CHAPTER TWELVE

舞姫

Danseuse

My shoes glittered in the morning sunlight, silver thread on satin. It was my first pair of shoes with a heel on them, and my walk showed it.

"Careful!" Amu cried, leaning forward to catch me. I planted my face directly into the comfort of her bony sternum, forgetting to let go of her arms.

The catalogues had come in from Osaka. We wrote in the model number of the gown we wanted with our measurements on the order form and mailed it back to the return address. For those who ordered, they arrived at the post-office six weeks later.

I hadn't needed to. A crêpe silk gown had collapsed to nothing in the bottom of my suitcase, and the matching shoes tucked away in the hat-box. I wondered how Mother had known—and found the money. Yaya's father had forgotten to send one, without a wife to take inventory of school events. Amu's mother had hand-sewn her a wine-red gown made for a much braver, older woman. Amu tried it on behind our screen, cheeks burning with shame.

"Mama always does this!" Amu wailed, inspecting the back view in Nadeshiko's full-length mirror, trying in vain to adjust it. "She says it's the fashion, and that I shouldn't dress younger than I am…"

"I can see your entire back," Nagihiko said, pointing to the area in question with a folding fan. A teasing expression twinkled in his eye. This sent Amu into a tizzy all over again.

"It's not that weird, Nadeshiko!" Amu cried, defensively. "Rima's is backless, too! So is Utau's, I bet!"

It was. I had put it on, just because everyone else was doing it, but felt no attachment to the thing. I was intent on finding a pair of scissors for a loose silk thread I had spotted on the trailing sleeve.

"I just said I could see your back, that's all," he said. He didn't even glance at me.

"Oh, you found them," I said to Yaya, brandishing a pair of sewing scissors. "The thread is back here…"

"Well, I know you can see it!" Amu said, face going blotchy. "Don't just point it out— it's unproductive!"

Yaya's audible snip noise at my sleeve was very loud. We both turned around to see Amu bristling. Nadeshiko sat stiff on the edge of my bed, looking like she'd been slapped.

Yaya glanced back at me, confused. Yaya spent a good deal of time being confused, of late.

I lowered my eyes back to the safety of the bias-cut silk, just in time for Amu to say, "We've got dance again. We should go."

Oh, please, no. Let's not.

"Ladies!" Amakawa's voice rang out. "I see we all have our shoes on to practice the steps with heels, hm? Very lovely."

My knees wobbled. The satin shoes looked very out of place with the black uniform. Then again, so did everybody else's.

"On my count… a one, two, blah, blah blah…"

The brassy sound of Strauss whined through the room. Resigned, we began our counter-clockwise rotation with an air of weariness.

I took stock of my disintegrating friend circle. I had been wary of Utau ever since her lecture, though she had been nothing but cordial. She was currently waltzing the male role to Amu, who still seemed to be smarting for some reason. Then there was Nadeshiko, dancing with Hakenaki Mashimaro (?) again, probably at the underclassmen's offer.

Nagihiko never could turn down an adoring fan, the egomaniac. Her chin was lifted, and her eyes were mid-laugh at something Maraschino had said. If I thought he tolerated me before the summer holidays, perhaps even fancied me his friend, it was now turning distant.

I was shamefaced enough to be sick. All I could think of were the things I had told him in confidence— incriminating things. My foreign father and worse still, my natural birth. He had said it meant nothing to him, but… My throat swelled up thinking of it. It was the feeling of holding back tears, but something spikier, with harder edges.

I swallowed and looked away.

Yaya and I, without any other choice, grabbed each other's hands for the waltz. I thought Yaya was the man; or perhaps it was me. I hadn't quite figured it out, but it didn't really matter. We swung about the room, snickering under our breath. At one point, she was Amakawa-sensei, with a smug smirk on her face, wiggling her shoulders with every turn. Then she was Sanjō, refusing to bend her legs at the knee. I pressed my lips firmly together to keep from grinning silly and lurched to the side on the end of my heel. I bumped Misaki's shoulder, and we hurried to close the gap in the circle.

"Circle!" Amakawa's voice called out, coaxingly. "Circle, girls! Join up right where Hinamori and Hoshina-san are!"

Circle, circle, circle. I wound up on the left, which meant, I suppose, that I was the girl, this time. Yaya and I galloped around the circle at top speed, circling and dipping under each other's arms, quietly snorting the whole time. I caught a glimpse of Utau's narrowed eyes, and Nadeshiko's perturbed glance. I didn't care. Why should I?

Nadeshiko could waste time dancing until her feet bled, but I didn't see what good it did the rest of us. Utau was the stupid one, acting like it was harming my future to have a bit of fun with it. In twenty years, would I ever regret that my steps were not lighter, more ladylike? Or would I regret not laughing with my friends when I still could? A faceless man loomed before my eyes, dressed in a formal tailcoat against a flock of black Ki-15s roaring overhead. He held out a sake cup to me, inviting me to drink and seal my fate–

"Rima-tan, your face looks gross," Yaya snickered.

Strauss's lilting violins returned to my consciousness. "Oh," I said.

"Faster, girls!" Amakawa-sensei called out, merrily. "It's a quick tempo!"

I looked down at Yaya's Mary Janes, which were tippy-tappying at the floor.

"I hate this," I said.

"I like this!"

Everybody else seemed to be turning inward against their partner's chest, so I did so, arms being forced into a crossed position while I gripped Yaya's hands for dear life. Yes. That looked right.

"And now," Amakawa-sensei said, stopping the record needle. We all looked up, startled. I wobbled on the spot.

"Man's part, let go of the lady's hand with your left hand and hold it out behind you. Lady's part, on the count of three, you will natural turn out into the fan position…"

"I hate this," I muttered again, but obediently turned out.

"—Man's part, release hands, reaching behind you—"

The violins began again, and Yaya relinquished me. I watched helplessly as Yaya grabbed Misaki Watarai's waist like a farmer hauling a sack of rice. I glanced over my shoulder as I turned into the empty air, when—

Someone seized my waist, sweeping me into closed position. I looked up and found myself gazing into Nagihiko's amused expression.

I had no time to look anything but astonished. His grip was tighter than Yaya's via overestimation. He seemed surprised to discover that I had roughly the resistance and weight of a sock-puppet.

"And then, lady's lift and reverse turn," Amakawa called over the sound of the rumbling cello. Before Amakawa could explain, Nagihiko pulled me forward by my ribs.

"Ow," I hissed, pained more by the scandal than the discomfort. On my right, I saw Mamamoo glance up at the noise, now in closed position with Wakana. Everybody had shifted over a partner.

"— You grip securely, below the arms, and lift —"

My feet left the floor in a rush of air. My hands scrabbled at Nagihiko's shoulders for purchase, gripping on for dear life. He whirled me in a parabola to my right, placing me delicately back on the ground between him and Yaya as though I was made of glass.

"Sorry," Nadeshiko whispered, finally deeming me worthy of being addressed. "Lighter than I expected."

"Are you saying I look fat?" I hissed back.

"— Like Fujisaki-san has just done," Amakawa-sensei finished, looking at us. The rest of the class followed suit. I rubbed my ribs, avoiding Amu's eyes.

"Though I was going to say it should be more of a light bounce than a lift proper," he added, with a bit of a smile. "Very well-done."

What a suck-up. I shot Nagihiko a glare. He was too busy basking.

"From here, you begin the steps again with your new partner, starting with a simple box step and pivot…"

I hugged my sides and repressed a groan.


"Hotonoto-san," I said, over lunchtime, "I think I see your friends waving you over."

Amu shot me an aghast look, as though to say: Rima! Be nice to the precious underclassmen!

"Oh… it's Hatanaka-san," said Himenanda Mamoro. She bit her lip, glancing between Nadeshiko and the far table, where her friends sat expectantly.

"Don't let us keep you," said Nadeshiko, smiling warmly. "But if you like, you can sit with us."

What? I gave Nadeshiko a look, which once again went ignored. Something about it gnawed at my gut. Moscato, ever-grateful, took a seat on the other side of Nadeshiko with a shy smile.

"Your dancing is lovely, for someone so young," Nadeshiko flattered her, in a stupid voice. "I'm sure it will look lovely at the ball."

"O-oh, no!" Moscow said, trying to be humble. "It's all because I'm dancing with you, Fujisaki-senpai, honest! To be honest, I was hoping to ask you about that… I'm kind of nervous."

Amu tilted her head. "About what? The ball?"

"Yeah," Midori wheezed, playing with her rice, gloomily. "It's my first one. But the senpais have been before, right? What's it like?"

"It's a conspicuous display of wealth," said Utau huffily, getting to her feet with her empty bowl. "To make the diplomats and Minister of Education think we're rich and civilized."

