A/N
I probably have mentioned it before, but I am just so darn lucky with this fic. It's like its own coincidence vortex that draws in just the people I need. So, credit for this chapter is mainly on beta reader/co-writer Fox. Because I'm a cowardly piece of work who doesn't like the idea of fighting while Fox has years of experience with longswords. So buckle up: this is as authentic as Knight training can get.
/ Dimwit
I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.
Rome was best in the morning. When the city still yawned and stretched the sleep out of its streets, when the asphalt swathed itself in night's cool blanket and hadn't yet been bothered by the baking rays of the sun. The air was better, too. When he showered yesterday his snot had been a greyish red – dust. Dust and that particular oily air pollution that marks a big city.
Shiro picked the straightest route to his destination: Via Venti Settembre towards the Quirinale, and from there a meandering trail to the Vatican itself. In contrast to what the map suggested the street was a small one, and flanked with – well, nothing, really. A long, grey corridor of nothing.
"Here I'd hoped to browse for goat postcards." Shiro rubbed a whisper of sleep out of his eye and took another bite out of the loaf of bread he carried. He had opened the cupboard today again, as if tea other than chamomile would have grown out of the shelf overnight. "I should ask them to send tea when I write home."
But something had happened overnight. Despite the nightmares, Shiro had woken up light. Fresh. Excited. He had worn a smile out of bed as his toes met with the peculiar texture of the carpeting, had glanced out the window at the ugly insurance company building and felt this day was one of boundless promises. Everything seemed so… easy.
Blank slate. Fresh start. Great start.
He smiled again, a grin that crept up on his face unnoticed and stayed like it was the most natural thing in the world. Yesterday had been great, and he was determined to make today a worthy successor.
The sun was beginning to gain strength and the heavy doors of the church that wasn't a church creaked when Shiro pushed them open. It still fooled you for a second – the grandeur, the stone arches, the echoing noise and even - at this hour - the ethereal air of sunlight falling through the rose window, dotting the definitely-not-church linoleum floor with hundreds of vibrant specs. If not for the blue-and-red blot on there, coloured shadow of Holy Mary, it could almost have looked like a disco or night club. Shiro mentally slapped himself. Playing the part of seminarian was going to take some serious reprogramming or he would blurt out something very un-Catholic one of these days. The irony wasn't lost on him: a man pretending to be holy in a training hall masquerading as a church.
"Morning!" Flavio raised a hand from where he and – presumably – Gianpiero were testing out the fencing helmets by rapping each other on the head with what seemed to be wooden swords. Not quite bokken but something like it. "Nice sword!"
"More effective than yours at least!" Shiro wiggled the rough third he had left of the bread loaf. "Goes straight through the gut." He grinned. "While you two just stand there giving each other morning wood."
That feeling, tossing jokes back and forth and laughing together: Shiro let it saturate him inside and out.
"How do you like my morning wood in the face, G?" Flavio guffawed and swung his sword at the opponent's mask, but Gianpiero skipped back just before it hit.
"Can't tell, it's too short to reach", he said as he removed the equipment from his head. "Damn it gets warm in those. Toss me that water bottle, Alexander. Not bringing any water?" Gianpiero asked as he caught the bottle Shiro had picked up from the bench.
"No. I looked for stores along the way but didn't see any."
"You know what you need, my man? A city tour." Flavio tapped him on the shoulder with his morning wood. "Just let me know when you're free, I'll show you the stores, how to dodge the tourist throngs, the best bars, the best restaurants – or should I say the cheapest ones?" He flicked a look and a smirk at the bread loaf. "You have enough to eat, or?"
"Yeah, but my landlady seems to think I don't."
Shiro related the whole story to them. If he hadn't snuck out as early as he did he would have been force-fed a three course breakfast that would have come up again during training: if it was one thing his landlady knew about young men, it was that they needed plenty of food and were congenitally incapable of cooking.
Having somebody cook for him was actually pretty great, in itself – but did she have to treat him like he was five years old? Shiro had been verbally filleted when he came home yesterday (for shedding sand in her hallway: he hadn't even meant to, that red dust just clung to everything he wore) and sent off to the shower with vigorously upset hand motions (for stinking like a donkey's balls, which he couldn't argue with, but he would have showered anyway), and it wouldn't have surprised him if she'd knocked on the bathroom door and asked if he needed help wiping his bum. When he came out of the shower he had discovered that it was all a clever ruse to hijack his groceries and that Queen Goblin was making supper for him.
Modugno. Her name was Modugno, he had to remember at least that.
"What, so in Japan you cook for yourself?"
"I lived alone back home, it was either that or starve. If you live with family obviously your mum or wife would cook."
"Man, that's harsh", Flavio grimaced. "You can drink from my bottle today, then we'll show you the nearest grocery store. Speaking of harsh – G, three new reported this morning."
"And they're from the same date?"
"Ye-up. No connection, the usual. You were right. Something really weird is going on." Flavio waved a couple of circles with his sword, warming up his wrist. "You've been briefed about it, or no?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about", Shiro admitted.
"People going missing in Rome. As of today there's 84 cases reported and more keep coming in. It wouldn't be much to be excited about but here's the good part: they all vanished simultaneously, four days ago."
"June 17th?" That's when his plane landed in Rome... "And there's no pattern?"
"Nope. The police sends us copies of their reports, interviews with families and such – the missing are young and old, male and female, mechanics and teachers and shopkeepers and housewives–"
"–live in different parts of town", Gianpiero filled in while keeping a steady eye on the water bottle he was balancing on the tip of his outstretched sword.
"Yeah, and that." Flavio nodded in his friend's direction. "Nobody has taken responsibility for it so far, neither the Red Brigades nor Front Line nor the Magliana gang."
"The what?"
"He's the one who knows nothing." Gianpiero had abandoned his bottle to the floor and was trying to balance the sword upright on the tip of his forefinger.
"Then let me enlighten you, my friend. The Red Brigades are Communist filth that want to ruin Italy. Robberies, kidnappings, assassinations, drug trafficking – they do anything to 'free' Italy from corporate capitalism." The toxicity in Flavio's voice was impossible to miss, and the sharpness of his body language made it quite clear what he would do if he got his hands on members of the Red Brigades. "Front Line are more of the same. The Magliana is– Have you seen The Godfather? No? But you've heard of the mafia, at least? The Magliana gang is a crime syndicate. Not Rome's biggest but its most vicious. They're also good at making people 'disappear' – though why on earth they would target the wife of a garbage man in Trastevere..." Flavio threw his arms in the air with a face of pure puzzlement. "It would make more sense if there were demons involved but so far the Order's investigations have turned up nothing."
"You lost me at freeing Italy by robbing banks and selling drugs. There's zero logic in that."
"Oh but it's Communist logic – you can't get that confused with actual logic. In order to build the perfect Communist society you must first destroy the society that exists, because it's built around capitalism."
"You're going to establish a Communist state?" The burly figure of Larry Brooks had joined them. Up close Shiro had to wonder how he got in and out of those t-shirts, or if he had simply put one on when he was fourteen and never taken it off.
"But of course! Don't you see his beard?" Flavio rubbed at the centimetre long stubble on Gianpiero's chin and cheeks – viciously, as if he were polishing a wooden board. "Clearly a Marxist. And Alexander carries Mao's little red in his chest pocket wherever he goes."
"And together we are the Communist Castanet Comrades!" Gianpiero announced and began a bizarre song and dance number that involved snapping his fingers rhythmically above his head to imitate castanets.
