Rusty Heart (II)
(Published: 12.31.12 – Beta: Sperance)

It happened two days after the incident that involved Shinobu and a hastily made accusation of attempted rape.

Shirou probably should have seen it coming. Since his arrival, the pressure between him and Aoyama kept building up and with him denying her a chance to blow it off when she felt like she was entitled to, Shirou was condemning himself to one huge showdown. It was just a matter of who would give up first and demand a final confrontation, but Shirou was much more patient than the resident swordswoman.

That, coming from a guy who jumped head first into life threatening situations, said everything about how short Aoyama's fuse actually was where he was concerned.

So he wasn't surprised when he found himself staring at the pointy end of her blade, nor was he shocked in any measure by her words.

"Emiya Shirou, I, Aoyama Motoko of the Aoyama Shinmei-ryu, hereby challenge you to a duel."

Not really that surprising, was it? In fact, it was so painfully obvious this had to happen sooner or later that Shirou was more surprised by the other tenants' reaction when the swordswoman made her declaration at breakfast.

Hm, he mused, Narusegawa didn't look shocked at all. She probably knew all along. Ah, well.

"Motoko-senpai," Shinobu squeaked. Was it fear, indignation or both that Shirou could hear in her voice?

"Oh, this is going to be interesting," Konno said, leaning back on her chair with an amused grin.

"Is a duel good to eat?" Suu asked with a little drool coming out of her mouth. Ignoring the audience, Shirou gave the only possible response.

"State you terms," his voice was calm, unwavering and he didn't even look up at her as she spoke, preferring to continue eating his breakfast. He was slightly pleased when he heard a barely audible 'uh' of surprise from his challenger at his acceptance of the situation. Didn't expect that, did she?

"Wooden swords," she replied, recovering quickly, "to knock down or surrender. If I win I demand ownership of the Hinata-sou."

"Motoko!" all the presents minus Narusegawa shouted. She was definitely in the loop.

"And if you lose?" he asked, unshaken by the bold request she just made. She scoffed, as if implying she would never lose against him. Now, that annoyed him a little.

"If I lose then I will no longer question your presence and your decisions within these walls," she declared.

"I refuse," he replied flatly, again not bothering to look up from his breakfast.

"You what?!" she growled aloud. "Ah! I should have known. You are a coward, after all. What is it Emiya? Scared of facing a woman when you aren't ambushing her?"

"I absolutely have no problems with fighting you, Aoyama-san," he replied evenly, placing his sticks on the table and wiping his mouth clean. "If you wish to fight me, then I will indulge you anytime."

"Then-"

"However," he cut her off. "You terms aren't really acceptable."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"You're asking me to fight over the ownership of what amounts to be the Urashima family's, my family's, legacy and the only thing you're offering in return, should you lose, is something that as a tenant you already owe me. That's not even remotely even, Aoyama-san."

"What are you proposing then?"

"It's simple. If you want something then you must put on the line something of equal or greater value, otherwise even if you win you would be nothing but a thief. What I propose is legacy for legacy. If you win I will give you the inn…."

"And if you win?"

"If I win I'll seal away your sword and you'll live as a woman."

A collective gasp filled the room. This time even Narusegawa was taken aback. Even the cheerful and apparently ever-oblivious Suu was now sporting a serious glint in her eyes, testament to the fact that she wasn't as absent-minded as she made it out to be. However, none of their expressions equaled the look on Aoyama's face.

"W-what?"

"Equal exchange, Aoyama-san," Shirou reproached. "Equal exchange."

"That's preposterous!" she shrieked in outrage. "How dare you even suggest I would bet such a thing in a challenge against YOU of all people!"

Shirou stood up. Slowly he rose from his seat, his eyes finally locked with hers and his mouth quirked into a grin.

"What's wrong Aoyama-san? Scared of fighting a man when you actually have something to lose?"

