"Kamasaki! Obara!" Futakuchi called, all but dancing on the carpet in high spirits. "Hurry up! Let's not keep the good folks waiting!"
Hinata rose up on his toes, trying to see the newcomers before they arrived. They were carrying something in their arms, pushing through the people as they moved. He couldn't make out what they were holding, though. It didn't make sense. What kind of throwing game was this?
The two cadets finally made their way out onto the carpet. They were both tall and strong-looking, not quite as tall as Aone but close. One had blond hair and an aggressive scowl, and the other was beatific and smiling. But there was a sameness in their stance, in the way they held themselves, that showed clearly that they came from the same unit. They were comrades, and they were built to stand together. To be a Wall.
"All right, let's get it set up!" Futakuchi said. He took something from the blond one, who grumbled as he release it. It was...a pail? Futakuchi grunted as the full weight landed on his fingers, his arms pulled straight down by the weight of the pail, knees bending to accommodate the sudden burden. Hinata blinked.
The smiling one had a sturdy staff in one hand and a large white cloth draped over his other arm. He gave the staff to Aone, who took it easily in both hands and spun it, expertly, feeling the balance and heft of it in his hands. Hinata's eyes widened as he watched. Aone was clearly very, very comfortable with a weapon in his hands. The plain wooden stick suddenly seem lethal, and it whistled in the air as he spun it in one hand, then the other.
Kamasaki and Obara started to do something with the cloth, unfolding it between them, but Hinata was distracted when Futakuchi dropped the heavy pail next to him, almost on his foot. Hinata startled and jumped back, hands rising in instinctive defense. "Uwah, what's this about? What's this? Watch where you're putting that thing!"
Futakuchi gave him a strange look. "What is it? This is your part of the competition, sailor-chan. You asked for something to throw. Here it is." He gestured down at it.
Hinata stared into the wooden bucket. It was full of pale, oblong objects about the size of his palm. He picked one up, hefting it in his hand. It felt like tough cloth full of something both heavy and pliable. He looked up at Futakuchi, quirking an eyebrow in question.
Futakuchi grinned. "They're just waxed sailcloth filled with sand and sewn tightly shut. Splendid ammunition, is it not? It feels good in your hand, doesn't it?"
Hinata tilted his hand back and forth, feeling the solid weight of the little sandbag. It did feel good. The size was right even in his relatively small hand. It would be easy to throw, flying straight and true to its target. After a moment of contemplation, he looked up, eyes widening in excitement.
He gave Futakuchi a wide grin. "Aye! It feels grand!"
Futakuchi looked startled, blinking and drawing his head back at the sudden shout, but then he relaxed and smiled back. "You're an odd little duck, sailor-chan."
Hinata nodded, unbothered by the comment. It might have sounded like an insult, judging by only the words, but there was no insult in Futakuchi's voice. He just sounded intrigued and curious. His excitement must be rising, too. Hinata could feel the blood pumping in his veins, hot and heavy and loud.
He looked across the carpet to Aone, and saw Aone looking back at him with the same look. Aone was standing with the staff held ready in both hands, his legs spread in a defensive stance. Behind him, Kamasaki and Obara had stretched out the white cloth, holding down the bottom corners with their feet, the top corners held in their hands stretched above their heads. The white expanse of the cloth spread behind Aone, far taller and broader than even his generous frame. It rather did look like the side of a building.
Hinata was beginning to understand how the game was going to work.
"Oi, Futakuchi," called the blond one, Kamasaki, his lips twisting in distaste. "I hope you picked a good volunteer this time." He looked at Hinata, his eyes narrowed and fierce. "You better not hit me or Obara with any of your ammunition, sailor brat. You aim at the cloth, see?" He gestured at the sheet with his free hand. "Or Aone. You can hit Aone. But not us. We have to stand like statues to keep the target still, so we can't defend ourselves."
Hinata nodded, serious and sincere as he rarely, rarely was. "I won't! You'll be safe!"
Kamasaki squinted at him, then looked at Futakuchi as if for confirmation. Futakuchi laughed and spread his hands. "It's true, I swear it! Hinata-chan comes very highly recommended!"