"I don't know what's wrong with these people." Shiro laughed and laughed, and Flavio and Larry laughed, and Larry picked a pair of drumsticks out of his jeans pocket and began accompanying on a fencing helmet – and the dance hall church came to mind and shot a new burst of laughter through his chest. "I don't know what the hell we're doing but I love it."
"Boys, boys, save some energy for class!" Benedetto seemed a lot older when he wore gym clothes than when he walked about in full uniform. The wicker hat was unfit in Holy Mary's presence, and without it the bald crown of his head shone like a giant egg in the nest of short-cropped brown curls. The uniform had hidden his belly, too. Most of his bulk was muscle, no doubt about that, but age tended to land around the middle.
"I see Amadeo and Steven have arrived, too. Good morning, good morning~ Changing rooms are through those doors – the green ones. Did you happen to bring a black shirt, by any chance?"
"Good morning. Eh, no." Shiro doubted he even owned a black shirt. "Is that a problem?"
"Not at all, not at all – when out of uniform, we try to at least uphold the same colour scheme, that's all. Do try and find yourself some, though, or you'll keep being asked about it. We only wear the full gear during sparring; I will explain it all when we get started. Go change now," he urged them with hands fluttering in the direction of the doors. "Chop chop!"
Shiro felt oddly childlike while changing clothes. The wooden benches and clothing hooks in the changing room reminded him of gym hours in middle school. The muted chatter and ricocheting noises from the training hall, too.
"You're from China, then?" Larry asked conversationally.
"No, Japan." Seriously? China? "And you're... a drummer?"
"I thought you were gonna ask where I'm from!" he laughed. "Yeah, I played a bit back home in the States – Phoenix, Arizona, mostly. Grew up in a small farming community just outside town and used to hitch a ride in on my uncle's truck when he delivered produce. We had nothing out there but cattle, cacti, and citrus – and roses, fuck me, we had enough roses to feed all the herds in Arizona and still have enough to give you that rose garden Lynn Anderson never promised you", he chuckled. Somehow he had slipped out of his t-shirt, and with that a tattoo came into view on his left shoulder. A red devil holding the ace of diamonds. "Oh, yeah. The devil on my shoulder." He patted the arm Shiro's eyes had landed on. "And his business rival." Larry turned, showing his other shoulder: an angel clasping her hands in prayer over a cross. "Got her made in San Diego about half a year after I got my spirit wound in 1973. You might say I'm a late starter in this whole exorcist business, but then again the road through life is crooked more often than straight. I am where I'm meant to be, that's what matters: that I'm grateful for. She reminds me of that."
"Your Italian is amazing." Overall, Shiro was amazed that anyone could talk so much about so little in such a short time. He did little more than hum and nod while Larry went on to tell him, in practically accent-less Italian, how he had always had a talent for language – he had learnt Spanish from Hispanic kids when he was little, knew a word or two in an Apache dialect, and so on.
"Hey, He-who-knows-nothing! Heads up!"
The moment Shiro came out of the changing rooms, Flavio shouted at him. Reflex made him squat down on one knee and reach for a non-existent gun to counter the attack. Which was a quite useless reaction when it came to catching a gently tossed wooden sword. The clattering noise made everyone turn and stare at him.
"Somebody needs to work on catching." Flavio whistled as Shiro gathered himself, picking up the sword and returning to his feet.
"Somebody needs to work on aiming. Or are Italian Dragoons only good at hitting balls?"
Amused snickering erupted all around, evaporating the awkwardness of publically screwing up.
"Now that you mention it – hey G, have we tested those jockstraps yet?"
Jockstrap? Why was his Italian-Japanese pocket dictionary at home...
"Negative." Gianpiero seemed in no rush to get up from the bench and touch the things hanging in the open locker next to him. They looked like weird underwear with a reinforced cup to protect the front. Jockstraps. Right.
"Well it seems we have a volunteer. Toss me one, would you, so we can–"
"–quit messing around and finally get started!" Benedetto's rumbling voice interrupted. "Now that we're all here. Gather 'round, please. No sitting down." He shot a stern but kind look at Gianpiero and Larry, the latter jumping to his feet with astonishing speed for such a heavy creature. He assumed a stance so straight that Flavio felt the need to click his heels together and salute. That earned him a reprimanding look as well, and he lowered his arm with a somewhat apologetic expression... Though you could still see the cheeky glimmer in his eyes when he and his best friend exchanged looks. A grin tugged Shiro's lips. Hell-raisers. You could see it in everything they did, every look, every little move – god, how he had missed this!
And somehow missed that they had been joined by a sixth person – assuming there was actually a person underneath all that ominous black combat gear Benedetto had next to him. Could be a training dummy of some sort.
"Now, I know I just told you we only wear the armour for sparring, but seeing as how some of you seemed a bit confused about what exactly the gear is for, I figured we could start by showing you how it is supposed to be used."
There was no real berating in the wide grin he shot at his two troublemakers, only intimate knowledge of what it was like to be a young Buckethead Knight with energy to spare. He then began naming the different parts of the outfit to the group and explaining their construction and function. Yes, there was a guy inside the combat gear: the armour responded to the light impact of Benedetto's different slaps, punches, and cutting motions at the fencing mask, cap, throat guard, padded jacket, armoured gloves, shoulder patches, upper arm, forearm, thigh, knee and shin protectors... It wasn't exactly what Shiro had imagined a knight of the Vatican to look like, especially after seeing the Swiss Guard. More like something special forces of the police might wear – maybe everyone who had warned him about Italians' romantic attachment to the classics had been completely wrong.
Meanwhile, Benedetto's run-down of equipment continued, through an endless number of names strung together on a list of the pros and cons and possible weak points of each item; the occasional anecdote of sparring matches slipped in, and complaints by previous students... All in rapid Italian. Shiro's brain was slowly crushed under the mountain of information that– No: correction. It was a medium sized pile of actual information drizzled on a Mt Fuji of pointless blah blah, like chocolate sprinkles on ice cream, and his brain was liquefying from the effort of sifting out the useful parts.
Why hadn't people warned him about Italians doing this?
"Aaaand that's about quite enough on the aspect of protection, I suppose. My apologies if it's been a bit much to take in so early in the morning, but I have no idea how well versed any of you are in– well, any part of sword fighting, really." The teacher shrugged. "I have no clue how you'll be handling the materials provided to you, and with the initial impression some of you gave–", another glance towards Gianpiero and Flavio, who seemed determined to study the ceiling, "–I figured I should put safety first, and all that... So that now we can move on to more interesting objects: unless anyone objects?" He was so pleased with himself and his choir of pained groans: a parody of a demon tormenting lost souls. The shoulders and knees sagged on the demonstration guy as if somebody had dropped a weight on him. "Well, with that out of the way... Speaking of which, you can remove your gear now, Bambina." The armoured figure reached up to undo the velcro straps at the back of the mask. "Please take your practice swords in both hands, with your right hand closest to the blade–", Benedetto continued without missing a beat, but he had lost his audience completely.
The armour clasped the sides of the mask and carefully shook his head out of–
Her head.
It was a little like that time he had discovered that Sen and Midori were a couple. That initial feeling of "oh", when you realise how thick you've been, followed by a thought vacuum where all the times this ignorance has made you look stupid parade before your eyes. The awkward silence told him the others were experiencing the same thing. Not that she cared. The tall, blonde girl undid the many clasps and straps of the armour, shook off the padded jacket underneath, and checked that her hair was still pinned in place – bangs to the side and a long braid wrapped around her head. To her, the Knight students were nothing but slightly more dense air.