Aoyama's mouth snapped close so fast that the sound echoed in the otherwise still and soundless room. The only following noise was her soft growling, infinite loathing in her eyes.

"Very well," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I accept your terms."

"Let's meet in one hour at the clearing behind the Inn," he proposed almost jovially.

"Agreed," she said, storming out of the room immediately afterwards, no doubt to prepare for the upcoming confrontation.

Then, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Shirou resumed eating his breakfast while around him, all Hell broke loose.

Shirou paid them no mind, focused on eating his breakfast while inwardly considering the repercussions of this event. No matter how he dealt with this the repercussions would be felt by everyone in the Hinata-sou, but there was no avoiding this confrontation.

None at all.

An hour later

"Motoko, are you absolutely sure about this? He seemed pretty confident earlier," Naru asked as she accompanied her friend to the chosen field of battle.

"Confident or not, I'm not going to lose against him," she proclaimed, steadily making her way to the selected battlefield . "Besides, I cannot back down from a challenge I have issued myself after questioning his courage. My honor is at stake here and I have no intention to live in shame."

"But Motoko, what if you lose?"

Motoko stopped and turned to face her friend. "For the last time, Naru, I'm not going to lose to the likes of him. I have a lifetime of training, skill and experience on my side. What does he have?"

"I don't know," Naru replied honestly. "We don't know anything about him at all."

"We know enough," Motoko said resuming her walk. "He's some vagrant who disregarded his academic duties to travel the world and lived in debauchery with four women. Do you honestly think that some sleaze like him can be any threat to ME?"

"N-no, but…"

"Then there is nothing more to be said. Regardless of what you may think of him, there is no turning back now. This is my final decision."

"… Okay. Good luck, Motoko."

"Luck has nothing to do with this, Naru-san, but thank you nonetheless."

Sitting on a rock, Shirou waited patiently for his challenger while he rested his hands and chin on the hilt of a bokuto, one that he carved by himself and therefore he could host into his inner world.

He arrived ten minutes before the appointed time because it would have been impolite to arrive at the exact time or even a moment later than intended. It was also a good way to scout out for eventual traps.

Not that he thought that Aoyama would resort to underhanded tactics but old habits die hard. Besides, it was always better to have a good grasp of the battlefield if possible. Many great warriors of the past had fallen because they tripped at the worst possible moment. Shirou had no intention to ever lose because of some lame reason like that. Especially not this fight, not with what was a stake.

Not the Hinata-sou, of course. Shirou personally didn't care yet about the inn. Sure, it was a charming place but a couple of weeks were hardly long enough to develop any kind of attachment to the place. No, Shirou wasn't fighting for some old building or to protect his honor. He was fighting to take the way of the sword away from Aoyama.

Cruel? Perhaps, but that didn't mean it wasn't necessary.

Shirou didn't know what the reason for Motoko's distaste of males in general was, though he could easily tell why she didn't like him in particular: he intruded into a place she considered safe and refused to submit to her demands, going as far as to thwart her attempts to put him into what she assumed was his place.

What he was certain beyond all doubts as well was that her sword was in the way of her growth. She had a problem she refused to face, refused to overcome, hiding behind her blade and pushing away every potential threat instead of trying to understand and come to terms with it. She didn't know yet, but it was rotting her from the inside out.

Of course, Shirou hadn't suddenly become a shrink nor had his understanding of the female gender improved by any measure – strange but fascinating creatures they were – but he did understand swords better than anybody else.

Yes, he could understand swords and perhaps swords could understand him in return. For that reason he knew what he had to do. He knew because Shisui told him, called him, reached out for him to help its master. The ancient, semi-sentient blade cared for its owner just like its owner cared for it and the sword would support its master in any and every circumstance even if that meant parting ways.

So Shirou would take it away from her, forcing her to face her fears instead of keeping them at sword's length. Then, perhaps. she could begin walking down the path of the blade once more. It was such a shame that Motoko's ears were too filled by her own fear to hear her blade reaching out to her.

