Hola brolas! It's update time! Remember that thing I forgot what it was that I wanted to tell you (such good Engrish) before? It was the fact that I posted 'You're Not My Real Dad!' a year ago then! Happy birthday to it! *blows party horn*

Anyway, let's get on with it~

Roy had managed to mow through nearly all the papers Hughes had so unsympathetically smacked onto his desk that day. After that, Hawkeye had managed to get him an hour off work to go pack his belongings and get into some military accommodation.

Roy had no idea what Edward was doing.

And now, on the way to the place he never really called home (rather, 'the building he slept in'), he reflected on how odd it seemed that he was behind the wheel after all the time he'd spend sailing around in the passenger seat with Hawkeye acting chauffer.

He was a little out of practise, but it was nothing to worry about. As he swerved speedily around another corner, dangerously close to a street lamp, he briefly wondered if his driver's license was still valid.

He assumed it was.

Once inside his apartment, he closed the door behind himself and frowned. "Well. When did this happen?"

Roy glanced around disdainfully, eyeing the mess he'd made of his living space. He tried to decide whether anything was missing from the room – it could have been ransacked by a monkey chimera on caffeine for what it looked like – but failed to distinguish any obvious disappearances. And with little to his name besides a couch, a radio, a dinner table stacked with take-out packaging, a wardrobe of clothes, what seemed to be half a kitchen, a much-beloved bed and seven boxes of knick-knacks, there wasn't much to be stolen from Roy.

He was sure five out of those seven boxes were books too.

Having just under an hour to spare, Roy gave himself a small amount of time to clear up his place. He emptied the kitchen of any food that would go off, threw out all the rubbish strewn through the place and cleared up what seemed like every single dress shirt ever made off his bedroom floor.

"Much better," he muttered to himself, wiping his brow and admiring his neat living space. "Now, just one task remains."

He moved to his wardrobe and stretched up as high as he could, just managing to brush a tough leather surface with his fingers. With a grunt, he jumped and fought to get the object free of the space atop his wardrobe.

Perhaps he should have thought it through a little better, since he now had an open trunk biting his head and shoulders, having spewed its contents all over the unsuspecting colonel.

Sneezing out dust as he removed his trunk, Roy inspected the junk. It looked to be a series of old photobooks and stray pictures, used notebooks and other such memoirs.

"Now I remember throwing all this in here," Roy said as he picked up one of the albums. The faded label on the front read 'Brother and family 1888-1890?'. If he recalled correctly, this had belonged to his Auntie Chris.

He gave the pages a hesitant flick through. How long had it been since he'd looked at these? Probably not since before the Civil War…

Each page had a couple of photographs attached; a man with brown hair and grey eyes, a beautiful woman with dark hair and a tiny little boy with tufty black hair and a supremely curious gaze.

Roy smiled, setting the book on his lap and flicking through it. He had received a few books like this from his Aunt. He'd argued that it would be better if she kept them back in Central, but the stubborn woman insisted that the then newly-enlisted young man would get more use out of them than she.

"Considering I had a good many years of knowing your mother and father," she'd finished. "And you had… What, seven?"

Roy found a photograph of himself at about six, sitting on his mother's lap as she read to him. The look on his face was one of awe and excitement, as if he were totally into the story. His mind wandered as he flicked through the old pictures. Did Edward and Alphonse have any photos like this? He was curious to see them. He'd seen Edward as an eleven-year-old, but he really didn't seem to look much different at fifteen. He smirked as he imagined Edward as a three year old, still with the grumpy face and foul mouth.

A flash of his previous thoughts reached him at this.

Did I really pull the kid into this too early? he thought with a frown as he closed the album. I really didn't think he'd actually enlist so quickly… But who am I kidding? This is Edward. If only I'd… I don't know. Known what he was like before then? Offered them more help? No, there was really nothing for me to do… I just hope the kid doesn't have to go through something like Ishbal.

He looked down at the last family photo in the album, one where he was about seven. It couldn't have been long after that when…

"This is your Auntie Chris, Roy. You'll be staying with her from now on…"

Well, it was true these photos hadn't seen the light of day since before the Eastern Rebellion. Roy remembered distinctly putting them away now, having been too ashamed to look at them.

With a gentle touch, he ran a finger along the face of his mother and over his father's shoulders, right down to the tip of his scruffy head.

"I'm sorry…" Roy said softly. "I'm sorry that the son you loved so much committed such evil. I really am. But I promise I'll try to my greatest extent to make up for what I did."

He smiled with a heavy heart and removed the photograph from its slit. "Right, mother? Father?"

He slipped the picture away after a moment, closed the book and stacked it neatly with its few companions before tucking them away above the wardrobe.

"And the next step towards that destiny," he said firmly, grabbing his trunk and rising to his feet. "Let's set this competition ablaze."

