The instant Tsukiko left her teacher's apartment, though, her face fell, and her stride lost its bounce. Great. Back to the real world. She almost wished that she could just stay with Ritsu, even with the training, but then she realized that Masaru couldn't follow her there. Even thinking of him, she relaxed. Everything was okay so long as he was there. But he wasn't in the school with her.
She envied him his semi-normal life. He was in his last year of high school, getting ready to go to one of the most prestigious universities. Masaru was planning on studying a foreign language, particularly English, or game design. He was teaching her a few of the words he knew in other languages, which was fun.
Ritsu's Tsuki-chan, though, was in her last year of junior high at a very selective school. It was so selective, in fact, that it took no one but Fighters. Not that the average person on the street knew that little piece of information. Somehow, though, they tracked down potential Fighters when they were in elementary school and went about convincing their parents to send them to the school, offering prestigious courses, teachers and scholarships as incentives. Few adults could turn all that down. And it was a boarding school, no less. No need to pay for transportation or food. Her own parents hadn't been able to resist it. A resigned look briefly crossed her face at that thought, much like a shrug.
The school's complex was huge and modern, with lots of steel and smooth, light wood. Large windows brought light and a sense of the outdoors into almost every room, in addition to the smooth transitions of outdoor and indoor corridors. Classrooms, dorms, offices- all laid out in a seemingly random style, but once gotten used to, one that made perfect, flowing sense. She greatly admired the architect, but hated the school itself.
The one other thing she liked was the lack of uniforms. That made students want to come, and their parents were assured nothing inappropriate was allowed, but that they were modeled after the best Western schools. So she got the freedom to wear what she wanted. But even with that, it didn't balance out.
Sure, life was unfair. That much she understood. But why did it have to be so unfair against her? Couldn't it be unfair with her for once? So she thought as she pulled open the heavy wooden door to the class she was supposed to be in.
As Tsukiko stepped inside, the teacher didn't pause in his lecture, only glanced at her for a moment. He was saying something about the history behind a certain kanji character. The students, on the other hand, almost all turned around to see who had come in. When they saw her, though, they mostly when back to whatever they had been doing. Of course, before that, they either shot her a glare or leaned over to softly comment to a friend with a look in her direction. Holding her head high, she pretended not to notice and instead waited respectfully at the back in a semblance of listening, brown tail twitching boredly.
In reality, she was seething. She knew what they were saying, stuff like 'Ritsu's favorite' and how she thought she was better than them. She craved to shout in their faces, "Do you think I wanted him to pick me?!" But a lot of good that would do. They just couldn't understand. You didn't refuse Ritsu-sensei. It was as impossible to consider doing as trying to swim across the Pacific. She wished, just for a day, Ritsu'd take one of these idiots into his confidence. Then they'd see.
Finishing his speech, the teacher, who was an older male, instructed the class on some activity in their workbooks and headed back to his desk. Tsukiko moved too. As he sat down, adjusted his glasses, and looked at her, she bowed. "Sorry, Sensei. Ritsu-sensei summoned me."
He coughed softly, into his fist, then gestured at her with his pen. "All right, Hayashi-chan. Go sit down."
She bowed again, and returned to her seat, ignoring the looks of the people she passed. Nimbly she stepped over someone's foot, strategically placed so as to trip her, not looking up at the person. The way her ears swiveled back was the only sign of her annoyance. But she plotted. Who was he? Takahashi Hanzo. Weightless. While removing her workbook from her backpack, she smiled, a tiny, hidden hint of a thing. The next time they mock-dueled, he might find himself being her opponent. Then she'd return the favor threefold.