That wouldn't do, wouldn't do at all. He couldn't bear to witness such potential being wasted just as much as he couldn't stand seeing a person be tormented as Aoyama was.

"Emiya-san," Shinobu's fear-tinged voice shook him out of his thoughts. He cracked open one eye and looked at her.

"Hm?"

"Are you really… really going to go through with this? Motoko-senpai… she's really strong."

"Strong you say?" he mused closing his eye again, humming to himself. "No, she isn't strong. Skilled, without doubt, but not strong. Strength is much different from what she has."

"But…"

"Don't worry Shinobu," he smiled gently. "I'm not going to lose. Besides, it's too late to turn back now. Isn't that right, Aoyama-san?"

"Indeed," the swordswoman said, emerging from the woods, her frown clearly indicating that she had heard his comment. "I will make you regret those words, Emiya."

No honorifics. Ah, well. No much use for forced politeness when you're about to beat the shit out of someone.

"We'll see about that, now won't we?" he asked, still smiling. The lack of whatever tension in his voice or posture seemed to irritate Aoyama even further. Internally, Shirou winced as he realized once more that he was indeed becoming the jerk he despised so much. Somewhere, he knew, a Counter Guardian was laughing at his predicament. If a place such as Heaven or Hell existed, then probably so would Kotomine Kirei. Shirou was quite sure that if they hadn't had completely opposite moral compasses, his potential future self and the sadistic fake priest would have gotten along famously.

… That thought alone was enough to make him want to vomit, but he held back. It wouldn't make much of an impression if he threw up his breakfast right then before the duel, would it?

Aoyama glared at him but said nothing. She apparently had enough self-discipline to know not to give into an opponent's taunting. As she silently glared daggers at him, the rest of the Hinata-sou had gathered. Even Haruka-san had come to witness the duel, though it was taking place during working hours. Just who was running the shop while she was there?

"You know," he said turning to the audience, "I don't really mind you all being here but don't you have a job or a school to attend to?"

They all nodded but no one provided any justification as to why they were neglecting their duties.

"What's wrong Emiya?" Aoyama asked, readying her bokuto in front of her. "Afraid that too many people will witness your shame?"

"Not really," he shrugged nonchalantly, assuming the same stance as she did, with his bokuto held vertically with both hands in front of him. "Just wondering, is all. Now, shall we begin? Haruka-san, would you please act as judge?"

"Sure," she said with her ever-present cigarette hanging from her mouth. "You know Shirou, I didn't expect this kind of outcome when I told you to face things directly."

"Liar," he said bluntly but smiling at her sideways. "This is exactly what you were expecting to happen. You went as far as to have someone ready to replace you at the tea shop with short notice, just in case something like this happened. You're not one to shrink on your duties after all, Haruka-san."

She almost dropped her cigarette in surprise at his bold statement but then she grinned at him knowingly.

"You have a devious mind, Shirou."

Shirou snorted but said nothing, returning to stare at his opponent, but silently nothing that she didn't deny his claim.

"Very well then," Haruka said, stepping up to the challengers, "the rules are wooden swords, to knock down or surrender. Are you both ready?" They nodded and she lifted her hand. "Well, then. HAJIME!"

Motoko's body moved out of instinct, beating all conscious reflexes. Her sword swung with a speed she had never shown around normal people, even when unleashing some of her more violent and showy techniques. She had every intention to seize victory with a single attack, sealing Emiya's fate and showing exactly how much of a fool he had been to even consider facing her with a sword.

However, her strike didn't meet his body as she intended. The other bokuto rose into the path of her blow, angled in a way that forced her to slide against it. She didn't have time to be surprised, her training kicked in and her blade was already moving toward the target, turning the excessive motion she had put into her first blow into the making of the second.

Again wood met wood, again her blow was deflected. It didn't matter.

