over in the corner helped, too. We resumed practice at once, circling each other and trading blows until Hideki looked away—back at Kurama, who hadn't moved since I last checked in. He and Hideki still stood off in their corner conferring in low voices. It was hard not to want to wander close and eavesdrop, but something told me neither demon nor demon hunter would allow that to occur.

"To be honest, I'm glad you're here," I whispered to Minato as he threw a punch.

Blonde eyebrows shot up like bullets. "You're kidding."

"No." I jerked my head toward the pair chatting in the corner. "Without an audience, those two might start throwing punches. You and Eza are helpful."

Minato shrugged, bouncing from foot to foot. "Seems I didn't ruin everything."

"Truth." My eyes rolled again. "God, this is a mess." I dodged a sweep of his leg, fluidly bending around the arc of the blow. "On the plus side, at least you're not the powder keg that is Kagome."

Another lift of his eyebrows, questioning.

"She and Kurama met in the past. Your canon doesn't intersect like that."

Minato grunted in affirmation. "Most he could learn is that there are more switched characters." He looked unnerved, then. "Or that the Scouts are real."

"Right," I said. "Dunno if the consequences of either would be too bad, but…"

He grimaced. "Best not tempt it."

"Yeah."

Sparring with Minato, getting a moment alone with him and physically exerting myself in the process, had cleared my head of my at least some of my earlier panic. This whole incident was shocking, sure, and we indeed danced on a high-flying tightrope wire of intersecting canons—but unless Minato transformed into Sailor V in front of the occupants of my sensei's dojo (a feat he had no reason to perform), in the end the consequences of his presence here tonight weren't necessarily huge; it had just taken me a while to calm down enough to realize it. Kurama wanted to keep his own secret identity a secret, so I was pretty sure he'd stay on good behavior and not show off his powers in full view of everyone here, which meant we'd have no reason to drag Minato into the world of Yu Yu Hakusho—given Kurama had no idea Minato was in-the-know about it already and whatnot. Furthermore, Hideki probably now thought Minato was just a normal kid as well, my sketchy behavior notwithstanding. Kurama likely didn't sense anything particularly odd about Minato, either, apart from my aforementioned odd reaction to seeing him unexpectedly. Sure, maybe Kurama and Hideki had seen Sailor V on the news, but given V's cloaking tech, I doubted either one of them would suspect that superhero in a Sailor Suit could possibly be my German tutor Minato.

And even if they did suspect?

"What would the consequences be?" I muttered out loud. Minato caught my eye and frowned. I added, "Practically, I mean? Of the YYH crew knowing about the… SM crew."

It took Minato a minute to puzzle through my use of acronyms, but soon he figured it out. He lobbed another volley my way, which I narrowly avoided. "Demons trying to steal the ISC," he said—and I took that to mean the Imperial Silver Crystal.

I cut my eyes toward Kurama. "He wouldn't do that."

Minato nodded, but he said, "Others might."

"True." I thought about that, about the chaos that might ensue if a demon hungry for power stole the Crystal so many Sailor Moon villains sought to make their own—but I shrugged, because canon afforded some minor protections. "It'd be useless to them, though."

"I hope so," said Minato, darkness brewing in his bright eyes, "but these canons have never mixed. Who's to say?"

He had a point. The Crystal responded to Usagi and her emotions, and it was unlikely a demon could therefore wield it—but without any canon to support that idea, we were working on theories and nothing more. I opened my mouth to say as much, reiterate the need to keep my connection to the world of Sailor Moon a secret (or at least not give anyone reason to think I was friends with a Scout, aside from that one time V rescued Botan and I from a horde of infected teachers) but before I could, a shout rang up.

"That's enough!" Kurama said.

I turned on my heel with a gasp.

