Disclaimer: I don't own Ouran Highschool Host Club. © Bisco Hatori

Chapter 4: Third Impressions

With Kyoya seated at the table, Momoka and Kimiko sat nervously next to Kyoya, feeling his presence intimidate them into silent observers of the spectacle.

And a spectacle, it was. The debate between Kyoya and Ruzaki went back and forth with Kyoya gaining on the latter's arguments by decisive words and penetrating insights. Haruhi and the rest of the girls viewed their exchanges with the awe of viewing a fencing match; but the debate was lopsided between Ruzaki and Kyoya, a debate between a journeyman and a master, an untested talent and a battle-hardened genius.

Looking on, neither Haruhi nor the other girls understood half the things the two talked about, but the results were clear to anyone with eyes and ears. And yet, Haruhi sensed a subtlety in Kyoya's words that nagged at her to pay attention to his words.

What are you trying to say, Kyoya-senpai? she thought.

Kyoya continued, leaning forward in his seat like a general staring down a private from across his desk and saying, "Alexander Pope and John Dryden are overrated poets, I agree, but not so with Lord Byron. If anything, Byron's one of the chief underrated poets, both in his age and in ours. Now this is a matter of personal taste, but Dryden and Pope's poetry are too precise and mechanical in form, too didactic and preachy in their tone, too restrictive in their meaning and altogether too decadent for my taste. And on Pope especially, you can rightly level a charge of defamation in his acidic attacks on his contemporaries, for which he deserved ridicule even after his death."

"But you don't think Byron shares those tendencies?" Ruzaki said, sweating from his temples down to his nape above his collar at the unrelenting stare. "His Don Juan scandalized every self-respecting nobleman and woman from Spain to Russia, and I'm pretty sure his contemporaries weren't too pleased with him marring their reputations in print."

"Well, yes, of course, but not to the extent of Pope or Dryden. Especially Pope. What both poets overdid to insipidity (and flat out abused in Pope's case), Byron used to genius effect and to genuine purpose. Byron could read people like a book. I know it's a trite expression, but it's true. His observational accuracies show in all his works, including Don Juan."

Kyoya's apparent admiration for such an infamous poet left Ruzaki silent for a spell, thinking of Kyoya's words. For an ambitious man like Kyoya to esteem anyone so highly, it could not have been for literary merit alone.

Ruzaki said, "You keep referring to Byron in our exchanges."

"And not without reason, Toyoda. Unlike most poets that lived relatively mundane lives, Lord Byron proved as famous for his personal life as well as his literary life, traveling the world, having several affairs with women, going into politics, even becoming a war hero."

Again, Ruzaki paused for a spell, wondering about Kyoya's fixation on this notorious poet. "You seem to identify with Byron."

"To be frank, I admire him less as a poet and more as a man of ambition and courage."

"And also a man of many faults."

"Of course, all great men have their faults. It comes with the territory, and Lord Byron was no different. And yet he never let his own faults prevent him from striving toward his goals."

"Even if he was running away from his faults instead of confronting them?" Ruzaki said, then stopped, catching the drift of his own words and the nakedness of his own faults.

Ruzaki's question put a cloak-and-dagger smile on Kyoya's face, as if the hapless poet incriminated himself under an interrogation. "That is for you to decide, Toyoda."

At this, all the girls felt shivers running down their spines, looking from the cool and calculating Kyoya to the poet seemingly wrapped around his finger.

But Haruhi took it as a sign that Ruzaki had unknowingly tapped something that he needed to know. She had struggled to grasp the meaning behind Kyoya's words throughout the exchange but finally got the gist of it. '. . . all great men have their faults. It comes with the territory . . . And yet he never let his own faults prevent him from striving toward his goals,' she thought, rolling the words through her head. 'That is for you to decide.' That last part is a double entendre for Byron AND Ruzaki. I think I understand now.

She then turned to Ruzaki still trying to figure out a way to respond. Come on, Senpai. Don't you see he's trying to help you? So she took the initiative and said, "Try not to overthink it, Senpai."

"I'm starting to wish I hadn't said anything at all," Ruzaki said, sweating profusely now at Kyoya's unrelenting stare, at Haruhi's expectant look of encouragement, at Momoka and Kimiko's looks of pity, and at the nervous looks of the other girls surrounding the table. Claustrophobia settled in, as Ruzaki found himself trapped between the insurmountable rock that was Kyoya and the hard place formed by the legion of girls surrounding the table.

At this, Momoka said, "Kyoya-sama, don't you think you're being a bit . . ."

". . . harsh on him?" said Kimiko.

"It's all right, mademoiselles," Kyoya said, his smile softening on their compassion for the man. "If I seemed harsh on him, it was not my purpose to do so; it was only to let him see his faults for what they truly are."

"What do you mean by that?" Ruzaki said.

"Your faults make you who you are, Toyoda. Take advantage of what you have, including your faults. A true poet, like a true host, not only uses what he knows but expresses who he is—both the good and the bad."

"In other words, Ruzaki-senpai," added Haruhi, "use your greatest weakness as your greatest strength."

