Rusty Heart (III)
(Published: 03.07.2013– Beta: Sperance)
The soft pattering of small naked feet on wood echoed through the mansion. Somehow, the little girl couldn't manage to sleep. No matter how much she twisted and turned, a cold chilling sensation didn't let her close her eyes at all.
Unable to find any rest, she did the only thing she could think of in such circumstances: she sought the comforting embrace of her parents. So she left her room and wandered the building, her feet carrying her through the dark corridor with familiar ease, straight to her parents' room.
In the distance she could hear a strange sound, a loud rasping noise and the screeching of metal against metal. It got progressively louder as she proceeded further. She was getting scared but she reasoned that she would be safe once she reached her mother and father.
She hastened her pace, the sounds getting louder and louder until, with a last wet, splattering sound, all fell silent, except of a dripping noise that chilled the child to the bones.
She was almost there now. She could see the light peering from the half open door. Strange, she mused. Were they still up at that hour? Or maybe they heard the strange noises and woke up to see what caused them?
Now feeling more secure, she approached the door and looked inside.
Crimson horror filled her eyes.
"AAAAAAAHH!"
Motoko woke up with a silent scream, her eyes filled with tears that immediately ran down her cheeks.
She gasped, trying to regain her breath and when she finally succeeded the next sound she emitted was a startled sob. For a moment her eyes sought the comforting shape of Shisui in the darkness of her room, but a couple of seconds of futile searching reminded her of the fiasco of two days earlier.
Helpless and without comfort, she curled into a ball under the cover of her futon, sobbing shamelessly at her own powerlessness.
She had lost. Everything that made her strong had been shattered with an ease that she couldn't begin to comprehend. The things she fought for, the strength she thought she possessed had been crushed as if they weren't even worthy of notice.
Her sword had been sealed, taken away from her, pried from her fingers without any resistance on her part. Not that it would have mattered if she had put up any struggle.
She had been bested, fair and square, in power, speed, skill and spirit. She hadn't been merely defeated: she had been crushed to dust along with her pride as a swordsman.
'Live on as a woman,' he had told her in his triumph and she had no choice but to do so. Not only because that was exactly what she had promised she would do and going back on her word was worse than death for her, but also because she could no longer think of herself as able to hold a sword ever again.
Years of relentless, disciplined training served no purpose in front of a man that by his own admission had no formal martial arts training. All of her sweat, all of her efforts hadn't helped her in the slightest in front of her opponent's overwhelming ability. She thought herself to be strong, unbeatable but by a small number of individuals and her arrogance had been slapped in her face mercilessly.
She wasn't strong at all. She was weak, powerless. And as a weak person she should have lived. So she did the only thing weak person could do in her circumstances: she cried herself to sleep.
The two days following the event known as "The Incident", but that Kitsune insisted in calling "The Trashing", passed in an awkward silence. Motoko's defeat at the hands of the formerly reputed tough-but-harmless manager had shifted their perception of the only resident male a great lot.
In Kitsune's eyes, Motoko had always represented the peak of what human strength could achieve, sometimes even tethering on the edge of inhuman, even though Motoko always said her sister was much stronger than she was, Kitsune couldn't quite wrap her mind around such a concept. Then Emiya Shirou came and effortlessly steamrolled the one person Kitsune could never even imagine losing in a straight up fight.
She was of course sad for Motoko. Seeing the younger girl so heartbroken hurt even her, but she also thought that Motoko found exactly the trouble she had been looking for. However, the resident drunkard's thoughts were not for the defeated samurai but for the victor of their impromptu duel.
She just couldn't fit the character of Emiya Shirou in any of the little mental boxes she used to classify people. There were just too many unknown things about him to simply put him in the 'nice guy' category and even though he clearly was in a sort of relationship with a foreign supermodel, he was definitely not a 'womanizer'. He had proven himself to be insanely strong but did not show it until pushed into it, which meant that he wasn't a 'show off'.
So just who the hell was he? He defied Kitsune's every attempt to really outline his character. He was a complete mystery and if there was one thing Kitsune couldn't leave alone was a mystery. The journalist in her (not that many knew how she made a living) demanded her to find out more about this strange guy. She just knew there was a story worthy of being written laying there. She just had to uncover it.
