Warnings: None


Lucky Child

Chapter 87:

"I Want to be Useful"


The pool area, dimly lit and secluded, was quiet at night. Cupped by the sprawling wings of Hotel Kubikukuri and blockaded from access afterhours by a few tall fences (ones I had scaled with ease), the pool remained hidden from view by tall palms and other potted trees, keeping it out of the eyes of any trespassers—or would-be skinny dippers, probably. I kept my clothes firmly on as I sat on one of the wicker lounges beside the pool, the cushion on its surface sinking gently beneath my weight. Odd aquamarine light, cast by the lights beneath the expansive pool's glassy surface, played over my face and hands as a chill breeze whipped billowing gouts of steaming air off the water. I was just glad I'd worn a sweater. It was spring, but the air off the sea possessed a chill, and at night the chill sought to creep into my bones and lodge there like a tenacious toothache.

I fiddled with the box in my hands for a few minutes after settling in, snapping and unsnapping the plastic catches on its front in time with my heartbeat. No one was around. In the distance I heard voices and laughter, hotel guests at a party or something, but the area around the pool (including the swim-up bar at the pool's far end) remained hushed but for the sound of wind in the trees and the faint lap of water at my feet. Although I could not see anyone, I got the sense I was quite obviously visible for anyone who knew to look for me.

And that wasn't a bad thing.

That was, after all, exactly what I wanted.

I took a deep breath and said, "Hiei?"

He appeared before me in an instant, even though I'd prepared myself to call him over and over to get his attention. I'd half-thought he might ignore me entirely. Perhaps he'd been watching me all evening. There was no way to tell; it wasn't like Hiei would provide an answer. No, the hard set in his livid eyes told me he was not in the mood for providing clarity. He stood between me in the pool, glaring, eyes doing their animalistic reflecting in the dark, two scarlet discs that flashed like furious lightning through the night. I couldn't quite tell if he was glaring on purpose, or if that was just the way his face fell and his eyes just were—not that it mattered.

I knew Hiei was furious no matter the state of his eyes.

We stared at one another. The aquamarine light from the pool coaxed sapphire from his hair, but with his back to that source of illumination, he was little more than a looming, red-eyed silhouette in the dark. It took me longer than I'd like to admit to find the will to speak to him, phantasmal as he was.

"I'm sorry," I said.

It took him no time at all to reply. "You should be," he said, and I winced. "You should be sorry, Meigo."

I breathed deeply. "I know."

"What in the three worlds possessed you, coming here like this?"

"I wanted—"

"I don't care what you wanted."

"—to help."

"You are incapable of helping." Now his teeth flashed, too, pricks of silver aggression in the shadow of his face. "You are a powerless weakling human busybody. Useless. You are useless, Meigo, and there is no place for you here." His voice, harsh as sandpaper, became even harsher still. "I lost because of you."

"You didn't lose," I protested. "You ended the match in a—"

"Anything other than a clear cut win might as well be a loss when the stakes are this high, Meigo, and you damn well know it." Hiei put his back to me with a flourish of black cloak. "Go home. There is no place for you here. You aren't wanted."

My throat ached. "That stings, Hiei."

"Good. That was my intention."

"If you're trying to chase me off, I admit it's working."

"Good." His left hand lifted, pointing away into the distance. "Leave. Go home, Meigo. For all our sakes. Your presence here will damn us all."

His words grated on my feelings, but chief among them was my pride. "Hey, now," I said, sitting up straight. "I'm not the one who made you leave the ring. You did that on your own, and yeah, I admit I distracted you, and I'm really really sorry about that, but I didn't think you'd spot me and even if you did spot me, you could have waited to talk to me until the match was—"

This was the wrong thing to say.

Hiei whirled in my direction, and before I could even blink, his left hand (only his left, alone, and not his right) slammed onto the lounge beside my leg. Nose to nose we stared at one another; I was too frightened even to flinch, my heart leaping into my mouth with the agility of a star gymnast.

"Could I have, though?" The question was absolutely rhetorical, Hiei's thunderous tone brooking absolutely zero room for argument. "Could I have, with you mothering and smothering me like a parent towards a child? With you worming into my head the way you have since the very minute you called for me, that day I met you with the Sword?"

A series of pops drifted from the direction of his hand, his fingers clenching so hard into the cushion they punctured right through it. It was his eyes that held me captive, so furious and heated I felt they might burn me alive—but it was his words that did the real damage, each one aimed with pinpoint accuracy to hurt and maim and wound me.

They succeeded.

"I am no child, Meigo," Hiei growled into my face. "I need none of your protection, pitiful as it is. I do not need your help, because nothing you can offer is of any use to me. I do not need your mothering, your feeding me, your affection. I do not need anything from you. I do not want anything from you." His lips curled; laughter bubbled in his chest, but it was cold. "You think you're important to me, Meigo? You think you matter? If you think that, then you're wrong, because you're not, and you don't. I don't want you here. I don't need you here." Somehow he managed to come even closer, my vision overtaken by the sight of his inflamed and furious eyes. "I. Do. Not. Need. You."

We held that look for what felt like an eternity. Wind blew by, sending my long bangs fluttering; they brushed Hiei's cheek, he was so close, and at that touch he finally withdrew. Once more he stood by the pool, gazing down into its depths, his back put very purposefully toward me—but he didn't leave.

Why wasn't he leaving?

I took a series of deep breaths. With every word he'd spoken, the ache in my throat had intensified, tears welling in my eyes until they threatened to spill over. Something told me Hiei was in more pain that I was, though, the sting of his verbal lacerations notwithstanding.

Hiei… Hiei had lost his match. And losing was something he hated. Something that undermined his views of his own strength. Something that was anathema to his view of himself and his abilities. No wonder he was snapping at me. He'd come away from his match wounded both physically and mentally. No wonder he bristled and sought to wound me in return. He had checked in on me during the match, acted on whatever emotional tie he had to me, and it had cost him dearly. Hiei was the kind of person who viewed emotional ties as weaknesses to exploit, I was certain, and the day's events had probably proved (in his eyes) that he was right to hold that view.

Valuing me and my safety had cost him.

If he needed to place the blame on me to feel even the littlest bit better, I was happy to be his punching bag.

I took another deep breath, and then I patted the lounge chair next to mine. "Sit."

Hiei didn't bother turning. "No."

"Please?"

"Why?"

"I want to help you."

One baleful eye shot red sparks over his shoulder. "Are you deaf? Are you delusional?" he spat. "I said—"

"I know you don't need my help." Somehow, my tone stayed measured. "And to be honest, I doubt this'll actually help you. It's for me, mostly." My chin ducked on reflex. "It's so I don't feel as useless as I am."

Hiei's visible eye widened. In increments he turned my way, aquamarine stripes turning his eyes very briefly violet.

"I know I'm useless, Hiei." It wasn't fun to speak that truth aloud, but I did it anyway. "I know I'm weak. But I… I'd like not to be." I smiled. "So, sit. Please? For me."

It took him a long time—but eventually, he sat. He didn't look like he wanted to, but perhaps curiosity got the better of him as I started to unpack the little plastic box in my hands. Out of this first aid kit I removed ointment and bandages, but when I pointed at Hiei's right arm (hidden carefully within his cloak) and gestured for him to let me see it, he scoffed.

"Useless again," he mocked. "Those medicines won't help."

"At all?"

He glanced down and to the right—toward his hand. "This is a wound of spirit as well as flesh, and arguably more of spirit than of flesh. Your bandages and salve will only go so far." A humorless smile twisted his mouth. "Skin deep, you might say."

I considered this. Said: "OK. Then let me at least help with that much."

For a moment, Hiei said nothing.

Then, eventually, he muttered: "Fine."

When I saw the state of his arm, I wished he had said "no."

It was horrible. There can be no sugarcoating it. I smelled his arm, first, as he removed it from his cloak. It gave off a scent like burning meat and cinnamon, undercut by the distinct aroma of decay, putrid and disgusting. Black and twisted like a slab of meat left too long on a grill, Hiei's skin had been absolutely mangled by extreme heat, twisted and discolored and as crisp as dehydrated bone. Cracks and rivulets had opened in the horrific mess of his skin, and through the cracks wept clear plasma and sluggish blood—blood that came out dark, like Hiei's skin was more ash than healthy flesh. I did my best not to react to the sight of his twisted fingers and desiccated arm, but I couldn't keep the slightest of gasps from eking between my lips. Hiei's lips only curled at the sound, and he looked at his arm without flinching.

He flinched when I gingerly took his arm into my hands, though. His face spasmed like he'd been electrocuted, but within an instant he composed himself, face reverting into a state of complete neutrality. He did it so fast, I had to wonder if I'd only imagined his discomfort, but… no. There was no way this arm wasn't killing him with pain. It felt hot beneath my hands as I cleaned it with vials of saline solution (solution that ran black onto the tiled ground between us), like a fire burned within it and continued to sear Hiei's arm from the inside out. When the saline ran clear (and when I finally dared to breathe through my nose again), I dressed his arm in salve, and then I wrapped it from top to bottom with clean white bandages—but within seconds some of the bandages turned pink with blood and plasma, wounds open and leaking beneath their protective cover.