All was silent, every girl dwelling on their words of encouragement to a struggling host and felt something warm and fuzzy budding in their chests.

"Be myself. That's what you mean." Here, the poet leaned back on his chair, breathing out a sigh of relief. "Kyoya, with the way you were looking at me that time, I honestly thought you'd have my guts splayed to the floor if I answered wrong."

"The right answer won't always get you off the hook," Kyoya said. "In our world, there is no right or wrong answer, only how well we say it. In the real world, confidence is everything. Every great figure in history had it to varying degrees and made a mark on those around them because of it."

"Even the poets?"

"Especially the poets."

"Even poets like . . . Alexander Pope?"

"Everyone to his own taste, Toyoda. For instance, take Lord Byron and John Keats. Of all the poets that fit you, they above all others come closest to your disposition as a poet and as a man. As a man, you share many of Byron's characteristic charms, including great talent and passion, a thin veneer of conformity hiding a rebellious spirit, a distaste for fatherly authority and a heavy weight of guilt in your heart. As for John Keats, you share his ideals and much of his style."

Goosebumps raised on Ruzaki's forearms, the hairs on the back of his head standing on end. He raised his head and just stared at the Shadow King in shock, thinking, How the hell does he know that? We haven't even talked about John Keats! "Kyoya, you seem to know more about poetry than you let on."

"Well, English is one of my favorite subjects, though poetry is not part of the official curriculum. I'm a man of many interests, and literature is one of the few indulgences I allow myself every now and then to break the monotony of my usual interests. Yet poetry is not my specialty; you doubtless have a much wider range of poetry beneath your ken than I do."

"It didn't sound like it, when you were talking," Ruzaki said. "If anything, you had me on my toes the whole time, and you consistently argued your points as if you knew all about it."

At this, Kyoya smiled again at his compliment. "That's the difference between you and me. I know almost nothing of Dryden or Pope past a perusal of some of their works I find on the internet. My chief interest in Lord Byron lies more in the accounts written about his life and less on his poetry, while Keats' collected letters provide a wellspring of knowledge into the workings of a brilliant and sensitive character. As such, I only know a few of their poems, none of them by heart. And the same goes for Shelley, Wordsworth and Coleridge, whose lives I find rather dull to read. But the little poetry I do know, I can use to charm the ladies to great effect, while you have a hard time expressing yourself with your vast knowledge of it. So it's not about how much you know; it's about how well you use what you know."

"And you do that by being yourself."

"Yes, yes, you're starting to get it."

"And practice."

"Yes. Practice makes perfect."

Here, Ruzaki chuckled and said, "You make it sound so easy, when I know it's anything but."

"Nothing worth doing was ever easy. You yourself know this more than most," Kyoya said, "when you defied your father's wishes and changed your major to become a poet. Few individuals from this school or any other school would dare contemplate doing that, let alone go through with it as you have. Even I can't see myself doing that. That alone, should you succeed, will win you the respect of your peers."

He then peered at the solon sofas where Tamaki and the twins slept, got up from the table and said, "Now if you will excuse me, Toyada, mademoiselles, I need to check up on those three," before ambling to where Honey and Mori stood sentry overlooking the trio. He then turned and said, "Haruhi, will you join me for the time being? I need someone else's opinion for something."

"For what, Senpai?" Haruhi said, getting up and stalking after him.

Ruzaki was about to say something, but it was too late. His greatest pillar of support had abandoned him in his moment of greatest need. Now alone and surrounded by a legion of girls, his heart rate began to pick up, and he looked towards his two remaining pillars (Momoka and Kimiko) for help. He said, "W-what's going on here? Why are they—?"

"I don't know, Ruzaki-sama," Momoka said, looking over, "but it must be important since it concerns Tamaki and the twins."

Kimiko added, "After what Kyoya-sama said earlier, I hope they're okay."

Swayed by these words, the rest of the girls once again started murmuring amongst themselves over the bodily conditions of Tamaki and the Hitachiins, with Haruna Usami suggesting they take a look at what's going on.

"No way, Haruna," said Yuriko, one of Kyoya's guests.

"Why not? I wanna see if the twins are okay."

"Because Kyoya said not to disturb them."

"But—"

"Yuriko's right, Haruna," Shiori Igawa said, going over and placing her hand on the girl's shoulder to comfort her. "We're all worried about them, but let's not have that cloud our minds, okay?"

"But . . . but I'm just really worried about—"

"It's okay, Haruna," said Kozue Kitamikado. "They'll be all right by tomorrow. So try not to be such a worrywart . . ."

And on the murmurs went amongst the girls, dissipating whatever sway Ruzaki's hard-won efforts gained for himself. With the murmurs building and their attentions on Ruzaki waning, Momoka and Kimiko saw it all unravelling before their eyes and entreated Ruzaki to say something to stop them from worrying.

Yet all he could do for the moment was watch in despair at his efforts going up in flames, thinking on Kyoya's words, 'Nothing worth doing was ever easy. You yourself know this more than most . . .' At least he knew the meaning behind those words. Now he only had to implement it.