Without another word, she left.

"Uh," said Amu, watching her go. "… I guess."

Seiyo's Western-style balls were only held every few years or so. At the last one, I had been twelve, and had just settled into life at Seiyo only a year prior. It was terrible, I reflected. I was so unsure of myself. I was all baby fat and a young-looking face, which my mother hadn't helped by sending me in some frilly thing. It had been hosted here, too. All I had done was watch Amu paw at Nadeshiko and obsess over the Kouen boys, while the older girls danced. I had sat in a corner, entertaining gentleman callers all night. Like any twelve-year-old on a power trip, it was mildly entertaining, asking them to fetch and carry.

Oh, and then that boy had tried to confess to me, as Nadeshiko was so fond of reminding me. Kirishima-kun, wasn't it? I couldn't even remember.

"… You see, my mother was inspired by the cotillions of Vienna," Nagihiko was saying animatedly. "Their waltzes are nothing like the way England does it— it must be seen to be believed. They handle the women so delicately, and every movement is very tender. But Mother had the idea to implement a formal event like that at Seiyo Academy, to foster some civil, ladylike interaction between our school and the military academy in the next town. At least, that's what I think it was…"

"And where is the Dra- your esteemed mother, presently?" I asked, kindly.

"Kouen, of course," said Nagihiko, bemused, still explaining to Manolo. "Instructing the boys. But it's really nothing to fret over, it's just a bit of dancing to entertain the Minister and whatever other foreign dignitaries are there from Kobe. They're very fond of German waltzes."

"I see…"

"The Kouen boys are gentlemen," Nadeshiko added, with a bit of a smirk at Amu. "And quite handsome, if I can be so presumptuous. You are in good hands."

I rolled my eyes at Yaya.

"What, Rima-tan?" Yaya laughed, nudging my shoe. Nagihiko followed her line of sight.

"Of course," he said, hastily, "Mashiro-san has more exacting standards. As she should."

Merino giggled nervously.

"I guess…" Amu looked thoughtful. "Rima is the type of girl who's popular with boys, but I've never seen one that she, uh, likes."

The atmosphere was still tense from earlier. Nadeshiko picked at her rice.

"There aren't any," I said.

Mimikyu goggled.

"It's because we never see any," Yaya pointed out, spewing rice all over the table. "You'd think we were nuns!"

"That's not true, Yaya-chan," said Nagihiko, mouth twitching. "There's Sōma-kun, who brings the mail."

The table heaved a collective, dreamy sigh.

"Don't get your drool on the table," I said, standing up in disgust. Even Nagihiko looked a little glazed-over. "I'm going to get to embroidery early. Amu?"

I waited imperiously for Amu to put her dishes away and follow me, but she seemed to have her eyes fixed on a distant point none of us could see, spacing out.

"Oh," she said suddenly, glancing up. "N-no, you go ahead without me, Rima. I need to get something from my room."

Get something from her room? Amu was the worst liar alive. I raised both my eyebrows haughtily but didn't say anything.


The end of October staggered towards us like an old man with a crick in his back. The nights chilled. Yaya kicked up the tufts of red maple leaves on the lawn before dinner. A flock of geese flew over my head, returning from their rendezvous up north.

The onset of autumn brought out something maudlin in Nadeshiko. I would walk into our room to see her with her elbows on the windowsill, gazing vacantly at the sunlit hills.

"See anything out there?" I might ask, pulling off my middy blouse to leave only my turtleneck. I pulled out the thread ball I had started with Hotori's silk. With my back to Nadeshiko, I would press pins deep into its surface as anchor points, more voodoo doll than handicraft.

She liked to sigh in response. Sometimes she would go "mmm," which was my cue to go silent.

Why did I even bother asking? There was something of a gambler in me, I decided, one who liked rolling the dice to see what was in the great Fujisaki-san's addled head.

Once, she went "Rima, come see," and pointed to the sky.

The harvest moon, I thought to myself, deadpan. She's insane.

"Big," I said.

"How brightly it illuminates the grass," Nadeshiko murmured, in an odd mood, indeed. "It seems to absorb all sadness."

"Yes. Large," I said.

The mornings grew darker. A week before the ball, Hīragi (the snipe) left an oil lamp uncovered and lit before she left for class. Seiyo's wooden structure was spared the inevitable blaze. Hīragi's curtains were not.

Some of the more religious teachers swore that the building's amulets protecting against fire had saved us. I thought it was dumb luck. The rancid, burnt-curtain smell lingered for days down the whole hallway.

I couldn't take it anymore. Despite the wind outside, I cracked the window open as much as its rusted hinges would let me. Typhoon season was heaving its last breaths, and I was instantly hit with a gust of sopping wet wind.

Hīragi, that absolute dullard. I wrapped my hair around my neck and shivered.

On the waving plains of Seiyo Hill, dense thickets of bush clover littered the countryside, making one last bloom before the frosts set in. The birds made uneasy noises in the boughs as they settled in for the night. There was some merit to Nadeshiko's flights of fancy, I thought. In the setting sun, I thought I felt a glimpse of the autumn melancholy that Nadeshiko must feel so deeply.

"Oh," I sighed.

I almost didn't hear him approach behind me, holding the curtain to the side. His head lolled dreamily onto his hand, black eyes refracting a luminous blue.

"Longing to see, and
Yearning have I awaited
The autumn bush clover:
In flower only does it bloom –
Will no more come of it than that?
"

If I had seen it written, or had time to think about it, I could have responded wittily. Instead, I stared at him.

He smiled cryptically. "From the Manyōshū," he said, and left the window.

Will no more come of it than that, indeed? My ball of thread swelled with jagged diamond patterns stitched resolutely into its surface, nursing my hopes and fears.

By the end of the week, the smell had still not gone. It was compounded by typhoon rains causing rot beneath the floors and leaking in the west wing. It reeked of something like spoiled meat, or a sewer.

You would have thought it didn't exist, from the way everyone spoke of one thing, and one thing only. Friday night began a frenzy of preparations.

"Of course, Tadase-kun speaks most highly of me," said Yamabuki Sāya with her hair in rollers, hogging two sinks to gob on mascara. "Our fathers are friends, you know, and if it's between us… the ball is a conducive atmosphere to…"

"The ball," yelled Watarai Misaki, trying to zip her friend up into a dress much too small (vulgar). "Takes place within a timeframe of roughly six to seven hours, leaving us precious little time to get Hotori-kun's attention–"

"I don't know, there's so many girls here that seem to be intent on Hotori-kun, I don't know, maybe I should give up–" Amu agonised.

"… Kouen's a castle, no lie, like an actual castle…"

"And the little girls get sent home after four hours, and we can stay late!"

"Amakawa-sensei says that my posture is…"

Seven hours? I did some quick mental math. One in the morning?

There was no need to suffer for that long. Gazing at the utter catastrophe of pins, stockings, rollers, bits of tissue, shoes, hairbrushes and miscellany adorning every available surface in our hall's washing room, I fake-coughed.

"Cough, cough," I said, making my eyes fill with tears. "I feel terrible."

"Rima-tan, no!" Yaya cried, swooping down on me. "When Yaya feels sick, Mama boils ginger and water together and puts sugar in it. You have to put lots of sugar in, or else it doesn't work–"

I swayed a bit on the spot. It was a little late to be pulling in my emergency illness plan, given that I had already dressed.

"Oh, no, Rima-chan!" Nadeshiko lamented fakely. She looked like a ghost in only her white underrobe and a pair of tabi socks. Why did Nadeshiko get to wear socks and the rest of us didn't? She put the back of her hand to my forehead.

"You don't feel warm… could it be nerves?"

"Over what, exactly?" I said, tersely. As though Nagihiko cared if I wasted away and died!

"Well, I could understand if… your dancing…"

Amu stared at me. Yaya was still railing on and on about bitter melons and hot water.

"I'm fine," I said huffily, avoiding Nagihiko's eye. "I'm fine. I'll go."

Amu bit back a meek smile as she escorted me back to my room, red dress billowing aggressively around her ankles. She looks grown-up, I realized, though I wasn't sure why my heart sunk at the thought.

"You look pretty, Amu," I added.

Amu jolted. "Oh— oh!" She jerked her head away, clearly embarrassed, now.

"It's a little gaudy, but…" and then, mumbling. "So are you guys."

Nadeshiko bowed her head in humility. I caught the smile.

"I'm going to go find Mother to tie my obi," she said, shouldering a kimono with the longest sleeves I had seen yet. They dangled dangerously close to her feet, fading to a dark purple the closer they got to the floor. "If you three could wait for me, we could share a rickshaw there?"

The door shut. Amu was perturbed. "She is rather thin, isn't she?"

"Who?" I said.

