Rinoa stared out the window of the academy, no different from her days in her previous classes. Cloud gazing and daydreaming made the days go by faster than actually paying attention to history dates. She hated everything: the pretentious teachers, the endless rules, the unfathomable homework load, the same, stiff uniform plastered on herself and her peers. Not a single extracurricular class marked her schedule, let alone art. Then again, it was a military prep school.
Of course Fury threw her into one. Anything to feel a sense of accomplishment on his end. Beyond that? Who knew what would come from her time spent there.
What was worse were the whispers woven through lectures masked as secrets. Word traveled fast of the arrival of General Caraway's daughter and Rinoa was met with astonishment and admiration. Every class, she sat through the distant buzz of gossip or giggles, all directed at her. Every day, she jostled past students who wished to gush with her about Fury's famous tactics and strategies.
"It must be so cool to have your father be a renown officer!"
"I bet you grew up practicing marches and battle routines!"
"He must be so proud of you following in his footsteps!"
Rinoa, however, wasn't a soldier. Nor was she bright enough to work behind the scenes as a prospective intelligence officer. Sparring classes added an extra dose of excitement into the dull regimen of classes, but Rinoa was more inclined to beat her opponent with a mixture of clumsy force and dumb luck instead of precise attacks. At least she had an opportunity to unleash some pent-up rage against her peers without landing in detention.
No matter how much she tried—even if it was enough to finally make Fury proud or once more hold a pleasant conversation with him—Rinoa's heart was never in it. She longed to return to her old school with her old friends. Anything to smile again. She wanted to be furious with her father for locking her up in the military academy. Every time he asked how her studies were, it was like a superior officer asking for a debriefing.
What was Fury's master plan, anyways? To cripple her until she died on the inside? To make her an obedient slave to him instead of a devoted daughter? The academy wouldn't help. Even if she did become military ready, Rinoa wished to connect and help others by another means.
Would her peers change their minds if they had a glimpse of the hell he subjected her to? Considering their behavior, perhaps not. At least they all consented to joining.
Every day, she walked the academy's hallways without friends flanking her. Every day, she ate lunch alone. Every day, she returned home to her bedroom to stare at piles of homework in contempt.
If only I could fly away, she thought every waking moment, then I wouldn't be stuck here... then I would be happy.
But this wasn't a fairytale romance; this was her life. There were laws in Deling City, which deemed her to still be a child at the age of sixteen, and thus unable to live on her own. No doubt Fury, of all people, would hunt her down.
Rinoa heaved out a sigh and collapsed onto her bed. She would never grow wings to fly away. There had to be a genuine, reasonable way to escape the nightmare she lived in. If only she knew where to begin.
Her hand skittered about the fresh page, struggling to keep up with the lecture. Rinoa hunched over her desk and chewed her lip. This wasn't how she planned on spending her summer, but the academy required it. Despite her above average grades at the end of sophomore year, the gaps in her education for missing the military regiment of freshman classes were glaring. While a majority of the students were on summer vacation or shopping or doing anything that didn't involve studying, Rinoa was stuck daily with a handful of delinquents who cared even less for the fundamental classes.
Brown eyes flicked up to the chalkboard, desperate to focus on the scribbles detailing Para-magic theory. With so few students in the class, it was a surprise how damn distracting they were.
"Hey, what class you have after this?" one of them asked another, clearly incapable of whispering.
"Health. Pfff, what a waste of time. What are they going to do? Tell me shit I already know from—"
"If you are so intent on not paying attention in class," their teacher raised her voice, "then by all means, you can go home and explain to your parents why you have another failed class."
Silence returned to the musty classroom. Rinoa stifled a chuckle.
In between her notes, she checked her agenda. Two more classes until the day was over. For the first week of summer classes, her homework load was reasonable, though she didn't count on it staying that way. She scrunched up her face; circled in red was Saturday along with the note gala with Fury. Rinoa had almost forgotten. Yet another fancy function to honor someone in the military who did a brave thing or whatever. Just as much propaganda bullshit as the abstinence program the boys behind her were now chatting about.