Of course that meant starting from when he was separated by his original family. It looked like she would have to go through some very old newspapers.
While Kitsune was lost in her own projects Shinobu was at an impasse. Truthfully, Emiya's display of strength left her more than a little troubled. In her opinion he was already a strong person, certainly stronger than she was, but ultimately he was a gentle person.
The demon that fought against Motoko had seemly nothing do to with the image she made of him in her mind. Not that she suddenly thought he was a bad person just for it, but she had to admit that the image she had of him was a bit off target.
She was also a bit put off by the way he had left Motoko after the battle. It wasn't like the older girl hadn't gotten exactly what she had asked for, but Shinobu's heart still went out for her. Seeing the always composed swordswoman break down in tears really made Shinobu cringe, but Emiya had offered no words of consolation or encouragement; he just left. It was a little bit cruel in Shinobu's opinion. Still, he was not in the wrong either and that left the young girl not so much as disappointed but rather as greatly confused.
She was unable to come up with an answer to all of her questions, but she was too shy to simply walk up to him and ask him to explain why he acted like that. In addition she was mostly worried for Motoko, who hadn't left the room for two days except to use the facilities. She didn't even eat, even though Shinobu left a plate in front of her room at every meal. She didn't let anyone in her room but every time she passed in front of her door she could hear her choked sobs.
She wanted to help, she really wanted to help but she didn't know how. Maybe if she convinced Emiya to give back Motoko's sword everything would go back to normal? That sounded great but she didn't really know how to do it. Maybe… maybe she could ask Naru for advice? The brown haired girl was surely smart enough to figure out how to deal with this. Shinobu always relied on her when she didn't know what to do and she was sure that the older girl would be able to solve this situation as well.
Speaking of Narusegawa Naru, the aspirant Toudai student didn't actually know how to deal with the present situation at all. The outcome of Motoko's duel with the manager was not what she had expected, even if she had warned her fellow tenant about the possibility of losing.
Now Emiya's position within the Hinata-sou was absolutely consolidated and to make matters worse the other person who supported a male-free environment had been utterly destroyed. That was, of course, the minor problem. Even though Naru and Motoko weren't all that close, they were more than passing acquaintances and seeing her friend reduced to a wreck really bothered her, especially because she didn't know what to do.
Like it or not, Emiya had won fair and square and, while his cold behavior after the victory didn't earn him any points among the tenants, he hadn't really gloated about it either. In fact, he seemed to regard the whole exchange as an unpleasant business he was happy to have finished quickly.
Naru might have considered his behavior in a somewhat neutral if not positive light if he wasn't at least partially the cause of the sobs she could hear coming from the adjacent room.
Two days had passed and Motoko was still a shadow of her former self. Gone was the confident woman she had come to know, replaced by a scared girl that couldn't sleep at night and that wouldn't venture out of her room if not strictly necessary.
Motoko wouldn't let anyone in her room; even Naru was asked to leave after she had accompanied her back from the duel. She refused to speak with anyone and she refused to eat as well. Naru was seriously worried that she'd end up damaging her health before she came out of her depression.
She had to do something, anything to put a stop to this drama and there was just one thing she could think of that would solve the issue. She wasn't looking forward to the conversation, but she wouldn't leave her friend alone with her demons.
Not a chance.
Truth to be told, the awkward atmosphere that followed his confrontation with Motoko didn't surprise Shirou in the slightest. He was a stranger intruding in a place that was not his home, even if he owned it. He couldn't blame Narusegawa and Aoyama for their mistrust and dislike. Who would like some strange guy suddenly barging in what amounted to be your home? It certainly didn't condone their slights toward him, but he could at least partially understand why they disliked him so much.
It took him a while to carve his space among them and he wasn't even finished when Aoyama decided to solve their issues at sword point. He didn't regret his choice, even if now the other tenants were avoiding him more than after his arrival. Even Shinobu, who had always been quite welcoming and supportive, seemed to disappear when he was around and Suu stopped all attempts to ambush him as well.
