CHAPTER THREE

白と藤の提携

Shiro to Fuji no Teikei

About a month or so into the ridiculous sham that my school year was shaping up to be, I slowly began to learn to tolerate Nagihiko. Were it not for my pride, I might have admitted that he was not as bad as I had originally thought, that perhaps I had misjudged him. I suppose the human mind can get used to the oddest of things — even cohabiting with a calculating lizard.

Despite this, I found it difficult to let go of my grudges, and not without good reason. Behind closed doors, Nagihiko was quite tolerable. While unrestrainedly stupid and overly-friendly, he was also polite, bordering on meek. At school, however, he was still the obnoxious cow I hated: the Nadeshiko that was still Amu's best friend, still slighting, still insufferable. We treated each other with as cool indifference as ever in the social sphere, which was the way I liked it. His kindness in private meant nothing to me. Nothing.

It wasn't difficult to avoid him; he was constantly absent from our dormitory. I had anticipated putting up with him twenty-four-seven, but between sleeping and the time he spent god-knows-where, we only had a few hours to share in each other's space.

Nagihiko woke up at six in the morning. Why someone would want to do such a thing was beyond me; Nagihiko never told me why, and I never asked. I was a light sleeper, and the combination of the sun in my eyes and Nagihiko's footsteps (light as they were) was often enough to wake me up.

The first time he inadvertently woke me – sometime during the first week of school – I sat up properly, rubbing my eyes. Nagihiko was pulling his hair into a ponytail over by the wall, and he gave me a very maternal glance over his shoulder. "Shhh," he had said, very gently. "It's only six in the morning. Go back to sleep."

I did. The memory still embarrassed me every time I thought about it. What a twat.

Anyhow, I would go back to sleep, only to wake up properly around seven-thirty. The room would be empty, Nagihiko would be off god-knows-where, so I would put on my uniform in solitude. Yaya and Amu would meet me in the West Hall for breakfast. Then it would be classes, where the poised Nadeshiko would be already sitting at her desk, smug and beautiful. How?!

Even more indignantly, after lessons, he would make himself scarce again and vanish off the face of the planet. At first, I assumed he was returning to our dormitory to study. This theory was disproven when I checked our room one afternoon: it was empty. Wherever Naghiko went, it was not anywhere I knew.

More worryingly, he often returned as late as eight in the evening. I used to wonder why Amu never ate breakfast or dinner with Nadeshiko. Now I had the answer: because he was always missing from the eating hall. Peculiar. I wondered if he was running an illegal drug trafficking operation from the cellar, or something.

But I had my own problems to worry about. Into the third week of April, I began to get antsy. My monthly was rapidly approaching. While notoriously short, it was life disrupting to the point that I wasn't entirely sure I could put on a brave face. When Yaya was my roommate, she had referred to it as seppuku with a silly grin on her face: swift and painful, bloody. How would I be able to hide ritual disembowelment from a male roommate? Only superstitious old fisherman still believed the menstrual cycle to be unclean, but the stigma was there nonetheless. School had drilled into my head that it was disgusting, to be concealed from men at all costs. Nagihiko was perceptive — frighteningly so — and, easily embarrassed, I was not looking forward to awkwardly dodging any questions he might toss at me.

I comforted myself with the thought that even if he did notice, I could simply say I was ill. With this thought in mind, I fell asleep, on the last Wednesday of the month, with a somewhat lightened conscience.

When the sun rose the next morning, directly into my eyes, I found myself woken up by a familiar dull, stabbing pain in my lower abdomen. I could hear the creak of Nagihiko's footsteps on the wood flooring.

Still six in the morning, then. I groaned, rolling over, and tried to go back to sleep with my knees pulled to my chest and my pillow over my ears. It was like attempting to sleep through getting my liver chopped. Very reluctantly, I pulled back my covers, resigning myself to a morning of pain, drinking peach pit tea, and generally trying not to die.

Exactly as anticipated, Nagihiko turned around as I pulled my dressing gown on. "You're awake early," he commented mildly. Already dressed in a patterned furisode, his uniform was under his arm. Why was he in a formal kimono so early in the morning? Moreover, he looked ready to leave, with his hand on the doorknob. Good riddance. I was too in pain to care where he went.

I stood up out of bed, wobbling slightly on the spot; although I tried to look impassive, I kept a hand resolutely clamped to my stomach. His perfect, willow leaf eyebrows flew up in concern. Very deliberately, he put down his uniform on the desk.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Nagihiko would make dealing with my period exponentially more difficult; I was not in the mood to hide my discomfort. Nooo! Leave! Begone from this place, Fujisaki!

"Mashiro-san, are you all right? Sit back down. You look ill."

I gazed at him, rather blearily; I was about to shake my head, but hastily turned it into a nod instead. His misplaced concern touched me, but this was really not necessary.

"I'll be fine, Fujisaki-san, don't worry," I said, trying to draw myself up haughtily. Instead, what came out was something along the lines of "I bloop floop, Fujisack, diddly womp."

This very profound statement did not seem to comfort him; on the contrary, his eyes widened. "Should I ask sensei to call for the doctor? Really, Mashiro-san, you look quite pale. Almost anaemic, really. I don't think you'll be able to attend class in this state."

As he spoke, I couldn't help but chuckle, rather darkly. Anaemic. If only he knew. I shook my head, and reached for the wardrobe handle, grimacing. "I'm just feeling a bit poorly," I said, in more of a whisper this time. This appeared to satisfy him; that is, until he broke the silence.

"...Is it your scarlet day?"

This spontaneous question threw me off immensely. I had a horrible inkling I knew exactly what he was implying, but I gave him a squinty look instead, as though I hadn't the faintest idea what he was asking.

