Warnings: None


Lucky Child

Chapter 89:

"An Alternative to Pain"


Upon careful reflection, it was pretty apparent that I only had myself to blame for this mess.

Because let's be honest: I should've known things were going far too well to stay that way for long. My name is not an indicator of fate's opinion of me, as we're all aware. I shouldn't have counted on fate following the script. I should've been more cognizant of my surroundings, been more attuned to the ebb and flow of the crowd and the danger lurking just out of sight, but I'd been so distracted by the tantalizing taste of victory (because canon had started, for that brief and shining moment, to go to plan) that I forgot to keep an eye on the very dangerous tournament swirling all around—and that was saying nothing of potential Keiko-nappers.

Yup. Far as I could see it, I had no one but me to blame.

No but one but me and Hiruko, that is—but I'd discover that soon enough.

It was all I could do to stand there, stunned and staring, as Sakyo took his seat again and bade me do the same in the chair to his left. "Best seats in the house… provided you actually like watching the fights," he said when I didn't move, and when I didn't reply one way or another, he just shrugged. "Suit yourself," was all he said, subtle smile not faltering for even a moment, and he spun his chair back around to observe the match.

Now that I was standing still enough to notice, panic slowly calming into a sense of quiet dread, I saw Sakyo's face reflecting back at me in the enormous glass window in front of him. He didn't look at me. He indeed appeared to be watching the fights, crystalline blue eyes trained on the arena far below us in the stadium's far-off center—and for the first time, there in that solemn quiet, I noticed just how handsome he really was. His coppery skin, his strong jaw, the neatly cut black hair falling long and thick over his shoulders, it all combined to create a striking image of an absolutely gorgeous Japanese man. The scar over his eye only made him roguish, and intriguing, especially against the backdrop of his impeccably tailored suit. And when his eyes flickered to mine in the window, mouth curling just the littlest bit more at the corners—

A shiver went down my back.

Even though he smiled, there was something indescribably cold about Sakyo. Like his smile was blade made out of solid ice, almost.

Speaking of.

Way down below in the arena, Kurama was fighting.

It was Koto's voice, broadcasting clearly but at low volume through a speaker hidden somewhere close by, that tipped me off. I kept an ear on her eager tones as I walked stiffly to the window and stood beside Sakyo and his supervillain swivel chair. Sakyo's private observation box must not have been too high in the stadium, because I indeed had a clear view of the proceedings in the arena. Kurama's red hair looked like a flag of blood as he darted across the arena, keeping pace with a pale figure wearing a loincloth and a head wrap—Gama. He was fighting Gama. I couldn't make out many details given we were still pretty high up, but it wasn't hard to figure out what must be happening. And that meant it must've taken longer to haul me up to this box than I'd realized. Kurama hadn't been fighting when I got snatched, had he?

I supposed it didn't matter. All that matter was that Touya, with his sword forged of razor-edge ice as cold as Sakyo's smile, would soon be making his scheduled appearance. And that meant Kurama would infect himself with the Deadly Vetch plant after being immobilized by Gama's blood, and—

As I wrapped my arms around myself, keeping a shudder at bay, Sakyo said: "Oh. That's right." He smiled at me sidelong, wine glass poised below his lips. "It's your friends' turn to fight now, isn't it?"

I sat in the chair beside him with a huff, arms and legs both crossing in unison. "Oh, come off it. Don't act like you're just remembering."

One thin brow lifted. "Oh?"

"Well, it's unlikely you kidnapped me at random, given you knew my name when those demons dragged me in here. Couple that fact with the fact that I got snatched while my friends are fighting for their lives, and it's all just much too coincidental for a random abduction." I looked at him sidelong, too, trading his glance for one of my own. "I assume you're the backer of a rival team?"

Sakyo, to his credit, didn't bother denying it. "Team Toguro, in fact. I'm told they're your friends' arch enemies," he said with a satisfied smile. "Clever girl."

"Don't patronize me."

"So you have a backbone, too." His smile only grew. "And to think, I thought you might cower in front of me."

That got me to look at him full on. "Cower?"

"Well. I did have you abducted off the sidewalk, after all." The tenor of his smile, then, made it seem like he thought he had told a funny joke—and y'know. He sort of had, actually. If I didn't already know he'd spent a good portion of his childhood torturing animals for fun, I got the sense he might be a rather witty guy. What was the difference between psychopathy and sociopathy, again?

I knew better than to wonder that aloud. "Well. Thanks for not resorting to euphemisms, at least," I muttered, slouching in my seat.

Sakyo's head tilted the barest centimeter to the side. "Oh?"

"This isn't my first kidnapping." I rolled my eyes, thinking of Itsuki and all his bluster. "What did my first kidnapper call it? An 'invitation I couldn't refuse?'" When Sakyo appeared mystified, I explained, "He didn't like the word 'abduction.' Having my abductor speak plainly is actually quite refreshing."

Sakyo chuckled. "You make a habit of getting kidnapped, then."

"It's not like I try."

"So you're just talented that way?"

"I bear the honor with dignity."

My sarcasm got him to laugh, somehow—and when he turned away to watch Kurama fight again, it was almost anticlimactic. I'd been expecting… well, I hadn't really been expecting anything (this had been a big surprise for me, lemme tell ya), but this outcome was one I'd not-expected least of all. He was being friendly, and not-pushy about whatever-the-fuck he wanted, in a big way.

What did he want, now that I was thinking about it?

Unsettled, I tried to focus on Kurama, but despite Sakyo's claim that these were good seats, the view wasn't actually that great. The box was probably built underneath the stadium's lowest balcony or something, way at the back of the orchestra section (or whatever the Tournament Committee had named it; fuck if I knew). The big TVs that showed the action close-up were out of sight in this box, but there were small screens set into the wall below the window in front of me. Tournament backers probably used those to watch the fights over the box's natural view. Too bad for me the screens were switched off at the moment, though. Would Sakyo turn them on if I asked, or would he prefer them to stay off to avoid distraction?

But distraction from what?

What the hell did he want?

I flinched when the aforementioned man spoke. "May I get you anything to drink?" he said, smile as friendly (and as cold) as ever.

I gave his as much side-eye as I was capable. "Y'know, you're awful hospitable for a kidnapper."

"I try my best."

"If you wanted to spend time with me, all you needed to do was ask."

"I'll keep that in mind. Now about that drink?"

"Not thirsty."

"Pity. I have an excellent orange juice at the bar. Leftover from a friend of mine, but I don't think he'd mind sharing."

OJ. So, Toguro? Was he territorial of his OJ, or was Sakyo's offer safe? Better not risk it. "I'll pass, thanks."

Sakyo nodded, but he didn't appear disappointed or mad or anything. "Very well."

Silence fell over us again. Koto's voice issued again from a speaker I suspected might be hidden in the same bit of wall that housed the switched-off observation screens. Through the glass before us came the roar of the crowd, too, distant like the sound of the ocean echoing through an empty seashell.

The back of my neck prickled.

I looked up.

Sakyo was staring at my reflection in the window.

When our eyes met, he smiled.

I looked away.

Sakyo chuckled.

The chuckle wasn't devious or anything. It was just… cold. Amused, but still cold, and something in its wry amusement told me that Sakyo was playing a game. A really, really mean game, granted, but a game nonetheless. But what—?

Oh. So that's what he was getting at, not coming at me with what he wanted. He was trying to rattle me by staying silent. He was trying to stress me out, get me to crack and… and do something that would give him an advantage.

Well, fuck you too, Sakyo, but I didn't have time for this crap.

I uncrossed my legs, feet hurting the floor with an abrasive slap. My chair spun smoothly, like the hinges had been oiled, as I turned to face him. "You wanna tell me why I'm here?" I said, bold as brass, "or are you enjoying impersonating a sphinx?"

Sakyo smiled (good lord, this guy was almost as bad as Hiruko in the smile department, wasn't he?). "In good time," Sakyo said. "But in the meantime, would you care to take a guess?"

I jerked my head down at the ring. "If you want information about my friends down there, I'm not talking."

Sakyo paused. Considered. Said: "Loyal, then. Interesting." His eyes didn't waver as they locked like a missile guidance system upon my own. "But it's not your friends down there I'd like to discuss."

