Summary: Yoh takes the spotlight in this second part of the three-shot story arc. So what exactly is taking him so long at the supermarket?

Written: 8/24 to 8/25/07. About 7 hours in all.

Rating: T for coarse language and violence.

Notes: This is part 2 of the current story arc. Part 1 is "Venus," Kiss #12. This one's from Yoh's point of view. I'm not really sure if I characterized him well here, but I'll revise this later if I get complaints about it. Right now it's 4 am and I'm off to bed, hehe…Hope you like it!

Mars

Kiss #13

I never understood why they make shopping baskets as uncomfortable to hold as possible. Now, while I stare blankly at the hundreds of cartons of eggs laid out in the freezer like some kind of chicken coffin, the bare metal wires for handles dig into the pad of my palm. It's a bit uncomfortable.

In my other hand is Anna's shopping list, and even if the ink on it weren't running, her famously illegible handwriting is smeared all over the scrap of paper, and I squint at the next unchecked item, which for all I can tell says "Organ Jesus."

I sigh into the coffin-like freezer before me, and my breath becomes visible, swirling around before coming to rest atop a dozen grade-A eggs. I look around, make sure no one else is present, and surreptitiously open the carton, making sure none of the eggs are cracked. Previous experience has taught me that few things can set Anna off like bringing home a carton of dripping, shattered eggs.

Now that I mention it, lots of things are apt to set Anna off. I really do try to please her, but for some reason or other it either goes unnoticed or fails to work. I know I'm a few noodles short of a bowl of ramen, but my heart is in the right place.

And so it goes…

I turn my attention to the shopping list again, squinting at "Organ Jesus" and trying to will it to become some food product available at an everyday supermarket. I frown, I rotate the paper, I play with the letters in my head, until it hits me.

"Orange juice?"

With a flourish of satisfaction, I unclip the pen from my pocket and scribble a check mark next to it. I pass a display of canned soup and cut through the cereal aisle to place a carton of Sixty Second Maid™ orange juice into my shopping basket.

In many ways the carton of juice reminds me of Anna; it's at its best when chilled, it's acerbic, but in a way that wakes you up.

I think of her all the time, in case you haven't noticed by now. And it's not just because I sting (sometimes literally) from the way she's harsh with me sometimes. Corny as it sounds, I can't help but think of her as my inspiration. I can say that I've learned more from a month of her tutoring than I ever will from my formal education. I surprise myself now, remembering vocabulary words that no other teacher could ever have made stick. Fear may not be a widely accepted pedagogical tool ("pedagogical," now there's a classic thousand-yen word, thanks, Anna), but hey, I can't argue with the results. And let's be perfectly honest; if it weren't for the fear she strikes into my heart, I never would've gotten my ass in gear in preparation for the Shaman Fight.

No amount of preparation, however, mental or physical, could improve my chances of getting through Anna's shopping list any faster. I focus my attention on the next item on the list, which, as far as I can determine, is "Corn," followed by what really looks like a swear word.

"Next time, Anna tells me what to get, and I write it down," I promise to myself. "Now, Corn…Freaks? Flocks? Flecks? Oh! Flakes!"

The shopping always unfolds this way, something of a game. The list is cryptic, and I search within myself to find the solution. Luckily, I'm accustomed to such things. God knows that figuring out Anna's mood is a puzzle far tougher than any crossword I'll ever see. She just stares at you with those slits for eyes, and you feel your insides turning to blocks of ice, organ by organ, and you don't know whether next she'll hug you or throttle you. Usually the latter, in my personal experience.

It's partly because Anna is always so emotionally numb and distant that I feel so nervous around her. I'm much more comfortable dealing with people who visibly become angry, than with people who think a freezing glare is the facial equivalent of a little black dress. I'm pretty good at defusing anger; it's one of the perks of being naturally laid back, as it tends to be contagious. But Anna's anger is like a stealth bomber. You see its shadow and you don't quite know what to do. Sometimes it's just passing overhead, other times it drops its payload on your head, but in either case it continues to fly on, unchanged, unwavering.

And speaking of little black dresses, I think her fashion echoes her personality. Always the conservative outfit, so passé, so predictable, yet that is its greatest strength. Emotional constipation matched in clothing that also betrays absolutely no feelings whatsoever. Happy occasion? Black dress. Personal tragedy? Black dress. Hell, when the day comes for us to exchange vows, she'll probably put on that black dress, glare at the best man, glare at the priest, glare at me and utter a bone-chilling "I do."