Bandaging Hiei up gave me some comfort, though. Burns were especially prone to infection if not cleaned regularly. I'd dressed my father's kitchen burns enough times to know how to safeguard them. A childhood spent in a restaurant kitchen teaches many lessons—but not enough of them to tell me if I'd done Hiei any good or not. His wounds were worse than any my father had ever incurred. If I didn't already know the future, I'd tell Hiei to sit out of the next fight, or even out of the rest of the tournament. Let Yusuke carry the weight, next time—if his Spirit Gun wasn't locked, of course. Provided that bit of canon stayed constant.

Speaking of Yusuke: His fight Chu had certainly matched canon. Yusuke had woken up and fought him in the knife-edge death match, just as canon dictated… although I hadn't seen but the last half of said match. Had been too busy having a panic attack and throwing up my breakfast in the bathroom to watch the start of the fight. I'd crawled out of my hidey-hole in time to see only the end of the fight, and it had gone mostly to plan. Yusuke still won with a head-butt, but he almost won a few times before that by using Chu's larger mass against him, dodging out from under Chu's attacks to make the warrior stumble and nearly topple forward. I didn't remember Yusuke doing that in the anime, but maybe the anime had just skipped that part. His moves had been slick, and I had to wonder where he learned them… not that it mattered. Yusuke had won his match against Chu and the team had still won, despite Hiei's draw. That was all I cared about.

Well. Almost all I cared about. Hiei would be even more eager to prove himself now that he'd lost. I knew that like I knew my own (adopted) name. But with that said, would he stick to canon and miss the start of the Ichigaki fight, too in pain to make it on time, or would he endanger himself in his eagerness to correct the stain on his fighting record?

Softly, almost under my breath, I said, "I have a lot to offer, you know."

Hiei snorted. "I doubt that very much."

"It's true." I didn't let his barb get to me. "It's unconventional, but… I know a lot of things I shouldn't, Hiei. You knew that already, but here, in this place, my knowledge can be of use." I met his eyes with a smile I didn't really feel inside. "I can be useful. I promise. With what I know, I can help the team."

"With what you know…?" Hiei repeated, and then he fell quiet. But something sharp sliced through his gaze, and he raised his eyes to mine as he said, "Will I recover?"

Words failed me—because Hiei was not one to ask such direction questions. I'd meant that I could help the team more generally, somehow, or guide them from the shadows to victory, but…

Hiei's gaze didn't falter. I swallowed down my nerves and curled my hair behind my ear. Gently, item by item, I picked up the gauze packs and saline vials and stowed them away in the first aid kit.

"You once said you weren't so stupid as to mess with fate," I muttered. "Do you really want an answer?"

"Would you give it to me?"

I couldn't look at him. "I think I feel so guilty about today that I'd do anything you asked of me right now."

It was the honest truth, but Hiei's eyes widened so far, I might as well have declared I was actually an alien from Mars. He recovered quickly, though. He stowed his bandaged arm away inside his cloak and stared at my hands, as if they might give away what he should say next.

"Do not tell me how," he said eventually. "But tell me." His eyes cut, once more, to his right side. "Will it ever be what it once was?"

I spoke simply and without hesitation: "It will be more."

Relief flickered through his features. "In time for the fights?"

"Some of them."

Relief became indignation in a snap. "Some?!"

"Hiei. Listen to me."

His ire cooled. I shut the first aid kit and snapped the catches on its front into place. The stars above burned cold and distant, like the eyes of some indifferent pantheon watching without interest from afar.

"Do what you need to do to heal," I said to Hiei, enunciating every word. "Fight and scratch and claw to heal yourself, and to gain control of that Dragon." I looked into his eyes and held them fast. "Do whatever it takes. Go to every extreme. You will not heal unless you go to every extreme." And then I paused. Lifted a single, warning finger. "But know this."

I took a deep breath. Hiei said nothing, hanging on my words, eyes like smoldering coals as the pool's turquoise light played across them.

"Soon you'll get… a push," I said, thinking of Ruka and her force fields. "Not a big one. But it will be a push that will help you heal more quickly than you realize." I wagged my finger. "Make no mistake. Healing will be hard work. Do not doubt that for a moment. Do not let up for even a moment. Do everything in your power to grow strong again. But just know… this isn't the end. And your arm will not remain like this forever." I smiled. "And that push is coming sooner than you think."

"Hmmph." Hiei ducked his chin, burying it in his scarf. "Could you be any more cryptic?

"Probably, Chandler Bing."

"… what?"

"Nothing."

He just scowled at me. I smiled and swung my legs over the edge of the lounge, lifting my hands over my head in a stretch. I hoped I looked casual, because I certainly didn't feel that way inside. As with all my conversations with those canon characters who knew the truth of me (or at least some of it, as Hiei did) I walked the frightening border of saying too much and keeping too much in check—but with Hiei, I couldn't keep it all a secret. What I'd said to him was true. I felt too badly for what happened today to hold back, especially when his question was so personal. I just hoped my warnings to never let up, never get complacent, had their desired effect. If I simply told him that he'd heal, he might leave his arm to fate and not actively TRY to heal. His efforts to heal were key. I couldn't let him fall victim to a supposed self-fulfilling prophecy (not after I'd already caused other problems for him), and thus my warning lecture had been born.

When I finished stretching, I opened the first aid kit again. "Oh. You should take these."

He eyed the bottle of pills I handed him with distrust. "What are they?"

"Pain relievers. We should probably change that dressing on your arm tomorrow, too. If you want to meet me—"

He stood up, bottle creaking in his hand as he clenched. "You mean you're not going back?" he said. "Back to your city?"

My head shook. "No. I can't. I have to—"

"I don't want to hear it," he interjected. "Go away, Meigo."

I reached for him, though I don't know what I intended to do if he let me touch him. "Hiei, I'm not—"

He pulled away before I could grasp the edge of his cloak. "I meant it when I said you are not wanted here," Hiei spat. "You just get in the way no matter how much information you offer. So go."

And then he vanished as completely as smoke on the breeze.

I stood there in silence beside the pool as the wind set its water to rippling for… I don't know how long.

Then I picked up my first aid kit and headed back into the hotel.

My feet scraped over the brilliantly polished tile as I walked toward the nearest elevator, morose. Hiei meant what he said, I sensed, and that depressed the shit out of me—but I also sensed that Hiei, fiery demon that he was, was in a place of unrest. Of turmoil. Perhaps his emotions were still in flux, and with time, he might come around to me again.

Or maybe he wouldn't.

All I could do was wait, and be there for him if he returned.


Atsuko opened the door to our suite as I fumbled with my room key. She'd been waiting for me to get back, I surmised, an assumption she confirmed when the first words out of her mouth were: "Hey, Keiko. Where'd ya go?"

"Out for some air. Did you know there's a pool?"

"Really? Good thing I brought my bikini." She grinned. "No fights tomorrow; we'll have to do some sunbathing."

"Sure."

Inside the suite, Shizuru stood in the kitchen soaking soba noodles and sautéing something that smelled suspiciously like shrimp in a pan (no idea where she found fresh ingredients; I'd packed my duffle full of boil-ready meals like noodles and whatnot, but nothing I brought smelled like whatever she was cooking). Botan sat at the bar that overlooked the kitchen, watching Shizuru work, in silence. She pillowed her chin on the marble countertop, hunched over nearly in half. Didn't look at all comfortable, which was odd, because the suite's opulent couches and cushioned chairs were only a few feet away in the living room. That's where I most certainly would've chosen to sit, and that's where I headed as I walked inside—but before I could take a seat, Shizuru lifted a spatula at me from across the bar.

"Where've you been?" she asked around an unlit cigarette (even a chimney like Shizuru wouldn't smoke while cooking).

"Getting air." I sat in one of the bar chairs beside Botan, who didn't move or greet me. "What's for dinner?"

"Soba. We need to talk."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Now that Koenma knows about Botan, we need to discuss telling the others we're here."

As my heart stuttered, Botan sighed. "I suppose there's no harm in it now." Without sitting up, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a colorful badge on a lanyard. "I could put this team trainer pass to good use if we revealed ourselves," she said, eyeing the badge with another sigh.

"I… disagree." The words popped out unbidden; everyone looked at me with a mixture of shock and confusion. "About revealing ourselves, I mean."

"What?" Now Botan sat up, expression perplexed. "Why?"

"Don't you want to see Yusuke?" Shizuru said. "And the others."

"Yeah." Atsuko sat in the chair on my other side and leaned her elbow on the bar. "You and him had a fight, right? Shouldn't you try to make nice? Or are you avoiding him?"

"It's not that." A deep breath. "I have a confession to make."

Shizuru frowned. "Hmm?"

"I wasn't just getting air. I… went to go see Hiei."

Botan blinked. "Hiei?"

"Which one's that?" Atsuko asked.

"Short guy in black," Shizuru said. "Angry look on his face."

"Scary dragon goth boy, got it," Atsuko said. "But Keiko, why'd you go see him?"

"Yes, Keiko. Why Hiei?" Botan concurred. "He isn't the social sort. I've been training with him, and even I don't get close unless I have a good reason."

I took another deep breath, this one harder than the first. "I went to go see Hiei," I said, "because his match ended in a draw because of me."

I explained the whole thing in a rush, not daring to look any of my friends in the eye. My head hung low by the time I finished; no one interrupted me as I spoke. I think they were too stunned to figure out what to say.