I played dumb, because I knew where this was going the minute he put emphasis on that preposition. "You mean you aren't looking for a quick way to win against them?" I said, feigning surprise.

"I'm afraid not," Sakyo said. "When it comes to this tournament, my victory is assured even without inside information. My team needs no help to win, and I see no point in stacking the deck in my favor." Now his smile appeared genuine, ice melting the smallest iota. "Betting isn't much fun if there isn't any risk involved."

Sakyo was a gambling addict. Of course he didn't want to stack the deck—but I couldn't let him know I knew so much about his hobbies. "Uh. OK. Then what do you want?" I said, drumming my fingers on my chair's leather armrest. "Enlighten me, would ya?"

But Sakyo only smiled, channeling a sphinx once more. "It's like I said," was all he told me. "I'm not interested in talking about your friends down there."

And this time he actually nodded at the arena below, just in case I hadn't heard his particular emphasis the first time. But I had heard it, and I'd jumped to the most obvious conclusion. Sakyo wanted to talk to me about Hiruko, because Hiruko was literally the only other associate Sakyo and I had in common—

But, wait.

There was one other person he could mean, now wasn't there? But they shouldn't have met yet. There hadn't been time. If she and Sakyo met at all like they did in the anime canon, they would have to meet sometime today while we fought our way into the stadium, and that hadn't happened yet… had it?

My stomach churned. Did Sakyo have his eye on her already? They didn't ever meet in the manga; their meeting had been an anime-exclusive invention, a relationship that had always been gross to me, reducing Shizuru to some pining love interest mooning over a man she just met and knew nothing about, and—

I suppose some degree of recognition (or maybe just distress and disgust) showed on my face, because Sakyo's lips curled. "So you do know who I'm talking about."

"Maybe. Maybe not." I shrugged. "I have a lot of friends here."

But I said nothing else, and although Sakyo waited for me to continue, I did not indulge him. Eventually I just turned back toward the ring, pointedly ignoring Sakyo as he stared at me. Soon enough he chuckled, dry sound like falling leaves beneath the not-so-distant roar of the tournament crowd.

"I can see you're not going to give up the ghost just yet." Sakyo set his wine glass aside, movements methodical and concise. "In an effort not to waste too much of your time, I'll cut right to it."

I blinked, turning toward him on reflex. "You mean you'll let me go?"

"Well, I certainly can't keep you here for very long." He gestured at the room, eyes crinkling. "There's nowhere to sleep."

Dammit, he was funny, and I couldn't hold back the snicker at his dry observation. I took a mental note to remind myself that Sakyo was evil as heck and wanted to flood the human realm with demons just to get his rocks off as I said, "Forgive me if I look surprised. Most kidnappers don't release their targets after an hour's friendly conversation." I hesitated. "I'm assuming this won't take more than an hour?"

"I should hope not. But let's not risk it." His hands tightened on his chair, leather creaking under Sakyo's grip. "I want to know anything you can tell me about the man who calls himself Hiruko."

And there it was: Hiruko ruining the party, again—though I couldn't help but feel relieved that Sakyo hadn't asked about Shizuru. Perhaps it was relief, now, that showed on my face instead of surprise or revulsion, because once again Sakyo looked pleased.

"So you do know him," Sakyo mused. "But that much I suspected. The real question is how. How does Hiruko know you?"

I shifted in my chair, which suddenly felt quite uncomfortable despite the amount of plush hiding beneath the leather. "What, and reveal my hand too soon?"

But the reference to games was too much; Sakyo perked up, perfect posture even more perfect (if that's even possible). "So this is a poker game, is it? You're lucky that I like a good gamble."

"I see." Time to act breezy. I pasted on a smile and tossed my hair, grinning. "Well, Sakyo. How 'bout it?" I resisted the urge to wink. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

It was a bold move, in my estimation, inviting him to set the stage for whatever happened next—but I didn't fancy the idea of walking into this blind. If he gave up any information at all about his relationship with Hiruko (not to mention what he knew about my connection to Hiruko, which I guessed wasn't a lot if he was abducting me to ask questions) I'd have an advantage… but would Sakyo actually give anything away? He'd been playing with me before, but now I was putting him on the spot, reversing our roles and demanding he speak first. A risk, maybe, or perhaps this was a bluff he would easily call, but—

Sakyo surprised me, as he had a habit of doing. Eyes briefly closing, he smirked as his chin tucked close to his chest, a chuckle building in it like the beginnings of an avalanche. "Very well," he murmured, and without preamble he spoke to me quite plainly (another of his habits). "Hiruko is a benefactor. He's provided me with critical information that has proven useful time and again, and he has never asked for anything in return."

My brow quirked. "Well that's highly suspicious."

"Indeed," he said with a wry grin. "Which is why I was curious when, after months of partnership, he finally asked for a favor."

It finally clicked, then, that last piece of the puzzle unlocking the rest of the picture, and I knew what he would say before he even said it.

"He asked that I upgrade the room of a certain guest of the Dark Tournament," Sakyo continued. "It was as easy as making a single phone call to the front desk upon arrival here. But for a man who asks for nothing, even that small desire speaks volumes." Now his eyes were curious, assessing me from tip to tail as they raked over my face. "And that desire involved… you, for reasons I would very much appreciate to find out."

I swallowed. "I see."

"Well," Sakyo said.

I swallowed again. "Well what?"

"Time to uphold your end of the deal, I suspect." The ice in his smile looked playful, at least. "Unless you're backing out now?"

I shook my head. "No. I'm not. I'm just—" A pause followed, wherein I debated the merits of caution with the merits of digging. Eventually I settled on the rather open-ended: "What do you want to know about him?"

And once again, Sakyo remained perfect direct. "Why he's interested in you," he said. "What he wants. What his goals are."

But that wasn't the answer I wanted. "Crap," I said, leaning back in my chair.

"Hmm?"

"I was hoping you could tell me those things." It was hilarious in an infuriating kind of way that I'd been eager to dig the truth from Sakyo, but of course it couldn't be that easy. "Truth be told, Sakyo, I don't know what Hiruko wants—with you, with me, with this Tournament, with anything." The irony of that stung; my hands clenched into tight fists. "He—"

I stopped talking when Sakyo looked more than a little interested for me to continue. I'd been about to vent, truth be told. Apart from Kurama, who I still had to keep some things from, I hadn't had a chance to vent on this island, and dammit, I needed to vent. The need was so great, I'd almost started to blab my frustrations regarding Hiruko for the world to hear. Was it Sakyo's association with Hiruko that had made me so momentarily eager to blab?

Why was I so eager to blab?

Sakyo didn't understand, of course. "Still hesitant, I see," he said when the silence stretched thin. "Would it comfort you if I promised not to tell anyone about what you say?"

"Pinkie promise?" I snarked.

And yet, he took me seriously. "More like a solemn oath. One make upon my own name." He wasn't smiling now. He looked sincere, utterly so, when he told me, "And I am not the kind of man who backs out of a deal."

Oddly enough, his words did comfort me somewhat, and in total spite of myself. But simply blabbing the truth to him was the exact opposite of prudent. Anything I told him would need to be carefully weighted, traded truth for truth and not given away without reciprocal knowledge.

And perhaps Sakyo understood that. "I told you my team needs no help to win," he said—and finally, as his expression softened, I understood why so many allied themselves with this psychopath. Why perhaps anime-Shizuru had developed feelings for him. His voice was soft, persuasive, charismatic as he gave me one solemn assurance after another. "Whatever you say will not leave this room, nor will I choose to leverage it against you." He ducked his head, deferent and humble. "You have my word."

In spite of myself—I think I believed him.

But that didn't mean I should let down my guard, even if being honest with Sakyo could work to my benefit. Now, to play this right…

He waited patiently for me to begin, and when I did, the solemn cast to his expression cleared like parting clouds. "Hiruko started whispering in my ear some years back," I said, drip-feeding information word by word, searching in every line of Sakyo's face for recognition, sympathy, something. Pitching my voice high, I flapped my hand like a yakking mouth and rolled my eyes. "'These things are going to happen, Keiko, and you shouldn't let them,' he'd tell me. Or 'These things need to happen Keiko, and you need to help them along.'" I let my hand drop. "But I never know if what he tells me is true or not, and he's not always helpful to me the way he is to you."

