Calamity Hoppers ~Reprise~
by Christopher R. Martin
Chapter 7 – The Academy
The schoolhouse is teeming with children of various sexes, races and ages. Their laughter and chatter pervades the air contained by these walls, a tranquil melody that's easy on the ears, especially with the roughness that's typical of a Monday morning. Some of these kids are roughly the same age as me and Yin, while most of them are younger than us by one or two years, or even four at the most.
It can't be put into words the diversity in the many species that I witness before my eyes. Canines. Felines. Reptiles. Amphibians. Rodents. Arthropods. Birds. You name it. Everyone in this place is different. Distinct in appearance and in who they are.
Not that there's anything wrong with that. Why do people get scared of being different, anyway? From the day we're born, we already have something distinct. Something that sets us apart from everyone else. If it really is such a big deal, then why worry about it later down the line? As a matter of fact, why worry about it at all?
Ugh. Here I go again, mulling over such random questions that I most likely won't revisit in the future. It must be natural for me. Or it could be that some of my sister has rubbed off on me. Speaking of which, I lean my elbow on the desk and watch the door to my left, waiting for Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes herself to come through it at any minute now.
Like any other ordinary classroom, these rambunctious creatures that just barely pass for children in my eyes have busied themselves with their own little thing. Run-of-the-mill conversations where they discuss the latest talk of the town. Paper plane contests with the excitement of a football game. Spitball contests that speak for themselves, the stray shots unintentionally hitting me. Or they would have, if it weren't for my battle-honed reflexes letting me dodge them before they can even hit their mark.
A trio of children—a goat, a platypus and a gerbil—scratch their heads and giggle nervously at their spitballs skidding down the whiteboard behind my back. "Sorry, Mister Yang," they say. A small fraction of me milks the 'Mister' part for all it's worth. Even if I don't show it, I love the feeling of seniority I get from simply entering this little building.
I point an open palm at the skidding wads of paper and levitate them to the trash can with my magic, which I'm becoming more and more used to as of late.
I suppose this calls for a bit of elaboration, so here goes…
The general consensus on Woo Foo has seen an immense change following our monumental battle with Eradicus and his corps of flunkies. Everyone in this town was impressed by our bravery, our skill, grateful for our unfailing service to them. A service that has long since gone thankless. Many became eager to practice our martial art. Learning the most basic magic spells was more than enough for a good number of the townspeople. Others wanted to learn about more in-depth topics, such as pressure points and how they differ from species to species, or the 'center of gravity' concept, or the rise, fall and second rise of Woo Foo itself. Most of these people turned out to be children.
That's when it occurred to us. And by 'us', I mean mostly Master Yo, or Dad. A child. The very embodiment of hope, the future. Who better to know our art than an impressionable young mind? By nurturing and teaching each child accordingly, Woo Foo would live on. Peace is sure to remain.
And thus the Woo Foo Academy is born.
Students can acquire an ample amount of knowledge and wisdom that will see them through all the way to Grade One Woo Foo. And the decision to graduate out of the Academy and into regular training, or leave satisfied with what they've gained, is theirs to make. It's a simple, yet efficient system, much like a typical school, except with the weight of the world about to rest on their shoulders. The shoulders of these aspiring young children.
But we'd never tell them that. It's tempting, though.
Yin and I, along with our circle of friends who aided us in the fight with Eradicus, make up the faculty. Dad is the sole alumnus of sorts. I, however, am more of a supervisor than anything; my sister and friends do majority of the teaching. Though I do dabble in it at times, mostly during training exercises, especially sparring.
Expelling a long exhale, I sit up and squint at the door. This is so not like Yin. Normally, she'd wait for me to get in here, not the other way around. I wonder what's keeping her.
From the chatty and active bunch of tykes, a humble little fox girl in white fur with mild blue hints and brown cascades of hair stands from her seat and makes for the desk. Her clothing is comprised of a light yellow short-sleeved, mid-length skirted sundress, a bracelet on her right arm and a set of petite Mary Janes. There's something about her that I can't decipher. Yin can also see it, feel it, but she's as clueless as I am.
The girl stands face to face with me.
"Mister Yang?" she starts, gently prodding the arm I'm leaning on. "When does our class begin?"
"Just sit down, Weiss," I say without a lick of interest, rubbing the dust from my eyes. "Any second now, Yi—I mean, 'Miss Yin'"—I make air quotes with my fingers as I say this—"will be coming through that door. We'll start as soon as she gets here."
"Alright," says Weiss, complying and returning to her table.
Another minute of waiting—that's how I count it, anyway—is forced on us. And then, silence. The door slides open—a signal for the students to stop what they're doing and get seated. Rays of sunlight jet into the room past the widening opening. I feel them. Footsteps enter, and wouldn't you know it? It's her. Her footsteps.
In comes my younger twin sister—younger by ninety seconds—textbooks and all in tow. Took her long enough. Her eyes are framed with a pair of reading glasses, even though neither of us actually need any. Seeing them brings me back to that fiasco with the Glasses of Ultimate Smartness; I briefly—kinda, sorta, maybe—wish that I still had them on me if only for a minute, just to make a fool out of her again. She must be trying to appear smart, or look the part of a teacher. What a snob.
