Hello, everybody!

Recently a lot of people have been asking for story requests and I really loved them. However, this new story idea has been going around my head for months now and I really like to put it to paper...or word document. So this is my new story based on Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba. I haven't finished the manga yet, but I am up to date with the anime and can't wait for the next series.

This is another OC story, because it's more or less my thing now. So I would like to you my newest OC: Michael Timere

Well, technically I had already (sort of) introduced him in chapter 23 of 'The Disappearing Hero'. He is Lewis Fleetwood's great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather (I did the maths) on his mother's side. Which makes sense since his mother and uncle are demonic in appearance. Born into a rich family in the early 20th century, Michael has lived a sheltered life that he wishes to break out and help those who are suffering, although you will soon see that it doesn't entirely work out for him.

Not quite sure if putting two completely different franchises together is wise, but, ah well, what's the worst that can happen. The introduction to this story will be in first person, but after that everything will be in third person.

I think that's everything, so I hope you'll enjoy the story and tell me what you think.

Thanks :)

There were three times in my life that I learned what a demon was.

The first time was in 1908 when I was a five years old and my parents would drag my brother and I to All Hallows Church in Barking Town every Sunday. That's where we taught about the devil and his demons, the embodiments of evil and suffering in the world. We were taught to never be tempted by their ways and always stay true to our faith or else we would be damned in Hell for eternity. Something like that could even scare an adult, let alone a child, and so I naturally feared demons, obediently listened to my parents and elders and kept to my faith.

However, it wasn't until two years later when we had moved from our sleepy town, moved to Notting Hill in London and access to our family's library did I learn what the Christian demon really was. It came from the Ancient Greek 'daimōn' a type of supernatural spirit which originally was not malice in nature at all. The Christian church had morphed into the terrifying creature in order to suppress the pagan religion. If the faith that my parents follow can do something like that at a drop of a hat, then what else are they lying about. Coincidentally, it was around that time that I decided to not follow it anymore and my idea of what a demon had become obscure. From what I could find, All Hallows' Church was destroyed during the Blitz which is quite a shame.

The second time was in 1917 when I made the decision to fight in the Great War. Don't get too excited, I wasn't in northern France where I expected to be. I was posted in the Levant, capturing Gaza and then Jerusalem from the Ottomans, who's mighty mighty influence over the Middle East was quickly dwindling. Some of the ANZAC (Australia, New Zealand And Canada) troops have been fighting since Gallipoli, so when I turned up with my nicely cleaned uniform, I felt as if I was attending a funeral, but only made it to the wake. Safe to say that I wasn't warmly welcomed by my fellow soldiers. The things I saw and experienced that day still haunt me. The bodies littered with bullet holes, the constant bombing, the screams and shouts of dying young men, women and children, unfortunate to be caught up with it. It was so overwhelming that I felt completely numb. Surely, this was the work of demons. The chaos, the destruction, the fear that at any minute you could get hit by a bullet or an artillery shell or a simple blade of an Turkish soldier. Throughout my time in the army and until I was shot twice and shipped back to England, I thought demons walked among us.

However, I was, once again, proven wrong. When the war had ended, our country celebrated our victory, but I wasn't in the mood. It was estimated that 40 million people died in the Great War on both sides. Nobody had truly won anything. The British were crippled, France's and Belgium's countries were in ruins, the Russians suffered many casualties and poor Germany had lost everything. They weren't even the ones who started it. It was soon that I realised that these atrocities were not caused by demons, but by humans.

Cruel, heartless, polluting humans.

We pretend that there are demons, because we are to terrified to admit who we truly are.

The third time was the last and significant time, when I travelled to Land of the Rising Sun and saw what a true demon was. Horrible creatures that need to be vanquish or else they would have doomed all of us. Not only that but I learned the true meaning of comradery, pain, bravery, death, love and many other things. It was a truly unique time for me.

But now that I am 89 years old and with encouragement from my beloved wife, I believe that it is appropriate to write my legend and to teach any who comes across this of how I became the warrior known as a Demon Slayer.

I was known by another name back then, way before I trod on foreign soil, but I would soon be known as a vicious warrior that demons came to fear.

I am the Timere.

And this is my story.