So he said, getting up to comfort Haruna and the rest of the girls, "Look, ladies, I can't ask you not to worry about them . . . but if I go and ask about them myself, then relay it back to all of you, will that be okay?"

"Oh, you're a Godsend, Ruzaki-sama!" said Haruna, looking at him with new-found awe. "Yes, that'll be perfect."

"Thanks so much, Ruzaki-sama!" added Shiori, stars forming in her eyes. "We'll definitely appreciate it. Won't we, ladies?"

And the other girls agreed with one "Mmmhmm" of confirmation, grateful smiles on their faces and sparkles of relief in their eyes.

With that, Ruzaki glanced at Momoka and Kimiko seated at the table for approval, both of whom gave brilliant smiles and a pair of two thumbs up. Encouraged with these prospects, he then set off towards the solon sofas.

". . . nearly disgraced this club with your actions. If it wasn't for the amount of money you three bring into this club's earnings, I'd have all of you knocked down to errand boys for the rest of this week," Kyoya said, lording over the three sinners like an angry judge. "As things are now, when Tamaki wakes up, I'll have you three under probation for the rest of this week, so you better be on you best behavior."

"Yeah, but, geez, Senpai! Resorting to blackmail to get things your way?" Hikaru said, getting genuinely miffed at his threats. "That's low, even for you."

"And you don't have to resort to Honey-senpai and Mori-senpai sweeping us up like that," added Kaoru, massaging the back of his neck. "My neck is still sore. And the Boss is still out, if you haven't already noticed."

And sure enough, Tamaki still lay on the other sofa, where Haruhi spent the whole time trying to shake him back to consciousness with no results. After another bout of shaking Tamaki by the shoulders—"Come on, Tamaki, wake up!"—, she just looked at Kyoya and said, "He's still out of it, Senpai."

Before Kyoya spoke, Ruzaki cut in, just arriving from the table, "What's going on? Is everything all right?"

"Of course, everything's not 'all right'," Hikaru said, directing his anger at the poet. "Ever since you stepped into the picture, you've been terrorizing our guests, and now the rest of our week is shot, and you're asking me if—"

Mori's touch on his shoulder quieted Hikaru, making him look up at the tall man. When he shook his head, Hikaru finally let go of his anger and sighed.

Meanwhile, Honey stood by Tamaki's side, bending over the sleeping man as if he was inspecting the acupuncture points of a medical mannequin.

"You think you can wake him up, Honey-senpai?" Haruhi asked.

"Yeah. It's easy once you know which points to press," he said, taking Tamaki's left hand in his, feeling for the tender spot between his thumb and index finger and squeezing repeatedly in quick succession.

At this, Tamaki awoke sucking in breath, seemingly electrocuted into life like Frankenstein's monster. Looking around, he sat up and stared at Honey's big worry-filled eyes. So he put a hand on his senpai's head and said, "Don't worry, Honey-senpai, I'm all right. But slow down next time. You nearly took my head off back there." He then scrutinized Ruzaki with fatherly glares and said, "And I'm watching you like a hawk, so don't even think about—"

"Senpai," Haruhi said, coming to Ruzaki's defense, "I thought we've been over this already. It was an accident, so lay off of him."

"I know that already, but don't you see what he's doing to our family? He's breaking up the nest!"

"No, he's not! You're the one brea—"

Before their verbal tussle escalated, Kyoya enacted the motherly role of the Host Club family. He tapped Haruhi on the shoulder and shook his head to quiet her and then leveled a glare at Tamaki, clamping a hand tightly on his shoulder with yet another demonic flash of his glasses. "Not in front of our guests, Tamaki . . . Unless you want to go up to them and explain your behavior during hosting hours. And the same goes for you two," he said, leveling the same glare at the twins, making them flinch and gulp. "After hosting hours are over, I'll call a club meeting to address these issues."

At this, the rest of the hosts reacted with Mori and Honey glancing at each other in silent acknowledgment as if they saw this coming, and Haruhi, Tamaki and the twins all getting ready to speak at once like a dysfunctional family at the dinner table.

Yet just like before, Ruzaki beat all of them to the punch and said, "Look, guys, I'm really sorry about all this."

Every host turned to the poet, seemingly caught in an awkward family moment, all of them mute for several seconds.

Then Haruhi said, "You don't have to be sorry for anything, Ruzaki-senpai. It was just an accident; but Tamaki seems to—"

"It's not that. I just don't want to be the reason things go downhill for anybody, and that includes you guys. Look, Haruhi, I'm grateful that you would go out of your way to do this for me, but . . ." And he let his words drift off into space.

"But what? What is it?"

Ruzaki looked at Haruhi and then at Kyoya, waiting for a cue from the Shadow King, who gave it with a nod of his head. Ruzaki sighed and said, "Haruhi, I . . . I haven't been completely honest with you. There's more to this than you know."

Haruhi followed his gaze, meeting Kyoya's eyes, before saying, "Kyoya-senpai, how much do you know?"

"Everything," Kyoya said, "which is more than Ruzaki told you. In fact, my research into his family connections has revealed . . . a crisis in his family during his mother's illness."