Apart from the glasses, neither she nor I really look like teachers. She's still wearing her martial arts gi, just as I'm still wearing mine.
Heading over to the desk, Yin literally drops the books on the desk. She faces the class and greets them with, "Good morning, everybody."
"Good morning, Miss Yin and Mister Yang," they answer back in harmony. Some say it brightly, some not so much.
"Yeah, how you guys doin'?" I say with indifference, leaning back on the chair, stretching and yawning.
Grabbing a marker in her paw, Yin writes down a slew of words on the whiteboard. She scribbles the first lesson of the day: Medical Applications of Woo Foo. It pretty much speaks for itself. The methods used by past and present Woo Foo Knights to tend their wounds and afflictions. All that good stuff.
"Welcome to week eight of the semester. It's hard to believe that so much time's already passed, but here we are," says Yin, pressing her glasses against the bridge of her nose. "For today, we'll start off by taking a look at the different ways in which Woo Foo can be used to treat injuries and illnesses. We've got a lot of ground to cover for this lesson, so I hope you're all prepared. I trust that you've gone over the reading material that you've been given last week." Already, some of the class are darting their eyes to the side, a dead giveaway. I lean against the wall next to the whiteboard and roll my eyes. Weiss is one of the very few who doesn't look nervous. Yin can tell that almost half of these kids haven't done as they were instructed, but being the sage-like authority figure she is—or rather, she's supposed to be—she just lets it slide and continues. "Remember, everyone. Woo Foo is more than just a martial art."
"It's also a culture," the entire classroom adds, their monotony grinding against my head. Again, Weiss stands out amongst the class, actually showing enthusiasm when she speaks compared to her peers.
"Very good, you guys. Now back in the old days"—by that, she means more than a century ago—"before we had stuff like hospitals, clinics, x-rays, ultrasound or heck, even first aid kits, we didn't have a lot by way of closing up any nasty cuts and bruises or getting rid of the simplest flu bug. Woo Foo knights had it better than anyone else." My sister starts pacing left and right in a path between the desk and the whiteboard. It puts her in complete command of the classroom. Of the young minds seated before us. "We'd come up with all sorts of spells that helped in patching up wounds and curing sicknesses. Us Woo Foo Knights also had access to some of the finest resources, like plants, herbs and minerals, which you could get your hands on. At the time, these were the most effective and popular means of treatment."
As the lecture goes on, I observe the whole classroom, from the ceiling to the uniform rows of seats to the children seated on them. I'm honest-to-God surprised at how attentive, how cooperative, they all are, even the ones you'd expect to cause any kind of trouble. Surprised and impressed.
Even more impressive is my sister's lesson, which is going smoothly and without any hiccups whatsoever. Four months of teaching a class of twenty-odd kids, and she's doing it like a pro. Her every word conducts how the kids feel. She says a word cheerily, and they're all cheery along with her. I can definitely pick a few things up and apply them to my own teaching, which is still a bit rough around the edges. It almost makes me forget about how mad I was at her. Key word: almost. She may have moved on, but I haven't. Not that I'd let her see that.
Yin pauses in her step and her speech, letting a sigh out of her lungs. Regret glints in her eyes, in anticipation of what she's about to say. "Years and years later, the world began to change. Technology was introduced. We've had scientific breakthroughs and worldly milestones happening here and there. We've discovered flight, discovered electricity, set foot on the moon, ventured to the earth's core, we've done all that and so much more. And with every milestone that's accomplished, Woo Foo fell farther and farther behind. People began to favor technology over the means that we've introduced and stuck to. And who could blame them? Technology's fast, revolutionary and easy." As each word rolls down her tongue and out of her mouth, her cheer wanes. She rests her chin on her hand and bites her lip, not wanting to let the last set of words come out. "It's like…"
She turns to the side and pauses. That strained look on her face is familiar to me, and I wish she didn't put it up because chances are it'll find its place on my face too. I may be watching from the back of the classroom, but I still don't want it to happen.
"It's like Woo Foo just vanished," she says at last. "Like we don't even exist at all."
I take a good look at my sister and trace the solemnity in her statement and the disheartened expression on her face. She's always been the more studious between the two of us, and it was crushing for her to have found out about this. About our martial art, our culture, being lost in time, falling behind.
It'd hurt me too, and it's not because of some twin telepathy that Yin and I have. Finding out about this hurt me as well because I pride myself in my status as a Woo Foo Knight. The feats that, as a practitioner of the art, I can do that many others can't.
Great. I feel like a cornered mouse trying to not make the same face as my sister. Trying not to let our students see me cut open. I can't stand in this room for another second.
Yin rebounds from her sullenness and smiles in spite of it, facing the class again. "Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself," she says, sounding like she's recently sobered up from a hard-hitting drink. "We'll go deeper into those little tidbits when we get to them."
I jerk my face to the side and seal my eyes shut right on time so that she doesn't catch a glimpse of my futile attempt of keeping a straight face. But this guise won't keep me safe for the entire lesson.
