Chapter 2: Amnesia

It is unlike anything I have ever smelled before. My nostrils flare and my whole body goes limp as my room turns into a paradise. If there is only one thing I want right now, it is to lay in this scent forever. Okay, maybe not the only thing. Definitely the second thing. The first thing I want to do is eat every last crumb. Eat until my belly aches. Eat until I can't move.

Piiiizzzaaa.

But this is no ordinary pizza, oh no. I breathe in deep. No. This is art, this is perfection. This is the ninety-nine cheese pizza. Just the name makes me shiver. It's too good to be true. You could say it's –

A culinary impossibility.

My eyes open and I'm staring at my ceiling. I dare not move, dare not think about anything else. What was that? I stare ahead, rigid as a board, trying to grasp it. It, that thought, hovers maddeningly out of sight, just barely, but I know it's there. What is that? I force myself to focus through my grogginess, closing my eyes tight, trying to trap the thought in my head. There's something there, but it slips away faster than the smell that had filled my room just moments before. I sit up quickly and grab my blanket. Don't go!

Aaaaannnddd… It's gone. Great. Paradise ruined. The smell has vanished. I sniff the air a few times just to make sure. I catch a whiff of cow manure. Yup. Definitely gone. I collapse back onto the bed. There had been something there, someone. Who was it? I feel sleep threatening to take me back under. That would be nice. I feel so tired. I just wish I knew who – Wait. How did I smell something so good over cow manure? I open my eyes wide. I must have… a super nose. So strong it can detect every ingredient in any pizza across the world… right from my bakery in Italy. Monsieur Shnozz, they will call me, and people from every corner of Italy will come to my bakery in search of the finest collection of pizza recipes in history.

I pause for a moment. Monsieur doesn't sound right. Is that Italian? No. It's French! Definitely French. I can be a French-Italian chef. Twice the cooking ability. I'll need a costume. No super-nosed chef can run a bakery without a proper –

I blink a few times. My room comes into focus. Why is it so bright? I glance over towards the window to see sunlight on my floor. There's sunlight on my floor. That's why. I yawn wide and stretch all the kinks from my arms and neck. I must have fallen asleep. Sunlight. This means something.

My sheets suddenly explode around me and I launch myself to my feet. It means I slept in!

Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap –

I stumble across my room, flinging shirts and pairs of pants off of my floor and in every direction. Where is my robe?! Blast my laziness! If I just cleaned my room once in a while – I mean how hard it to keep track of one robe – ohcrapohcrapohcrap – where is it?! I run over to my closet. Surely it can't be – It is. It's hanging up. In my closet. I look at it for a moment, confused, before snatching it off its hook and pulling it over my head. Wraps, wraps, where are – they're on my bedside table. Rolled neatly into four, perfect shapes and placed side by side, right next to a sandwich and an apple. I stare at the assortment of items for a moment. Truthfully, I can only describe my thoughts in a single word. Flabbergasted. A word I rather like, come to think of it. I could just be crazy, but Himura must've done this for me. It must have been a rough night. I walk quickly over to the table and grab the rolls of fabric and the apple and stuff them into my pocket. Typical of Himura. She does all of this but doesn't wake me up in time for class. She must enjoy dishing out punishment to tardy students. I know she does.

The sandwich is in my hands and out the door as I sprint down the hallway, kicking a loose t-shirt off my foot. I glance towards Haru's door as I fly past it, almost making it to the kitchen before I suddenly slide to a stop, my toes pressing hard into the smooth wood floor. I stand there, motionless, for a moment, and then I slowly tiptoe backwards until I am peering back into Haru's room, his door barely cracked open. My eyes adjust to the dim light to see him fast asleep, snoring faintly. I look at him, sleeping so innocently. I look at my sandwich, and take a small bite. Yup. Mayonnaise. I look back to Haru.

If there's one thing I know for sure, when there's a chance for a little payback, I'm going to take it. No matter the consequences.

I am to the fridge and back in a flash, the sandwich replaced with a pie plate of mayonnaise. I hesitate outside of his room, planning the best means of attack. I glance upward at the narrow space above me, and smile. Bless this claustrophobic hallway.

"Haru! Wake up! We're going to be late!"

Like a panther in the night, he waits for his foolish prey, his powerful claws dug deep into the walls on either side of him, high above the lowly floor. He waits with the patience of a true predator.

And waits.

And waits.

I don't have time for this. "Haru!"

I hear the shifting of covers, a quiet grunt… and then a frenzy of noises not unlike the ones I had created a minute before. Seconds later Haru runs out the door, stumbling and slipping... and straight into a wall of mayonnaise. Oh, it was a beautiful sight. The condiment flew forward in a sea of white, splattering his face and black hair in a fantastic display of sweet, sweet revenge. My hand slowly lets go of the plate to reveal a frozen Haru. He wipes the mayonnaise from his eyes as the plate clatters to the ground, and looks up.

