Welcome To The Christmas Saturnalia

As with all events the host club hosted, the guests to the ball spent about two minutes ooh-ing and ah-ing at the scenery before losing themselves in dance or conversation, under the attentive gazes of one of the clubs' members.

Tamaki could not stop waxing poetic on the darkly romantic (or was that romantically dark?) setting as though it had been his idea from the start, as he made the rounds, making sure everyone was comfortable and enjoying his or herself, with Nekozawa and Kyouya—the latter with the polite efficiency others had come to expect, and the former with ominous double entendres that left cheeks rosy and spines shivering. It was not long before Honey and Mori, like life-sized toy soldiers in their ubiquitous military formals, got the ball rolling with a polka, which encouraged guests who had come with dates to drag them to the dance floor; and Kanazuki and Fukazaki, like deceptively chaste pilgrims in their black velvet and frilly white lace collars and sleeves, cajoled wallflowers into joining in.

Nor were their other clubmates fairing any poorer. Minagi soon had himself a crowd of both sexes, some gathered there for conversation and others, it soon became obvious, for an opportunity to fawn, the difference between the two being not so easy to delineate.

"So, you're a fan of Shakespeare?" one of the girls asked, case in point. "Which play is your favorite? Hamlet? Othello?"

"Twelfth Night, actually," he said with a cool smile, "though if it's tragedy you want, I do have a soft spot for Titus Andronicus." In his Victorian frock coat and cloak that conjured images of a young bohemian slipping about the dark, wet-cobblestoned underbelly of London, searching for the elusive Green Fairy, or perhaps the Supreme Anarchist Council of Europe, the choice should have come as no surprise when he explained: "I find myself drawn to the raw pathos of a character like Titus who suffers such a tragic reversal of fortunes. That and nothing makes such a powerful statement of revenge as feeding your nemesis their own children in a pastry."

"How horrible!" the girls sighed, taking his story with more enthusiasm than young women of their upbringings perhaps should. "I never knew Shakespeare was so morbid!"

"But Romeo and Juliet is so romantic."

"Romeo and Juliet is an exercise in dramatic irony no different from Love Suicide at Sonezaki," Minagi said. "It's the young lovers' struggle with obligation and desire, the understanding that they can't have both, and the transient nature of their passion that strike the most poignant, and universal, chord." To which the boys in his circle nodded vigorously in agreement. "Speaking of romance, are any of you familiar with 'The Raven'?"

"No more!" Torihara wailed in English at that moment as he tried to shake one of the crows off his arm—much to the delight of his onlookers, who seemed to be mistaking his real distress for a stunt put on for their enjoyment.

Unfortunately for him, his clubmate was even more oblivious to his plight.

"Precisely, Torihara!" Minagi exclaimed. "I believe the exact word you're looking for is 'nevermore,' but that's close!"

"No, I really mean it." The second-year boy's cheeks reddened in frustration. He looked like any number of visual rockers in the costume Renge had chosen for him, a tight-fitting, pitch-black ensemble with rips and wear, and buckles here and there that served no purpose other than the aesthetic. And providing something for the crows to pick at, much to his chagrin. "The claws are tearing me apart," he winced, scrunching the shoulder one of them perched on in pain. "I know they're trained and all, but I really don't think they're used to being around this many people."

Which only made his fans squeal like hot kettles. "It's too cute! He's so sensitive, worried about his crows like they were his children!"

"And how he knows what they're feeling—it's uncanny, it gives me goosebumps! . . . Eh, no pun intended."

"I-I think you misunderstand. . . ." Torihara said in a weak voice, but no one heard him.

Fukazaki, on the other hand, would not have terribly minded trading places with his upperclassmen at that moment. Large, live birds he could handle; but running into the Hitachiin brothers at every turn was another story. For just when he thought he had finally gotten away from them, he turned around and nearly had a stroke.

"Come play with us, Fukazaki," they said in stereo, and he swore for a split second his soul actually left his body.

"Shining twins . . . !"

He turned to flee as casually as he had come but they grabbed him by both arms and drew him aside.

"Where are you going?" Hikaru sounded innocent but the other boy wasn't buying. "You're just the man we want to see, Fuzake."

"Fukazaki."

"Whatever. This is very important," said Kaoru, "so listen close. We got a peek of the secret list of what flavor jelly beans were assigned to whom for the mock king election. At ten o'clock, our lord is going to choose a bean at random, and the person whose name corresponds to that flavor will be crowned Lord of Disrule for the rest of the evening."

"You want to rig this election in your club's favor as much as we do, right? Well, we made up a special batch of just Nekozawa-sempai's flavor—"

"Very tedious work."

"—which you're going to switch with the official cup of the regular, mixed beans ever-so-covertly at the last minute. That way there's no way he can lose."

"It's really simple," said Kaoru. "All you have to remember is that the unscreened beans are in the stein with the pine. The tankard with the anchor contains the mix that's been fixed."

"Really simple," Hikaru nodded.

But Fukazaki's stony face told a different story. "Hold on. The mix that's been fixed is in the stein with the—"

"No," said the twins. "The stein with the pine holds the unscreened beans. The mix that's been fixed is in the tankard with the anchor! Now get on it, champ." And with that they sent him on his way muttering the rhyme to himself over and over—or at least trying to.

Needless to say, the whole thing looked mighty suspicious to Haruhi, who said as she joined them, "Great. Who are you torturing this time?"

"You know us too well for your own good."

As if that were an answer. What Haruhi had not known was what they would make their appearances at the ball looking like. "What are those things hanging off your faces?"

Hikaru and Kaoru only seemed to have their vanity invigorated by her lack of enthusiasm. "Slave chains," Kaoru said, tugging at the silver chain that ran from the ring in his right ear to one in his lip. "Haven't you read NANA?"

"They're fake, of course," said Hikaru, who pulled off the ring in his left ear momentarily to demonstrate. "Why? You don't like?"

"Well, it's not very flattering. . . ."

"Jeez, Haruhi," they said, pulling her to their breasts in pity, "where's your sense of fun?"

"You don't have to be a square on Twelfth Night too."

"You should let loose," a voice sang from behind them, "eat, drink, and be merry! Do what no one ever expected you to do!" Her shining eyes drifting closed, Renge put a hand elegantly to her breast in pride. "Take the black magic club. Usually the dregs of student programming, but, ah, tonight all so elegant, so in-character! Thank goodness for my wonderful casting sense."