She stepped forward and into his guard, the point of her bokuto aiming to the center of his chest. Mere centimeters away from the point of impact her sword was knocked aside, forcing her to sidestep and restore a proper stance.

This time surprise managed to brush her consciousness. Three times she had been thwarted. She could accept a stroke of luck or even a coincidence but she couldn't dismiss a third time as mere chance.

No matter. He was more skilled than she gave him credit for, but what did it matter? She was far from using the best of her abilities. She moved forward, her long silky mane whipping behind her.

One, two, three times she struck.

One, two, three times she was deflected.

Rage built inside her and she removed all stops. With speed that most humans would have trouble following she closed the gap between them, swinging her bokuto so fast it would most definitely break of few bones into his ribcage when the blow connected. Too bad for him, she thought, but he only had had to fall when she was just playing around.

*TONK!*

Motoko's mind halted abruptly, much like her sword did against Emiya's wooden sword, held downward between hers and his body.

"H-how?" she stuttered, staring incredulously at the point where the two swords where connected.

"Is that all?" he asked. There was no taunt in his voice, only supreme disappointment. If the sheer horror of realizing that he wasn't even having a hard time to keep up with her wasn't so overpowering, she might have been annoyed by it. "Then I believe it's my turn."

Shirou's heart sank even further. Disappointment didn't begin to describe what he was feeling in that moment. Aoyama's movements were flawless, fluid and so polished that a Master swordsman would be more than happy to call her his disciple. Her talent was undeniable as was the amount of dedication she had put into her training and yet…

Every blow was tainted by fear, the origin and direction of every blow was telegraphed to him well in advance by the not-so-subtle flow of her terror masked by fake resolve. She might have prevailed against someone who had no battle experience and wasn't attuned to read to flow of a fight but against him, someone who had – withstood countless battles undefeated – it was entirely pointless. Nevermind the fact that he was used to fight entities that were far beyond human and that as such his body and reflexes were even more trained than her were.

It was unbearably ugly to witness.

So much talent, so much potential rotting under a thick layer of a fear hardened so much it had become an armor. That wasn't acceptable. Shirou could not accept the existence of such an ugly thing so he would have to crush it mercilessly for Aoyama's own good.

"Is that all?" he asked at the stunned woman whose sword was crossed with his. "Then I believe it's my turn."

As he moved to deliver the counter-attack he mused if this was how Gilgamesh felt when he looked at the modern world. He made a mental note of avoiding to turn into the same kind of arrogant bastard. Being a cynic jerk was still a much preferable option in his opinion.

Blows rained on her so fast that she could barely follow them, and so powerful that her body shook and her hands hurt every time he hit her sword. She didn't have time to think, having only enough presence of mind to acknowledge that if her instinct hadn't been as honed as it was she couldn't have kept up.

She was forced backward, spinning and twisting to either block or dodge. There was no room for retaliation, no space for a counterattack. She could only defend, her body burning under a strain so intense that she had never experienced before, not even at the hands of her sister.

That wasn't possible. There was no way that anyone short of a master of the sword could fight like that but Emiya couldn't be one. He didn't have the presence and she had never seen him practicing with a sword. A serious practitioner of the sword would never disregard a single day of training. The fact that he owned a bokuto was already a surprise to her but she hadn't given it much thought.

Now however she was beginning to reconsider. At this rate she was going to lose.

No. She would never lose. Not against a man. Not against him. She was strong! She still had many techniques to use. Even if it meant hurting him badly, she wouldn't lose to him.

Putting all of her strength into her legs she jumped away, ready to defend once more should he follow, but he didn't move. He remained where he was, with his sword lazily held at his side without any form or guard.

Rage swelled inside her, drowning all the soreness in her muscles and the burning in her lungs. He was looking down on her. He dared look down on her!

She wouldn't accept that. She could never accept that. Those eyes. Those goddamn eyes filled with contempt… She should just rip them away.

"Shinmei-ryu," she announced "Zanganken!"