This caused him to think of how Kiritsugu had been right all along. Power breeds conflict and for that reason it had to be secret as much as possible, not only whereas Magecraft was concerned. Just by looking at how he was being avoided after a display of swordsmanship within the boundaries of human's limits it was obvious that power was to be kept away from the general public unless it was strictly necessary. Hell, if they knew what he could do as a Magus they would certainly run away as fast as they could. It was much better to keep everything under wraps so not to cause unnecessary unrest, at least not more than he already had.
Hopefully he wouldn't have to resort to his skill set in front of the girls ever again and with a little time this entire debacle would be forgotten.
…Fat chance.
The door of his room slammed open, showing a determined Narusegawa standing in the doorframe. For a moment she looked about to assault him, but then she took a deep breath and relaxed.
"Something I can do for you, Narusegawa-san?"
"Please give it back," she asked with her arm and hand stretched out in front of her, palm up.
"Mh?"
"Please give Motoko back her sword, Emiya-san," she clarified. Behind her was Shinobu, who looked like she wanted to say the same thing but couldn't quite find her voice, opting to nod a couple of times instead.
"I see," he replied slowly. "Come in and take a seat, Narusegawa-san. You too, Shinobu-san."
Slowly, as if they were stepping into a lion's den, they both sat at the opposite end of his table, looking positively uncomfortable. Shirou pulled out the sheathed sword from where it was resting, behind a pile of books and placed it on the table.
"Emiya-san," Narusegawa began, her tone even, "I know that you won this sword fair and square but… Motoko is devastated without it. Please release her from her oath."
At her side Shinobu nodded frantically though she didn't dare to open her mouth. Shirou just sighed.
"I'm afraid you don't really understand what the matter at hand is. Even if I gave Shisui back to Aoyama-san and told her to continue to practice her family's sword style it wouldn't do her any good."
"But…"
"Here," he said handing over the blade. "Feel free to return it to her. I give it to you on the condition that if she refuses to take it back, you will return it to me."
"Really?" she asked, positively surprised by his ease to give away his trophy.
"Sure, but I give you a warning. Aoyama-san will not be happy about this. Quite frankly, I think she will be rather cross with you just for thinking such a thing. If you really are looking out for her, you're going about this the wrong way."
"We'll see," she replied stubbornly. "Uh, thanks anyway. I didn't think you'd give it back so easily."
"You don't understand Aoyama's problem," he said slowly, "and you understand my motivations even less. Now if you don't mind I really need to go back to my studies."
They stood and left, Shinobu bowing politely as she closed the door. Shirou sighed again. It seemed that a little more unrest was needed before this entire ordeal could be put behind them and they all could move forward.
"That went better than I expected," Naru said to Shinobu when the door behind them was closed.
"Emiya-san is not a bad person," the younger girl replied timidly. "It's not his fault if things turned out like this."
"I guess not," Naru agreed reluctantly. "Come on, let's give Motoko her sword back."
They ran to the second floor and all the way to Motoko's room. There, Naru knocked a couple of times, but as expected she received no answer. Not that it would have deterred her from continuing with her course of action.
"Motoko? Motoko, I have something for you. I'm coming in."
She slid the door open and stepped inside. Motoko was no longer in her futon but she was sitting in front of the mirror, combing her hair with a dull expression on her face.
"What do you need, Naru-senpai?" the raven haired girl asked, voice void of any emotion.
"Look Motoko," she said holding up the sword. "I convinced…"
"Get it away from me," Motoko hissed, having caught a glimpse of Shisui in the mirror. "Get it out. OUT!"
Naru stumbled backwards in surprise, almost tripping on Shinobu as she did, the pure venom in Motoko's eyes shocking her to the core.
"But-!"
"OUT I SAID!"
Neither girl needed it to be said a third time. Both dashed out of the room, hastily closing the door behind them. Kitsune, having heard the ruckus from her adjacent room popped her head out of her door.
"What the hell was that all about?" the vulpine woman asked.
"I told you," Emiya said, coming up from the stairs with perfect timing as if he expected this outcome to happen exactly as it did. "You don't understand what Aoyama's problem actually is." He said sadly as he plucked Shisui out of Naru's hands.
"And you do?" she asked with a hint of anger in her voice.
"Only partially," he admitted. "But it's not my place to discuss it."
"Then…"
"Let it go, Narusegawa-san. This is something Aoyama-san has to deal with on her own."