Moving away from the wall I'm leaning on, I put my hands on my hips and make my way to the door. Yin's lecture continues as per normal, and she grips her whiteboard marker tighter.
"Now, everyone take out your pencils and notebooks. I want you to copy all of this down a—Yang, where are you going?" She catches me just as my paw curls around the handle.
"Off to get some fresh air." I look her over my shoulder.
Being my sister, she obviously sees past my excuse. She folds her arms and glowers at me. "What's the problem now?"
"I'm not putting up with another one of your sob stories, Yin. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be outside." I put my foot outside, but she stops me in before I can take another step.
"Yang!" Her voice brims with annoyance. "You are not leaving me by myself. Dad told you to keep watch, so you better do as he says if you know what's good for you." Sheesh, she really is such a goody two-shoes. I forgot how annoying it is and how it's landed her into trouble on many an occasion.
I roll my eyes, shake my head and turn a dull gaze to her. "Eh. The way I see it, you've got things under control here. You'll be fine. Call me when it's my turn." I head out the door and down the small staircase.
I hear Yin exclaiming angrily at me from inside. "Fine. I don't want to risk you distracting the class, anyway."
Just as she finishes, my feet plant themselves on the grassy ground. The door slides closed behind me, and I sit against the wall. Through the wooden surface, I can hear Yin's lesson continuing from where it left off, a little muffled but still clear enough for me to make sense of it. I am a rabbit, after all.
"Sorry about that, you guys. Now then, where were we?" says Yin, retracing her steps. "Alright, so to start off, let's talk about the resources that were used by Woo Foo back then. Like I said before, there were plenty of plants and minerals that could be refined into medicine. On pages thirty-four and thirty-five of your textbook, you'll find a complete chart of these materials and their specific uses. Look them up in your own time, though. For now, there's one particular material that stands out which I'd like to talk a little more about: the Azure Flower. If you can just open your scrolls that say 'Woo Foo and You'."
While my sister's diatribe goes on, I ponder. The Azure Flower… The name strikes a chord in me. I recall seeing it at one point in one of Yin's notebooks. A flower with crystal clear blue petals and a gold pistil in its center, emanating an aura as radiant as its entire body. It's known for its petals being longer than its stem, the remedial qualities of its pollen and the near impossibility of seeing, let alone obtaining one of them.
Some Woo Foo scrolls tell of stories of men and women who've attempted to get their hands on this flower, often at costs that range from small to steep. From as little as a cut or a bruise to as big as a fractured limb or even their lives. It must be worth the trouble, from what I've learned. Slathering a handful of the pollen over a wound can cause it to vanish completely. Applying it to a dislocated bone can mend it perfectly. And despite its supposedly bitter taste, swallowing it can rid you of any sickness or ailment you have. And considering what this flower can do, I bet it'll fetch a respectable price in the market. I guess it's no surprise why it's as rare as it is. Why so many people seek it out, and why nine times out of ten their searches end in failure
In the schoolhouse, a new voice starts. It's Weiss. It takes a while before she speaks, though. She stammers a bit. She must be trying to come up with a question, to get it out there. Knowing her, she probably has her hand up and might keep it up. "It even gets rid of cancer?"
"Yes, Weiss," says my sister, also solemn. "It can get rid of cancer, too."
Yet another word burrows through my brain matter. Cancer.
That's why Weiss hesitated just now with her question. Her mother is diagnosed with it. Stomach cancer, to be more specific. Considering the position she and her family are in, it's only natural that talking about it is a trial in and of itself. The bad news struck her two months ago. How it happened, only she knows.
Is that why she's here right now, trying to learn Woo Foo? Or is Woo Foo just an outlet for her to channel any feeling of helplessness or weakness she may have? I doubt that it's the latter because despite her nervousness and the emotions stored in her, she still hangs in there. She stays strong. Nothing sways her. It's surprising, seeing how someone as young as her can be this tough. This well-built.
Then again, I'm in no position to get involved in these matters. I do want to somehow help her, though. If only there were a way.
Before long, I realize that I've put too much thought into this. I reach into the pocket of my gi and pull out an mp3 player, painstakingly untangling the earbuds. Seriously, how the heck do wires even end up this messy? After that, I fit the things into my ear and press play, my mind soaking up the J-Pop lyrics and deciphering them.
Kizutsuita nukegara wo tada dakishimeteita
I'm all alone here, holding nothing but this empty shell
Furisosogu ame wa shizuka na kimi no namida
These silent tears of yours are like the pouring rain
Wake me up
Wake me up
Wake me up
Kono yume kara
Out of this dream
Real or dream
Real or dream
Real or dream
Oshietekure Maria!
Please answer, Maria…
'Jesus', by J-Pop sensation Gackt. My Japanese is a little rough around the edges. I'd gotten fascinated in learning the language from both my Woo Foo training and watching a few anime shows in my spare time very recently. But I know enough of it that I can at least deduce what this song's about. My take on it is that it's about death and the sweet release it grants. I don't know, that's what I think of it. I leave it at that and just listen.