"Nadeshiko," Amu said, looking at the now-dying begonias. She spoke in a hushed voice, as though Nadeshiko's ghost was breathing down our necks. I had never heard Amu say anything critical about Nadeshiko. Was all this huffiness over a comment about a dress?

I had endured far worse at the wrong end of Nadeshiko's tongue.

"I haven't ever seen her with that few layers on," Amu mumbled.

Yaya re-phrased it in childish, more blander terms. "I don't think she's got anything under there!"

"Oh," I said, stupidly. Then, remembering myself, I added: "Yes. She looks like a malnourished child without her clothes on. Can you two put my hair up, since you're standing there?"

It was deliriously agreeable to sit on Nadeshiko's bed while Amu and Yaya (but mostly Amu) fretted over the thick braids, trying to stuff them into something resembling a low chignon. I was almost disappointed when Nadeshiko floated back, rolled up in silk like a sausage casing. She had answered my sock question. Instead of shoes, she was wearing a pair of lacquered geta.

"How will you dance in those?" I asked, rudely.

"The way I always do, I suppose," said Nadeshiko, unsmiling. She hadn't said it very sharply, but I suddenly felt hot and ashamed of myself. I slunk behind Yaya, putting on my cape.

"It's raining out, too," Nadeshiko added. She looked straight at me.

It was bucketing. It was five-thirty on the dot. Girls everywhere were screaming, bracing themselves under umbrellas and shawls and newspapers and hands. Yaya and I huddled together on Seiyo Academy's front stoop, rain drilling onto Yaya's umbrella. Ahead of us, Amu and Nadeshiko were crouched under her bright red parasol, laughing and whispering. Her silk back caught the light every time she moved, illuminating the pale cherry blossoms embroidered on its surface.

They looked good together. Objectively so, like a pair of matched carriage-horses. Amu's teeth chattered, and Nadeshiko gesticulated something with her free hand. A matching set of statues that belonged on a mantelpiece.

Then the statues spoke, ruining my life.

"Oh, they're three-seater," Nadeshiko murmured as an empty rickshaw pulled up the front drive, gesturing to us. "How…"

"Yaya," I said immediately, pointing. "Look, that one's got an empty space."

"Wha?" Yaya whirled around, looking up and down.

"That one," I said, pointing to the one behind us.

"I don't-"

I stepped onto the free rickshaw and into the furthest seat, waiting patiently for Amu to follow. Yaya still held the umbrella, staring. Amu followed me, leaving Nagihiko little choice. As he stepped in, he furrowed his brow at me. What right did he have to judge?

Amu seemed conscious of being wedged between two people competing for the same thing. She looked nervously, from Nadeshiko to me.

"Ah… it's rainy, isn't it? It's kind of a let-down… we won't be able to dance in the courtyard."

"In this weather? You'd catch cold!" Nadeshiko exclaimed, brushing her arm. The look was gone.

Were my suspicions correct? I studied the two carefully. Amu liked Nadeshiko. Why shouldn't she? Nadeshiko had given her everything she had ever wanted. She called and Nadeshiko came, asked and received, cried and met a shoulder. She asked things out of Nadeshiko she would never ask out of me.

It was no wonder, I thought, watching the rain drip off the rickshaw's roof. I was not warm and loving. Everything I wanted out of Amu I had to demand. I fought for what Nadeshiko was handed. Perhaps I would not have fought so hard if I had been less lonely. I thought, in the recesses of my mind— that if I was persistent enough, she wouldn't be able to deny me. Surely, she would come to understand my feelings, like she understood everybody else's so well. But somehow, she never had.

But what could Amu offer a woman like Nadeshiko? She admired Nadeshiko's prowess in the kitchen, her flower-arranging, and thought Nadeshiko walked on water. I personally did not care for fan clubs, thinking them more a tool than any source of trustworthy gratification. Maybe Nadeshiko did?

I had been so single-mindedly infatuated with Amu for so long that something odd had happened. I could not, for the life of me, understand what someone other than me could see in her. Of course, I understood Amu's sound heart and inability to see someone suffer. Amu was Nagihiko's only respite in a sea of cruel women.

And I am one of them.

But all they were doing was talking about Hotori-san! Absolutely dull! I began to regret my decision. I might have been happier with Yaya and Utau, talking about, I don't know, work ethic and bath toys.

Why, why, why…!

Why did I want their attention so badly, when all they had done was ignore me!

"He was such a cute child," Nadeshiko was reminiscing, sitting on her hands and smiling. "We've known each other since we were young, you know. If there was one man alive who knows everything about me…"

I gave Nagihiko a bit of a look— really? Everything? But he didn't notice me.

"Wh— don't tell me you like him, too, Nadeshiko!"

"Ah?" she turned back to Amu, blinking innocently. "You think I would steal Hotori-kun from you?"

"N-no, not really, but… I mean, surely guys must like you… Nadeshiko's so beautiful."

I found this excessively boring and leaned forward. "The Hotori family made a rather poor impression on me," I said, determined to talk the godlike figure off his pedestal. "His father is a fop."

Amu gagged, whirling on me with a grey expression. "Wh-what?" she choked, wind leaving her sails. "A- a fop?"

"Condescended to me on my own property. Men are trash."

"Guh-gah-wha? W-when did you meet Hotori-sama, Rima? He's a viscount!"

She sounded like my mother. I pulled the collar of my cape tighter around my neck. The rickshaw rattled over the Ochi River, swollen with rainwater, and its roaring temprarily drowned us out.

"Interested in the business," I said, shortly. "And vetting me for a marriage meeting with his son, no doubt."

Amu slumped back against the seat of the carriage, staring forward with a somewhat hopeless expression. My heart panged in sympathy, and I put a tentative hand on her arm.

"What bad luck," Nadeshiko said quietly. "It seems that everybody here is conspiring to steal Hotori-kun from you, Amu-chan."

"B-"

"As if he was ever a candidate," I cut in, annoyed. "He couldn't afford me."

Nagihiko opened his mouth, as though to retort something. At that moment, the rickshaw rattled to a stop before a rod-iron gate, flanked by two marble obelisks. I turned to stare at my companions, as though this was their fault. This was hardly a military school. Where were we?

Around us, girls began moving quickly for the shelter of the coach-gate. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but enough to put Yamabuki's perma-wave in jeopardy. I knew this because I could hear her piercing voice screaming about it. All around me, umbrellas opened as though by magic.

We found ourselves in the middle of the complex itself, enclosed by a high whitewashed wall. In the rain, nothing more could be made out other than lumpy outbuildings, same as in any town.

As we walked through the torrent, taking care to step only on the stones in our path, I wondered what had happened. Riot? Uprising? Had all the rickshaws broke down? Earthquake? Mudslide? The last one was most plausible, I thought. The heavy rains would sometimes loosen the rock and earth near the top of Mount Rokko, sending it plummeting down the slope to block the pass.

At that moment, Nadeshiko's head moved, and I got a full look at the building we were entering. I was wrong. It was a military academy.

Wakana was right. Kouen Military Academy was a castle.

The central keep rose triumphantly against the cloudy gloom of the sky, luminously shell-pink. Its lacquered roof tiles glinted a slick midnight blue under the torrents of rain. Three pagodas, one on top of the other. Four, if you counted the renovated tower at its very top safeguarding a bell. At the apex of each gable there was pendants, the same as on Seiyo, only gold and in the shape of a familiar crescent moon. My classmates hissed and squeaked like a rat infestation.

The lumpy outbuildings must have been the retainers' mansions in its previous life as a stronghold. The river we had crossed was a natural fortification. What a…

What a waste of a castle!

Seiyo made do on much less, and we weren't being prepared for the army. Amu pulled me forward by my elbow, tailing Nadeshiko with excited babble. I eyed the bell tower at the very top with dislike and continued to do so until we were safely in the double doors.

Amakawa-sensei stood just within the foyer to greet us. It seemed like he had hardly bothered to dress up at all. Nonetheless, several girls greeted him breathily as though he was literally an Imperial Prince, not an underpaid teacher. Did he even have rank?

Perhaps they were swept up in the setting of it all: the vaulted ceilings above our head, the blazon of the red-rayed flag above the emperor's portrait...

… And that was it. There was nothing remotely poetic about the Kouen stronghold's interior. Seiyo Higher Girls' School was hard-pressed to find an unadorned surface. Any given screen or lantern-cover was hand-painted by a student, and we had a propensity to clutter. Kouen Military Academy was rough and unfinished, wood on wood on wood and plaster. It was dark, polished and raw. Nagihiko would hate it here, I thought.

I sought Nagihiko's face to see what he thought. He had vanished, along with Amu.

