Chapter Eighteen
"Your reaction time is still too slow," Kurogane said, swinging Souhi in a wide arc. Syaoran threw himself to the ground to avoid getting his throat sliced open. "What will you do when your opponent is actually trying to kill you?"
I think you're already trying, he wanted to say, but feeling the tip of the ninja's sword at his throat stole his reply. His body went still, eyelids slamming shut as if closing off his senses would save him in a real fight.
"If you're going to learn how to fight, you have to learn how to avoid getting killed." The tip of the sword pressed deeper into his skin. A small trickle of blood to ran down his neck, to his collarbone.
Kurogane withdrew the blade, allowing him to breathe. He wiped the blood from his throat, hand shaking.
"We've been at this for five hours," the ninja said. "You giving up yet?"
That was the third time he'd asked. The question seemed more like a challenge than an expression of concern. "Not yet."
Kurogane lifted Souhi and brought it down. Syaoran slipped out of the way, following the sword's path with his eyes even after he was out of striking range. He saw the way his teacher's wrist twisted and threw himself back, dodging the next blow.
"Good," the ninja said. Syaoran flung himself back, sensing another change in direction. This time, he narrowly avoided losing a hand. "Good."
This went on, as it had for the past five hours, with varied amounts of success. Sometimes, he would be able to avoid a dozen successive strikes before getting cut or knocked down. The rest of the time, he had sporadic bursts of two or three successful dodges, and then the blade would make contact. Someone might've dumped a bucket of red paint for as much blood that had soaked into his clothes.
The blood loss was starting to affect his focus. This allowed his teacher to carve a deep gash into his palm. Syaoran pulled back, clutching the wound to stanch the bleeding.
"We're done for the day," Kurogane said abruptly.
"I can still fight."
"We're done. You look like someone splattered you with red paint. We're going back."
He sighed, surprised at how closely the ninja's words echoed his own thoughts. Though, how else could one describe that? he thought. It's more like brown paint, though, now that it's drying.
People stared at them as they walked through the street, taking in his ripped clothes and blood-spattered body with horror. They moved quickly to the apartment complex.
"Don't touch anything. You're already dripping enough blood as it is."
"Right." They walked inside and went over to the elevator. They ascended without a word, then abandoned the elevator for the last stretch of their journey home. Kurogane held the door open for him, so he wouldn't get blood on the handle.
"What happened?" Fai asked, his eye widening.
"I'm fine," he assured the vampire.
"Training," Kurogane answered. "Did you buy more bandages, like I told you to?"
"Yeah, but . . ." The magician frowned, an unnatural expression on his face.
Kurogane returned with a new roll of bandages and a brown bottle of antiseptic. He handed Syaoran several cotton balls soaked with the fizzing fluid and told him to start taking care of the cuts on his arms. Syaoran ran the moist bits of fluff across the lacerations, wincing as the fizzing liquid sank into his wounds. While he worked on those, his teacher set to work on his legs. Those weren't quite so cut up, but some of the slices were deeper there.
"I was just about to start dinner," Fai said. "Is there anything in particular you want?"
Kurogane shrugged. Syaoran did the same, not wanting to upset the fragile tolerance he'd built up with the magician. They might all be speaking to him, but that didn't mean he was one of them.
"I guess I'll make pancakes again."
"Breakfast for dinner? What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Oh, Kurogane, don't you like my food?"
The ninja grumbled something unintelligible. Syaoran finished wiping the fizzing liquid over his arms and went to work bandaging the cuts. By the time it was done, he had a sleeve of gauze over both his arms. "I think I'll be ready to fight again by tomorrow evening," he decided, stretching.
His mentor lifted his crimson eyes for a moment, then continued wrapping bandages around his legs, not saying a word.
The pancakes didn't take long. Syaoran walked over to the table, noting for the first time that the pain in his feet had all but subsided.
Sakura joined them at the table right as Fai set down a tower of pancakes. Her expression was subdued, and any cheer she might've felt for the food was flattened by her apparent depression.
Syaoran wanted to ask her what was wrong. He wanted that more than anything in the world. "You'll never be him, so stop trying," she'd said.
It's not my place, he thought. And everybody knows it.
Dinner passed the same way it had since his disastrous encounter with Seishirou: mildly awkward with a side of depression.
She didn't even ask about the bandages, he thought, as he rose from his seat. She would've asked the Other, if he'd been hurt, but not me. Jealousy stirred in his heart, poisoning the air around him. It wasn't that he wanted to be the Other, especially not when he knew his clone was out there murdering people. But he wanted to be treated the way the Other had been treated, wanted Sakura to talk to him without reservation, wanted Fai to tell him to relax a little.
But that won't happen. He pushed the door handle down and walked into his room, dreading the nightmares.
"Are you sure it's wise to work him like this?" Fai asked, as the boy's door clicked shut.