He cleared his throat. "Excuse me. Affair of the moon? First blossom of the month?" Smiling beatifically, he folded his hands. "Catamenia? Your monthly, Mashiro-san."

"No," I lied.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No," I lied again. Nagihiko's cheeks had turned a bit pink.

"O-oh. Well, I, ah... am not entirely familiar with this particular field, of course, nor do I pretend to be. But if I can be of assistance, let me know."

Why was he offering to help me? The entire thing obviously flustered him, which it should, because he was a boy. This was not his territory. He needn't give me charity. I gave him a suspicious glare over my shoulder.

Nagihiko shrugged back at me innocently, a bit of a smirk playing around his mouth. "I may be a man, but I am supposed to immerse myself in the female form. Perhaps you should tell me more about your woman's pains so that I can express them in interpretive dance, or something."

His jocular tone was unnerving, but the mental image of Nagihiko doing an impassioned nichibu rendition of the cramping fetal position brought a strange, pressed smile to my mouth. It was funny.

He smiled back at me, encouraged. Clasping an arm to his stomach, he sank to his knees dramatically. Reaching out a single trembling hand, he hammed in his Nadeshiko voice. "Woe betides me! My womb is aflame with the fury of Ame-no-Uzume!"

I would not laugh, no matter how tragically accurate or funny it was. I pressed my mouth into a firm line, and Nagihiko got to his feet, winking. "See you in English, Mashiro-san. I'm running late."

Late for what, a marriage meeting? I couldn't think of anything else one would be doing in clothes as fine as that. I entertained myself for the rest of the morning with images of rich suitors sitting oblivious to the gender of the finely-dressed woman across from them.

True to his word, I saw him sitting in the English classroom after breakfast, a princess in his throne. "Good morning, everyone," he cooed in dulcet tones, tossing his ponytail over his shoulder. A book full of unfamiliar Roman letters was open in front of him, and he was steadily filling in the blanks with his pencil.

"Morning, Nade-chan!" Yaya enthused, throwing her arms around his thin neck. Amu gave a teeny wave, cheerily. "You're still working in your exercise book, huh, Nadeshiko? But we haven't been taught English in years, now." She laughed awkwardly, with a face full of guilt. "H-how diligent of you... aha...ha..."

I didn't blame her. Her English had always been abysmal, and when it was removed off the curriculum, I must say that we didn't mourn it too much. Leave it to Nadeshiko-chan to continue to self-study English far after the subject was cancelled.

"Why was English even removed?" I asked Amu, a little crossly. I took a seat next to Yaya, the farthest seat I could wrangle from Nagihiko.

"You just wish we were still taught English because you were the best in our class, Rima-chan!" Yaya remarked unhappily. "I remember Mister Foreigner kept trying to convert you, he was so in love with you and wanted you to marry him–"

"That did not happen," I interrupted flatly, although it must be said that our English teacher was a youngish Presbyterian missionary who had given me a Bible at some point. Amu appeared to be still struggling with my question, but it was Nagihiko who answered me, in a very even, measured voice. "English was dropped from our curriculum because of educational reforms from the Japanese government. Western languages and literature were banned because the government feared socialist influence."

I made a sour face. Socialist influences? Yaya also appeared somewhat ill at ease, and pouted childishly. "But then, you're still doing your practices, Nade-chan!"

"Of course." He smoothed down the page, with a smile. "Just because the subject has been officially cancelled does not mean it is entirely useless. We're supposed to use this time for self-study, English or otherwise."

Amu stared at him with a horrified face, as if he had crushed her heart and shattered her dreams. Nagihiko beamed back, in lilting English. "You are sad, Mrs Hinamori. What colour is your bicycle?"

"I am not sad!" she replied back in indignant Japanese, and Yaya made an attempt at foreign languages. "Eggplant!"

Nagihiko, not to be deterred in his quest for academic perfection, drilled both of them in verb conjugations before moving on to a vocabulary list. I watched in silence, enjoying the fact that I wasn't getting picked on for English practice. Pain still stabbing my lower body, I tried to pull at the waistband of my skirt without anybody noticing. Ouch. Ouch.

"Here," I heard Nagihiko say exasperatedly, shoving the book into Yaya's stomach so hard that she gave a little "oof!" (I sympathized with her stomach pain to the extreme.) "You practice with Amu-chan, and ask her for directions. I'll go practice with Mashiro-san."

Like hell you were, Fujisaki. Angry thoughts in vain, he moved his chair directly next to mine, so that our thighs were touching under our skirts. I moved over to the far edge of my chair, in cheery English. "Hello, Mr Fujisaki! Please get away from me. Goodbye."

"Miss Fujisaki, Mashiro-san." He rapidly switched to Japanese, a sign that even he was exasperated with this Study Charade. "An amateur's mistake, I'm sure. Swallow this."

"Excuse me?" I spluttered, before realizing that he was dropping a small, white pill into one of my skirt pleats. Suddenly, all my inside jokes about bootleg operations and drug cartels didn't seem so laughable. Was he trying to sell me drugs? I held up the pill suspiciously. "What is this?"

"Asechirusarichirusan," he replied, promptly.

"What." A suspicious crease appeared between my eyebrows, and Nagihiko seemed to sense that he was on thin ice. He hastily amended the word in a whisper. "It's aspirin. Western medicine painkiller. Just swallow it."

My frozen heart was difficult to touch, but the fact that he had bothered to do something about it at all was both hilarious and nice-ish, two things that boded well with me. All the same... I had too many male admirers as is, and I refused to entertain the notion that Nagihiko could be one of them. Upon attracting the attention of Amu and Yaya's curious eyes, I crammed the aspirin into my mouth and Nagihiko hastily switched back to loud English. "I like dogs. What is your favourite colour?"