"Kyoya," Tamaki said, sensing something far more serious beneath the surface of their words, "is there something we should know about Ruzaki that you're not telling us?" He turned to the man in question and said, "Ruzaki, is there . . . something important you need to tell us?"

Though Tamaki hadn't an inkling of what that 'something' might be, he sensed in his quickening heartbeats an edge of reality that landed close to home. His mind raced with memories of Anne-Sophie de Grantaine when he still lived in France as a child, and for a moment his heart ached at the thought of her current illness amidst circumstances that echoed Ruzaki's. And for the first time, Tamaki looked at Ruzaki with a fresh pair of eyes.

"Yes," Ruzaki said, then looked over at the girls crowded around the coffee table, all of them talking amongst themselves, all of them with worried expressions and curious eyes. "I'm really sorry, Kyoya, but this is personal for me. I don't want the guests to overhear this. I've had enough rumors surrounding my actions as it is, and I don't want to add to them."

"In other words," Kyoya said, "you want me to close the Host Club, so you can talk freely? Is that it?"

"Yeah."

Kyoya thought about it, weighing the pros and cons of infringing on the guests' time at present, then nodded his head. He ambled toward the table of girls, informing them that Tamaki and the twins have awakened and announcing a premature closure of the club. The response was immediate. Several girls blurted out questions concerning the health of Tamaki and the twins, and Kimiko and Momoka asked if Ruzaki had done anything to force the host club to close. Under an assault of endless questions, Kyoya tried his best to calm the girls and herd them through the doors without causing a stampede. Girls marched under protest towards the doors with Kyoya shepherding Tamaki's and the twins' fangirls lingering at the threshold.

All the while, every host eyed Ruzaki and wondered how far the rabbit hole of his life went. But they weren't the only ones.

Ruzaki, unaware of their stares, had the same thoughts where he stood, a faraway look in his eyes. His thoughts focused on his parent's declining relationship in the last years of his mother's life. Even after all these years, he still found it as inevitable as fate, as irrevocable as death, as unforgivable as believing in a lie.

When the club members seated themselves, Ruzaki once again found himself at the center of unwanted attention. Sitting in a chair across from Kyoya enthroned in all his glory, the poet felt like a defendant asking for a royal pardon, and looking on either side at his peers took on drastic proportions. The twins on his left had scowls on their faces, crossing their legs and folding their arms in identical poses, while Mori sat like a statue staring at him, as inscrutable as a card shark. On his right, Haruhi and Tamaki sat with their hands on their knees, while Honey held onto his Usa-chan between them, all three staring at him with puzzled expressions and thinking God knows what.

He looked at Kyoya, who said, "Now before you begin, I must admit that you intrigue me more than most. You're full of contradictions—at once meek and daring, knowledgeable and ignorant, publicly modest and privately outspoken, conforming and rebelling, mediocre and talented, careful and reckless."

"Is that why you say that Byron and Keats fit me?"

"Yes, but there must be a reason for your actions. You're not the kind of person that would take risks on a whim, especially one that would compromise your own reputation. All my research can only give an indication of why you did so. In order for this club to help you, you must first help yourself and tell us why."

The poet looked down at his knees, clenching his hands into fists on his lap, trying to compose his thoughts. He said, "My mother's death affected me for a while, but I mostly got over it by the time I entered Ouran Middle School. Things went along okay, until I entered Ouran High School and opted for an English Lit. degree instead of a law degree. My father and I argued, of course, but it cooled off soon after that. So no; my argument with my dad over my major never caused a rift between us. It's what he said a few days after that angered me."

"And what is that exactly?" Kyoya said.

"It hinged on what my father said about my mother when he and I were talking at the main family mansion. My brother was there, too. Turns out my brother and father knew something about my mother that I never knew until they told me. My father said that he and my mother were fighting a lot the year before she became ill. It wasn't over anything major—no infidelity on either side, just the usual arguments over little details. The arguments just grew over time, till it boiled over just a month before she got diagnosed with bone cancer. By the time she got diagnosed, my father and mother barely talked to each other—at least, that's what my brother said after I left."

"Then what happened?"

Here Ruzaki paused, trying to compose his thoughts. His fists clenched over his knees, his expression darkened, and anger flared in his eyes just long enough to catch Tamaki, Honey and Haruhi off guard and make the twins lose their scowls. "My father said my mother used her illness against him; he said she filed for divorce during her illness, blaming him for the stress caused by all their arguments; he said she filled my head with a bunch of nonsense about poetry; he said she manipulated me into believing I could become a poet just to spite him! After that, I stormed out of the mansion and moved to a family mansion here in Bunkyo, Tokyo; I lost all my respect for him since then."

"So it was the reverse?" Tamaki said, shock etched onto his face and creeping into his voice. "You actually disowned your father, instead of him disowning you?"