The Legend Of Timere

Chapter 1: Tatara

Lansdowne Crescent, Notting Hill London

1918

Michael Cotswold Buchannan stared into his bedroom mirror and sighed in disappointment at his appearance.

The suit and waistcoat made him look skinny and short and his red hair was a mess. He leaned right up close to the mirror and inspected his green eyes before rubbing his cheek. Despite being only sixteen years old, he had growing (a little amount) of facial hair on his oval shaped face, but shaved the stubble off to make him look more presentable. Although now he wasn't quite sure that was the right choice. Overall, he looked like a child pretending to be an adult.

"Maybe I shouldn't have shaved," he muttered to himself, "I'll look more mature if- ah!"

He cried out in pain when moved his left arm the wrong way, accidentally putting strain on his wound. With his other hand he rubbed his shoulder to sooth the pain, muttering bitterly to himself. His focused turned to his bookcase that lined the furthest wall, it was the only notable thing in his otherwise plain room. Although the view of the back garden was quite lovely in the spring and summer time, especially when the wisteria are in bloom. His eyes fell on a few books that he had been studying on last night: Aristotle, Cicero, Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglas. All great orators and something he was trying to imitate with little success.

He sighed, cleared his throat and focused on his reflection.

"Good afternoon," he said out loud, "...no, maybe I should go with 'hello'. Hello...no that's too informal...good afternoon is fine " he cleared his throat again, "Good afternoon, welcome to the War Victims Charity Fund and...and...and?" he looked down at his notes he had on his dresser table, "it's a great honour to welcome you...no damn it, I already said that," he grumbled.

A knock at his bedroom door interrupted him and he promptly called out for the person to come in. Lilly, his family's middle aged maid, entered and greeted him with a small nod. She was short and plump woman with greying brown hair tied in a braid and she had freckles on her cheeks.

"Good morning, Master Michael. Your breakfast is ready."

Michael offered her a kind smile. He didn't mind that she called him by his first name. She had been looking after him longer than he could remember. He grabbed his walking stick and limped to his bed, "Good morning Lilly and thank you I'll have it in here like usual."

Lilly frowned slightly, "Actually, Master Michael, your mother insists that you'll join her at the dining table."

Michael flinched, "Oh does she now. I thought she was sick of the sight of me."

"I believe that she wants to discuss something with you. Would you like help going down the stairs?"

"No, thank you. I'll go down myself," he glared down at his injured right leg, "Tell her I may be a while."

Lilly nodded her head, "Of course."

As she turned away to head out the room, Michael called out to her again.

"Oh Lilly, has there been any-"

"There are no letters, no telegrams and no phone calls from your father," the maid interrupted, causing him to sigh sadly, "I assure you that if we receive one, I will inform you right away."

"Right, thank you," he uttered in disappointment as the maid left his room, "I suppose I better started making my way down," he told himself before he hobbled painfully to the dining room.

The steady ticking of the mantlepiece clock echoed throughout the ornate dining room. The room itself had everything a sophisticated upper class family could ever want. A large mahogany table, cabinets to show off the best china and a giant chandelier hanging above their heads. But all the luxury seemed to be at a loss when they were only two people using it.

Michael sat across from his mother Charlotte Buchannan who was daintily eating from her vegetarian breakfast like any noble woman. She was a woman in her late thirties with red hair, like her son's, fair skin and sharp intelligent eyes that could frighten away the bravest soldier. She wore a red ankle-length skirt, a marron jacket over a white blouse and emerald earrings. They had both sat and ate in silence, neither of them daring to break the silence. Eventually, Charlotte looked up from her meal and looked distastefully at the boiled egg and toast that her son was eating.

"Is that really all you are going to have?" she questioned coldly.

Michael sighed, but didn't look up from his plate, "A lot of people in this country have far less. Some of them don't even eat all."

"Well, maybe if they spent their money a little wisely, they could afford to have proper food," she said with a sneer, "It's bad enough that our Prime Minister is being too kind to them."

"David Lloyd George is setting up social reforms for everyone in this country. God knows we need it. This country is nothing but a shambles."

Silence fell between them once again. The tension was thick in the air that some of the other maids were too frightened to even walk past their door.

"Anyway, what do you need from me," Michael muttered.