I choked out "Lavender!" halfway through swallowing. Amu and Yaya both stared at me with some concern whilst my eyes watered.

Out of nowhere, Nagihiko let out a screech of mirth, bursting into a sudden fit of wild, maniacal laughter. Seeing Princess Nadeshiko in hysterics for the first time in her life was enough to divert the attention of the entire class and send Yaya into giggles. Of course, to distract everyone had been his intention; I would have admired him for it, but was reminded that his neck would be equally on the line if he was caught handling shady Western medication. All eyes away from me, I was able to gulp the aspirin and catch my breath.

"Fujisaki, do you care to share with the rest of us what is so incredibly funny?" a voice barked. Sanjou-sensei strode into the room like a warlord surveying her troops, heels clacking on the floor. Nagihiko's laughter died, and then very prettily: "Please excuse me, Sanjō-sensei. I was only laughing because Mashiro-san said something amusing."

I shot him a glare. Oh, he was blaming this on me, was he? I took it all back– he was not nice, not a bit. Everyone was back to staring at me, and Sanjō raised an eyebrow grimly. "Of course," she said, rolling her eyes. "Why is it always you, Mashiro? Please share this insightful witticism with the class."

This was it. This was my moment. The Gods of Comedy had sent me an improvisation test in the form of nasty Fujisaki, their messenger, and I now had to come up with a funny gag on the spot. Stalling for time, I tried to be humble. "Witticism? You flatter me, sensei." Perhaps I could tell Sanjō-sensei that I made a crack about Fujisaki-sensei's lipstick resembling the blood of children, but that was a bit too distasteful for my current company. My only resort (much to my delight) would be to insult Nagihiko's appearance.

"I was merely pointing out that Nadeshiko-chan's beautiful eyebrows bear uncanny resemblance to daikon radishes," I said serenely, That'll teach him to compare my head to a gourd. Eat shit, Fujisaki.

Nagihiko smiled, but his eyes flashed, and I saw him touch his left eyebrow self-consciously out of the corner of my eye. Sanjō-sensei clearly didn't think comparing eyebrows to vegetation was half as funny as I did; her eyelid simply twitched, as if she was too sober for this. "Very well. Mashiro— keep your eyebrow judgements to yourself, yours aren't exactly much to marvel at, either. Fujisaki, your etiquette teacher would tell you that it's unseemly to show your teeth and bray like a donkey when you find something the least bit funny."

"Hee-haw," I whispered under my breath. I felt Nagihiko's pointy elbow jab my general womb area, and I crumpled over in my seat. Bitch.

Sanjō continued to talk, undeterred by my hunchbacked form and the over-eager smiling face of Nagihiko. She was peering at a piece of paper, which indicated that we were about to get a poetic manufactured speech straight from the hands of the headmistress or Kichigai-sensei. We could see Sanjō visibly struggling to translate the speech into words not written by a flower fairy. "As you know, it's springtime– and, er, if you have eyes, you would have seen the cherry blossoms outside."

Collectively, we all inhaled a breath of anticipation. Class outside?

"As you also probably know, cherry blossoms… ah, what does this say… symbolize the ephemeral frailty of life… for Heaven's sake— and are an oft-studied subject in art."

Outside? Class outside? Outside?

"Since this is technically a free study period for studying," and at this, she flapped the paper, and glared at me and Nagihiko. I blinked back, regretting nothing. I sank my ship to kill his captain, as the phrase goes. "It's been decided that instead, we should all take our lunches outside and sketch the–"

"Class outside!" Yaya whispered like a steamship unloading several blocks of cement.

"– Yuiki-san, kindly shut your saccharine sockhole – and sketch the cherry blossoms before the flowers fall off the trees. There will be other people there for flower-viewing parties, and I expect you all to set an example for the younger girls and keep your frolicking to a minimum."

Frolicking, schmolicking. Flower-viewing parties were notoriously noisy and drunken in their own right; if a few girls decided to frolic, I heartily doubted that anyone would complain, least of all Sanjō-sensei.

She held up a hand, and we all stopped dead, halfway through sitting up. "But first, I believe that you all have Home Economics at the moment," she added, without a flicker of a smile.

We groaned.

Normally, I hated cooking class. It was yet another opportunity for Nadeshiko to tenderly grasp Amu's arms and teach her how to whisk. Ever since I discovered Nagihiko's gender, my feelings towards this had gone from irritation to downright fury. What kind of gentleman just wipes his grubby hands all over my best friend like that, anyway? Fujisaki, that's who!

I was never very gifted in the culinary arts, myself. That's not to say I was terrible. I was no worse than Amu, who had a tendency to over-boil everything, nor Watarai Misaki, who had a tendency to set everything on fire (even in the absence of matches or a stove). I was just rather mediocre, and for a perfectionist like myself, it was irritating. Also, the teacher was a fascist in an apron.

Cooking class that day seemed reasonably tolerable; maybe even fun. We were making rows of coloured dango for that afternoon, which was an unusual deviation from the usual boring dinner dishes. I chalked it up to even the teachers feeling unmotivated to teach; the weather had warmed up over the month of March, going from near-winter to cool sunshine that tempted even a shut-in like me to open the doors.

"Okay, okay, children!" Kohagi-sensei said in her squeaky mouse voice, folding her hands together and beaming. "Everyone, please form groups of three!"

I lunged for Yaya. Yaya lunged for Amu, and Amu predictably lunged for her precious Nadeshiko. Nagihiko stood there and giggled behind his hand, as if the entire thing was terribly amusing. It most certainly wasn't, especially when Kohagi turned on us, round eyes glinting with the wrath of a thousand bees. "Oh, dear! There are four people here!" she buzzed, hands fluttering with umbrage.