"Yeah. Hell, I didn't even want his money, either. He offered to pay my living expenses, but I wouldn't have any of it," and then he sighed. "It wasn't until my brother, Akira, talked to me and said that he would take care of my living expenses at the second mansion. He asked me to be reasonable, so I relented, albeit grudgingly. I only wanted a small sum, because I didn't want to feel too dependent on anyone, and my brother agreed to it, though we argued a bit at the end when he sent it under my father's name instead of his own. He said it would raise too much unwanted attention if it were otherwise, so I eventually relented. Then I told him to get the out; I was still really angry at him for being in cahoots with my father the whole time. I rarely spoke to my brother after that, and I haven't spoken to my father since I moved out."

"Geez, Senpai," Haruhi said, looking on the poet in confusion and pity. "I never thought you could hold a grudge like that."

Then Honey said, "Is this what you don't want our guests to overhear?"

The poet looked at Honey's big eyes, saying, "Yeah. I'm really sorry about this, guys."

"Are you sorry, Toyoda?" Kyoya said, disbelieving his apology and staring hard at the poet. "Because I honestly don't believe you're sorry for any of it. Instead of your father bringing this on you, you brought all this on yourself just to spite him, exactly as he said."

"That's not true at all."

"Oh, really? Can you justify such actions without including an element of spite on your part? Because it sounds to me that you're doing exactly what your father said, that you're doing this out of anger."

"I said that's not true!" Ruzaki said, bolting off his chair. "Why do you keep blaming me for this?"

"Because you're the one who acted first, Toyoda, not your father. You're the one who moved away. You're the one who refused to talk to him. You're the one who refused to reconcile, even after he offered to help you out in your new situation. That's rather ungrateful of you. So once again," Kyoya said, "why are you really doing this? Is it spite?"

"No! How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Is it your mother?" Haruhi said.

Ruzaki stopped and stared at the cross-dresser. "Yeah."

"In other words," Tamaki said, following Haruhi's train of thought, "are you doing this to protect your mother's reputation?"

The poet just stared at the man and felt his knees buckling under his weight, till he finally collapsed onto his chair and breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that he no longer had to keep it bottled up inside but terrified at the realization of a darker reality. As stupid as Tamaki had been throughout today's club activities, this jester had divined the truth. "Yeah."

"Then does that make you a mama's boy?" the twins said, in unison.

"Guys, that's not funny!" Haruhi said.

"Oh, come on, Haruhi," Hikaru said.

"We were just trying to lighten the mood," Kaoru completed.

"Well, you're not help—"

"I'm just afraid that . . ." Ruzaki continued, cutting off Haruhi mid-sentence, then letting his words drift into space.

At this, all heads turned in his direction. All the hosts saw him staring off into space, his expression sullen, his eyes downcast, as if thinking on some painful thoughts.

"Afraid of what?" Haruhi said.

"I'm afraid . . ." And still, he couldn't say it. Even after revealing the deepest secret of his failings for all to poke and prod at, the poet still could not bring himself to say what really troubled him. So he gathered his courage, took a deep breath and said, "I'm afraid that my father was right about my mother, that she manipulated me into believing a lie, that she used me to her own ends just to cause my father grief . . . That she hated my father more than she loved . . ." Me, Ruzaki thought but couldn't say. He just looked down, avoiding everyone's eyes, tears threatening to well up.

Though Ruzaki never voiced the last word, every host filled in the blank and got the gist of his worries.

Only then did the Hitachiins relax their hostile poses and look on the poet with a new set of eyes, both twins remembering their favorite nanny's betrayal of their trust when they were little. At his words, Honey remembered his own betrayal of his code of honor to resist eating sweets, gorging on them at night when everyone was asleep, only to have Yasuchika catch him in the act. Mori dreaded the thought of forgetting to remind his little charge to brush his teeth. Even Kyoya, fire-forged in the in the kiln of his father's standards, remembered his first and only admission of weakness to Tamaki.

Only then, after thinking of his words, did Haruhi say, "Don't think about that, Senpai. Your mother loved you through all of it, even at the end. It's just that people's emotions get the better of them sometimes and make them do things they wouldn't normally do. You just have to believe in her as much as she believed in you."

"Even if it's a lie?"

His question left Haruhi silent for a spell, not knowing what else to say.

That's when Tamaki let go of his resentment for the poet and said, guiding the subject to less dangerous waters, "Toyoda, how's your Shakespeare?"

"Don't try to change the subject."

"Oh, I'm not trying to change it," Tamaki said. "I just want you to see your problem in a different light, because it seems to me your father's words have led you astray."

At this, Ruzaki raised his head and met Tamaki's eyes. "What do you mean?"

"'Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate'
To me that languished for her sake:
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that, ever sweet,
Was used in giving gentle doom
And taught it thus anew to greet . . .'" Tamaki quoted. "Do you know what sonnet that is?"

"Yeah. That's 'Sonnet 145' from Shakespeare's Sonnets."

"Indeed, my good sir. Let's put your poetic prowess to the test, shall we?" said Tamaki. "In the simplest terms, what does 'Sonnet 145' mean?"

"Well, besides being an allusion to Shakespeare's own relationship with his wife, Anne Hathaway, it means that the Poet is so devoted to his Dark Lady that any word of reproach from her is extremely painful. But this has nothing to do with my situation at all."