The air rippled in front of her sword. A blade of concentrated ki exploded forward with the speed of a running car…

…and went lost in the woods, missing its target entirely. He just sidestepped the offending mass of ki without so much as a fuss.

"A ki strike," he mused looking at her blow ripping the tree branches and the bushes in its path to shreds. The manifestation of an intent coalesced by the user's fighting spirit. A remarkable skill to accomplish for someone so young."

"I have no needs for your compliments," she growled, glad that she was given a moment of respite.

"No, you have no need for that at all," he replied, gripping the hilt of his sword tighter. Motoko would have prepared for the undoubtedly coming attack, but she had barely time to blink.

Without any forewarning of movement ge disappeared from her sight. Her arm moved out of instinct, putting her sword between her and the blow that she never saw coming. Only when the two wooden blades met with a loud crack did she look up and into two golden orbs bearing down on her.

Again she was forced to defend. This second wave of strikes was far more vicious than the previous and her body screamed in protest for having to keep up with such an onslaught. She couldn't keep that up much longer, she realized. She had to turn the tide of the battle soon or she would end up being outlasted.

She forced herself to hold her ground, raising her bokuto to stop the vertical blow coming down on her. The sword collided with a loud crack. She had only a second to acknowledge the fire burning in her opponent's eyes before her bokuto shattered in a shower of splinters, forcing her to shut her own eyes and to fall on her back.

"No," she groaned, forcing herself backward and on her feet. Her hand reached for her faithful Shisui, resting into its scabbard at her side. She opened her eyes at the same time as the hiss of steel announced Shisui coming out of its resting place.

"That's enough Motoko," she heard Haruka shout. "Put your sword aw- Shirou?"

She looked at him, still standing on the spot where he had forced her to the ground. He had the palm of one hand turned to Haruka in a placating motion.

"Let it go, Haruka-san. It's fine."

"But…. Nevermind, just do what you want."

"Come on, Aoyama-san," he said turning to her, "Where is your confidence? What happened to your conviction? Is that all the Shinei-ryu can amount to…. Or is it you that's the problem?"

"Shut the hell up, YOU BASTARD!" she moved Shisui upward for a downward swing. "Take this! SHINMEI-RYU, Zanganken Ninotachi!"

The difference between this technique and the previous was evident to everyone witnessing it. The speed was much superior and the force of the strike was cutting apart the ground on its paths, sending debris of rock flying in every direction.

This time he wouldn't be able to dodge and parrying would be equally useless. A meager wooden sword could never withstand her strongest albeit incomplete technique.

However, her confidence was shattered in the matter of a second as Emiya didn't try to dodge nor defend. Instead he threw his bokuto away and stepped in the path of the blow with a fist cocked backward.

"Your spirit is weak!" he shouted. To Motoko's absolute disbelief and horror he punched – punched! - the mass of hostile intent coalesced by her fighting spirit and shaped into the form of a blade. Her attack exploded in a thunderous shockwave that sent everyone flying, with the exception of the person closest to its core, who by all means should have been ripped apart.

He stood there, with his fist still forward. The skin on his knuckles was barely scraped where it had met her raging technique.

Motoko could only stand there, eyes wide, with Shisui held in her trembling finger.

"No," she whispered to herself. "NO!"

She charged forward, intending to end it once and for all. There was no other way but to kill him. Even if he had been somehow capable to disperse her technique by unknown means he could still be pierced by sharp steel, just like anybody else.

She knew that he saw her coming, but instead of putting up his guard he remained there, arms at the side like he wasn't in any danger at all. It was the final straw and Motoko couldn't think any longer. Shisui flashed and hissed through the air, its tip aiming without fail between the eyes of the man she hated so much.

And there it stopped. Mere inches from his face, Shisui halted abruptly. Emiya's left hand was wrapped around the blade, holding the flat sides harmlessly between palm and fingers.

"Holy! Shit!" she heard someone say.