Kamasaki's nostrils flared in suspicion. "By whom?"
"By his friend, of course, sailor-chan number two!" Futakuchi pointed at Yamaguchi, and the other cadets all turned to stare at him.
Yamaguchi went white as that sheet, but he didn't quail and shrink. Instead, he stood straighter, his shoulders square and firm. He gave the Iron Island boys his strongest, steadiest nod.
"Tch," Kamasaki did not seem entirely reassured. But he complained no more. He solidified his stance, the grip of his hand and the weight of his foot, settling in for the work ahead.
Futakuchi gave Hinata another smile. "Do you understand what the contest is now?"
Hinata nodded. "Aye. It will be fun!"
Futakuchi grinned, then turned and spread his arms again to address the crowd. "The demonstration will now begin! Hinata-chan has the entire contents of that pail to work with. Aone-kun has his staff. Who will win? Hinata only has to hit the cloth or Aone himself once to prove himself the master of this sport. Aone must defend against every single projectile that comes his way. That is the exercise! This is how we hone our strength and skill to defend the Iron Island!"
He spun to smile at Hinata, wide and bright. He spoke to him as much as he spoke to the crowd. "I do not boast when I say that Aone will win. It is a simple truth of the world! Watch now, and be amazed. Skilled and swift Hinata-chan may be, but he will never defeat a guard of the Wall!"
Hinata lifted his chin, his face growing hot in the sun and the pressure. "So you say!" he cried in challenge. "We'll have to see, won't we?"
Futakuchi laughed and bowed, first to Hinata, then to the crowd. And he backed away to the edge of the watchers, near Moniwa but not close enough to be in easy range of his fists. "Let the contest begin!" he cried.
The crowd took up the cry. "Go for him!" "Do your best, chibi-chan!" "Show your courage, young ones!"
Hinata took his time getting ready. He took off his shirt, unwilling to be the only lad on the carpet still wearing ones, and kicked off his shoes. He carried them to Yamaguchi for him to safeguard, along with his satchel. Tanaka had pushed his way through the press to stand next to Yamaguchi, and he gave Hinata a pat on the shoulder, rough and excited, before Hinata moved back to center stage.
He stood there on the finely woven rug, wiggling his bare toes in the soft, plush pile. He stretched out his arms, pulled one at a time across his chest, then bent his torso back and forth to loosen his muscles. The sounds of the audience washed over him, a rush and a roar in the background like the crash of waves against the side of a ship. The sun was hot and high, prickling against his skin, and the smell of the market, livestock and produce and spices and foodstuffs and people, people, all the people, filled his senses like a heady wine.
All the while, he could feel Aone's eyes on him, hot and steady as the sun above. Hinata revelled in the pressure of it, the thrill of competing against a strong opponent. He was going to win, he was sure of it, but it would be so much the sweeter if the fight was a hard one.
At last, Hinata bent to the bucket and drew up a sandbag. The cries of the watchers changed, but he paid no attention. He could hear Tanaka and Yamaguchi's voices mingled with the rest, shouting encouragement, and that was enough for him. Aone watched him, shifting subtly as he tried to judge where Hinata's first throw would go. Hinata held the projectile out from his body in his upturned hand. He tossed it into the air and caught it, once, twice.
First, a test. How brave was Aone Takanobu? Hinata drew back his hand, his opposite leg rising to counterbalance, and threw the bag as hard as he could directly at Aone's face. Aone didn't flinch. He didn't blink. The staff spun up in front of his face, smooth and efficient, and deflected the blow. Some of the watchers gasped at the speed and ferocity of the attack as well as the deftness of the defense. Aone had barely moved, his body rock still, only his hands spinning the staff just as far as it needed to go and no farther.
Hinata smiled. Aone lifted his chin, just a fraction.
Hinata's hand dipped into the bucket. He aimed for the top corners of the sheet, where Obara and Kamasai held tight, then for the bottom corners. He aimed for Aone's midsection, his limbs, and right above his head in an attempt to catch him off guard. Aone blocked them all. Every movement was clean, swift, and effortless. He only moved when he needed to, only stretched out when absolutely necessary, and as soon as each motion was finished he centered himself again and stood, balanced on the balls of his feet, ready for anything.