Hearing Renge's dreamy tone of voice, Haruhi forgot her momentary irritation with the twins. Now that she thought about it, all those worries they had had over the past week—well, more accurately, Tamaki's initial reluctance to work with a club that practiced black magic and Renge's fear of failure—had all been forgotten since the start of the ball. The black magic club's members may have been going by their own scripts, but it was their own personalities that drew the interest of fans of the host club and newcomers alike.

A passion-filled quote by Minagi, or an intimate whisper from Torihara amid the flutter of wings; an impromptu juggling act from Fukazaki, or a palm reading by Kanazuki—they were a midway circus in and of themselves, and Nekozawa their ringmaster, who had everyone in attendance under his spell. The mojo mobiles that hung from dead tree branches, and the fiery behemoth that was the Moloch guarding the buffet tables, rather than turning students used to more elegant trappings off, aroused in them a good-spirited fascination that might be forgotten at the end of the holiday, but at least for the time being created an atmosphere that was truly magical.

"Good evening, Milady Manager," the twins said in unison as they turned with a mirrored bow.

"Good evening, my dear fellow hosts," Renge replied with the slightest of curtsies. When her classmates didn't know quite to say next, she prompted, "Well? What do you think?"

She was, of course, referring to her outfit: a blood-red, sixteenth-century gown with billowing sleeves and a billowing skirt, and a tight bodice that was extremely low-cut and pushed everything up, even if there wasn't much to push up to begin with. A beaded, scalloped tiara covered her crown and tightly bound-up hair, a collar to match standing up around her neck; her make-up was dark and mysterious; and a large crucifix like some kind of chastity amulet swung against her stomach. A hollow ring of the type used by Hollywood villains to poison drinks completed the ensemble. "Are you supposed to be someone?" Haruhi ventured a guess.

Renge nodded vigorously. "How good of you to notice! To celebrate the theme of nefarious goings-on, I decided to cosplay tonight as the Machiavellian villainess Lucrezia Borgia—as played by Estelle Taylor in the silent film version of Don Juan, not the Victor Hugo version—"

"That's an unusually obscure reference."

"I thought Ms Taylor's more occult interpretation would better evoke the mood of the event."

"It evokes something, all right," the twins said, whose eyes never quite made it as far north as her face.

Which earned them both a quick tug on the slave chain from Haruhi. "Well, it certainly does fit the mood." She smiled perhaps a little too brightly. "You look lovely, Renge."

Which naturally made the other girl beam. "Why, thank you, Haruhi."

"Looks like our class rep finally worked up the guts," Kaoru said, and the other three turned in the direction he was looking.

Souga, their class representative, and his vice in more ways than one, Kurakano Momoka, who had her hand on his elbow, were approaching them through the crowd. "Wow, Souga," Haruhi said, "I'm glad to see you here." Surprised was the word that really came to mind. "Are you two enjoying yourselves so far?"

"Yes!" Renge gestured around them with dramatic flourish. "You must tell us what you think of the aura!"

"Well," Souga began, "you know this kind of . . . dark, creepy thing isn't my usual cup of tea . . ."

"But I convinced him he had to come along to one of the host club's events," said Kurakano, "and since this is the last one of the calendar year—"

"I couldn't say no. It's not half as bad as I was expecting, either." By the blush beneath his glasses, however, Haruhi and the twins were not so sure the ballroom's decorations were really responsible in any way for Souga's mood one way or another.

"Then I hope you have a wonderful time."

"And don't incur any bad mojo before the new year," the twins said after the couple in their most ominous of voices, unable to resist the temptation.

Haruhi sighed.

"What?"

"You two always have to do that, don't you?"

"Of course," they said. "We're mischievous twin characters. That's what we do. That's our thing. Right, Renge?"

"Absolutely. And we," said Renge, "should be mingling. Haruhi, may I have the next dance?"

"What does that have to do with mingling?" Hikaru said, which was actually the question on Haruhi's mind as well, as Renge linked arms with her.

"Everything!" was the ambiguous response; and Haruhi could only manage a forlorn look back at the twins as they sent her off to the dance floor with a wave and an all-too-chipper for her liking, "Bon voyage."

"Hikaru? Kaoru?"

"So there you two are! We've been looking for you all evening."

Recognizing the voices of their usual customers at club meetings, the twins slipped easily into their shtick, turning to face their fans with mirrored accuracy as they chimed, "You know how we like to make an entrance."

Their fans sighed their pleasure as they were allowed their first look at the twins in costume that evening. Matching charcoal and steel gray Little Lord Fauntleroy suits tailored to fit their adolescent frames, complete with ribbon neckties and knickers and long stockings, made them look like living dolls, or like characters who had literally wandered out of an old black-and-white movie. On their heads they wore flat caps like those from their "Which one is Hikaru?" game; around their necks, tattered wool scarves; and on their feet, to put punk brackets around an old Twist, platform loafers.

"For your pleasure, EGL Tiny Tim twins," they said together, though aside from the up-to-no-good glimmer in their eyes as they both bowed there was little about them that could be considered Dickensian.

"Ee-gee-ell?" asked one girl.

"Elegant Gothic Lolita," another told her like she should be ashamed for her ignorance. "I've read about this but never seen it done in person."

"In stereo, no less. Magnificent!"

"No one is immune to the homoerotic appeal of EGL twins," Hikaru and Kaoru said, and no one was about to contest them on that.

"But if you're Tiny Tims," said one girl, "where are your crutches?"

"Crutch?" Kaoru blinked. "Why, I don't need a crutch as long as I've Hikaru to lean on—"

Before he could finish, he was pulled into his brother's arms, staring up at Hikaru as he murmured, "Silly. . . . It's you who is my crutch, Kaoru. I don't care if the world laughs at me for being childish, as long as I have you beside me to hold me up, I can surely go on living." And he punctuated the emotion with a weak cough into his fist.

"Hang in there, Hikaru . . ." Kaoru said sympathetically.

Then they proceeded to stare soulfully into each other's eyes, so that they didn't realize the squeals of delight that followed had less to do with their trademark brotherly love act this time, and more to do with where they happened to be standing, until someone in their audience exclaimed, "God bless us everyone! Could our luck get any better?"

The twins turned to them, then slowly followed their gazes up. Their faces fell as they saw too late what had drawn everyone's attention. "Is that what I think it is, dear brother?" said Hikaru.

"I'm afraid so," said Kaoru.

"And what imbecile put that there of all places, I wonder?"

"I think that was us, dear brother."

"Fantastic. . . ."

"Mistletoe!" their fans squealed, shaking their heads in pure and utter rapture. "You know what this means!"

Yes, Hikaru and Kaoru knew exactly what that meant, but they pled the fifth.

