He had a date.
He shouldn't be this excited about it. Michelle wasn't exactly nice...granted he hadn't seen her being overly cruel, but he really didn't pay all that much attention to her.
He had a date.
He shouldn't be this excited about it. It wasn't anything special. He and Michelle were going to catch a light meal and get to know each other a little better. He was pretty sure that Michelle wouldn't really be impressed with the bits of his life that he would actually let her know about and he was pretty sure that he wouldn't be all that interested in anything that she was into. They would check each other out a bit, probably not like what they saw all that much, and move on.
He had a date.
He shouldn't be this excited about it. He had had a relationship with a ninja, had traveled the world and fought bad guys on every continent. He had been to space, to the arctic, had befriended space monkeys, mutated bugs and royalty. He had rubbed shoulders with celebrities, top scientists and professional athletes. He had parachuted into the UN's General Assembly without his pants. This was mundane, teenager stuff he was contemplating; something normal, the star football player going on a date with a cheerleader.
But...he had a date.
There was no moodulator, no trying to get access to his money and no being the chosen one. A very pretty girl from his school, after observing him in classes, in the hallways and on the football field, wanted to check him out and see if she wanted to date him. Even if it wasn't for anything beyond one evening, someone wanted him. He had a date.
The school week seemed to pass both too fast and drag on forever. He did his best to pay attention in class and in practice but...between classes, whenever Michelle saw him in the hallway she would smile at him. It wasn't a fake I'm supposed to have a smile on my face sort of smile, nor was it a superior, I'm better than you and we both know it sort of smile. It was a genuine, friendly sort of smile that seemed to be reserved for him. He wasn't the only one who noticed.
Brian, the quarterback, gave him the occasional, amused look. Ron remembered that he and Michelle used to date and hoped that this wouldn't cause any hard feelings. He wasn't exactly close to the other player, but Brian seemed an okay guy. Granted, he was almost as harsh as Coach Roughman when it came to execution on the field, but he was fair enough and because that harshness had them winning games everyone, Ron included, was willing to accept it. Besides, the looks were more amused than anything else and he was all business in practice. Off of the field, Ron didn't travel in the same circles as his teammate, so he didn't know how the other boy really viewed the sitch.
It seemed that Friday was on top of him before he noticed it. It was the last game of the season; a win would mean a conference championship and a trip to the playoffs...in a favorable position. To his surprise, preparing for the game helped him put everything else; his upcoming date, Yori's betrayal, even what Yamanouchi had done to him, to one side. He was a football player now and he would worry about the rest of it later.
Then, it was the game. The fact that he had a date after it dimmed in his thoughts; the knowledge that he had been permanently mutated slipped away...at least once he had his cleats on. Leon's sneering confession of Yori's manipulation faded in his mind. There was only executing the plays they had drilled over and over, reacting to the other team and to his own teammates. There was the dodging, the weaving, the scramble to pick up the blitzer or avoid the tackler. There were the snarls from the coach when he didn't execute and the pats on the back when he did well, there were the high fives and the fist bumps, the listening to the coach making adjustments and the strain to get more air into his lungs whenever he could.
It wasn't until halftime, when he was trotting into the locker room with the rest of the team, that he even thought about the spectators. He looked up to the stands and waved to his father in his usual spot. He wasn't surprised, or disappointed, that his mother and sister/daughter weren't there; it was getting too cold for Hana to be outside. Then, he looked to the cheerleaders and saw Michelle aiming a beaming smile at him...or at least he thought it was him, as well as waving a pom-pom his way.
He kept a smile on his face, but grimaced inside. He reminded himself that he really didn't know how to date normally and the fact that he had a date didn't mean the he and Michelle were dating. Besides, when was the appropriate number of dates before it was considered appropriate to wave at a girl? Okay, the coach wouldn't approve of it at any time, but he did approve of waving to the student body as a whole...as well as the parents and other folks that showed up. Thinking it was the best compromise, he took off his helmet and held it above his head as the team flowed into the locker room.