A breathless chuckle fell out of Hinata's mouth, barely loud enough to be heard. This was hard. This was fun. He was going to have to be trickier.
He scooped up a handful of sandbags into his left arm for quicker access, then stood straight, facing Aone. He began to pace, back and forth, like a predatory cat watching for an opening. Quick. He had to be quick. And he had to aim...
There!
Hinata threw three sandbags in swift succession, faster than the eye could follow. Top right, bottom left, middle. He aimed for the extreme corners, then smack in the center. If Aone overextended himself, perhaps he wouldn't be able to get back in time...
Aone did not overextend himself. The three projectiles rebounded from the staff and fell to the rug with all the rest, one after the other after the other. Had Hinata had a more poetic soul, he might have called it beautiful.
As it was, he just thought it was grand. Grand and glorious. One of the best things he'd ever seen.
Hinata laughed again, grinning so wide it hurt his cheeks, and picked up more ammunition. Faster. He had to be faster. And trickier. He had to make it impossible.
He paced back and forth, watching Aone from all angles. The noise of the crowd had faded beyond his perception, every bit of his attention focused on his opponent. He was aware only of the stretch and burn of his muscles, the weight of the projectile in his hand, the slight shift and twitch of Aone's body as he followed Hinata's movements.
Once more. Hinata threw three sandbags as quickly as he could. Top left, bottom right, top left again. He tried to hide the movement behind his body until the last moment so Aone couldn't see it coming. But Aone always saw it coming.
Again. Again. He tried all kinds of combinations of the corners and different targets on Aone's body. He even tried aiming for the staff itself in hopes of confusing him into moving it the wrong way. Faster and faster he threw, as quickly as he could, until he and Aone were both trembling and panting, sweat glistening on their skin in the bright sunshine streaming down on the market square.
Hinata reached into the bucket for another projectile...and nothing met his hand. He looked down into the bucket and found just one sandbag left, lonely in the bottom of the pail. Including the one in Hinata's left hand, that made...two.
Hinta glanced sideways at Aone. Aone's shoulders were heaving for breath, and his face was no longer any kind of stony mask. But his body was as steady and well-balanced as ever, his hands firm on the wooden staff.
Hinata turned his back to Aone and picked up the last projectile, hiding his movements with his body. He pretended to pick up a few more. Then he straightened and stared down at the two sandbags, one in either hand.
Two more chances. No...one last chance. He needed to make this a combination, something that could not be avoided. Hinata hefted the bag in his left hand. Could he...?
His left hand was not as good as his right, but he did throw with it sometimes. His aim with that hand was nowhere near as precise, and sometimes it flew hilariously off the mark. But he wasn't trying to hit a bird out of the sky. He just needed to hit a quadrant of a sheet. Speed and strength—and surprise—were more important than pinpoint accuracy.
Hinata steeled himself. He blew out a breath. Then he spun with a loud yell, the cry of a warrior charging into battle, and threw them both at once. The aim of his right hand was as true as always—the top right corner of the cloth, right next to Kamasaki's knuckles gripping pale against the white sheet. The left hand threw to the bottom left, not as precise, but close enough to be called a good attack. Simultaneous throws to extreme corners, both as hard and as fast as Hinata could make them.
Aone's eyes widened. Surely this would do it, surely he could not defend against two blows at once. But Aone moved, swift and sure. He stretched out the staff for the top corner, bold and true, and the bottom corner...
His foot.
The sandbags seemed to deflect from the staff and from the foot as slow as molasses, rolling back in the air in leisurely arcs. Hinata stared, his arms still sweeping down toward the carpet at the end of his throw. Aone landed on the ground with a soft thud and settled immediately into a ready position, unaware that he had already won.
He'd already won. The contest was over. Hinata had lost. He straightened, blinking, his hands falling open and empty at his sides.
After a moment to absorb this final exchange, the crowd erupted into noise. Aone blinked, startled, as his mates threw their arms around his shoulders in congratulation. Futakuchi was leaping and hooting his delight, and even Moniwa did not look displeased by the result. Indeed, he radiated pride.
