Chapter three. Small victories.
It never got old, she thought sarcastically as she sat down for her fifth class of the day. Every first day of each class professors passed out syllabuses and told the class to read over them and then work quietly. The last two classes were exciting for her, however. The first was a design class based mainly in theory, which was honestly more review than new, and the second was her advanced digital media workshop, followed by a study period. A good way to finish off the day at least, if she survived until the end, she'd be able to do what she wanted and relax in a familiar digital territory, if different setting. Rewarding in a way, the small victories.
The school had a fantastic computer lab, full of the newest mac pros available and custom pc's with high-end graphics cards and beautiful large monitors with full color displays. There were multiple drawing tablets, the expensive kind where you could draw directly on the screen, and when she logged into the desk she was assigned she gawked at the system's specs. Getting lost in reading through various documents on the power of the machine that was to be hers for 2 to 3 hours a day for the next two years she grinned, this lab put her macbook pro to shame.
The door opened and she side-eyed the students who entered one by one. Two boys walked in and proceeded to the opposite of her, followed by a short redhead girl. The professor was next, flicking the lights down as he walked to his desk. This effectively rendered the next person in the doorframe appropriately backlit and ominous, toting his briefcase with a stride that seemed almost nonchalant about his very clear superiority to the rest of the already elite class. It took her a moment, as he sat down three computers in front of her, to recognize it was the typing boy from homeroom. Her eyes adjusted slowly, as sometimes she had problems with low-lighting, and she realized he had pulled out his laptop and had begun typing away again with effortless mastery.
The angle of the computers made it so his back was half turned to her and that was more than fine. Instinctively she curled herself further into the wall behind her, wondering about the odd layout of the room but grateful for her sense of security. Two rows of computers along the north and south walls, six on each with a small central pod of four computers with dual-screens suited to digital media artists. The redhead girl had claimed a central seat with a graphics tablet. The other two boys were in front of the pcs on the opposite wall from her. In front of the middle pod the professor's desk sat with a digital projection screen behind him, his own laptop pulled out and set up and connected cords quickly.
Her current nook, even if mister I'm too important to adhere to social boundaries was three seats in front of her. Perhaps that was it, she glowered to herself; typing-boy was too good for the rest of the world to look away after the initial stares she frequently encountered. Most people would stare and then advert their eyes after 10 agonizingly long seconds or so, and then flicker their eyes back when she wasn't looking.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the professor asked her politely to close the door. She rose quickly, pulling the door shut and slipping back into her seat in a now much-darker and cozier computer lab. "Thank you." The professor said and she nodded curtly in response, leaning back against the wall behind her and laying her head against the wall.
"Hello, it's very nice to see you all here, and I can say I'm extremely happy to have you as my students." The typing boy paused and flipped down his now extra-bright screen, paying attention to the grey haired man with the same intense stare he had given her earlier in the day. She made a mental note and blushed, without realizing how much attention she was attaching to this stranger once again. She was thankful for the low lighting.
"It is my honor this semester to be your professor and help you all towards your individual goals. This is more of an open forum and independent study than a traditional class structure. I know without a doubt all of you gifted individuals will make use of this new lab without needing much of my help. However, I would like you to outline what you intend to be doing with this class and keep a log or journal so I have some way to let the school know of your progress." He paused and smiled and the pc boys chuckled lightly. "If there is any way that I may be of assistance please let me know. You can call me Vincent or Mr. Norton if you want, either is fine." His accent clicked as she placed his name, English or American, she couldn't be sure. Pausing, he scanned the class, looking at each person with a smile, Kisara included without any lingering or visible signs her appearance unnerved him. She liked him immediately for his honest intent and discretion.
"Now, as some of you who were here last year probably noticed our new render engines in the rear of the room; linked to each of your systems if you need to make use of them. Be sure to share their power and don't hog them all yourselves." Another light chuckle, this time joined by the redhead. "Thank you again, Mr. Kaiba for your generous donation to our school." He bowed to the typing boy who nodded in dismissal, smirking as he did so.
Kisara's stomach dropped out quickly and her hands went numb as she experienced an intense case of tunnel vision quickly followed by the nauseating reality of her situation. She barely spoke enough to have foot-in-mouth moments, but now she was having an "I want to kick myself for my stupidity moment." She had not only stared down the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company that specialized in exactly the type of work she wanted to do, but also probably offended him beyond a shadow of redemption with her arrogantly agitated attitude. Trying to sink deeply into the wall and willing magic to be real just so she could disappear in this moment, the professor's words were lost to her as she stared intensely at the back of Seto Kaiba's head.