"They don't have a match tomorrow," I said when I finished recapping. "They need to stay focused and prepare. Hiei made it clear he doesn't want me around, and Yusuke and I are already fighting. I don't want to distract them by showing up out of the blue, y'know?" I carded my hands into my hair and pulled them away again, and none too gently. "Because clearly if I distract them, it can have dire consequences."

A moment of silence followed. I didn't dare look up to read their faces, but soon Botan sighed.

"I get it," she said, voice soft. Her hand alit comfortingly on my knee. "We'll lie low, Keiko."

"Yeah. We will. And besides." Atsuko grinned. "I'd like to lounge around by the pool tomorrow, and explaining to Yusuke why the heck I'm here might take all day. Best put it off a while if I'm to get my pool time."

Botan giggled. Shizuru, meanwhile, regarded me thoughtfully from within the kitchen, arms crossed beneath her breasts. I half worried if Shizuru might call my bluff, because while everything I'd said about not wanting to be a distraction was true, I'd left out the most pressing reason why I wanted to remain a secret from the boys. We needed to reveal ourselves when we had Yukina in tow, during Kuwabara's painful match with Risho. Threads of fate hung themselves on that moment, spiraling off into the distance of destiny, so I felt I had to at least keep the option of that big moment safe in my pocket. For now, at least, if it looked like we would need it.

If Shizuru sensed any deception from me, she said nothing. She just turned back to the stove, looked at her bubbling pots and pans, and announced: "Food's ready. Let's eat."

And so, we did. We ate, three of us at the bar while Shizuru stood in the kitchen, and we chatted about the matches, and we discussed amongst ourselves how we wanted to spend our fight-bereft tomorrow. Botan didn't say too much, but she did giggle when Atsuko mentioned that Chu would make for a good drinking buddy. Could we track him down at one of the hotel bars, she wondered? It wasn't like he had a fight to get to anymore, and mama needed some man to tide her over while we're stuck on the island.

That got Botan to outright laugh. "Atsuko! Gross!"

Atsuko winked. "Honey, you ain't seen nothing—"

She stopped talking when someone knocked three times upon our door. A moment passed, and then they knocked again. Shizuru, Botan, Atsuko and I exchanged a series of looks, each more nonplussed than the last.

"You don't think Chu has demon hearing and is making a special delivery of his abs, do ya?" Atsuko said under her breath.

"Probably not." Shizuru set down her bowl and headed for the door. "Sit tight. I got this."

Tense silence, punctuated only by her footfalls on the plush carpet, followed. Botan and Atsuko looked wary, but my pulse beat a tattoo against my ribs at the thought of it being one of the boys. Maybe Hiei had ratted me out, or perhaps Koenma—

I didn't have to wonder for long. Soon the door creaked open. "Hi." Shizuru said. "And you are?"

"Is…" A sniffle, pitiful and wet, cut the quiet air. "Is Keiko here?"

"Maybe. Maybe not," Shizuru said. "I'll ask again: And you are…?"

She needn't have bothered repeating the question, because I was already off my chair and trotting to the door. "Otoha?" I said as I rounded the corner—and sure enough, there she stood. Her eyes lit up when she saw me, but they were red and puffy with tears.

"Oh, Keiko. Thank god," she said. "Is that offer of a girl's night still open?" She held up a six-pack of beer and an entire fucking handle of vodka and promptly began to bawl. "Because I need one so bad!"


Otoha, it turns out, was in dire need of a drink or five, and she had the shittiest boss in the world.

She waited only for me to tell her that yes, the offer was still open before swanning in, collapsing on our couch, loosening her necktie, and shotgunning a beer while the rest of us looked on in stunned silence (except for Atsuko, who just looked impressed). I barely had time to hiss out an explanation as to why this pretty demon woman thought it was OK to waltz into our suite unannounced before Otoha launched into a rant about the aforementioned boss—and what a rant it was.

"He's horrible!" she said as soon as she downed the last drop of her beer. "He makes us wear these stupid frilly dresses and if we're even a minute late, our pay gets docked! And the human rich guys are so gross and they make their rooms a horrible mess and they laugh when we clean it up and our boss just tells us that that's what we get, that's what we signed up for, that's why the pay is as good as it is, even though that one human upended a bottle of wine on the carpet I had just finished cleaning and he laughed and laughed and—"

She picked up another beer, popped through the metal near the bottom with her finger (holy shit, she was strong!) and cracked the tab. Atsuko actually applauded as Otoha chugged this one, too, but Otoha appeared not to notice. She just wiped her mouth with her wrist and snarled at the ceiling, hands flying upward so hard her beer can went soaring.

"And he's just so smug!" she warbled as we took tentative seats on the chairs and couches around her. "Thinks he knows better than everyone about everything and he made two of the other girls cry." She looked at each of us, enunciating each word with horrified gusto. "He. Made. Them. Cry! Because their uniform didn't fit right because Kaori gained just a little weight, and—!"

Botan put her hands over her mouth. "He sounds terrible!"

Otoha nodded and hiccupped, her coppery cheeks darkening a tad. Interestingly, the pink scales on her cheeks had darkened to a vivid magenta, too. I cut in to say, "Hey. I thought you were a front desk worker, not a maid."

Her liquid brown eyes blazed. "I am! That's the problem! If he doesn't like you—and he hates me because I called him out for being a massive butthole—he makes you do all the jobs no one wants!" She looked at us, seeking validation. "Just to get back at you! Can you even believe that?!"

"Girl, that's awful." Atsuko raised a fist. "Need me to punch him?"

Otoha reached for a beer. "Yes, please."

"Cool." Atsuko stood up. "Where do I find 'em?"

Otoha cackled with glee—but then she did a double-take as Atsuko walked toward the door. "Wait, no!" she shrieked, launching off the couch. She staggered, though, falling to her knees, but that didn't deter her from wrapping her arms around Atsuko's waist in the slightest. "I'd love seeing him with a fist upside the head, yeah, but I need this job," she said, voice muffled against Atsuko's side. "No punching, no punching!"

"Aw, damn," Atsuko lamented.

"Why do you need this job so badly, though?" Botan asked. "Especially with such a horrible boss to report to."

Where she'd earlier reacted with gusto, here Otoha hesitated. She unwrapped herself from around Atsuko and sat on the couch again, where she began to fiddle with the cap on the handle of vodka. I steeled myself to interfere if she tried chugging that, too, but she didn't. She just sighed, and set it aside, and then she put her head in her hands. Silky black hair fell in thick waves around her face, lustrous and shiny.

"Need the money," Otoha grunted. "But I'm not the biggest fan of humans, and—" She caught herself, glancing up with a hangdog look. "I mean, you seem nice, all of you here in this room, but the rest of them are—"

"Rich assholes?" Atsuko suggested/

Otoha's face cleared. "Right," she said, nodding. "And they're the only humans I've ever really met. Aside from you. So my overall impression of humans isn't really…"

"Don't worry about it. I don' like rich assholes, either," Shizuru said. She reached into her pocket for her cigarettes. "So you said you need the money?"

"Yeah." Otoha heaved another sigh, sagging back against the couch. "I might not be a big fan of humans, but Demon World can be hard to live in. My family… we're not the strongest of demons, y'know? And we're not the richest. We get by, of course. We've got our skills that make us useful. But if we had money, we could move somewhere safer. To a bigger city."

My curiosity reared its head. "It's safer in Demon World in cities?"

Otoha nodded like a bobble head, and before I could stop her, she swigged straight from the vodka bottle. The scales on her cheeks turned even darker, nearly purple now. "Out in the badlands, the strong eat. The weak are meat," she said, words slurring just a tad. "But in the city, demons work together. Strength in numbers, and not just lone wolves trying to survive. So that's where we need to go, but…"

"Why can't you just pack up and move?" Shizuru asked.

For a second, Otoha looked at Shizuru like she'd said something really, really dumb—but then a lightbulb went off. "Oh. Right." Even through the haze of alcohol, she managed to appear thoughtful. "Humans don't know much about Demon World, do they?"

Nope. Nope, we most certainly did not, and I was most definitely eager to correct this oversight and get the inside scoop. Luckily Otoha delivered, and I didn't even have to prompt her.

"A lot of the bigger cities are surrounded by high walls, right? Like, for defense?" She flopped onto her side and lifted a hand, tracing it in patterns through the air. "And they're ruled by strong demons. To be let in, you've gotta be useful. And even if you've got abilities that're useful, usually you have to pay a toll. And taxes after that, too." Something about that made her scowl, but I suppose that's understandable; having to pay for safety isn't exactly a pleasant prospect. Otoha continued, "Human money isn't worth much in Demon World. We trade, mostly, instead of using money like humans do. But while I'm here, I can use that money to buy gems. Gold. And that's worth a lot in every world you care to visit." Ambition glittered behind her giant brown eyes like the flare of a brilliant precious stone. "If I get money, I can get gems and gold and cloth and all kinds of things, and we can use that to buy our way in to a big city. We can use it to be safe."

That made sense. With so many territories in Demon World, having one consistent currency wouldn't be easy. I wondered if Mukuro, Yomi, and Raizen ran cities like the ones Otoha described, or perhaps their entire land was a safe space… but I couldn't exactly ask that outright without revealing that I knew the names of Demon World leaders. Nuts. I'd have to ask Kurama sometime, instead.