Benedetto looked suitably smug about their baffled expressions. Of course. He even held his hands still for a few miraculous moments to wallow in it. Then he proudly gestured at the new face in the group.
"May I introduce to you: my capable assistant and second – better – right hand, Fulmine Barbara Battista. Who also happens to be my daughter."
"...And one of the very few people whose name he actually remembers." She shot her father a loving, cheeky smirk. "Most of the time."
Benedetto attempted some sputtering noises in his defence while the girl donned a more polite smile and walked over to them, right hand stretched out as she approached Shiro.
"Fulmine."
She was taller than him. Goddammit.
"Sh– Alexander Fujimoto."
She seemed about their age – maybe a bit older. So hard to tell with European women. Her eyes were brown, the exact shame shade as her father's... But they looked at him with more curiosity than his had.
"Fucci...moto?" She cocked her head like a bird pondering whether it wants to pick up that grain or not. "You're from Japan?"
"Hai. Eh– Yes." He would not start stumbling over his tongue just because – specifically because – his instructor happened to be a babe.
"I see."
...whatever that meant? Spinal reflex suspicions jumped him as Fulmine let go of his hand without another word. Did she know? Had troublesome rumours followed him from Japan? Next in line was Flavio, who seemed somewhat confused about all this. There was a delay before he moved his arm to take her outstretched hand, and between Fulmine saying her name and he saying his. When she shook Gianpiero's hand there was no confusion at all: he flashed her a smile that said everything about his intentions. Larry looked sceptical more than anything else. When Fulmine returned to her father's side, his eyes followed her walk with a concerned look on his face.
Benedetto seemed to have noticed it too, because an understanding expression formed on his face as he continued the introduction: "As some of you, if not all of you, have noticed by now, I am not completely able to wield a sword as I once did." He held up his hands. "To account for missing digits and even out the odds I figured I needed to add some assistance to this division." He giggled.
This was... This was... so deliberate. And so terrible. God, just... why... Shiro couldn't keep himself from laughing. It wasn't even funny, it was just so bad he had to do something not to implode. The old man himself had snickered more and more while he was still talking, so it wasn't like he was laughing at him: they were simply–
Shiro glanced at Fulmine, and his mirth evaporated. She wore the face of one who wants to scream but doesn't. Won't. Can't...?
The look was gone in an instant when Benedetto slung an arm around his daughter's shoulders. He took a step forward with one foot, as if about to show her the world, fluttering his other arm to summon his next words: "Mi angelo has been training ever since she was able to lift a sword, under my guidance and those of a few close friends of mine~ She was keen on continuing those studies, and since I am unfit to demonstrate certain techniques I reckoned she would be the perfect asset for our training. I'm sure you'll all find her a very valuable and competent mentor."
Much as he tried not to, Shiro eyed their assistant instructor up and down. Aside her height she didn't seem like much of a warrior. Hands clasped behind her back, gaze to the floor, an embarrassed swaying at her father's flattering words... His thoughts went to Midori, also a Knight, and the world of difference between this girl and the unabashed, uninhibited half-demon who had indeed been a very valuable and competent mentor to him.
"Right!" Benedetto's sudden clap was like a flip-switch on the mood. "Moving on. Next up: the things you will be needing that gear for. Everybody: swords." The group blinked awake and clutched their weapons the way their teacher had previously instructed. Well, almost everybody.
"Other way around, Amadeo."
Shiro looked at his hands. His left hand was at the cross beam at the handle, his right held the back end.
"Ah– I'm sorry, it just happens. ...And it's Alexander, actually."
"My bad, my bad. Are you left-handed?"
"Not really. Just in sword fighting I suppose. My previous teacher said it was better to use a grip that feeled natural to me."
"Hrmmm..." Shiro had the absurd impression that Benedetto was smelling his fingers, until he realised the teacher was merely plucking his moustache in thought. "Well, being able to use both hands as the dominant one on a sword is always an advantage – something I've regrettably failed to learn in time." He let go of the moustache and raised his left hand, the one only missing the pinkie, letting the remaining digits wiggle as he looked at them. "Still, I would advice you to fight right-handed to begin with. It's much easier to learn the proper techniques and practice that way, since you can use others as mirrors. You can mix grips later – I'll be assessing your current skill level first anyway, so please switch hands."
Shiro obediently changed his grip, cursing softly to himself in Japanese. In the meantime, Benedetto folded his hands behind his back and began a slow march along the line of youths.
"I will start all of you on the absolute basics, for two important reasons: first of all, as just stated, I have yet to get to know you. Your skill, your style, your individual strengths and weaknesses. It is simply the best way of making sure everybody has the same, necessary, elementary knowledge, without leaving any gaps. Second, because the Basics. Are. Everything." He made a sharp turn and gazed upon his students with a sternness nobody had expected. "And whoever thinks he is done practicing them: the door is over there."
Silence. Switch-flipping the mood seemed to be Benedetto's specialty – in both directions. Shiro half expected another horrible pun, but no. The man remained serious, looking far more like an army colonel than the jolly middle-aged man he met yesterday. When nobody seemed eager to question him or take their leave, the hard look left his eyes and he continued:
"The basics are what you, in the end, will always fall back upon. The only things that will always apply, in any situation, against any adversary – human or demonic. Some things may overlap with what you have heard before, some may be entirely new to you. Throughout this course we will handle many different techniques and many different weapons, including enchanted arms and bare hands, but you will all start out using the same weapon: a longsword, also called a European two-hander. This might already be new enough for some of you." His eyes darted towards Shiro's. "The reason we will be using this particular sword and not a one-handed blade – even though that is what most exorcists favour in the field – is to acquire a good base. You need to take as many factors as you can out of the equation: the more factors, the more chance you are screwing up somewhere... And the more difficult it is to trace back where exactly you went wrong. With both your hands in the same place it is much easier to focus on your overall posture and alignment, and much easier to correct it."
As he reached the end of the line, he extended his arms forwards and Fulmine stepped up, handing over one of two metal blades.
"These blunt weapons are designed purely for practice and are called feder swords. Their weight, balance, and construction is very close to a real one. The only difference apart from the blunt edge is that they have a thicker point at the end, to prevent breakage and injury when stabbing, and that they are made of a more flexible kind of steel." He jiggled the sword horizontally to show the wobbling tip, before turning it down and holding it out with his left hand, like a cross. "A quick run-down to make sure you all get what I'm talking about when I'm referring to a certain part of the weapon." His right index finger pointed at the different components as he ran his hand along the sword. "Pommel, grip, crossguard, blade. Roughly the first half of the blade is called the strong. This is used for defence. The other half, leading up to the tip, is the weak. This is used for attacks, and the sharpest part of any forged piece of arms." He moved the sword across his chest and placed the knob, or pommel, against his shoulder, with the tip resting on the floor. "A weapon should suit the person using it. No two swords are exactly alike. For a longsword the ideal length is somewhere between the top of your shoulder and your arm pit. Personally, I prefer the latter. The grip should be three or four hand-widths long, and one extra for the pommel. I usually go with three, but my daughter likes to have four." He shot a quick smile over at her, which was silently returned. Benedetto moved the blade horizontally again, rotating it a bit with his wrist, causing the coloured light from the window to leap into their eyes. "The edges are called the sharp, a very obvious name, the flat piece in between is called... well, the flat", he grinned sheepishly. Incapacity to cook might not be inherent in young men but damn if poor humour wasn't inherent in Knights. "Again, the sharp is used for attack, the flat for defence – defend with the sharp against an incoming strike and you'll risk getting the weapons stuck in each other. Do it often and your sword will turn into a saw – very inconvenient to fight with. This is one of the main reasons we use wooden swords for the better part of the lessons, at least at the start." He sent a smile at Flavio and Gianpiero that was equal parts knowing and reprimanding. "We could charge enthusiastic young Knight aspirants with costs for battered materials, but that would make them a lot less enthusiastic – which is sometimes the only redeeming quality they have. "
Gianpiero quickly hid his wooden sword behind his back and Flavio whistled so over-the-top innocently no one could help but chuckle, but they both sneaked guilty looks at the fencing masks stacked in a crate in the corner.