I searched the crowd to no avail. All around me, girls were taking their dripping coats off and frantically fixing each other's hair. I wondered who would take our coats, when a flurry of younger boys, no older than eleven or twelve, came scuttling around the corners. Query answered.

To my surprise, I could already hear the muffled sound of conversation and a familiar European polka, as though the event was already underway and had been for an hour or so.

But it couldn't be the same music. It was too beautiful-sounding, too rich. I took a few steps towards the end of the foyer, ducking around and under girl's arms.

I put my ear to the sliding door (unpainted, plain gold). It was thicker than I expected. I could hear the deep rumble of grown men speaking under the swelling sound of a full orchestra. That was unlikely. The Kouen students were boys, not men. It made terrible eavesdropping. I couldn't understand a word they were saying.

"Mit ihm ist nicht zu spaßen…"

That wasn't English. It wasn't Japanese, either.

"Ich möchte nicht versäumen zu erwähnen, dass. Was ist…?"

At that moment, the screen slid open under my cheek, and a gust of warm air hit my face. I glanced up into the blue, blue eyes of the most otherwise unremarkable foreigner I had ever seen. I could finally see that they had been both having a conversation at the corner of the room in decorated tailcoats.

If I had been raised any better, I would have bowed and apologized for intruding. Instead, I simply shrugged my coat off and placed it on top of an already-teetering child. If they were going to open the screen and catch me mid-eavesdrop, I might as well walk in.

"Excuse me," I told the two of them, stepping up into the vast centre room. I turned to politely close the screen behind me. In the screen doorway, I saw the wan, pale faces of my classmates clustered in the darkness of the foyer.

"Mashiro-san," Manami hissed, scandalized. "You're just going to walk in there by yourself?!"

Ah—h. They were afraid to enter, because boys. I shrugged and turned around.

As I stepped into the vast hall, the conversation quieted. All dividing screens had been removed from the centre of the keep, so that it was open to the fifteen-foot-ceilings in full ancient glory. I could almost see the shogun of past at the far end of the room, commanding his legions and legions of retainers.

But then my fantasy image turned, and I realized it was actually Fujisaki-sensei, in a black, formal kimono. She was merely doll-sized from my vantage point. She seemed to be engrossed in conversation with a smaller girl, who was in stark white paint and plum-red lips.

In that moment, her head looked up in my direction. I broke eye contact.

Between Fujisaki-sensei and I stood a dozen adults and what must have been at least a hundred students, give-or-take. The older Japanese men were in what looked like full military regalia. The glinting epaulettes and the sparkle of gold braiding on the Imperial Officers was more beautiful than anything Nadeshiko could devise from her closet. Like a magpie, my eyes focused greedily on the military badges held by multicoloured ribbons with nothing short of delight. Now that was a proper prince's attire, not whatever Amakawa-sensei was wearing. The Kouen students dulled in comparison and blended into the background.

"Show-off," I heard a Yamabuki hiss behind the screen. Idiot, I thought. I wasn't showing off anything.

With Amu and Nadeshiko gone (to canoodle?), there was hardly anything I could do to entertain myself. I claimed my territory in the middle of the far wall, where it seemed alright to do so. The foreigner's wives seemed to be happy to do the same. They were both conversing rapidly in not-English with their light hair waved tightly to their skulls.

As I stopped moving and folded my hands, the conversation began again, a little halting and embarrassed-sounding. This really was so pedestrian. Somewhere in the alternate universe, the Rima who had pretended to be ill was reading Brontë by lamplight and listening for Kichiga-sensei's monitoring footsteps. I envied her. No, I didn't. Maybe a little.

The rest of the girls joined me, braver ones first, shy ones last. Utau, Watarai Misaki and Yamabuki had no problems, though Utau looked deeply displeased at doing so. Wakana hung back, as did Marino, the large-foreheaded girl who thought Nadeshiko was God's gift to humanity.

Where was Nadeshiko! I turned towards the screens, calculating how I could slip out and search for the two of them. But at that moment, Fujisaki-sensei clapped her hands together. The hidden orchestra stopped.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" she called out, opening her fan and waving to get everyone's attention. Her face glowed like a beacon under the lantern-light. Every eye in the room moved to her, rapt. Even the delegates, though they couldn't speak Japanese, stared in fascination. Unlike Nadeshiko, she was truly in her element in a room full of men.

"In honor of the German delegation joining us from the consulate in Osaka this evening," she bobbed a bow at the two foreigners and their bird-faced wives, "The students of Kouen Military Academy and Seiyo Higher Girls' School will now perform our opening waltz."

"She can't be serious?!" I heard Misaki Watarai moan near me, a little too loud. "We haven't even practiced with them once! My hands are all sweaty."

I pitied her partner. The two of us were in the minority with regards to our preparedness. The officers, delegates, translators, younger boys, all stepped politely to the edges of the room. The Seiyo girls, disciplined as ever, stepped forward into a clean row on one end of the space.

Surely Nadeshiko and Amu didn't mean to miss the opening waltz?

Surely I didn't mean to miss it? I stepped to the end of the line. Seiyo had made a docile woman out of me. A few years ago, I would have stood off to the side and watched everyone else, telling the teachers that it was boring, just so nobody would know how uncoordinated I was.

I could kiss that goodbye. A solid black line of Kouen students stepped forward, a little strange and uneven. Down at my end, they seemed to be subtly jostling each other, in some kind of spat. Just my luck, wasn't it. I looked down the line miserably, only to see a ponytail next to Amu's shorter hair.

The gall! I bristled, wondering when they had snuck back in without alerting me. I was not allowed time to seethe. At that moment, I heard the muffled rustling of paper somewhere, and whatever Kouen boy had wound up opposite me in the end bowed.

We curtsied. My leg wobbled from the strain under the crepe silk. I flinched at the first blare of the brass instruments and deposited myself into the boy's fragile hands. Why was it so loud? It had to be a semi-orchestra hidden behind the crane-laden gold screens, up on the second floor. Otherwise how could it be so clear?

I began with the clumsy steps to the basic box step, used to a firm grip when Yaya was my partner. To my surprise, my steps were lighter, more graceful than I expected.

It was brilliant, I thought, triumphantly. I could relax my legs and ease my arms. The Kouen boy did all the work of pulling, turning, pivoting, lifting. I was on air, light as a feather. Was this how Nadeshiko felt dancing buyō? A body, nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps it was more fun on your own, when there was no man to worry about. I couldn't make faces or mimic with the stony-faced Kouen Academy student, who seemed very overly-concerned with stepping correctly and fixating on a point somewhere past my shoulder.

As we all pulled gracefully into a circle, I saw Yaya three over from where I was, and tried to shoot her a look. She was strangely absorbed in her dance, despite doing a roughshod job of it.

I turned to my other side. Misaki was whisking her partner around briskly, gazing adoringly into his eyes. Amazing.

With idling curiosity, I glanced back at my dance partner, who had been evidently staring. He jerked his head back to the point over my shoulder, flushing. I almost rolled my eyes but managed to keep my eyes in-focus. Really, how embarrassing. For him, I mean.

I was a beat late. I hurried to roll inwards, and then out, extending my hand with the expectation of changing partners. I would be rid of this strange boy soon.

If the hand was not gloved, it would have been drenched in sweat. The fabric had a curious, clammy quality to it. I whirled in a circle, my train flying out behind me.

"Mashiro-san?"

I was bobbed quickly through the air, as though the sweaty hands were frightened to touch me. Perhaps the voice was my imagination. I glanced all round me, but the only certain culprit was the face of the Kouen boy in front of me, who was now far too busy trying to waltz to whisper my name once more.

It was the sort of face that inspired no confidence. A meekly accommodating mouth, a jaw that he hadn't quite grown into yet. One could tell that his hair was a rat's nest when it wasn't forcibly slicked back. Even now, a few hairs were escaping the confines. He looked obedient. Except for the eyes, which focused with intensity.

Was there ever anything behind Nagihiko's eyes? I felt like I ought to have noticed, but all I could think is that so often they were glazed over, as though he wanted to be somewhere else. Or full of pity, like when he held the bamboo stick in his hand.

I stumbled and grabbed his shoulder harder. The meek boy laughed, as though it was funny that he was a poor dancer.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? But you haven't changed at all."

What in the devil was he talking about? I box-stepped to the side, crossing my arms every which way and… oh, how did this go…

I didn't think he knew much, either. So intent was I on not looking stupid that it came as a surprise when the violins came to a stop followed by the unfamiliar sound of musicians putting their instruments into rest position.

My calves screamed for release and the entire underside of my foot was throbbing with pain. Who did this for fun?

I thought of Austrians waltzing until one in the morning. It was probably why they looked so bad-tempered all the time. Everybody else seemed just as perky as before, but none more than Yamabuki Sāya, who seemed to be still trying to dance from the beginning again.