Now that is a topic I don't think about often. It's hard for me to believe I'm engaged. I'm probably the least likely candidate for marriage, period, much less at my age. Sure, I know how to cook and do laundry, all that good stuff. But frankly, marriage doesn't seem like it would suit me well. I don't have a fear of commitment per se, but I think being cuffed to the old ball and chain would severely curtail my leisure time, and for a slacker like me, leisure time is oxygen. Anna would suffocate me figuratively (she already does literally, after all). And then there is the pressing issue of love.

Does she or doesn't she?

And equally important—do I or don't I?

I mean, I do, I think, but at the same time it's mostly guesswork on my part. As I've mentioned, she's not exactly the most emotionally expressive girl I know, and when she does show emotion, it's usually anger, more specifically anger that's directed at me. And every so often I can see something in her—the eyes that soften almost imperceptibly, the arms that uncross from her chest, the glare that's replaced by sort of an uncertain grimace. Is it pity, is it me reading too much into meaningless nervous tics, or is it something approaching love?

Nonetheless, her cold reception, if anything, spurs me on. Sort of like the girl who plays hard to get. I have to say it's pretty discouraging to see most of my efforts go unnoticed, though.

I've got an ace up my sleeve, actually. For the entire last week I've been using my spare time to put together a little surprise for her. I put it in a nice envelope and slid it under her pillow this morning. Maybe she'll notice it…

I, meanwhile, notice that I've advanced to the cashier in the check-out line. I recognize her; my classmate Megumi seems to always be on duty when it comes time to go grocery shopping. She gives a little nod as she sees me, beginning to scan bar codes. "How's it going, Yoh?"

I wonder if I look distraught from mulling over Anna for so long. "Huh? Oh, hey, Megumi, I'm all right, I guess…How are you?"

The price scanner gives a malfunctioning squeal; she frowns and punches in a code manually with the ten-key pad. "Fine, thanks. You know, if I may be so bold…you don't look all right."

"Really?" I look at my reflection and start playing with my hair, jostling my headphones a bit. I play with my shirt collar. I shift my necklace a little to the right. "Is that better?"

Megumi rolls her eyes. "Yoh, you're so cute. I see why Anna is so possessive of you..."

"Er…" I feel myself blushing slightly, but she notices something else…

"Oh, is that what's on your mind? Troubles with Anna?"

I sigh deeply, feeling my lungs deflate like punctured balloons. "Something like that, yeah."

She gives a nervous glance around. I'm the last customer in line, and her supervisor isn't nearby, so she slows her pace dramatically, deliberately scanning each item, weighing the produce as though it's solid gold and the slightest mistake will bankrupt the store. "Well…talk to me, Yoh. You're always so quiet in school. Or napping."

I give a little smirk at her gentle jab. "Anna…well, she…"

"Come on, I don't have all day. I'm almost halfway done ringing you up."

"I…" Out of the corner of my eye I see a lady trying to make up her mind which checkout to go to. It forces my hand…or at least my voice. "All right. Does Anna ever talk about…guys when she's around you?"

I thought I asked the question smoothly, but Megumi broke into a coy grin, and with her free hand she pointed at me like a kid might at a feces-throwing monkey. "You're worried that your fiancée doesn't love you!"

"So what if I am?" Oops. The words just kind of escaped me before I could think. Megumi gave a giggle, complete with head bobs.

"Well, I'd say half of Class B knows that Anna cares for you."

My eyes widen involuntarily. "Why's that?"

"They've all faced the wrath of Anna's famous left. Yuko made a crack once in front of Anna. She said, if stupidity was cabbage, you'd be a family-size okonomiyaki. And Anna put down her pen, stood up and"—Megumi slams her palm against the countertop, narrowly missing my carton of eggs—"and then Kentaro asked her, why are you hitched to some lazy loser like Yoh, and Kentaro's a big guy, you know him, but Anna just glared at him, reared back and smacked him full on the face. He flew five feet, I swear!"

"Wow…so…" This new information is certainly food for thought. I think I may have some time to ponder its implications, but Megumi's already brimming with new insights. She's a very talkative girl, really.

"I'd watch your back if I were you. I mean, I hear the guys talking about it, like, every day." She hasn't scanned anything in a full minute, and she suddenly remembers she's on company time. The carton of orange juice appears in her hand as she continues, "I agree with them. I'm jealous of Anna's looks, and a lot of guys go for the hard-to-get attitude, you know?"

See? Megumi thinks so too. I'm not stupid! Not this time, anyway. Shut up.

"But a lot of them feel that you're…well, you don't appreciate Anna in the ways they can."

Before I can realize that my hands have balled up at my sides, and before I feel the rush of anger choking my brain, I blurt out, "That's ridiculous! Anna's difficult sometimes, but I love her!"