"The kid wants to start fighting in the arenas again. He'll need to be ready for that. Besides, the more he learns now, the less likely he is to get killed in a real fight."
Fai looked down at the plate he'd been rinsing, troubled. I suppose he's right. It's better for Syaoran-kun to learn now than to lose everything later. But even so . . . He thought of the lacerations, the brown blood crusted all over the boy's clothes. "Won't you push him too far?" he murmured, almost to himself.
"Like I said, the kid wanted this. Besides, we don't have time to wait. I'm taking him out again tomorrow, and then I'm going to set up another battle at the arena."
Fai realized he'd been rinsing the same plate for almost a minute. He shut off the water and toweled off the pristine piece of porcelain.
Kurogane spoke again. "There are going to be times in our journey where he won't be able to handle whatever's going on around us. The more prepared he is, the less often that'll happen, and the more likely we all are to survive. And there's still the princess's feathers to consider."
"Mokona said there was one in this world. Do you think that was the one Seishirou carried, or another one?"
"Could be either. I don't know what that cocky bastard wants, but I doubt he'd leave Infinity until he got it. We might not be able to avoid him long enough to reach the next world."
Fai nodded. "That would be a problem."
"That's not even the part I'm most worried about."
Of course not. "What are you most worried about?"
"The kid said Seishirou wanted to travel with him. That's all he said. It doesn't make sense for him to ask for that without giving an explanation, which makes me wonder if the kid is telling us everything."
It wouldn't be the first time he's held back. Fai thought, fingers tightening. Of course he's keeping things from us, otherwise he would've told us a little more about who we're dealing with.
He frowned a little at the venom in his thoughts. He'd never considered himself a vengeful person, but there was something about the boy, something besides the way he withheld information, that made him . . . uneasy.
Fai finished drying the plate and put it in the cupboard. "That occurred to me," he said, in response to the ninja's statement.
"And? Do you think Seishirou didn't have time to explain, or do you think the kid's holding back?" The last was said in a bare whisper, too quiet to be overheard through the walls.
"I think he's holding back," Fai said simply. I can be honest about this one thing, he thought. Even if I have a good reason not to be serious about anything else.
He could tell from the way the ninja tensed that this wasn't the answer he'd been looking for.
"And if he is?"
"He won't admit to it. He's too scared of Seishirou to tell us what happened, and he's too scared of us to admit to lying about Seishirou." Maybe if you didn't treat him like this, he wouldn't feel the need to keep things from you, his mind snapped at him. Keeping his expression empty, he said, "This is all based on the assumption that he's lying, of course, but he hasn't been very forthcoming with details to begin with, so why would he start now?"
"Don't use that tone on me," the ninja growled. "It's bad enough he thinks we all want him dead."
The accusation - the implication that it was his fault the kid had a guilt-complex - pushed him over the edge. Courtesy was like a thin cable, always stretched to maximum tension, and sometimes, that cable snapped without warning, leaving the frayed threads of brutal honesty exposed. Fai turned, almost breaking the last of the plates as he set it down on the counter. "I do want him dead. Him and his clone both."
Shock crossed the dark-haired man's face. He didn't say anything, only stared as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard.
Fai exhaled, feeling the sudden release of tension that came with the words. You're a monster, part of his mind said. The other part swept on, heedless of his self-inflicted guilt trip."Does that surprise you? Can't you understand that, after everything he and his clone have done to me, after stealing my magic, turning me into a monster . . . Can't you understand why I'd want him dead?"
Kurogane blinked twice, his mouth falling open a little. Fai couldn't recall ever seeing the red-eyed man looking quite so shocked. Well, that was rather shocking.
So they stood in silence, watching each other, waiting for the other to move. Before either of them could, Syaoran's door swung open and he walked out, glancing at them in that timid way he did whenever he entered the room. Fai closed his eyes and turned his head away, the muscles in his stomach bunching up in mortification. He heard. Oh, god, he heard everything, didn't he?
Syaoran shambled through the living room, rubbing his eyes. After his initial glance, he paid them no mind. He didn't seem to realize how silent the room had become since his arrival.
Kurogane thawed out after a moment. "What are you doing up? You should've been asleep hours ago."
"I was thirsty," Syaoran said, filling a glass with orange juice from the fridge. Dark circles around his eyes betrayed his lack of sleep; he'd almost certainly been up this whole time.
Did he hear what I said? Fai wondered, wrapping his arms around his ribs as if that could somehow contain the cold feeling seeping out of his heart.
Syaoran gave no indication he'd heard any of it. He merely took the glass of juice back to his room and locked the door behind him.
Silence took over the small living room once again. Kurogane stalked over to their shared bedroom and picked something up off the floor. When the ninja threw the black bag to him, Fai lifted his hands and caught it. My stuff, he thought, surprised.
"You're sleeping on the couch tonight," Kurogane said, half-slamming the door as he left Fai standing there, alone.