"Well, you two have to kiss now," someone in the crowd said, followed by another shouting, "I mean, you just do! It's mistletoe, for chrissakes!"

"Kiss, kiss, kiss!" the crowd of well-to-do high school girls took up the chant like a bunch of grade schoolers.

It didn't help their cases any that the twins were still stuck in their crutch-dialog poses, caught that way like deer in headlights when they first glanced up at the dreaded mistletoe that hung over their heads like the proverbial sword. Hikaru swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. "What do we do now?"

"Do?" Kaoru said. "I think we have to give them what they want."

"Are you insane?"

"If you see a better way out of this, you're welcome to jump in at any time." Maybe Kaoru was crazy. The prospect of kissing his twin didn't particularly bother him in and of itself, but he knew as well as Hikaru did that what their audience wanted was a step they might not be as willing to take as they believed. Imagining the Hitachiin twins in a lip lock was one matter, but seeing the real thing. . . . It was something their fans might not ever forgive them for.

Then again—

"Aw, screw it," Kaoru muttered, before he grabbed a fistful of Hikaru's jacket and pulled his brother to him, planting his mouth firmly on Hikaru's. The fake lip rings clicked against each other so Kaoru tilted his head, thereby deepening the kiss at the same time—which Hikaru, wide-eyed and frozen on the spot, was entirely too conscious of. They just prayed they didn't come to regret the slave chain idea and get stuck together; that would be an insult to this injury they could do without, thank you very much.

At first, a deathly silence was all they received from the crowd. The girls were too shocked that they had actually done it to even breathe. For all of three seconds. Then they caught their breaths and were screaming in bliss, begging for more, swooning on their feet, all with one consensus: that was the best, the paramount, the ultimate winter vacation send-off in the history of the host club. And now, thanks to Kaoru, they had something new to champion: "Role reversal!"

Ever the showman, Kaoru blushed as he pulled away, and covered his mouth. "Forgive me, Hikaru. I guess I just got so overwhelmed imagining you sickly and lame, that I wanted to take care of the Hikaru of this moment with everything I had."

"Take care of" was not the phrase Hikaru would have used, he thought as he tried to repress an involuntary eye twitch. "But still, Kaoru, you're never so aggressive when it's just the two of us."

Which, of course, started a new refrain of screamed adulation and imaginations set free into the forbidden wilds of brotherly love. That was the last time, the two swore to themselves, they ever hung decorations without also having a map of said mine field on hand at all times.

On the other side of the room, Honey sighed an adorable sigh. "Phew, I'm pooped from all this dancing. Anyone wanna have some Christmas cake with me?"

As if they had been waiting all evening just for that, several of the girls agreed that they did.

"Kanazuki-chan, would you like some Christmas cake, too?" he invited his friend from the black magic club.

"If Haninozuka is offering so nicely, then I will have some," Kanazuki deadpanned. "After all, in this season we young women are reminded of all those uneaten cakes thrown out on December twenty-sixth, and should take care that we don't grow to become stale Christmas cakes ourselves."

Though Honey would have had to admit he had no idea what she was talking about, the other girls nodded solemnly to themselves at her warning. Now that she mentioned it, none of them wanted to become Christmas cakes, no sir, tossed aside as no good after their twenty-fifth year.

"That's why I carry a marriage charm on me at all times," Kanazuki went on as she withdrew a laminated paper charm from somewhere on her person. "Like this one we make and sell exclusively through the black magic club, along with juju fetishes and anything else you might need to bring good mojo upon you—or bad mojo upon someone else."

The charm between her fingers turned into a fan of them with a casual flick of her wrist, each with her club's mascot's image stamped into the corner. "You could waste money and time on traditional charms from shrines and temples that you have to meditate on, or wait for chance to intercede, or you can take our tried and true route. Each official Black Magic Club Anti-Christmas Cake Guaranteed Marriage by Twenty-Five Charm comes blessed by Beelzenev himself, so you know the spirits of darkness are working hard to bring you the best marriage prospects."

That had several girls sold, and even a couple of boys. "Ohhh, I get it now," Honey said to himself as bills waved around him, and students clamored for one of those strips of paper.

"Hooo. . . ." Nekozawa slid into the fray, grinning wide as he placed a hand on Kanazuki's shoulder. "Now, that is how it is done. I commend you on your astute salesmanship, Kanazuki-kun. You make your club proud."

"It is nothing," she said in just as flat a manner as she had delivered her sales pitch. "I am merely taking advantage of the spiritual energies of the season. Everyone knows that when the forces of light ruled by the sun are in their weakest phase at the end of December, those that reside in the darkness are ripe for the picking, eager to put the hurt on whomever they are commanded. It is the perfect season for curses. I myself have cast seven in the past week and expect at least that many more before the night is through."

"I've got to hand it to you, Nekozawa-sempai." Tamaki slapped him on the shoulder as he joined the group, an oblivious smile lighting up his face. "I never thought I'd say it, but your club does know how to throw a party."

His presence put a wicked gleam in Kanazuki's eyes. "And speaking of people I'd like to curse—"

"Yes," Nekozawa spoke over her, "we do always have a sinfully good time wherever and whenever our little coven gathers. It's just been our misfortune in the past that no one else has deigned to share in our revelries."

"But thanks to the host club," Tamaki said predictably, with a hand to the breast, "your fortunes have reversed for the better."

"That and the chicken blood over the lintel," Kanazuki muttered.

Tamaki blinked. "What? I didn't quite catch that."

"It's nothing." That wicked grin of Nekozawa's quelled all worries—by supplanting them with new ones. "How are your regular guests enjoying the atmosphere."

"The same way they did our club's vampire-themed meeting." The host king matched his disingenuous grin. "Do not think you can lure them away from us with your parlor tricks, like some kind of Pied Piper. The moment you think you can try you are doomed, for then it will be on."

"What will?"

"You know. It."

"Then I look forward to its commencement."

Static electricity tingled in the air for a moment as the two stared each other down like gentlemen about to do battle in a duel.

Until Tamaki abruptly pulled out of it and Nekozawa almost fell forward on his face. "There's just one question I had," said the former. "I tried some of it and I just can't figure out what that fizzy, greenish stuff in the punchbowl beside the eggnog is."

"Oh, that?" said the other matter-of-factly, sweeping a lock of hair out of his face. "Absinthe."

Tamaki looked as though his upperclassman had just told him he had been poisoned and only he, Nekozawa, had the antidote. "Absinthe! You mean la Fée Verte? The Green Fairy? Are you insane? (Don't answer that; of course you are.) You can't serve absinthe at a school function! This is exactly the kind of reckless behavior that got your White Day bake sale shut down—"

"Relax, Suou-kun." Nekozawa seemed to enjoy saying that just a little too much. "The rumors of its effects are greatly exaggerated. And besides, it's diluted with enough ginger ale to kill a pancreas."