"A good sword is balanced in such a way that it puts minimal strain on your wrist when holding it", Benedetto continued. He put out his right index and middle finger, like a pretend gun, and placed the flat of the blade on top of it, shuffling and shifting it with his left hand on the handle to find the right spot. "For a longsword, ideally, this is about a handbreadth from the crossguard." He let go of the weapon, which seesawed lightly on his outstretched fingers. "Too much weight at the tip and it won't be fast or accurate enough in most strikes; too much weight at the back and you'll find it hard to place precise stabs. One a side note, you should try to avoid touching a metal blade too much – the natural acids from your skin can cause corrosion. Once you get your big boy weapons, it's best to wipe them down with an oiled cloth after each training." With a flick of his wrist, he launched the weapon into the air, which made a slow somersault in front of him before he caught it by the grip with his right hand. It almost slipped – Shiro saw the quick, jumbling movements of the three digits to keep it under control – but overall it was a successful trick and Benedetto showed them a very wide, yellowed grin.
"Maybe when I retire I can still join the circus."
"If you feel like losing a few more fingers." With Fulmine's earlier reaction in mind, Shiro was glad he hadn't blurt his thought ou–
"As long as you promise it won't be as a clown." Her father was hopeless but she loved him anyway: that was the message written all over her face when she shot him a cheeky smile.
"Either way I'd make a killing", he countered, and something in between a snort and a groan escaped the girl's mouth. Triumphantly, Benedetto turned to his students. "But in here, I will merely be the ringmaster. So let's put on a show! But, before I forget: the other reason we don't use the full gear and metal swords right off the bat.
It is much better to learn fighting in a slow and careful manner, rather than start with forcefully bashing each other at full speed. Fighting 'naked', as it were – fighting without armour – teaches you observation, precision, how a body works... It's also easier for me to see whether or not you are ruining your knees or bending too much forward. But most importantly, it doesn't render the other person a faceless dummy. It teaches you to recognise state of mind." He arched his back forwards a bit and looked each one of them in eyes in turn. "You are fighting another living being and should be aware of that at all times. Is it injured? Is it angry? Sad, frustrated, scared? Body language tells you a lot about how a person, or even a monster, is doing. Eyes even more so. You can always tell when someone is hurt, as long as you pay attention." He lowered his voice and spoke softer, causing them all to lean in a bit, ears pricked up, breath shallow. "You are here to become knights of the True Cross. With that title comes a lot of responsibility, a responsibility I expect you to honour and uphold in this class as well. You are welcome to joke, laugh, have fun – life is bleak enough and humour can be a great remedy to any kind of pain. But as you carry a sword, so should you always carry yourself with mercy and compassion. To both others and yourself. I will teach you, to the best of my abilities, to fight – to protect. To serve justice. To serve God. To be the extension of His power, and His love, on Earth. To be human. And I trust you to take that task seriously."
A pregnant, heavy silence filled the room. Shiro couldn't look his teacher in the eye. Neither could any of his classmates. You can always tell as long as you pay attention. How much attention had Benedetto paid to him already?
His gaze slid sideways. Shiro wasn't the only one who had bent his neck under the weight the old man just had placed on their shoulders. They were all lost in thought, all contemplating the burden they had chosen to bear. Fulmine, too, seemed pensive. Eyes cast down, a slight squint, a concentrated frown resting on her brow...
A vague memory tickled his brain, the kind that seems like nothing more than the whisper of a dream. The expression seemed familiar. She seemed familiar. But before he could dig deeper, another one of Benedetto's sharp claps resounded in the hall.
"Alright, alright, you're making those clouds darker than they need to be, boys. Let's not ruin a beautiful day~" As if to let his own sunny disposition chase the heavy responsibilities away, he sent out a beaming smile. "...Now drop to the floor and give me twenty."
Shiro had never experienced a more bizarre warm-up.
Push-ups, sit-ups and squats – now that he was used to. But then their teacher had them roll, crawl, walk on their hands and feet, drag themselves over the floor on their elbows, and something he could only describe as playing leapfrog on your own. All of it while keeping their practice swords with them in some way or another. It was draining and absolutely ridiculous. Flavio's grimace spelt murder, while Gianpiero kept a straight face throughout the whole ordeal, be it a red and dripping one. Larry revealed a masochistic side that he happily shared with them through encouraging shouts of "come on, wimp tits!" and "let's do this, fuckers!" The latter earned him a swift reprimand from Benedetto not to use such language before the Holy Mother.
It didn't help that their teacher's assistant had left after the rolling part. She had taken a seat atop a balance beam placed under the windows, filing her nails while casting them the occasional glance.
Benedetto himself had a merry time of it.
"You'll have to make do with human adversaries instead of actual demons during training, so the least I could do is offer a more realistic set of movements to prepare you lot for the real deal."
He had a point. Shiro had spent more mission time creeping around corners and ploughing through vegetation than anything resembling a regular workout. Even with his enhanced strength, he could feel the fatigue building up in his muscles from movements they weren't accustomed to.
One quick water break later they were joined once more by Fulmine as they dragged their huffing and puffing bodies back to the floor, where their teacher proved he hadn't been kidding about starting them on the absolute basics.
The first thing, apparently, was learning how to stand. Then, how to walk. Perhaps it shouldn't have come as a surprise from someone who had made them crawl and play – sorry, no, practice with wooden swords –, but Shiro's had not expected his teacher to treat him even more like a toddler than his landlady did.
Nor had he expected that it would actually prove to be tricky.
They were asked to place their feet at the width of their shoulders, pointing the toes of their right foot in the direction of their teacher and the other one at a ninety degree angle. They then had to bend their knees, maintaining a straight torso, and keep their shoulders aligned with their hips while turning their heads in the direction of their front foot. Their weapons were to be held close to their bodies at pelvic height, with the tip following the line of their eyes, all while they kept most of their weight on one leg – they could shift it to the other if they got tired, but they had to keep low while doing so.
"This is very important. This is where you gain your balance and your strength, so that you can both parry strikes and deal them. No bouncing up and down like a bunch of whac-a-moles or I will treat you as such", their teacher threatened jokingly when they started walking, taking care to place the ball of their foot down first before moving the rest of their bodies.
Holding a sword by his side like this was kinda like holding a gun pointed at the ground while scouting a strange area. All in all Shiro had been taught to move in a similar manner back at the academy and thought he was doing fairly well. He wasn't, as usually was the case when he thought he was good at something that had to do with swords.
"You lead with your shoulder." Benedetto tapped him on said body part. "Don't do that."
"How do you mean?"