I opened my mouth, prepared to take Yaya and go find another group– but that would be a concession of defeat to Nagihiko, who still had Amu on his arm with a faint smile. Yet, I couldn't just grab onto Amu's arm myself like the overprotective mother I was.

No; I would have to be sneaky.

"I want to be in a group with you, Nadeshiko-chaaaaan!" I wailed, flapping my way towards Nagihiko's other arm like a drowning duck. I clung onto his sleeve and gave him the malevolent side-eye. He wasn't about to defile Amu's maidenly body on my watch.

In contrast, he looked somewhat flattered. I fought the urge to tell Nagihiko the truth — that it was all a fancy ruse to obstruct his friend-stealing — but instead clutched tighter. Yaya and Amu both turned around to stare at me on Nagihiko's arm, as if I had suddenly announced that I was the Minister of Agriculture.

"R-Rima!" Amu squawked like a pink chicken, flapping her arms. "You're sure? I-If we all want to be a team, I guess that's okay… I'm really sorry, Yaya! We'll be in a group together next time!"

Yaya didn't look too put out about it; on the contrary, she was giving me a rather sly look that I didn't like the look of at all. I hoped that she figured out the truth, instead of one of the horrifying alternatives; Yaya suspecting me of harbouring romantic feelings for Nadeshiko-chan was possibly more than I could bear. Especially because she couldn't keep a secret.

"Boo, meanies!" she wailed. "I'm going to go cook with Utan!"

Indeed she did. The moment Yaya turned around, she bumped into the infamous woman herself, face sinking into her ample chest. Hoshina, as unflappable as ever, looked embarrassed but poised. "Straighten up and get over to the other stove, Yuiki. This isn't a circus."

She gave us a fleeting disdainful look over her shoulder, as if we were blackballing Yaya from a three-man oligarchy, or something.

I relinquished his arm immediately, zooming towards Amu. "We have to mix the rice flour, first," I said, very helpfully.

Amu and Nagihiko were rather unnerved by my sudden gung-ho attitude about cooking with my pals. Eventually Amu, being a gullible idiot, stopped giving me strange looks and started smiling and enjoying herself. She must have thought that I was fostering bonds of friendship with Nadeshiko under the pressure of rooming together.

Nagihiko, on the other hand, guessed all-too-well what my real objective was from the way I wedged myself comfortably between the two of them. To his credit, he didn't say a word; in fact, if anything, he was acting a bit too nice.

"Here, you're not stirring it right," he gently interceded, putting his hand on the wooden spatula with which I was ferociously stirring the rice flour-and-water concoction. I allowed him to do so, because it was better than him making moon-eyes at Amu. "You stir by crushing it down, not simply going in a circle. Here, try it."

His tone was so soothingly maternal that I did so without little fuss. The rice flour began to mix much better, much to my annoyance, and Amu clapped her hands in delight. "Woah, keep it up, Rima! At this rate we'll be done before everyone else!"

Grudgingly, I let myself feel a bit of pride. Okay, so Fujisaki wasn't entirely awful at cooking; I should have expected it, given his proficiency in every other feminine craft offered by this damn school. It was a happy, glowing three minutes before I realized that Amu and Nagihiko both had their hands on my shoulders proudly, and they were grinning at each other over my head.

Damn it to hell! I was acting like their surrogate child! I had brought them together in holy matrimony! Clearing my throat very loudly, I shoved the bowl away and pointedly glared at Nagihiko. Keep your smiles to yourself, flower boy.

Nagihiko continued grinning and radiating smugness, like some kind of Smug Sun. "Oh, Rima-chan!" he said in singsong voice, licking his finger and rubbing at a spot on my cheek. "You've got rice flour on you."

"Please refrain from transmitting salivary diseases onto my face, Nadeshiko-san!" I tried to singsong right back — but being tone-deaf, I sounded more like a warbler attempting to throat sing. Amu choked out a laugh, and hastily covered it up with a coughing fit.

"Ah, you two…" As I rubbed Nagihiko's spit off my cheek, Amu spoke wistfully in the voice she reserved for inspirational monologues about friendship. "There's three of us, isn't there? So we can each work on a type of dango, now that we're through stirring."

It would indeed be efficient for each of us to work on a different type. Eager to do as little work as possible, I pulled the bowl towards me protectively. "I want white." The white ones were unflavoured, and boiled first; it meant I would be done quickly, and free to laze around. Or keep an eye on Nagihiko's wandering hands. Either one.

"Amu-chan?" Nagihiko politely turned towards Amu, who fumbled about for several seconds. Evidently, she had been off in dreamland. "I-I'll take pink!"

The dough was split into three. I took my portion and began rolling it into balls with the reckless abandon of someone who wishes to get a task done quickly. I felt Nagihiko's disapproving eyes on the side of my face; thankfully, I had plenty of practice mentally blocking his reproachful law-abiding stare.

"Here, Amu-chan, you're rolling them a bit misshapen." Nagihiko's hand reached across my body to attempt to fix Amu's dismal cooking skills. Thank goodness I was standing there to get in their way, like a roadblock.

"E-eh- really?" Amu blinked down at the table, and I felt a twinge of annoyance.

"Mmm-hmm," patiently, "You should be making them smaller, and flattening them with the palm of your hand, like this–"

"You sure know a lot about balls, Nadeshiko-chan," I said loudly. He tossed his ponytail so that it slapped me in the face. Trollop. I was heartily tempted to pull it, but I instead reluctantly walked over to the pot to drop my dough in, glaring disdainfully at them all the while. Why must he be so… handsy?

True to my own assessment, I was left with free time to stare and glower at the backs of Nagihiko and Amu's heads. Amu seemed to be heartily aware of my cold stare. Perhaps that's why she was distinctly more clumsy than usual; her hands trembled as she mixed. Nagihiko, in contrast, seemed far too at ease under my gaze. The fool might be able to thaw out the Siberian tundra if given the means and patience, and such a thought unsettled me more than it ought have.