And seriously hope he wasn't late, 'cause Hawkeye would have his head.

"Ed…ard… Edward… Edward!"

"Huh?" The boy awoke with a start. "Whowazzah?"

Blinking his gaze into focus, Edward managed to un-blur the visage of Colonel Roy Mustang and fuzzily wonder what the hell was going on and who the weirdo looming at him from above actually was.

Then it clicked.

"Th… The hell're you doin' 'ere?!" he shouted, disorientated. "What the heck?!"

Roy's black eyebrows inched upwards in bemusement and he leant back as Edward sat bolt upright and his eyes darted about. "And where's Al?!"

"We're sharing a dorm, remember?" Roy prompted. "Your brother's a room down."

Edward blinked as his bleary mind struggled to connect the dots. "Uh?"

"It's time to get up, kid. Events start today," Roy reminded him, straightening the collar of his uniform as he looked down at the boy in bed.

Edward gave a horrendous groaning noise akin to that which the spawn of a moose and creaking floorboards might make as he finally pieced it all together. "Do I have to?" he grumbled groggily. "I's up with Al 'til near mi'night…"

It was late afternoon when Roy had shown up at the doorstep of the Elrics' dorm yesterday, a suitcase in tow and keys to a nearby single dorm for Alphonse jangling in one hand. The man had moved into the bed opposite Edward whilst Alphonse had moved into the single next door. He'd be staying there for the duration of the exercise.

"Yes, you have to get up," Roy replied firmly. "I see something in there has finally caught up to your age…a teenager's extreme reluctance to awaken."

Edward pressed a hand to his face and rubbed clumsily. "You try gettin' up in th'mornin' when weird dream's 've been keeping ya up since two. 'Slike, three hours o' sleep!"

Roy's expression didn't change. "I can imagine. Now, up and at 'em!"

"Nnnnngh…" Edward rolled out of bed and onto the floor. "Five more minutes…"

"Geez," Roy remarked. "You really are beat, aren't you? Well, better get out the hose…"

Edward made pitiful noises of distress at the mention of a hose and flailed his arms about a little. "I'm coming, I'm coming… Just hold your damned horses, Colonel Pushy."

"As soon as you hurry up," Roy retorted. "I let you sleep in, so consider yourself lucky!"

"Whatever…"

Roy's voice dropped a little. "And try not to make so many noises in your sleep, y'hear? Your whimpering kept me up half the night."

Edward rolled onto his back and scowled up at Roy. "It's not like I can help it."

Roy's shoulders twitched in a faint shrug. "I know, but next time… Wake me if it gets too bad, alright?"

Edward rose to his feet, giving a mirthless grin. "If it was bad, you'd be awake. You and I both know that. Right, have you seen my cloak?"

"Opening ceremony requires uniform, Fullmetal."

"Oh, too bad! I've only got a dress uniform…"

"Lucky you've got such a generous commanding officer. I had regulation blues made up especially for you."

"Damn you."

Roy smirked and tossed the thick blue material Edward's way. "Call me if you need any help with that."

"Um, I highly doubt I'll require assistance to put on a dumb uniform."

"But you can't do up your own braces?"

"Shut up!"

The banter continued for a while as Roy went to the small kitchen to cook himself some toast. Eventually, Edward had pulled the uniform on over his black singlet and boxers. He tied his hair in a stubborn braid and left his jacket unfastened.

Roy rolled his eyes at the tangled chords and flaps and made his way over. He grabbed Edward's jacket and untwisted the decoration adorning his right shoulder, as well as smacking the fold closed, fixing the collar and straightening out the tails.

"There we go," he said, brushing off his hands as he admired his work. "That's how a uniform should be worn."

"It itches," Edward said bluntly. "And the trousers are too loose."

"Quit complaining. You'll only have to wear it every once in a while," Roy informed him, pretending to forget the fact that he'd had the exact same complaints when he'd first donned a military uniform.

"But I hate it!"

Roy smirked at Edward as he squirmed around the room, tugging at the uniform in some kind of convulsing ritual.

"Let's just get to it, hey?"

Roy and Edward stood side by side in front of the other fourteen competitors, facing the podium where the Fuhrer, General Grumman and a couple of other Central officials stood. As the home team, they were positioned at the front so everyone else could stare at them.

Behind them were all the other teams; three pairs of Amestrian blue, another in Northern dress, the Oratoans in their purple and cream, the Kambeians in complex uniforms of blue and white and the Avonese in simple olive green.

All the teams and the platform were situated in the training grounds, surrounded by a hastily erected wooden fence. Surrounding the fence was a good percentage of all the soldiers in East HQ. Roy would vouch on his team being a part of that percentage.