"I don't suppose you remember me," the boy across from me said, seeming not much out-of-breath. How?

I looked at him. "No."

"Excuse me. My name is Kirishima Fuyuki," he said, with a dainty bow.

Kirishima Fuyuki. Before my eyes, his face de-aged. The eyes stayed intense, but the jaw softened, nose rounded, hair fell out of its unnatural state back into a shaggy mess.

… No, I still didn't recognize him at all. But I did know the name, only because of Nadeshiko. She had done this. She had set me up. Wasn't she the one who remembered more than me, after all? The impassioned boy who confessed his very earnest feelings for me, all but five years ago. Kirishima, wasn't it?

No, that was crazy. Nadeshiko didn't care about me at all. It was just a horrible coincidence. Ugh.

"Ugh," I said.

"S-sorry?"

"Oh," I amended.

Distractedly, I wondered what Kirishima's family did for a living and how rich they were. Tuition was negligible to a well-off farming family, meaning that of all the men in this room, half were middle-class families, half were commoners, and perhaps a peer or two. The peer was accounted for in Hotori's son. The rest was up to guesswork.

"I was surprised to recognize you. It's a strange coincidence, I suppose."

Most girls would like a husband like this, I thought. He was very polite, not ugly, and very, very not-over-forty.

"I think I might have seen you in Kamikawa village, during the festival," Kirishima mused out loud. I violently flashed back to Nagihiko and I stuck between the booth stand.

"Oh," I lied, for some reason. "No. I wasn't there."

"Uh… oh?"

Kirishima looked perplexed. Luckily for him, we were interrupted.

"Ahem."

The voice was female, but the face was of some Kouen boy. I would tell you his name or describe his appearance, but to be honest, but his was the type of face you forgot the second you stopped looking. What made the sight a terrifying one was Nadeshiko's smiling Noh mask behind him, steering his prow towards me.

"Forgive my interruption," Nadeshiko said, not even looking to see who she was begging forgiveness from. "▒▒▒▒▒-san, if I could be so presumptuous as to introduce you to my school-friend, Mashiro-san…"

His name was swallowed up in the conversation before I could catch it. Nadeshiko's speech was particularly obsequious and self-deprecating today, whether out of need for politeness or overcompensation. Whatever the reason, it was obnoxious. I wished she would hurry up, leave, and go hold Amu's hand like she clearly wanted.

"Apologies to be so presumptuous," Faceless Boy started. I felt terror. Oh, no. He was speaking the same way! "But if you are amenable, would you honour me with the next waltz…"

If I could humble myself to be so forward with someone I have just made the honoured acquaintance of, my dishonorable feet are causing inconvenient soreness to my foolish body, to my complete and utter regret, I wanted to say, but didn't.

Kirishima looked haggard. Nadeshiko's smile was frozen in place. As a rule, I didn't listen to my gut. But tonight, it felt funny, like it was trying to tell me something.

"I suppose," I said, proffering a hand.

A waltz would take me out of Nadeshiko's proximity and save me from Kirishima. Two insufferable birds. One stone.

Two stones. My feet felt like they had rocks tied to them.

I could have thanked the stars when the boy in question seemed to not care for conversation at all. He lead me forward and seemed content to stare at me as we circled the floor. Why even ask, then?

As I danced— or should I say, as he danced, and I went along grudgingly— I turned over my shoulder to catch glimpses of the room. Utau was on the floor with someone, though she looked as though she couldn't have cared less to be. One German diplomat and his wife were on the floor, too, doing a far better job than the rest of us. I wondered if they could out-waltz even the likes of Nadeshiko. Fujisaki-sensei's face was visible on my second whirl, deep in the shadow of the pendant lights. She wasn't dancing. She didn't look happy. What was the old bat cross about this time? I wasn't even doing anything with her son.

Manami, too, looked sullen on the sidelines, as did three of what I thought might be Yamabuki Sāya's cronies. As we formed two rows, girls on one side, boys on the other, I found out why. At the end of the row was a boy who stuck out from the blur of Kouen students. He was on the shorter side, and even from a distance I could see the delicate construction of his face, the long lashes, the same vague, smiling curve to his mouth.

How different from his father was Hotori's son! His partner was none other than Yamabuki Sāya, who gave me a dirty look as we turned in the centre of the rows. Amu was probably devastated.

He clearly couldn't be that wonderful if he was gormless enough to pick Sāya as a dance partner over Amu. Perhaps simply spineless.

"Mashiro-san?" the blob across from me asked, querulously.

"Yes?"

"Has anybody ever told you that you're beautiful?"

"Sometimes," I said, still looking at Hotori-san. My dislike for him deepened. I wondered what it was like to have other things going for me, like Amu, or Utau.

When the second waltz finished, Fujisaki-sensei applauded loudest of all. Wheezing, I stepped off the sidelines. My knees were well and truly knocking together under the drapery of my skirt. Pain! Pain!

"Would you like to dance again, Mashiro-san?"

"No," I said. Was he insane? "I'm tired."

He offered to get me water— or sake, if I would prefer? Then he advised that I should sit down. Then three other boys in varying stages of boring began arguing with him about the merits of rest and turn order. Between words, they stole glances at me as though checking to make sure I was still listening. I was not.

I allowed one of them to help me onto a cushion (seiza, again— why?). The devil made work for idle hands. If they were going to buzz around being a nuisance, I ought to put them to work.

"You there," I said, to all five of them. I reached behind me and subtly massaged my ankle. "That short boy over there. Is that the Viscount Hotori-sama's son?"

"It is," one of them responded. "Hotori Tadase-kun is his name."

"What's he like?" I said, furrowing my brow. If Amu wanted to pounce, she ought to do it now. He had declined a second dance from Yamabuki Sāya, and now had his back turned to me, engaged in conversation with the older men in the gold-braided dress uniforms.

This question did not please my little fan club. I could see the dilemma that awaited them: speak well, and they would look bad. Speak poorly, and they would still look bad. Say nothing, and they would still look bad, because they already looked bad.

I was informed that Hotori Tadase was kind, warm-hearted, well-educated, of good breeding, and calm under duress. He bore everything with the classic Japanese spirit of resigned acceptance. He was the leader of a sub-unit, and those who worked below him respected and relied on him.

They were equally quick to pepper his praises with innocuous little comments.

"I wonder what he really thinks of us commoners."

"He's timid, and not very manly at all."

"He has too many ideals, sometimes."

I mulled this over, continuing to stare at the back of his head. He was still listening politely to the men in the military uniforms. They had the jovial air that business partners of your parents took so often with their children in those days.

"Who is he speaking to?" I asked.

The boys looked at each other.

"Officers of the Imperial Army," the first began. "Corporal Kusanagi's on the right—"

"The newly-appointed Chief of Press Relations, Chief Tsukumo, in the centre—"

"— And Major-General Yamabuki on the left."

These names meant nothing to me, so I made no attempt to commit them to memory. I would kick myself for this later. Coincidence is often crueler than fate.

A crowd of Seiyo students passed in front of me, fistfuls of their gowns in their hands, trotting after a group of Kouen students. Manami was in their number, laughing. Oh, good, she managed to find a dance partner. Where was Amu?

When the crowd cleared, a pretty girl in a kimono was across from Hotori, smiling.

Hotori Tadase turned with a big smile to greet her, and—I could not believe my eyes—raised her gloved hand to his mouth to kiss it.

My God!

I watched this whole affair with disgust. They both had the strange, overly-formal body language of people who had been friends for a long time but were conscious of their role in public.

As the girl touched her chignon and turned her neck, I recognized the straight eyebrows and long neck in an instant. How did I not recognise her? It was Nadeshiko!

Maybe she really was stealing Hotori. It wouldn't be difficult. They looked comfortable together, faintly smiling, but eyes pained. I would have given an eyetooth to hear what they were saying. Just as I began attempting to lip-read, Nadeshiko unfolded a fan and pressed it to her earlobe, obscuring their lower faces.

Unbelievable!

"I could do with water, actually," I said, offering my hand to be held up.

"Right aw—"

"Five cups of it," I added. "From the well outside."

It was ridiculous what people would do, should you only ask. They all allayed me with promises of hydration and made themselves scarce. Once more, I was alone.

I wondered what it would be like if I was invisible to everybody but women. It occurred to me for the first time that ever since I stepped foot into this golden room, men had not stopped looking at me. Even as I skirted the perimeter, weaving in and out of people, a thousand beady bug-eyes swivelled to focus on the surface of my skin. Seiyo was used to me. These men were not.

I put my hand on one of the wooden slats, next to a painted paulownia tree upon the screen. Tentatively, I tried it. It slid open a foot or so, enough for me to wiggle through.