"Ah, but it does. Don't you see the connection? You're the Poet, Toyoda, and you're mother's the Dark Lady of that sonnet. You're so devoted to your mother's memory that any reproach from her (even the slightest hint of one about her from your father's lips) is calamitous to you."

"That's why I left."

At this, Tamaki took a good long look at the poet and said, "Do you really think your mother wanted that for you?"

Ruzaki paused, looking down. "I guess not."

"I didn't think so either. Listen, Toyoda, if you truly want to honor your mother's memory, don't do it by dishonoring your father out of hatred. Real men honor their mothers by proving themselves worthy of their devotion. If you truly believe in your mother's good intentions, then fight for her! Prove yourself in the eyes of your peers by becoming the best poet you can be!"

"Okay, okay, I get it. Still, do you really think I have what it takes?"

"I can't answer that for you. You chose to become a poet, so you'll have to answer that for yourself."

The poet just stared at the man for several moments, wondering what to say. This clown of a man had uttered yet another amazing truth that Ruzaki had difficulty answering in his own heart. In the end, he could only say one thing. "You're a good man, Suoh. I'm sure your grandmother will see that some day."

4:55 p.m. at the Third Music Room saw Kyoya briefing all the hosts (including Ruzaki) on the next days' hosting activities. Each member suggested and decided on various poetic eras with the Renaissance on Wednesday, the Victorian and Meiji eras on Thursday, the Enlightenment and Romantic eras on Friday to go with the big poetry recital on Saturday. In addition, Kyoya and Tamaki agreed on the cosplay corresponding to each era, while the twins offered the use of their mother's designs from her newest line of historically inspired fashions.

Once Kyoya noted these preparations in his notebook, he retained the group around the coffee table to discuss the very things that Ruzaki dreaded. "Tamaki, Hikaru, Kaoru, we have much to discuss about your incompetence today."

At his words, Tamaki and the twins were about to speak in their defense, but Kyoya cut them off. "But let's concentrate on Toyoda's case, first." He then faced the poet himself, pinning the poor man to the chair with another of his cloak-and-dagger smiles. "Now I won't go into too much detail on my impressions, but I will say this: Your actions, misguided as they are, have shown you a brave and noble man. You risked more than most to get yourself into your current position for the sake of your mother's memory. As such, you have the makings of pure genius on the strength of your daring, and your use of dark introspective imagery reflects this. Yet one thing you lack, Toyoda, is finesse and tact."

"In other words," Ruzaki said, resigning himself to each fault like a lashing on his back, "I have power but not control."

"Exactly. The power to move the heart is nothing without the ability to think it through. Every poet, every novelist and every sales pitcher depends on thinking through the message each creates for every poem, every novel and every sales pitch. Tamaki, Haruhi, Honey-senpai," he said, "what are you thoughts?"

"Hmmmmm," Tamaki mused. "If I had to choose your greatest weakness, it's your inferiority complex. My solution to that would be to flip it into a superiority complex, so you can better take advantage of those dark brooding qualities you have."

"Oh yeah?" the poet said, feeling that one remark constricting around his throat like a noose. "How do you do that, then?"

"You do it by seeing people from a lower perspective than you. That way, even if you mess up, people won't notice your mistakes."

"And what if they do notice those mistakes?"

"Even then, you'll bounce back with another opportunity to capture their hearts," he said, getting all poetic in his growing revery of self-proclaimed greatness. "You see, in our beautiful world, no matter who you are (poet or host), our mistakes don't define who we are."

"And why's that?"

"Ah! You and your cynicism!" Now getting miffed at the poet's persistent questions, Tamaki faced the poet and said, "In our world, there are no mistakes, only opportunities we take advantage of for the entertainment of our guests."

"And for potential readers, as well?" Ruzaki said.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

"So if my mistakes are as intentional as my successes, I now have two avenues of moving my readers."

"You finally get it, yes!"

"You still need to overcome your stage fright, though," Haruhi chimed in.

Her observation hit Ruzaki like a kick to the balls, sending him tumbling head over heels into the whirling twilight zone of shame. At her words, the poet slumped in his chair as white as a sheet of paper, saying, "I guess you're right about that . . . I still haven't completely overcome my stage fright."

"But don't worry too much about that. You'll get used to it."

The poet just stared at the cross-dresser, his eyes wide and his pupils shrunk the needle points, thinking, That's easy for you to say! Asking me to get used to stage fright is like asking me to place my hand in the fire and getting used to that!

"That's a tall order for me," he said.

"But I believe in you, Senpai. When you talked about other people's poetry to all our customers, sure, you made mistakes and even scared them out of their wits, but . . . You had them hanging on your words the whole time. In fact, you had everyone hanging on your words, and you said some really powerful things that few people would dare think about, let alone talk about. If you can do that just by talking about other people's poetry, just imagine what you could do with your own poetry."

At such a stirring soliloquy, Ruzaki shifted in his chair and averted his lingering eyes before Tamaki and the twins caught him staring at their 'secret princess', a smile forming over his lips. "I didn't think about it that way. Thank you, Haruhi, for showing me."