He spits the mayo from his mouth. "Mayona –"

"Mayonnaise? Oh yes. I'd say an entire pie plate. All over your face and your pretty hair." I flip down and around in a part aerial, landing to face him with the biggest idiotic smile ever. I lick a few flecks of the stuff from my arm. I nod in appreciation. "Yum. It's the real deal. Not that 'lite' stuff. Should be stuck nice and good," I tease, motioning towards his hair. His glare is murder. He wipes the stuff from his face and flings his arms to his sides, sending mayonnaise splattering against the walls. He marches straight past me and into the kitchen. I trail behind him, timidly positioning myself behind a counter.

"She's going to kill me, Mayonaka!" cries Haru suddenly as he scrubs the mayonnaise from his hair over the kitchen sink. "This isn't funny!"

"It is a little funny."

"No it's not! I'm dead!"

"I'm pretty sure we're both dead, since we're both late."

"But now I'm deader, thanks to you!" Haru scrubs harder at his sleeve. "These are new robes!"

"You should've thought of that before you started calling me Mayonnaise."

Haru shakes a towel over his hair and reaches for the jar I had left on the counter. "It's not my fault you're so easily offended," he grumbls, returning the half full mayonnaise jar to the fridge.

I laugh. "If there's one person who's taking anything personally right now, it's you, little brother. Besides, you seem to have gotten it out quite easily. No harm done." Unfortunately.

Haru's back is still to me as he continues to look in the fridge. What is he doing? I lean over the counter to get a better look, keeping my feet planted in case I need to make a quick escape. Which, it turns out, I do.

I hit the floor and a wasabi missile strikes the wall behind me. I roll across the gap between the kitchen counters and fling myself towards the door, the sound of Haru's feet close behind. I grab the doorframe and jerk sharply to the right as another green blob is flung from the house just inches from my neck. I swear I could feel the spice prickle my skin. That kid is ruthless. Wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of his throwing arm. Which I am. So I may as well make the best of it.

"Is that the best you got?" I call back to him without looking round. "Suzume could throw better than you!" The strangled cry I got in reply put a smile on my face. Totally worth it...

... Definitely not worth it.

Every muscle is on fire right now. Not literally, obviously. I'm using a metaphor right now. Something Himura has encouraged me to use in my daily writing journal. She said it would help to write creatively, that it would free my mind and maybe help me to remember something. Apparently she believes physical pain will help, too.

"Focus, Hura. If Mayonaka endures longer than you again, you have another ten minutes on the track."

I glance over to my little brother. His face is unreadable, almost relaxed, but the sweat pours off him like Niagra Falls. There's another thing Himura told me to use. A simile. It's supposed to add a colorful description to an otherwise bland situation. Like her choice of hair style, for instance.

"Five minutes," she says, pacing smoothly in front of us. "Five minutes into my class and you decide to grace me with your presence."

Grace was a light way of putting it. Haru had caught up with me as soon as I had slowed down to enter the dojo and had tackled me to the ground, sending us rolling down into the training floor with every eye on us.

"Discipline is required to lead a balanced life. You will learn it. You will live it. Arrive late to my class again and you will be doing this after every class for a week."

I've seen what discipline does to a person. It makes them put their hair up in a bland bun and force innocent children against the wall to feel their body burn while they suffer in silence. Discipline sucks the soul out of them, like a demon leech.

Jeez. Maybe I've been doing a little too much writing.

"Arms up," she snaps, thwacking her bo staff against my forearms. I flinch at the impact and try not to glare. "Wipe the expression from your face," she says without hesitation. "Focus on the task at hand. Don't waste energy with unnecessary emotion."

She's unbelievable. I glance back over to Haru. With Himura's back to us, he quickly shifts his rock to one hand and wipes the sweat from his eye… after which he begins to blink rapidly, his face screwed up in pain. He's obviously forgotten about the wasabi still on his fingers. I roll my eyes. I'm starting to feel sorry for him, even if he did stick beetles in my soup last week.

Himura turns around once again and we both face forward, expressionless. My legs begin to shake. I should have eaten the rest of my sandwich. Still, even without breakfast I'll be able to make it a couple more minutes. Haru, on the other hand, is slowly slipping down the wall beside me. I saw how his mother worked him during training, and he's already done the track once. I'm not looking forward to the painfully slow endurance cycle, but Haru isn't doing so well. And he has wasabi in his eyes. I sigh, glance at Madame Himura, and then my legs collapse under me, the sweet moment of relief interrupted as I push myself back up, just in time for Madame Himura to spot the change.

"Mayonaka! Track, now!"

I groan loudly and drop my stone in my lap, letting the weight pull me down. I'm barely there a moment before her bo staff sends me to my feet, racing towards the track.