Sakyo nodded. He said nothing. I soldiered on.

"I'm sorry to say it, Sakyo, but I have no idea to what end he wants me to do his bidding, nor why I'm the one he pesters to do it," I said—and that was the truth, even if it left out Fates and threads of destiny and rebirth in fictional universes. "He's been nothing but a very enigmatic thorn in my side since the day I first laid eyes on him. At least for you he's offered helpful information, but for me?" I scoffed, and I sighed, and I sagged into my chair. "Nothing but headaches and bad dreams."

"And an upgraded room," Sakyo reminded me, helpfully.

"That, too." I looked at him sharply. "Did he say why he upgraded it, by the way? I had a hunch it was him—or him via you, I guess—but I still don't see why he did it."

"To keep an eye on you, is my best guess."

"Mine, too."

"My question is why. Why you?" He assessed me for what felt like the millionth time, as if he could divine my secrets from my appearance alone. "You're a human, and not a powered human like your friends."

"I wish I knew," I confessed. "And I wish I could tell you more about what he's after, but I'm afraid you've kidnapped me for nothing." I eyed him askance. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me what he's helped you with."

Sakyo smirked. "This and that."

"Oh, c'mon."

He merely shrugged. "If you don't have anything more to trade, I see no reason to give you my secrets. I value quid pro quo, you see." Another of his searching glances. "Unless there's anything else you can offer…?"

Again, I debated the merits of honesty. If Sakyo did indeed have information to trade, I wanted it. But if he didn't, and I gave him information for nothing…

Was there any information I could give him about Hiruko that wouldn't adversely affect my friends or this tournament? If what I told him could help Sakyo hurt or derail Hiruko's plans, that was a good thing. But what could I tell him, and what would be worth a trade…

Sakyo's stare stayed, unwavering, upon my face. I licked my lips.

"He's ancient," I said. Speech was like trying to pry open a locked door. "Don't be fooled by whatever face he wears. He is ancient, and he is determined, and that determination is backed by years of dedication." I traded Sakyo a hard stare of my own. "Do not tangle with him lightly, Sakyo. Though his motives remain a mystery, I know better than to underestimate the power of his will."

"Well." He mouth curled at the corner. "Lucky for me, I've always been the willful sort."

"Same." I blew out a breath through my nose, glaring at the ceiling in lieu of Hiruko's absent face. "He's fucking with the wrong damn girl, that's for sure."

Again, Sakyo laughed, apparently pleased by my profanity. "I will admit, you don't look like much at first glance," he said. Before I could bristle, he held up a hand. "But something tells me that you're right. Whatever his end goal might be, I do not think you'd play into his hand quietly."

"Damn straight," I said, but while Sakyo's compliment (roundabout as it was) felt nice, it did little to lift my mood. Eye on the ring below, watching as figures dash and leapt across its grey expanse, I murmured, "Hiruko is a manipulator. Whatever he did to help you, Sakyo, I absolutely guarantee that it also helped him. Tread carefully."

He didn't reply. He angled himself toward the window, too, in silence. For a while he only stared without seeing at the crowds of demons that filled the stadium. He regained his glass of wine and swirled it slowly in one hand. The red liquid caught the light in time with the motion of Sakyo's wrist, pulsing and beating like a steady heart.

"Ancient, you say. I see," mused Sakyo. "Hiruko came to me months ago and told me about Gonzo Tarukane's captive—a young demon who cried gems." Blue eyes flickered toward me in the reflection of the window. "You know about that, I trust?"

"I do."

"Good." His gaze returned to the battlefield. "Hiruko pointed me in Toguro's direction not long later. Though Hiruko himself inscrutable, his information is typically trustworthy… though I always do my due diligence and verify before acting upon anything he says." The barest of smiles. "I'm nothing if not thorough, and I confess I distrust an enigmatic ally even more than I distrust an enigmatic enemy."

"Wise policy."

"Indeed." Sakyo sipped his wine, then set it aside. "He has dispensed critical information whenever I need it most, and he possesses a disconcerting habit of appearing whenever I seem to need him." The smooth cadence of his voice had an odd lulling effect, hypnotic and strange. "I admit that I'm disappointed you couldn't shed more light on his goals, but his origins are telling."

I frowned. "They are?"

He smiled again. "Yes."

"… care to share?"

His smile widened. "No."

"Damn."

Sakyo laughed. He stood. "Well, Yukimura-san. I think I've heard everything I need to hear." He held out a hand to help me up, black hair falling lustrous over his cheek as he bent. "It's high time I return you to your friends, I think."

I blinked, rising without taking his hand. "Really?"

"Of course." His hand vanished into his pocket.

"Just like that?"

He sounded amused. "Were you expecting bamboo beneath the fingernails?"

"Or some light waterboarding, at least."

"Sorry to disappoint. Where applicable when gathering intelligence, I believe in applying an alternative to pain." He looked pensive—somber, but not disappointed. More like a cool version of satisfied, tempered by poise, and under his clear-eyed gaze I found myself fidgeting. "It's clear that he's as much an enigma to you as he is to me. You might have held a few details back, but I doubt they're of enough consequence to interest me." He affixed me with a slightly more stern expression, though still he smiled. "Yes, I know you didn't tell me the whole truth. You're not a very good liar, I'm sorry to say."

"So they tell me," I said, and paused.

Sakyo said nothing for a time. I said nothing, too. We regarded each other without speaking, Sakyo wearing an amused smile while I shifted from foot to foot, uncertain and unsettled.

"What happens now?" I asked.

"Like I said," he said. "It's time you returned to your friends."

"Think we'll see one another again?" I asked—because bamboo shoots or waterboarding or none of those things at all, getting let go as easy as that seemed… wrong. Or at least anticlimactic. Not that I was complaining, mind you, but the point stands. I'd been expecting torture and interrogation, and instead…

But Sakyo just kept smiling. "I get the feeling this won't be the last time we meet," Sakyo said. "But, for now, I suppose our momentary partnership is—"

He never got to finish. Just then there came a bang from our right, over by the door to the big observation room. Someone shouted, and then there came a second bang, followed by a third and a protracted period of utter silence (silence made somewhat less foreboding because Koto screamed loudly about just how much she adored blood in the middle of it, but I digress). Sakyo and I stared at the door, Sakyo unflapped and I mostly certainly well and truly flapped as all heck. But before I could whisper and ask him if he knew who had been yelling, the door to the room flew open and banged, hard, against the wall, leaving an impression of the doorknob in the wall's now cracked and crumbling plaster.

Shizuru stood on the door's other side. She stalked through the open portal dragging one of the lizard demons by his collar, and when she got about halfway across the room, she stopped walking. Let the demon drop to the floor. Plucked her broken cigarette from her mouth, tossed it, and ground its smoldering wreck under her heel.

"Fuckers broke my damn cig," she said—but she didn't look bothered by this. Only bored as she said, "Keiko. Get over here, now."

But she wasn't looking at me.

She was looking at Sakyo, who stood with his hands in his pockets, silent as they traded stares as cutting as a sword. I meekly trotted to her side, and when I reached her, she tossed her hair.

"And you." Scorn dripped from every syllable when she addressed Sakyo. "Don't try anything funny."

But Sakyo remained unflapped. "Wouldn't dream of it," was all he said, and he raised a hand in farewell. "It was nice chatting with you, Keiko."

"Uh." I waved back, feeling awkward. "Yeah. You, too."

And this was the wrong thing to say, because Shizuru's head whipped around so hard toward me I feared she might give herself whiplash. "Wait." Her head whipped back toward Sakyo. "What's going on here?"

"Apologies. Allow me to introduce myself." Sakyo bowed, pleasant smile a perfect complement to his polite mannerisms. "My name is Sakyo, and I wanted a word with your friend here."

"'Wanted a word,'" Shizuru repeated while giving him massive stink-eye. "That's a funny way of saying you kidnapped her off the street."

I piped in. "Actually, he's not all that euphemistic."

"No. I did indeed abduct her," Sakyo admitted. "But I've gotten what I wanted, so she's free to go." His mouth twisted a little with understated humor. "Unharmed, I feel obliged to note."

