sekamu: okay, this is when things get interesting...
Myst: Define "interesting"... ;worried look;
Sekamu: Don't worry, just more Kurama torture... ;evil laughter;
Myst: ;sweatdrop;
Sekamu: oh, and the beginning of the chap jumps forward a bit. He's been having the assassination dreams for a while. It's just a time skip. NO, I did NOT miss uploading a chapter. And I'm sorry for not updating sooner!!
Myst: You're b-day party rocked, though.
Sekamu: Didn't it though? ;grin; Anyway... on with the fic!!
Kurama woke up with a gasp. Another assassination dream…he reached over to his bedside table, feeling for the journal. It was gone.
Kurama sat up in bed, eyes darting around the room. The window was open, and a short figure was sitting on the sill with the journal, flipping through it. "Hiei!"
Hiei glanced up from Kurama's dream journal. "Fox. Since when do you keep a diary?"
"It's not a diary…" growled Kurama, attempting to snatch the book away from Hiei, who merely hopped to a higher branch and continued to read.
He then looked back down at Kurama. "And since when do you know so much about swords?"
"Hiei… the book…" Kurama said flatly. Hiei finally conceded in tossing the journal back down to Kurama who gave him a stern look before grabbing a pen and quickly scribbling down his most recent dream.
I've had another one of those dreams. This time the name of the man was ShigekuraJubei. But that wasn't the man I feel most guilty about killing. I'm more concerned about one of the statesman's bodyguards, Kiyosato Akira. The look on his face was one of pure terror. Overall, the dream was much more vivid than the others I've had. I could almost smell the blood…
Just as Kurama finished writing all of this down, something that shone black in the moonlight dripped onto his hand. The blood from his dream.
Uttering a small cry, Kurama dropped the notebook and ran to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, he was that there was a line of the liquid running vertically across his left cheek. Wiping it away frantically and trying to see where it was coming from, Kurama saw only pale, unbroken skin. His eyes searched out their reflection in the mirror, and for a second, Kurama could have sworn they were amber—but when he blinked, the returned to their natural green.
Kurama stared at his reflection for a few more seconds before turning and walking shakily back to his room. Hiei, meanwhile, had picked up his dream journal again and had continued to flip through it.
"You're going soft on me, fox."
"What?"
"You're so concerned about all these people. They're just dreams."
"I know!" Kurama protested. "It just… feels real."
"You never cared before," Hiei glared at him.
"Maybe I should have," Kurama mumbled.
"Hn." Hiei grunted, tossing the journal back onto the bed. He put one foot on the window sill, saying scornfully, "You are going soft." And he was gone.
Kurama only stood there, before lying back on the bed, not bothering to go to sleep for the rest of the night.
The day of the match between Meiou and Sarayashiki was fast approaching. With constant practices both before and after school, Kurama had improved—slightly.
"Well, at least you're hitting the dummy consistently now," Myojin told him after the extra practice Kurama had asked him to supervise. "That's an improvement, right?"
Kurama shook his head. "I'm going to try and go again. Just one more hit."
"That's what you've said for the last five rounds!"
Kurama ignored him, and walked over to the post the two were practicing on. He crouched into the stance that Myojin had drilled into him, and swung the sword—hitting the dummy at an angle. "Argghh!" If only you were a whip, he thought, glaring at the traitorous shinai.
"Alright, Minamino, that's it. The school will be closing soon. Go home, please." Myojin begged.
Kurama sighed. "Very well. I'm trying sir, I really am…!"
"I know you are. And you are improving."
"Yes, but what about Yoshikuni's challenge?" Kurama pointed out.
"Maybe this style isn't the right one for you. Do you know what style your friend practices?"
"No…"
Myojin sighed. "Alright. I'll see you in the morning."
Kurama blinked. "But tomorrow's Saturday." Clearly he was forgetting something…
Myojin grinned. "Yes, and the day of the match. Good luck!" he called over his shoulder at Kurama as he jogged out of the gym. He chuckled at the look on Kurama's face, and headed to Bar Ambrose. He had an appointment there, and he was already late.
"Ah! Fujita-san!" Myojin called across the bar, catching sight of his friend. He sat down next to the police officer and smiled cheerfully at him. "Usually if I'm a few minutes late, you leave." All he got was a nod and a glare in response. "How was work?"
"Hm," the officer grunted.
"That bad, huh?" Silence. "I am sorry for being late. I was practicing with one of my students, you see. He'll be fighting in the match tomorrow."
"Really?"
"Ah! A word! Yes, he will be. Are you coming to watch like you usually do?"
"Of course."
Myojin sighed. "Expect to see everyone beaten into the ground as usual, then."
Fujita looked at him in surprise. "But if you were practicing with that one student…"
Myojin propped his head on his hand. "Yes, I thought he would be good. Not quite there yet, though. The only thing I can think of is that this is the wrong style for him, but most students learn by leaps and bounds with Kamiya Kasshin-ryu." He sighed. "I don't know what to do."
Fujita was honestly interested now. "What's the boy's name?"