Edward yawned and rubbed an eye sleepily as one of the Central men read an introductory speech. From where he stood, he was too shor – no, the podium was too tall for him to see over. This meant he couldn't see the speaker, but it sounded like he had a moustache. Yeah… Edward would bet his coat it was a man with a moustache. Throw in his boots and it was a bristly one.

It was only when the man stepped down from the podium and sat some way back (Edward would have retained his coat and boots – this guy basically had a small animal stuck to his upper lip) that he realised he had not been listening to a single word.

"Psst, hey," he whispered to Roy. "What was he saying?"

Roy made a noise that was the verbal equivalent of an eye-roll. "All you need to know is that the Fuhrer's giving us the first exercise."

Indeed, Bradley himself had risen to the podium and was smiling down at the teams with practised ease.

"Alright then, men," he said with a twinkle in his eye that was somehow both jovial and threatening. "The first exercise is something of an ice-breaker. These good fellows around us are here for a reason too. The first thing to do is to go around and have each and every one of you show the rest what exactly your strongest weapon is. I'm counting on you all for something impressive…which I know our Eastern hosts here will certainly supply."

Edward scowled. The Fuhrer had basically painted a huge target onto the backs of himself and Roy. From the look on the colonel's face, he knew it too.

"Great," the man said. "Now they're going to think we're getting favoured even more… I guess we'll have to really impress then."

Edward nodded and grinned, still facing forward. "No problem here. Ready for round two, Mustang?"

"Hell," Roy replied with an interested smirk, remembering the last time he and Edward had demonstrated their alchemy before a crowd. "Why not? What are the stakes?"

"If mine looks cooler, I'll be able to ask a favour of you any time I want and you can't turn it down," Edward proposed. "And vice versa. I can't think of anything else off the top of my head."

Roy thought this over. Eventually, he shrugged. "I can't think of anything better. You're on."

The Fuhrer's voice echoed down once more. "Right then. Decide amongst yourselves who will demonstrate first. Don't take too long! We'll be waiting."

The competitors gathered together into a cluster, trying to decide which team to send out first. Eventually they sorted out an order, with Roy and Edward in last. It seemed a strategic move, as if the other teams were hoping to show up the East before they'd even begun. The crowds would probably be over the excitement by the time the two State alchemists had their turn in the spotlight, making them seem a lot less impressive.

But what they hadn't been counting on was the loyalty of the Eastern troops. It didn't matter that a good deal of the men thought Roy was a complete and utter jerk worth less than the mud on their boots, they would cheer for him out for the simple fact that he was representing their district. And who didn't love Edward Elric, the boy wonder and Hero of the People?

Both of these facts coupled meant the crowds were liable to pay attention to the very end and cheer the loudest for the men who worked with them.

Orato was to be the first team to demonstrate and Kambei the second, so the two teams had decided to join forces for their show.

Tyrell and Inuya strode out first, with loud applause and shouts from an eager audience. They were excited to see what strange feats the foreigners might offer.

As the two sons took up their places opposite each other in the centre of the training grounds, their fathers appeared from behind a storage building.

Both Umaro and Dominico rode on the backs of muscular military patrol horses, fit, strong young steeds raring to go.

The pair of them came thundering in from a distance, the horse's hooves thumping the ground in pounding vigour. Both men urged their mounts to canter faster, though it was Umaro who proved the faster rider as he soared over the fence into the grounds ahead of Dominico.

The pair of them circled the arena a couple of times and pulled out any stunts they knew, standing on the saddle and hanging off the side as well as jumps and weaves and rearing horses. This was all much to the audience's enjoyment.

Though both were quite spectacular, it was ultimately Umaro who was more impressive atop a horse. Whether or not this was due to Dominico's recent illness was unknown, though Roy thought he was going well for his condition. All the while, Tyrell and Inuya waited patiently in the middle of the arena until their fathers cantered out.

As they left, the two bent over in a respectful bow and waited until the riders had cleared the fence once more.

Only then did Inuya reach for the blade at his side. With a metallic slash, he drew his sword to hold it double-handed at the side of his head and prepared to fight.

From their vantage point under a shelter just next to the Fuhrer's stage, Roy and Edward both recognised the style of curve-edged sword as a traditional Kambeian weapon.

"A katana," Roy mumbled, remembering the term from when an old military weapons expert who'd trained his class in artillery back in his academy days had used it. They'd never used swords much, but Roy recalled favouring the two-handed grip of a katana to the exposed feeling of the Amestrian blades.

Inuya fell into a deep fighter's stance, shifting his sword in front of himself and waiting for Tyrell to draw arms.

But (with an excited murmur from the crowd) Tyrell did not make any move for a weapon and simply slid into the loose stance Edward recognised from having fought the boy previously.

"So he's going for the pressure points again," Roy remarked.