"Like I said, Shitters might need to unlearn a few things." He shook his head with a friendly twinkle in his eye. "You're holding a blade, my boy, not a gun. While it can be wise to hide your weapon and offer your opponent a seemingly easy target, there is no risk of this–", he tapped the wooden sword, "–suddenly going off in the wrong direction. Hiding it would be pretty tricky, too. You're already in close range when you fight, and then you will want this to be between your body and your enemy – good knight or good night." He positioned himself next to his student, pinching the tip of the weapon with the remaining fingers of his right hand while gently putting his left over Shiro's, and started pulling them both forwards, making him stretch out his arms with the tip of the weapon aimed at the throat of an invisible foe. "Pointy end goes into the other guy." He winked at his student. "Tip and toes move first, everything else follows. Link by link, like a chain being pulled. Or a locomotive departing with a whole convoy of cars behind it. I know it's a lot of goods to store, but try to keep on the right track, hm?" Another wink, and Benedetto walked off to see if the others were as much Dragoons as Shiro was.
They were.
Exercises were interrupted and Fulmine assumed position in front of them, facing towards the other students as her father talked them through the different posta: guarded stances from which to divert or place an attack. Ideally, you fluently moved from one to another, striking or stabbing in between. Fulmine demonstrated and they were supposed to mirror her. Meanwhile, Benedetto walked around observing them, nudging an elbow here and aligning a knee there. When moving one's weapon from one side to the other you frequently entered a position where your arms crossed each other, which was a weak posta: a position where your arms remained parallel was a strong one.
"Weak and strong do not mean quite the same in sword fighting as they do in everyday society", Benedetto explained. "A strong pose sounds good, yes? In reality it depends on the situation. Having to switch between the two is not an option in a fight: it's a necessity. Just like the strong of and weak of the blade itself, you need both."
Shiro made a genuine effort to remember all the names, some of which he recognised from when Benedetto had talked about the impact of certain strikes on the armour, but the incessant information sifting seemed to have worn out parts of his brain. It didn't make it better that without all the protective plating, their demonstration mannequin displayed some really nice curves... even in lame black jogging pants and shapeless t-shirt.
It wasn't too different from the way Toshio-sensei had been teaching... but he had always stuck to a solid routine, the san ju ichi. So by the time Benedetto started calling out a random pose at short intervals, Shiro was screwed. Fulmine's reactions were immediate and fluid, while he more than once confused the "dente di cinghiale" with the "porta di ferro".
Benedetto was a clear improvement from Toshio-sensei. Still, as much as he hated it, Shiro had to admit that the method of his other teacher in Japan had suited him much better. Training felt so... official over here. So guided. So structured. God, so much talking. He was an instinct kind of guy – a "thinking allergic" kind of guy, as Toshio once had put it. Just when his brain was about to turn into soup – to compliment his noodle arms – Larry managed to mess up a pose and swing his sword backwards with too much force, hitting his neighbour in the shins. Gianpiero yelped and dropped his weapon in favour of clasping his leg with both hands, which in turn made Flavio crack up and hit his sword on the floor. The collective concentration in the room went up in smoke, leading an amused Bébé to call for another short – and very welcome – pause.
They all went searching for their water bottles and a good spot to crash. Most took to the benches, which led Flavio to search for something more... befitting his position. He hoisted himself on top of some of the other training equipment, finally setting himself atop an old leather vault.
"That horse high enough for you, Cesarino?" Gianpiero grinned and took a sip.
"Afraid not. People should be able to kiss my feet when I ride past." Flavio stretched out his foot. "Easy on the tongue, Casanova."
Gianpiero approached and grasped the heel of his shoe as if it were a lady's hand, bending forward to kiss it – then he let go of his water bottle, latched his other hand onto Flavio's ankle, and pulled.
"Aaah! Stop it, you moron!"
"I should at least buy it dinner before I kiss it! It's only proper!"
In the choice between toppling sideways off the vault and latching on to it like a panicked frog, Flavio chose the latter and was being forced into a semi-split by Gianpiero's insistent tugging.
"It's not interested in you! It's already engaged!"
The water bottle rolled away, spilling its contents over the floor. Shiro watched the tug-o-war intensify until it almost toppled the vault itself. Their teacher merely sighed, massaging his forehead as Gianpiero professed his undying love to Flavio's foot.
"What you need is a foot in the rear, if you'd ask me." Benedetto looked at his struggling students with his fists planted in his sides and a quirked eyebrow. "If you still have the energy for these kind of theatrics I obviously should have worked you harder. Now get your butt down here so we can proceed with training."
"We don't have that much time left, and I wanted to impose at least one strike on you, so you don't feel as if you haven't done any actual fighting. Cara mia, if you would?" Benedetto made an inviting motion to a spot on the floor, roughly three metres to his right.
Fulmine strode forwards, now with her metal feder in hand and assumed position next to her father. The crossguard of her sword was at her right shoulder, with the tip pointing upwards like a lance. Posta corona, Shiro remembered. Crown pose.
Shiro groaned inwardly. It seemed so easy when she did it. Weight on her right leg, with the knee bent towards the students; her left foot pointed a straight line to Benedetto's right shoulder. Benedetto himself stood right in front of her, not guarded or armed in any way: just a regular fellow about to be... about to be...
"Excellente. You lot, pay attention. And don't worry." He winked. Specifically at Larry, who looked like this situation didn't sit right with him. "Mi tesoro knows what she's doing, and so do I. After all, I taught her how to do it." He confidently turned around to face his daughter.
"Squalembrato, papà? Fast or slow?"
"Fast first, slow later. Strike whenever you're ready."
Evidently, "ready" was split seconds after the word had left Benedetto's lips. One moment she was standing fixed in her appointed spot, the next the tip of her feder hovered only a few centimetres from her father's left ear, hanging perfectly still, with the sharp of the blade angled directly at his arteries. A minor shockwave went through the line of guys. Somewhere inside, further in than he cared to venture, Shiro felt like something was about to snap. Violently. He tried to move, escape, but it was like the connection between brain and body had been cut. Like he wasn't in his body at all. Specks of rose glass sunlight swirled on the floor, in the air, in–
Lights going out in their eyes.
No.
Lights going out around him.
No. No colourful specks of sun-lit stained glass. The only light left was Samael's heart gone haywire, the warping rays of black and white throwing wild shadows at the steel – wood? steel? – blade in his hands. Whirling, everything was whirling. The blood on the floor, the blood in his head, the light, too much, too much. It was around him, inside him, drowning him. The pulse hammered in his ears, in his ribcage; couldn't think, couldn't breathe, he would die, his heart would– His heart!
Hours, days, months of training kicked in, like an emergency backup generator: reflexes etched in deep enough to reach into the flashbacks. Detach. You're not vulnerable if you don't feel anything. Embrace the emptiness, still and quiet as a dead lake: it cares nothing for what nightmares you drown in there.
Warily, he opened his eyes. The world had returned, and the thundering heartbeat had faded into the distance. There were no warping shadows. There was no blood. The others were still fully focused on the demonstration: for all they knew, nothing had happened.
Benedetto was having a good time, looking at his students and smugging them over the edge of Fulmine's sword: "Told you."
His daughter leisurely stepped back, retracting her weapon in the process and placing it back at her shoulder in a relaxed grip.
"Now, again. Slowly."
As asked, she performed the strike again – this time in perfect slow-motion. Shiro's consciousness swayed, seemed to detach and drift away from him in a bubble of glass. He grasped for the details, for something to hold on to – not slip away, not slip back there. He isolated her motions, deconstructed them to a series of movements, nothing more. Nothing that led up to someone losing their life.