Blissful darkness!— and a few instrument cases.

I skirted the hallway, occasionally sliding the door open to peek into the main room to look for Amu. I fantasized over how I would gleefully inform her that Hotori was feminine, spineless and snobby, and that she'd be far better off wedding a street-roamer than the son of a Viscount. But I was growing far closer to the Viscount's son himself, who was still in boring conversation with Nadeshiko and a group of other Kouen boys.

I couldn't let Nadeshiko see me. She would drag me into the conversation about, I don't know, moon-viewing, or introduce me to more inane boys who wanted to dance with me. Or worst of all, she would keep ignoring me. And anyhow, who was I to intrude on the boring boy's club she was hosting? A man needed male friends. Or so I supposed.

I slowed to a stop as I grew perpendicular with the group.

"... Fujisaki-san really is the classic Japanese beauty," a boy was saying. Not Hotori Tadase, thankfully for him, or I would have gone and married his stupid father out of spite. "Like something come to life from a woodblock."

Quietly, I kicked the door open a finger's width, only to find myself partially blocked by the broad back of one of the Germans again. Thanks to the foreigner's considerable size, much like a tree trunk, I was easily obscured from view.

Over his shoulder, Yamabuki Saya was talking rapidly to her father, no doubt about getting snubbed by Hotori after a single dance. Her neglected friends seemed to be conspiring with Watarai Misaki on how to get his attention. But Hotori Tadase himself seemed patiently mesmerized by Nadeshiko, the performance, the moving silk-screen.

"I've known Amakawa-sensei for some time," Nadeshiko lamented from behind the mask, laughing, "But I never knew that Amakawa-sensei's lessons to future soldiers was on empty flattery."

"Empty flattery!" one of the boys exclaimed. "That's only if it's false!"

"My mother saw fit to give me only her looks," Nadeshiko lamented, fanning herself. "Don't compliment an egg for its pedigree hen!"

"You're right, of course," Hotori Tadase cut in, gravely. "How foolish of us, Nadeshiko-san.

"Here, then— you dance like something not of this earth. You seem to transcend form and inhabit something beyond the pale. I am safe in saying such a thing, because I know how hard you've worked to reach it."

"You see?" Nadeshiko said, lightly slapping Hotori on his shoulder with her fan. "How easily he humbles me!"

The radiant smile was quite genuine. I thought again of what Nadeshiko had said to Amu in the rickshaw, about Hotori knowing everything about her. Could he know, and not mind? I was not naïve enough not to know about the appeal of young boys in the theatre. My eyes narrowed mistrustfully through the slit between the screens.

We see in others what we fear in ourselves. It is, perhaps, the ugliest self-preservation tactic known to psychology. The man who sees dishonesty and cruelty everywhere he looks believes himself justified in holding it within himself. If he allows his belief to lapse in a moment of weakness, he sees something more horrible than mankind's faults: himself, as he is in the eyes of others.

I know this, because I saw mine on the golden surface of Nadeshiko's fan, in every refraction of light off the silk thread. A girl of seventeen, with blotchy pink skin, a pretty dress, a wild tangle of curls pulled back from her neck. Hungry eyes. An open mouth. Mesmerized, dazzled, paralyzed by something she wanted to understand. Hiding behind a crowd of people only to hang off every word Nadeshiko spoke.

The moving pictures and soppy books would lead me to believe that the realization is passionate or pleasurable. It seizes Hikaru Genji with fervor to the point that he breaks-and-enters. It turns to cruelty and drives one to madness in the books of the English.

But for me, it was slow and sticky dread. I was standing at the bottom of a well, and the water was rising. It had slowly dripped inside me for over a year. By the time it was pooling round my legs, I had not thought to look down, and now… now….

"You would say that about any woman!" the boy next to Hotori Tadase scoffed. I nodded in agreement.

"No, he wouldn't," said a second. There was a ripple of polite sniggering.

"You were with Watarai-san, weren't you?" said the first.

"Yeah," said the second, who spoke rather blandly. "Girls in this day and age are scary… my father always says that the husband initiates, and the wife obeys. What happened to that?"

There was some muttering at this. Evidently, nobody knew what to make of us. I searched angrily for Nadeshiko's expression, but there wasn't any. As expected, her face was frozen in her usual slight smile.

"Nobody wants a woman that's too passive," said the second. "Dead fish belong on a plate. Right, Nadeshiko-san?"

Nadeshiko-san vanished behind her fan, but Naghiko's eyes smiled viciously over the top.

"I don't need tuna to wiggle for me before I bite into it," he said, in Nadeshiko's voice. "I accept any hospitality I am offered."

I grit my teeth, and a prickle arose at the base of my neck. What kind of girl would say such a thing? I wanted to say to her, preferably as I shoved her into a lake. Do you want everyone to figure out you're a sleazeball? Can you not even resist?

Hotori seemed to be thinking the same thing; he meaningfully cleared his throat. Nadeshiko smiled at him.

"You shouldn't complain, Shouta-kun," a third voice that I couldn't see said, disapprovingly. "Mashiro-san is one of the most beautiful girls here by spades. Didn't you see how everyone was fighting over her?"

"I don't know about that," said another one. "Hoshina-san could give her a run for her money, and she's heiress to a small fortune. If I was well-born enough to get my hands on that…"

A jaunty debate broke out over who was really the most beautiful woman here from Seiyo Academy. At first, I wondered why on earth they were having this discussion when an alleged woman was standing right there. But as I eavesdropped, it came to my attention that Nadeshiko was subtly allowing herself to become part of the furniture. She backed up, closer and closer to the screen where I was crouched, listening. Her shadow enlarged, until I could practically feel the warmth of her back against my cheek through the double-paper pane.

Unfortunately, the conversation was coming back to me.

"It's always a pity when a pretty face isn't accomplished," one of them lamented. "Was it that awful?"

"She dances like her feet are made of iron," Shouta said, dispassionately. "I don't believe she knows how. She was staring off into the distance, too, like she didn't even want to be there."

"Ah," said another one, who seemed to find the whole thing very funny. "Looks like a doll, and dances like one too!"

Military officers did not laugh, but there was a smattering of appreciative chuckles at this. I couldn't take anymore. I shoved myself into an upright position— but never one for coordination—

Three fingers went through the golden paper with a gentle pop! They sunk into the silk backing of Nadeshiko's mauve obi.

I had seen Nadeshiko dress enough times to know that this was no reason to panic: an obi is wrapped over so much padding that I could have hit her with a ten-ton lorry round the midsection and she wouldn't have felt a thing.

However, two key things spelled my failure in this regard:

Firstly, the paper tore. If Nadeshiko hadn't yet heard the rip, she would soon see it.

Secondly, she was wearing her obi in the modern, stylish way tonight— wide, but no padding, like the normal stiffening board or pillow to give shape to the knot. Where she might have been numb to any pokes to the backside any other day, tonight, she was not.

Nadeshiko squeaked. A brown eye appeared through the three-inch-tear.

I ran.

Or more appropriately, I scuttled. Like a rat, or a shrew, or a raccoon-dog, or any other small, ungainly animal with no grace, no ability, no talent. Just looks. My face went hot. I violently wished for Kusukusu to be here, to make a silly face, or tell a joke to make it less awful. But a joke needs an audience; it can't be told to an empty hallway.

I had reached the corner where the orchestra was seated. Reluctantly, I looked behind me, and slid the screen open to re-enter the room. I bumped someone's shoulder, and was about to move, when—

It was Yaya and Utau, talking in the corner.

Of course. Of course. I had someone almost as good as Kusukusu. Yaya. Nadeshiko couldn't attack me, or accuse me of eavesdropping, if I was talking to Yaya.

"Yaya," I started, reaching for her arm. "Do you w…"

Yaya turned, and I started in surprise. Her eyes were full of tears, threatening to brim over, and her lip was trembling.

"Yaya?" I asked, now perplexed.

"Leave me alone, Rima-tan!" she huffed, now very blotchy-looking indeed. People were starting to stare. Nearby, Hotori and a Kouen boy with glasses were looking on with concern. Large Forehead Girl, Marimo, was goggling at us. Behind Hotori, Nadeshiko swept into view, looking panicked.

Seeing Nadeshiko, I was spurred to do exactly as Yaya asked. In shock, I turned and left.

I didn't know where I was going. Nobody came after me. I walked, turned, dodged Saya, Manami, Haruka, Ayaka, Misaki, and a dozen more classmates. I pulled open the screen door, and promptly walked directly into the hallway. I opened the second, outside screen door without thinking.

It was a stupid idea. The fortress was built on a huge stone foundation, high up on all sides. I wasn't expecting it to open. When it did, I saw myself facing an inner courtyard, damp with rain.

