Let's get this trainwreck moving.

The rest of the winter passes slowly, uneventfully, in the way that only school vacations can do. All too soon, though, it's time for the return to Yamaku.

With a heartfelt goodbye, we leave the house that's become a sort of home away from home; Miki takes a bus and a train, while I ride the whole way on my motorcycle. The open road has become a sort of escape for me, a way to do the thinking I need to do without letting anyone else in on what's bothering me. On the road, all that matters is your ability to drive...so long as you can do that, just about everything else is fair game.

I think about myself, and all the ways that I've changed since my last day as "the old me." I think about Miki, and what she means to me, and what the future might hold for us. I think about my sister, and her future as whatever it might be that she chooses to become. I think about my brothers, the way that they didn't deserve my sudden leaving and that I should've done more for them. I think about life, the past and present and future. My thoughts have no boundaries, because the flame and the void are endless in their expanse.

Mondo really did me a favor when he gave me this bike. Sure, it's probably not the greatest creation of the do-it-yourself chop shop that the Crazy Diamonds run among themselves, but it works plenty well enough for me. I'm gonna need to thank him whenever I'm in town next.

Deep down, I know I'm probably not going to go back. Not any time soon, anyway...at least, I hope so.

"Ah, yes. The sweet smell of schooling." I say, mockingly. No amount of time can change the fact that I have never cared about, or liked, school. It's not the education I have a problem with, so much as the way that it's done. I've always been a fast learner, done all my learning on my own, and other people needing help from the teacher has only ever seemed to slow me down.

Maybe that's not fair to those who need the help; if they need to understand something, then they should certainly reach the point where they understand...I just wish it didn't penalize my educational growth.

Not that you'd ever see me doing my homework or projects, though. Like my brother said, I coast by on whatever tests come my way. I always understand the material, so extra work to review and reinforce the lesson is pointless for me.

Even when I skip classes, I always make sure I know what I'll be missing.

Now, though, it's time for senior year. My last year before I'm done and gone and out of the damn system for good.

Familiar faces run past me, people I recognize. There's Lilly and Hanako, who've become even more insular after the big fallout Lilly had with Shizune. Emi and Rin are together, too. Shizune and Misha are probably inside already, keeping to themselves.

I've made no secret of my dislike for the Student Council, especially after they tried to gang up on me when I first arrived. Lilly has redeemed herself, as I've since learned that she held none of Shizune's intentions, but the blue-haired girl knows by now that I'm to be left alone.

It's better that way.

Our class this year is 3-1. While we're stuck with Shizune and Misha again, much to our shared displeasure, Hanako is there as well. While I wouldn't exactly say that we're friends, our by-chance meetings in the library last year allowed her to get over some of her shyness towards me. I smile, looking over to her, and she raises her left hand as a sort of greeting.

Whatever happened to her to give her that much scarring, that much insecurity, I'm sorry for it, but at the same time...she wouldn't be "her" without it, all the positives and negatives thrown in.

Maybe I'm getting better with this thing about relating to people. Maybe not. I've never really liked people, as a rule, so on a lot of levels I don't really care.

After introductions with all our classes are done, Miki and I go over to the athletic department. Everyone else that I've gotten to know, even in passing, is there.

I resist signing up; my efforts with physical fitness are my own, and they've worked well enough for me. At this point, I might even be able to do all the movements and forms at full speed.

After quick greetings and polite conversation about how our breaks went, everyone who wants to play a game is divided up into shirts and skins. Miki and I are, for once, on opposite sides.

"Not gonna go easy on you." I nudge her, and she punches me.

"I've never been easy on you. Why stop now?"

Rather than stay back in goal, like I did when my muscles were weaker and my reflexes were sluggish, I take one of the striker positions as they kick the ball to us.

Score once, retreat to the back. Score three times, and suddenly half of the other team is on you when you try to get the ball.

Then I score a fourth time, and they just sort of give up on guarding you.

The game ends in a tie at seven, and as we all congratulate each other Miki sticks her tongue out at me. "Showoff."

"Don't lie, you enjoyed the show."

"Mhm."

Sometimes Miki's boyish manner of speech is off-putting, but most of the time we communicate more easily than if she never directly told me things and I was left trying to guess at them.

"I always enjoyed the show. It just scared me sometimes."