A minute into the song, and my eyes begin to droop. Blurs emerge here and there. Even in my slumber, the song plays. Even in my slumber, I continue soaking it up.
My eyes close completely.
The time now is two o'clock in the afternoon. Everyone in the schoolhouse sits at attention as my brother stands before us with a red marker in his possession, about to start with his lecture. It's my turn now to look on and be the judge, and I do so intently from the sidelines, amidst the long shelf of books, setting a relatively low bar for him.
While he scribbles on the whiteboard, the restless panting of the children enter my ears and my brain. They had just recently come from an hour-long martial art training session, which Yang was in charge of, much to his joy, no doubt. Half an hour was spent going over through basic moves and techniques, and the other half-hour was for sparring.
Some of them are downright exhausted, their brow soaked to the bone with perspiration. Yang and I took every measure possible to ensure their safety, providing them with gloves, vests, foot guards, shin guards and other protective gear. But despite our best efforts a few of them still managed to sustain bruises that are either light or harsh. When you're teaching kids a martial art, especially one that's saved the world on more than one occasion, it only makes sense that a number of them will get a little too eager for their own good. It doesn't make it any less overbearing at times, but I guess their enthusiasm for it makes it worthwhile to watch.
Letting my reverie end there, I turn back to the whiteboard, which has Woo Foo Weaponry, Inside and Out written in red ink and large letters so that everyone can see. Yang takes a step back and touches his chin, thinking, which will make it the first time in so long that he's done that. No, that's just me being an obligatory nuisance to him, as always. 'Poking fun at him', in other words. He doesn't really take my choice of words all too well, though. I wonder if he's still mad at me. It's likely. Maybe I should consider what I say for once.
The lesson begins with Yang speaking to the class, enunciating every word.
"Alright, you guys. Why don't we pick up from where we left off, shall we? Last week, we covered pretty much every tool in a Woo Foo Knight's arsenal and the moments where they're most useful."
As he says this, he unfurls a particularly large scroll and hangs it by a hook above the whiteboard. The scroll charts a list of weapons used in Woo Foo, from the bamboo sword to the collapsible boomerang to the quarterstaff all the way to the stylish yet impractical naginata. I don't know what to be more impressed by: the fact that Yang made this list himself from a huge blank scroll to the fact that he's more prepared than I expected him to be.
"And like I said in our last class, once you become Grade One Knights, you'll get a chance to use these weapons yourself without any supervision from either of us," says Yang, gazing at the chart. After about a minute, I'd say, he furls the scroll back up, writing a few more words on the whiteboard. "Moving on, now. Let's talk about the more interesting stuff, starting with the Twelve Woo Foo Crystals. Anyone here remember them at all? Anyone?"
At this question, most of the class dart their eyes away in discomfort. I can count the number of kids who've done the work that's asked of them on one hand, the most obvious one being Weiss. And as such, they don't appear nervous in the slightest.
Like the black sheep of a family, or the runt of the litter, she's always stood out from the rest of her peers. She's usually the first to answer any question either I or Yang raise, the first to volunteer to go in front of the class to write something on the whiteboard, the first to demonstrate what she's learned during training. It's moments like these that make me wish that everyone here had the same enthusiasm. They make me wish that people across this world were less ashamed of actually having and using a brain.
My brother rubs his forehead and groans. "Oy vey… Well, this sucks," he says, not beating around the bush with his disappointment. That's an understatement if I ever heard one. "Come on, you guys. I give you enough time to do training and sparring. I even let you use stuff that kids your age wouldn't be caught dead with. The least you could do is give a little something back. Is it really that hard to do some reading for half an hour?" He pauses, sits on the desk and breathes in and out two times before closing his eyes. Probably realizing how much he sounds like Master Yo, or Dad. He's been told these words so many times that they're coming out of his own mouth.
Like master, like student. Like father, like son.
I initially make note to myself that this is such hypocrisy on his part, but relinquish the thought immediately. My brother takes Woo Foo as seriously as I do, but isn't one to show it, and this is one of those rare instances in which he does. If his calling these kids out on their laziness really is sincere, then it means two things.
One, the apples don't fall far from the tree as far as our 'family' is concerned.
Two, I have yet another reason to regret our quarrel the other week.
The kids turn their heads from the side to floor beneath them, glum looks on their faces. Yang, opening his eyes, gets off the desk and folds his arms. "Okay, let's try this again," he says, somewhat deflated. "Can anyone here at least try to tell me what the Twelve Crystals are?" He allows about ten to fifteen seconds to pass and, with a defeated sigh, finally points a finger to Weiss, who's had her arm raised for half of the time. "Weiss?"
"They're um," says Weiss with hesitation, carefully deliberating on her response. "They're Fire, Water, Lightning, Ice, Wind, Earth, Nature, Time, Space, Life, Darkness and uh"—she scratches her head to force out that one last word—"Light. Correct?"