"That's beside the point—"

"Anyway, I should be asking you how it got here. Not that I'm protesting, but we did agree your club would be in charge of refreshments, did we not?"

Before Tamaki could come up with any sort of response, Kyouya appeared by his side with troubling news. "Komatsuzawa is here."

The mere mention of the president of the journalism club, who had tried to disgrace them and ended up disgracing himself, made Tamaki screw his face up and mutter, "That sneaky little . . . Who does he think he is, huh, coming in here trying to crash our good, clean fun? Kyouya, didn't you ban him from even coming near our club's activities? Didn't you threaten his family or something? He's probably come to dig up the dirt on us so he can accuse the host club of being comprised of devil worshipers or worse—"

"Any publicity," Nekozawa purred, "is good publicity as far as we are concerned."

"Yes," said Kyouya, "but you have a warped perspective of the world."

"This is true."

"Ah!" Tamaki started. "He's going to discover the absinthe! We're doomed—"

"Relax, Suou-kun," Nekozawa tried again, gripping one of the host king's shoulders—which, needless to say, did not appear to help.

"Let me see if I grasp the situation correctly," Kanazuki said to the two hosts. "You prohibited the president of the journalism club from participating in your club's events under threat of retaliation and he ignored you? This is a matter which calls for haste and . . ."

"Tact?" Kyouya supplied.

"Delicacy," said Kanazuki. "It would be my pleasure if you leave it to me."

Her gracious tone of voice and polite mannerisms belied none of the treachery that lay just beneath her exterior, but Tamaki and Kyouya caught something of it just the same, which made the former step back and the latter smile.

Nowhere near as much as Nekozawa, however, who was grinning ecstatically as he said with relish after her retreating form, his hand outstretched toward her: "Yes, my little voodoo doll, go—and do not spare him! Show him once and for all how we of the black magic club . . . deal with renegers."

After which he chuckled evilly.

It did not take Kanazuki long to find Komatsuzawa of the since bust journalism club in the crowd, as he was perhaps the only one looking nervously back and forth across the ballroom to see if anyone had detected his presence. Either that, or he was committing to memory what sinister sights his eyes beheld there for committing to paper later. And he was the only one in attendance who was biting his thumbnail.

"Are you sure we should be here?" his right-hand man Ukyou was asking him in a low voice. "I mean, Ohtori did say—"

"I don't care what that puffed-up megalomaniac said," the other grumbled. "I will ruin the host club one way or another for what they did to me, and then Ohtori shall know— Sakyou," he chided his left-hand man, "you're supposed to be taking incriminating photos!"

"Komatsuzawa-sempai?"

The threesome came to a halt. Kanazuki stood before them, striking an image of girlish innocence with her hands clasped to her breast, her large and heavy dark eyes gazing soulfully up at him. Needless to say, Komatsuzawa's plan for using his club's popularity to, among other things, win girls had never exactly panned out, so he didn't know quite what to say at first other than, "Uh, uh, uh . . . yeah?"

Kanazuki looked coyly up at him from beneath her lashes. "I've made my decision, and you're the one I want."

Which made Komatsuzawa automatically look around himself. "Me?"

"Yes. I want you to be my fiftieth. And you can't say no. I always get what I want—so help me Adramelch, Azazel and all the infernal legions!" Too late for Komatsuzawa, Kanazuki unfolded her hands, revealing a little straw doll that she clutched possessively between her fingers. "Amon, miserere nobis . . . Samael, libera nos a bono," she began to pray over the voodoo doll with all the incongruity of a heartfelt, lovesick confession, "Belial eleison . . ." She plucked a couple of hairs from Komatsuzawa's head, voice rising as she spoke to them cross-eyed with mounting passion: "Focalor, in corruptionem meam intende . . . Haborym, damnamus dominum—"

"Eeyaaahhh!" Komatsuzawa screamed like a girl and fled in the other direction. The whole exorcism had been but the work of a moment, leaving Sakyou and Ukyou standing stalk still in utter disbelief.

"Now, as for you two . . ."

That was all Kanazuki had to say before the two boys, muttering the first excuses they could think of for being elsewhere, stepped back and made a hasty retreat from the ballroom. If she regretted anything, it was only that curses fifty-one and fifty-two had gotten away before the fun could even begin. But no matter, as she saw her classmate Kasanoda wander like he was lost through the crowd, and almost get run over by a fleeing Ukyou.

He jumped when, turning back around, he nearly ran over Kanazuki. "Just my luck," he grumbled to himself.

"I could do something about that," said Kanazuki.

"No, I meant . . ." What he meant more or less was how unfortunate it was that he, human blizzard and most feared boy in the first-year class, should have run into the one person who gave him the chills. As if it wasn't bad enough already that half his classmates had to see him dressed up like this. There was only one thing that could make it all worth it.

Kasanoda looked away as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Is Fujioka here? This is a host club event, ain't it?"

"Dance with me first and we'll see what we can do about your luck and Fujioka."

What could Kasanoda really do? Kanazuki's sudden grip on his arm was awfully insistent, and it wasn't as though the alternative—that is, turning down the black magic club's dreaded voodoo princess and dealing with the consequences—was very attractive. So, expression as sour and foreboding as ever, Kasanoda allowed himself to be dragged to the floor, all the while keeping an eye out for Haruhi's form.

Which wasn't too hard. His dreaded gaze parted the crowd like Moses could the Red Sea. It was only too bad for him that Haruhi was no longer on the dance floor or anywhere else in the ballroom. She had just gone back into the preparation room when he walked in the door.

—o—

The can of soda opened with a hiss and Hikaru sighed. He was working on his third Calpis and he could still feel the Kaoru germs in his mouth. "All I'm saying is, you didn't have to do that in front of everyone in the school," he grumbled.

"It wasn't everyone, Hikaru." Kaoru held his forehead. "And, like I said, I just didn't see another way out of it. You could have jumped in at any time. And besides, you act like we've never done that before—"

"Tongue, Kaoru! I distinctly remember you slipping me the tongue. That was new! You mind explaining the meaning behind that?"

Kaoru turned beet red as he stammered, "That was an accident, I swear. And I was just having a little fun with the fangirls is all. How was I supposed to know they'd take it like they did? I thought they'd be disgusted and freak out."

"Seriously, what's wrong with those girls?" Hikaru's eye twitched.

"I grossly underestimated the depth of their depravity. . . . But the excitement can't last long."