"No problem," she said, thinking nothing of her own words—or of Ruzaki's smile.

But Tamaki and the twins noticed and steeled their eyes at the thought of this poetaster gaining any sort of advantage in attaining Haruhi's favor; but none of them spoke, lest they risked incurring the ire of a testy Kyoya.

Honey then said, tears welling up into his eyes, "And please vary the topics, Ruza-chan. All the topics you chose were really scary, and I don't like being scared all the time!"

"Okay, okay, I'll try to do that! Just stop crying," Ruzaki said, sensing a tinge of anger in Mori's momentary glance, as he tried to comfort Honey.

Mori, it seemed, still resented the poet for causing his charge to nearly strangle him into oblivion. So he said, "Observe people closely," adding so the poet got exactly what he meant, "so things won't escalate."

The poet noted the emphasis on the last word and gulped, nodding his head frantically.

With that, the Hitachiins were the last to give their views on the poet, views that pretty much damned the man in their jealous eyes. They resumed their hostile sitting positions, crossing their legs and folding their arms, scowls on their faces.

"Hikaru, Kaoru, care to share your thoughts?" Kyoya said.

Both twins exchanged looks, then said, in unison, "We'll be honest here, so don't take it too personally."

"Truth is, Ruzaki," Hikaru said, "you're an open book. You need to learn how to control your emotions, or you'll never control the use of your own words."

"And you do that," added Kaoru, "by embracing who you are. Both the good—"

"And the bad," Hikaru completed.

Then both brothers said, in unison, "Do you know what we mean?"

"Yeah, I think I do," Ruzaki said, gulping at their evil doppelgänger grins.

"I guess we'll see about that," both brother said.

Looking at either twin, the poor man hadn't the slightest clue what they were talking about, let alone which brother was which. Whatever plans they had turning in their sick minds meant only one thing—hell. No wonder they're called the little devil types, Ruzaki thought. Dear God, help me.

When the twins finished, Kyoya said, "Now that everyone has said their piece, would anyone here want to add anything else?"

All the hosts exchanged looks with each other, Tamaki, the twins and Mori giving the poet uncomfortable glances that made him fidget in his chair, and all shook their heads.

"Good." Then Kyoya got up and checked his watch, showing 5:03 p.m. on the dial. "There's just enough time for one last order of business before we go. Ruzaki, Haruhi, Honey-senpai, Mori-senpai, you're all free to go."

Everyone stood up, while Tamaki and the twins struggled to their feet on spaghetti legs.

"But what about Tamaki, Hikaru and Kaoru?" Haruhi said.

"Leave that to me. I'll talk to them privately about their misconduct during hosting hours," he said, herding Haruhi and the three other hosts out the double doors of the Third Music Room, "but don't worry about them, Haruhi. They'll be their normal selves by tomorrow."

At this, Tamaki and the twins turned to their president pro tempore in abject fear, all three thinking horrendous thoughts at the hands of the Devil Incarnate.

"Well, okay then. Just make sure they come back in one piece. We don't want anybody getting cold feet, you know." Then she stalked off through the halls along with Ruzaki, Honey and Mori.

Kyoya looked at the cross-dresser disappearing down the halls and smiled. Only a commoner with a lot of nerve (like Haruhi) would dare use Kyoya's own words against him and expect to escape unscathed.

As for the trio of delinquents, on the other hand, he had other plans. When he shut the doors, sealing their fates with a click of the door latch, he turned and found the trio cowering behind one of the solon sofas like cowards. What transpired afterwards in this room shall remain as unfathomable as the depths of Kyoya's awesome power.

When Ruzaki saw the limo pulling up at the gates, he ran to the vehicle and waved it to a stop, thinking it was his own limo. But once he stopped and got a closer look at the license plate on the back bumper, he sighed and felt a vein bulging from his forehead, thinking, Damn it, Akira, what the hell are you doing here?

When the window slid down, it revealed a harried Akira Toyoda staring up at him, the same dark hair and eyes, the first outcroppings of stubble growing from his chin. And unlike most passengers, Akira opened his own door for his younger brother to enter. "Get in, Ruzaki. I need to talk to you. It's important."

But the poet stood his ground, folding his arms across his chest. "If it's Dad, you can forget it. I'm still not changing my mind."

The young man sighed and said in a lower voice, "Please, Ruzaki, don't make this harder than it already is. Just get in the car, and I'll explain on the way to your place."

"What, is the company still losing money?" Ruzaki said, ducking into the passenger seat and swinging the door shut. "You know I'm not interested in that kind of stuff."

"You will be after you read the paper," he said, flicking on the ceiling light and handing Ruzaki the day's Tokyo Times installment. "It's on the front page. You can't miss it."

The feature article of the day showed the remnants of one of the company's signature cars totaled in a ditch close to a highway. The front of the vehicle was crumpled, and the hood and part of the roof was sheered off, making the make and model virtually impossible to make out in the caption. And emblazoned across the page in big kanji and hiragana characters read, 'U.S. RECALLS MILLIONS OF TOYOTA VEHICLES,' while the smaller subtitle read, 'Faulty Gas Pedals And Brakes Are The Cause'.