At least I have a bigger chance of scoring free condoms in the bathrooms of the gala than here, Rinoa mused.
Not that she had a need for them. There was no boy in her life for her to humor the notion of sex with. Fury's so-called sex education with her was comprised of idle threats, for anyone who dared to even hold her hand was to be shot. How typical—another aspect of her life he'd love to crush.
Though it would have been nice—having a boy to fool around with. Plenty of her peers found ways to entertain themselves, no matter how many guest speakers visited the academy to speak against sex, drugs, and alcohol. Beneath those sweet masks were whispers of posh parties and back alley fixes. Most of it wasn't her cup of tea, but Rinoa couldn't blame them for wanting a distraction, an escape. She wished she had someone to indulge in, too.
Her mind painted lewd fantasies. A gentle sigh fell from her smiling lips. The daydreams faded with a blink of her eye. A blank chalkboard stared back at Rinoa and the teacher deviated her lecture.
"Shit," she muttered to herself. She never finished her sentence, let alone jot down all the notes from the board. Maybe she didn't miss anything important.
A brief glance to the only clock in the room left Rinoa slumping into her desk. How was there still thirty minutes left in class? The teacher wasn't making the dense subject matter any easier to swallow, nor were the idiots behind her keen to shut up any time soon.
"You seen them yet?" one of them tried to whisper.
"Nah, but everyone keeps talking about them."
"Yeah, no shit, because why the hell are they here and not G-Garden?"
"Pfff, I don't know. Heard Kiana say something about them having specialized weapons? You know, the more exotic shit?"
"And G-Garden doesn't cover any of that? Figures... Bunch of military wannabes, anyways. They couldn't make it a day past basic—"
"Could you please shut up?" Rinoa raised her voice, turning around to glare at both of them.
The two boys stared back, straightening themselves out in an attempt to make her cower.
"Ms. Caraway," their teacher interjected, each word dangling from a thread of patience, "is there a problem?"
"Yeah, these two can't seem to keep quiet back here." Rinoa narrowed her eyes. "Some of us actually want to learn something."
"Yeah, well, some of us," one of them snapped back, "don't give a shit—"
"Out." With a snap of her fingers, the teacher pointed to the door. "Both of you. Now."
They groaned and took their time with gathering their belongings. Rinoa sighed and returned to center, ignoring whatever daggers they skewered her with their eyes.
"Fucking stuck-up bitch," one of them grumbled, his massive backpack whacking Rinoa as he slipped it on.
Rinoa's blood boiled. "Hey!"
"On second thought," the teacher added on, "do me a favor and go directly to the dean's office. You two can explain why you're there and getting expelled. You're wasting my time, the student body's time, and clearly your own time. And no funny ideas about skipping out; your parents will find out one way or another."
With a scoff, both the idiots exited the room with a slam of the door. Rinoa slouched in her seat, propping her face up with a loose fist. On second thought, maybe she didn't want a boy to fool around with.
Flipping through her agenda, Rinoa marked down the homework she received from her modern Galbadian history class. The day was over and she was free to return home, but the laundry list of homework she accumulated left Rinoa whimpering.
How am I going to get this all done in time for Monday? Rinoa mused while walking about campus. And there's that stupid gala I still need to go to. Ugh, why is all of this so—
A scream shattered Rinoa's thoughts and jolted her attention elsewhere. In the center of campus was the common grounds, home to those who wanted a sunny spot to eat lunch or a breath of fresh air. No one lounged about the trees and rocks—a fight broke out.
Rinoa's heart jumped into her throat, only to settle back down. Yells intermixed with the clash of metal on metal. This was no fight; it was a spar. A handful of other students, mainly girls, also stopped to stare at the match unfolding. Rinoa recognized the boy from the upcoming senior class, shaking as he gripped his blade and tried to match the finesse and prowess of his opponent.
Upon fixing her sights on the other fighter, Rinoa froze.