"I… I just want to help my friend," the brown haired girl said dejectedly.
"I know you do, Narusegawa-san, but you must let her come to terms with what happened first. Without understanding what she's going through you're just going to make things more difficult for her."
"… This is all your fault," she hissed accusingly. "If you hadn't come here nothing of this would have happened and we would have been just fine."
"Narusegawa-san, I'll gladly take responsibility for what happened, since it was my choice to accept Aoyama's challenge," he said calmly, "but I will not take blame for something she sought of her own volition. We must all live assuming the consequences of our choices."
Without another word he spun and returned from where he came from, completely disregarding the glare of the woman behind him.
After that incident things more or less settled within the dorm. Aoyama still didn't eat at the table with the rest of the tenants and Narusegawa's glare was honed onto Shirou every time they were in the same room. Shirou was more or less unfazed by her hostility, used as he was at being stared down by being far scarier than she could ever hope to be in several lifetimes. Heck, having been in the presence of Berserker and surviving a close encounter with Angra Mainyu had pretty much ruined his capacity of being unnerved by anything mundane.
Still, that didn't mean it was pleasant to withstand so he avoided her as much as possible, which meant that they would only meet during meals. The situation wasn't about to be solved on its own, but Shirou didn't really know how to assuage the brown haired girl, mostly because the only thing that would placate her was Aoyama coming out of her shell or him dying in a bout of self-combustion, preferably both.
With the likelihood of the latter being rather low Shirou could only hope that Aoyama would recover soon, for the sake of everyone under the Hinata-sou's roof.
Motoko finally came out of her room two more days later and went straight to school without so much as a greeting to the other tenants. She seemed relatively calm on the surface but anyone who knew her well enough could tell that she was tense as a violin's string. Being completely weaponless after having a sword constantly by her side for all her life made her feel extremely defenseless and this didn't escape the notice of the other girls. Even the ever-cheerful Kaolla had a look of compassion on her face at the sight of her distressed friend. Still, there was pretty much nothing all of them could do except showing their support at every chance.
Overall it took Motoko four days to gain a modicum of control over her emotions and even then the best she could do was float in a sort of apathy, a dull state of mind void of any emotion. It was still a very frail balance that threatened to shatter under the slightest strain. The mere possibility of being in presence of a man without means to defend herself was a chilling thought she could hardly stand, but when it came to be in presence of Emiya she almost immediately slipped in the same panicked state she was in the hours following her defeat.
She avoided him like the plague and he made no effort to cross her path either. In hindsight she realized that with all the strength he had it was not her sword that kept him at a distance but rather the fact that he had no hostility or ill intent in her regards to begin with. That did very little to assuage her fear. It wasn't like she wasn't used to apparently well-meaning men suddenly showing their true colors when she least expected it.
Then again she couldn't avoid him forever. Living under his roof she was bound to interact with him at one point or another, but she wasn't yet ready to face the man who had crushed her convictions so easily and she couldn't go back either. Going back to that place was even worse that living in disgrace at the Hinata-sou.
Besides, she was bound to live as a woman and she had to show that she had every intention of proving that while he might have stripped her of her sword she would not lose her honor as well. It would take her some time to get adjusted but she would not fail in that.
She went to school the morning of the fifth day more or less ready to face the consequences of her choices starting from the friends she had failed so badly.
"W-what 's the meaning of this Motoko-senpai?" asked the second year student Sachiko, the most probably candidate to the captainship of the Kendo club when Motoko graduated from high school.
"It is how it seems, Sachiko," she replied sadly. "I can no longer participate in the activities of this club."
Her declaration caused an uproar among the members of the exclusively female club.
"I- I don't understand. What brought his up all of a sudden? The regional tournament is coming up in a month… there's no way we can win it without you. What happened?"
"I… I have lost the right to wield a sword in a honor duel. I have lost… to a man."
The chattering stopped immediately, falling in a stunned silence.
"The captain lost a duel?" somebody asked to no one in particular.
"N- no way… Who could beat someone as strong as her?"