"Don't you dare speak to me in that tone," Charlotte sharply said, glaring at him warningly, "Reginald has summoned us to come to your father's office."

Michael's eyes widened in shock, "Wait, what? Have they made contact with him?"

Charlotte paused for a moment, frowning sadly at what he said, before she put on her usual stoic expression.

"I don't know. They didn't specify the nature of the visit. Be prepared to leave in half an hour and once we will then return to prepare our visit to Mr Larkin," she ordered briskly.

"Mr Larkin?" Michael questioned, "I can't, I have the charity fund this afternoon to get to."

Charlotte sneered again, "Oh, is that today?"

"Yes, I did inform you a month in advance."

"Can't you cancel it?"

"Of course not," he denied, "It's way too important."

"And Mr Larkin are not?"

"Mr Larkin are nothing but a moron and he smells...awful. Especially when he lets his dogs into the house," Michael said with a grimace.

Charlotte hummed, "He may be a foul-smelling idiot, but he is a rich foul-smelling idiot and you will show him respect," she frowned thoughtfully for a moment, "I suppose we can postpone for the evening, but I expect you back here by five o'clock."

"Yes, mother," Michael muttered.

"Good," she turned to the door, "Lilly!"

The maid appeared at the door almost instantly, "Yes ma'am."

"Prepare the car to take us to Victoria Street," she ordered, earning a nod from the maid before she left.

Michael sighed, "Do we have to take the car? There's already so much traffic and the Underground is just as good."

"We are not putting any more strain on your injuries," Charlotte told him, "Besides I'm not going to ride that dirty train, no matter how quicker it is. Now get ready."

And with that she stood up from her seat and swiftly left the room, leaving Michael on his own. It was strange, but they never had a great relationship. Not since they move to London a few years back. Charlotte was a cold, stern woman who focused on their social status way too much. When she wanted something to be done, she would not hesitate to scare away those who oppose her. Her stoicism seems to have got worse since her husband left for Japan, only to worsen when she leaned that her first son, Henry, had...

The thought of Henry saddened Michael so he decided to not think about it.

Michael's father, Edward, was the complete opposite. He was kind, gentle and actually cared for others as he came from a working class family up in Yorkshire. He was the glue that held together the family, but since he left...well you saw for yourself. Edward was the head branch manager in Tokyo, selling anything to the government from industrial machinery to trains and railway lines. However, since his departure five years ago, just before the war broke, his letters to them were becoming less and less frequent. Right now, they hadn't had word from him for over a year, something that worried Michael very much.

Michael gave a miserable sigh, picked up his and his mother's plate and made his way to the kitchen to help with the washing. Something told him that today was not going to go well.

Ulster & Buchannan Ltd, London

The ride through London was not at all enjoyable. Bombs from past air raids had flattened most of the houses, more homeless people begging on the street (some, judging by the lack of limbs, were ex-soldiers) and a thick smog was starting to settle in. That was all that Michael could see before Charlotte closed the curtains and ordered him to don't look at it.

After what felt like hours, they had finally arrived at his father's company and quickly entered. Michael had now donned a fedora hat and a jacket, both that were too big for him, while he leaned heavily on his walking stick. While Charlotte had her wide brimmed chapeau and a shawl over her shoulders, the heels of her shoes clacked annoyingly on the marble floors as they made their way towards to the office of Edward's partner, Reginald Ulster.

Reginald was an Irish-born portly man in his mid-forties. He had short slicked-down brown hair and a bushy moustache under his button nose that he likes to stroke whenever he thinking of something. He was currently wearing a brown suit and tie and kept a golden pocket watch in his breast pocket. He welcomed them with a small smile before closing the door to his office to escape the prying eyes of his female typists in the main hall.

"Mrs Buchannan and Michael," Reginald greeted cheerily as they sat in their seats before his desk, "Can I get you a drink or-"

"You've summoned us here, Mr Ulster," Charlotte sharply reminded, causing him to gulp.

"R-right, you are quite a busy woman and I..." she shot him a piercing glare, "Well...I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but...your husband...Mr Buchannan...is missing."

Michael and Charlotte stared at him in stunned silence, not quite believing what he had said.