Otoha hefted the bottle, but she hiccupped and put it down again. "And that's why I gotta keep working and not punch people in the face," she said. One hand descended onto the coffee table in the middle of the couches; she slapped it with vicious enthusiasm. "I need cash, dammit, cold and hard and clean, so I'm keepin' my cool no matter what! No punches! Not even if my boss has a stupid, big smug face!"

I couldn't help but giggle at the insult, but Botan's eyes started to well up for no reason whatsoever. She got up from her seat and sat beside Otoha on the couch, grabbing the demon's hand in hers with a soft smile on her face. "Otoha, dear, I admit I was confused when you showed up at our door, but now that I've heard your story, I understand you completely."

Otoha blew her black bangs from her eyes with a noise like an elephant. "Eh?"

"I, too, need to earn my way into a better life. I, too, have to do things I'd rather not to prove my worth." Botan's smile turned bitter. "And I, too, have a boss I have to tolerate on my way to achieving that goal. Otoha, you and I—we're sisters."

Now it was Otoha's turn to look teary. "Sisters."

"Yes. Soul sisters." Botan clutched her hand tighter, solemn and sincere. "And if you need anything, anything at all, you come back here at once and we will help you. That's a solemn promise."

Otoha looked at her in wonder. "Sisters who help each other." Her eyes welled up so much, it was a wonder she didn't start bawling again. "I only have brothers in Demon World."

"Then can I be your adopted sister on your stay in Human World?" Botan asked.

"Of course you can!" Otoha said, but then she looked confused. "Oh. But. Um. What was your name again?"

"Botan."

"Botan." Otoha clutched Botan's hands in hers, reciprocating the gesture with a sniffle. "You're so pretty and nice. You're all so pretty and nice." She snatched up the rest of the six-pack and began distributing drinks. "Here, here, drink. Drink with me! You're all my sisters now and you're all so pretty!"

"Thank you, Otoha." Botan hesitated, but then she cracked open her beer and grinned. "A drink sounds like exactly what I need!"

Atsuko, predictably, looked absolutely jazzed by this turn of events. "Now you're talking!" she said. "Anybody got a pair of keys? Let's bust these bad boys open!"

Shizuru wordlessly handed over a set of keys from her pocket, laughing when Atsuko immediately shotgunned her drink. "Yeah. I'll join in, too," she said. She shot me a sidelong glance. "Think you can keep us out of trouble?"

I saluted. "Just call me your designated driver."

Otoha was raising her beer high. "To sisterhood!"

"To sisterhood!" Botan concurred.

"Cheers!" Atsuko said, and they downed their drinks. I watched with a grin as Botan coughed and sputtered, unaccustomed to the taste of beer, and Otoha offered to make her a yummier concoction with the vodka and any juice we might have in the fridge. Booze wasn't exactly the healthiest way to deal with one's problems, but if it gave Otoha an escape and an outlet from her poor employment situation, I was just happy to be of help.

And it turns out Otoha wasn't the type to take help without reciprocating, because that night, she helped me out in a bag way, too.


The next morning, I woke up early to find Atsuko snoring on the floor, Otoha asleep in a chair, Botan passed out in the bathtub, and Shizuru safe in her bed. Shizuru, it seemed, was far too dignified to ever crash somewhere embarrassing, but somehow I figured even she wouldn't be immune from the raging hangover they'd all no doubt have when they woke up.

Well. Everyone but Atsuko, probably. She spent most of her days drunk; she'd probably wake up and just keep drinking. "Can't have a hangover if you're still drunk," is most likely her motto.

As quietly as I could, I placed glasses of water and packets of painkillers next to all of my friends, and then I wrote a note saying I'd left to go look for hangover breakfast foods for them. I left this note on my bed, weighted down by a hair barrette on my pillow. Hopefully they'd find it before worrying about me too much. The note was for them, after all.

The other note, stowed safe and secret in the pocket of my jeans, was for my eyes only.

Otoha had slipped the note to me midway through the drunken bacchanal of the previous evening. It happened around the time Atsuko literally tried to swing from the chandelier (Botan and Shizuru just cheered her on, unhelpfully; whoever had got us this room would have one hell of a bill by the time the Tournament ended, that was for sure). I went to the kitchen while Atsuko did her best lemur impression to look for salty snacks to feed her, to get her to sober up and drink water and whatnot, but as I turned around to bring the peanuts I'd located back to the others, I found Otoha leaning precariously against the doorframe.

"Hey," she slurred. "Hey, you!" She slipped a hand into her top and pulled a small white card from her bra. "This is for you, you beautiful angel-bucket."

"What is—?" I started to ask, but then I spotted my own handwriting on the front of the card and snatched it away. I knew exactly what that must mean. "Oh," I said, surreptitiously shoving it into my pocket as I shot a glance into the living room. No one was watching; my secret was safe. I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks."

Otoha giggled and leaned in close, hand cupped around her mouth to whisper, "Got one of the maids to leave it in his room. She found it the next day with instructions on the back." Another vodka-scented giggle. "Still dunno what you want with him, but it looks like you knew exactly what to say to get his attention, huh? You smart little waterbuffalo of joy."

"Yeah." It appeared that I did (and also that Otoha was really good at weird compliments). "Thanks again. Really. I mean it."

She waited a beat, but when I didn't say anything else, she lifted a finger and pointed it at my face. "You're a cagey one, ain't ya? A little paranoid squirrel-nut with a cute lil' tail, that's you," she said, all of her weight propped against the kitchen door as she laughed. "Don't worry, though. I won't tell anyone about it."

"Thanks for your discretion."

"Sure." Another of her giggles, this one accompanied by a tipsy wink. "I'm drunk, not dumb!"

I tended to agree with that assessment. Even when drunk, Otoha knew how to be subtle, and for this I was grateful. I watched her from inside the kitchen as she stumbled back into the living room to egg on Atsuko's exploits, smiling all the while. Otoha was shaping up to be a valuable ally, not to mention a pretty nice friend.

But then she told Atsuko to try and hang from the chandelier with her feet, and I had to put my musings aside until the next morning, when I bid everyone a whispered goodbye at the suite's door and headed downstairs for breakfast.

The breakfast I was after wasn't for them, though, as my note had claimed.

The note Otoha had delivered told me to go to one of the many restaurants scattered throughout the hotel. This one was near the back of the building, where it provided a stunning view of the ocean from the top of a wide, airy veranda left open to the sky and sun. The tux-clad maître d' stood before a pair of enormous glass doors that provided access to this veranda, but the restaurant must've been kind of exclusive because that door appeared to be the only way to reach the tables beyond. I approached him with a smile, but he looked me up and down with a look of undisguised disdain. I wasn't nearly as fancily dressed as the people eating breakfast at the tables, shaded by umbrellas and sipping cocktails from tall glasses. I looked as out of place as a bull in a ballet studio.

But I didn't let his Judgey McJudgerson act keep me from being polite. "Hi," I said as I walked up. "I'm here to meet—"

The moment I proffered the white card in my pocket, his expression cleared. "Ah. I see. He's been expecting you," he said. "Right this way, miss."

Now that was more like it. He led the way through the doors and onto the veranda beyond without any more mean looks, this time treating me like an actual guest instead of a pesky fly he'd like to swat. His steps carried us toward the edge of the veranda, which overlooked a sheer drop to a rocky shore below, not to mention the azure sea stretching wide and far beyond it. The springtime sun made it warm, but the sea breeze kept it from being overly hot, as did the large parasol over the small table near the balcony's edge. As we neared this table, I spotted a grey head wearing a black cap, a fringe of long grey hair falling down the back of the person sitting there. Nice. He had his back to me. So I was getting a jump on him, huh?

Or maybe not.

We were a few feet away when my breakfast partner turned, ever so slightly, and looked straight at me through a single, narrow eye.

He said nothing, of course. I didn't really expect him to. Whoever breaks the silence loses the advance, right? He waited in silence as the maître d' pulled out my chair and helped me to sit like I was an actual high-society lady or something, watching me through silent and assessing eyes whose color I couldn't quite discern. Something about that detail unnerved me, though I couldn't quite articulate why.

The maître d' bowed after placing a napkin across my lap. "May I bring you a drink, miss?"

I debated asking for something fancy but decided against it. "Water, please."

"Very good, miss."

He walked off. For a minute, neither I nor my breakfast companion spoke. When I dared look him fully in the eye, his thin and wrinkled mouth curled into a smile rendered almost invisible by his long, bushy mustache. His smile stayed in place as he spoke—so, no wonder I couldn't make out his eye color. His eyes scrunched up too much for me to really see it. Other than that, though, he wasn't particularly remarkable looking. He was all long grey hair, voluminous eyebrows, a pointed chin set below a face as wizened and brown as a walnut, and stooped shoulders (he was actually a bit smaller than I expected him to be, honestly, but mostly because of his hunched back). If it hadn't been for his pointed ears, he'd look like a kindly grandfather.

I knew better to believe that, though. Appearances, especially with this demon, were very much deceiving.

"Well, well, well." His voice, thin and reedy, trembled the way most elderly people's did—but the quaver in it was somewhat regular, more like trained vibrato than an uncontrollable shake. "Out of all my predications, I can't say this numbered high among them. A human, asking to speak with the likes of me? Wonders never cease." His head tilted to one side, highlighting the length of his pointed ears. "You've caught me quite by surprise, miss...?"

"Yukimura Keiko."