"You meant to do that."

I look up. Haru stands at my feet, looking down at me like a rain cloud. I'll be sure to write that one down later. I lean forward and place my head on my leg, stretching my sore muscles. "I don't know what you mean."

Haru sits beside me, and continues his own stretches. "I'm not weak. I can take care of myself."

"I never said you were weak."

"You act like it."

I don't answer. Instead I switch to my right leg, resting my body against it. Haru follows suit, but he still stares pointedly at me. I sigh.

"She worked you hard today. Like every day. I thought you'd like a break."

"Well I don't!"

I hold my stretch, not looking at him. We go through a few more stretches in silence. I glance briefly at him. He seems to be thinking, his brow betraying his thoughts. It takes a moment before he talks again.

"I'm sorry."

I shrug. "It's okay."

Silence.

"You're tough," I continue, looking over to him. "Half the kids in there wouldn't have been able to take what Mum threw at you. You're her son. She works you hardest."

"You're her son, too," he mutters.

"Adopted son, and only since four months ago," I correct.

"Adopted, but she pushes you almost as hard as me."

I grin. "Almost."

His brows furrow. It amazes me how much he acts like his mother. They both get that same look when talking to me sometimes.

"She shouldn't be pushing you so hard!" he says suddenly, crossing his legs, staring at the ground.

I look at him, confused. "Pushing me? Were you not in there sweating up a storm ten minutes ago?" The nerve of this kid. He likes to work too hard, that's his problem.

"You were up on the roof last night, Mayo. I saw what happened."

I look away. So he had been there. I thought I had seen him in the doorway.

Haru's voice was thick. "You can't… go through that, every single night, and still do what you do in training. You're going to get hurt. She's pushing you too hard."

"She's –" I stop. Take a breath. "She's a wise woman, Haru. She knows what she's doing." I look back to him, placing a hand on his back. "I know what I'm doing. Training helps. Would you rather I didn't train? Do you think it's better for me to give up and wait for it to happen every night?"

"No, I… It's just…" he struggles, searching for words. "It…"

"It scares you?" I ask, trying to catch his eyes. His head is bowed, but he nods. I smile faintly. "Well, why wouldn't it? I'm basically Frankenstein compared to –"

"I'm serious, Mayonaka!" He shoves my arm away. "What if you walk off the roof next time? What if it gets worse? What if –" He clenches his teeth together and cuts the sudden outburst short. He breathes through his nostrils and out through his mouth, trying to calm himself. I can use some of that meditation right now. I'd rather not think about any of those possibilities. It was bad enough that I had to go through it every night. Now, it seems, Haru was too.

I see Madame Himura leave the dojo and start walking across the grass. She looks up and stops for a moment when she sees us. Before she can start walking over I shake my head. Concern clear on her face, she hesitates, but then collects herself, and nods. I watch her for a moment as she heads towards the house, before turning back to Haru. He is wiping his face with his sleeve. I avert my eyes.

A moment passes, and he grabs my hand. I jump at the sudden touch. "Sorry," he says, letting go. "Did that hurt?"

I shake my head. "No. Just surprised me."

I hold my hand out to him, and he takes it gently. His fingers begin to trace along my skin, his curious hands following the scars that ran along my arm. They are quite impressive, if I say so myself. Definitely useful if I, for whatever reason, felt the need to compare scars with someone. I'm pretty sure I would outmatch anyone in that respect.

"What happened to you," he says, almost to himself, more of a statement than a question. He already knows the answer.

"I don't know."

He drops my arm and folds his own, leaning back with anger all over his face. "It's not fair."

"You're telling me." Probably for the best, though. I wasn't too eager to find out where my scars came from. I look towards the dojo. "Come on. Let's go."

"Go where?"

"To the dojo."

"We can't go in there when there's no class. Mom says we're not – Mayo!"

I am already running. My feet hit the grass hard as I pump my legs. Not the kindest way to end a conversation, especially one like that, but I don't want to talk anymore.

"The dojo is locked, you idiot!" I hear him call behind me.

"Has never stopped me!" I shout back. Before he can say Mayonaka I am up the wall and through the window. Mum always leaves at least one of them open after each class to refresh the damp air. I poke my head back outside and motion for Haru to join me. He shakes his head, looking nervously towards the house. "Come on," I push. "You need some momentum. Take a run at it." He hesitates. "The next class isn't for an hour," I reassure him. "She's having tea and making lunch. We'll be out of here before then."

He takes a few steps backwards and glances at the house again. "I'm going to kill you if she catches us," he says, before digging his feet into the grass and bolting towards the wall. I fall to the floor as he rolls over the window sill.

"See," I say, as he drops down beside me. "That wasn't too bad."

He groans. "My legs are going to kill me tonight."