Edward nodded. "This oughtta be good."

With a shout, Inuya surged forward and aimed straight for Tyrell's stomach with a sharp stab. The young prince dodged neatly to the outside, where he smacked a strong wrist into Inuya's neck and then slapped his other palm into the back of his head.

Inuya countered quickly, swinging up a powerful turning kick into his opponent's side. Tyrell bent under the blow and jumped a few steps back.

Inuya sliced sideways towards the Oratoan's midriff. The boy lunged forwards, right up to where he was too close for Inuya's attacks to reach. He drove two fingers into Inuya's shoulder and the young man's arm shot right back. Tyrell then turned quickly, driving his elbow into Inuya's sword arm and sending it into a spasm that saw him drop his sword.

The fight from here on out was purely hand-to-hand, with good strikes from either side. Though by the power of his pressure-point attacks, Tyrell eventually overcame Inuya.

There was loud applause as the two bowed and moved off. Inuya grabbed his sword, slapped Tyrell on the back and they both laughed.

"Next up are the northerners," said Roy. "I'm not sure what to expect from them, really."

"Me neither," Edward agreed. A moment later, he asked, "What's the north like?"

"Cold," answered Roy.

Siger and Stephen Meinhardt stepped into the spotlight, older and younger respectively. The audience watched in curiosity as they awaited the next showcase.

The pair first engaged in a high-pace sparring match, in which speed was the key. Their attacks were light, fast and exact. They moved so quickly that even Roy had trouble keeping up. After that, Stephen walked off until he was a fair distance away from his father and turned to face him.

Roy squinted as he held something up, struggling to see what it was. After a couple of seconds, he figured out it was a tennis ball. His puzzling on what the duo planned to do with a tennis ball was solved when Siger swiftly drew his sidearm and aimed it above Stephen's head.

With a swift upwards toss, the younger man threw the ball high into the air. The crowds watched it soar for a moment. In the blink of an eye, the crack of Siger's gun sent the ball spiralling to earth in a shower of green felt.

There was a loud round of applause at this stunt, and then another when Stephen easily pulled of the same feat.

Then he took something small and shiny out of his pocket.

In shock, the crowd realised it was a coin.

Fwip!

BANG!

There was a stunned silence as Stephen walked a couple of metres away and picked something up off the floor. He held it up and turned.

A fifty cen piece, with a bullet hole right through the middle. Stephen proved it by sticking his finger through the hole and wearing the wounded coin like a ring.

It was Siger's turn to toss the coin this time and Stephen fired. His aim was ever-so-slightly off, leaving a hole in the corner of the coin.

"That… That's amazing," Edward muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Roy simply shrugged. If it got down to it, Hawkeye was probably a better shot.

As the northerners stepped out, the team from the west stepped in. With their hulking forms and the stack of weights they carried with them, it didn't take much to figure out their plan.

Several grunting, sweat-filled minutes of massive weights being tossed around and huge metal beams being bent in half later, the Fergusons left the field and made way for the next team, the Avonese.

Ulfric and Felix Pravda moved onto the field carrying a small bow with a set of arrows, an orange and a large football. There was curious silence as Ulfric handed the bow to his son and walked a distance away. The man reached into his pocket and withdrew the orange. He reached up and placed it atop his head before dropping the ball to the ground and hopping onto it.

Felix raised the loaded bow at his father, who was balancing precariously atop the ball with a tiny orange on his head.

"No way," Edward breathed. With a disbelieving laugh, he added, "This is more like a circus act than a martial demo."

Roy nodded in agreement and Tyrell gaped from where he'd walked up behind them.

"Kami-sama help me," Inuya breathed. "What a start."

They watched as Felix pulled the string taught on his bow and steadied the arrow towards the orange perched on the head of the wobbling Ulfric.

A moment of intense silence drew out as the boy lined up his aim. And all of a sudden there was a twang-whoosh-shuck-thud.

The orange fell to the ground, perfectly pierced by an eleven-year-old's arrow.

"Well," Edward said, breaking the group's stunned silence. His wide golden eyes blinked a couple of times before he looked around at them.

"That sure ain't something you see every day."

There we go! I'm sorry it's short, but I haven't had much time recently. Things like family and school and career choices and anime got in the way… (Because of that, the next few updates might be a little late, but I'll try not to leave it too long.)

Speaking of, I recently got back into Black Cat. It was one of the first manga I read, and I had forgotten how much I love Sven! :3

As for my age, most of you said either 14-15 or 19-21. That does make sense.

Thanks again everyone for all your support! And I really mean it! I know I say it a lot, but I do appreciate it. I mean, you'll have given me a hundred reviews when this chapter's up – if you deem the story worthy of the six it requires.

'Til next time! Zakuro away!