"Jeez, you two," Haruhi said brightly as she strode into the back room, "I heard you were really going at it out there. You know, there's no rule that says you have to kiss someone on the mouth under the mistletoe."

"Great. Where were you with that information before?" Kaoru said.

While his brother tore at his hair. "'Can't last long', huh? Famous last words, Kaoru! I'm telling you, we're never going to live this down. They're like crack addicts: now that they've seen us making out they're going to demand a bigger and bigger high to satisfy their cravings. Where will it ever stop?"

"For the last time, Hikaru, we were not making out!"

"Out, damned spot! Out, I say!" Minagi was yelling at his frock coat as he wandered into the room.

"Club soda, refrigerator door," Haruhi directed him, then shook her head at the twins. "Anyway, you two should just relax. You're making much too big a deal out of this."

"Huh?" How else were they supposed to take it?

"Really." As always, Haruhi could calm their nerves with a gentle smile and the right words, but the medicine was taking a little longer to work tonight. "It'll all blow over over the holiday, I'm sure. As long as nobody got a picture of the smooch itself. I mean, at worst you'll have to put up with Renge's disappointment over missing the whole thing. Not that I've got the faintest what the brouhaha is all about in the first place. . . ."

"Knowing Renge," the two grumbled conspiratorially to themselves, "she'll probably devise some covert operation to get us to reenact the whole thing. . . ."

Haruhi put her index finger to her bottom lip suddenly in thought, and looked toward the ceiling. "Speaking of Renge, have either of you seen her?"

The twins shrugged. "Not since we last saw her with you."

"Huh. That's odd," Haruhi said to herself as she ducked out of the room, presumably to find Renge, just as Fukazaki was ducking in. At the sight of him, Hikaru pushed the mistletoe embarrassment to a more rearward burner for the meantime as he exchanged a knowing look with Kaoru, and pushed himself off the table on which he had been sitting.

"Yo, Kemosabe," the two crowed when the other happened to innocently pass by them on the way to the cupboard.

Fukazaki bristled. He didn't even bother correcting them anymore. "What do you two want?"

"There's been a slight change of plans," Kaoru said with a shrug. "We broke the stein with the pine."

"You broke the stein with the pine?" the other echoed, mouth agape.

"So now the beans that aren't screened are in the tankard with the anchor."

"And the mix that's been fixed is in the stoup with the loop," Hikaru finished.

"Wait a second. . . ." Fukazaki was counting on his fingers (for some reason). "I thought the mix that's been fixed is in the tankard with the anchor—"

The twins shook their heads. "No, they're in the stoup with the loop."

"But what about the stein with the pine?"

"Butterfingers."

"It's really very easy to remember," said Honey, who happened to be listening in. "The mix that's been fixed was in the tankard with the anchor, but now it's in the stoup with the loop."

"And the tankard with the anchor is now the barrel for the ballot of the beans not screened," Mori added at his side, "which used to be the stein with the pine—"

"Until the brothers Hitachiin broke it to smithereens," they chimed gleefully.

"So now they're in the tankard with the anchor!" Honey finished, beaming.

Silence.

"So, which one do I want?" Fukazaki said after an awkward moment to the four hosts who were posing intelligently before him.

"The stoup with the loop," they all told him in unison.

Fukazaki heaved a great sigh and slumped his shoulders. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Of course you can," Kaoru said as he put an arm around one of the boy's shoulders, and Hikaru put his around the other. "Trust us, this is child's play. You are not a crook." And with that he flashed Fukazaki what was either a 'V' for victory or a very appropriate peace sign.

"The stoup with the loop, the stoup with the loop," Fukazaki repeated to himself under his breath as he walked away, with Hikaru and Kaoru shaking their heads as they watched him go.

Until Mori put a hand on the former's cap in passing. "Nice snog, by the way."

"Kaoru!"

"No, Hika-chan! Put down the Yard O' Beef!" Honey wailed on Hikaru's coattails.

"Lemme go, Honey-sempai! I'm gonna kill my brother!"

"But think of the be-he-heef!"

—o—

Renge, who wasn't in the habit of swearing, swore to herself now. Nor was she in the habit of hiding out in coat closets, but the stitching keeping the collar to her costume had come undone and she was having a devil of a time fixing it, what with having to reach behind her and not being able to see what she was doing. Taking the whole costume off was definitely not an option, and it seemed everything she did only made the collar situation worse.

"Ohhh, why did this have to happen now?" she moaned to herself. "Right when I'm dancing with Haruhi—"

She turned around and jumped. Nekozawa was staring at her with an abashed look on his face that must have equaled her own. And just how long had he been standing there, she wanted to know.

Her words came out a little colder than she had intended when she said, "Can I help you with something, Sempai?"

Nekozawa deflated—which struck Renge as being quite incongruous with the role he had just been playing on the ballroom floor. "Never mind me. I was just looking for a little bit of peace and quiet, but I'll get out of your way—"

"No, it's okay," Renge said quickly, flashing him a quick and probably less-than-sincere smile. But now she felt guilty for trying to turn him out. "I was just leaving anyway. . . ."

Naturally her collar chose that moment to fall down again. And, so much for nonchalance, she automatically reached up to grab it, blushing red as a beet. "Damn it. . . ."

"Let me take a look at it. Would you mind?"

Before Renge could protest, the Beelzenev puppet was placed into her hands and Nekozawa's were on her shoulders, turning her toward the light. She froze. Somehow the embarrassment she had felt at the idea of anyone, let alone someone she had treated so harshly in the past, seeing her in a moment of imperfection evaporated under the gentleness of his hands and gaze—a gentleness so unlike the creepy persona he wore in front of everyone else that it was difficult to believe this was the same person, rather than some decidedly not-evil evil twin.

A gentleness that reminded her of Miyabi in her favorite game, that was responsible for the way she felt about Haruhi now, and that she had once tried to graft onto Nekozawa in vain.

Because it must have been there all along. Why couldn't he have brought this to her attention earlier? she silently asked the doll in her hands. It would have saved all three of them a lot of trouble—not that she hadn't enjoyed the challenge in the first place. Only now she felt so foolish, with his breath tickling the back of her neck as he bent closer, so that the words forced themselves from Renge's mouth: "I-I'm not sure what happened. One moment it was fine and the next . . . I think a seam must have popped."

"Nothing a few safety pins won't fix. Here, tip your head forward." She could hear the smile in his tone of voice, as he pinched the fabric of the back of her dress between his fingers, working carefully so as not to poke her with the sharp end of the pins.

Renge blushed. "My savior. I'm glad you had some pins on you."