Kurama and Hideki stood across from one another, still over in their secluded corner, only something about the scene had changed, though I wasn't precisely sure how or why at first glance. They hadn't moved much, standing in about the same places as before, and Hideki still slouched with hands in his pockets as he stared Kurama down. They were just about the same height, about the same build, neither one of them more imposing than the other at face value… only somehow, now Kurama looked menacing. It was like the shadows behind him had darkened, the broken practice dummies like an army of shambling corpses at his back, his green eye spots of eerie flame against the dark backdrop. Kurama's earlier calm mask had broken, falling away to reveal a face of thunderous, cold fury matched by the fists coiled at his sides and the iron set of his broad shoulders. Somehow I got the sense, as a shiver crawled and snaked up the length of my back, that if there had been plants about, they would have writhed around Kurama's feet like dogs baying for the taste of blood.

Hideki didn't even look impressed.

Minato and I stared, both open-mouthed with horrified wonder, and even Ezakiya froze mid-sprint to watch as Hideki took a step forward, right up in Kurama's face, and muttered something none of us could here. Kurama bared his teeth at that, eyes flashing like aurora borealis—but then, as if sensing our attention, shutters closed behind his eyes. He stepped back, away from Hideki, and passed a hand through the thicket of his hair.

"That's enough," Kurama repeated (softly this time), and he stepped around Hideki and walked away. The shadows behind him lightened into mere gray, tension in the air dissipating like mist in heated sun. Hideki watched him with a frown.

And then Hideki saw us looking.

I tried to turn, pretending I hadn't been staring, but Hideki spotted me too fast. He leveled one long finger in my direction. "You." The finger aimed at Ezakiya. "And you. To the mat. Now."

Ezakiya and I exchanged A Look.

We gulped.

I dropped my gloves, Eza kicked off his running shoes, and we did as we were told.

Minato and Kurama walked to the edge of the mat, watching as Ezakiya and I took up our positions on opposite sides of the red circle inscribed on said mat in paint. Hideki stood on the edge of the circle, too, equidistant between Eza and myself, as he always did whenever any of his pupils squared off. I hunkered down into an at-ready stance as Hideki raised a hand, nerves fluttering in my gut as Eza did the same.

I'd never had an audience for something like this before. Sometimes Kagome or Eza watched while we faced off in various configurations (typically we had a free-for-all, though, all of us against all of us), but never any outsiders like Minato or Kurama. I'd put my back to both of them very much on purpose, trying to pretend they weren't there, but it was tough to ignore the feeling of eyes boring into my nape. My knees trembled, but I concentrated on the adrenaline buzzing in my arms until they stilled. Ugh, performance anxiety. Not now! A bead of sweat slipped down my jaw and over the line of my throat, soaking into the fabric of my gi and out of sight.

Please don't let me fuck up, please don't let me fuck up, please don't let me fuck up, please—

"You two know what to do," Hideki said, hand still upraised. "First to three ring-outs or tap-outs wins." The hand came down, a knife slicing air. "Begin."

I tensed on reflex, preparing for Ezakiya to make his customary charge forward—but it never came.

Instead, something… something funny happened.

Eza didn't move.

It wasn't like him at all, to not come straight at me. He was a big dude, our Ezakiya. All brawn, long reach, but not very fast, he tended to make a straight charge at his opponent and use his momentum to knock the opposition off balance. I knew far better than to get within arm's reach, knew better than to make the first move myself and let him get me in a grapple. If he got a hold on me, I was finished, because grapples were his specialty and impossible to break with my lesser strength. No, when fighting someone like Ezakiya, I had to use his own momentum against him, count on my speed, flexibility, and ingenuity to give me a one-up. Typically I'd wait for his charge, dodge out of the way, and then strike at his weak spots when he wasn't prepared to defend. He was stronger than me, but I was faster and cleverer than him, and we both knew how we each stacked up.

But Ezakiya had learned a thing or two since the last time we fought, it seemed, because he didn't charge.

And since I knew that getting close would give him a chance to grab me, I didn't move, either. I didn't dare strike first. He was on guard and at the ready to defend—too ready for me to chance an attack.

Thus… we stared at each other.

Neither of us moved.