After that, the dango were skewered in order – green, white, pink – and packed into boxes. Pairing up with Nagihiko had been unusually prudent of me, earning me an approving nod from Kohagi-sensei. Sanjo and Kichigai-sensei appeared at the door shortly after, the latter of which was trembling with emotion in a shawl.

"Hats on, girls," Sanjo-sensei barked. "An orderly line out of the school."

It was all she needed to say; I snatched my hat from the hooks at the front, cramming it onto my thick hair. Amu proceeded to get crushed in the ensuing shuffle, much to her shouting distress.

We moved in an unorganized blob, like a wandering murder of crows. It took Sanjō's flashing eyes to sort us into straight lines, two-by-two, arms linked. The younger girls were giddy, dragging ahead; I, for my part, remained in the back, hands folded primly. It would not do me any good to run. Running was not ladylike. Yaya, too, hung about in the back, pestering Sanjō-sensei with questions, much to everyone's amusement.

"Sensei, how old are you?" she hounded, jumping at her side.

"You do not ask a lady's age. However, you may ask her earthly branch. I was born in the year of the Horse."

Yaya paused at this, chin crinkling in frustration; it forced her to do sums, and she never had much aptitude with the abacus. I mentally calculated, saving Yaya the trouble. Sanjō-sensei was either eighteen or thirty: either prospect was horrifying. Yaya impatiently ploughed onwards. "But why aren't you married, Sensei?" A pause, and then, realizing her rudeness, she spun it into a rather sly flattery scheme. "Only because you're so pretty. Why do you spend your time teaching us girls?"

"I almost was." Sanjō-sensei pushed up her little round glasses, lenses flashing; talk of marriage was enough to get the attention of several other girls. She cleared her throat, raising her voice. "Before the gods punished me for straying out of line when my teacher told me to stay in a group, and now I'm doomed to a life of widowhood."

That was all we got out of her. No matter how much Yaya begged her for the story, and Nagihiko's bright eyes hovered, she stayed tight-lipped and sour-faced. Eventually giving up, I reluctantly followed Yaya to the front, where Nagihiko and Amu were walking arm-in-arm like elderly men out for a walk in the park.

"Can you believe Sanjo-sensei isn't married?" Yaya hissed in Nagihiko's ear, scandalized. Nagihiko just smiled.

"I can," I volunteered, helpfully. Amu's nose crinkled a bit in a smile, as if she was inclined to agree, and I considered it a triumph that I had almost made her laugh.

"Well, you know," Nagihiko began, lightly. "Not everyone is interested in marriage. Some women prefer chastity... or the company of other women."

He tittered behind his sleeve knowingly. In spite of myself, I stared at him with interested eyes. It appeared to whoosh over Yaya's head. Amu, on the other hand, went scarlet. "Nadeshiko!" she hissed, in a scandalized tone. "N-N-N-"

"Ehhh...? There's no need to play coy, you know, Amu-chan." Our group was gradually drifting away from the rest of our classmates; Nagihiko had casually turned the corner and walked us up another street, as though the village belonged to him. Now that I thought about it, the village really might belong to him; it did not seem beyond imagination that the Fujisakis were mean feudal lords who held dominion over the entire prefecture. I couldn't help but be entranced by Nagihiko's mesmerizing hair-flicking. "Do you mean to say that you don't, as a matter of fact, prefer the company of women? Who do you prefer the company of, then?"

"That's hardly...!" she began, in the familiar tone she used when she was trying to stall a question. Thankfully, in that moment, she was saved: a blissful distraction came in the form of a man intercepting us on the road. Despite the fact that he was dressed like any other errand boy from Tokyo, in trousers and suspenders, he carried an odd air of haughtiness unbefitting of his station.

The silence, save for birds tweeting, was excessively awkward. "Hello!" Yaya said obliviously, twiddling her thumbs and rocking back on her ankles like a proud uncle as a way of greeting. In response, he barely inclined his head, short-spoken and laconic.

"... The miss on the left," in a monotone, nodding at Amu, procuring something from his pocket. "Is this yours?"

I narrowed my eyes; it was plainly a sheaf of linen, not silk, embroidered at the corners with red. Amu gasped, raising a hand to point to her own handkerchief in shock. "Th-that's mine, yes! " she replied, flustered. "But how...?"

He seemed unwilling to reply, which only aroused Nagihiko's suspicions, judging from the wrinkle in his brow. I, on the other hand, fancied it very plausible that someone would trace a hankie with inane strawberry embroidery back to Amu like a head to its body.

Despite misgivings, Nagihiko was swift in explanation, filling Amu's embarrassed silence with chatter. "Ah, how silly. You must have dropped it at the village train station! In all the chaos it would be quite easy to misplace." He bowed cursorily, taking it from his hand daintily. "Amu-chan should take better care of her things. Thank you very much for all your trouble, sir."

"Sure," he replied, robotically. It would have been natural for a man of good breeding to bow to us before going on his way – or at least wish us a good-day – but he did neither. Instead, he wordlessly touched the brim of his hat, still staring at Amu, and vanished into an alleyway as if he was melting into the wall itself.

It was odd, to see such a man so far from Tokyo. I wondered if Nagihiko thought the same thing, and turned to ask. Before I could, Yaya started giggling.

"Hm?" Nagihiko enquired, baffled.

"He was quite, you know... good-looking, wasn't he?" Yaya giggled into her sleeve. I made a noncommittal noise in my throat; Nagihiko laughed fakely. Then, as one being, we turned to stare at Amu.

"Wh-what?" She demanded defensively, stuffing the handkerchief up her sleeve like it was incriminating evidence. "So what if he's good-looking, Yaya? Don't just ogle people up like they're pieces of beef-!"