The tip of the sword moved forward, like a clock hand; her wrists and elbows followed the line of the blade, as if pulled along by it. Her weight transferred from right leg to her left, and the back leg stretched automatically with the shift before turning the knee and lifting the foot off the ground. As her arms started to extend forwards, right shoulder pulling the hip forwards with it, she dragged her bent right leg past the left one before extending it again. Her left knee and foot turned outwards while she placed only the toes of her right foot on the floor in front of Benedetto. Her right arm now almost completely extended, her wrists turning to angle the weapon, this time gently laying the blunt edge in the corner of her father's neck and shoulder. At the moment the heel of her right foot touched the floor, she began shifting her weight to it, while slowly dragging her hands to her left hip, trailing the blade down diagonally across the old man's chest until the tip escaped his shirt at his right side and all became... still.
Nobody spoke. Even as newbies they knew they had just witnessed something exquisite.
"Perfect!" Benedetto exclaimed, arms thrown wide. "I hope you all paid close attention. Now, pair up one-on-one and we'll teach you how to both perform and counter this particular strike." No. Fuck no. "Which just so happens to be the exact same thing."
Wait, what?
His eyes were still apathetically on Fulmine as she fetched another metal sword from the rack. She might not be much like Midori in terms of personality, but in fighting power... Swords had never been his speciality, but the amount of body control she had displayed just now spoke volumes.
"Now now, aren't you supposed to be a seminarian, Amadeo?"
Shiro jumped. Someone as big as Benedetto shouldn't be able to sneak up on you like that.
"Eh? Ahh– I wasn't– staring, I–"
Benedetto just laughed at his stutterings and patted him on the back.
"I'm joking, I'm joking! I'm more wary of your fleet-footed classmate in that case..." Ah. So he had noticed Gianpiero's little flirt. "You do seem distracted, though. Is everything alright?"
Curious old man. Nice old man.
"Everything's fine. It's just a lot of new stuff all at once." He tapped the side of his head. "Slow filing in the administration." Jokes worked well on this guy. Even forced ones.
His teacher stared at him for a second, but then burst out laughing, clasping his quivering belly.
Oh come on, it hadn't been that funny...
"Hee hee hee..." Benedetto wiped a tear out of his eye. "You probably shouldn't do that in public." At the sight of his nonplussed expression, his teacher elaborated: "You just called me crazy."
"I what?"
"This." Benedetto tapped his temple. "Is calling someone crazy."
"Sorry!" He scratched the back of his head with an apologetic look, then froze abruptly. "Wait, does this mean something, too?"
"Scratching your head? That you are puzzled by something."
"Well I am puzzled by Italian right now. In Japan this means I'm embarrassed." Shiro looked at his hands like they were tools of unknown application that may or may not blow up in his face. "Maybe I'll just... stay still."
"You worry too much!" Benedetto shook his head. "Should have guessed it from the hair. Listen to me, Amadeo: life is made of errors and corrections. You insult someone by making the wrong gesture – so? Just ask what upset them and fix it." He slapped an arm around Shiro's shoulders and turned him around to look at the others. "You don't think they make mistakes? You don't think they learn as they go?" ...yes. Yes, they did. They were all scowls and searching, all trying to grasp the unfamiliar movements they had been shown. "We aren't gods, my boy – if anything we're clowns, every last one of us. All we can do is pay attention and show good intention as we make our mistakes." His face lit up, and up went the corners of his mouth, too, as he shared his brilliant revelation: "Pay attention and show good intention for an alteration of the situation!" That beaming smile. The pride he had in his find.
Shiro slapped a hand over his glasses and groaned, but also couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled in his throat.
"You REALLY are a clown."
"Guilty as charged! But, between you and me", he lowered his voice and moved his head closer to Shiro's, "I'm better at teaching than clowning, so I try to keep this job. You can help with that, if you like. Team up with one of those troublemakers." He nodded towards Flavio and Gianpiero. "I'd prefer to split them up, to avoid a repeat of this morning. And if Sacchetti pays more attention to my girl than to his opponent you poke him in the ribs."
"Will do", Shiro chuckled. He watched the back of Benedetto... of Bébé as he returned to his teaching spot with easy gait. Really nice old man. "How the fuck will I poke Gianpiero in the ribs? I can't even watch a fighting demonstration without slipping up!" Emergency solutions crowded his mind: toilet break, suddenly feeling sick...
"Squalembrato is the name given to a diagonal strike from above. It is the strongest and most common strike, even without a sword." Bébé let his daughter hold their practice weapons while he illustrated his words. Using the same footwork and weight shifting displayed by her earlier, he clenched his remaining right-hand fingers into a fist and performed a slowed-down version of whacking an invisible opponent in the jaw. "You can actually see it used by animals, even – ones that use their front legs to fight, like bears. You also see this kind of punch a lot in enraged or possessed individuals, leading the German school of sword fighting to call it a Zornhau, a fury strike. Though that name only applies when you perform it moving the sword from your dominant side to your non-dominant side. Today you will all start in the right-held crown pose, and end in a left-held posta breve. This means you will have to take a step either forwards or backwards in between, like just shown. Given that you are most likely to encounter this strike in an offensive situation, I say it's best to start learning it stepping forwards. And now comes the most interesting part! Most attacks dictate that you should move to where the incoming weapon isn't: this is the only known one where you counter with the exact same strike." Bébé grinned. "Essentially you fight fire with fire, or fury with fury in this case."
He was given a practice weapon from Fulmine, assumed his position, sword ready, and motioned her to start. Calmly, though not as agonizingly slow as before, she performed the strike. Right after she began moving, Bébé mirrored her, and steel struck steel in the air between them.
"Now, I may have stopped her, but she also stopped me. We are at an impasse. There are several solutions to this problem, all of which require timing and a good feel for what the other person is doing. The easiest, and therefore the most tempting one, is using your body weight and twisting your weapon to force through the other person's line of attack." Arms stretched and wrists twisting, he bent further through his front knee, moving Fulmine's blade out of the way and lightly tapping the side of her neck with his.
"However, if your opponent is very strong, this can be hard to do... At least in the small amount of time you have, between him feeling the shock and realising he has to try something else." He moved backwards, so they were in a standoff once again, blades crossed. "So, as soon as you feel a lot of resistance through your weapon..." He nodded towards his daughter, keeping his sword as steady as he could while she gently pushed against it by leaning forwards. "...The best thing to do is to simply find another angle."
Fulmine could no doubt force her way through, with her teacher's lack of grip, but instead she slung her rear leg behind her while lifting the back of her sword, scooping up Benedetto's weapon in the process. With her father's sword stuck between her blade and her crossguard, she bent forwards a bit, sliding her weapon alongside his, with the tip pointed at the bridge of his nose. Benedetto let himself go amusingly cross-eyed as he looked at it.
"I'd like you all to try this out... Slowly. Attack in slow motion and at equal pace, in turns. Take your time in feeling how much the other person is resisting. If he hardly does, gently push through. If he is putting up a fight, change your angle. And be very careful! You'll find wooden swords are still pretty hard when they hit your skull, or ear. Pay close attention to your partner to see what he can and cannot handle. Anyone going too fast volunteers to be punching bag when we practice this strike with fists."