I waited. He waited. We locked eyes and just stood there in our respective stances, each waiting for the other to make a move and strike first.

But neither of us did so.

I think we must have stood there, utterly motionless, for nearly a minute and a half before I figured out what was going on—and judging from the look of confusion on Eza's face, I figured it out first. Barely daring to believe what I suspected, I shifted my weight slowly onto my back foot, as if preparing to make a mad dash forward.

At once, with all the speed of unconscious thought, he raised his arms as if to block a strike.

My lips curled of their own accord.

I'm only a little bit ashamed to admit I played him like a fiddle, then, fucking with him for the sheer fun of it. I slid my foot to the right, watching as he copied the motion and angled his body as if to intercept a potential blow. I slid back, then forward, watching as he mimicked the moves to accommodate for how I might strike—and then I tipped him a wink and put a hand on my hip, joint cocking with a saucy bounce.

"Wanna dance, big guy?" I quipped.

Ezakiya blinked. "Huh?" he said—but when I feinted forward and he flinched, the lightbulb went off. His broad face screwed up tight. "Wait." His eyes shot wide. "Oh."

I feinted again. This time he grinned and made a feint of his own, which I reacted to the same way he had. I giggled. He giggled. I made a T-shape with my hands, and when Eza nodded I turned toward Hideki and thrust my hand into the air.

"Uh. Sensei?" I said.

He looked less than amused, practically glaring. "What?"

"I don't think this is going to work."

His eyes bored into me like the gaze of a fish on ice at a supermarket. "Explain."

"I, uh… I know what he'll do." I jerked a thumb at Ezakiya. "And he knows what I'll do."

"And she knows what I'll do if she does what I knows she'll do," Ezakiya oh-so-helpfully chimed in.

"Which means I won't do what he thinks I'll do," I said.

"But that means I won't do what she thinks I'll do," said Eza.

"Which means neither of us is going to make the first move, because whoever goes first will lose." I scratched the back of my neck, hoping I'd gotten this right and hadn't totally overthought it. "I think we've fought each other too many times."

Hideki's lips twitched, with a smile or a rebuke I couldn't say. "Do you, now?"

"Yeah. If I get within grabbing distance, I'm finished. Eza's too strong. But he can't come after me because I'll outrun him, trip him up, strike when he's off guard. So we're just going to circle each other until—"

"Until I get hungry and go home," Ezakiya mournfully intoned.

I suppressed a laugh. "Yeah, for real though. This has basically become a war of attrition. Whoever breaks and acts first loses."

Hideki stared at me—and then he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Not sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing, I looked at Ezakiya, but he just shrugged. Seems he didn't know, either.

"I was afraid of this," Hideki muttered. "It happens in small classes. You learn to read each other. You need variety in opponents to grow in your craft."

"I'm sorry, sensei," I said, though I wasn't quite sure why I was apologizing.

"I'm sorry, too," Ezakiya echoed.

Hideki glared at us both. "No. My fault for not finding rivals for you to fight." But then a light sparked behind his steely eyes, which swung away from us and toward the edge of the mat. "You."

Minato started. "Me?" he said.

"Get in there," Hideki said.

Minato blinked twice. Looked at the mat. Looked at Hideki. "Get in…?"

Hideki nodded once, curt and swift. "You and 'the Captain' are about the same size." Lips pulled back across his teeth. "Should make for a decent match."

No one spoke.

My heart thudded inside my eardrums.

The air felt very, very cold against my skin—and then sweat broke out across my forehead like a spray of bullets from a machine gun as my teacher's intention sank home.

As my teacher's very very bad idea sank like an anchor through deep, dark water.

"Sensei," I blurted, hands coming up as if to ward off a blow. "He hasn't studied aikido before. I don't think it's a good—"

"Oh, never fear. He's studied martial arts, all right," Hideki said,, totally unaware that Minato's previous and probably extensive training was exactly what I was afraid of. "Haven't you, kid?"