He was a mass of lean muscle with a crooked grin. He twirled his unusual sword about, almost taunting his opponent each time he knocked him to his feet. He was clad in a black tank top and navy blue pants, nothing Rinoa ever recognized. Not that it mattered. She was too occupied memorizing the fluid, visceral motions of his body and the raw cry from his lips.
An instructor sounded a sharp whistle and ended the match. A round of applause circulated through the small group of boys, some donning the academy's colors and others the navy blue. No longer a blur, the victor stood still, resting his blade against his shoulder and tilting his head back with a smug smirk.
The female students dispersed about Rinoa once the instructor resumed teaching. They whispered and giggled, though Rinoa stayed and held her tongue. The instructor wielded a similar weapon to the victor, displaying several techniques for him to try out. He mimicked, albeit with his own flair.
"It would be in your best interest," the instructor offered, "if you opted to use both hands instead of one for your attacks."
He shrugged. "What difference does it make?"
"You'll have more control over motions, thus more precision."
He jerked a thumb over to his sparring partner. "Well, I just whooped his ass, so my style can't be all that bad."
The blue-clad students snickered while the academy boy exchanged snark with the newcomer. Even Rinoa laughed to herself.
And then he turned and caught Rinoa's eye. Or so she thought. With a quick inspection, she confirmed she was the only one remaining, the only one watching. Her eyes returned to him and he never flinched.
Had his session been truly over, Rinoa would have walked up to him. The distance between them required yells to communicate and she wasn't about to land herself in detention for interrupting a training class. Thus she chewed her lip and waved. That cocky grin of his widened while he gestured to her with his chin before looking away.
She didn't remember the walk home or her homework or even the gala that Saturday. All she dreamed of was the weekend flying by so she could return to the academy.
After classes ended for the day, Rinoa found a bench to camp out at and finish her homework. The sparring class continued at the common grounds, though she only tore her eyes away from her studies when she heard a particular voice enter the fray. Other students paused to inspect the commotion, but Rinoa always stayed until the end.
She watched the same boy spar peers with a blade that occasionally struck with an actual explosion, much to Rinoa's shock. Some days he walked away victorious, others he chucked his weapon to the ground and stormed off. His frustrations fueled his attacks more than his instructor wished. Even from afar, Rinoa snickered when she caught his occasional eye roll.
Still she kept her distance, not wishing to intrude. Every day, the same spot, the same assignments, and the same boy.
Rinoa never even noticed someone approaching her during a spar.
"So are you just going to sit there and watch me forever?"
Fluttering her eyes, Rinoa jerked her head back and gasped. Cyan eyes peered down upon her. He was far taller than she believed he was. A matching, navy blue jacket slumped over his shoulder. Rinoa recognized the Balamb Garden insignia decorated at the collar.
"It's been what?" He cocked his head and smirked. "Two weeks? Something like that? You're here every damn day."
Rinoa matched his expression. "Is that such a bad thing?"
To that, he jerked his head back and laughed. "Can't say I'll ever say no to an audience. Or a fan, for that matter. The guys have been giving me shit about a potential stalker, but clearly they've never talked to a lady before." He ran a gloved hand through his golden locks swept away from his face. "You got a name or should I just stick to calling you my cheerleader?"
He spoke with a confident strength Rinoa never witnessed before. Even of the military folk she was acquainted with, their power was refined and polished, but what stood before her was compelling and authentic. The very presence of this boy radiated with a grit which continued to intrigue Rinoa; it was addictive. She was more at ease with him in their few words exchanged than with the man claiming to be her father the entirety of her life.
So she jumped to her feet, brushed her skirt off, and extended a hand. "I'm Rinoa Caraway."
His eyebrows perked up at the last name, but his tongue never twitched. The instructor called him back while his peers teased with sharp whistles and howls. His gloved hand slipped into Rinoa's and both greeted one another with a firm handshake.
"Seifer Almasy," he responded, his eyes never leaving hers.