Disclaimer: I do now own anything even remotely related to Love Hina intellectual property, Any and all chapters I may or may not write also do not claim any ownership on my part of any Love Hina Intellectual property.


Kanako woke to the shrill dissonant screeching of her alarm clock. A garishly painted rooster floated above the red numbers that, from a great distance, told her that it was six am. The clock had been a gift from Keitaro for her twelfth birthday; he, wanting something to pair with his unbearably cute younger sister, had decided to buy her the most hideous alarm clock ever to have been imported from the shores of China. Its wailing synthesized crow had on more than one occasion torn their father awake and brought him charging down the stairs, half-asleep, to defend the family from whatever unholy creature was causing the infernal racket. The clock had been put out with the rubbish many times, but Kanako would always slip out and, after gathering it up carefully in both hands and clutching it tightly to her small chest, she would sneak it back inside to a prized position on her bedside table.

Her restless sleep had been fraught with nightmares, formless yet no less terrifying for it, filled with vague phantoms and lingering portents they had come, making her toss and turn in her futon before finally leaving her alone, to spend the rest of the night in dreamless, restless slumber. The dreams of him had left….

Kanako blinked wearily and wiped the sleep grit from her eyes, everything reminded her of Keitaro.

She dressed quickly and quietly in the chill morning air, taking care not to make too much noise, lest she disturb the other tenants. Kanako snuck carefully out into the hall then down the stairs to the kitchen, snagged a bread roll from the bench and took a hurried bite before tucking it into her small bag and silently leaving Hinata Sou.

Kanako paused for a moment to do up the last few buttons on her coat. The slowly brightening sky was high and clear, still drawing the heat upwards and away from the earth. Air seemed to gather leadenly about her feet as she walked briskly to the stairs and made her way down to street level.

The teahouse stood quiet and empty, seemingly barred against incursion by the long tree shadows that reached thinly across the path. Kanako took care to tread lightly on the steps, Haruka often woke early to set up for business and, while she would likely not try to prevent her niece from visiting Keitaro on her own, she would prefer not to risk Haruka finding out then telling the others. Kanako had noticed that the Hinata Sou tenants preferred to do things in groups, she would not have them decide to join her and impose their commiserations upon her fragile calm.

The sloped streets of Hinata were cleanly empty in the cold dawn as Kanako made her way towards the train station. It would take her two trains to get within walking distance of the hospital where Keitaro lay unconscious and she had set her alarm deliberately early in the hope of travelling ahead of a wave of morning commuters.

An occasional lone jogger passed her by, dressed up awkwardly in too small tracksuits they puffed and gasped, embarrassed at the difficulty they took in such simple exercise. One and all they avoided looking at those they shared the pavement with; Kanako, each other. All seemed content to travel forward obliviously with their minds on what lay ahead, the journey ignored.

Hinata was, by and large populated by the elderly. Just far enough away from Tokyo to avoid a hectic pace of life; yet close enough to allow family resident in the city to visit via a relatively short travel time. It was perfect for those whose children had left home and wanted a quiet, slow place to live. There was relatively little demand for early morning commuting when compared with the larger centres in the area and as such, Hinata's train station was small and well kept.

Kanako shared the platform with a stooped, prematurely grey-haired man who clutched his suitcase white knuckled, while gazing blindly straight ahead. A train pulled up noisily, it was already half full. They both entered, the man hurriedly, as if afraid it would suddenly depart and leave him behind, then Kanako with a calm, measured step, unusually aware as she always was, of the gap between solid ground and wheeled transport.

Kanako had no problem finding a seat before the train slid out of the station, no one was standing. She took the remnants of the bread roll from her bag and began to chew on it meditatively. Lulled by the slow rocking of the train, Kanako stared out of the window across from her, past a woman who sat fidgeting with her scarf, at the rolling landscape.

The forested hills around Hinata quickly gave way to a flatter plain, Buildings were still frequent though these tended to be larger, and more industrial in purpose. They loomed in the new sunlight and cast squat shadows across the train racks, hiding then revealing in turn, the fresh, obscenely bright sky.