I myself suspected that she was grateful for the subject change as we approached the rows of cherry blossom trees, growing by the river's edge. We rejoined the group just in time to hear Sanjo-sensei say, "... there you are, girls. Take an ink pot each, please, and I'll call you back in an hour."

Easels tucked under our arms, brushes and ink in our hands, we dissipated into the hills to settle down and draw. I already had a game plan; I planned to pick the shabbiest, tiniest looking tree I could find in order to conserve ink (and effort). In several minutes, I had stumbled upon the prime candidate. It was clearly not more than ten or fifteen years old and a pitifully crippled monstrosity; perhaps it had been nibbled by deer, or by disease. At first I felt quite sorry for it.

The longer I stared, the more funny the tree seemed to be. Stunted though it was, one of its branches bent back in on itself in a rather arrogant motion, and the smattering of cherry blossoms looked more like flyaway hair than anything. With the faintest of smiles, I painted a very crooked and imperfect line with a halting brush, and began painting.

I enjoyed the silence and the space to be alone, but I was also wistful of the flower-viewing parties, hovering on the sides of my vision. The raucous shouts of people's fathers and splashes of children in the river made me nostalgic for something I had never had. By the time an hour had gone by, I was friends with the Midget Tree, and very much resentful at being called back for lunch— a first, for an area in which I lacked interest. Surprisingly, Sanjō-sensei had set up what looked like a picnic under a willow tree by the river, and I wondered if she wasn't as much of a stick-in-the-mud as she pretended to be. Much to nobody's surprise, Amu and Nagihiko were already comparing progress on their easels, and lumping compliments on each other like pigs with mud.

"I can't believe we were drawing the same tree," Amu exclaimed mournfully. "How did you manage to capture all of the bark in one stroke like that— as expected from Fujisaki-san, I guess…"

"You musn't be discouraged like that, Amu-chan," he encouraged back, in his fluttery falsetto. Nagihiko's painting was more unfinished looking, with barely any lines on the page. I could see that every stroke had been deliberately thought out like a tactician's on a map of the battlefield. Amu had decided to start with the flowers rather than the branches, to interesting effect. It was messier and more complete, that's for certain. Even in painting Amu was as scatterbrained and torn between things as ever.

"Rima-chan, what kind of tree is that supposed to be?" Yaya said loudly, before laughing like a hyena. With a scowl, I hid my easel under my arm. "You wouldn't understand, Yaya," I said, in my most haughty voice only reserved for eta. "You don't have an artist's eye."

Nagihiko leaned to the side, narrowing his eyes at my easel. "I see what you mean, Rima-chan–"

"Don't call me that," I said, but he talked over me like I hadn't said a word. "One of my painting masters in Italy once told me that some artists are naturally drawn to things that remind them of themselves."

A crease appeared between my eyebrows, and, without a word, I turned on my heel and walked away from them. Over my shoulder, I heard Amu tentatively ask, "Nadeshiko, wasn't that a bit harsh?" His reply was lost to the underlying chatter.

Me stomping away from Nadeshiko looked impressive in theory, but there was nobody else who would let me sit with them. Then I spotted two bobbing pigtails off in the distance, and was saved. The ever-tall and huffy looking Hoshina-san seemed to tolerate me sitting next to her relatively well. I counted on her not to acknowledge my presence, and she did not; she only appeared even more engrossed in her sake cup.

… Her sake cup.

"I wasn't aware that girls were permitted to drink, Hoshina-san," I couldn't resist from commenting, eyeing it up dubiously.

Hoshina seemed to merely relish in my disapproval, swishing the fermented rice swill around even more. I caught the faint whiff of something sharp and burning, like the smell of a chemical cleaning agent. "Don't place the blame on me," she replied very aloofly. "Sanjō-sensei is the one who brought it in the first place."

I turned around. Sure enough, Sanjō was drinking directly from the bottle like a woman with nothing left. Beside her, Kichigai-sensei was also throwing back considerable alcohol, surrounded by a gaggle of begging girls.

"Please, sensei!" one cried. "Just a bit! You've brought so much, look–"

"Oh, for heaven's sakes," she snapped, but finally relented under the gaze of pleading eyes. I did not trust that it would taste good enough to warrant a glass; ever presumptuous, I turned to Hoshina-san. "May I try some?"

She looked at me, eyebrow raised, quizzical. "You'd better not drink it all, you know," she told me as she passed the still-lukewarm cup to me. Delighted at this show of female comradeship, I tried to take a tiny, ladylike sip. The smell overpowered everything– burning and acidic, I felt like my nose hairs were being seared off. My eyebrows pulled together, my mouth tightened, and I hastily passed it back. To my surprise, Hoshina-san gave a short exhale indicative of laughter. "Tastes different, eh?"

"A bit, yes." I bit a dango off a skewer, to somehow cover up the burning taste in my mouth. Not one for chatter, she simply shrugged in reply, as if to say, that's what you get for asking, you fool. And then— "Let's see that painting Fujisaki-san was snickering about."

I gave her a look like a kicked cat. With a rather pitiless stare back, she cocked her head to the side. "If you're truly that sensitive to criticism, how can you call yourself an artist? If people really have a genuine qualm with what you've painted, you should listen. But never turn down an opportunity for objective analysis."

"You just want to see if I look like the tree."

"Obviously."

I could hardly argue with this no-nonsense attitude. With a sulky look, I unveiled my work in progress. Perhaps I had been unnecessarily harsh on Hoshina, who was proving to be reasonable in her tactlessness. She may not have had Nadeshiko's diplomacy, but she was not an unappreciated ally.