"Missing?" Michael uttered, "You mean-"

"Without a trace, I'm afraid. Our Tokyo branch had just messaged us that he had vanished a few weeks ago, but we only just got the message today. Something had apparently gone wrong with their telegram lines. One day he didn't arrive at his office. They checked his home, any places that he was likely to visit, they even checked the slums and the bars, but I'm sorry to say-"

"And what are the police doing about it?" Charlotte interrupted with a snarl.

Michael looked over at her winced at what he saw. It was face she pulled whenever she was really angry and it was horrifying to witness in person.

Reginald gulped again, "Well, it's out of our police's hands. They have no jurisdiction in foreign countries."

"Don't they have police force over there?"

"Y-yes they do, a really good one, but they aren't coming up with any results."

"So, you are saying, Mr Ulster, that my husband has gone missing with no apparent reason in a foreign country and nobody is going to do anything," she growled.

"I assure you madam, that the Japanese police force is doing all they can," Reginald reassured, sweating slightly at the intense glare she was sending him.

Charlotte took a deep breath and maintain her composure. This was not the time for her to panic or to cry, she needed to put on a brave face and she'll deal with it later. Michael, on the other hand, was not taking it well. His hands were balled into tight fists and he looked down at the polished office floor in despair.

'He's gone,' he thought, 'and there's nothing we can do about it. God, I'm feel so useless. I should have known that there was something wrong. He doesn't even know...he doesn't even know about Henry yet.'

Reginald and Charlotte ignored Michael's despair and continued talking, "However, there's another problem about the Tokyo branch. With nobody acting as manager, I have advised by our investors that we may have to close down the branch all together."

Michael's head snapped up at that, "But my father has worked hard to build it. You can't just close it down."

Reginald shook his head, "The Tokyo branch has barely been making any profit for a while now," he said, much to Michael's confusion, "We cannot maintain its upkeep any longer and we will have to make amends."

Charlotte gave a frustrated sigh, "I will...oversee my husband's business until he is found. On the promise that the Japanese police do not stop searching for him."

Reginald blinked, "You will, madam?"

She gave him a deadly look that almost made him fall out of his chair, "Will that be a problem?"

"W-w-well yes," Charlotte's glare intensified, "but not in t-that way. I'm sure you are very capable of doing it...I mean I hear women are getting the right to vote soon...so...so the sky's the limit," she rolled her eyes, but soften her glare, "The problem is that we have been advised to liquidate the Tokyo branch and your husband's estate which means we need a representative, preferably a family member, to travel all the way to Japan and oversee the process. Sign papers, find buyers, everything."

Michael perked up at the information. Out of all the places in the world, Japan had been a mystery for Michael. From 1603 to 1867, Japan had been under a nationwide lockdown called the Sakoku. Nobody could go in or out, especially for foreign traders (unless you were the Dutch). As a consequence, all western guide books are not well informed about the country or its culture despite the major industrial developments it had undergone in the past few decades. The country has always fascinated Michael as his father, who first travelled there during the Russo-Japanese War (1904-1905), always told him stories about the people and the legends. Now he was presented with the opportunity to go there and find his father. He's going to prove that he's not useless.

However, his mother had completely different reaction. Charlotte's face turned a little pale at the thought before she sniffed crossly.

"I'm not going to that country," she said coldly, "We will have to find a representative to-"

"I'll go," Michael interrupted, ignoring his mother's shock, "I can do it."

"Oh brilliant," Reginald said as he began to stand up, "Let me just-"

"Mr Ulster, sit back down," Charlotte sharply demanded, causing him to obey immediately with a small whimper, "You are not going anywhere."

"Why not?"

"You are injured, you do not speak the language, you are not familiar of the culture, you will be halfway around the world from your home and most of all you are way too young to be doing anything of the sort," Charlotte said, listing all the reasons why it was a bad idea.

"It's a four week journey, I have time to learn," he argued.

"And are you forgetting that there's a pandemic. You are neither vaccinated or inoculated against the Spanish Influenza. I doubt they would even let you into the country."

"Then I'll stay in quarantine in..." he looked at the world map on Reginald's wall, "...Hong Kong. I can find a teacher to help me study Japanese while I'm in isolation."

Reginald coughed, "If I may, if you allowed him to go to war at much younger age, then maybe this wouldn't be too bad."