Shit. Excuse himself for a toilet break? Maybe. It wouldn't look too weird, after the water breaks. But Gianpiero had already turned to Flavio as his preferred training partner. Double shit. If Shiro took off right now Bébé might remind him of his promise. He couldn't dawdle much longer either. Any second now people would start wondering why he was just standing there.
Shiro gulped to force the knot out of his throat. Just let Gianpiero do the defence first. He might be able to do this if he knew he would never hit the other in the first place. Maybe he could fake pulling a muscle when performing the strike? Even twisting a knee didn't seem too heavy a price right now. As long as it wasn't permanent.
He reached out to tap Gianpiero on the shoul–
The ornate double doors flew open. Everyone froze on the spot. A woman strode in, bathed in the rainbow spotlight cast by the rose window across the training hall. The rays glistened in the gigantic sword at her hip, played over the waterfall of blonde hair that swayed from a high ponytail with each step. Her cape billowed out as she spread her arms to announce–
"Comrades!" The fuck – it was a guy? "My apologies for keeping you in suspense. As fate would have it, my plane yesterday was cancelled – but, I have arrived safely, and it is a true pleasure to see you all gathered here. From the bottom of my noble heart, I greet you!"
Shiro had no idea what the hell was happening. Nobody had. Well, the blonde weirdo was bowing, currently, but…
"Many years of labour lie ahead of us, difficult ones as well as triumphant ones, and I will treasure each moment of our time together." Okay, now he was reciting marriage vows… "I wish you to know that I, Andrew Austin Angel, am honoured to work with you, and I hope I will prove worthy of feelings of honour and gratitude in turn."
A stunned silence enveloped the training hall. And in that one moment of pause, an oddly shrill female voice cut through the room:
"Kyaaa! Andrew is so chivalrous and handsome!"
It came from Andrew.
The knot in Shiro's throat was dispelled by a sudden, violent fit of coughing. The door must have whisked up some dust when it was flung open so brusquely: Fulmine and Larry doubled over in coughs at the exact same moment.
"Did this guy seriously just use ventriloquism to call himself handsome?!" He hadn't even bothered with a sock puppet, just…! "Man, what a jackass!" In fact, Andrew was so distractive that Shiro failed to notice the two biggest clowns of the class weren't laughing.
"Oh, you're one of the British transfers!" Bébé, who had somehow not succumbed to the coughing epidemic, shook Andrew's hand with an admirably straight face. "Welcome to the eternal city! Benedetto Battista, swords instructor. I don't think I've seen you registered for Knight training? No problem, we'll fix that for you after class. Grab a feder sword and join in. My assistant and I were just demonstrating how to counter a squalembrato."
"Thank you graciously, my good man, but I am already a licensed Knight! I only came to introduce myself – but now that I'm here I might as well lend a hand, no? Milady...?" Andrew had turned to Fulmine and offered his hand: as he did, Shiro got a full view of the most ridiculously oversized sword he had ever laid eyes on.
"If that's not compensation for something I'm gonna– Oh you're kidding me, he's even taller than her?" Was there something in blonde hair that made you grow into a giant?
"Fulmine Battista." Fulmine had intended to shake hands with Andrew, but the moment she put her hand in his he bowed and gently kissed the back of it.
"My pleasure. If you would be so kind...?" His hand remained outstretched after their introduction, to the puzzlement of Fulmine. Andrew saw the look on her face and laughed – a peculiar sound that made you think of faked laughters in movies. "The sword, milady. This is no tool for a woman."
Most people have an intuitive sense for when they have said The Wrong Thing – even Shiro, despite his foot-in-mouth syndrome, did notice when he had said something he shouldn't have. But, there are also the people who don't.
"Spoken like a true gentleman." Bébé might actually have a better poker face than Gianpiero. Not only had Andrew insulted his daughter's skill as a fencer but also Bébé's skill as a fencing teacher: and there he was, mediating like it was nothing. "There really is no need, however. Fulmine has been my assistant for many years and is quite good at what she does. Besides", he said with a knowing smile, "there's no better way to keep young men's attention than to give them a lovely lady to look at. So you don't have to–"
"No, papà: he's right. The most competent one should teach." Fulmine handed Andrew her feder sword, resting horizontally across her outstretched hands. She then turned to her father, hand outstretched. A perfect mirror to what had transpired between her and Andrew just moments ago. "There's only one way to find out who that is, right?" Her smile would have fooled Shiro if not for her earlier reaction. There was nothing light or innocent about her request.
Bébé's eyes shot to the sword in his own hand, then back to his daughter. As if mirroring the turmoil in his mind, the sun vanished in a cloud and the once bright training hall became a monochrome photography: black uniforms, grey linoleum floor, quivering wills.
"No, mi tesoro, there's no need for that. I would never want any other assistant than you."
"And I would never raise a weapon against a woman. Such despicable acts are unbecoming a Knight." Andrew shook his head and offered Fulmine her blade back. His words created a ripple of silent nods among the students. Harm a girl? Unthinkable!
"...So if it's a woman who got possessed, you wouldn't be able to do your job?"
Ouch. She had cocked her head ever so slightly in that bird-like manner. Her tone was one of civilised curiosity, but her gaze spelled incompetent in every language on Earth.
Shiro nipped on the tip of his tongue while his eyes darted back and forth between Andrew and Bébé...
"I would send an Aria to exorcise her, of course." The confused scowl on the Brit's face said he didn't make the connection Fulmine had intended. "As your father and I have already agreed, there will be no–"
"...You have a point." Bébé raised his eyes, but not to Andrew. The room brightened softly, warming Fulmine's tanned skin and golden hair. "A true knight should be prepared to be confronted with anything – even his own values." Just as he laid his hand on Fulmine's shoulder, the sun broke through in full. Coloured light washed over them, leapt off the ring on his finger, the hair clips on her head, the blade in his hand, every particle of dust in the air dyed red and blue and gold. "...But do your old man – and that fellow over there – a favour and wear at least some gloves and a mask", he said with warm eyes.
"Of course, papà." Fulmine grasped the hand squeezing her shoulder and squeezed it back. With that, she walked off to get the gear, while her father held out his hand to take the feder from a flabbergasted Andrew.
"But sir– Can you really endorse–?"
"Normally I wouldn't." Benedetto shot him a warm smile. "But she is right. How can you be expected to handle a situation you've never been in contact with? The more practice, the better. And this is a fairly safe environment for such trials, don't you think?" He patted the young man on the shoulder, like he had done with Shiro previously. "Lighten up, my boy. I am right here in case anything goes wrong, but I have every confidence that you won't hurt my daughter – or vice versa. After all, a skilled warrior also knows to fight gently."
Andrew looked like he might have wanted to argue with that, up until Benedetto mentioned that a skilled warrior knew how to moderate his strength in combat. That seemed to hit the right note, judging by how he straightened up.
"Of course", he agreed. "But as a knight I refuse to strike a woman with a sword – even if it is a blunt one, and even if it is for practice."
"We'll go by Olympic fencing rules, then. A mere touch will do." Fulmine held out the mask to him like a fruit basket, gloves inside. Andrew declined it.
"Angels do not use headgear."
"Suit yourself."
Bébé was handed the gear instead while Fulmine strapped on mask and gloves. Andrew prepared in his own fashion: he unbuckled the belt with the huge sword, leaning it daintily against the benches before returning to his opponent. ...He also made sure to turn so his cape fluttered dramatically behind him.
"Let me guess: he doesn't use head protection 'cause that would ruin his hai–"
"You show her, Andrew! True beauty never loses!"