And this was once again not the right thing to say. Shizuru's narrow eyes narrowed further still; her fists clenched by her thighs, and she took one quick step in Sakyo's direction. "Gotten what you wanted?" she repeated, lines carving deep furrows in her agitated brow. "You bastard, if you—!"

I grabbed her arm. "Shizuru, it's OK," I said, but she looked unconvinced. "We just talked. That's all."

She studied my face for a few seconds that felt like minutes—and then she sighed, rubbing at her forehead with her fingertips. "Fine," Shizuru grunted. "Let's go."

"Your name is Shizuru?"

It was Sakyo who made this inquiry, of course. He looked Shizuru over with the same assessing stare he'd earlier used on me, and she met his assessment with assessment of her own. Her eyes swept over him in a long, slow meander, and her dry expression said she didn't find him impressive at all—a fact for which I felt grateful.

I had never liked their relationship in the anime, as previously discussed. But that was neither here nor there.

Eventually Shizuru's weight shifted onto her left foot; she crossed her arms over her chest, brow lifting. "Yeah. And what's it to you?"

"It's nice to meet you." He lifted a hand toward her. "That's all."

She eyed his hand. He didn't let it drop. For a minute there I thought she'd just laugh at him, reject that handshake and march out of the room without a word—but she surprised me. She took his hand and shook it once, hard enough that I fancied I heard bones crunch, but Sakyo's face didn't betray any pain. Quite the opposite, in fact. When Shizuru let go, he wordlessly reached into his jacket's inner pocket and removed a carton of cigarettes. One of these he offered to Shizuru, but she eyed this with the same skepticism she'd given his hand.

"Consider it a reimbursement," Sakyo said when Shizuru didn't take the cigarette. He nodded at her mangled cigarette on the floor. "For property damage."

Shizuru's deadpan glare made my skin crawl, but Sakyo didn't flinch. Maybe that impressed her, because eventually she reached out and plucked one cigarette from the package with two fingers. "This isn't poisoned, is it?" she asked, looking it over with expression most critical.

"Not really my style," Sakyo said. He stowed the package back in his pocket, then proffered a gold lighter. "If I wanted you dead," he said as he struck a flame into being, "I'd just kill you myself."

He spoke that silken promise like it was nothing. The flame from the lighter placed dark hollows in his cheeks and danced red in his cold eyes. Shizuru, however, was not intimidated. She just stuck the cigarette in her mouth, leaned down, and ignited it from Sakyo's hand.

He looked satisfied by that—and that made my skin crawl even worse than had Shizuru's glare.

But Shizuru wasn't one to disappoint. "Well. At least you're straightforward," she muttered, and she blew a massive plume of grey smoke straight into his smiling face before turning on her heel with a ripple of her glossy hair. "C'mon, Keiko. We're going."

"Sure." I waved at Sakyo again. "Bye."

He nodded. "It was nice meeting you."

He wasn't looking at me, though.

Up until the very moment the door swung shut behind us, he stared only at Shizuru.


The other lizard demon lay sprawled in the hallway outside the observation box, facedown and unmoving. Shizuru stepped over his unconscious form without a word, leading the way down a long hallway toward an elevator. She said not a single word until the elevator doors closed us into the wood-paneled car—but the moment those doors did shut, she rounded on me, and the smoke from her cigarette filled the car with a cloud of acrid fumes. "You wanna tell me what just happened in there?" she asked, voice utterly devoid of emotion—but she didn't need to inject her words with proper inflection for me to feel the tension coiled in her shoulders like a snake waiting to strike. The blaze burning in her eyes said it all.

I took a deep breath. "He wanted intel."

"About our team." She bared her teeth, thumbing one of the floor buttons in the elevator without looking at it. "You didn't—?"

"No. He said he didn't need tricks to beat us."

She put two and two together at once. "So if he didn't want to know about our team, then what did he want?"

"Intel about…"

Oh, shit—what the heck was I supposed to say, exactly? As the elevator car shifted, dropping steadily downward toward the ground floor, Shizuru watched me without speaking, eyes locked on my face as I racked my brain for something, anything I could tell her apart from the truth—because if I started telling the truth, even in part, I wasn't sure how much of it I'd be capable of holding back. The word-vomit I'd almost given Sakyo—

Shizuru said, "This is about the room upgrade, isn't it?"

I froze solid.

"I'm right, aren't I." She phrased it like a question, but it didn't sound like one. Shizuru sighed and crossed her arms, turning to look at the elevator doors. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

"You—you don't want to—?" I stammered.

"You're weird, kid." Her dry intonation sounded like dead leaves on the wind, uncaring and dispassionate. "Always have been. Since that day you showed up on the playground to build that dirt volcano for my baby brother, you've been weird. And you've only gotten weirder since then."

"I—"

Her eyes slid toward me, though she didn't turn her face. "You knew about Kuroko, somehow. You know when I should train. You know when danger is coming, when things are quiet." Her eyes slid away again. "You aren't psychic. I can see that. I've always known that. But you've always known things you shouldn't be able to, and I'm not blind." After a deep breath of cigarette, followed by a long exhale, she said: "I just know that sometimes, especially with you, it's better if I just don't ask."

Struggling to understand left me reeling. "You mean you—?"

"Aren't going to ask exactly how weird you really are? No." As the elevator came to a smooth stop, a bell dinged overhead; the doors parted with a swish of whirling gears. She stepped through them with a mutter of, "And at the rate you're going, I'm sure I'll find out sooner rather than later, anyway."

So stunned was I that I almost forgot to follow her out of the elevator. Only when the doors started to close did I remember to stumble through them, trailing in her wake like a duckling after its mother. "Shizuru—thank you," I blurted at her back. "I mean it."

She stopped walking. I almost ran into her, backpedaling to avoid a collision.

"Don't mention it." One cool eye regarded me over her shoulder. "But Keiko?"

"Yes?"

"You should know something." She whirled in place, turning on me as abruptly as a cyclone. "The reason my fist isn't halfway down your throat right now is because you're on our side."

My jaw dropped. Shizuru took a step toward me, cigarette bobbing so close to my face I felt the heat of it on my skin.

"You've always been on our side," she said, and though her voice rose no louder than the barest of murmurs, I felt every word like a punch to the gut. "That's why I don't ask questions. That's why I don't say anything when you get weird. It's because you care about my brother, about me—about all of us."

The cavern of my mouth felt as dry as a burned forest. "Th-that's right," I rasped.

Shizuru stepped closer still. "But if I get even a hint that that's changed. If I catch even a whiff of stink off of you…"

I gulped. "Thin ice."

"Yeah."

We stared at one another. The only thing I saw in her eyes was determination—a vow that she meant what she was saying, and that our friendship meant little when it came to protecting her brother. In her eyes I read only promises. Sincerity. That glimmer of inevitability one only sees in the eyes when one is truly, deadly serious. That's what I saw in her eyes just then.

I have no idea what she saw in mine in return.

"Yeah," I eventually said. I nodded at her, hoping I didn't look as sick as I felt inside. "Yeah. I know."

"Good," Shizuru said. She turned away. "Let's go."

I watched her move farther and farther away without a word, numb. Soon Shizuru noticed. She stopped, looked at me, and lifted a brow.

I began to walk.

I only wished I knew what to say as well as I knew how to keep moving forward, into the unknown, as I always did.


The hallway on what I assumed was the stadium's ground floor was mostly devoid of doors, making the large metal door at the hall's far end all the more eye-catching. It was to this door Shizuru led me, and when we reached it, she grasped the metal handle on its face and turned to me. "Stay," she commanded. "Open it when I knock three times."

"OK," I said.

She turned the handle and pulled the door open, then shut it again. "Oh." She tossed her hair, glaring. "And if anyone asks, I kicked major ass to free you from that guy in the suit."

I nodded.

She slipped through the door and was gone.

As soon as she disappeared, I leaned heavily against the wall, pressing my back to it and sliding down its expanse until my butt collided painfully with the tile floor. Elbows on knees, I wound my fingers into my hair, squeezing my eyes shut so hard I saw stars. The past hour had been a whirlwind, and that moment in the hallway represented the first time I'd been given any amount of time to process it. Sakyo knew of me because of Hiruko, and Shizuru knew there had to be some reason Sakyo had wanted to meet me, and she knew I was weird, but she—she wasn't going to ask about it? When so many others demanded to know why I made the choices I made, she just wasn't going to ask?