Or rather, what used to be an inner courtyard. Unlike Seiyo's, it had been filled with cement. Weeds gasped for air . An empty clothesline, a single stone memorial commemorating some soldier, the small shrine that contained the Imperial Rescript on Education.

The rain was still hammering down from the blackened sky, running off the gables in a steady spit-stream. It was madness to stay out here, where the rain could damage my hair further, or wet the silk of my dress, or give me a cold because I had been too prideful to find my coat before stepping outside. But it was quiet here, and not full of people analyzing my every move.

I crouched down under the awning of the porch, and my legs wobbled. I took one shoe off, and then the other, and lined them up neatly next to me before pulling my legs to my chest. The damp cold settled on my forearms and made the hairs stand on end, but it felt like a cool sheet on my still-hot face.

Nadeshiko, laughing at me with stupid Hotori and the rest of them. Iron in my feet. Yaya being cross with me. I ought to have expected this. I wondered why I didn't.

I was busy, I thought, chin digging into my knees, stomach hollow and wrenching. Too busy being jealous of everyone else to see what was going on inside me.

I wanted to cry, just to perform an action, but I hadn't cried in years. I strained for a few minutes, but my eyes got no wetter. Then, I wanted Amu. Then I wanted my mother, before changing my mind and wanting someone else's mother. I cycled through my wants and wishes like this for some time, until the cold well and truly began to settle inside my bones. My teeth began to chatter.

The outer screen slid open.

"Amu?" I asked my knees, wetly.

Maybe it was Utau, come to tell me how wrong I was.

"Mashiro-san?" a voice asked, awkwardly.

I turned my head. Hair, like a rooster.

Kirishima?! Kirishima Fuyuki? I could have groaned with disappointment.

"Yes?" I said, politely, as though he had interrupted me doing something important.

"What are you…" He shifted from foot to foot, pushing his hair back again. It didn't work, and the spikes came back into his eyes. I was reminded that he wasn't un-handsome. "I suppose you're catching some fresh air?"

"I am," I said, my whole face screwed up in a babyishly sad expression.

"Oh," he said. "You might get sick out here in this weather."

He seemed to be steeling his courage to follow this up. He was wringing his hands and furrowing his eyebrows. I therefore stayed silent.

"Mashiro-san, if I'm not interrupting you… would it be alright to ask if you'd do me the honour of the next dance?"

He wasn't bad-looking. Clean-cut, kind face. I felt sorry for him.

"It's alright to ask," I said, "But I'm going to say no."

Kirishima wilted. I felt as though I had stepped on a daisy.

"I understand, of course," he said, with a brave smile. "Thank you."

"My shoes are hurting my feet," I added. "I don't have a lot of stamina, so I'm tired."

He looked at me, blankly.

"I'm quite clumsy, and not good at dancing." If Kirishima really wanted to get a piece of Rima Mashiro, he could get a piece of Rima Mashiro. Who cared? "It's not enjoyable for me at all. But if you want to sit here, that's alright."

Kirishima opened his mouth. Then he closed it. He looked up at the rain, and then me, curled up in the fetal position in my backless gown. With some trepidation, he took a careful seat next to me, leaving a very hefty berth of two-and-a-half people's widths.

"Mashiro-san, are you quite sure you're alright…?"

"I don't feel particularly ill," I said, even though I was freezing. I stared at the Kouen military uniform enviously. Up close, I could see that it was a black, padded twill, with a high military collar and five gold buttons. It was belted. It looked warm.

He shut up at this, staring blankly out at the courtyard.

"Strange," he murmured.

I raised my head from my knees.

"Only… the courtyard looks so strange, when it's empty. We do drills out here, sometimes."

"In th-the rain?" I asked, still cold.

"Especially in the rain," Kirishima responded, gloomily, forgetting to be nervous around me. "Once, they had my platoon stand sentry outside the western building during a mudslide."

I marveled at his words. All this time, I had complained to myself of the various abuses: the embroidery, the dancing, the Dragon, Kichigai-sensei being her crazy self, but they would never dream of intentionally exposing us to terrible weather conditions. We were silk moths, to be cherished for future breeding. Not soldiers.

"Gross," I said, supplying much to this conversation.

"Yeah," he said, sliding comfortably into an Osaka dialect without realizing. "Two of us got trench foot. I felt like I'd never get dry again, but I'm sure worse awaits us overseas, so…"

I had nearly forgotten about the Japanese declaration of war on China. Suddenly, sulking like this felt very childish. I looked at Kirishima, properly, this time.

He couldn't be older than I was. He was the same age, at best. Seventeen. Too young to leave our little island nation and go to a strange country with a gun in his hand. If I was his mother, I would be railing at the gods.

"What's trench foot?" I asked.

Kirishima chose this moment to recall that he was speaking to a lady. Someone with good breeding, like Hotori, or Nadeshiko, would have told me that it was too distressing for a woman's ears. But Kirishima was not high-born enough to know this.

"If you stand for too long in mud and cold water, and it gets into your boots," Kirishima told me. "Your feet turn really red, or blue, and you stop being able to feel them. Swells up. I think it starts rotting..."

Kirishima must have seen my wide eyes, because he hastily added, "It's not so bad! I've had it. You just have to get inside and take the boot off… but nobody wants to do that, because it smells awful."

He saw he had gone too far, despite his middle-class sensibilities, and looked aghast. Kirishima did not realize that this only added to my vivid mental image of a whole pack of boys, Hotori included, protesting taking their boots off their rotting feet because it would smell so bad.

I burst out laughing.

"Hahaha!" My teeth chattered through my laughter. "Haha… hahahahaha…."

"Mashiro-san…" he began, as though wanting to check for the third time that I wasn't certifiably insane. But instead, his expression softened, and he started to laugh weakly, as well. The black-twill shoulder moved closer.

"You look so different when you laugh," he said, in pleased surprise.

I felt too sorry to tell him that most women look different when their expression changed. I knew this because the stark contrast between Nadeshiko's Noh mask and Nagihiko howling with laughter could have been two different people.

"Yes," I said, sadly. Thinking of Nadeshiko brought the hollow chill back, settling somewhere just above my digestive tract.

"Not in a bad way," Kirishima amended. "I like it very much."

The chill fanned out within me. He was kind and honest. I thought of how nice it would be to have a husband like this, who said what he meant and liked you for who you were. Could I close my eyes and learn to nurture pity into a facsimile of affection? Could I learn to stop chasing the reflection of moonlight on water and be content with the sun?

Something warm covered my hand braced against the porch. It was Kirishima's broader one, shy, but seeking nonetheless. My little hand froze underneath his as though glued there.

I wanted to laugh at myself, scornfully. Afraid of Kirishima, timid as a mouse, who I had just called kind and honest! I loathed every bit of it. I needed to go. But how could I…

"Oh, wow," a smooth voice said behind me, though it did not sound all that amazed. "My bad."

Utau was standing behind us, backlit by the light of the ball, like an angel sent from the heavens.

"Hoshina-san," I said, sliding my hand out from underneath Kirishima's. "Were you looking for me?"

"Yeah, I was," she said, making to leave. "But I can give you two some privacy."

Kirishima went red. Girls in this day and age are scary, indeed. I was beginning to think that my critic had a point.

"What is it?" I said, standing up and picking up my shoes in my hand. My hem was damp, and my hose was full of picks in it from the stone. The cold rain worked wonders on my feet, bright red through my nylons and looking suspiciously trench-footy.

Utau waited until I was out of Kirishima's earshot.

"Poor guy," she said in a low voice, pointing with her chin at Kirishima. "Does he know you're immune?"

I knew full well what she meant by this and had the sense to look affronted.

"What do you want?"

"I want Yaya to stop crying on my shoulder about how cruel and heartless Rima-tan is. You need to apologize."

"For—?"

"Don't be stupid," Utau snapped. "Whatever triangle you have with Amu and Fujisaki-san is none of my business, it's pathetic that I'm getting involved, really, but if you keep treating Yaya selfishly, I'll have–"

Kirishima awkwardly stood up and sidled through the screen that Utau had failed to close behind her.

"I… I will leave you ladies to it," he said, touching his hand to his still-pink brow. We both fell silent until we heard the door slide shut.

"I know," I said.

"Huh?" Utau snarled, thinking I had said something rude.

"I know," I repeated, numbly. "I'll say something to her."

It would have been nice if Utau had given me some Amu-ish feedback at this, such as praising my growth or purging me of my negative heart. Instead, she dropped her hands to her sides and looked at me suspiciously.

"You okay?" she asked. I was getting asked that quite a bit tonight.

"I've been better," I said, rubbing my arms and moving towards the warmth of the castle. "Where is she?"