"He can't be a human…"
"Motoko-senpai," Sachiko objected "even if you lost a duel that doesn't mean you have…"
"I must. I have waged my right to hold a sword believing that I could best my opponent with little effort but I was the one being defeated with ease instead. Now I must honor my promise. I'm sorry." Motoko bowed deeply to her kohai, knowing perfectly how much she had let them all down.
No one said anything else and Motoko simply left the building, never to return. No one saw the tears running down her cheeks.
To say Motoko's ordeal at school was over and done would be a lie. Even if she never actually flaunted her skills, preferring the silent humbleness of a samurai, Motoko was very well known by her schoolmates. Her appearance aside she was renown at national levels as a rising star in the world of Kendo but within the school she was infamous for having purged the club from all males after shaming them over and over in combat. Only a handful of boys resisted for a couple of years but in the end they all left with their dreams in pieces.
That however didn't mean they had left school on top of being run out of the club and the news of Motoko losing her right as a swordsman in a duel spread like wildfire among the student body, with obvious results.
"Did you hear? Aoyama lost a duel to a man."
"Whoa! That Aoyama? You gotta be kidding me."
"Serves her right, that bitch."
Surprise soon degenerated in snide remarks and the former club members made a point of discussing her downfall within hearing range of her. A few even 'accidentally' bumped into her down the corridors at school, apologizing for their distraction but with a smirk of satisfaction when she flinched away from their touch instead of reprimanding them harshly for getting too close.
With the exception of the few members of the kendo club she was actually close to, everyone made fun of her in more or less overt manner, either out of a grudge or out of envy for her talent with a sword and her beauty.
She actually hadn't realized how popular she was with the student body until that popularity became the reason of her discomfort. By the end of the day it was a miracle that she had not cried for the treatment she received. However, when the classes were over she immediately returned to the dorm without speaking with a single shutting herself in her room as soon as she arrived.
Then and only then she allowed her tears to fall unbidden.
The next morning
The first sign that something had changed was the smell of burnt early in the morning. Shirou snapped awake as the foul smell reached his nostrils and he immediately run of the room and in search of the source of the fire. He was welcomed by a black cloud that rapidly expanded from the kitchen.
He reached for the fire extinguisher as he run there… only to stop in his tracks when he met the odd sight of one Aoyama Motoko, with a disgruntled expression on her face, engaged in something that resembled cooking… if cooking ever came to dual-wield a pair of frying pans as if they were flaming swords of doom.
She seemed to be quite panicked and not at all able to decide what to do with the pans-from-hell she was currently holding, running in circles around the kitchen table and squealing something that resembled..
"Awa-wa-wa-wa!"
Yes, something like that. It was such an un-Aoyama-ish thing that Shirou couldn't quite wrap his mind around what he was seeing. His body just acted on auto pilot and he sprayed the content of the extinguisher of the panicking girl and the weapons in her hands.
"Buh!" she grunted as she took the brunt of the pressure and fall on her back, skidding a few meters backwards.
"Aoyama-san, are you all right?" Shirou asked as he rushed at her side. At the sound of his voice she snapped back on her feet holding the blackened kitchen tools in front of her like a barrier to separate them.
"IIwastryingtocookbreakfastbu tIgotsomethingwrongandeveryt hingwentonfireandIdidntknoww hattodosoIpanickedsoImsorrys orrysorry."
She said all of that in a single panicked squeak while she backed away, mindful of keeping the table between them until she was both out of the kitchen and out of view.
"…. Uh?" he asked dumbly to no one in particular, thought the smell had awakened the other tenants who had seen at least part of the surreal event that had just taken place. No one was able to provide any explanation for what happened so they just decided to see if anything like happened again or if it was just a onetime occurrence that they would one day chalk up to a dream caused by indigestion or by an excessive amount of alcohol, though the latter excuse applied only to Kitsune.
Sadly that was not the case as more and more odd episodes involving the former swordswoman started to happen.
Operation: Live as a Woman #1 had failed spectacularly. Admittedly she didn't have much experience at cooking… which is to say none at all. Back in Kyoto there were people that took care of everyday's household tasks and even at the Hinata-sou it fell upon Shinobu and most recently Emiya to care of the meals…
That Emiya bested her in tasks that traditionally were relegated to women irked her to no end. Did he have to surpass her in every field?... Fine… he was a great opponent even out of the battlefield, she could admit that, but she would not lose nor give up that easily. Not a chance.