There is absolute silence. I can hear the pulse ringing in my ears, and I feel the distinct heat of blushing in my cheeks. Megumi looks a bit ruffled, but she recovers, nods, and begins to package my groceries. "I know you do, Yoh. Just watch yourself out there. Not everyone has the respect they should have for you. Whenever a girl's involved, nothing is too dangerous."

I simply nod as I slide a few bills across the counter. The change jingles in my pockets as I clasp my fingers around the plastic bag handles. "See you at school, Megumi."

"Stay safe, Yoh."

Now I can't help but be a little paranoid. My eyes shift between the long shadows in the supermarket parking lot. It's nice to know that Anna stands up for me at school in ways I didn't even know about until now, but Megumi raises a distressing point. A skinny kid like me is pretty physically weak, after all, and without Harusame in my hand or Amidamaru behind me, I'm apt to get my skull bashed in by a jealous classmate off campus…

I should reveal, at this time, that I left my sword in my room back at the En Inn. And my spirit ally is probably off swapping war stories with Tokagero somewhere. In any case, neither of them is accompanying me at this moment.

It's interesting to note, also, that at this very second, I'm hurtling through the air like a sack of potatoes, and a scrawny one at that. My flight seems to unfold in slow motion, the way it does in any action movie worth its salt. I feel, from fingertips that seem disconnected from the rest of my body, the packages slipping from my grasp; I feel my airborne body somersault, and I careen forward with the world around me strangely blurred and upside-down. Sometime around then I flail my arms wildly, as though trying to grasp the world by its handles and turn it right-side-up. Then, as the ground falls up to me, a final thought enters my mind, replacing This is going to hurt like a bitch:

What the hell just happened?!

Time reverts to its usual pace, and I roll over with milliseconds to spare. Having been flung like a ragdoll numerous times in my career as Shaman King contender, I know how to cushion my falls. I tumble into a concrete wall, sprawled on my back, but spring back to my feet by kicking off the gravelly floor.

The head of an elongated shadow mixes with the viscous, clear, yellow-polka-dotted puddle a few feet in front of me. The eggs! Anna's going to kill me. Bits of sugar-coated confetti drift past me as the wind blows through my badly battered box of corn flakes. A crisp crunch not unlike the snapping of a fresh twig echoes down the alley as a black boot stomps my bunch of celery.

I look up from the boot and swallow hard. And when I say look up, I mean it. The waistline of his worn jeans is about level with the bottom of my ribcage. To see the collar of his extra-large T-shirt (which, I might add, doesn't look at all baggy), I already have to crane my neck upwards slightly. His face looks familiar, but then again, all obscenely muscular people tend to look the same to me. I deduce that this behemoth is solely responsible for the impromptu acrobatic act I just performed, but any resentment I feel over this is silenced by his bulk. What I don't know is why he felt so inclined to send me catapulting through the air.

I figure, as far as I can tell at least, that I'm not bleeding or crippled yet, so I try to play it cool. It's one of my strengths, anyway. "Nice distance, but you're gonna lose some points. I didn't stick the landing."

From about a foot above me, he sneers. And I mean he sneers. When I try, it looks like I've got something stuck between my teeth; on the other hand, he looks truly menacing. Or even more so, I should say. "I don't know what's funnier. You, or the comically large putty knife they're going to need to scrape you off the sidewalk once we're through."

A smart joke. Just my luck to run into the one thug this side of Tokyo with brains and brawn. I'm outclassed both physically and mentally. It doesn't look like the play-it-cool approach is going to make much headway, but I take one last stab at it. "Actually, it happened to my friend. The putty knife was exactly seventy-eight and three-quarter inches long. Now you know."

I thought it was pretty witty, but unless my assailant expresses his laughter by grabbing people's shoulders with a death grip, he didn't find it very humorous at all. "I'll cut the crap, Asakura. Anna's hot. And for some reason she likes you instead of tough guys like me. But I'm thinking, maybe your fiancée will realize what a helpless loser you are if, say, you don't make it home tonight. Or, for that matter, ever."

Let this be a lesson to you: It's always about a girl. Believe it.

I'm starting to realize, with the viselike hand grinding my shoulder to bone meal, that it might not be the best time for bravado. It's also dawning on me that, although my Shaman training has left me in pretty decent physical shape, my little muscles are only going to result in needing slightly larger than a 78¾-inch putty knife to remove me from the pavement…

So I do what anybody would in my position. I play for time. Delaying the inevitable always works in the movies, so why not? "Don't waste your time beating me up. It's not going to work. Anna's just going to visit me in the hospital, nothing will change. I'll never hear the end of it, but she loves me. That's just the way it is."