"I didn't allow him to go," she growled, making Reginald wince and Michael to look down guiltily, "He decided to join the army without my consent or knowledge and got shot twice! Now will you please be quiet Mr Ulster or else I will spear you with my hatpins!"

Reginald nodded frantically, "I'm shutting up."

Charlotte turned back to her son, "You will not go that country. I've have already lost my eldest son and now your father is missing. I will not lose anybody else, do you understand?"

Michael challenged her glare with one of his own, but it soon became apparent there he was no match for her. He looked away, admitting defeat reluctantly and remained silent for the rest of the meeting.

Meeting Hall, Old Kent Road

A few hours later and Michael had left his father's company and his mother's influence and got a tram to get to the event. He has been preparing the charity fund for a while now, ever since he got back from Turkey, and it is something he is really proud of. The fund was for those who have suffered directly or indirectly from the war. For those who were injured or suffering psychological damage, families who have lost loved ones or those who have lost their homes or jobs.

Currently, he was sat on his seat backstage, waiting for everybody to take their seats. He anxiously read over his notes again and again and again, trying his best to remember all he had to say.

'Come on,' he encouraged himself, 'You can do this. If Alexander the Great can conquer Asia when he was in his twenties, you can give a speech to a whole room full of-'

BANG!

Michael jumped in fright and instantly covered his arms over his head, his heart was racing his chest as he prepared for the worst. However, when nothing happened after a few seconds, he looked up cautiously and saw one of the hall cleaners looking over at him curiously. After a closer inspection, Michael saw that the cleaner had accidently knocked over a hat stand while he was sweeping, making him to calm down slightly.

"You alright?" the cleaner asked, picking up the hat stand.

Michael gulped, lowed his arms and nodded, "Sorry, I thought that... I'm fine, don't worry."

The cleaner gave him an odd look but nodded and carried on sweeping. Michael took deep breaths, trying to slow down his heart.

'I thought I would be over that by now,' he thought to himself.

"Michael," a voice called out to him.

He turned and saw Mrs Miranda Larrington, calling out to him from the wings of the stage. She was a pretty woman in her mid thirties with golden curly hair, fair skin and blue eyes. She wore her a simple floral dress under a blue jacket as well as a red cloche hat. Michael had met Miranda when he was looking for a charity to invest in. The woman had lost her sons a few years earlier at the Somme and her husband's was killed when his ship was torpedoed by a submarine. Since then she had organised, along with him, a charity to help other families suffering from war.

She gave him a smile and gestured towards the stage, "It's time. Everything's ready."

Michael swallowed nervously and nodded. He shakily got to his feet and limped towards the wings as Miranda on the stage to present to the audience. She tapped the microphone, checking if it was in working order, before leaning in close to it.

"Ladies and gentleman," she announced confidently, "Thank you all for coming to the charity fund for those who were victims of war. Before we begin, I would like to make a few announcements..."

Michael drowned out her words as he focused on what he was going to say.

'I can do this. I am not useless and I can make a difference.'

He pictured his older brother, a twenty one year old with red hair and a moustache. He looked like him, but Henry was much better than him. Handsome, talented, charismatic, everything that Michael wasn't. The best thing was that he was incredibly humble and everything seemed much brighter when he was around. Henry was there when he and his mother argued and comforted him when he was forced to go to boarding school. He was his role model and Michael hoped that he would be proud of him.

"...now, I would like to present to you are charity's benefactor," Miranda said, snapping him out of his daydream, "Michael Buchannan."

He heard a round of applause from the audience, making him wince by how loud it was. But Miranda nodded at him encouragingly, giving him the confidence to hobble out into the middle of the stage. He felt the pressure of a hundreds of eyes on him, the expectance beating down on him like the sun in the Sahara dessert. It tried his best to ignore it and stepped up to the microphone. The audience was made up of working and middle class people, wearing their best clothes. He even spotted some ex-soldiers in the crowd, some of them with various body parts wrapped up in bandage and one soldier in a wheelchair, his legs surgically removed.