"I've learned to always carry some, just in case. But I thought someone as into cosplay as you are would come prepared for any situation."

Her eyelid twitched. So much for trying to be nice. . . .

At the kind smile he gave her when she turned back around, however, Renge couldn't hold on to her irritation. She fingered the back of her costume where the collar met the gown; whatever he had done, it felt stronger, more secure than before. "Good as new?" Nekozawa said.

"Or better. Thank you."

"Lucrezia Borgia, right? She's one of my favorite heroines."

Renge lowered her eyes. She wanted to shout that he was right, and how happy she was that he had guessed and that they had something in common, but she just couldn't say that; so, feeling like she had to say something, she came up with: "I really like what your club did with the ballroom. You've all put a lot of effort into making the ball a success, haven't you?"

"Of course," he said. "We are serious about our club, you know. We realize it isn't all fun and games and curses; that might be why I founded it, but I'm too attached to what it's become to just let it go without a fight."

"I just hope I wasn't too controlling this past week."

"You were."

Renge suppressed a grimace. He wasn't supposed to answer truthfully when she was being so candid. . . .

"But you were just doing what has worked for the host club," Nekozawa continued; "and, all in all, even if we didn't take all of your advice to heart, I'd still say you were a big help. I still feel indebted to you, you know, for everything you did to help me overcome my fears for Kirimi's sake."

"Well, if it counts for anything," Renge said, feeling self-conscious about his last confession, "I do think you played the part of a mysterious prince-type character really handsomely tonight."

He grinned in amusement at that, and she returned it, if a bit awkwardly. When his smile dropped a moment later, however, and he leaned closer to her, that awkward feeling increased tenfold. Renge clasped the Beelzenev doll to her even tighter as Nekozawa lifted her chin in one hand and bent toward her. Her heart skipped a beat and she could feel herself blush. His face was little more than a hand's breadth from hers, his lips—

She didn't want to think about that! This was all too soon and unwarranted. She had merely complimented him on his performance as a host tonight, nothing more—no ulterior motive or meaning intended—although she did have to admit that he was attractive, and she did have a soft spot for sensitive, dark-haired characters. . . .

But still, she could not allow this to happen. Her heart already belonged to another and he was overstepping his bounds, which she intended to tell him forthwith—

"Eyelash," Nekozawa said, and plucked one from her cheek.

Renge nearly fainted. Thank God, a false alarm! But he still shouldn't scare her like that.

He held it out to her on his finger, smiling that same gentle smile. "Make a wish."

Instead, Renge pushed the hand puppet back into his arms with a huff. "Nice try," she said, turning haughtily away from him, "but if you think I'll fall for your charms you're barking up the wrong tree."

Nekozawa let out a confused chuckle. "I didn't—"

"You are a gentle, noble soul after all, but, because I care, I must tell you before you make a fool of yourself that my heart already belongs to Haruhi and there's nothing you can do to change that fact."

"Wait." The smile fell from Nekozawa's face, replaced by a look of confusion. "Did you just confess to me to liking Fujioka? Wow. . . ."

Renge spun. "What? I don't like your tone. What?"

"Well, it's just . . . I guess I never thought you might swing that way."

"Swing what way? Toward sincerity and kindness and a sense of chivalry? Do you have a problem with a young woman such as myself being attracted to a pure-hearted scholarship student, who knows precisely how to treat a woman?"

"Well, I suppose that would make some sense. And, no, I never said I had a problem." Nekozawa looked up at the ceiling; suddenly he was the uncomfortable one. Maybe it was a gender thing, but if he had been in her situation, he wouldn't be bragging about the nature of his love. "I hear this kind of crush is pretty common among adolescent girls," he said aloud to himself, "and it would explain why the host club allows itself to be managed by a woman. Forgive me, but you just never struck me as the type to . . . you know, bat for the other team."

"I'll have you know I am a very open-minded woman," Renge said as she put her hands on her hips. "And honestly, what's with you and the baseball metaphors? Isn't that a tad out-of-character?"

Nekozawa did have to admit this whole parley was giving him the strong impression that he might have been grossly misunderstood somewhere along the line. "Let me ask you this. Does Fujioka return your feelings?"

"Hard to tell," Renge said with a serious expression on her face. "I think Haruhi is more sensitive to the whole conflict of interest posed by being romantically involved with anyone in the club, and I admire that kind of ethic. My feelings can keep until after graduation, if that's what it takes; and if it was never meant to be after all, then at least I will have been able to dream for three years."

"That sounds fair to me," Nekozawa said. "Then may I offer by way of apology that should you ever feel you need a helping hand from a darker power, you have an ally in me." Though he was fairly sure from what he'd experienced—though he could be wrong on this one—that Fujioka Haruhi was not particularly into girls.

"Deal." As she shook one of Beelzenev's paws between her fingers, Renge's smile slowly returned. "But for the meantime, it seems to me we're even."

A long, awkward moment went by before the two realized they were still grinning and staring into each other's eyes. "We should probably leave here seperately, though," Renge said. "Just in case anyone—"

"Definitely."

—o—

As the last chimes of the bell in the clock tower marking ten o'clock finally died away, Tamaki took his place beside the altar on the mezzanine, cleared his throat, and called for attention.

"As your host club king," he began, "it is my pleasure tonight to oversee a black magic club holiday tradition: the random election of your mock king of the proceedings, your Lord of Disrule, via bean ballot! But first, I'd like to take a moment to reflect, on this chilly winter evening . . ."

Fukazaki breathed a sigh of relief. If Tamaki went on at all the way past experience indicated, he would have plenty of time in which to switch the steins that held the beans and fix the election in President Nekozawa's favor. He had even finally memorized the rhyme that was supposed to help him, so he could say with confidence he was supposed to switch the tankard with the anchor for the stoup with the loop. So far so good.

There was only one hurdle to go. Somehow he had to accomplish all that under the omniscient eyes of Ohtori Kyouya, who was watching the cup that sat on the altar stone like a statue. Or perhaps more appropriately, a cold plastic security camera with a blinking red light. Whichever it was, Fukazaki prayed to whatever dark powers he could think of for intervention—and they sent the Hitachiin twins.

"Kyouya-sempai," the two whined together, tugging on one of his sleeves as Tamaki's monologue rolled on without a skip. "Can we talk to you?"

"It'll just take a second. . . ."

The Ohtori-cam turned! Now was his chance!

Fukazaki thanked the twins silently as he crawled quickly from hiding place to hiding place; and like Indiana Jones only faster, he was able to exchange the steins right under the host king's nose without a hitch—just as his speech was wrapping up.