"More or less, yeah." Nodding his head, Yang sets up another large scroll on the whiteboard, which shows the fabled crystals and a brief description for each one. After unveiling it, he paces left and right before the class. Like a preacher speaking a sermon to a church congregation, he has everyone—and dare I say it, even me—under his command. We're basically eating out of the palm of his hand. "As we've covered the other week, the Twelve Crystals are a creation of the Mediator, one of the two Original Knights of Woo Foo and the one who introduced the mystic side of the art. Each one of these Crystals is infused with her powerful magic, and as such strengthens the magic of the wielder. However"—he stops in his tracks and lifts a finger to stress his case—"there's a lot of risk in using a Crystal. They're powerful, yes, but using them requires a clear frame of mind and plenty of Woo Foo energy. It takes so much out of you that even the most accomplished Woo Foo Masters are left very tired at the end. At best, that's what happens. Worst case scenario…" He halts the sentence there in hopes of finding a way to finish it.
The suspense brings the kids to the edge of their seats. Again, I too am anticipating what he's going to say next, gripping the bookshelf I'm sitting on firmly.
And to think that I'd set that bar a little too low for him; he does get miffed at being reminded of what's expected of him, particularly by me and our father. But expectations aside, I have to say that he's doing a really good job so far. It makes me wonder what that feeling must be like for him. I get it as much as he does, but I'd love to know what his take on it is.
"What? 'Worst case scenario', what?" demands a pupil from the back row: a young duck girl.
"To tell you the truth, I've got no idea what happens then." Yang shrugs and nudges his head to the side. As soon as the kids hear that, they groan in harmony out of annoyance. "I'm positive that it's nothing good. So with that said, just be glad that you kids won't ever have to come across one of them, let alone use them."
While my brother rolls the scroll back up and puts it down on the desk, I consider his lecture a little more closely. The Twelve Woo Foo Crystals. Tremendous power, fitted into a stone the size of a fist. Having one of these in your possession, to command the elements of this world at a whim, effectively makes you a god, or at least the closest equivalent of a god.
It's almost a dream come true, except for the risks behind actually using one of them.
"Now, then," says Yang, scribbling some more words on the whiteboard. They're Japanese words instead of the usual English ones. Kanji letters, which in turn are borrowed from Chinese. Not that anyone here would know that apart from me and my brother, being the teachers and whatnot. The slick, squeaking sound of the marker against the smooth white surface matches the complex writings very well. Under the almost artistic text is the English reading, or the Romaji form, and a very rough translation of each word. Kami no Gofu is the English written in between the parentheses. "On to something new. For the, let's see"—he gives a passing glance to the clock above the whiteboard—"let's see, twenty-five minutes that we have left, we're going to talk about the Talismans of Woo Foo Elders. Pay attention to the Japanese letters that are on the board. The first word here is kami, which means 'god', and the second one is gofu, meaning 'talisman'. Yes, Weiss?"
That's the second time today that Weiss has her hand raised. "And the no in the middle is sorta like 'of' or says that something belongs to something or someone, right?" she asks, her confidence building with every word said. If I had known any better, I'd say that Woo Foo must be part of her family long before she joined this Academy. Come to think of it…
No, it's not important.
"Exactly," says Yang, snappily nodding his head.
Once again, his lesson is so captivating that I can't help but ponder on it deeper as it continues on. I've heard about these Talismans of Woo Foo Elders, or the Kami no Gofu, They're similar to the Crystals that were talked about a while ago in many ways, but distinct enough in a few others. Their power is far beyond what people typically think of Woo Foo, and they demand a stable foundation and a pure consciousness to wield in battle.
While the Crystals were the Mediator's creation, the Talismans were the creation of the Governor, the other Original Knight, the one in the crimson armor, and the originator of Woo Foo's Might discipline. Something about this strikes me as suspicious. Twelve stones of Magic, Twelve tools of Might, each one corresponding to an element. There's no way that that's a coincidence. Maybe it has something to do with the principle of balance that Woo Foo is built on. When Might and Magic work as one, a villain's plan can be undone. That's how it's always been, and these treasures are one of many things that prove it.
Despite their power and reputation, these treasures were designed to be the last lines of defense should all else fail. Using them as a means to bring harm to others is a perversion of the highest degree. Even with these things considered, one just has to question why such dangerous things are entrusted to the world.
I snap from my admittedly long and drawn-out trance around the same time Yang wraps his lesson up. "Okay, you guys. That about wraps it up for this week. Don't forget, you've got your exams coming up at the end of the semester, which is around three weeks away from now. So I expect you all to hit those books and scrolls before then, preferably as early as you can." That's right. There's an examination scheduled at the end of this study session. It'll determine who makes it up to the next rank and who doesn't.
Three o'clock now, and that's pretty much the end of the day. Everyone's scrambling to their feet and dumping their supplies into their bags. Well, not really 'dumping', per se, but they're all hurrying to get out of here. As soon as the schoolhouse clears out, the only one left now is Weiss patiently packing her things as opposed to her overeager classmates. She pulls out a pile of papers out of her bag and approaches the teacher's desk.
The distance between her and Yang closes, and she hands the papers over to him. "Here's the presentation I was supposed to give last week, Mister Yang."
Yang, seating behind the desk, accepts the overdue assignment and sets it down neatly to the side. "Thanks, Weiss," he says, but his expression is terse. It means that he has something else he wants to say. The way it changes around, though, means that the words hanging from his tongue may have also changed. "Hey, is something wrong?"