Again, he surprised himself by being able to pay attention to Coach Roughman's halftime talk. Yes, they were ahead but it was close enough that they couldn't let up. He then went into what he had observed the other team doing and how they were going to react to it. In a way, it was kind of like Zombie Mayhem, you and your opponent were always adjusting to each other.
"...so, we're just going to do what they think we're gonna do, then pull the rug out from under their feet," the coach concluded, with a pointed look at Ron.
That didn't feel so good. Trick plays, in which he played the key part, weren't something he really liked all that much. Still, the whole team was looking at him now, so he put on his best impression of enthusiasm and acted like he was pumped for it. He didn't have long to wait.
They started the second half with the ball, deep in their own territory. Coach called three straight running plays, two that Ron carried the ball, getting a first down out of it. Then, he called the trick play. Ron took a pitch and sprinted for the sideline, only to stop and backpedal, looking desperately downfield. He tried to spot the receiver, who was supposed to have faked a block and then sprinted down for the pass. Ron couldn't spot him on the first look, or the second, and he was keenly aware that the majority of the opponent's defense was closing on him with very ill intent. Finally, on his third sweep of the field, he spotted the man and threw the ball.
Panic and adrenaline didn't do his team any favors. Jeff, the receiver in question, had to jump high to catch the pass and came down off-balance. He kept his feet but wasn't able to take off in a sprint like he should have. Instead of a touchdown, Jeff managed a major gain before a corner was able to run him down. Ron ran down field to help him up and apologize for the bad throw. He was going to be hearing about that one from the coach, and the rest of the team. Now that he had a moment to think about it, he realized that he probably had a couple of seconds to calm down and throw a better pass, and that he had scanned the field way too quickly the first two times. Strangely enough, Jeff and the rest of the offense just chuckled away his apologies and celebrated a good play.
The next play, Ron took a pitch, just like the trick play. This time, the corners and safeties stayed back with the receivers while the linebackers were hesitant, so the line was able to open a hole for him. He sprinted through the gap, sidestepped a linebacker, and was off downfield. The receivers weren't able to put their blocking assignments on the ground, but they were able to slow them. It was enough; Ron sprinted into the end zone.
While he exchanged high fives with his teammates, he was nervous about going back to the sideline. Roughman wasn't going to be happy with his high pass. He was also nervous about how Jeff would react; if he had thrown the pass better, they would be celebrating the receiver's touchdown, not his. Only he could run in a long touchdown and feel nervous and guilty about the whole thing.
"You threw the pass high," the coach grumbled at him, when he reached the bench. Ron didn't have any response, but was that the hint of a smile on the coach's face?
"Go ask Brian about his first pass," Roughman instructed him. "And take some more time to set yourself up next time."
With that, the coach brushed him aside to give some instructions to his defense. Following his request, Ron went to where the rest of the offense was congratulating each other for a good series. When he asked the quarterback, the response was a laugh.
"My first pass as the quarterback was perfect," Brian told him. "If the receiver had been eight feet tall and able to jump like an NBA player. Everyone screws it up the first time. You got it close enough that Jeff managed to catch it, so it was better than mine."
"But Jeff should have scored..." Ron started to point out.
"Hey, if I thought you screwed it up on purpose, I would be mad," Jeff interrupted. "You're not the quarterback, but you got it close. You'll do better next time. Now, let's talk about how we're going to score the next time we get the ball."
With that, the tension was gone...or, more to the point, he realized that it had never existed outside of his own mind. He was able to just be a teammate again and take joy in the fact that they were winning. It wasn't a blowout, but it wasn't terribly close, either. With the final gun, he joined the team in shaking hands with their opponents and waving to the fans. He shared a high five with Rick before trotting into the locker room. The coach gave them a modification to the usual spiel; stay out of trouble, don't do anything stupid, be ready for practice on Monday. It was after the shower that things got different.
Usually, he would pull on some jeans and a jersey, then either catch a ride home with his father or even walk home. Once home, he would divide his time between playing with Hana and bashing zombies on line with Felix. Now, things were different. He pulled on some nice jeans and a proper shirt before heading out to the parking lot, dropping his gym bag off with his dad and exchanging some pleasantries. This was different than his usual Friday night. A car, with a very pretty girl next to it, was waiting for him. He didn't really know what he was supposed to do but like Brian had said about football; everyone screws it up the first time. He was a teenager and it was Friday night.