"My, what a lovely name. But I don't suppose you need to hear my name in return, do you?" His wavering voice evened out a touch, almost imperceptibly. "You seemed to know it very well, after all."

Seemed like a fine time to take my note—or rather, our note—from my pocket. The old man eyed it for a moment, and when he spoke again, the tremble had returned to his voice.

"I admit it gave me quite a shock, receiving that note." A beat; he pretended to fumble, as if remembering something he'd forgotten, but I was pretty certain this was all part of his act. "You are the one who sent it, I take it? I suppose I should confirm before making assumptions."

I smiled. "Yes. I sent it."

He let a laugh creep into his voice. "Right, right. Forgive an old man his forgetfulness in his advanced age."

"I think we both know you don't need to keep up the act, 'old man.'"

His smile dropped. For a moment, he didn't say anything—but then he sat up in his seat. His shoulders moved back, spine lengthening as his posture turned ramrod straight. Now he was actually tall. Far taller than me as we sat across from one another.

"No," he said. "I suppose not." His eyes were plain old brown; I could see this now that he'd stopped smiling, and his voice no longer held any trace of its earlier quaver. "And speaking of acts? You certainly put one on to pique my interest. That name you borrowed most definitely does not belong to you." His eyes narrowed again. "And I should know."

The note disappeared from my hand and reappeared in his. I couldn't keep from flinching (that speed!), but the man before me did not appear to notice. He simply cleared his throat, lifted the note before him, and began to read aloud.

"To the demon known as Old Man Onji," said the demon known as Old Man Onji.

"I am in need of your assistance. As such, I'd like to meet you—sooner rather than later, if possible. I mean you no harm whatsoever, though I do not doubt that you will doubt the truth of that assertion. Please pick a public place and time and I will do my best to meet you wherever and whenever specified. Return this note to its deliverer with your instructions.

I look forward to meeting you.

Sincerely and respectfully yours,

The Beautiful Suzuka"

He paused a second. His mustache twitched. His eyebrow did, too, as he read the postscript.

"P.S…"

"I'm not clowning around."

I chortled. Onji glared. Apparently he didn't find me nearly as funny as I did, and he made that very clear when he said: "Nothing sincere about the way you signed that, I feel compelled to note, nor about that obnoxious pun. But it certainly got my attention. For that, if nothing else, I commend you."

I tried to stop laughing. Failed. Onji's glare intensified.

"Now tell me." He crossed his arms over his chest as his voice became all haughty Suzuka, not a trace left of the jolly old Onji he liked to pretend to be. "What's this all about? What a human like you could hope to gain from a demon like me, I really have no idea—even if I'm a particularly fine specimen of a demon, of course." He certainly liked to hear himself talk, because even though he'd asked me a question, he kept talking without giving me a chance to answer. "You're a brave little thing, I suppose, coming to me the way you did and with such an audacious ruse, but it will take more than that to impress me. Did it ever occur to you that borrowing my true name might make me angry? Might make me come after you? Hunt you down and slaughter your pathetic human self like a common dog?"

"You like to pick on dogs?" I deadpanned. "Not a good look, bro."

Call me a fool if you want, but knowing that Suzuka was a pompous blowhard beneath his mask made it really, really tough to take him seriously—even if he was still strong enough to squash me like a bug. Luckily for me, he didn't take my joke too hard (but anybody who wears a clown suit recreationally ought to have a good sense of humor, methinks). He started, and then he threw back his head and laughed—though I got the sense it was mostly at my expense. Laughing at me, not with me. That sort of thing.

"Well, at least your impertinence is as amusing as it is laughably harmless." He rolled his eyes and sighed, as if weary of me already. "No. I suppose picking on weaklings like you would do my reputation no favors." He waved a hand through the air, imperious and dismissive. "Very well. You're safe… for now. Provided you don't offend me over breakfast."

I would've made another snide crack of some kind, but a waiter appeared to list the breakfast offerings. I picked pancakes; Onji (or should I call him Suzuka?) opted for black coffee. Weird flex, but all right.

"You don't seem scared of me," Suzuka observed when the waiter left. His voice took on an air of arrogant command. "Tell me. Are you merely too foolish to recognize true danger when you sit in its immediate and intimidating presence," (holy fuck, what a blowhard!) "or do you simply think you know something I don't, inconceivable an idea as that might be?"

"The latter," I said.

He looked derisively unconvinced—but then he seemed to reconsider. "Hmm. Perhaps that's true, keeping in mind the fact you know my secret." He scowled. "A secret I buried quite expertly, if I do say so myself. Are you in a sharing mood, or is asking how you know who I am a fool's errand?"

I shrugged. "I keep my ear to the ground."

"Ground I buried my name very deep below."

"I've got good ears, I guess."

"Oh, I doubt that very much. Humans are notorious for their poor senses."

"And yet I knew your name," I pointed out, "and what you intend to wear when you stop wearing this disguise. Funny how that works out."

His scowl returned, deeper this time. "That outfit I've kept even more secret than my name." A pause followed, in which he looked me over yet again. Pensively he murmured, "You seem like a normal human to me. But then again, I've met very few of them and therefore have few points of comparison. Perhaps all humans are this… inscrutable." A smirk. "Not to mention irritating."

"Nah," I said, grinning. "That's mostly just me."

His eyes rolled. "Just my luck, in that case." Once more he waved as if shooing away a particularly bothersome gnat. "Well, don't leave me in suspense. Out with it, pitiful human wench. What is it that you want with me, the Beautiful Suzuka?"

Finally he stopped talking. I thought he'd never let me speak. With a cough I folded my hands atop the table and said, "You are a purveyor and inventor of… devices. Devices that can be used to enhance the abilities of the wielder, or provide a technique to someone who lacks it. Correct?"

He had the decency to look impressed, albeit grudgingly. "An ear to the ground, indeed."

"I'd like one." When he didn't react, I added: "I'd like an item that can make me spiritually aware, I mean. Psychic. That sort of thing."

Still he appeared not to understand. "You'd…" he said, and stopped.

Studying his blank face, I wondered if, perhaps, a demon like Suzuka was as ignorant about humans as most humans were about demons. "Not all humans can sense energies or manipulate their psychic senses," I explained, figuring it didn't hurt to clarify for him. "The humans who back this tournament are probably a mix of both. You don't need psychic powers to enjoy bloodsport, after all."

(That got him to snort, though I wasn't quite sure why. Maybe he felt as resentful of those backers as I did. Tough to tell, but it hardly mattered. I soldiered on.)

"The human team this year are all… awakened, if you'll pardon the phrasing," I said. "I'm not. I'm as spiritually aware as a potato. But if there's one thing I think you can understand, it's ambition." I smiled, though I'm sure the gesture looked as bitter as the cup of coffee he'd ordered. "I'd like to be more than I am, you see. I'd like to feel useful. And I think you could—potentially, and depending on how magnanimous you feel today—help me with that."

It was a good speech, I suppose, but it didn't appear to have any effect on him. Suzuka just stared, unresponsive as a sheet of paper, until I felt compelled to shrug.

"It's fine if you can't help, or if none of your inventions can accomplish what I ask," I said, hoping to nag at his annoyingly boundless pride just a little. "If you can't or won't help, I'll go on my way without a word, and you'll never hear from me again. But you miss 100% of the shots you don't take, and I refuse not to at least try." I beamed and spread my hands flat atop the table. "So, Beautiful Suzuka. What say you?"

Maybe it was my sparkles-and-sunshine stare. Maybe it was the eager way I leaned toward him across the table. Maybe it was my gung-ho, can-do attitude or the way stars and unicorns were basically shooting out of my butt. Maybe it was none of these things, or maybe it was all of them, but whatever the case may be—Suzuka cracked. He sighed, put a finger to his temple, and sagged in his seat under the weight of my enthusiasm. Score.

"I say that if I can help—and I'm not saying that I can, even as undoubtedly brilliant as I most assuredly am, so curb your expectation somewhat. But if I can help you… what's in it for me?" He preened like a cockatoo in front of a brand new mirror. "My talents are far too valuable to waste on mere and undeserved charity, after all."

My reply came instantaneously. "I can offer information."

One diaphanous brow lifted. "About…?"

I beamed at him again. "The person you're trying to kill, of course."

That sure did throw him for a loop, though why he was surprised at this point I honestly can't say. He grumbled under his breath and rubbed his temples. "So you even know about my grand ambition, then."

"Yup!"

"I never told anyone about that. And I highly doubt he did, either."

"Yeah, well. You don't really brag about defeating someone you consider beneath you, right?"

Suzuka's gaze hardened. His hands dropped into fists atop the table, heavy enough to make the silverware rattle. I gulped in spite of myself, because in his Onji disguise, Suzuka was actually kind of intimidating… in a "don't disappoint your grandpa" kind of way. Oofa doofa…

"Apologies," I said, holding up conciliatory hands. "I'm just eager to prove I have knowledge. I didn't mean to insult you."

His glare eased. "First sensible thing you've said all morning," he muttered. "You are wise to correct yourself in front of me, for the Beautiful Suzuka is not forgiving."

He probably would've gone on a tear about demanding respect since he was too beautiful for anything less than unwavering devotion, or something similarly vomit-inducing, but the waiter appeared with my pancakes and his coffee just in time to keep the lid on that garbage can of a rant. I dug into my food at once, stuffing my face with syrup and pastry without another word.