It seemed to Kanako horribly wrong that, after all that had happened; her alienation from the other Hinata Sou tenants, her rage at being duped by the one she had thought of as a friend, and then the injuries she had inflicted upon her much loved brother, that it could be as bright and as sunny as it was. As though all was right with the world the sun shone down brightly through a clear blue sky, for the seemingly sole purpose of making a mockery of her guilty anguish.

Yet it shone on, clearing away the last of the dark cobwebs that lingered in the world. The buildings were more frequent now, finding safety in numbers; they clumped together in groups of varying heights that grew larger and larger until they completely hid the countryside and the sun had to shine down narrowly between their threatening heights, then Kanako's train pulled into the next station.

This station was a hub for commuters from the outer limits of Tokyo, many trains from the outskirts stopped there before heading out again to repeat their loop. Leaving their human cargo behind to wait for their fellows who would take them further into the gleaming metropolis. The platform was packed with salary men and students, so much so that Kanako had trouble forcing herself through the human mass towards one of the ticket machines. Giving up hope of finding a seat on her next train, Kanako made a place for herself next to a pillar and waited.

She was the one of the last to walk through the doors that closed against the flood of humanity that had surged onto the train. Kanako counted herself lucky to be standing with a group of high school students, she hated the predatory smiles hidden behind a newspaper held high, as their owners shuffled closer

The train pulled slowly out of the station and began to trace its route through the city. The people within swayed as a single mass around corners then straightened awkwardly as individuals, embarrassed at the brush of a hand, a infinitesimal touch.

Faces to the floor they waited, their lives in abeyance as they hung poised between a location and a destination. Yet there were among them some for whom the journey itself held greater titillation than its eventual goal.

Kanako could see such a one, his back was to her, he stood straight and stared rigidly out over the shoulder of his intended victim. Kanako could see her face reflected in an angled traffic mirror, the poor girl couldn't have been more than fifteen. Short brown hair cut in a bob framed a face well suited to smiles but now wore an expressionless mask, aware of the enemy that loomed close behind.

The fingers on the unknown pervert's left hand flexed spasmodically, it was an ugly hand as hands go, a smattering of dark bristly hair across the knuckles was starkly outlined against pale white flesh that ended in ill kept nails. The hand drew closer and finally made contact, to the joy of its pale, sweaty faced owner.

The girl's head came back and she looked directly into the mirror. Kanako was disgusted by what she saw, there was no anger shown on the girl's face, no hate. Only embarrassment was the cause for cherry red cheeks and shame shone dully in the girl's averted eyes. Kanako hated victims.

After a seeming eternity the hand was removed and its owner left the train and his former prey behind him. To bask in the warm glow of the moment for the rest of his day, comfortably justified in his actions. Forgetting the tension and danger, remembering only a soft texture and the lightning thrill that had elevated him above his common stature for the most miniscule of moments.

The train pulled into Kanako's final station and she was left standing on the platform with her back to a departing window that framed just another unfortunate victim


The hospital stood apart from its neighbours among green gardens and free flowing lines lent a modern air to the building. It seemed to Kanako as though the architect had set out to design the complete opposite of a common archetype, to provide a bright, airy place for recovery and rest. Unfortunately, to Kanako a hospital was a place of sickness and disease, nobody wanted to stay there, it was not the inviting and cheery place it had evidently seemed on drafting paper.

Tall glass sliding doors ignored her for a moment before apologetically opening in a hurried kind of way. A row of heads turned to gaze at her in trepidation, their eyes searched her for injuries, hoping for nothing urgent that might usurp their place in line.

A preoccupied looking receptionist was sitting slouched in her chair with one arm leaning on the desk supporting her head, while the other hand doodled idly as she stared off into space. It took Kanako three tries to get her attention and the woman straightened in her chair. Bags under her eyes and an unnatural pallor gave the indication that there was something quite wrong with her health.

It was none of Kanako's business however so she began with an opening sally; "I'm here to see my brother". It was eight thirty in the morning and visiting hours started at nine but she was determined to force her way through any opposition that was foolish enough to stand between her and Keitaro.

So it was much to her surprise when a long fingered hand was lifted up slowly, still holding a pen, and waved her nonchalantly through the doors to the ward. The receptionist's eyes stared at Kanako in disinterest for a moment before both hand and gaze fell once again to the sketch that lay beckoning in front of her.