He had a date.
How could these faces look so young to her, when they had only seen a few years less than she had? She remembered a line from an old movie; "it's not just the years, it's the mileage" and she began to understand it. On the surface, she hadn't experienced so much more mileage than they had, but when you examined her history more closely, she had confronted chaos in several different forms, and in several different ways.
She had seen more than her share of mileage, even for a Yamanouchi ninja.
Now, it was time to pass on the lessons so that these girls, just a few years younger than her, would weather the mileage better than she had. Of course, in the Yamanouchi way, she couldn't simply call them into a classroom and give them a lecture. No, she first was assigned as their instructor for several days, critiquing and correcting their form and energy, so that a senior instructor could concentrate on teaching them advanced skills. Now that she had gained their respect and trust...and had observed the discrete whispers and heard some of the rumors...it was time to educate them in the manner of an older sister. Such lessons tended to hit home more surely than an elder's instruction.
It was getting close to time to release the class. They had assembled for the customary bow before being dismissed and she had judged it the proper time to instill a bit of advice.
"Stand comfortably," she instructed the girls. In response, the ramrod-straight postures relaxed and the hands dropped to their sides or even clasped behind their backs. She allowed herself to relax a touch in response.
"I can see that an old saying is correct," she informed them. "Yamanouchi keeps its secrets from outsiders, but freely shares them within its walls."
In response, there were several guilty looks on some faces, as well as a few blushes.
"It seems that I will perform my duties more efficiently if I address some of this gossip directly," she continued. "And thereby freeing the time you have spent whispering about them so that you can devote such time to your studies and exercises. First, yes, Yono the Destroyer was here, at Yamanouchi, but a short time ago, when all of you were sent away. It was he that inflicted such damage to the grounds. Yes, he was confronted and banished by the Han. I know this because I was present for it."
There was curiosity on their faces now, which was good. They would only listen more intently because of that.
"The Chosen One was also here," Yori informed them. "As was his counterpart, Lord Fiske. The two of them confronted each other again and in the end, Fiske was doomed to walk the dark path of the Yono. He is no longer a threat to this school."
Several of the girls exchanged sidelong glances. There would be much gossip after she released them. That was fine, the purpose of her lecture wasn't to save gossip time, as she had said. The purpose was to make sure they would be hanging on her every word.
"The Chosen One is not happy with Yamanouchi," she continued. "While I could be polite and say that Yamanouchi molded and guided him from a distance, I prefer to be honest and say that Yamanouchi observed him and used such knowledge to manipulate him. I was a part of that manipulation." She stopped and spun to face one of the junior students, pushing her face near to the younger girl's. "What does that say about me?"
"There is no dishonor in following the instructions of your master," the junior student answered. Yori was deeply disturbed by the ready answer, and the fact that the girl clearly believed it to the point she wouldn't question the statement.
"And you?" She now demanded of the girl standing next to the first.
"I-if such manipulation served a greater good, then there is no shame."
Yori turned, allowing herself a slight nod. She actually felt relieved that this girl had to think about it, and may not have been so sure of the statement's validity.
"Let me tell you a story of the Chosen One," she told them. "How he became the Chosen One is a Yamanouchi secret. Therefore, I believe that half of you have heard wild rumors about how it came to pass, while the other half know the truth but do not know which parts of the story are true and which are fiction. Let me enlighten you all."
"The Chosen One did not come from an illustrious bloodline," she began, now standing squarely in front of the class. "He did not excel at academics, athletics or even martial skill. He was capable enough, even though he didn't realize it. I'm sure you all know that he was the lifelong close friend of the famous heroine, Kim Possible."
Yori noted that the majority of the class nodded the confirmation, while a couple appeared to have had the rumor confirmed in their minds.
"He was not the hero in this partnership, she was," Yori continued. "He did not accompany her for the adventure, or because she was righting wrongs. He accompanied her because she was his friend and he was loyal. To be honest, the term 'whipped' is perhaps closer to the truth."