Suzuka sipped his coffee as I ate. "How do you know about my history with… him?" he said when the waiter disappeared.

I spoke (as vaguely as possible) with my mouth full. "I am privy to many channels of privileged information," I said without looking up from my pancakes.

Suzuka was not satisfied. "Define 'privileged.'"

"Define why you're asking me to define terms."

"Define why you need me to define why I asked you to define yourself," he countered, and then we stared at one another in tense silence.

I swallowed my pancakes. "I am not," I said while daintily blotting my mouth with a napkin, "going to tell you my secrets."

He sipped his coffee, smug. "Then I won't help you."

I shrugged. "Then we're at an impasse."

I don't think he was expecting me to just… let things go like that, but I did. I cut another bite of pancake, ate it, and then cut another. He watched in silence as I ate my way steadily across my plate. One of his fingers, gnarled and wrinkly in its disguise, tapped against the side of his mug. It tapped slowly at first, and then it tapped faster, and then faster still. The tempo of my pancake-eating, however, remained unchanged.

"… why aren't you leaving?" Suzuka eventually asked. "A declaration like that demands a dramatic exit."

I just shrugged again. "These are good pancakes." I stuffed some into my mouth to illustrate. "Why aren't you leaving?"

He shrugged, too. "Because you're a puzzle, and I have never encountered a puzzle my renowned intellect couldn't solve."

I chewed. Stopped. Swallowed. "… you do know that comparing people to objects is as bad of a look as abusing dogs, right?" came my deadpan commentary.

Suzuka didn't reply. He just sat there, and when a waiter walked past, he lifted a hand to flag him down. "Waiter?"

"Yes sir?"

Suzuka pointed at my pancakes. "I'll have what she's having."

I almost spat out my breakfast. Hacking and coughing, I reached for my water to clear my throat. Suzuka looked at me like I'd gone insane and asked, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." I lifted my silverware again. "Nothing at all."

He watched me eat in silence (for once; I thought he'd never stop talking) until the waiter delivered Suzuka his own plate of pancakes. He poured syrup on them and dug in without complaint. Apparently they had pancakes in Demon World, or else he was just copying my eating technique. What I'm saying is he was familiar with this type of food, and that kind of surprised me. But, whatever. No skin off my nose.

"I'm trying to decide why you came to the Tournament." He held up one finger in warning, syrup dripping from the end of his fork. "Don't bother giving me a hint. I won't need one."

I laughed and gestured for him to carry on. He ate another bite before speaking, careful to keep syrup out of his mustache.

"You're not here with the human tournament backers, even if you're staying in this hotel," he said.

"Oh?" I tried to look demure. "How do you figure?"

"Your shoes are scuffed and you patched a hole on the elbow of your sweater. Rich humans would buy their daughters new clothes if they got torn, not tell her to apply an elbow patch." He smirked. "And they'd buy their daughters far more fashionable clothes than you seem to be wearing, too."

"Maybe I'm just not concerned with clothes." I hefted a fist. "Down with the 1%!"

My antics didn't distract him as I'd hoped, though. "No," he said. "It's more likely you're here with the human team participating in the fights." And I suppose guilt showed on my face, because he started to grin. "Oh. I'm right, aren't I? Brilliant." He tossed his hair. "I told you I wouldn't need a hint."

I stabbed at my pancakes a little too aggressively (because I was imaging they were Suzuka's face). "I'm not telling you how to beat them so do not ask, OK?"

He blanched. "Ask how to beat humans? Me? The Beautiful Suzuka, ask for help to defeat humans?" He threw back his head and laughed, full-throated and deep. "Oh, please, Keiko, you are far too much! I need absolutely no advice when it comes to the likes of them." He gestured wide with one hand and placed the other on his chest, smug and prideful and humorous all at once. "As if I, the Beautiful Suzuka, need help besting two pitiful humans and a handful of demon traitors? Don't make me laugh! That truly was the funniest thing you've said to me thus far, Keiko, and you have been quite an amusing diversion this morning."

"… fine." His pride was a neat barrier to my worries, but then again, I'd counted on it to act as such. I stabbed my pancakes again. "And they don't know I'm here, so don't go telling them we've met, would you?"

The request gave him pause, one brow rising high. "You trust me to keep your secrets?" he asked, as if I were stupid for doing so.

"Sure." I shrugged. "You're here to gain glory and become famous. If you wanted to kidnap or kill me to get at the human team, it'd look bad. You said it yourself: You need no advantage to beat them, so you won't do anything like that. You value your reputation too much." I grinned. "Am I right?"

It was Suzuka's turn to stab his pancakes like he wished they were my face.

"Thought so," I said with a satisfied giggle. "And besides. It's not like you'd pick on people weaker than you, as discussed."

More stabbing occurred. "You think you have me all figured out," he said through gritted teeth.

I tried to look innocent. "Don't I?"

"Far from it. I'm only humoring you." He pointed his fork at me. "So don't get any big ideas."

I only giggled, though, which made him grumble and go back to eating. A few minutes later, I ate the last bite of my pancakes and leaned back in my seat with a sigh, hands resting lightly on my stomach.

"Ah, I'm stuffed." I grabbed my napkin and placed it on the table, then stood. "Guess I'll be going, then. See you round, Onji. Suzuka. Or whatever name you'll be using next."

But before I could walk away, Suzuka put his fork down. "Wait."

I gave him a Look. "Hmm?"

He waved, that same gesture he'd given me before, as if granting me, a lowly commoner, permission to address him, the highborn king. "Well. Out with it," he said, nose thrust high into the air. "The information you possess. Give it to me."

"Greedy demon." I sat down again with a huff. "Are you going to give me what I asked for in return?"

"Depends on how valuable your information is."

"Oh, it's good." Deciding I should tempt him with a taste, I tapped my finger on the tabletop. "The elder Toguro can manipulate his biology. He can move around his organs, his bones, veins and arteries, everything, so if you want to kill him, you have to smash him or pulverize his whole body at once, and honestly… even that probably won't do him in."

Suzuka slowly set down his silverware, eyes lighting up as he looked me over with new respect. "I admit, that is good. He hasn't fought much in this Tournament and has yet to show the full range of his abilities." A hand cupped his withered chin. "To manipulate every aspect of his physically down to his arteries is…"

"Insidious?"

"That's one way of putting it."

"Yeah." I nodded vigorously. "Best bet is to incapacitate him long enough to keep him down and get a 10 count. Use the Tournament's rules to your advantage if you fight him."

"Solid strategy," Suzuka muttered, eyes a million miles away. "Yes… solid strategy, indeed."

I couldn't help myself. "You thinking of which item to use on him?" I said, leaning forward again. "Which technique?"

Suzuka harrumphed. "That's for me to know and you to never find out."

"I mean, I have an opinion if you'd like to hear it."

"I wouldn't." Another faux-magnanimous wave. "Now go on. The others."

"Your loss." I crossed my arms and gave him another Look. "But before I continue, tell me. Are you gonna give me what I asked for?"

"Maybe." He didn't bother to sound convincing. "But I need more to be persuaded."

"Ugh. Fine." Either he'd give me an item or he wouldn't; I had little to lose, aside from the bargaining chip of information, and I wasn't putting too much faith in this whole Suzuka-give-me-powers scenario to begin with. "Bui is a tough bastard. His armor isn't for protection, but for keeping immense power contained. Brute force is the only way to win—at least as far as I know." Suzuka started to ask a question, but I held up a finger to buy for time. "Oh, and he can fly, and he can swing that ax way faster than you think, so watch out."

"Interesting." Wheels turned behind his eyes, clicking strategies into place. "And the demon with the long, dark hair?"

"Karasu uses invisible flying bombs and his mask is a lot like Bui's armor—a power restrictor," I said. "His hair turns blond when he takes it off and the bombs aren't visible to the naked eye unless your power level is high enough." I couldn't help but shudder at the thought of that sadistic demon. "Another monster on a team chock full of them."

Suzuka said nothing.

Then, slowly: "And what can you tell me about the most monstrous of them all?"

We didn't need to speak his name. We both knew who he meant. Suzuka's entire storyline was predicated upon a past encounter with Toguro, after all, and he and I both knew it. A chill swept through me that had nothing to do with the cool ocean breeze, and I wrapped my arms around myself for… warmth? Security? Both? It was hard to say.

"Unfathomably strong," I said. "No true weak points. He scales his power up by increasing muscle mass in tandem his spiritual pressure. Uses percentages to denote how much force he's exerting."

"I'd surmised as much."

"I figured you had. You've developed a mimicked version of the technique, right?"

"Yes, that's—" He did a double-take. "Who are you?"

"No one of consequence," I chirped, but before he could sputter out a question, I forged right on ahead. "Anyway, here's something you might not know about him. When Toguro fully powers up, his aura will vaporize the demons near him. Weak-ish ones, anyway. And he can absorb their energies to power himself, too." I shivered again. "To kill with one's aura alone, and then to cannibalize it… blood-curdling. But it creates too much collateral damage. That's why he never lets himself power up that much."

His eyes flashed. "If he never lets himself power up, how do you know what happens when he does?" Suzuka said, pouncing on the opportunity to figure me out. "Surely his aura would have turned you to ash in an instant. How do you, a mere human, know these things when I, the most Beautiful and Powerful Suzuka, do not?"