Operation: Live as a Woman #2 was about to begin.
"KYAAAA!" Shinobu cried in the general direction of the laundry. Hero instincts kicking into high gear, Shirou abandoned his books and rushed on the crime scene only to stumble upon a show of modern art… if you could consider as such a bunch of freshly washed laundry hanged up to dry… laundry that had definitely been through a washing cycle or two without taking into consideration minor details such as colors, materials and temperature, resulting in a mishmash of blurred colors and general shapelessness.
It came as no surprise that upon this sight Shinobu had fallen of her knees in despair and horror, especially considering that most of the ruined pieces of clothing belonged to her. However she wasn't alone in her despair as at her side was yet again Aoyama, holding a pair of panties that used to be white but were now a strange mixture of purple and yellow that made even Shirou cringe just by looking at it. Such violence upon innocent pieces of clothing was not something one could withstand without discomfort.
However neither Shirou's or Shinobu's expressions were as horrified as the culprit's. The look on Aoyama's face was a mixture of emotions that mirrored the pieces of clothing she had so horridly deformed. Guilt, disappointment, more guilt, fear and yet more guilt marred her visage.
"Wh-wh," Shinobu hiccupped. "Whaaaaaaa!"
"Nooooooo!" Aoyama screamed in dismay before she could take no more of and run out, away from the scene, leaving behind a weeping Shinobu and a shell-shocked kanrinin with no clues as how to deal with the situation.
'Whaaaaa!' Motoko cried inwardly as she threw herself on her futon. Operation: Live as a Woman #2 went even worse than #1. She made Shinobu cry, one of the most despicable things anyone could do and on top of that she made herself look like a fool in front of Emiya once more. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Why was he always so fast to appear when she failed at something?
Granted, she didn't expect anything less than a quick reaction from one such as him, but it was infuriating that his speed with a sword carried over in his task as manager. She couldn't even make a minor slip that he was already there to witness her shortcomings.
Not good. Definitely not good. She couldn't afford to keep failing so abysmally and every step and turn. After all, even if she lacked something to truly be a sword user she was at least born a woman. If she failed at being something she was born as what would she be left with? Nothing, that's what.
Next time she absolutely had to succeed without mistakes. Maybe… maybe she'd have to ask for help to someone who was more in touch with her feminine side?
As it turned out, the laundry incident wasn't the last event concerning the former swordswoman. Just a day after her failed attempt at household chores, the raven haired beauty could be seen zooming up and down the corridors of the Hinata-sou on her hands and knees, waxing the floor with a rag in the traditional way.
Naturally, while that odd sight alone would have been enough to raise a few eyebrows, what made the scene to be absolutely surreal was the near superhuman speed at which she moved and, most of all, her choice in attire.
She was wearing a French maid outfit of all things, short enough to draw the interest of a fetishist but still long enough not to be scandalous. Anyway, it was still a sight so out of the world that even Shirou, who had grown accustomed to Illya's shenanigans, was utterly dumbstruck.
That condition applied to the other tenants as well with the exception of Kitsune, who was grinning broadly at the display. On top of the lack of surprise on the resident fox's face, her unbidden amusement was all the hint Shirou needed to know who had provided Aoyama with the outfit she was currently wearing.
He was about to inquire why did she even have something like that, much less why she had given it to the former swordswoman when said person's latest attempt at household chores was foiled by the slippery wax she had previously laid down.
"KYAAAAA!" she screamed as she went flying, her body carried by the momentum of her speed, all the way down the corridor causing her to slam against and through the thin wall at the end of it with a thunderous crash.
"Motoko! Aoyaoma-san!" they all shouted rushing to her side. In spite of the noise she made she was wounded only in her pride, though it seemed to be a pretty serious injury because when she stood back on her feet, eyes filled with tears. "Wh-wh- Waaaaahh," she cried as she run away fast enough to lift dust in her wake.
Damn, Shirou cursed inwardly, this way going well beyond what he thought he would happen. He had to solve the situation before it spiraled even further down with unpredictable results.
Motoko run out of the inn and into the forest behind it. With her sight blurred by tears she almost run in a few trees in her mad escape from the scene of her latest failure.