It was all her fault. She should have read the stupid magazines she and her mother labeled "trashy gossip" or "girly gunk." The ones with celebrities, make-up tips and ways to "get your man hot." Even her mother's design magazines would mention Kaiba Corp from time to time. Certainly she could have seen a photo of him, maybe she had without realizing it. Her mother's friend Vivian had gotten her the interview after all, why didn't Viv tell her that the legendary Kaiba went to Domino? Why didn't Kisara know that? Why the ever-living fuck was this happening?
She nearly sobbed in her remorseful anger and frustration with herself, now simply peering with one eye through her fingers, full drawn into the wall, magic failing her. Why couldn't this freaking skin coloration grant her camouflage like a chameleon? She had an interview with his company on Saturday, five days from now. Four agonizingly long school days of awkwardness intensified to the extreme. Her insides raged against her rationale, her pride overwhelming her desire to follow her dreams.
She would back out of the interview as soon as she got home, she could simply call the department lead who set up her interview and tell her she found something else. Then, later, she'd bury herself in books until she forgot her horrendous mistake. Maybe mom still had some of that brandy she liked in the liquor cabinet, surely she could Google how to pick a lock, it couldn't be that hard. She still had some of the sleeping pills from the doctor, maybe she could just sleep through the weekend and not—
"You're shaking." His voice was like ice. Quiet and smooth to not interrupt his classmates but with a force that commanded attention and respect. She looked up to see him turned to her, leaned back in the rolling chair resting his head on two fingers of his right hand as if he owned the place, which she assumed he probably did in some way. One of his long legs crossed over the other, his ankle resting on a thin knee. She noted a black sock peeking between the material of his trousers and his shoe. Designer down to the last detail. His maids or servant team must pick out his daily fashions, probably including subtle additions to boast of wealth to his otherwise common, though well kept high school attire.
Her legs were drawn up to her chest in a very unladylike fashion, chin resting on pink knees, eyes still hidden behind her fingers and betraying tears threatened to fall from her eyes. He was right, her hands were trembling. Slowly she dropped her legs down, one at a time and then lowered her hands into her lap, breathing deeply through her nose and refusing to break eye contact, attempting to absorb her welling tears. He posed an unplanned challenge, and she hated not being prepared. Her whole life had been preparation for any onslaught on bullies and those who would kidnap her on the street and sell her to the highest bidder. Her mom had even insisted on her taking basic karate when she was younger since she traveled alone for the most part and they traveled quite a lot.
Her mind raced, trying to some kind of intelligent coherent response, she racked her brain for all the snippets she had read about him. Cold, merciless and calculating with an extreme intolerance for weakness, CEO of the largest Japanese virtual imaging company since he was barely out of his childhood. And, of course, what was she showing right now? Weakness. Great.
She sat up straighter and tilted her chin up, willing the pulse that beat rhythms in her brain to slow. Billionaire and genius, an enigma, an idol and a champion duelist, and also: a student of domino high. Still at a disadvantage, she knew she needed to speak, less he gained the upper ground. "I didn't have much appetite at lunch, my blood sugar might be low." The lie sounded way less believable as it tumbled from her tongue than it did in her head. Cursing inwardly she schooled her face into what she hoped was a polite smile. She had sought out the farthest table to chow down on the remainder of "I'm sorry for your loss" sympathy meals, frozen and reheated in the cafeteria.
His smirk grew, followed by a small laugh. Was he more handsome stone-faced while glaring her down, or smirking and smiling at her abashed explanation? She couldn't tell as the accursed thought drifted through her head. She tried in vain to banish it into oblivion. It was his presence that awed her, relaxed as he watched her calmly. An alpha wolf amongst his pack, in complete control of his surroundings without even a hint of doubt of his undeniable all engrossing swagger. And she was an outsider in his territory. Her mouth felt dry and her hands threatened to betray her so she cleaned them into fists almost completely forgetting the others in the room, the redhead had headphones, the professor chatting with the pc guys.
Breathing out she opened her mouth to say something else but he beat her too it, shifting in his chair. "I wanted to…" He broke off his stare as if the words he was searching for were alien to him. "Talk about earlier, about homeroom." Yes, definitely foreign to a man of his standing. He was more used to barking orders than talking about things surely. She wasn't used to talking much more to another person besides paying at the grocery store or returning a library book. Polite discussion escaped her survival instincts, especially since her mother was gone.
"Oh." She said simply, the surprise genuine in her voice. Even the little she knew about the CEO screamed he wouldn't be the type to bring up her misstep without an overbearing tone. Her insides slowly uncurled and she relaxed a tad, seeing that he willingly breached the awkward barrier with gentle words.