I only smiled. "One hears rumors. And all those rumors are remarkably consistent." My smile couldn't keep from fading. "You kill him, or he kills you. 100% power is… shocking. But he can be beaten."

That was a kernel Suzuka actually cared about, the puzzle of my knowledge paling in comparison. "How?" he asked, angling forward in anticipation. "How can he be beaten?"

I hesitated. "Piece of advice?"

Suzuka scoffed. "From a human like you? I'll pass."

"I mean, I'm a human who knows more about that team than you do, so…"

It was an irrefutable fact and he knew it. "Fine," he said after a longsuffering sigh. "I'll keep humoring you." He lifted his fingers and liberally applied air quotes when he said, "What 'advice' can you give me, hmm?"

"You cannot beat him without conviction."

Whatever he'd expected me to say, it wasn't that. His hands dropped at once, confusion painting even more wrinkles across his craggy face.

"You think brute force and fancy techniques are all you need, but they're not." I toyed with the fork on my plate, tracing designs in the syrup. "To defeat Toguro, you need staunch determination. It isn't enough to be strong. It isn't enough to be skilled. You must be unwavering. You must not flinch. And you must approach the fight with the kind of conviction that could carry you through a typhoon."

"Lecturing me about conviction?" Suzuka scoffed. "You dare suggest that I, inventor of a thousand techniques, am not committed to my ideals?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong. You have conviction in a lot of things." I ticked off said 'things' on my fingers. "A desire for fame, for advancement, for notoriety and admiration… but you fight only for yourself." When he looked confused again, I added: "There are other combatants in this tournament who fight for more. They fight for every last one of their friends. For the wellbeing of their families. And in the face of that conviction, you won't win."

He considered this. Said: "Something tells me you aren't talking about Toguro."

All I did in reply was smile.

"The humans, then?" Suzuka rolled his eyes, lips curling in a mocking smile. "Too bad their so-called 'conviction' won't see them to the final round."

"So you say."

"So I know. I saw their first round." He counted on his fingers, too, team member by team member. "The one who wields that dragon could grow into trouble, but not in time to pose a threat to me. And the red-haired demon is a strategist, but his power levels aren't worrisome. And don't even get me started on the pathetic humans." Scorn dripped from every syllable even as he gave some concessions. "I'll admit, the head-butt was flashy and the boy with the sword has tricks up his sleeve, but they pose zero threat to one as magnificently inventive as myself." He gave a moan, like this was too pathetic to even waste time discussing. "And that masked fighter has the power level of a worm!"

It took every ounce of my willpower not to smile. He had no idea what was coming, especially concerning the masked fighter, and if I hadn't already known pride would be his downfall, I'd certainly guess as such after listening to that remarkable display of hubris. I didn't argue with him, though, and merely said, "I see." Once more, I spread my hands atop the crisp linen tablecloth. "So what now?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I told you what I know. You gonna hold up your end of the bargain?"

"Bargain?" Suzuka said, feigning confusion. "I don't remember committing to giving you what you asked for."

At once, thunder clouded my face. "So it's like that, huh?"

"Oh, don't look at me like that. To be honest, it's not because I don't want to do what you asked." He grinned in a way that made me think of sharks, and the people who hunt them. "You seem the cutthroat sort. I wouldn't mind it if you got a little stronger. Could be interesting to see how you handle all that power, and a feather in my cap if you used it to do impressive things." And then he looked annoyed. "But unfortunately, even if what you've given me is useful, and in spite of my vast intellect and incomparable abilities—I simply do not know what I could possibly offer you." He spread his hands on either side of his body, as if seeking divine blessing, and even through his extremely convincing disguise, the real Suzuka came shining through. "My inventions either operate independently of their user's power, or they act as a magnifier of it. For someone who has no power at all, the latter would do nothing. Zero times a thousand is still zero."

"Gee, dude," I groused. "Thanks for calling me zero. Way to make a girl feel special."

"Flattering, perhaps not, I but don't hear you arguing with my logic. And as for the former category…" He looked me up and down for the umpteenth time. "Giving you an item that could simply hurt your enemies isn't what you're after, I presume."

"Yeah. It's not." I considered things for a moment. "Well. Shit!" I lifted a hand. "Waiter?"

The one walking nearby came trotting over. "Yes, miss?"

"Dessert menu, please. Or better yet, surprise me with something off it." I caught his sleeve before he walked away. "Oh, and bonus points if it's got peanut butter!"

Something in my delivery got him to smile, lips twitching in spite of themselves. "Very well, miss," he said, and he walked off with the smallest of chuckles.

Suzuka just looked at me, skeptical. "Peanut butter?"

"I used to be allergic," I explained, "but now I'm not and I'm making up for lost time." I grabbed the mint leaf garnish off my empty plate and gnawed on it like an overly aggressive camel. "Especially when I'm disappointed."

"That makes no sense, but I honestly don't care enough to ask questions," Suzuka deadpanned. He regarded me in silence for a second before saying, "You don't seem as upset as I thought you might to have your plans denied. Rather even keeled of you, for a human."

"To be honest, I kind of thought this might happen," I grumbled around my minty chew toy (which was rapidly disintegrating between my teeth; I'd need to floss later). "Every time I try, I just hit a brick wall."

He didn't appear at all shocked by this. "So this wasn't your first time trying to broaden your spiritual awareness."

"Nope. And, oh." I pointed at him with my fork. "Don't let this sunny attitude and eagerness for peanut butter fool you, by the way. I realize you fucking used me to get information with no intention of following through on the deal and I am not going to forget it."

His mouth quirked. "Well. You might be annoying, but at least you're not stupid." Suzuka stood—but as he did, his posture shifted. The stoop came back to his shoulders, and when he spoke again, it was with that elderly warble he'd used when I'd first sat down. Just like that, it was Old Man Onji, not Suzuka, who said, "Enjoy your dessert, Yukimura Keiko. I hope it has peanut butter like you wanted."

"Oh. Are you leaving already?"

"Engaging as this soiree has been, I have duties to attend to." His eyes turned to crescents when he smiled. "And an old man needs to make time for an after breakfast nap, too."

I rolled my eyes. "And so the mask goes back on."

"Yes, yes. Old habits die hard, I suppose." One gnarled hand lifted in farewell. "Take care, young lady. And the next time you want to talk to me, try picking up the phone instead of sending cryptic notes, eh?"

"I'll try my best." I waved back. "Best of luck in the Tournament, Suzuka."

"Best of luck becoming more than a useless human, Keiko."

"You bet," I said—and I think Suzuka would've said something else, but a waiter arrived to place a small white ramekin before me on the table. "Oh my god!" I said, delighted. "Is that crème brûlée?"

"Of the peanut butter variety, miss," the waiter said.

"Fuckin' sweet." I grabbed my spoon. "Hey Suzuka, you want a bite of—?"

He was already gone.

More for me, I guess.

Over dessert, alone at my seaside table, I supposed it didn't much matter that I'd given Suzuka details regarding Team Toguro. He would never fight Team Toguro, after all, and would instead lose to the humans he so looked down upon. Now that he'd talked to me, he'd probably be too busy preparing his tactics for taking down Toguro to prepare to beat my boys. It was even possible that giving Suzuka that information might actually distract him so much, it would give my team a huge advantage in their fight against Suzuka and his underlings. Ironic, that, though I doubt he'd see it that way. Suzuka had a sense of humor, but probably not where his grand ambitions were concerned. Later on, Suzuka might pass the information I'd given him about Toguro to my boys (probably at the same time he'd give them those objects from his collection, if I had to guess), but there wasn't a whole lot of harm in that as far as I could tell. It would just give my boys an advantage, and since I didn't want to reveal the truth about myself, I'd rather Suzuka pass along that information instead of me.

No. The only real risk I ran in meeting with him was if he decided to tell my team I was here (or, y'know, murder my dumb ass, but he hadn't murdered me so it was a moot concern), but he had no reason to do that. And if for some reason he did decide to out me, I'd just think of a lie to cover my tracks concerning why Suzuka and I knew each other. There was plenty of time to prepare a story, after all. Easy-peasy, lemon squee—

My hand froze, spoon loaded with delicious peanut butter custard pausing just before my open mouth.

A lie, I'd thought.

I'd just think of a lie to cover my tracks.

How easily that had come to me, the thought of lying to my friends.

Disturbed, I didn't have the heart to eat the last few bites of my dessert. I got up, thanked the waiters who had helped me, and walked out of the restaurant with head low. Eyes on the floor, I barely saw the hotel as I passed through one wing of it and then another, cutting through a large courtyard between two wings that overflowed with blooming flowers. The garden smelled pretty, but I didn't look up to admire it as I passed beneath a trellis of creeping vines. Call me delusional, but in that moment I didn't really deserve to look at any pretty flowers. People who lie to their friends so easily don't deserve nice things. "This is why you can't have nice things, Not-Quite-Keiko," I muttered to myself as I walked past a rose bush, the scent of it assailing my nostrils with its undeserved aroma. "People who manipulate and lie and scheme don't deserve to—"

"Kei."

I stopped walking.

I looked up at the flowers around me—and in the span of two seconds, I went from somewhat delusional to outright hallucinating. Because surely that's what was happening, seeing him standing not fifteen feet away, still and quiet beside a bank of blooming hibiscus. Surely I wasn't actually seeing him, of all people, amid this rioting garden. A garden he'd love, after all, because it overflowed with flowers of a hundred different kinds and shapes and colors, each leaf just as green as the eyes looking at me from across the cobblestone path—

Kurama took a step in my direction. The hibiscus bush brushed his sleeve, leaving behind a streak of brilliant yellow pollen.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

I wasn't hallucinating after all, was I?