For a long while, she did not speak; her almond-shaped eyes, with their thick black eyelashes, were staring at the paper. After an uncomfortably long duration, she sat back. "Well, I can see what Fujisaki-san means. But Mashiro, really, you're a slacker. It's artistic, to be sure, but weren't you just trying to conserve effort?"

I chose not to reply, and instead stared at her indignantly. "Do you think it's terribly clever to insult me by saying my growth is stunted?"

"Not at all. Fujisaki-san wasn't insulting you. She was just being petty."

This was a new concept, and I took a moment to mull it over. The most bizarre opportunity was being offered to me– the possibility that Nadeshiko was not out to get me. It was so foreign that I couldn't resist. "May you elaborate, please?" I asked stiffly. Hoshina-san took another sip.

"You're a bit dull, aren't you? It was a compliment disguised by an insult." I opened my mouth to retort, but the ever-laconic Hoshina held up a huffy hand. "The tree you painted… what did you think of it, really?"

Normally I would hold back, but in my determination to find out Nagihiko's motives, I laid myself bare. "At first I thought it was rather pitiable, but I warmed up to it."

"How so?"

"Well," I replied, slightly flustered, "Small, damaged things are always a little endearing."

"And that, Mashiro-san, is your answer." Hoshina polished off her sake, in a superior tone. "Have a bit of discernment. Has it ever occurred to you that people are cruel to people they wish to befriend?"

No, it had not occurred to me, but only because it was the stupidest thing I had ever heard. I didn't give a damn if Nagihiko found me endearing, especially if it came from a place of pity. Hoshina-san seemed to see this doubt reflected in my eyes. "Listen," she added, leaning forward. "When young village boys want to get the attention of a particular girl, they bully her and throw rocks. Fujisaki-san's been getting under your skin for years. Perhaps she simply has the mind of an idiotic, immature bo–"

"Why, Hoshina-san!" a familiar chiming of bells rang out, and Nagihiko descended on us like menacing clouds on a sunny day. "I've never heard you talk so much in one sitting – or Rima-chan, for that matter! I suppose that placing two people of few words in each other's company creates an adverse effect."

Even Amu, standing behind her, seemed rather taken aback by Nadeshiko's need to intervene in the conversation. With new illumination, however, I found it nearly laughable. This childish streak in the perfect Nadeshiko persona gave me private satisfaction. I did not believe that Nagihiko wished to befriend me. However, I did believe that he could harbour jealousy over Hoshina being a potential rival of mine. In fact, the more I mulled it over, the more it made sense for Nagihiko to feel threatened. Hoshina-san was a striking beauty, older by a year, and the only woman in the entire school who could outdo Nadeshiko in song. In addition, the Hoshinas were exactly the type of nouveau-riche, self-made men that the tradition-based Fujisaki dynasty would abhor.

My affection for Hoshina quadrupled.

"Haaaah? What are you even saying, Fujisaki-san?" Hoshina nickered in a dangerously girly voice. Amu jumped in, hastily. "She's not saying anything, Utau, we just came over to say hello-"

"Then please," she said, sardonically. "Sit down, by all means, and wait for me to finish."

"Should you really be drinking?"Amu cut in, but Hoshina raised her voice to talk over her. "Like I was saying, Mashiro-san: an idiotic, immature village boy. Remember."

Amu shot me a questioning look. Nagihiko's face remained as sunny as ever. I kept my lips closed throughout the rest of lunch.

With reluctance, I returned to my little tree that afternoon with the shrewd face of a businessman who wishes to close a deal quickly. I would paint this heinous tree, roll it up, give it to the art instructor and be done with this entire mess. It seemed that Fujisaki Nagihiko had different ideas for me, however; he was already underneath the tree, waiting for me with an excessively placid smile.

"Good afternoon, Rima-chan."

"Don't call me that."

His smile seemed to falter; determinedly ignoring the look in his eyes, I sat down and picked up my paints. His next sentence was determinedly calm. "It's a lovely day out, isn't it? I hope you don't mind if I sit here; I've already finished."

"I do, but that won't stop you." Impatiently, I glanced. I had enough of Nadeshiko's mind games, and now that I had a direct line to him, I thought I could speak frankly. "There is nobody else here, Fujisaki-san. Don't waste time putting on your act."

For a minute, I thought I had caused his Noh mask to slip. Nagihiko's upturned mouth pressed into an angry line, and his dark eyes flashed. In several moments, however, the mask was back in place and his mouth was a smiling crescent. "Everybody is always putting on an act, Rima-chan. You are, I am, Amu is. People are quick to assume that a costume change is someone's true self."

I was not prepared for such a philosophical revelation. Looking him up and down haughtily, I returned my attention to my parchment and drew an unconvincing tree knot. Reluctantly, the words slipped out. "'All the world's a stage.' "

"'... And all the men and women merely players,'" Nagihiko replied, grinning. "Quoting Shakespeare? Tsk, tsk. The emperor would be ashamed of your British sympathies."

I did not smile. Where was he going with this? My tree stretched out towards Nagihiko with pleading hands, and my brush fell over the edge of the parchment.

"You know, I think all people are fundamentally the same. What we call 'personalities'.. I think they're simply different acts, cycled at whim, developed from a young age to cope in social situations." Nagihiko appeared to enjoying his own philosophizing far too much. "There's no shame in it. 'Nadeshiko' is just as real as your ice queen charade."

I flinched, and then glowered. "Forgive me, Fujisaki-san, for I cannot follow your trail of thought."

"Mashiro-san, it's unbecoming for you to play dumb to make a point." He tilted his head to the side, tugging his ponytail tighter.

I swallowed, and it tasted bitter. "... Excuse me, then. Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I fear you."