There were uneasy glances between her students. Although none of them really knew Stoppable-San, he was an Yamanouchi icon and any remark critical of him made them nervous.
"His path to become the Chosen One started with an act of charity brought on by deception," she continued. "Lord Montgomery Fiske was seeking the last of a series of statues and requested Kim Possible's help to recover it. Kim Possible, and by extent the boy who would become the Chosen One, thought they were recovering an antiquity so that it could be placed in a museum. Instead, Fiske used it to obtain Mystical Monkey Power."
She noted appraising looks, with the younger students having learned how Fiske became their school's antagonist.
"What followed was another act of deception," she told them. "Kim Possible wanted to learn what had happened to the artifact she had recovered, so the boy who would become the Chosen One thought that he was accompanying her to Fiske's castle. It was not so; Kim Possible had other obligations that day, so she had her technical support assistant send along a hologram of her. Thus, a boy found himself facing a master of Monkey Kung-fu, alone. His only hope was to embrace the Mystical Monkey Power, and it accepted him. Thus, deception, desperation and self-preservation, not dedication and drive, made him the Chosen One."
More uneasy glances between her students. They had been drilled since childhood, told that obedience, hard work and commitment would make them top ninja. Learning that Stoppable-San had the title of Chosen One thrust upon him unknowing was not easy for them to hear.
"Then, Yamanouchi saw him mutated, saw his very DNA combined with a simian," Yori informed them. "Then...came an act which I will not speak of, an act which I did to manipulate him even more. Later, I had a chance to admit to him what I did, I chose not to. Then, he learned the truth of his manipulation and his mutation from others. He came to Yamanouchi demanding answers, most understandably, he did not like the answers he received. He was once a close friend to Yamanouchi; he was once a close...friend...to me. Now, because of Yamanouchi manipulation, because of my dishonesty, he is indifferent at best; perhaps even an enemy of Yamanouchi."
This revelation generated still more nervous glances. She had shaken their world view a little, and was glad she had. Now was time to shake it even more.
"What does that teach you?" She demanded of yet another of the girls.
"That our missions will not always be pleasant," the girl answered. "That there will be times that we must do what we find...distasteful."
"Mostly correct," Yori told her...told the entire group. "The lesson that I learned was that not everyone we deal with is an enemy or ally. For each mission that involves infiltrating a criminal enterprise or fighting cultists, there will be dozens of missions where the job is to simply blend in with others and observe. You may find yourself in a business where you observe and report on the customers who arrive, or even those who pass by every day. You will often find yourself dealing with those who are not a Yakuza pig, or a cultist fanatic. Most people that you interact with are just people; those who are going about their lives as best they can, seeking to harm nobody. Be as honest and respectful as you can with such people. Had I been honest with the Chosen One, he might still be an ally of Yamanouchi."
He might still be my lover.
One of the girls looked like she wished to speak. This pleased Yori, as the whole point of this meeting was to make the students develop and face their doubts before they showed up during a mission.
"You wish to speak," Yori told the girl. "Do so, voice your question so that we may deal with it."
"Why do we concern ourselves with these others?" The girl asked her. "We do what is right, what is necessary. We act with honor, so why does the opinion of those without honor affect us?"
"A good question," Yori nodded. "A dear friend of mine once told me, 'if honor were rain, we would all be ass deep in water'. What do you think that she meant by that?"
"That Yamanouchi is awash in honor?" The girl replied. Yori had to smile at the clever word play.
"No," she told her student. "It means that the only thing honor will give you is a soggy ass." There was a mix of gasps and giggles at this, but she was determined to make her point. "Let's start with each of you on a personal level. You all believe, as I once did, that honor is its own reward. Let me tell you that it isn't enough. You will meet many people in your career as a Yamanouchi ninja. Some you will scorn and some you will envy. In time, you may realize that you scorn some because you actually envy them. For me, I scorned the baishunpu who associated with the Yakuza...and I still do. One who sells herself is bad enough, but one who trades herself for status and wealth from a criminal? That is so much worse."