Kurama stopped walking. "So it is you," he said, voice as musical as the wind. "I thought so."

"How—? Oh. Oh. Um. Hey?" Vigorous jazz hands ensued. "Uh… surprise?"

Kurama only scowled, however. "I had hoped I was mistaken. But here you are."

"You hoped you were—?" I puzzled the implication together. "How did you know I was here? And to come look for me?"

"Hiei," Kurama said, simply.

"He told you?"

"He didn't have to."

Once again, I had to piece together an inference. I backed up a step. "Is this… is this a fox thing?" I whisper-screamed, tapping the side of my nose.

He looked uncomfortable, though not embarrassed. "Yes."

If he'd been standing close enough, I'd have swatted his arm, I was so thoroughly scandalized. "Ew! Kurama!"

And I think he would've swatted me right back, judging by the tired look on his face. "I'm not one to deny my nature, Kei."

"Yeah, I know, but still." I sighed and dug the heels of my hands into my eyes until I saw stars. "Did you tell the others?"

"No. I wanted to confirm my suspicions, first."

That was a relief—but wait. Did he say 'first?' In two seconds I had crossed the courtyard to latch onto his sleeve. "Kurama, you can't tell them I'm here," I said, staring up into his awfully, oddly cold green eyes. "You can't. Promise me."

"Are you asking me to withhold information from my teammates?" he asked, voice as smooth as a flower petal.

"Yes." My grip on his arm tightened. "That's exactly what I'm asking."

"That isn't fair, Kei." Under his smooth voice, I sensed steel—or perhaps thorns. "Neither to me nor to them."

"But you saw what happened with Hiei," I protested. "Surely you know he spotted me and it distracted him and he lost."

Seemed Kurama didn't know, because understanding dawned behind his hard gaze. "So that's what…" He trailed off with a shake of his head. "But your assessment is inaccurate. He ended his match with a draw."

"To him it's the same thing and I think it is to me, too," I said. "I can't distract the rest of them, like I did Hiei, Kurama." My head shook hard enough to hurt my neck. "I just can't!"

Kurama remained unmoved. "It's too late for Hiei," he countered, silken voice infuriatingly measured. "And for me, too, now that I know you're here." His chin lifted. "Where am I in all of this, I ask you? Where is Hiei?"

"I'm not going to go incognito forever." Panic set in, tearing at the edges of my composure like brambles tear a stocking. Frantic, begging him with my eyes to understand, I said, "You just have to wait a little while, that's all. There's a specific point in the future where Keiko is supposed to—"

"You are not her. You're you." At last his tone turned ragged, fraying in time with my pounding heart. "Events in your lives are not the same—or, at least, they do not have to be." His hand descended onto mine like a vice, bruising in its grip. "Not if you don't want it to be the same."

"No, but there are certain beats, certain plot points that need to be maintained—"

"Does Yusuke understand that?" The ice in his voice stopped my protests cold. "He came to me about you, Kei. He understands that there are things about you he does not have the context to understand. And he understands that you have avoided a clarifying conversation."

"No." I shook my head again, even harder this time. "No. No. That's not accurate. I tried. More than once at this point." Kurama's gaze, so hard and cold, stung like nettles on my skin; I looked away, eyes roving across the garden for something, anything that might provide me strength. "I have tried, but things just keep getting in the—"

The words died in my mouth. Not because I didn't believe in them, or because Kurama's hand on mine felt as cold as his burning eyes.

No.

I stopped speaking because I spotted him.

But Kurama did not know that. "In the way?" he said, ending my sentence for me. "We're friends, Kei, but I sometimes wonder if you're blaming outside forces when the true obstacle is—Kei?!"

I had wrenched my hand from his. I had pulled away and moved past him, carried on currents of (of fate? Destiny? Delusion) of something I could not name, away from our conversation. Kurama didn't understand why, of course. He followed at my heels, speaking words I did not have the mental bandwidth to hear, as I bolted into the depths of the garden toward—

The hem of a garment, scarlet as blood, sweeping around the edge of a bush of blooming lavender.

I broke into a run.

He was not there when I reached the lavender. I spun in place, ignoring Kurama as he asked what was wrong (because he was too smart not to see that something horrible had happened)—

Yards away, a bush rustling, but there isn't any breeze.

I ran again.

Behind that bush stood doors, tall and glassy and glimmering, leading to a wing of the hotel. I didn't pause; I ran at them and pushed them open, feet slapping against the polished marble floor. But the lobby there branched in many directions, toward rooms and restaurants and lounges, and as I spun in place in the center of the opulent atrium, tournament backers in ball gowns and tuxedos openly stared, whispering about me behind their hands with the sound of a million moths' incensed and flapping wings—wings matched only by the creatures flapping in my stomach, seeking escape out my dry and terrified mouth. I ignored the whispers as I had Kurama, though, searching with my eyes for any sign, any signal that I had not lost my mind and concocted a vision of—

Pale petal pink, soft as a murmur, swishing swiftly around the corner.

I didn't run, then.

I sprinted.

Kurama kept up as easily as breathing. "Kei, what are you—?" he was saying, but over the sound of his words I heard a bell ding, and I put on a burst of speed as I rounded a corner into a narrow hallway. Wildly I looked around, seeing dozens of elevators lining the hall on either side—

There, at the end, two doors coming together, meeting in the middle, sliding shut with another dinging bell.

I didn't sprint. I damn near teleported, I ran to that elevator so fucking fast—but just as I skidded to a stop before it, the doors finished closing. They finished closing on an opulent elevator carriage trimmed in gold and velvet—and on a vision of a red-clad back over which a long, pink braid did snake. A vision of shoulders, broad and elegant, over which a single eye (as blue as the ocean, as blue as the sky, as blue as blood seen below the skin) watched me.

That eye.

I knew that eye.

I knew that eye that glittered with the light of a familiar, eternal smile—and I knew, instinctively, exactly to whom it belonged.

And then the doors shut completely, and they blotted that eye from view.

"Kei?" Kurama's voice in my ear and his hand on my elbow almost hurt, they felt so real, and they brought me back to my body (which it felt like I had floated out of sometime in the not-so-distant past) with a jolt. "Kei. What is happening?"

I ignored him. Not because I wanted to, but because the dial—that old-fashioned dial above the elevator doors, an arrow that moved between numbers to show to which floor the elevator travelled—had begun to rise. The numbers climbed one by one, ascendant, until they reached the top.

Floor 14, the arrow told me.

He had gone to floor 14.

Kurama gripped me tighter, oblivious. "Kei," he repeated, voice urgent in my ear. "What's wrong?"

"He's—" (I swallowed, and I became aware that I was holding onto Kurama as much as he was holding onto me, my hands winding tight into his shirt, strands of his dark hair wrapping tight around my fingers.) "Kurama, he's here."

"Who's here?" Kurama said.

"Hi—Hiruko." The name came out in gasps, stolen breaths in stolen lungs, lungs the man—the adult man, the man with the bluest eyes I'd ever seen—had given me. "Kurama," I said, desperate for him to understand. "Hiruko is here."

Inconvenient though meeting Kurama in that garden might have been, I'm lucky he found me when he did—because right there, before that elevator, my knees buckled, and I fell. If Kurama had not been there to catch me, perhaps I'd have lost my lucky second life by hitting my head on the cold and unfeeling marble floor.


NOTES:

Writing Suzuka was honestly even more fun than writing about Jin and I HAVE NO IDEA WHY. He's such a buffoon, he's just… UGH. HE IS VERY "UGH" BUT I LOVED HIM? I HAD SO MUCH FUN WITH THIS! This is the longest chapter of the fic thus far and I had fun with just about every single word. Hiei, Otoha, Suzuka, Kurama, the Hiruko sighting… I dunno, guys, but it was great for me on my end, and I really hope you liked it, too.

See you on Jan. 19 with the next chapter!

MANY THANKS to those who chimed in since the last time I updated, which was technically LAST YEAR. How time flies. You rocked my world and helped get my 2019 off to a FANTASTIC start, so please know that the following lovely wonder-mongooses have every last ounce of my love and affection: manic pixie mary sue, tammywammy9, xenocanaan, Kaiya Azure, read a rainbow, Khaleesi Renee, MissIdeophobia, Freaky Shannon-igans, Sky65, Blaze1662001, C S Stars, Littlebutterfly1, Neko Mitsuko, ThornSilverFox, rya-fire1, EasilyAmused93, 431101134, DeusVenenare, EdenMae, Biku sensei sez meow, Pelawen Night, WaYaADisi1, What Would Valery Do, Ne Quittez Pas, OceanSyren, Metro Neko, sassymissthing, LadyEllesmere, Aruki Soruyo, Deamachi, buzzk97, xxhikagexx, Nameless Sinner, Blue, Empress of the Dead, SirSwag333, yofa shen0, almostNEET, Bardic Knowledge, TequilaMockinBur, ahyeon, TTrunks, Kykygrly, Ally Kenshin, MissedAdventure92, La Femme Absurde, Just 2 Dream of You, jon rich 31 and five guests!