"Nah, it's nothing," says Weiss, darting her eyes to the side. It's a convenient, harmless lie, the kind that people use to get by in their everyday lives.
Unfortunately for her, Yang and I are pretty good judges of character. That, and her body language is such a dead giveaway. "Well, by the look on your face, it certainly doesn't seem like 'nothing'," says my brother, dropping his pen and leaning forward. His features lighten. "You sure you don't want to tell me?"
"Yeah, I'm good." Another lie. You think she'd pick up on the situation and adapt to it.
"Okay, I get it." Letting out a deep breath, Yang heads over to the doorway, where he leans on its very frame. He folds his arms and lifts his head up. "How's your mom holding up these days?" he starts casually, but not quite sounding insensitive. In fact, it's very understanding. Sympathetic.
I move a little closer to them, about one row of desk's worth of space away, my sensibilities piqued.
"Oh, well," says Weiss, going along with his attempt at conversation. "Mom's um…well, Mom, I guess." Her voice is soft and delicate, as are the steps she takes towards the door. "She's doing fine, and so are my big brother and Nana, thanks for asking." By the way she speaks, this must be a hard topic for her to talk about.
Lowering himself to her height, Yang shines a gentle smile at her. First he holds her by the shoulder to comfort her, and then lifts her head up by the chin with two of his fingers. It seems to uplift her spirits, if only by a little. The words he then says immediately after cause my heart to hum like a bell or a wind chime.
"This isn't exactly like me, but I'll give it a shot anyway," says Yang, his words, his presence, giving out a warmth, inviting and calm. "If you can, always try to keep your chin up. You're going to make it through this, I know it. And if you ever feel the need to get something out of your chest, you know I'm all ears"—Yang catches himself and shoots a glance at his ears, chuckling at how lame the remark must have sounded—"Y'know, figuratively speaking. I'm not always like this, but I hope that you can come to me if you need to. I don't want my star pupil looking all glum. You've got an example to set for everyone. Okay?"
Weiss cracks a smile slowly as she registers my brother's words. "Got it," she says, nodding. "I'll do my best not to keep stuff bottled up."
"That's the spirit," says Yang, giving her an affectionate rub of her head. "It's not healthy for a kid like you, after all."
Yang chuckles one more time and then watches Weiss leave the dojo. I too flash a smile and let a chuckle pass out of my mouth.
My brother. My older, often aloof twin actually showing that he cares about someone. Actually unafraid to let his emotions show. It's not every day I get to see it, but when I do, my insides go aflutter. I like this Yang a lot more than his typical aggressive self, and wish I could see it more often.
Then again, a wish like that doesn't always turn out too well.
He returns to the desk to pack his things up. I approach him as he takes the last of his scrolls into his grasp, genuinely impressed by his display today. By his lesson, by his consoling of Weiss, by everything.
"That was amazing, bro," I say, preserving my smile.
Done with his packing, Yang shoots me that cold stare again, which marks the departure of his compassion. Adjusting his things so that they don't fall, he looks at the door before heading towards it without even acknowledging my compliment. He does notice me, somewhat, when he tells me, "Whatever," but the answer, like his stare, is cold. He leaves the schoolhouse, leaving the door opened wide, leaving me drained physically, emotionally and spiritually.
With an answer like that, it's hard not to be. I mean how could I not?
I've probably been hit in the face with a pie. Maybe I've been struck by a truck, or a train. I break out of my daze and remember that my brother has just ignored my sincere praise. Neither the pie nor the truck or train would hurt worse than what actually happened just now.
I close the door behind me as I leave and follow Yang back to the dojo, who's walking at a growingly faster pace. Something must be on his mind if he's in such a hurry, but it doesn't excuse him. I reach the end of his trail and, in turn, the dojo.
I arrive at the kitchen, where a half-full backpack lies on the counter. I hear rattling coming from the refrigerator. Behind the door are a pair of ears on top and feet on the bottom. Moving back and forth between the fridge and the bag is Yang, gathering all the food he can and cramming them in such a small space.
"Hey!" I shout, paying no mind to his intent, focusing only on the rudeness he's given me.
"What?" says Yang, and there it is again. I'm really getting tired of this…
"Don't give me that, Yang. Just don't," I say, closing the fridge door before him and leaning against it with folded arms. "What the hell was that just now? I was saying something nice to you." Something nice and not sarcastic. "And that's what I get in return?" I would have let it slide if he just left without saying a word, but now I can't let it slide. I let my anger simmer down a little so that I can bring the issue out of my mind. "You're not still mad at me for last week, are you?"
"What makes you think that I am?" says my brother as he nudges me to the side and reopens the fridge. He closes the door and moves over to the living room. He only glances at me once, and then he goes back to packing up some more of his stuff.
"Well, for one, you could at least stop and look at me for more than two seconds while I'm talking to you." I grab him by his wrist and make him drop his handheld video game console by accident. I barely catch it with my magic before it can plummet to the floor and break into a million pieces, and then set it down on the coffee table. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for last week and getting on your nerves. That good enough for you?" I'm too desperate to get a proper conversation with him that I don't even pay attention to the sincerity in my apology.