Why? Why had everything gone so wrong? She had tried her best but everything she did kept backfiring on her. Even as a woman she failed. How could simple things such as mere household chores that Shinobu could perform flawlessly be beyond her ability?
She was so useless that she felt she should just drop dead once and for all.
Instead, she just run and run until she could run no more, stopping only once she reached a small rocky clearing that opened on the top of a waterfall several meters high; a place she used to frequent daily to practice with her sword. With tears still falling from her eyes she slowly walked toward the edge and stared down.
She felt so useless. She had failed as a kendoka and as a woman. By all means she couldn't find a single reason why she should keep on living, yet in spite of that she did want to live. Surprisingly she wasn't afraid of death but her mind refused the option of just running away. She couldn't take the easy way out no matter how purposeless she was feeling.
With a resigned sigh she took a step back from the edge… and her foot slipped on the wet stone beneath it. With all the prowess of a skilled martial artist she regained her footing easily by taking a step forward, just a few scant inches from a deadly fall.
... That was close.
Crrr…ack!
The rock under her feet crumbled and with her weight still leaning forward she could not step back. Gravity claimed her and in a flash she was over the edge.
… Then she stopped. With a single foot still on safe ground her fall was halted. Only after two seconds the impossibility of such a thing sunk into her mind and only another second afterward did she register the firm grip around her wrist.
She turned her head and her eyes locked on a well know golden gaze. She almost recoiled in surprise and terror, almost throwing herself off the edge when she recognized her savior but his firm grasp didn't allow her to move an inch.
Panic settled into her chest. Behind her was certain death. Before her was the incarnation of her nightmares: the one man she could not best, the man who forced her to realize that the fears she considered long surpassed were just waiting for her to slip and acknowledge her own weakness.
She tried to push away from him, completely uncaring if it meant falling to her death. She had to get away… NOW!
Spinning on her foot she lashed out at him, hitting him with a backhanded slap that forced him to turn his head to the side. Blood fell from his lips but his hold didn't relent. She kicked him in the sides and then shifted for a kick to the face that connected with his skull with a loud crack. Still he didn't let go nor he returned any of her attacks.
"How far from you fears do you want to run, Aoyama-san?" he asked her in a calm, even soothing tone. "Will death be far enough or even in the afterlife are you just going to keep running?"
Rage surged into her chest at his words. How could he understand her so deeply? For that matter how did he dare to understand her so deeply? What right did he have to point out her weaknesses just by existing? From the very first day it looked like he could gaze without difficulty upon her soul and look at all the things she had hidden and hidden from equally.
She had no defense against him, neither physically nor mentally, so she did the only thing she always did when cornered: she attacked.
Again and again she struck at him, her blows connecting each and every time without effort. She had hit him at least ten times when her rage cooled down a little and she realized the oddity of it all. She had some training in barehanded combat but they were nowhere close to her skills with a blade. There was no way she could hit so many times an opponent that outclassed her in both power and speed, even if she had taken him by surprise.
It wasn't possible… unless he was letting her hit him on purpose. Then and only then she turned back and saw that her in her fury she had kept attacking him until she had pushed him (and herself) several meters away from the cliff.
She didn't understand!
She didn't understand!
She didn't understand!
This man defied all she had come to believe about herself and the world in general. Only now that her confusion was no longer centered upon herself she came to realize that nothing of what she had expected from him had happened.
Before the duel she had thought that it was her strength and skills that restrained him from showing his most perverse behaviors, but when after her defeat she had been too focused on her own misery to realize that in the days after nothing of what she imagined he would do with her out of the way had happened.
He did not force himself upon her nor the others. He didn't indulge in perverse behavior knowing that no one would punish him. He did not use his authority and right as a manager to impose his will upon her and the other tenants. In fact, save for a minor adjustment in behavior in the dorm's public area nothing had changed since his arrival.
No, that wasn't true. As soon as he settled he did his best as a manager to improve their living conditions either by repairing what needed to be fixed around the building or by taking his fair share of the chores, lift a good portion of Shinobu's burdens. He had been stern with them, standing firm on his decisions but otherwise not challenging them unless they went out of their way to challenge him first.