"Too manly for your feeble female imagination." I say in the deepest voice I can make, and she laughs. "The bara is strong within this one, with his massive chest and powerful biceps. He could probably crush a car between his fingers, if they made cars that small."

I have to hold her by the waist so that she doesn't collapse on the green, and feel her pressing against my side as she wraps an arm around my shoulders. I look over, idly, and see the rock that's still stuck in the side of the tree.

Impressive, if I do say so myself.

"So how long did that go on for?"

"What?"

"Your crush on me."

Laughter can't save her from dodging this question, though she tries. It's loud, girlish, and that's how I know it's fake.

"Fourth grade."

I beat up a few fifth-graders who were picking on a girl. "That was you." I'm surprised I can remember the event so clearly, the way they turned on me and expected an easy target...only to find out that they couldn't escape when I pushed them down and punched them until they cried. By the time I'd looked back to see if the girl was okay, she was gone. "I always wondered who that was."

"It happened in seventh grade too."

It hadn't just been a grade up from her, that time, but girls and high-school kids too. There had been no mercy, and none of them escaped my judgement.

Others can say what they will, and maybe it's hypocritical, but I despise those who pick on the weak or ostracize the people who are considered "different." For all I know, people like that are the reason this school exists.

I hate bullies.

Sure, I'd beat people up, but I never intentionally picked out someone weaker than me. Even in registered bouts, we were supposed to be around the same level of power; when I was looking for a fight, I always went for the person who was considered strongest.

"It's all good now, though. I'm here." I tighten my grip to reinforce my presence, and she squeezes my shoulder.

What are we, then? Miki and I?

I'm tempted to think that we're a couple of insane fools. Maybe that'd be the correct answer. Fools for interacting, for knowing each other, for growing closer...but too much good has come out of it to be entirely foolish.

In the six or seven months that I've really known her, I think I've become a better person. She's become a lot more solid, both in schoolwork and in her physicality. None of her confidence is faked anymore, and I don't think she's ever been less afraid of me. Even if we're not the best of romantic pairs, we still fit, and we're good for each other. That's got to be a good thing, right?

"One who is raised by the sword..." I growl the words out, completing one set of motions. "...must then die by the sword."

The tree I punched down last year has been turned into a bunch of wooden posts for me to hit as I will. One good blow could snap them easily, but there wouldn't be a whole lot of fun in that. Instead, I land several softer blows.

"One who is born from the fire must then die inside the fire. Those who come from the sea will return to it. He who is born of earth, to the earth shall go. The children of the wind shall become one with it once again."

There is nothing within the flame and the void, nothing except the knowledge of what I am doing and what must be done.

"Duty is heavier than a mountain." I intone as I stop, tired. Looking up, I see the moon rising into the sky. "Death, lighter than a feather."

The next several days pass uneventfully, almost seeming to crawl. Words go in and out of my head, but the understanding of the concepts remains.

Hanako seems to be opening up more to other people, myself and Miki in particular. One day, she invites us to join her, and Lilly, for lunch.

"You brought guests, Hanako?"

"...Yes."

"Hello, Lilly." We say the words simultaneously, and Miki punches me.

"James? Miki?"

Miki almost nods, but then thinks better of it. "Yeah."

"I'm glad you could come join us."

It's a quiet place, and it almost seems like the world could be forgotten inside its walls.

Lunch is a passable affair, tea and small sandwiches that Hanako made. It's enjoyable.

The bell rings, too soon for anyone's liking, and we all head back to class. Lilly is in 3-3, a class devoted specifically to the visually-impaired students. Why do the seniors, and not the juniors or freshmen, get such a thing?

Maybe so they're not just cloistered, off by themselves, as a sort of afterthought? That way, they can make connections to other students who don't share their disability.

I'm not totally sure, but it's not really my place to ask. Still, it would feel wrong to leave them as a sort of afterthought while the rest of us move on with our lives, so my idea at least makes sense on that level.

I may not enjoy school, but I like the people I've met here. Were it not for them, I'd probably have just gone back to fighting and died after my first week was up; the great irony is that I've never been a people person, never really good with my words when I'm speaking. I need to write in order to truly unleash my feelings, but I'd rather do that with my fists and my teeth.

It's time to move forward, to cast off what I once was, to enter into what amounts to a new life...but I have to stay true to "me."

As I recite words inside of my head, I realize that I think I'll be able manage.