A hand touched Hinata's shoulder, and he looked up into Yamaguchi's face. "I lost," he said, numb, just starting to be sad.
Yamaguchi shook his head. He was smiling the widest smile Hinata had ever seen on him. "That was amazing, Hinata-chan."
Tanaka's hand ruffled his hair, just as exuberant as before the match. Indeed, his spirits might have been even higher. "Hinata-chan!" He bent over to yell in Hinata's face to be heard above the crowd. "You throw like a demon, Hinata-chan! Why did you never show me before?"
Hinata flushed and mumbled, "Not many chances aboard the Swan."
Yamaguchi gave him a sly look out of the corner of his eye. Tanaka shook him by the shoulders, still overcome with excitement. He seemed half a moment from ripping off his own shirt to join in the fun.
Hinata managed a smile. The loss itched and burned at his chest, especially since he'd been so sure that he would win. But the praise and appreciation of his shipmates did much to soothe his spirit.
The Iron Island cadets had begun to settle down. Futakuchi stepped to the center of the rug and raised his arms to draw the crowd's attention. "Friends! Friends! Now you have seen the defensive skill of our guardsmen. Remember what you have witnessed!" He bent to pick up the empty bucket and held it out in both hands, grinning like a satisfied cat. "And of course, if you'd like to show your appreciation in a more concrete way, perhaps a more monetary way..."
Moniwa hit him upside the head and snatched away the bucket.
Obara and another cadet—shorter than some of the others but very broad and muscular—began to fold the sheet and roll up the carpet, while a small, slight youth only a little taller than Hinata stooped to gather the sandbags. The show was over. But at least the watchers were united in agreement that it had been a good show.
Several members of the audience pressed forward to congratulate the young guardsmen. When Moniwa wasn't looking, Futakuchi cupped his hands and grinned broadly at the coins that dropped into them. A coin or two found their way into Hinata's hands, as well, pressed there along with a pat on the head from this or that satisfied spectator. When the crowd finally broke up and drifted away, Hinata stood astonished, blinking down at his hands and the fee he had earned with his few minutes of work.
They were mostly copper coins, to be sure. But a silver or two glinted among the bunch as well. It was almost as much money as he'd gotten for three months of labor aboard the Swan.
When he had gathered himself, Hinata turned to Tanaka and thrust three coppers into his fist. "For the dumplings."
"There's no need, Hinata-chan." Tanaka pushed his hand away, folding his fingers shut around the coins. "It is a senpai's pleasure to treat his kouhai. Those are yours. I won't take them."
"Then..." Hinata looked around. Most of the cadets were busy packing materials into their cart. Aone stood slightly removed from the group, wiping sweat from his face. He'd put his shirt back on, but his shoulders still heaved as he regained his breath.
Hinata dropped most of the coins into Yamaguchi's hand, then pushed his way over to him, shuffling through the dust in the shoes he'd put back on at some point. Maybe Yamaguchi had slipped them on him when he wasn't paying attention. Hinata had no idea. His fingers and toes were still buzzing with the fading thrill of the fight. Aone's probably were too.
"Um..."
Aone had been staring at the ground. He looked up at Hinata's voice, his eyes flashing. He didn't seem angry, though. Just...fierce.
Hinata flinched, but he steadied himself and held out his right hand, holding a silver coin. "For the apple. I truly am sorry. I wouldn't have stolen it if I'd had money at the time. But now I do. Is this enough?"
Aone looked at his hand for a long moment. He didn't move, didn't blink, didn't even tilt his head in contemplation. Hinata held still, afraid to breathe.
Then Aone reached out. He plucked the coin from Hinata's fingers and made it disappear somehow, then folded Hinata's hand in his. He did not squeeze hard. He held Hinata's hand in his own, warm and firm and callused, but also overwhelmingly careful and restrained. Aone was very aware of his strength and size. Perhaps just as aware as Hinata always was of his own size, his own limitations.
Hinata stared at their two hands, locked together, his hand all but vanished in Aone's massive paw. Then he brought over his other hand to hold Aone's, as well. It only seemed fair.
Aone smiled.