"You … remind me of someone … I know." He spilled out finally with a finality. He studied her with the same intensity from earlier. But somehow it felt less intimidating and more sincere, as if his words held truth and not simply a cover for his coarseness. His eyes held honesty in their dark blue depths, and somehow it slowed Kisara's heart and uncurled her fists. He was not playing her for some cruel joke, or quizzing her on her heritage, he seemed true. Whether he would continue to be so or not she knew she would figure in time, but this odd offer of explanation seemed to sink in without further pressing. It was a weird feeling, a fluttering in her stomach. Fear and confusion and strange, intense sense of comfort with this powerful man churned in her stomach. She breathed in sharply, formulating a response.
"I know I look a bit like an anime protagonist." A smile pulled at her lips as the bad joke tumbled from them. "And no, I don't try to look like this. I'm not really into the cosplay scene." The second at least, elicited a slight chuckle. It was the first time she realized that she had actually said something about her appearance to someone without anger or intensity in her voice. She didn't know if that thought scared her or intrigued her.
Kisara couldn't break her gaze from him, and deep within her, some girlish devilish, disgusting hope was twisting her core instinct by opening to this man. She should stomp this out at the source and stick to the path that had kept her safe her whole life. No socializing, no letting others in; she was alone in this world and she needed no one. No one but her mother, a tiny voice echoed from some uncertain nerve ending in her brain. Shutting it out she braced herself for his coming retort.
But instead she was left with a simple smirking nod of acknowledgement and "Hmm." He swiveled his chair back to face his laptop and soon, the familiar ticking of his keys resumed. Dismissed, was the word that floated to the top of her mind. Dismissed but at least he had somewhat made an attempt at fixing the foray of formalities. Good enough, she guessed, and probably the best she was going to get.
She slowly turned herself back to her desk and pulled her headphones out of her bag, pulling them over her ears and attempting to ignore the CEO's presence to her left. She opened up z brush, her favorite modeling software, and pulled out her notebook. After a moment she picked the dragon she doodled in homeroom to practice her hand at sculpting. After a few minutes she slowly relaxed into her work and stopped side-eyeing the Seto Kaiba.
Channeling herself into her music and sculpting, she created creature with relative ease, molding arms and legs, and torso, the wings, ridges of spines framing jaws and a sharp back. Once her task of creating the base form was done she leaned back and stretched, reviewing her work. She caught the reflection of his face on her screen, her slight shift in position allowing his face to reflect off the monitor. By the time she looked over he was already assisting his computer in whatever it demanded. It was back on the game engine coding software, and she couldn't make out details. She wondered just how much he worked, a mystery filed away to wonder upon later. Meticulously she began ridges into the sides of the beast of her creation, refining each claw and fang. It wasn't until she saved her progress that she realized class was nearing an end.
Quickly she packed up her things and was out the door as soon as the bell rang, forgetting to shut her computer down. She needed to catch the subway as soon as possible to get back to her place in Shinjuku. Leaving her headphones on, she let her long legs lead her quickly through the school crowds and out down into the town, past the courtyard and to the subway. Sooner than she realized she was flinging her door open, surrendering to the security of her flat. Kisara sighed in true relief and collapsed on the coach, the sheer effort of controlling her temper and stress levels all day finally catching up to her. She didn't remember drifting off.
As Kaiba rose to his feet after slipping his laptop into his backpack, he intentionally waited for the room to vacate to go peer at Kisara's screen. The uneasiness he had at hearing her name, the amount of effort needed to calm his pounding heartbeat, and the strange way his mind kept drifting back to her had hit him hard, right in the center of his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He had experienced a thousand feelings at once when he truly looked at her in homeroom that morning.
And now, he strained to draw another breath, his eyes wide as he stared at her near-perfect model of a Blue Eyes White Dragon. It was a coincidence; he had seen a Lightning Dragon keychain hanging off of her purse. It was simply that she liked Duel Monsters, and was playing around with her modeling. Or maybe she was doing it because she knew it was his favorite card, though her attitude toward him spoke of her unwillingness to do him, or anyone, any courtesies.
It surely wasn't that the midget and his geek squad's babbling about ancient fairy-tales was actually beginning to affect him. He didn't believe in past lives or hocus-pocus, he had fought against its stupidity since the start. She may bear an uncanny existence to the Kisara from the past he saw in his visions during the battle city tournament and the same name, yet that didn't make it destiny. He was his own master of fate, his own man, not some pawn in some three-thousand year old mumbo-jumbo plan.
Snarling, he turned from the computer and quickly exited the school to his awaiting limo, the ever-faithful Roland inside astride his younger brother, Mokuba. Curtly he greeted them, and soon Kaiba allowed his brother's babbling about his new classmates to filter through his unfaithful thoughts and kindly place them somewhere deep in his subconscious. Kaiba Corporation came into view and the young CEO sighed, relaxing and grabbing his backpack with a change of clothes inside, swinging it over his shoulder and toting his loyal briefcase with the opposite side. Ready to let meetings, talk of game development and programming soothe his distracted mind. He would worry about the girl later, much later if he had it his way.