Okay, the voice did not come from Andrew; it came from a few metres away, where the sword was. But it couldn't... Or could it...? Shiro recalled Bébé mentioning enchanted swords somewhere in the avalanche of words – and hoped to high heaven he would not get one that gave him creepy compliments.
Bébé may have looked calm earlier, but when he handed them each a feder he seemed nervous. He stepped back and gave the duellists space between him and the line of students.
"Ha-hrm, hum", he cleared his throat. "Well, then. One round only, first blood wins. Not literally, of course – I'd prefer no blood at all." He took a moment to gather himself and take a deep breath. "Touch only, no full force. No attacks by either party after initial victory or surrender, no attacking a fallen enemy. If anyone faints, is disarmed, if protection or other materials are faulty, or if anyone calls for a time out for whatever reason, the match will be stopped immediately. Understood?"
Two nods, one by a mask and one by a head of golden hair. Bébé eyed them both, gaze bouncing back and forth as if following a tennis match. Andrew looked very uncomfortable about this.
"Alright. Greet, and begin."
The duellists raised their swords in front of them and swept them down in a quick, swishing motion. Fulmine lifted her weapon back up again, placing it in corona at her right shoulder. Her opponent followed suit hesitantly. The two began pacing around each other, slow and measured, but the distance between them remained. Neither of them seemed eager to deliver the first strike.
The tension burned Shiro's nerves like high voltage discharge. Like wire stretched too taut. It surged through his muscles, through his brain – run. Or fight. Or scream or strike or leap or something before the tension made him snap in half.
Control the breathing, control the breathing, detach, before the visions began...
The pressure lasted until the duellists had almost completed a full circle, and then it happened. Fulmine struck a diagonal blow, just like the one she and her father had demonstrated; Andrew mirrored it instantly. Excellent reflexes. Yet, split seconds before his sword hit hers, she flipped the tip of her sword backwards, shielding her spine with it as she dove beneath Andrew's. Crossed it. Passed it. Came up right next to him while swinging her sword back up in a smooth, circular motion. A shock in the man's arms: and the moment the cold edge of the girl's feder lightly touched his neck, the tip of his own clattered to the ground.
Like pebbles thrown in a pond, the sound rippled over the linoleum, through their shoes and over their skin. Shiro could feel the hairs on his neck standing on end, and he half expected to see a surge through Andrew's long mane.
The knight stared at his hands in disbelief. The left one still clutched the back of the grip, but the right hovered at the end of his outstretched arm, holding nothing but air.
Fulmine reached around her head with one hand and tore the mask's velcro straps open, casually keeping the sword resting on Andrew's shoulder with her other hand. His head turned, gaze meeting the satisfied glow in her eyes as the mask came off.
The tension slacked, in a choir of held breaths released, and the last bit of suspense was blown out of the hall by Bébé's thundering clapping.
"Brava, brava, bravissima!" Fulmine was spun around and enveloped in a rib-crushing bear hug, her father rocking from side to side and almost lifting her off the floor. Her own feder clattered down on the carpeting in a flurry of embarrassed 'papà, stop it!'
"Noooooo!" The shrill voice of the sword howled, and it dawned on Shiro that it sounded shrill because it was a male voice trying to sound female. "Andrew cannot lose! Cheater! Charlatan! I'll cut you to shreds, you dastardly wench!"
That woke Andrew up. He rushed back to his sword and chastised it for such language and lack of sportsmanship, only to have it whine back at him like a petulant child. The scene as a whole was just so comical. Gianpiero doubled over with laughter, slapping himself on the knee, and Larry performed a sharp whistle with his fingers; Flavio was clapping, measuredly, like a Caesar applauding a satisfactory but unimpressive gladiator fight. Shiro clapped, too, loudly: for Fulmine's performance, and for Andrew and his gay fangirl sword.
"Is that really all? That fast?" Larry wondered.
"Yes!" Bébé still beamed when he finally complied with his daughter's blushing complaints and put her down. "Don't tell me, don't tell me – you have watched the motion pictures, hm? Those Hollywood productions where duellists stare each other down over crossed blades for a minute? Baloney. Real duels rarely last more than seconds after engaging."
The sound of a man clearing his throat made them turn. Andrew had approached Fulmine and Bébé. He was once again wearing his giant sword, with his left hand in a tight grip around its hilt: the right hand he held forward. He didn't look stiff so much as he looked like he was choking on all that pride he had to swallow.
Fulmine grasped his hand and shook it with a sunny smile.
"Good work, everyone!" Bébé threw his arms out as if intent on hugging them all at once. "It's been an exciting day, and I'll be looking forward to seeing you again for next class. Ah, ah – what's the hurry? I haven't given you homework yet." Oh no. He was smiling the way he did when he was really pleased with his ideas. "Once a week, I want you to go out and eat together. Bring your other teammates too, Doctors and Tamers and what have you: sit down together and relax. You don't have time to get to know each other very well at work, with demons nipping at your heels, but if it's one thing that's essential for a team it is to know each other well. That's all! Off you go! Except you two." Bébé was pointing at Flavio and Gianpiero. "I recall you volunteering to swipe the floor–" Gianpiero's poker face absorbed the impact of the words flawlessly, "–and you will stash away the equipment under Fulmine's supervision."
For once there was no sassy smile on Flavio's lips.
A/N
Feeled - yep that is an error. Shiro will make those sometimes when he speaks Italian - I have a scene/development that hinges on that. (I'm still grateful if you find errors that are not meant to be there. =0v0=)
San ju ichi - "the 31 count practice" is a term belonging in martial arts. It's a form practiced for the Japanese short staff, which in Fox's opinion translates well to stances and movements with a sword.
Lynn Anderson is a country singer who recorded Rose Garden in the 70's and it was a huge hit - I'm sure you've heard it. "I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden~"
Cesarino - "little Caesar". (These guys have a ton of nicknames for each other.)
Andrew Austin Angel started out as a joke, I can't remember with whom - might have been Aria DC Al Fine. I doubt I have anything canon on him except that he's British. xD Arthur is supposed to be of British-French descent and I'm assuming he takes his surname from his father. His mother will show up, too.
Dear Guest, and others who have expressed their opinion about the height question
Hello – and thank you! All who have given their opinion on the height issue (a staggering 6 readers out of 138) have wanted Shiro to remain 177cm. =) It is fairly tall in Europe at this time, too. People of the same age as Shiro would be on average 173cm in Italy, 174.9cm in France, 174.2cm in Spain – there's a nice page called "ourworldindata" that gives you an interactive map where you can compare human average height during different decades.
I'm glad you helped me with Shiro's height – what you've been less opinionated about is everyone else's height. I still don't know if you think I should make all Japanese characters slightly taller, as Katou seems to do, or make all characters of all nationalities taller, so that Japanese people are still somewhat shorter (there's a difference of about 10cm compared to Europe). Fortunately, Katou helped me decide that issue. There's an omake in one of the volumes – I forgot which, sorry – where Yunokawa (one of the teachers) stands in the elevator with the cram school students. He comments that kids these days are so tall, "are you all models or something?", except Koneko. Who is very aware that he is shorter than everybody else. But what that strip tells me is that people in AnE-verse were shorter in the past: real-life data can be applied. So there we are. Shiro is a little beanstalk and the rest of the population is around 150-170cm tall.
I have A LOT of editing to do to make the rest of the fic compatible with this. x'D First arc is done, second will take a while. I apologise for inconsistencies that will be there meanwhile!
/ Dimwit