"And now," Tamaki said, holding the stoup obliviously aloft, "I will randomly choose a bean from out of this cup!"

He flipped open the lid, reached in with his other hand, and announced—

No, first he stared sideways at the bean and scrutinized it, and finally consulted a chart with pictures before he announced: "Popcorn! I think . . . Yes, yes, I'm pretty sure it is popcorn. Kyouya," he stage-whispered, "who got popcorn flavor?"

Ignoring the twins—whose mission was accomplished anyway, as evidenced by their chummy grins—Kyouya consulted his notes and told the other, "I believe that's Nekozawa."

"Nekozawa-sempai is our Christmas Saturnalia's Lord of Disrule!"

At which time, Nekozawa nearly choked on his figgy pudding. "What did you just say?" he muttered as all eyes turned to him and Beelzenev. This was the first he had heard of a bean ballot, and he was pretty sure it wasn't an idea the host club would have come up with on their own. "Because if this is some sort of prank, so help me, Suou . . ."

Tamaki, naturally, was beaming as he waved the other over to the altar. "Congratulations! Come on up here, Sempai!"

Someone was going to take the fall for this humiliation, be it one of his underlings or Suou himself, Nekozawa thought as he walked the gauntlet to the mezzanine. They all knew how much he hated being in the limelight. A little warning beforehand would have been only decent, at the very least. "You can't be serious—" he began to protest to Tamaki.

But the host king clapped him on the back before he could finish and said to their guests, his free arm outstretched: "Behold—your fake king!"

"My liege!" barked Minagi and Torihara as they both fell automatically to one knee, the latter getting a face-full of crow wing for his troubles.

"And behold his consort," said the twins, pointing as one, "the princess of the pea—Renge!"

The girl in question started. "What?"

Nor was she the only one confused. "Eh?" Tamaki blinked and Haruhi groaned. The black magic club members exchanged glances. Even they had heard nothing of this.

"Check her hollow ring," said Hikaru.

"And you'll find all the proof you need," said Kaoru.

With Honey and Mori and a dozen guests looking over her shoulder in anticipation, Renge did as they said and opened the little hinged lid over the ring on her finger. Sure enough—to her complete and utter shock—inside was an uncooked split pea. "How did that . . ." was all she could manage, while Honey fanned her and Mori prepared himself to break her fall.

"Well, this is unexpected," Tamaki said. Then he shrugged and chuckled. "But what the hey. You never know what's gonna happen on Twelfth Night. Get up here, Renge, so we can crown our unregal king and queen!"

"You're taking this all too well," Haruhi muttered at his side.

And grudgingly picking up her skirts, Renge made her way to the steps. She just knew there had to be a catch—she'd seen Carrie—and when it happened, there would be hell to pay.

The (Anti-)King of the Winter Carnival

An awkward and equally puzzled look was all that the two who had so recently shared a coat closet had time to exchange before Tamaki placed a gold foil crown, like the kind handed out to kids at fast food joints, atop Nekozawa's head.

Kanazuki handled the pea princess. "We didn't have a crown ready for a queen," she explained, "so this laurel wreath will have to do."

"Er . . . thanks," Renge said with a blush.

"It should also discourage evil spirits from making any moves on your soul. You're going to need all the protection you can get."

Renge gulped. She didn't like the way Kanazuki cast a quick glance at her club president when she said that. For that matter, she wasn't sure any of this was a good idea.

When the coronation was finished, Tamaki led the crowd in a cry of: "Three cheers for the mock king!"

"Hip, hip, hurrah!" the guests cheered with eggnog glasses raised, with a couple of "Banzai!"s thrown in for good measure.

"Okay." Tamaki rubbed his hands and looked at the other members of the black magic club. "Now what?"

It didn't take long for the cheers and the full weight of being the ball's misruler to sink in. Slowly the embarrassment Nekozawa had shown the whole matter evaporated in reverse proportion to the width of his grin. Bolstered by everyone's support, he threw off his czarist robes, revealing a sharp uniform underneath—of gold and silver brocade fur-lined and tied with a silk sash, and studded with medals and ribbons he couldn't possibly have earned himself but that nonetheless made him shine like a golden Chairman Kaga from the mezzanine.

"Thank you all for your adoration," he said wickedly, Beelzenev nodding and gesticulating along with him on his hand. "I hope you have all enjoyed partaking of our club's humble offerings. But as they say, all play and no sacrifice makes Taro a damned boy, for nothing we enjoy here tonight comes without a price."

Minagi and Torihara approached him on bent knees, each with something to hold out to him in supplication.

"Your victims for the human sacrifice, my liege," said the third-year boy.

"My liege, your lighter wand," said the second-.

"What!" said Renge.

"Thank you, comrades. You serve your master well," said Nekozawa as he held aloft what he took from Minagi—a china plate with a festive pattern of candy canes laden with gingerbread men.

"We give thanks to the powers of darkness who have watched over our club this past year for this bounty we share tonight. That we may continue to have their support in the year to come, we bring a sacrifice in human form to thee, Lord Beelzenev, who resideth in the image of this curse doll."

"All hail Beelzenev!" the black magic club chorused with one hand raised toward the hand puppet.

"For I have a clan of gingerbread men! Here a man. There a man. Lots of gingerbread men." Nekozawa put down the plate and took up the lighter wand with his free hand, which he tried several times to get started. "Take a couple if you wish, O Lord—they're on this dish."

As he bent over the plate of cookies with the lighter wand, intent on getting them to catch on fire—which was proving easier said than done—Renge could stand by silently no longer.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" she lambasted him. "You're doing this all wrong!"

"You're welcome to try if you think you can do better." Nekozawa offered her the wand.

Which she promptly threw down, to the other's chagrin. "Can't you see you're going to ruin everything? This is clearly overstepping the line!"

"I have to agree with Renge," Tamaki edged into the conversation. "Do you really have to set the gingerbread men on fire? Can't Beelzenev eat their spiritual forms as they are, like Santa Claus does?"

"You dolt," Renge turned on him, "I'm talking about the human sacrifice! There is nothing about this whole charade that is even remotely elegant or host-like! Don't you have a problem with that? Barbarism—pure and utter barbarism, that's what this is."

"Actually, using baked goods as stand-ins for human victims is supposed to make the rite more humane and civilized," Nekozawa tried in his own defense. "The tradition dates back to pre-Columbian Mexico when priests burned bread people stuffed with pig innards—"

"I don't care! Don't you get it? Gingerbread men are supposed to be eaten, not sacrificed to demonic powers! You're missing the whole point! This isn't what Christmas is about!"