Myojin blinked. "Hm? Oh, he's-" his cell phone cut him off. "Hello?" A short pause. "Yes, I'm on my way home. No I'm not in a bar!" Another pause. "How do you know which one?!?!" A longer pause. "Alright, I'm coming, I'm coming…" Hanging up, Myojin apologized to Fujita. "I'm sorry, that was my sister. She said she would come get me herself if I'm not home in fifteen minutes. I'll see you at the match tomorrow, then." Without another word the teacher left the bar, and a very frustrated police officer, behind.
The dreams, if that's indeed what they are, have taken an odd turn. Last night, not only did I kill again, but it wasn't a scheduled kill. It wasn't an assignment, an assassination. Actually I killed an assassin who was after me.
Not only that, but a woman seems to have entered the equation. She was beautiful, with long, dark hair, large eyes, and a kimono as white as the plum blossoms of which she smells…
She's also the reason that I believethese dreams are something more. I've never met a woman whom I've ended up falling in love with, and I certainly am at least smitten with her in this dream. She says that I have caused the bloody rain to fall, and she seems to be right. The way I killed the assassin was by cutting him in half, his blood mixing with the rain, and staining her pure kimono.
Oddly enough, this is the clearest dream I've had since I killed Kiyosato. Perhaps the two dreams are somehow connected…?
Kurama took a deep breath. This wasn't so bad, right? At least if you lose, you won't die like you would have at the Dark Tournament.
Somehow, that wasn't helping.
He took another deep breath. Come on! He'd had life-and-death combat experience, and he was letting some little sword fight scare him?
Yes.
Okay, self-pep-talk was not working at all.
Another deep breath. He could do this, he could do this, he could do this, he couldn't do this… Stopping that train of thought, too. He caught sight of the concession stand out of the corner of his eye, and decided to walk over there to get a drink of water. It might help calm him down. Hopefully.
He was too preoccupied with seeing how much money he had in his wallet to watch where he was going. Which might be why he bumped into one of the spectators. "Ah! I'm sorry about that," Kurama apologized to the man. Looking up, he had a moment of recognition. "My apologies, officer, I wasn't watching where I was going." With a final bow, Kurama continued on his way, not noticing the look that Fujita was giving him.
"Fate is a funny thing, sometimes. I forgot that Meiou has pink uniforms…" the officer muttered to himself, tracking the magenta keikogi and bright red hair through the crowd. He'd been extremely surprised at first (It was as if Himura Kenshin had stepped out of the past) but as he had said, fate can be a funny thing. He shook his head, and approached Myojin. After the two friends had greeted each other, they parted: Fujita to find his seat, Myojin to do some last minute encouragement.
"Will Yasuo Tanaka and Minamino Shuichi come to the mat, please?"
Kurama gulped. Not yet! He looked up as he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Go on, Minamino. Good luck," Myojin told his student. Kurama nodded, and stepped forward to receive and put on his equipment.
Kurama took the stance of seigan, the only form that he'd managed to learn in his two weeks of Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu. He waited patiently for Yasuo to attack first. hoping he could figure out his style before attempting any hits. He didn't have to wait long, as Yasuo charged forward in a downward strike aimed at the head.
Kurama sidestepped the attack easily. Yasouo moved into a series of quick, efficient blows. He was good—once or twice the shinai nearly clipped Kurama's shoulder. Kurama, however, watched carefully. His hesitation paid off when Yasuo attempted another strike at the shoulder, only to miss by a couple of millimeters. Yasuo's momentum threw him just slightly off balance.
Now.
Kurama stepped forward and swung the sword down at his opponents head, but the shinai glanced off the man. The judge yelled a command that halted the match. Kurama held his breath, awaiting the decision.
"Too shallow," the referee announced, motioning for the match to continue. Kurama sighed. Sure, he could probably dodge all day, but if only he could land a hit…!
After a few more moments of dodging, Kurama decided it was now or never. He shifted his feet forward and attempted another strike. The clack of shinai against shinai echoed through the gym as Yasuo deflected the attack, and moved his blade into a sideways slash aimed at the abdomen.
The bamboo sword collided with Kurama's stomach. Yasuo had apparently put all his strength into the blow; despite the sturdy do, Kurama lost his breath and was overtaken by extreme nausea. He couldn't hear the judge's announcement of the points or the crowd yelling, and couldn't see anything but darkness.
The next thing he knew, Yasuo was on the mat unconscious, and he was holding the remaining splinters of what had been his shinai.
He blinked. What had…?
"Minamino! That was great! Amazing! That'll show that cat-eyed freak that Meiou can do swords!! I knew you could do it!" Myojin practically ran onto the mat, eager to congratulate (and possibly glomp) his student. Kurama just nodded, wondering exactly what he had done. "Come on, you've got a while to wait. The rest of the team will take it from here." Kurama allowed himself to be led of the mat, not letting go of the hilt of what remained of his shinai.
Kurama collapsed on the bench, and hung his head, studying his hands held in front of him. He had blacked out…. and beaten a good fighter while he was out of it. What was going on? Mentally, Kurama listed everything that had been odd or out of place over the last few weeks.