"Meh," I shrug. "Nothing mum can't help."

"She's the reason my legs are going to kill me tonight."

I pause. I can't argue with that. "Right." I look around. "Where does mum keep her uniform?"

"You mean her clan gear?" Haru eyes me warily. "I don't think I should tell you."

"I'm not going to damage it." He doesn't look convinced. "I've only ever seen her wear it once. I want to see it again." Nothing. "Pleeeaasse. It's soooo coooool!"

"Alright, alright! She keeps it in her room!" My shoulders sag. "But," he continues quickly, "she has some old gear in the equipment room." Haru skips over a few spare mats and jogs to the double doors at the back of the dojo. He flings them open to reveal all of Himura's training gear.

I raise my eyebrow. "I've seen all this. We use it every day."

"Not all of it," Haru says, heading to the back of the room. I follow him, curious. He stops in front of a small chest. "Mom keeps a bunch of old stuff in here for the younger kids." He leans down to open the chest, and I lean forward eagerly to as the lid comes off to reveal… junk. A pile of junk.

"Wow. It looks just like what we use every day. Except useless."

Haru snatches something from the box and flings it toward me. My arm moves reflexively and deflects it. "Ow!" I exclaim, clutching my arm. "What'd you do that for?"

"Not entirely useless, is it?"

I allow a few moments to glare at him before reaching down to grab a pair of nunchucks, weighing them in my hands. "They're great," I say bitterly. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he mutters, tossing me another set of nunchucks.

I catch them with ease before turning my attention to the weapons, as Haru searches for his own. As if by instinct, I go through a few basic motions. These have always felt the best in my hands, as if they were extensions of my own arms. We train every day with a wide variety of weapons, but I always go back to the nun chucks. I snap them around to finish, catching them under each armpit, before folding them in my hands, turning them over a few times as I inspect them. The chains are uneven in the finish, and the black leather is worn by many years of use, but they seemed reliable. A symbol is engraved at the bottom of each nunchuck, faint but distinguishable. I look closer at the red wood and see a small, delicately carved foot set within a perfect circle.

"Haru! These are different!" Wow. How have I never explored back here? Has mum used these in actual combat?

"That's why I showed you them!" he replies. He is at the other end of the room, a bo staff in his hand. He smiles mischievously. "Why don't you put them to the test, grandmaster."

I like the sound of that. My chest expands and I stand up tall, pointing a nunchuck in his direction. "That's Supreme Grandmaster to you, lowly pupil."

"Ha! You won't earn that title until you can grow taller than me."

"It's only half an inch! Besides, I don't need height to kick your butt."

"We'll see about that!" Haru lunges forward, shoving the end of his bo staff towards my stomach. I dodge easily and swat the staff away, twirling my nuncucks in an over-the-top manner as I dip low into my stance, exaggerating the entire display.

"Your speed contradicts your slothish features," I taunt. "I confess, I am impressed."

Haru turns and runs out the door onto the training floor, performing a few flips just for show before stopping to face me.

"Ha! Run while you still can, monkey!" I saunter after him, still flaunting my unnecessary nunchuck skills. "Only fools would go up against the Ultimate Supreme Grandmaster."

Haru laughs the single syllable, "Ha!" That's sarcasm, that is. "You're still Mayonnaise to me."

"Oho, someone hasn't learned his lesson. Would you like me to teach you again?" I grin as I eagerly revisit that glorious moment outside of Haru's room. The grin is short lived. Dang it. We forgot to clean it up. Himura is going to murder us… again.

"Why don't I teach you a little something, silly mayo man." He drops his staff and pulls out two knives from within his robes. Fake, obviously. Himura would never allow real knives in her dojo. Those were reserved for our private sessions at home. "A little something mum taught me."

"Give me your best shot."

And then he runs toward me.

I always expect a few things when we spar. A couple of punches here. Some unnecessary flips there. Maybe even a few fake maneuvers in his attempt to surprise me. I am trained to expect the unexpected, and as a result I am often very good at predicting his next move. We've fought together for three months and not much has changed.

But this time is different. My breath catches and a sudden vice seems to grip my chest as he begins to move in a way I have never seen him move before. He's not kidding when he said he was going to teach me something. This is definitely new. I have never seen the likes of it… so why does it seem familiar? I try to shake off the anxiety that has spread across my chest. What the – ?

Pain explodes within my jaw and the anxiety erupts into fear. Stumbling backwards I cover my face with my arm, retreating until my back rams into a wall. The attacker moves forward, and without thought my arm flies towards him. I feel my fist connect with his eye as my opposite nunchuck whips around, cracking across his face as he jerks backwards. Within the same second my foot finds his stomach and I can hear the breath leave him as he falls heavily to the ground.

The victory does nothing to calm my mind. I feel nothing but fire. See nothing but red.

Red footprints covered in blood.