Minato looked at me, as if asking if he could answer honestly—but he drew in a breath and spoke before I could tell him no, to lie, don't you dare answer that fucking question with the truth, Minato, or I swear to Christ I'll fucking—

"Yes, sir," Minato said. "I have."

Hideki looked satisfied. "What disciplines?"

His back straightened; his heels came together, little blonde boy standing at full attention, and for a moment something about him seemed poised, and proud, and powerful. "Brazilian jiu-jitsu supplemented by Krav Maga," Minato said, words as automatic as a microwave timer.

"Interesting." Hideki grinned outright. "Let's see how you fare against her."

And of course, he punctuated those words by looking straight at me—because the world fucking hates me, and like so many of the goddamn surprises I'd been gifted that night, this one I hadn't counted on receiving in the slightest.

What was it Minato had said earlier?

Oh, yeah.

Surprises were overrated—this one very much included.


NOTES

Is this short? Yes. But did I have my bank info stolen and all of my money cleaned out by thieves this week? Also yes. Do I therefore deserve a break? I most certainly believe so.

FUCK IT, ENOUGH WITH THE UNDERSTATEMENT, I AM UTTERLY BROKE AND IT'S NOT EVEN MY FAULT AND MY EMOTIONS ARE BEYOND RECKONING.

If I turn out my pockets right now, all you'll find in them are a few fortune cookie prophecies, a hungry moth, and the faded scent of distant dreams. The theft follows a series of migraine days, a bunch of crap at work last week, mounting bills, and I'm so utterly emotionally exhausted that the level of FUCKERY the universe has decided to dump into my lap has become… hilarious. Like, it's too funny to make me angry or upset anymore. I'm just sitting here giggling hysterically into my hands, hoping they refund everything and my case goes through without a hitch. Someone asked me to make a Ko-fi account once a while back and I was like "nah, I feel weird profiting off of fic" and I still stand by that, but dammit do I resent my own principles in this moment.

Speaking of principles, or a pronounced lack of them: Whoever it was in Kansas who went on a shopping spree with my fucking money can go sit on a cactus. FUCK. YOU.

so, to sum up: It's a short chapter because I'm going to bed now and I don't intend to get out of said bed until Monday morning because FUCK IT.

Your reviews last week certainly boosted my spirits, even if you didn't know you were boosting said spirits at the time. So very many thanks to all those who chimed in. Your comments were little pips of light in an otherwise HELLACIOUS week. I'd say I'm indebted to the following people for their time and kindness, but I'm actually literally in debt right now so that turn of phrase is too painful to use offhand. Instead I'll just said "thank you" to the following: Skylar1023, Yumi22, Domitia Ivory, C S Stars, FreeRainbowsWithLove, EdenMae, tw2000, Veris, Sweetfoxgirl13, shen0, Orihime-sama, Kasumi Uchiha, Sterling Bee, WaYaADisi1, GlaresThatKill, xenocanaan, zukushimika, LadyDV011, fringeperson, yofa, DiCuore Alissa, Marian, Vyxen Hexgrim, MetroNeko, morpheusandmuse, Victrina Belladonna, zubhanwc3, Desaidasa, ahyeon, Alya Tinuviel, Kyrie Twilight, Laina Inverse, Blaze1662001, MissIdeophobia, general zargon, buzzk97, AnimePleaseGood, Pelawen Night, rya-fire1, Kaiya Azure, Aria2302, Just 2 Dream of You, NightlyKill, Kykygrly, StrawberryHuggles, read a rainbow, Evanelle, Meno Melissa, Turtle Kid the Woolgatherer, Flen 99 and five anonymous guests. Bless all of you, and may you never have your bank accounts gutted by thieves two days before your rent, car payment, and car insurance payments are all due.

TIME FOR BED.

G'NIGHT.

(Also for the record the martial arts Minato said he studied are often what people in the Navy SEALS study, so it's likely his branch of the German military probably use the same? IDK, it's what my research turned up; thought I'd mention.)