Not being one to waste good fortune, Kanako nodded once then strode quickly away, her step both light and swift, her thoughts turning inevitably to the one who awaited her arrival.

Behind her, Akina's hands once again began to trace the outlines of that beautiful face and the eyes, the eyes that made her world spin and a voice that whispered secrets for only you to hear.

The door to Keitaro's room slid open noiselessly and Kanako stepped inside. It was a private room and small, his bed lay parallel to the door with a window behind and, cluttered as it was with equipment, there was little room for visitors, but a single chair brought in from the hall by Haruka the day before sat by the foot of the bed.

As always she shivered slightly upon entering the room, the clinical cleanliness mixed with underlying exotic smells made her sensitive nose itch and her senses reel. Today there was something else, a hint of jasmine hung in the air, no doubt a nurse or doctor had taken the time to wear some perfume, but to Kanako it seemed an almost palpable female presence in the room and a violation of her brother's privacy. She smiled slightly at her own foolishness and reigned in her fancies, hospitals always did strange things to her, particularly with Keitaro laying there swathed in bandages.

She sat on the chair and looked at her brother. There was no change from the still form she had first seen that horrible night. Machines gathered about his head and torso as if to pay homage to a silent, linen swathed idol. They beeped occasionally, to remind whoever was watching of the life that still slumbered in the still, bed-ridden form. Kanako settled back in her chair, took a newspaper from her bag and began to read to him.

Reading to the unconscious has strangely calming affect on the reader. It is a denial of the condition that prevents the listener from responding, a statement that yes, they can hear, they can understand and they are with us. Kanako picked stories of interest for her brother, a man was arrested for breaking into passport photo machines, a quickly glossed over report on the previous year's student intake for Toudai. Always she imagined his responses and the way that she would see him push his troubles aside and smile brightly just for her, inviting her conversation.

A discussion out in the hall broke her concentration;

"… wake up at any time" The first voice she remembered hearing; a doctor who was consulted during Keitaro's admittance.

"You're saying that he could wake up at anytime ?" An unrecognisable woman's voice, rich in tone tugged at Kanako's ear.

"Possibly yes, I've never seen anyone heal so quickly, we could even force him to wake up via medication if .. " The doctor was cut off by an indrawn breath and what sounded like a vigorous head shake.

" No.."

The first voice continued smoothly;

"Of course I wouldn't recommend it, forcing these things can be dangerous"

"..Yes..." the woman sounded worried, and unsure.

"On the whole, he is well on the way to a complete recovery, as I said earlier, it's amazing how well he is doing, all things considered."

Footsteps faded down the corridor and the door to Keitaro's room slid partially open.

"Oh!", it was the woman's voice and Kanako spun in her chair ready to berate the rude stranger who had disturbed her peace but was totally disarmed.

"I'm sorry, I must have the wrong room." A gentle, apologetic smile caught the words in her throat and the door was shut again, leaving Kanako and Keitaro alone in the room with a fog like daze that lifted quickly and, Kanako frowned, the slight enchanting fragrance of jasmine.


It was late before Kanako made her way back to Hinata Sou, the two trains she rode heavily were empty and dark. She sat devoid of thought, fatigued emotionally and as a consequence physically by a day spent watching over her brother. White street lights coldly illuminated her path from the train station and she paused for a moment at the bottom of the stairs up to Hinata Sou, the way looked shadowy and forbidding.

Her foot was barely on the first step when the door to the teahouse was slammed open and she turned her head to see Sara, Kitsune and Mutsumi staring at her in relief. Haruka strode out briskly and looked at her silently for a moment before taking a cigarette from her lips. "You'd best come inside kiddo" she said in her nonchalant drawl before hustling the other three back to the warmth inside.

Kanako watched them enter the teahouse, "What is it, Aunt Haruka ?", she had expected at least an eye twitch caused by the appellation but went disappointed. Haruka paused in the doorway and put her cigarette out on the sole of her right shoe, before turning her eyes back to her niece and saying, quite matter-of-factly; "Motoko, Naru, Su and Shinobu and are missing".