Truth be told, I don't want to be angry with him just as I don't want him to be angry with me. We give each other enough reasons to do so. We give each other piles of ammunition that'll keep an army of soldiers satisfied. That much, I will admit. But I really hate the feeling of it. It's exhausting. It's demanding.
Just by looking at the dullness of my brother's eyes, I know that he sees it this way, too. "I get it. You're sorry. Water under the bridge. Now please, just let go of me," he says.
I reluctantly unbind his hands and take this all in. His hastiness, the backpack lying on the table and the contents inside of it.
"Okay, what is all this, anyway?" I say, tailing him from behind.
"Why the hell do you care?" He rolls his eyes at me and puts his cell phone and handheld console into the bag's outer pocket. That thing must be loaded with enough food to last him days.
Just when I thought he's done, he takes a few shirts and pants and stuffs it into the backpack. It looks like it's about to explode at any minute now, but miraculously it doesn't.
Looking at the clothes just now has me riddled with fear. Is he… No, he can't be. He wouldn't. He can't be this mad at me. Would he?
"Yang," I whisper, my skin and fur crawling with doubt. "Are you…"
"Relax, will ya?" says Yang, sighing his annoyance out. Pinpointing my question before I could get a chance to ask it. "I'm only going to be away for a couple of days. I dunno when I'm gonna be back, but I'm gonna be back."
"So you're…" The very idea of him leaving home is distressing me to end, even after he's confirmed that he isn't.
"I'm not mad, if that's what you're thinking." His tone goes soft as he picks his bag up and heads for the stairs.
"Then why do you have to leave?"
"Let's just say that there's something I need to look for."
"And what would this something you need to look for be?"
Yang, irritated yet again, shrugs and rolls his eyes for a second time. "Geez, do you really have to know everything? I knew you were a lot of things, sis, but I didn't take you to be clingy."
How dare he? I am not—I repeat, not—clingy. Am I…?
The conversation has gotten loud enough that it wakes our teacher and father up from his nap. I hear his footsteps from the staircase, getting louder as he continues his descent.
As he walks into the living room, he joins in. "What's going on now, you two?"
Solemnity rears its head as my brother and I go silent from witnessing his presence. The air thickens when he closes in on us.
Ever since we found out that good old Master Yo is really our father, we've been treating him much differently. That is, with considerably more respect than we used to, although neither me nor Yang haven't gotten the hang of calling him 'dad' or 'daddy' or 'father' quite yet. We still poke fun at him from time to time, namely his old age, but we see him in a whole new light now.
And as such, when he gets mad, it's scary. I mean, sure it was always scary, but now whenever he's angry, frustrated or upset, the earth beneath us just quakes.
Yang breaks the silence with a sigh, sways his face to the side and speaks. "I need to go out for a while, Master Yo. Erm, I mean, 'Dad'. And I just told Yin this, but no, I'm not moving out."
Dad folds his arms and stares down at Yang, his presence overwhelming. "I heard you were going to look for something. What is it, some Woo Foo treasure that might not be locked up in the Armory downstairs?"
"No," says Yang flatly, bluntly, looking our father in the eye. Somewhat. "It's a little hard to say."
"Just tell us, already. How hard can it be?" I add impatiently. At first I'm concerned that I might have put my brother in an uncomfortable position, like I did last week, and immediately regret doing that.
Taking a moment to breathe, Yang folds his arms and deliberates for a few seconds. He faces me and then Dad, his snout crinkling, telling me that this might indeed be hard for him to say.
"It's a 'someone' that I'm going to look for," he says reluctantly.
"Who?" Dad asks.
"A wolf person. Call me crazy, but I've been seeing him lately." Yang shrugs. "In my dreams, of course."
Now that I think about it, I did see him tossing and turning about in his sleep at one point the other week. And that wasn't the first time; the nights after that were the same thing. He'd babble all kinds of nonsense while he slept, and I'd come in to wake him up. I thought he was just being the nuisance he loved to be towards me, but it looks like it's so much more than that. It makes more sense now.
Too much sense.
With Yang's piece said, Dad lets out a gasp. His mouth is agape, and so are his eyes. His stare is one blank void, where everything enters and nothing comes out of it. Either that, or he has some deep, dark secret that he's buried a long time ago. Something that he's far too ashamed of and hoped would up and vanish from his memory as time passed by.
That might be just me. People like to call me and Yang perceptive. According to them, our judge of character is beyond sound. But to be honest, we're only pointing out the obvious. And this speculation of mine is one big wild guess.
"Did you say a 'wolf'?" asks Yo, his words barely slipping out of him.
"Yeah. What's wrong?" asks Yang, flashing a squint at our father. "Why are you pale, all of a sudden? Well, 'paler'?"
Dad rattles his head in an attempt to not lose face. "I'm only curious, is all. As a dad, your well-being's now become my number-one priority." He sits on his good chair, crosses one leg over another and perches his head on his clasped hands. "What did you see in your dreams, Yang? This person, um…did he tell you anything?" The unease in which he speaks fuels my suspicion.