As it happened, I did not have to look very hard. She was waiting on the other side of the sliding door (eavesdropping), wiping her nose on her glove and sniffing. I almost admired Yaya's lack of decorum in public. I would have never cried and wiped my nose in front of a whole assembly of diplomats, but here she was, wetly blowing her nose into a borrowed handkerchief while a whole crowd of people looked on.

"Yaya," I said, in what I thought was a very soothing voice, "Don't hemorrhage snot where people can see you."

"What does Rima-tan care!" Yaya wailed. Hotori-san and a boy with glasses were staring, the former with some concern. Marimo was nearby, heralding Nadeshiko, who had just stepped off the floor and out of some boy's embrace. My stomach flipped over.

"Let's go somewhere else," I muttered, grabbing her arm.

"Yaya's being kidnapped!" Yaya called over her shoulder.

"No, she's not," I replied, huffily.

The warmth of the room still hadn't fully settled back into me, and my dress was still dripping on the floor. Rather than go back out into the cold, I wrestled Yaya through the closest screen again. We stumbled into the soothing sound of a darkened, screened hallway echoing with the pitter-patter of rain.

"This way," I lead her northwards down the hallway with confidence, despite not having the faintest idea where I was going. With surprise, I found a sloping board, stretching up into a square hole in the ceiling.

I pray nobody makes the mistake I made in climbing these. The stairs in Japanese fortresses were narrow, steep, and no more than a set of skinny boards hammered into an incline. They were made for someone three inches shorter ascending in straw sandals with good grip, not weak-calved teenagers in heeled Western shoes.

"Where are you taking me!" Yaya cried, as I shoved her up it first. She clambered up it on all fours, like a monkey.

"Somewhere quiet," I said, annoyed. "Where I can hear myself think."

To my surprise, Yaya clammed up at this, stopping at the top to wait for me. I was glad I was still holding my shoes in my hand. The wood was decidedly unkind to my already-abused stockings.

"There," I wheezed, reaching the top. We were in an empty hallway, punctuated by wooden pillars. Unlike the flimsy screens of the keep's first floor, this was the most solid thing I had seen yet. There was no temporary paper, only winding hallways of wood and plaster, temporarily breaking to show me a barred window or two. I rounded the corner in wonderment, testily sliding a wood panel. It moved to the side, opening to another dark room, which must surely lead to another, and another…

I wondered again what on earth this place was used for when it wasn't hosting ostentatious displays of wealth.

I looked to the right and almost jumped through my skin. A hand's width away from my face was four rows of rusted katana scabbards, still hanging on their hooks.

"I'm sorry," I told the katanas.

"Huh?" Yaya said, wetly.

"I'm apologizing," I said, offended. "You were crying because I was being selfish, weren't you?"

Yaya didn't hold grudges. She threw her arms around my neck and bawled into my shoulder.

"Rima-taaaaan!" she wailed. "I don't mind! I wasn't even angry! I'm being a baby! You don't have to do anything!"

"Okay," I said, patting her heaving back, "That's a little extreme."

"You can have all my food!"

"Not necessary. Here, let's just…"

I was going to suggest that we go back down and see what Amu was doing, or maybe see if we could get lost inside this castle and never have to go back to school. But instead, as we returned to the narrow staircase, I heard both a lower voice and a girl sputtering. Sputtering?

I pressed my lashes up against the wooden slats of the window, peering into the corridor. A girl in a red gown. A tall man in a military uniform with his back to me. They were wrapped in an embrace, as though at any moment, an external force might tear them apart. He was murmuring in her ear. I felt inexplicable envy.

I realized, all at once, that the girl wasn't sputtering on what to say. I grabbed Yaya's hand and hissed.

"So much for chaperones," I whispered. "Yaya, let's go this way."

"Why?" Yaya said, either missing the point or truly living on an alien planet.

Together, we went through a network of rooms. I knew that if we could just hit a wall, we could then circle the perimeter until we found a second staircase, surely, surely!

We approached a screen painted with a single orange lily, and I began to hear the muffled murmurs of conversation and Strauss music below us. We must be close to the stairwell, then. I sighed with relief and trepidation. Nadeshiko and Amu and Utau might be waiting downstairs, and I would have to find some way to keep it together.

A fuzzy, grey circle appeared on the screen, which was painted with a single, menacing orange lily. I thought it might be someone looking for us, but Yaya pulled me back. Another grey spot appeared. They both widened into human silhouettes against the rice paper. One was elegant and feminine, and I could see a fan held out in front of her, as though in defense. The other was slightly taller, bulkier, but otherwise of indeterminate gender.

Were we walled in on both sides by people? I cast my eyes around, slowly backing up and turning to Yaya with silent eyes. She stared back, not knowing what to do.

"Ah, Tsubaki-san," a deep voice slurred on the other side of the screen.

I wondered why it sounded so off-kilter. Later, I would realize that this was how all men sound when they're too drunk to self-moderate their words.

"I've been trying to get you alone all night. You've been avoiding my eyes. It's been, what… sixteen years? Too long!"

Tsubaki. My blood froze. Fujisaki Tsubaki. The Dragon of Seiyo. Our headmistress. Root of all my suffering. We shouldn't be here.

"General Yamabuki," the voice of my headmistress said, softly. "I beg your forgiveness. I'm afraid I've been quite distracted tonight with all the delegations that I did not notice your presence. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

I pinched Yaya's wrist, fearing being overheard. Leave! Leave! Leave! We could go back the other way. I would much rather interrupt the snogging students than see the Dragon's face when she realized we had been eavesdropping on her private conversation.

"I had the pleasure of making your charming daughter's acquaintance," the man's voice said. It was a nice thing to say, but not the way he said it. "You must be proud."

I stopped, stock-still.

"Rima," Yaya's voice whispered in my ear. "Let's…"

I shook my head, unable to move.

"You flatter me," Fujisaki-sensei said, with pride in her voice. "Nadeshiko's accomplishments are all her own."

In her shock, Yaya bumped into the screen behind us. The wood rattled on its slides.

"Who's there?" General Yamabuki said, sharply.

It fell deafeningly silent for the then-most terrifying ten seconds of my life.

"Oh, dear," Fujisaki's smaller silhouette fretted. "It sounds like something fell downstairs. We ought to…"

"Now that I think about it," Yamabuki interrupted, shadow looming. "How many children do you have, now?"

"Just the one," Fujisaki-sensei said, softly.

"I heard years ago that you had a daughter who died in infancy. Fever, wasn't it?"

"You are mistaken," she said. Her shadow was as still as a paper cutout. "It was a son."

"My condolences," General Yamabuki mused. I felt mildly nauseous. "The death of an only son is the deepest wound a mother can recieve. To have nobody to take care of you in your old age…"

Her fingers arranged and re-arranged themselves on the fan.

"I'm afraid Amakawa-sensei will be missing me, with all there is to do," Fujisaki-sensei said distantly. "Shall we go back down and tell him you're here? He loves to reminisce with anyone who remembers old Kyoto."

"Fuck Kyoto," General Yamabuki said. The shadows joined at the arm, as though he had grabbed her.

Yaya opened her mouth to scream. I clapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her head down to my level. I breathed as little as possible; the air whistled in and out of my nose.

"I don't want to talk to the fruit—" I didn't know this was a slur for something else. "— who helped my mistress run off with a fucking okama. You've got more balls than your husband to lie to my face, not that he's much competition."

Fujisaki-sensei played the part of the wounded gazelle convincingly. Her voice took on a plaintive quality, though I thought she could have disemboweled him if she wanted.

"You would slander the name of a happily married mother, for something that happened sixteen years ago?"

"Seventeen," he growled. "You made a cuckold of me, and you'll make a cuckold of the Emperor, withholding an able man from him so long as this war continues."

"My son is dead!"

The fan snapped shut, and her shadow twisted. General Yamabuki grunted— she broke his grip. The fan was over her head, shaking.

"He died sixteen years ago, in the cholera epidemic of the tenth year of Taishō! Go home to your wife, Major-General Yamabuki. I have no son with which to feed your army!"

"No?" he said, breathing hard. The shadow was doubled over. "Are you sure about that? Like father, like son. If you are lying, it's a treason charge, little Tsubaki."

Fujisaki-sensei didn't say anything. Her arm was still braced above her head.

To my disbelief, Major-General Yamabuki retreated, shadow vanishing into the floor. Fujisaki's remained, alone.

Her head lowered into her shaking hands. She sank to her knees.

I felt like doing the same. It was Yaya who forced me to move, pulling me back through the screen. We hurried through the twisting rooms and blackened hallways without further interruption, sweaty hands clasped tight. We ran into no other living soul on the second floor.