Motoko's rise into consciousness was nowhere near as smooth as her descent. She first became aware, in a vague sort of way, of an uncomfortable itching in her lower back. Then a dull roar gradually intruded itself upon her awareness, her eyes opened and she looked around in shock at her surroundings.

A cold sea stretched out towards the horizon, dark storm clouds threatened rain they had yet to deliver and it was impossible to tell what time of day it was, so gloomy was the light. She half sat, half lay in a bunch of Spinifex, and in front of her a small fire burned brightly beside a large stockpile of what she could only assume was firewood.

Motoko straightened and pulled her light sleeping kimono about her, it was cold. A stiff breeze blew in from the ocean to bounce against… She looked up and saw to her dismay, that she sat on one end of what was a thin sliver of beach, perhaps three or four kilometres in length, surrounded entirely by sharp, jutting cliff faces.

Where was she ? how did she get here ? both of these questions were at the forefront of her mind, panic was gathering its forces so she forced her breathing to a calm measure and cleared her mind as she had been taught, then looked about carefully for a means of escape.

The cliff directly behind her was unscaleable, it was too sheer and smooth for climbing, so much so that it hardly looked natural. Only clumps of some unknown, hardy plant lent colour to the hard, dark grey rock that loomed solidly above her.

In the distance, the cliff faces were indistinct so Motoko decided to take a walk and examine them more closely for a potential path to climb. She stood woozily, her head was fogged for an unknown reason but it cleared quickly enough after a few shakes. Unfortunately with this her kimono became embarrassingly loose about her chest and she was forced to clutch it quickly before it came undone entirely, flushing red with embarrassment, irrespective of the distinct lack of observers, Motoko hastily retied it and went on her way.

The walk was slow and tiring, sand refused to come together under her feet and with each step she sank lower, each taking more effort to make than the last. About half way across she stopped for a moment to rest and sat with her back to a large boulder and stared out to sea. She noticed something strange almost immediately, The line at which the waves broke was consistent along the entire length of the beach. The sea, existent for so long in the imaginations of men and woman as eternally changeable and constantly mutable had in this place been chained, forced to conform to a level. The very thought appalled her so much, that she refused to even entertain the idea of walking down and checking it more closely. For the rest of her walk, Motoko stayed close to the cliff walls.

The other end of the beach was much like where she had begun, in fact, the only discernable point of difference was the absence of a fire like the one she had woken up next to. Things were beginning to seem very wrong in this place.

It was later than she had thought it would be by the time she started back, curiously the weather had cleared almost instantly with the onset of dusk and now the moon rose in a black sky and she was forced to use the beacon of fire to find her way.

The moon was high and distant, its light shone dully upon the sand, providing no real light for Motoko. But on the sea it was darker still, illuminating nothing, serving only to emphasise the immensity and depth of the waves. There was something hungry about it, something wanting. Nobody really likes moonlit walks on the beach, it seems a nice idea but once out there with a loved one in the darkness, the sea is icy and immensely greedy, conjuring images of long, spindly plants to twine about legs and to drag them down, to be devoured and forgotten.

The fire grew steadily in Motoko's vision until, with some relief she slumped down next to it and basked in its cheery warmth. It flickered now and again in the chill breeze and Motoko huddled close with her back to the cliff, the fear of leaving her back exposed to such gluttonous immensity mastering the sight of its empty vastness. She piled more wood on the fire and tried to ignore the sound of the waves railing against their cage and the overall unresolvable strangeness of the place in which she now found herself.

She thought back to her last waking moments in Hinata Sou, the painting, surely it was no coincidence…But no. Such a thought was absurd, the old tales of bolthole kingdoms told to her by her grandmother were surely just that…tales. But it was hard to reconcile her modern sensibilities with this place, much less tales of ancient mischievous kami then, for Motoko Aoyama, it was long, cold and hungry night.


She first saw him as a mirage, wavering closer to existence with each step he made. A divider between the beach and cliff, he was tall and dressed entirely in white, a short sleeved shirt and ankle length cargo pants revealed pale skin. He wore no footwear and his only ornament was a pair of rounded blue sunglasses that glinted strangely in the bright morning sun.

Motoko's mind went into overdrive and adrenaline surged, she sat up and pulled her grimy kimono tighter, eyes searching for a weapon. The fire had gone out some time during the night but fortunately this morning, the sun was high and warm. It provided no comfort to her however as she shrank back against the cliff face and watched the stranger's arrival.