"So what?" Ruzaki said, folding the newspaper and dropping it on the seat. "This doesn't have anything to do with me."

This stopped Akira cold for a moment, in the middle of loosening his tie, as he stared at his younger brother like he had marbles for eyes. The man just stared at him, shocked and . . . well . . . stunned. Never had he heard such callous remarks from his own brother. "Is that really you talking? Or is it resentment for your father? Because from what you've just said, you don't give damn what the hell happens to your family!"

"Look, Akira, I didn't say that! All I said was that I just don't think this applies to me. That's all."

"But it does apply to you, no matter what you think," Akira shot back. "You may not wanna hear this, but your name means something to people, and when you go around defying your own family, it breeds contempt in the eyes of your peers. Don't you realize that?"

"They can think whatever they want. I don't care. I just want to live my life by my own rules in my own way without having anyone control what I do or say. Is that too much to ask? I just want people to stop judging me for what I am all the time!"

"So what are you, then?" Akira said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking his brother dead in the eyes.

"I'm a poet!" he said, matching his brother, glare-for-glare. "God, how many times do I have to tell you?"

"Then can you tell me who you are?"

His brother's question left him unable to respond, for he had yet to figure it out. He simply wavered for a moment longer before averting his eyes. He said, "I . . . I still haven't found it yet," then lapsed once again into silence.

"Then I'll tell you," Akira said, relaxing his ridged pose but keeping his eyes fixed on him. "You're lost, and you've been lost ever since our mother died. You and I were in the same boat when that happened; we felt the same pain, cried the same tears, but the biggest difference between you and me was that you can't seem to put it behind you. You just have to return to it over and over again like a broken record. That's who you are—a broken record. You're so wrapped up in your own little world that you can't see what good you still have left in it."

Ruzaki couldn't respond. His mind fluttered with images of bygone vacations, Christmases and holidays spent with their mother and father together, images of life and love and happiness, only to get shattered to pieces in a blur of burgeoning tears threatening to overflow.

Both brothers remained silent throughout the rest of the ride to Ruzaki's mansion, both lost in their own thoughts, until the limo drove up the driveway past the gate and around the fountain and parked at the entrance of the house. Then the chauffeur walked up and opened the door for Ruzaki, but he stayed there in the back seat with his brother.

When he got up to go, Akira said, "I'm sorry for bringing her up, Ruzaki."

The poet turned, eying his brother but not saying a word.

"Just remember what you have left and be grateful you still have it. Even if you can't bring yourself to reach out to Father, you can always reach out to me anytime." And with that, his brother reached over and shut the door, and the limo circled the fountain before driving back through the gate.

The poet just stood there, viewing the fountain in his driveway after losing sight of his brother's limo. He saw the still water in the fountain reflecting the twilight of the sky like a mirror. He saw the lengthening shadows of the gate posts snaking their way imperceptibly across the lawn and shrubs, getting ready to swallow the house in shade and shadow.

"Master Toyoda?" the chauffeur said.

"Take my bag to my study," the poet said, handing him the bag. "I'll just stay here for a bit longer."

"Very good, Master Toyoda . . . Oh, and supper will be ready at 7:00 p.m.," the man added before entering the house.

Now all alone, Ruzaki observed the subtle changes of his surroundings. He then walked towards the fountain and noted the coincidence between this one and the one at Ouran Academy, right below the Third Music Room. Both fountains had cherubs, and both cherubs pissed into the water, but only his cherub ceased at this time of day. He then looked into the reflection and saw his face reflected back at him in the fading glow of twilight, closed his eyes and muttered rhymes only he could hear. He said,

"There goes my one and only hope on earth,
And with it goes the sunset's final gleams
Of twilight ere the stars proclaim Night's birth;
And yet the Moon still hides her face, it seems.
The milky stars above my head can hold
My gaze, but only for a moment's time;
And though the gleaming Moon will show her bold
And brilliant face, I would not give a dime.
For when I swore my mother's love forsworn,
I did forswear the better part of me;
And come tomorrow's clear and sunny morn,
I've smaller hope for hate to set me free.
Perhaps there'll be new hope by morning's light;
Till then, I'm trapped inside this moonless night."

When he finished, Ruzaki opened his eyes and noted the one paradox that his genius required, the one that Haruhi had rightly pointed out. He could speak the words that stir the hearts of gods but cannot, for the life of him, write them down. And his stage fright didn't make this paradox any easier to bear.

So he resigned those rhymes to the air and returned to his house.

(To be continued...)

A/N: Hello, everyone... I told you I'd update this story really soon, didn't I? ( ^_^ ) Anyway, I think this might be the longest chapter I've written for this story yet. It's definitely one of the more angsty chapteers I've written. Again, I HOPE the character's aren't too OOC for you guys. So what do you think? Does this chapter work in setting up the major plot points? Who's your favorite character up to this point? What were you expecting? And what weren't you expecting? It's nice to hear your thoughts on this. Anyway, hope you enjoyed! ( ^_^ )