"However, I found myself scorning students and women with good jobs," she informed the class. "I thought to myself 'this girl, of roughly my age, thinks that she has it rough because of demanding academics...yet I study as hard as her as well as train as a ninja. What does she do after class? She probably has a good meal then commiserates with her classmates. Maybe she regularly goes to concerts, or dates a boyfriend. As for the salary women, they work, but nowhere near as hard as I do, yet they have their own apartments, their own lives outside of their work. Why do they get so much compared to me? I put my life at risk so that they can continue their comfortable lives. Do they ever think of those who keep them safe?'"
The girls looked troubled again, which was what Yori had intended.
"My attitude was wrong," Yori told them. "At least in regards to students and women who work for a living. However, honor will ring hollow to you, eventually. You may find yourself infiltrating a Yakuza operation and working menial tasks. You have honor, but what does that compare to a schoolgirl gathering a group of her friends together for a meal and gossip? You may find yourself fighting for your life against insane cultists. You have honor, but what does that compare to a salary woman being able to sleep in on a weekend? This was my attitude; it was envy that turned to scorn. However, Yamanouchi has dealt with this before; but I never took advantage of what Yamanouchi offered me."
"Even now, you may find that you have certain free time that the instructors do not observe you," she mentioned. "By the way, how strong is the current batch of mitsuzo sake?"
Some puzzled...and several guilty...glances answered her.
"I know that making this is a student tradition," she smiled. "Even though I didn't partake in the making, or the consuming. I never realized that the elders are well aware that it goes on, and allow it because it helps the students burn off tensions. So long as it doesn't affect your performance, they and I will not interfere. So, while you are students, spend time with your friends whenever you can, make mitsuzo sake that tastes terrible and kicks like a mule, gossip about the older students and the masters. Take what enjoyment you can, when you can."
"That also goes for when you leave on an assignment," she continued. "You will find that Yamanouchi will give you more than adequate time to return to the school, as well as providing you with more than enough funds to see you through while you are gone. This is so that you can indulge a little. When you have a chance, catch a concert, climb a mountain, go to a beach and revel in all of the looks you get. Find a young man and ride him until you're both exhausted."
A round of giggles answered the last statement.
"Indulge in a little vice," she instructed her students. "Make some good memories to sustain you through the hard times. On your way back from your mission, if you eat and drink too much, or do the wrong sort of things, you will be whipped back into shape before your next mission. You won't remember your four-thousandth run on the dragon course, but you will remember the few days on the beach that you indulged in."
And who you shared them with
"Grab life while you can. We are ninja, our lives could be ended at any time so if you don't enjoy yourself now, you may never do so."
Now, the looks were very speculative. That was just as well.
"Feet together!" She snapped at the class. Displaying proper promptness, the class snapped to attention.
"You are all adequate when it comes to fighting," she announced. "But we will work more on self-discipline. I could read all of you like an open book when I spoke to you. Learning to avoid showing these emotions when it is not beneficial to do so may save your life, and if any of you idiots manage to get yourselves killed because you couldn't stop a giggle, a blush, or a sidelong glance when you needed to, it will by my dishonor."
She shared a bow with her students, who then scattered to their various evening duties or routines. Yori went to the gardens and meditated a short time, hoping that she had given the younger girls good advice. Once she had attained the level of peace she sought, she returned to her own quarters. Upon reaching them, she realized that someone had been inside.
Whomever it had been had made no effort to conceal that they had been there. On her desk was a small tumbler that had not been there when she left. She looked cautiously at the clear liquid inside, then lifted the glass to sniff at its contents. She had to smile, even as she recoiled from the harsh scent of mitsuzo sake. Instead of dumping out the vile stuff, she gulped it down, savoring the burn in her throat and the feeling of rebellion it brought.
It was truly terrible stuff, but the fact that it was technically forbidden made it feel better. Maybe it was time to open up a little and befriend those around her. Junso was gone, Stoppable-San lost to her and Hana was on the far side of the ocean, but that didn't mean that she had to be alone.
A/N: My best wishes to everyone, this holiday season.
As always, big thanks to Joe Stoppinghem, for beta reading.