He was whistling cheerfully and his step was bouncy, these things were at odds with Motoko's estimate of his age. He was older than her certainly, but how much she could not say, there was a curious youth about him, but it rang false, false like the beach, the cliffs and the sun. A large basket swung merrily from his right hand as he strode forward and paused for a moment to look her up and down.

"Well, don't you look a sight", one eyebrow quirked and a wide smile tried to put her at ease. His voice was higher in pitch that she had expected, but not disturbingly so. His eyes were hidden, but she got the disturbing impression that he was laughing at her.

He placed the basket down on the sand opposite her and sat on it, his head cocked to the side, his manner seeming to invite her questions.

"Who are you ?", much to her dismay, her voice carried a slight tremor, but the words came out clearly enough and she eyed him carefully, alert for any threatening moves. While she was at her strongest with a sword or bokken, her teachers had not been lax in instructing her in unarmed combat . The man smiled broadly at her question, looked flattered for a moment before shaking his head, he stood and began to unpack the basket.

He took from it first, a large chunk of bread, judging by the smell, freshly baked. Embarrassingly her stomach rumbled and he paused to look at her in amusement before then removing a large chunk of yellow cheese. Closing the lid of the basket he sat down again, broke the loaf of bread in half with a sharp twist and leaned across the now cold fire to offer it to her.

Motoko looked between him and the bread suspiciously before asking another question, her voice stronger now, and more demanding.

"Where am I ?"

The new arrival sighed noisily, and said in an irritatingly casual tone, "You are here, now eat", Again he motioned with the bread towards her. She shook her head and her mouth opened again before she felt him roll his eyes. The man straightened then took a large bite from the other half of the loaf and chewed deliberately, then he held his arm out to her again, his gaze demanding.

Before she knew it, the bread was in her hand and he was leaning back, what was in his mouth went forgotten as he watched her chew lustily on the first food she had come across in two days.

Motoko caught him watching her intently and flushed with embarrassment and irritation. Normally she would react violently to such a gaze but she felt no malice from this stranger, his Ki was calm and she needed whatever company she could get. So she settled for gesturing angrily at the food held unnoticed in his other hand, but he only smiled secretively at her then placed the rest of the loaf on the sand and said in his now familiar flip way, "This food is no good for me".

She finished the bread quickly and accepted a chunk of cheese from his outstretched hand, her hunger making her careless. He continued to watch her carefully, only occasionally looking up at the sun, seeming to mark the passage of time.

Abruptly he stood, picked up the picnic basket then motioned for her to join him. Seeing her reluctance he shook his head in mock despair and said, motioning with his unencumbered arm "Come, I will take you to a place of shelter".

Motoko stared at him for a moment, disbelieving, there was no way out of the little cove, she had made sure of that despite her despair the day before. This man was clearly mad, but then again she thought to herself, this whole place is insane.

She stood slowly while holding her kimono carefully with one hand, he watched with amusement as she maintained her distance from him then, he began to walk.

His step was light on the sand and like the day before, Motoko found the way trying. He ignored the strangeness of the tide and looked only ahead towards the cliff that jutted out to sea. She tried to tell him, more than once, the she had already been there, that she had exhausted all possibility of escape via that route, but every time she opened her mouth he would inexplicably begin whistling. Warmed by the sun but sullen, Motoko followed her mysterious benefactor.

The sun was high overhead when they finally reached the boundary cliff face, the stranger showed no evidence of tiring, no sweat dripped down from his forehead. Motoko was not so lucky but she refused to let the fatigue show on her face, though to her mind it seemed that all he would have to do would be to look at her, then it would be as plain as the nose on her flushed face.

But his eyes were on the cliff face ahead, he strode up and, seemingly at random, pushed his arm elbow deep into the rock. He fished around for a moment with a slight frown on his face before a click was heard, his face cleared and his arm was withdrawn.

To Motoko's consternation, a large square out of the cliff face roughly three feet to her left, simply faded from view. She looked back at the man to find him watching her with an amused smile on his face, he gestured briefly at the human sized hole but, noticing her lack of reaction, shrugged slightly and walked into the darkness with a confident step. Not wanting to be left behind, alone on the disquieting beach, she followed quickly after him.