It defied comprehension, but then again, Shizuru often bucked expectations… and honestly? I was relieved. While she would definitely kick my goddamn ass if I stepped a toe out of line, to know she wasn't going to pry like Kurama or demand answers like Yusuke or actively reject the truth of myself like Hiei—that was a relief. She didn't accept me or anything. Her willingness to put me in the dirt if I betrayed everyone spoke volumes in that regard. And yet, to know she wouldn't make me do anything I didn't want to was a gift, even if I needed to watch my back around her. I just needed to figure out what to tell the others once Shizuru brought them back here, because that's probably where she'd gone, and something told me Shizuru wouldn't likely tell lies on my behalf. Not pry? Sure. But tell lies? That just didn't seem like her style. So what should I—?

I didn't have a lot of time to reflect, because soon enough three sonorous knocks sounded against the metal door beside me. I scrambled to my feet and wrenched it open, blinking as sunlight poured into the hall and revealed two familiar faces. "Hey, you two," I said, squinting and grinning in the glare. "What's—?"

"Keiko!" Botan flung herself at me at once, arms wrapping tight around my neck in a hug. "We were so worried!"

"What the hell happened back there?" Atsuko said as she walked inside. Behind her, Shizuru stood in the doorway, holding the door open as she watched us and smoked her cigarette. "One minute you were behind us, the next we hear you shriek and somebody throws a bag over your head like an old school Yakuza shakedown!"

Botan pulled away from me so she could stare, nonplussed, at Atsuko. "The fact that you know what said shakedown looks like concerns me," she said, "but now's not the time for that!" Her arms went back around my neck again. "Oh, Keiko, are you all right?!"

"Was it an old school Yakuza shakedown or wasn't it?" Atsuko demanded.

"It was something like that and I'm fine," I said. "But enough about me; are you two—?"

Botan giggled in my ear. "Two? Try three."

"Three?"

"That's right!" She let me go and stepped back, waving at the doorway with a flourish. "Ta dah!"

Atsuko also stepped aside. So did Shizuru.

Behind them stood Yukina.

I promptly forgot how to breathe.

Perhaps it was time that had dulled my memory of her. Perhaps it was denial that anyone could ever be that fundamentally beautiful that had made me forget just how heart-stoppingly, jaw-droppingly, eye-poppingly gorgeous Yukina was to look at. Whatever the case, to look at her after so long apart was an exercise in sheer survival, because to be reminded of Yukina's utterly perfect face was to be reminded of what instant and paralyzing asphyxiation felt like. From her otherworldly hair color to her petal pink lips to the ruby facets of her eyes, she was stunning—even if she looked uncomfortable while Shizuru shepherded her through the doorway and into the hall. She moved with the smallest, daintiest of steps, her carriage at once proud and timid and lithe and deft, kimono like the embrace of winter itself when wrapped around her slender shoulders. And when she bowed uncertainly at me, pink blossoming in her cheeks under my stare, the breath snatched out of my lungs all over again.

Botan looked between Yukina and me in turns. "Oh, dear," she said, worried. "You do remember Yukina, don't you, Keiko?"

What an absurd question that was. As much as time had made me forget Yukina's prettiness, it had been impossible to forget her entirely—but I was too flustered to say as much aloud. It was only when Shizuru nudged me in the ribs and gave me a Look that I managed to cough into a fist and clear my throat, spell broken as a hectic flush suffused my cheeks. Aw, shit. I'd been staring! How embarrassing!

"Oh. Um. Yeah. Of course," I stammered, bowing at Yukina in return. "It's, ah, good to see you again." Heat traveled into my neck and ears, too, skin prickling with swear. "I don't know if you remember me—we only met for, like, six seconds, and then I was gone and you were gone, too, and um, well—"

Yukina said, "I remember. And I'm so glad to see you're all right."

Her voice sounded like wind through icicles, musical and soft and cool, and the words died on my tongue. She had an oddly ageless face, now that I had found my wits just enough to study her more closely. She could've been in her late teens, or she could've been 30, or maybe she was my age. Somehow she managed to look older than Hiei, that bug-eyed wild child. No wonder their family resemblance wasn't obvious at first glance…

Botan looped her arm through mine; I tore my eyes from Yukina and looked at Botan intently, not letting myself get trapped in another spell. "We already explained it all to Atsuko, too," Botan said. She reached into her pocket and handed Yukina a long slip of glossy paper. "Now Yukina, take this. It's my ticket to the tournament. You hold onto it, and I'll hold onto my trainer pass if anyone asks us why we're here."

"Thank you." She held the ticket to her chest, crimson gaze anxious. "But are you sure this is all right? If we're caught by the guards…"

"Oh, it'll be fine!" Botan assured her—and then she paused. Thought about it. Laughed. "Well. It'll be fine so long as we don't get caught, at least!"

"We tried using the trainer pass to get Yukina in the door before, but no dice," Atsuko told me. "Guards had major sticks up their asses, that's for sure."

"And we couldn't let Yukina wander around here alone, could we?" Botan said. "Human World is dangerous for her, and some of those Black Black Club members are surely skulking about. If they saw her, and recognized her…"

Apprehension flashed through Yukina's beautiful eyes. My heart gave an immediate pang at the sight, but Shizuru stepped forward to stand at Yukina's side.

"Best she stick with us," Shizuru said, and Yukina's anxiety eased a fraction. "Don't worry, kid. We'll keep you safe."

"And I'm not sure we need to worry quite so much, either," I said—wait, what the fuck was I even saying? Despite a little voice in my head screaming that I should shut the hell up, the desire to see Yukina's worries disappear made keeping quiet impossible. Grinning, I told her: "It's always better safe than sorry, but the Black Black Club has bigger fish to fry than kidnapping a demon at this Tournament, I promise. And that means you have nothing to worry about."

But instead of looking happy, her brow only furrowed. "But what do you mean, Keiko?" she asked.

"I was old-school-Yakuza-kidnapped by a guy from that club," I said, voice inside me now practically yodeling that I shut up, but I didn't listen. "A man named Sakyo, and he didn't seem at all concerned about finding you."

"Sakyo?" Atsuko said.

Botan put a hand on her chin. "Wait. I know that name—oh!" She snapped her fingers. "The man from the television screen at the manor in the mountains!"

Shizuru frowned. "Long hair, scar over his eye?"

"That's the one." Botan's eyes widened. "But what did he want with you, Keiko?"

"Information." I held up a hand, afraid to look at Shizuru (though I felt her eyes burning a hole in the side of my head). "Don't worry. I didn't tell him anything about our team. I think he was just trying to scare me. Or scare the team, rather, showing off that he knows who we are and that he can grab us whenever he wants." The lies rolled smoothly off my tongue; thank my lucky stars I'd had a minute to prepare them. But when Botan clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified, I hastily added: "Which is why you can't tell the boys about what happened to me, OK? Don't want them getting distracted from the fights over this."

"But Keiko—"

"I'm not going to let my guard down again. Neither should any of you." I looked at each of my friends in turn, glossing over Yukina as fast as I could for fear of freezing up again. "But now that we know Sakyo knows about us, we can defend ourselves better. This won't happen again, I swear."

Botan didn't look convinced. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't tell…"

"No. Keiko is right." Shizuru swiped her cigarette out of her mouth with a grimace; it had been smoked down to the filter. "They've got enough on their plates as it is."

Our eyes met.

In hers, I read clear and pointed warning.

It flew over everyone else's head, of course. "Maybe," Botan said, still unconvinced—but she shook her head and snatched up my hand with a small, indignant shriek. "But now is not the time for a full recap of your little adventure! Oh, Keiko, it's just horrible! The Tournament committee pulled an absolute joke of a tactic." Her eyes nearly looked as red as Yukina's, teeth grinding between words as she told me, "They've already started our team's next matches, without any time to recuperate from the last fight! They sidelined Hiei and the masked fighter under false pretenses, pretending they're too hurt to fight, and with Kuwabara actually out of commission, it's up to Yusuke and Kurama alone to carry their teams!"

"Kurama managed to take down two of them, but they were tough customers," said Atsuko.