"Impossible," Motoko whispered dumbstruck.

"It's not impossible," Emiya said calmly, "if you have lightning fast reflexes and a grip of steel."

She pulled and pushed the blade repeatedly, trying to free it from his grasp but it didn't budge in the slightest. It was like Shisui had stabbed through the bark of a tree or right into a rock. It just wouldn't move.

"Give up, Aoyama-san," he said calmly. Only then it dawned onto her that the entire time he hadn't been serious at all. She never once pushed him to the point of making an effort. He didn't – literally - even break a sweat.

But that was absurd, it had to be. She knew that there were plenty of fighters stronger that she was, her sister for instance, but they mostly were people who dedicated their lives to the art of the sword. Certainly this… man couldn't be one of them, not at such a young age.

"No," she protested. "I won't give –Ooof!"

He pushed the sword downward, digging the hilt as well as Motoko's hands beneath her sternum. Her grip slackened and she fell backward for the third time. Only when she hit the ground she realized that her sword was no longer in her hands.

She looked up and met his gaze looking down at her. She was at his mercy, disarmed and outmatched. She could only crawl away from his imposing form until she found herself with her back against a tree, unable to retreat any further.

"No," she shook her head. "No. No, no, no."

She desperately tried to refuse reality but his looming form bearing down on her gave her no respite. As if to twist the knife in the wound, Shisui spun between his fingers several times before it stopped with its hilt firmly in the palm of his hand. That was when the horror became so intense that she couldn't deny it anymore.

As the ultimate, unconceivable betrayal Shisui sang in its hand, humming like a diapason, rejoicing at the contact with his skin in a way it had never done with her in all the years it had been in her possession.

Motoko wanted to vomit. Her head felt dizzy and she couldn't think straight. In a matter of minutes her confidence had been shattered, the certainty of victory ripped out of her hands like her sword had been…

… her sword!

Only then, with undeniable defeat in front of her eyes she recalled what she promised to do should she lose the challenge.

"Yes," he confirmed cruelly as if reading her thoughts, "this is my victory, Aoyama-san."

He bent forward and smoothly plucked Shisui's scabbard from her waist. She offered no resistance whatsoever, unable to muster any strength, completely broken inside as she was. She could only stare ahead numbly.

"As agreed," he said sheathing the still humming sword, the sound of softly hissing steel not unlike a final goodbye, "your sword is now mine."

The click of the hilt touching the scabbard echoed in her ears like a shotgun, draining her of all remnants of hope.

Emiya turned on his heels and walked away, stopping only a few steps later and addressing her without turning back. "Live on as woman, Aoyama-san."

He left without another word, ignoring the gathered witnesses who rushed at her side. She couldn't hear their words though, busy as she was at crying her eyes out.

That was the day when Aoyama Motoko felt the bitter taste of defeat for the first time in her life. She didn't know that it wasn't the end of her life as a swordswoman as she thought it was, but just the first step of a series of events that would turn her life upside down more than it had already had.

XXX

A/N:

All right. I can already see all the protests coming my way for Shirou's steamrolling of Motoko.

Let's face it people: Motoko has more talent and more training with a sword than Shirou but he has far more real battle experience on top of being both faster and stronger. She had the edge of skill but he's far superior to her in power, speed, experience and willpower. She can and she will match his level later (much later) but it's a long way from now.

Again I invite you to ask all of your questions in the apposite page in my forum. I'd hate to answer seven times to the same question. The only thing I'm addressing in this note is:

"Why was Shirou constantly hit by Motoko if he's so much superior?"

The answer is still the same as always: MINDSET!

Just like it happened between Shirou and Gilgamesh in canon FSN:UBW, the right mindset makes all the difference between victory and defeat. As Shirou wasn't in the mindset to fight and since he's all but belligerent, Motoko always had the luxury of the first strike, but she never caught him twice consecutively.

That's it for now. See ya!