If asked afterwards Motoko would have been able to remember details of her journey. Only images of the stranger's white hair bobbing above and in front of her as they climbed a stairway hewed roughly from the rock would be present in her mind. If asked, she could not tell how they were able to see in that place, light was directionless and lacking in colour, it seemed simply that they had to be able to see to travel, and so they were able to. And finally, if asked her how long it took them, in ordinary units of time, to arrive at the solid, iron bound door that barred their path, she would once again be forced to admit that she simply didn't know.

The door opened at a knock from the stranger and they both stepped through to another place entirely. The transition was sudden and disorientating, one moment her eyes had been struggling to see then the next they were watering from a relative brilliance. Light came beaming through two open shoji doors on either side of a long corridor.

When her eyes had adjusted to the new brightness she saw that the white man was gone. She was alone again, and the weight of two days worth of uncommon strangeness and isolation made itself known suddenly upon her shoulder, then she almost buckled to the tatami beneath her feet, at least that was familiar.

Motoko's hair hung long about her face as she tried to find her inner strength, the core that existed in every practitioner of her sword school. She was struggling to centre herself when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her head came quickly around, unprepared for this new surprise, and she found herself looking into the kindly face of an old wrinkled woman. It smiled grotesquely but gently, and said in a grating, rasping voice;

"Come on dearie up we go up we go" the old woman helped Motoko stand, she could only react to events now, numb as she was, "Old Shimobe has work to do yes she does especially now that the master is back, Oh !" the crone paused for a moment to inspect Motoko's appearance and sniffed in a derogatory manner. "WELL," momentarily lost for words the old woman tapped a wide knuckled finger against her lips meditativelybefore grasping Motoko's hand in both of hers and gently, but hurriedly, led her down the corridor.

The crone kept up a stream of chatter meant to calm Motoko, but her ears were deaf. She did not hear the bustling noise that bespoke a community nor saw the opulence of the carved wooden panels that hung above each doorway. She followed blindly down the maze of corridors and small rooms until something was said that finally caught her attention.

She stopped before a door and stared then Shimobe, as the woman was evidently called, turned to her and repeated what she had last said, "We can get you a bath and new clean set of clothes after you've met up with your friends, that would be nice, wouldn't it ?" The hideous but kind face beamed up at her.

Motoko shook her head in confusion; "My friends ? I don't understand…"

"AH!" it was said as a weighty pronouncement and the old woman turned to the shoji sliding door that they had stopped in front of. She grasped both halves of the door and flung them open dramatically, giggling like a madwoman the whole time and an audible silence came from within the room, the type that signifies an interruption of conversation.

Motoko tiredly turned her head, wondering what new horror she would be exposed to. Hammered as she had been by one surprise after another, her eyes could only widen in amazement at the sight of Naru, Shinobu and Su sitting opposite each other, dressed in traditional day kimonos and staring back at her in shock and not a little bit of relief.


Ok, I'd just like to say at the outset I have never in my life groped someone on public transport.

Mutsumi, Kitsune and Sara make a very minor appearance in this chapter, Mutsumi will play a greater role later on, as will Haruka, but the latter will play minor parts at best. The story focuses over all on Keitaro, Naru, Motoko, Shinobu, Su and Kanako. How can I focus on a character who lays injured in a hospital bed, you may ask ? but I won't tell you. Just wait and see.

Reasons for the slow update – None, writing is a slow and torturous process for me, I have to make time to sit down and belt it out, but I'm not complaining, slow and steady wins the race after all. Hopefully.

Thanks to my first six reviewers, in quite deliberate order; Khazad, Vermilion-ZERO, Harvey Bautista, Prince of Dragons, A.Mills and Demon King Piccolo. It's always fantastic to get feedback and hopefully you're all setting a trend for my story 

So far it's coming out a little more angsty than I originally had intended, but we'll see how it goes. I have the entire thing planned out in a fair bit of detail so I shouldn't lose my way.

I once again ask that if you take the time to read my story, please leave a review, it doesn't take long and lets me know what the public thinks so I'm not writing in a bubble solely for myself.