Botan nodded, hard. "He passed out on his feet after the second fight, and he was still in the ring, so they committee called for the next match to start without letting him leave the arena!" She threw up her hands with another yell of frustration. "What an underhanded, backstabbing, unscrupulous set of absolute assho—"

Yukina soft voice cut in before Botan could finish. "The committee didn't lift a finger to stop another fighter from attacking Kurama," she said, lifting her sleeve delicately to her mouth. "It was awful."

My teeth clenched. "Who did it?" I said, lips barely moving and although I already knew the answer.

"Big guy in a loincloth." Shizuru smirked. "But his mouth was bigger than his muscles."

"I'll say. Loincloth guy went down fast after Yusuke got in the ring, at least." Atsuko put her hands behind her head and winked. "What is it I always say? The bigger the mouth, the smaller the dick?"

Botan shrieked, "ATSUKO!"

"What?!"

Shizuru rolled her eyes as Botan and Atsuko began to bicker; Yukina looked amused, though she blushed the color of sakura blossoms in the heart of spring. Amazing how a being of ice could look so warm and lovely and—

Not now, Keiko. Get a goddamn grip!

"Anyway." Shizuru fished another cigarette from her pocket as I tried valiantly not to be a creep and stare at Yukina even more than I already had. "That puts us two to one. It's up to Yusuke to defeat three opponents in a row, but the loincloth loudmouth was easy pickings." Her brow furrowed. "The next fight, though…"

Botan's eagle ears picked up on what Shizuru was putting out. "Oh, dear. Do you wanna tell her or should I?" she said.

"Oh, let me do it!" said Atsuko, and she looped an arm around my shoulders. "Keiko, guess what? The second team is Team Masho—which means your new pal Jin is about to go up against your old pal Yusuke."

I clapped a hand over my mouth, pretending to be shocked. "Oh, wow!" I said. "What're the odds?"

Her arm pulled tight. "You gonna have trouble rooting for the home team, toots?"

"No." I sought out Shizuru while I said, "Jin's great, but Yusuke's family."

Perhaps it was too blatant an attempt to suck up to her. Hard to tell; her expression didn't change as she lit her cigarette and took a drag, stowing her lighter in her pocket with steady fingers. "Glad to hear it," was all she said, and then she gave a low harrumph before walking away down the length of the hall. "For your sake."

Atsuko watched her go with face screwed up tight. "What's she mean by that?" she asked me.

I shrugged, hoping she couldn't feel the way my heart had started beating. "No clue." I extricated myself from her grip, eager to talk about anything but this. "Now c'mon. We've got a fight to watch."


We found our way out of the labyrinthine innards of the stadium just in time to watch Jin, in a blur of white and red, go sailing into the upper levels of the stadium and fall crashing through the crowds, a fountain of rubble marking his quick descent. Demons roared and booed so loudly, I couldn't make out what Koto was screaming into her microphone. However, Atsuko (who stood at my side) came through loud and clear as she hollered her approval of the proceedings. Botan and Shizuru looked likewise elated as we made a beeline for the nearest TV display, shaky camera tracking Jin's path through sky and stadium stand alike.

"Good show, Yusuke!" Botan bellowed, pumping a fist into the air.

"That's my boy. My son!" Atsuko bellowed, too. "You inherited your mama's right hook, that's for damn sure!"

The camera panned back to Yusuke, who stood with hands braced on his knees in the center of the ring. Weary, bruised and sweat-streaked with hair falling out of its typical shellacked style, Yusuke nevertheless looked nothing but triumphant as he fought to catch his breath, brown eyes glittering with unbridled joy. He didn't need to smile for me to see that joy in every line of his trembling musculature—and that comment Keiko had made in the anime suddenly made sense. Watching him on that screen, I could see exactly why OG!Keiko thought Yusuke was having fun out there, even when he wasn't laughing or smiling, and why she hadn't wanted to interrupt his time in the Dark Tournament. He indeed looked at ease out there, battle worn but comfortable and comfortable in his own skin in a way he rarely was at school or home.

It was hard not to feel, looking at him, that everything was going right again. That in spite of everything that had gone wrong, and all of the day's decisions were the correct ones since they had led to this moment—this moment, where Yusuke looked so undeniably happy.

But perhaps, yet again, I was celebrating far too soon. No sooner had Koto declared Yusuke the winner of the fight, prompting thousands of boos from the watching demons, than did a musical chime sound over the stadium PA system. I knew what was happening before the others caught on. I stepped back and watched Botan, Atsuko, Shizuru and Yukina listen to the spokesperson of the Tournament Committee declare Yusuke ineligible to keep fighting, blaming this abrupt disqualification on Koto delaying one of Yusuke's ring-out 10-counts.

As my friends all began screaming in unison, I only clenched my fists. This, I reminded myself, was what was supposed to happen—but that knowledge couldn't keep my heart from hammering in my chest.

We were really in the crunch period now, weren't we? But luckily Yukina was with us, and we could run down and see Kuwabara as he fought Risho, and—

Cool fingers touched my wrist. I flinched, but it was only Yukina. She peered up into my face as she grasped my arm, worry etching lines across her smooth forehead. "I don't understand," she said. "How can this be?"

I tried not to think about how she smelled like pine and clean, fresh snowfall, but it was difficult. "It's the Tournament Committee," I explained, trying to focus on that, instead. "They want our boys to lose, so they're changing the rules on the fly." Actual ire speared through my thoughts of Yukina, roughing my voice a little. "When you've got power like that, rules are more like guidelines, anyway."

"I see." Yukina covered her mouth with her sleeve, eyes downcast. "If my brother is fighting in this tournament, as I sense he might be, I can only hope that he…"

She trailed off. I didn't need her to finish that statement, though. She could only hope that her mysterious brother wasn't being targeted by the Tournament Committee, too—and the grandest of ironies was that that's exactly what her brother was facing at this exact moment, way down in the arena below.

Poor Yukina. Poor, poor Yukina—

Koto's confident voice cut through my distracted haze like a heated blade through chilled jello. "As an experienced officiator and as a lover of this tournament, I must object!" she declared, and I could all but picture her flashing eyes in my head. "You tell me to delay the ten-count! You can't just—!"

"The committee's ruling is final," the cool-voiced announcer replied over the PA system. "If no one from Team Urameshi can compete in the final match—"

"This is bad," Shizuru said, eyes locked on the screen. It still displayed Yusuke, who looked positively livid. "Very bad."

Botan's face was the color of spoiled milk. "If they lose this match, they'll be…"

Her implication hung heavy on the air—and then a wave of ozone scent washed over us. The image on the screen shifted, showing a white tent with a red cross on the front, canvas panels flapping in a vicious breeze. Hiei and the masked fighter stood in the shadow of this tent, of course, dark power even my mundane eyes could see cascading off Hiei's body in ripples of scintillating purple and black. The camera shook too much to get a clear picture, but if I could taste that power even at this distance…

A few nearby demons made comments about, perhaps, rooting for Hiei just in case he broke loose, but Koto's voice drowned them out when she began to declare Team Urameshi the losers due to a lack of eligible fighters. Regret and reluctance weighed her voice as she bowed under the authority of the Tournament Committee—but before she could fully make her declaration, she stopped speaking with a gasp.

Voice echoing distantly through Koto's mic, Kuwabara cried that he would fight Risho and carry his team to victory.

"Can it be?!" Koto screamed, voice blasting through the speakers like a bomb going off. "Kuwabara isn't dead! He's on his feet! He's walking into the ring—and looking like he'll keel over any minute, of course but still! He's—"

Shizuru tensed. "Bro?" she said, and as if hearing her call, the image on the screen cut to Kuwabara.

Frankly, it was a wonder Kuwabara was even alive, let alone up and walking. His face a constellation of purple bruises, his chest a road map of crossing lacerations that wept streaks of blood, he appeared as a mishmash of injuries barely held together by skin and pure, unadulterated determination. His glorious crown of hair stuck to his scalp, matted with blood, orange color obscured by dirt and grime as he staggered his way into the arena.

Shizuru's face paled. "No," she said, voice low but clear in the din of the crowd. "You can't—you can't just—!"

Her cries for him to stop fell on deaf ears, however. He came to a stop in the center of the ring, and then a figure in black blurred into the frame and punched him, sending Kuwabara flying backward—but he stood up, rising on trembling knees to his feet. Koto squealed a hasty "Let the match begin!" as the figure once more knocked Kuwabara down, and without warning my best friend started to get pummeled.