My brush went still, and I stared into the sockets of the Noh mask with wide, panicked eyes. Something stirred behind them, an all-encompassing sadness. "Is it that hard to imagine?" Nagihiko enquired, with a laugh. "I'm not the only one intimidated by you, you know."

My mind was racing, eyes blank. He feared me? All this time, Nadeshiko had cowered in fear of a short, powerless, middle-class girl with no prospects and a shaky future? The irony was almost physically painful. Nagihiko was a fool. "You're a fool," I scoffed, wasting no time in tearing a strip off him. "Why would you think such a thing?"

"Because you're far too insightful for your own good," he retorted, and now there was little trace of pleasantry; it had melted away into raw accusation. "Amu-chan might not notice you, Mashiro-san, but I can see you silently observing everything under your nose and filing it away. You can smell manipulation out faster than a bloodhound. I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you."

"What's this feeling?" I whispered sarcastically, staring off at the mountains. "Why, Fujisaki, I do believe my heart is melting."

"You know what I am, how I am currently living." For some reason, Nagihiko's usage of what rather than who bothered me more than it should have– it was an odd word choice for a man who picked his words deliberately. "My mother told me that if anybody discovered by identity while I was playing the role of Nadeshiko, it would be nobody's fault but my own, and proof that I was not disciplined or skilled enough to inherit the family name. I was hardly about to let my family prospects be spoiled by some upstart classmate who peered too closely, so I pushed you away."

"With snide remarks and schoolgirl bullying," The bitterness rose in my voice, despite all efforts.

I expected him to be meek and apologetic. Instead, his voice became very earnest. "Yes. It was the only way I knew how. I didn't have very many friends my age growing up, and the intricacies of interaction confuse me. …It's easy to forget that you aren't my enemy anymore, and I beg your pardon on that front."

Curses, he could beg forgiveness without an iota of shame; my general attitude had always been that I shouldn't apologize if it could be avoided, yet he did it without hesitation. He continued on. "Back then, I hoped that you would avoid me after being insulted enough. Instead, it simply drew us together by virtue of having the same friends. But now you know, Mashiro-san. And I feel – well–"

"You... feel?" I asked slowly, as though an iguana was proclaiming its fondness for macro-economics.

"I feel... free." He exhaled the word as if it was holy, and his eyes widened maddeningly. My heartstrings couldn't help but tug with pity at this miserable boy in a skirt, trapped in an obi-shaped prison. "I'm grateful that you're on my side."

"Am I, now?"

"With little choice in the matter, of course." His tone had turned businesslike, and I relaxed slightly. Nagihiko speaking of emotions was not something I was ready to see; it felt vulgar, like seeing an inappropriate poster on a wall. "I would not dare presume friendship, but you would be a very valuable ally to me, if you consent to it."

"An... ally?" I repeated, bemused. "Really, Fujisaki-san, do you plan to conscript an army and invade a neighbouring prefecture any time soon?"

"Even in peacetime, an ally is a good thing to have. You're a clever girl. We can help each other out." He leaned forward, tone loving like a mother's caress. "You could use my assistance, Mashiro-san. We both know it. What's more, you would no longer force Amu to pick between her friends."

He was dangling the carrot in front of my nose, but I wasn't so foolish to fall prey to a simple thing so quickly. Shrewdly, I asked, "That's all well and good, but what is it that you're wanting out of me, Fujisaki-san?"

"Nadeshiko."

"Nadeshiko," I conceded, with no honorific to speak of. My tone was condescending. "What do I have to offer you?"

He tucked his hair behind his ear, with a rather surprised look. "Why, Mashiro-san, I should have thought that obvious. I want your cooperation."

I narrowed my eyes. "Cooperation? What are you planning?" The aspirin drug cartel, the talk of military allies: it was all coming together in a glorious mental image of Nagihiko the shady merchant kingpin, smuggling opium across the seven seas. Oh, my God. He wanted me to smuggle drugs.

Nagihiko smiled his best Drug Smuggling smile. "I'm always planning something, Mashiro-chan. A good lady always is. But I'm speaking in the general sense of the word. I'm asking," he added, voice softer, "To be tolerated. My mother has your loyalty by force, but I'm asking for it by choice."

My mouth went a bit dry. It suddenly occurred to me why so many girls fell in love with Nadeshiko; it wasn't the oval face, or radishy eyebrows, it was his voice. He spoke gently and earnestly, as if I was his sole saviour. It was madness to swear loyalty to an old enemy. It was madness to make alliances as if this was a war. But doesn't a woman already make allies when she makes friends?

I swallowed, and nodded.


Hello, Tsuki no kimi here. Sorry for the long wait in getting this chapter to fruition; as you can see, I made it super long and introduced the Fan Favourite back into the mix to appease all of you! (That's a lie, actually, I just like writing his dialogue, and I liked his character in the original drafts, and the fact that I get to do it properly this time delights me.)

If you haven't guessed from the last two chapters, this is a much smoother rewrite of my original Fanfiction from the Black Lagoon, Like A Lady. Back then, the characterizations were heavily influenced by Maria Holic (cringe). This time around, it's more based off my actual love affair with history, which I know can be a daunting setting for a lot of people. Hopefully I can spark your interest in it, because it's a setting I really feel at home in.

I'm really grateful for the outpouring of feedback and support I've gotten for the past two chapters! I hope you'll continue to let me know what you think, because I'm pretty shifty on my writing style still and would be interested in any criticism and suggestions you guys have. Mostly I'm concerned about the long, semicolon-riddled sentences, and I hope my vocab choices aren't spiralling out of control.

Maybe it's just me, but I noticed that there's a bizarre sort of RCS humour to a lot of the situations here, just with more mature diction and narration. It's nice to know my childish sense of humour hasn't changed a bit.

ANYWAY, thanks for everything so far! please continue to watch over me, my sparkling senpais~*~