Every time a conflict between them arose for a reason or another it was never initiated by him and every time he dealt with the problem with the minimum required strength, never again mentioning the issue afterward.
He did not gloat about his success.
He did not lord his authority over them.
He did not take advantage of his strength.
He did not fight back so that she would not fall to her death.
And yet he mercilessly goaded her into waging the thing she valued most and then crushed her without a effort.
It didn't make sense. He didn't make sense. All her efforts to understand this man before her were useless. What was he trying to… !
… N-no way!
"Motoko, take this with you," the raven haired beauty said offering the sheathed blade to her younger sibling.
"Onee-sama, are you sure? Shisui is your favorite sword."
The elder sister smiled warmly and gently placed the blade in her sister hands.
"Since the foundation, Shisui has been wielded by those who aspired to claim the title of heir of the Shinmei-ryu. It was forged and was passed down our family for the sole purpose of guiding those of our blood on the road of swordsmanship. I am sure that if it will ever come a time when you'll find yourself unable to advance on this path, its voice will show you the right direction. Of this I have no doubt."
Resonance of Steel, the diapason-like phenomenon that manifested when the intent of a sufficiently skilled wielder was attuned with the spirit that resides within a blade. It was the ultimate proof of the resolve of a swordsman, the undeniable truth of one's intention.
… But if her sister was correct, if Shisui sang only to show those of Aoyama's blood the correct path toward mastership, did it mean that all this time Emiya was…?
Could it that being separated from her sword was what she needed to advance as a kendoka? Could it be that living as a woman, the one thing she had refused to do, was what she lacked to reach her wish to surpass her sister?
Could it be that Emiya saw all that, understood all that and when she tried to force him out of his own property he turned the situation against her… for her own sake? Back then and even now it was all for her sake?
Impossible. It was just… impossible. It had to be. Because if there wasn't a mistake somewhere in this reasoning then it would mean that all of this time she had been mistaken about him. That she was wrong.
She never once entertained the thought that she could have been mistaken in her judgment about someone's character. In the wake of her defeat she had only pondered her weakness and her opponent's strength, but she never once considered that her decision to challenge him might have been the product of a misjudgment on her part.
The weight of such revelation was too much of her to bear and she fell on her knees, sitting unceremoniously on the rock hard ground. Before her Emiya too sat, cross-legged, just half a meter away from her. His face was bloodied and more than just a little swollen where she had hit him, yet his eyes bore no resentment toward her for the pain she had inflicted upon him. All she could see reflected into those golden orbs was warmth and concern…
… concern for her.
The last remnants of Motoko's convictions about life and people in general finally crumbled completely. She didn't know what was right and what was wrong anymore, how many things she had come to take as truth were actually lies. She didn't know anything anymore.
No… that wasn't right. There was one thing she had recently come to be certain about. One single truth that had shattered all the lies she had surrounded herself with: she could trust this man before her.
It was such a sudden and distant realization from her usual beliefs that she almost felt like laughing at her epiphany. Instead all she could do was cry again, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his chest in a show of trust she never thought possible in regard of any men.
"I'm sorry," she said between sobs and hiccups, "I'm sorry."
What she was apologizing for, she didn't know exactly. The times and ways she had wronged him in the past few weeks were too many for her to count and something as simple as an chocked out apology didn't seem enough to convey the magnitude of her regret but perhaps…
"It's okay."
… perhaps he didn't need to hear anything else to understand. Probably he didn't even need for her to apologize at all because he seemed to understand her better than she could.
For the longest time Motoko remained there, crying her eyes out. Yet, in spite of her inner turmoil the burden that had crushed her for so many years seemed to melt away with each tear. She was still confused and lost but somehow there was now something she could use to rebuild herself again and move past all pain and fear that plagued her life.
Who would have thought that such a thing could have been a man by the name of Emiya Shirou?
XXX
AN:
Writing this story is HARD! Enough said. Meshing together two universes so different like FSN and Love Hina trying to respect them both is a bitch!
I'm sorry for the long time between updates but it can't be helped. Even if I have to plot more or less figured putting it into word is the most difficult thing. I hope this chapter managed to balance humor and seriousness well enough without sounding strained.
I can only hope.
That's it. See ya