My best friend.

My Kuwabara—!

I grabbed Yukina's hand. From the corner of my eye I saw her look up at me in surprise, but I didn't have the time to acknowledge the way my heart began to pound. I just yanked her along after me and broke into a run, answering Yukina's questioned cry with a call of, "Just run and follow me! Now!"

She stumbled; I pulled her upright and kept going, weaving through the demonic crowd. "But where—?" Yukina said.

Over my shoulder I told her, "If he's determined to get himself killed, he'll do it with a cheering section."

Shizuru fell into step beside us. "And I'll be waiting to murder the son of bitch who takes my baby bro from me!"

Imagine, if you will a scene of utter chaos, but chaos tightly controlled and aimed at the bullseye of the ring in the center of the stadium. Shizuru took point on our procession, knocking back demons left and right, which opened a path ahead of us, cutting through swaths of apparitions like an arrow flying through the air. We were up on a mid-tier balcony by the looks of things, but soon our frantic steps carried us to a set of stairs, which we thundered down with all the ferocity of a crashing summer storm.

Koto's voice reached us even in that stairwell. "And Kuwabara is down—but no, he's up again!" she yelled, narrating the blood fray. How can this injured human stand up to Risho's brutal assault? Is he a machine?"

"He's a Kuwabara!" Shizuru yelled back—though for Koto's benefit or her own, I'm at a loss to say.

It was with amazing speed that we made it down to the lowest level of the stadium, but the going from that point wasn't easy. Demons clustered thickly at the tops of the steps that led down to the seats nearest the arena, clustered around for a better view of the fights that their actual seats did not. Shizuru and Atsuko had to take a minute to knock these demons back, kicking and fighting and punching while I glared at the demons who eyed Yukina and Botan. A few attempted to speak to us; these I chased off with fists and throwing knives alike, keeping one eye on then and the other on the set of observation screens nearest our position. When they were out of sight, Koto's voice kept me in the loop.

"And Risho summons his battle armor!" she was saying as we fought our way through the horde. "How can Kuwabara ever hope to—?"

"There!" Atsuko screamed. "I can see him! Through there!"

I grabbed Yukina again, following Atsuko and Shizuru as they cleared a path and burst through the gathered demons, sprinting headlong down the steps toward the arena. The steps here were shallow, much less steep than on the upper levels, threatening to send my feet out from under me with every step, but somehow I kept my footing at the grass surrounding the arena got close and closer, the concrete of the arena itself growing larger, and larger, and larger still, like we were a dart thrown at a target coming swiftly ever closer—and then we were actually there, slamming against the concrete barrier separating the stands from the grass surrounding the ring. The concrete hit me in the gut; I nearly toppled over it and onto the grass, but Botan slammed into me from behind and held me in place. The wind knocked from my lungs, but I didn't pay any attention to things as mundane as breathing, raking my eyes across the ring in frantic search of—

Kuwabara, bloody and bruised but standing, occupied the center of the ring, standing perpendicular to us so I could see the line of his craggy profile. A red-wreathed figure, glowing and enormous, drove Kuwabara back across the ground, hovering off the ground as his bright energy kept him aloft. This was Risho, I could only guess, enveloped in stone armor and the light of his power, dive-bombing Kuwabara to force him out of the ring—

I threw my hand behind me until I found cool skin. I shoved Yukina forward, pulling her to the concrete barrier beside me with a murmured apology.

Shizuru beat me to the punch, though. "Kazuma!" she screamed, hands braced on the barrier as she bellowed. "Hey, Kazuma!"

But he didn't look, and when I glanced beside me, Yukina was watching the match with her hands over her mouth, face tense and horrified—and silent.

Which meant it was up to me. "Kuwabara—Kuwabara look, goddammit!" I roared.

And he obeyed.

It was hard to see from many dozen feet away, but I saw it. I saw his head whip around as Shizuru and I kept screaming. I saw his eyes widen, spots of white in his tan face. I saw his legs tense, and Risho's driving force slow a fraction, and then slow entirely as Kuwabara's legs caught beneath him.

"What's this?!" Koto shrieked. "Is Kuwabara really—?"

Whatever she said next drowned out Kuwabara, who yelled something I couldn't quite make out, but it didn't matter what he said. It didn't matter because in an instant, he pushed Risho back and sent him flying with a single, monstrous punch to the demon's face.

As Risho soared away, skipping across the pavement like a stone before falling over the ring's far edge, my heart sailed with him—up, up and away, elation singing like bubbles in my blood.

YES!

"Unbelievable!" Koto called. "Kuwabara knocked Risho back and out of the ring with one blow! Where has this sudden surge of power come from?"

Kuwabara didn't stop to answer her. He just ran, sprinting in our direction with a spray of blood, vaulting out of the ring and dashing to where we stood as if he hadn't just been barely holding on, as if his wounds weren't bothering him, as if he couldn't feel the pain that had kept him prone outside the ring for so many matches prior. He just dashed over and skidded to a stop on the grass below the barrier, staring up at us with mouth hanging open.

"Shizuru?!" Kuwabara said, rough voice higher than I'd ever heard it before. "Keiko?! Botan—Yukina? Wait, Yukina?" He leapt backward and pointed one dramatic finger up at us. "What the heck are you all doing here?!"

"Us?" Shizuru said, leaning over the barrier to try and swipe at her brother, who danced out of her reach with a yelp. "What the heck do you think you were doing in the ring, huh? You could've been killed!"

Koto's voice over the announcement system said, "It seems some lady friends of Kuwabara's have come to witness the brutality…" Annoyance crept into her tone. "Although they seem to be engaged in small talk right now…"

Kuwabara ignored her, as did the rest of us. "Yeah yeah, Shizuru—but wait a minute!" His eyes turned my way, and they looked positively horrified. "Keiko!"

"Hi." I performed jazz-hands at the demon beside me. "Look! It's Yukina!"

"I mean, yeah?! I see her?!" He shook his head, drops of blood flying from the weeping gash on his chiseled cheek. "But Keiko, my sister and Botan and even Yukina I can understand, but you—you shouldn't be here!" His heels clicked together, standing ramrod-straight as he pointed up and out of the arena with a pointed glare in my direction. "Go! Go home right now! Get on a boat and go home!"

"Hey!" I said, incensed. "I have just as much a right to be here as anybody!"

He pointed harder at the sky. "No, you do not!"

"Yes, I—oh shit, incoming!"

Behind him, Risho (oily black hair, oily black clothes, pointed nose, beady eyes and all) flew once more across the ring, body clad in armor made of hard stone. Kuwabara spun when he saw the frightened look on my face, but his shoulders showed nothing but annoyance, no fear at all, as a faint yellow glow suffused his torso. He looked down at his hands with a grin as Koto's voice began a measured 10-count.

"Hey, my energy is back!" he said, holding on hand aloft. "We know what that means!"

We did. Risho, however, did not, and he flew directly into the path of Kuwabara's glowing Spirit Sword like a fly into a bug zapper. The Stone Master shrieked as he was sent flying, like Jin before him, out of the ring and into the stands, a baseball driven into homerun territory by the bat of a powerful cleanup hitter.

I couldn't help it: I started screaming, hopping from foot to foot and in a circle, joy fountaining uncontrolled from every pore.

Koto remained a bit more objective, however. "5, 6!" she counted. "7!"

Kuwabara gave an "EEP!" of fright and running away, sprinting across the green and scrambling up into the arena proper just before Koto finished her count, at which point all of my friends started screaming with joy, too.

And this time, Koto joined in on the celebration. "Kuwabara is back in the ring!" she said, with perhaps more satisfaction than one wants in an objective referee, but this was probably vindicating for her, dammit, and I didn't fault her one bit—especially not when she declared: "Kuwabara is the winner!"

If I hadn't been going nuts before, I certainly went nuts them, and my friends joined in even as the rest of the stadium started booing. Botan and I clung to each other, jumping in place for joy, and soon we parted ways so we could throw our arms around other people, trading off between Atsuko and Shizuru until everyone had been hugged and congratulated and—

From across the arena, my eyes met someone else's, and I froze.