Speaking those words makes me feel strange. I just made them up on the spot, hoping to buy my body another minute of wonderful, non-pulverized existence, but for some reason they just felt right coming off my tongue, as though they were more true than I had ever realized before…

"You don't think I thought of that already?" His voice snaps me out of my thoughts. It's a really distinctive one, educated but also coarse and intimidating, and I know I've heard it before.

I am sorely tempted to answer "No," but my desire to avoid becoming a Yohburger restrains me.

"Ah yes, Anna is as good as mine. I'm sure you're not that upset. Certainly you understand why this was necessary…"

At those words I feel the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. By "this," I assume he's referring to a punch, or kick, or some combination of the two, but instead, he releases the death grip on my shoulder and reaches into his back pocket. Instinctively, I see this as a lowering of his guard. I feel adrenaline course through my veins, and I feel almost like some kind of hero from a popular anime! "Anna," I think, "remember when you slapped Kentaro for me? It's my turn."

My fist catches him just beneath his jaw. The satisfying crack of teeth gnashing together fills the air, and tiny droplets of spittle and blood spew from the corners of his taut mouth. His eyes close and blur as his head recoils. For a brief moment I think maybe the shadowboxing Anna makes me do twice a week has paid dividends…

Nothing. Not even a soft grunt of discomfort, and the giant is reoriented. I hear his mocking laughter, and then I discover that the phrase "knock the wind out of" isn't just a figure of speech.

There are no other words that can better describe this phenomenon. Blow up a paper bag and imagine it's one of your lungs. Then kick it as hard as you can. And multiply that by, oh, about 16.3. In that one instant when his steel-toed boot meets my ribs, I feel instantly winded, and I choke and sputter. Not to mention my back slamming the wall afterwards. I could've done without that part too.

I'm not going to make it sound heroic. I'm crumpled on the gritty alley floor. It seems that when I decided to pay back Anna's debt, I forgot one minor detail. Guys aren't supposed to hit girls. I, on the other hand, am protected by no such unwritten rule.

I push myself off the ground. Nothing really hurts yet, although I know it's only a matter of time before the rush wears off and my ribs start feeling like ground beef. I still have no idea how I'm going to take this golem of a classmate down, so I anchor my left leg and throttle my right at him. I may as well have kicked the wall instead; it probably would have hurt my foot less.

There is sudden warmth dripping down my upper lip and onto my chin, and I know even before my curious finger comes away coated with blood that I've been punched in the face. It's scary how impervious the human body becomes to pain when you're in mortal danger. My vision, though, has taken a turn for the worse. My adversary splits in two, and both images are advancing on me now, two fists rearing back, and I dive in the nick of time. I look up, and the second image changes.

It is Anna.

She is facing me, watching my bloodied and battered figure. She sees me take a knee to the gut, emotionless, as my body hurls, doubled over, backwards. I take another cheap shot to the face, and her slightly pouty lips seem to insult me even as they remain shut. Pain begins to erupt through my flesh and dig into my bones, and I know I can only take so much more of this. A snap kick to the chest decks me, and as I collapse onto my back I see Anna's eyes narrow, glaring at me mercilessly…

I stumble to my feet, blind with one final jolt of adrenaline. I'm vaguely aware that I'm screaming something and running forward, but my field of vision is washed out. "FOR ANNA!!!" is my battle cry, and I feel my fists impacting flesh, digging in, with strength that certainly wasn't mine. My legs join in without me even thinking to, and soon I cannot think at all, my mind takes on a life of its own, and Anna draws closer, wearing a beautiful smile. She whispers, "See? We're so much stronger together," and corny music starts playing in the background, and she makes some kind of comment about my heroism, followed by a passionate kiss that floods my lips with warmth and takes away all the bruises and lacerations and bleeding, then cut to credits…

I really am a hopeless romantic sometimes. But slowly the adrenaline rush subsides and I realize there are no end credits, there is no fanfare, and there certainly is no Anna. There's just a bunch of ruined groceries and a big guy facedown in a puddle of raw egg whites. The warmth on my lips isn't from the kiss I wish had been real. It's just blood, still dripping from my busted nose.

"Just another day in the life. Now for the really painful part, getting chewed out by Anna."

On my way out of the alley, I spot the object that he had pulled out of his pocket just before I got pummeled. I turn it over in my hands and open it. It's his wallet.

"What was it? 'I'm sure you see why this was necessary' or something like that? It's just a wallet…" I mutter to myself, my voice sounding oddly stuffy from my bloody nose. I don't understand; there's nothing out of the ordinary in it except for an envelope that looks oddly familiar…

To be concluded in Kiss #14, "Eclipse"