My brother sits on the sofa next to the chair, but doesn't say anything in return. All he does is shake his head slowly, softening his face a smidgeon.
Exhaling, Dad slaps his legs with his palms and stands up. He shoots a hard stare at Yang before lightening his features. "Let me ask a different question, then. Why are you doing this?"
Yang hesitates for a second or two, and the air cannot possibly get any thicker than this. It almost feels like a mist during the winter season. "I can feel it in my gut, in my chest, in my…well, everything, actually," he says, his tone solemn. Vibrating my soul. "It's telling me that finding this wolf guy is really important. I don't really know how or why, but it just is. In a way, it's kind of personal." Aha! I knew it, I just knew it, the immature brat dwelling in me spits, but I shut her up a second later. "I know it's selfish, but I have to do this. And whatever choices I make, I don't regret them. I'll take the consequences if there are any." He stops at this sentence to avert his eyes to me. He smiles at me in a confidence-restoring manner and puts his hand above one of mine. "I'm going to be okay. I may only be twelve years old, but I'm as tough as nails as they come. You did teach me, after all." He looks at our dad, whom that last sentence is directed to. At the Woo Foo Master who has trained us from the day we set foot in this place. "What do you say, master? Sensei? Sifu? Dad? Can I go?"
The whole living room goes still. Dad folds his arms, closes his eyes and lowers his head, thinking this through thoroughly. Crinkles rise on his complexion, which I find a bit disconcerting. Each time his face contorts, I feel an impulsive need to try and get into his head. I wonder if there's a Woo Foo spell that lets us do this. There must be, but I can imagine how hard a spell like that has to be.
Then something happens that astonishes me. He opens his eyes at Yang, and his expression goes from one of sternness and discipline to one of compassion and understanding. Lightly he puts his hands on my twin brother's shoulders and crouches down to his height.
"Alright. You can go, my son," says Dad in a warm voice that matches his features. A voice that I don't think I've heard him talk in. Or if he has, it's a rare occurrence.
Baffled, I turn away from them and repress my shock. It ends up failing on me, since I just sigh, anyway. I didn't think that our master, our father, would greenlight such an idea. I didn't think that he'd have this much confidence in Yang, of all people. That confidence has got to be very strong, because I too am putting my faith in him. In his bold claims.
Later that afternoon, Yang finishes with the rest of his packing while Dad and I wait in the living room for him to come down the stairs. I could have broached these nagging feelings in me to my father, but stop myself at the last second.
From the stairs, I can hear Yang making his way down, his backpack in tow. Slung over his left shoulder is another bag hanging over a stick—or a bindle, as it's called—containing some more of his belongings.
"I'm all set," says Yang, approaching the shoji—the sliding doors.
Dad and I see him out, a sudden burst of sunlight greeting us on the way out. The three of us spare a moment to watch the sunset, which never fails to take my breath away. After that, Yang turns around and gives his usual smile of confidence.
"That looks a little too heavy for you. Did you pack the essentials like I told you?" Dad asks, weighing the bindle with one hand.
"Yeah, Dad. I did," he says, chuckling. His poise not lacking in deference. "Thanks for letting me do this."
"Just make sure that you stick to your word. And always remember what you've been taught, right down to the very basics," advises my father, rubbing Yang's head and leaving his head and ears a ruffled clump.
"I will." Yang nods, giving Dad a short yet nice hug.
He shifts his attention to me, still smiling. I tilt my head to the ground, unable to bear seeing my brother just leave. Knowing full well that he's going to leave for an undetermined period of time and wishing that he'd get it over with.
Without any sort of warning, I leap straight at him and give him the biggest hug I've ever given anyone. Behind my eyes, teardrops try in vein to cascade down my face. At first I succeed in keeping them at bay, but one eventually escapes, and I let the rest out.
"Please stay safe, bro," I say softly into his ear in a half-sob, my face warm from crying.
I'm used to being away from my brother for an hour or so, but for more than one day? No, I'm not. He and I may as well be Siamese twins, for all we know. For all the times the two of us get on the other's nerves, nothing's going to change what we have. Nothing, no one, is going to replace him.
"Whoa, whoa. Sis, come on," my brother whispers back, embarrassed. "Not out here. People could be watching us." He might care about it, but I certainly don't.
Finally, I let go and wipe my eyes free of tears. I try to maintain my own smile, but it's proving to be harder than it should be.
"You better give us a call at least once a day," I remind him.
"Yeah, yeah."
"We mean it, Yang," Dad joins.
"I will, alright? See ya." With that, Yang turns tail and takes his exit.
My master-father and I watch as he leaves the dojo grounds. Every one of his step is straight. Focused. Dedicated. Not missing a beat. Just when I thought that he wouldn't give us one last glance before taking that final step, he does – a reminder that he's going to miss us.
I feel the wind shifting as Yang eventually disappears from our line of sight. I turn to Dad, whose face just spells w-o-r-r-y. At that instant, my mask falls away. Under his breath, I hear him utter in a dreadful tone.
"I hope he's going to be okay…"