Yusuke stood ringside with his arms crossed, brown eyes burning like banked coals against the tan of his scowling face.

I gulped. The skin on the back of my neck prickled—but even Yusuke's icy stare, with all that it implied, did nothing to dull the wild joy building in my chest.

Even if he wasn't happy to see me, and even if Kuwabara's reaction to Yukina wasn't exactly as it had been in canon (a fact I did not have time to ponder now), the fact remained that we'd won. That I'd won. That we hadn't lost. That I hadn't fucked up entirely.

All things considered… the day could've been worse.

And that, to me, was a win.


Shizuru had clambered halfway over the barrier by the time she remembered to consult with us. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she said, gesturing at the ring. "An invitation?"

All right. So maybe she didn't "consult" so much as "shame us into following her lead," but now I'm just splitting hairs.

With wooden legs I clambered over the barrier after her, and with equally wooden hands I assisted Yukina over the barrier, too. Tough to move in her kimono and whatnot. Once Botan and Atsuko came over, too, we walked in a gaggle toward the ring, where Kuwabara lay collapsed in a heap upon the stone. His energy had only lasted long enough to beat Risho, it seemed, leaving him lying snoring in a restorative nap now that the heat was off.

And boy, did he need restoration. He was in even rougher shape that I'd first suspected, a fact evident once I saw him up close. Pretty sure he had some cracked ribs, judging by the bruises littering his muscular sides, and it was these Yukina tended to first. She didn't even wait to ask if she should. Caring to a fault, she folded into seiza position at Kuwabara's side and held her hands over his ribs, eyes closing as her hands began to glow with subtle blue radiance—a radiance I was certain would be more impressive to someone with psychic sense. It was certainly still pretty to me, but for someone with more advanced or an even just plain existent sixth sense, it was bound to be as beautiful as Yukina herse—

"You're here."

My heart vaulted into my mouth.

I turned.

Yusuke stood behind me, glaring.

The roar of the irate demons fell to nothing around us. I was too focused on Yusuke to hear them anymore. All of the unspoken joy I'd seen on the TV monitors was gone. In its stead I saw tension deeply etched in the lines of his shoulders. Hands jammed in his pockets, eyes hooded beneath his lowered brow, he regarded me with all the disdain one usually reserves for invasive weeds in a well-tended garden—and the fact that I'm using a garden metaphor on him instead of Kurama is a clue as to how much the sight of that disdain unsettled me.

"Hi, Yusuke," I said after a moment. "I—"

"I don't want to hear it."

His response was flatter than week-old soda. I shrank back, but his eyes didn't lighten even the slightest, and suddenly the roaring crowd sounded as loud as it had before. Louder, even.

Luckily I didn't have to face him alone. "Now, that's no way to treat a friend, Yusuke." Atsuko walked up behind him and put him in a headlock, ruffling his messy hair with tough fingers. "And Keiko came all this way to cheer you on, too!"

Yusuke gaped up at her, red-faced and stuttering. "M-Mom?!"

"In the flesh."

Botan bounced out from behind Shizuru. "And me, and me!" she said, ruffling Yusuke's hair. "I'm here, too!"

"Botan?!" he choked out, airway severely restricted in Atsuko's crushing grip. "All of you are here?!"

"That's right! Even Yukina came all the way from the ice world to cheer you on." Botan beamed and turned a spirited pirouette, humming happily with ever motion. "It's me and your mother and Keiko and Yukina and Shizuru and we—wait." She paused, staring at the spot Shizuru had been standing, which was not conspicuously empty. "Where is Shizuru?"

From our left came an indignant squawk, followed by three earsplitting booms from the stadium speakers—and then a very familiar voice echoed through the speakers, too. "Hey. This thing on?" that voice said, and the speakers shrieked with sudden feedback. "Sheesh. Sorry I asked."

As one, we turned to see her.

Shizuru stood beside Koto. It had been her voice over the speakers, and in her hand she held Koto's microphone—a microphone poised just below Shizuru's mouth, cigarette in danger of burning a hole in the fluffy pop-catcher covering the mic's round head. She glared up at the sky like it had personally wronged her, hand in a fist at her side as she spoke into the mic.

"Hey. Tournament Committee," she said. "You listening, or do I have to come up there and put a request in writing?"

"Shizuru?!" Botan said, aghast. "What are you doing?!"

I could've (and probably should've) asked the same question—and yet I couldn't move. Could barely even think to wonder what the fuck Shizuru was up to, and why the heck she was trying to address the unscrupulous Tournament Committee out of nowhere.

Soon she (and the rest of us, too) received an answer. A musical chime sounded over the PA system, and then a woman's smooth voice said, "Return the microphone to the official tournament announcer at once."

Shizuru spat onto the arena floor, and glared. "Make me."

The demonic crowd instantly fell silent.

The Committee spokesperson, did not. "Failure to return the microphone to the designated tournament official will result in—"

"You like blood, right?" Shizuru said.

If any demons had still talking, those finally stragglers shut up. Seeing a crowd that large and that loud go that silent that fast is a surreal experience, but Shizuru wasn't fazed. She simply tossed her hair, took the lingering silence over the PA system as a "yes," and got right down to business.

"Because I happen to very good at spilling it," she said, tone dispassionate and dry and scary as heck. "And I can't help but notice that Team Urameshi isn't actually conforming to certain Tournament rules. Since you seem to love rules as much as you love bloodshed, I have a proposal to make." She smirked. "I promise it'll satisfy both your needs."

There came a pause.

Then the Committee rep said: "You have our attention."

Shizuru didn't waste time celebrating that fact. "Team Urameshi is incomplete," she said, voice unwavering. "It's missing an alternate fighter. Right?"

"And you're proposing…?" the Committee rep asked.

"What do you think I'm proposing, genius? I want to be that alternate." She took a drag of her cigarette. "Now shut up and make your decision. I haven't got all day."

And with that, Shizuru held out the microphone—and she dropped it.

My heart followed suit, freefalling in a deathly plummet to the floor.


NOTES

Well folks. I started a new job last week (!) and it completely threw off my update schedule! Between lunch meetings and "welcome to the company" events, I didn't have any time to write. I also had to prep and set up an art display and stuff on the weekend I was supposed to write/update, which consumed all of my free time. In short: Sorry this was delayed a week. My update schedule is going to shift around a bit to accommodate all the new stuff happening in my life, but never fear. LC updates won't stop just because I hit a road block. Expect the next one probably around Feb. 23rd, or sometime that weekend.

I've been so eager to reach this bit with Shizuru. That training with former Spirit Detective Kuroko Sanada wasn't for nothing, but will we see the benefits of Shizuru's training in action? Find out next time in chapter 90 (HOLY SHIT, 90 CHAPTERS, WTF) of LC!

Also: I started the dumbest and most ridiculous crossover fic this week. It's YYH meets Scooby Doo. It's… well, it's somethin', and if you're in the mood for a completely nonsensical mess of a crossover, please check out "Scooby-Doo, Where are Yu-Yu?" on my profile.

Also in the works is the next chapter of Daughters of Destiny, which I aim to post this week sometimes. Did I also tell y'all I wrote about NQKagome in the most recent chapter of Written in Ink and that there was a Yusuke POV chapter in the latest Children of Misfortune post? Lots of stuff to check out if you haven't already.

As always, those of you who found the time to leave a comment make my world go round. It was a stressful time, parting ways with my old job and starting work at my new gig, but you helped me along with your kind words and support. You are the greatest, and I am lucky to have you in my corner: MyHeartBeatingMWMI, Neurotic Pansexual, IronDBZ, Sky65, C S Stars, Sorlian, EdenMae, Meno Melissa, Sterling Bee, xenocanaan, cestlavie, angelofmusic, DiCuore Alissa, buzzk97, Marian, Ikabi, MissIdeophobia, Blaze1662001, Teacup Galaxy, Deamachi, ahyeon, Ink Outside the Lines, rya-fire1, EasilyAmused93, tammywammy9, Yakiitori, Neko Mitsuko, WaYaADisi1, Kaiya Azure, general zargon, Kanna Kyomu, Minirowan, SirSwag33, NightlyKill, shinoayozu, Kykygrly, RedPanda923, Caelyn M, Ally Kenshin, Yatocat19, SoraAiAme, final gladius and three guests!