One: An interest in swords. He's never been interested, or even very good at using them, merely impressed by Hiei's ability and adept at using a grass blade as one.
Two: The bet with Yoshikuni. He still didn't know how he had known the different stances, or what attack he had used on the post.
Three: The blackout during the match. No clue what happened there.
Four: (Kurama hesitated to add this one.) Those dreams. Where were they coming from? Why the Revolutionary War? Who was that woman? And who was he supposed to be?
"Minamino?" Myojin was standing in front of him. Kurama had been so lost in thought that he hadn't realized the matches were over.
He stood. "Thank you, Myojin-sensei. Do you need help with the equipment?" Kurama asked.
A happy smile graced the man's face. "Yeah, I could use the help, if you've got a moment. I wanted to congratulate you personally, anyway."
Kurama shook his head, examining the shinai for what felt like the hundredth time. "Why? Whatever happened out there, I didn't do it."
Myojin blinked. "Are you kidding? You were the only one that won their match. Not even Saruwatari, and you know how good she is."
"But I don't even know how I won!" Kurama tried to explain.
Myojin laughed, until he got a good look at Kurama's face. He stopped, and sat down next to him. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Dead serious."
"What do you mean, you don't know how you won?" Now that Myojin knew there was a problem, he would try to help fix it.
"I mean, that after he hit me in the stomach, I blacked out until Yasuo was on the floor. I don't know what happened between then."
"You stood back, mouthed something—all I caught was the word "ryu"—and then you hit him with about six strikes in less than two seconds! I'd never seen anything like it! It was lightning fast, almost like the god—" Unfortunately for Kurama, Myojin was easily distracted.
"God speed of legends, I know." Kurama muttered, remembering the dream he had had less than three days ago, and the terrified look on his victim's face. He had possessed the same speed when he had killed Kiyosato. Kurama mentally sighed. Another question to add to a list that had neither answers nor end.
"How do you know about that?" Myojin asked, surprised. "I don't think I've ever mentioned it in practice."
Kurama opened his mouth to lie again, and was slightly surprised when, instead, the truth came out. "I've been having strange dreams lately."
"What does that have to do…?"
"In them, I'm an assassin in the Bakumatsu for the Ishin Shishi. I'm an excellent swordsman, possessing the speed of the gods, and I practice the sword style called Hiten Misturugi-ryu."
Myojin stiffened, and said seriously, "Where did you hear about that style?"
Kurama blinked. He tried to remember if he had ever seen Myojin look and act so serious. "Just from my dreams. It's an actual style? I tried doing some research, but I couldn't find anything."
"No, it's not an actual style," A new voice spoke behind them. "Don't let Noboru-chan fill your head with nonsense, cutie."
Kurama looked up in surprise at a tall woman with her light brown hair cut into a pixie cut and wearing in the Sarayashiki kendo uniform—a blue gi and dark gray hakama—smirking at Myojin.
"It is so a real style! My great-grandfather knew a follower of the school! And he learned some of it himself." Myojin wasn't the happy-happy-joy-joy Myojin anymore, Kurama noticed. Uh oh…
"AND DON'T CALL ME CHAN!" Myojin realized belatedly. "I'm five years older than you, and--"
"And there're years difference in our maturity," the woman's smirk grew. "And several centimeters in height difference."
One could distinctly hear a snap as Myojin tackled the woman. Kurama looked at the two of them wrestling on the floor. "Uh, excuse th—" Kurama shook his head. "—me… are you two… friends?"
The woman by now had pinned Myojin to the ground and was leaning her elbows on his head with her chin resting in her hands. "No, not particularly." She winked. "We're not dating if that's what you're wondering."
"DATING!" Myojin yelled in surprise. "Like I would date an ugly like her!"
The woman glared down at Myojin, and promptly began whacking him as hard as she could. "You're just jealous because the team I coach is actually competent!"
"My team is good too!"
"Yeah, you finally won your first match in three years!"
"At least my students have brains!"
"YOU TAKE THAT BACK!"
Kurama blinked, wide-eyed. Scary kendo coaches…
After a few more seconds, another person entered the fight, only this one with the intention of breaking it up. Fujita Goro picked the two combatants up by their collars.
"Stop flirting, you two."
The two hung there, glaring at each other and Fujita. Kurama was even more confused. "So the two of you are dating…?"
"Yes," both of them muttered at the same time. Kurama blinked. Okay…
Fujita dropped the two of them to the ground, ignoring the grunts of pain. Kurama gulped as the police officer stared at him intently—not angrily, just studying him. "We'll meet at the usual place," he told the two sword masters, still looking at Kurama, before turning and stalking away. "He's beginning to awake…" Kurama barely caught the words.
The two were standing now, not looking at each other. Myojin nodded at the woman. "This is Tsukayama Ayami. She's my…" he trailed off, muttering the last word. "…girlfriend."
Tsukayama whacked him over the back of his head. "More like your keeper, Noboru-chan."
"Don't call me CHAN!"
Kurama sweat-dropped as the two were wrestling again. Deciding to take advantage of the opportunity, he quietly stood, and left the gym.