El ingenioso hidalgo Highlander
He hated him, he loathed him, the older man's refusal to answer questions, his absolute indifference. 17-years-old and full of the fierce need to prove himself, Oogami Ryo had all but strong-armed the older man into taking him on as his apprentice, and what did he have to show for it? Blisters on his feet, an ache in his arms from carrying the massive weight of the older man's scythe.
Highlander, the other called himself, a foreigner in black velvet and purple silk. It was easy to see how his enemies might write him off as ostentatious, flamboyant even, but Oogami knew better, he sensed in the older a man a strength, a passion that none of the other ronin he had encountered even came close to exhibiting—but saints alive, he hated him, and yet at the same time, there was the begrudging respect, admiration, and affection.
Of course, he'd never let him know, Oogami thought, trudging along behind him, hefting the other man's scythe over his shoulders, glowering at his back, the fall of that purple cloak, the velvet of his suit.
Idiot, he thought. Stupidly talented, stupidly strong, stupidly handsome idiot.