So much for trying to be rational. . . . Nekozawa balled his fists. "And you obviously don't understand the true importance of offerings to the holiday season, foreigner!"

The black magic club watched with fear as Renge literally filled with air at their president's last words, and knew the medusa was soon to follow. Nor were the hosts at all pleased with this latest development. A few uncertain expressions when Nekozawa started his little sermon of sorts was nothing that couldn't be smoothed over; the black magic club's true colors were so farcical anyway it would have been easy for the host club to dismiss them as harmless pageantry. However, the uneasy whispers back and forth and glances toward the door—especially now that the mock king and queen of the ball had lowered themselves to debating who was more foreign like a couple of children—made some, not least of whom Kyouya, panic.

"Argh!" it made Tamaki scream, "this is insane! I don't even know what we're supposed to be celebrating anymore! Isn't there anyone here who can tell me what winter solstice is all about?"

"Sure, Sempai," Haruhi spoke up. "I can tell you what winter solstice is all about."

The sophomoric insults died on Renge and Nekozawa's lips, and Beelzenev's ears perked up in interest.

The restless attendees turned their attention back to the mezzanine, calmed by her reassuring tone of voice and just as eager for an explanation as the host king.

"Lights, please," Kyouya said.

And the ballroom dimmed and it was good. A projector from the transient realm of who-knows-where from which Renge's high-powered motor and R'lyeh were periodically known to spawn, appeared and, with a whir and flash of lights, proceeded to project an old instructional, science video onto the face of the altar stone.

"You see," Haruhi began, "the Earth spins on a tilted axis. So as it revolves around the sun, the position of the sun in the sky with respect to the ecliptic—that is, the imaginary plane that intersects the equator—changes gradually from south to north, then north to south again during the course of the year. The shortest 'day' of the year in the northern hemisphere, the day with the fewest hours of daylight, is when the sun is at its farthest south toward the end of December, and this is called the winter solstice."

The two-dimensional demonstration of the Earth in its orbit came to a stop and disappeared with the resurrection of the lights.

And Haruhi smiled. "And that's really all winter solstice is about, Sempai." Then she put her finger to her chin on second thought. "Although that means it's actually midsummer in the southern hemisphere. . . ."

Though they would never have admitted it to one another, Nekozawa and Renge could not help feeling quite ashamed of themselves after Haruhi's simple and humble explanation—humbled, one might even say, by the cosmic insignificance their little spat was thrown into by the perspective she provided. Filled with mutual admiration, they felt pulled forward simultaneously, her name on their lips, "Haru—"

"—hiiii!" Tamaki exclaimed, as he glomped the girl in question in front of everyone in the ball's attendance—everyone, that is, who only knew her as a boy. "That's our little scholarship student!" he gushed as he rubbed his cheek against her head. "Haruhi, you make your daddy so proud! Mm-hm, yes you do! Ah-ha-ha . . ."

"Sempai . . ." a mortified Haruhi gasped, "it's just basic science. Don't tell me you didn't know that already." Then again, leave it to Tamaki to gleefully embrace any opportunity to be taken as an ignoramus if it gave him an excuse to smother her with affection. . . . In front of a hundred of their peers, who didn't share their secret. . . . Who were all staring. "I can't breathe, Sempai. . . ."

It was not immediate, but as he watched Tamaki make the usual fool of himself, the smile did slowly return to Nekozawa's face, however without the zeal it had had before. One who was watching might have read it as the smile of one who had been awed by a revelation. Then again, perhaps it was nothing more than the reflection of a sudden turn of good humor too private and introverted to adequately express outwardly. He didn't offer any other apology than that inexplicable smile as he suggested to Renge that they fulfill their electoral duties in leading the attendees in a dance, if only out of duty and nothing else; and reluctantly accepting—but accepting nonetheless—was humble pie enough for her.

What would become of the gingerbread men was up to the other members of the black magic club now, but this was nothing entirely new. As the music swelled around them once again, the crowd began to break up as couples and friends went back to whatever they had been doing before the interruption to elect the mock king—which Haruhi, still in the grip of a dazed host king, could hardly be more thankful for.

"You two fixed the election in Nekozawa's favor, didn't you?" Kyouya asked the twins while everyone's attention was otherwise occupied.

Not that it was really a question. The looks on their faces already said guilty as charged, so they shrugged. "We thought long and hard about it," said Hikaru.

"And we figured the black magic club would get the best response if he were crowned king," said Kaoru.

"A simple matter of logic."

"Like getting the best ending in one of Renge's love sims."

"It wasn't any skin off our noses," Hikaru said while his brother nodded. "Besides, we hate popcorn-flavored jelly beans and it was a convenient excuse for getting rid of them."

"Seriously, what moron thought popcorn would make a good jelly bean?"

"Then the pea in Renge's ring?" said Kyouya.

"Slipped it in while she wasn't looking."

"And I suppose the absinthe in the punch bowl and the mistletoe that's been causing so many problems were your doings as well."

"Ask me no questions, I tell you no lies," was the very careful response.

Kyouya removed his glasses for a moment to rub the bridge of his nose. "I do hope you realize I'm not in the habit of rewarding delinquent behavior, especially when it doesn't pay off. You two should have considered the possibility," he pointed out, "that this grand plan of yours might backfire on the black magic club."

"Unless that was our plan from the beginning," Hikaru said.

When he said that, Kyouya found himself genuinely shocked, which did not happen often, needless to say.

But Kaoru's lopsided smile quelled some of the unease that crept upon him. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see which it is," he said. "Our lord did say, after all: nothing that bears our club's name has ever been a complete failure."

At which point Kyouya was wise enough to let it go. There were certain things a person who knew anything about the host club and its members just didn't do. They didn't wake Honey from a nap, they didn't read too deeply into anything Tamaki said when excited, and they didn't make wagers with the twins.

It was at that moment that Torihara happened to ever-so-nonchalantly look into the stoup with the loop and see that every bean contained therein was the same flavor. "Hey, these are all—"

That was all he got out before Hikaru and Kaoru each clamped a hand firmly over his mouth.

"And god bless us, every one!"

Author's note: Just a few references that deserve citations. The twin's "stein with the pine" schtick is inspired by a very similar comedic plot device from the classic Danny Kaye film The Court Jester (1956).

Kanazuki's curse is lifted from Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose.

Nekozawa's sacrificial prayer to Beelzenev borrows the lyrics from Pink Floyd's "Bike".

And perhaps most obviously, Haruhi's explanation of the Winter Solstice borrows heavily from Linus's explanation of the meaning of Christmas from A Charlie Brown Christmas (1965).