Michael cleared his throat, "G-good afternoon," he accidently stammered, "welcome to the Victims of War Charity Fund and...and...and I'm pleased to see so many people here," he announced, earning some murmurs from the crowd, "Me and Ms Larrington and all of you here have been wounded by the awful conflict that had occurred across the world. Our Prime Minister's government is taking great steps to set up reforms, but as long as Parliament bickers with each other, we are still left to suffer. That's why this charity has been set up to aid those who were wounded, those who have lost loved one and those who have lost everything and improve everyone's standard of living," that earned some cheers, making him smile and gain a little confidence, "with support from our benefactors, our trade unions, the British Socialist Party headed by Mr Fred Shaw, we aim to eradicate homelessness, increase workers' wages, create national health service and job opportunities for young people on both here and, eventually, on the continent. It all starts here and with you help we can achieve those-"

"Oi!" somebody in the crowd interrupted him. A man is thirties with short brown hair and a rugged face stood up from his chair, "Wha' you mean by 'on the continent'? Do you mean like France or Belgium something?"

Michael coughed awkwardly, his confidence shattering in that moment. He cast a questioning look at Miranda, but she responded with a confused shake of her head.

"Err...well, yes. All those countries...and...," he stammered, he know they were not going to like this, "and...Germany and Austria-Hungar-"

Suddenly, the entire hall broke out in an uproar. Audience members shouted at him in disbelief.

"Are you joking!? I lost my brother because of them!"

"You're giving money to them!? After what they did to us!"

"I thought this charity was for victims!?"

They shouted at him. Michael and Miranda raised their hands in the air, trying to calm them down.

"Please, understand. They are not our enemy anymore. They have suffered just like we have," he persuaded to the booing crowd, "Their Kaiser had abandoned them, the countryside is in ruins, the demands in the Treaty of Versailles are unreasonable, if we don't help them who knows what atrocities will happen in the future. My brother, Henry Buchannan, fought and died in the fields of Passchendaele and if he was alive today, he would say the same thing."

"Wait, wait, wait!" a booming voice called out through the hall, silencing everybody.

From out of the crowd, stumbled out a man with long unkempt black hair and rugged beard. He wore a dirty, old trench coat over a simple shirt and trousers and hat flat cap covering his head. The most notable thing about him was his missing left arm with the sleeve of his coat pinned up to his shoulder.

"You're Henry's brother, aren't you?" he questioned, much to his surprise, "He was in my regiment."

Michael blinked in surprise, "He was?"

The man nodded, "He saved my life. Carried me on his shoulders back to our trenches when my was blown off," he grumbled, "Before he could save himself, he was mowed down by an enemy machine gun. He sacrificed his own life to save mine. He was a hero."

Michael bit his lip and fought down a sob. He wasn't told how Henry had died, but, of course, he died saving a life of another. It was something he would do.

"Well, I..." he uttered, not quite sure what to say.

"Before he died, he told us us the reason why he joined the army," the man continued in a harsher tone, causing Michael's eyes to widen in shock, "He said that his little brother ran off to join the army and went after him to find him. But it turns out that his little brother is fine and well and standing on that stage," he pointed accusingly at Michael, "Your brother died because you were being an idiot! Let me guess, you lied about your age to the recruitment agency, so you can be a brave little soldier!"

"I d-didn't mean to-" Michael gasped, but he wasn't listening.

"Was it worth it!? Are you proud!?" he growled as the rest of the audience started to shout as well, "You know have the audacity to stand on that stage and tell us what we want! You're nothing but a privileged toff! Did you lose your house when you came back!? Have you ever starved for days!? You're pretending to be one of us, but it'll never happen! I bet you're doing so you don't have to feel guilty about getting your brother killed!"

"No! I just want to help!" Michael responded, ducking when somebody threw something at his head.

"You don't know what it's like being us!" a woman from the mob screamed at him, "you've never suffered before!"

They booed and jeered at him, some of them threw items at him, some of them hitting his wounds. Miranda reacted instantly and helped him off the stage, protecting him from the projectiles. She led him backstage and towards the back door.

"I'm so sorry, Miranda," Michael sobbed his eyes filled with tears, "I ruined everything."

"It's fine," she reassured, taking a look back at the stage, "You didn't do anything. It was just...Umm poorly timed. Perhaps, it would be a good idea for you to be away from-"

Michael pulled away and wiped the tears from his eyes, "I understand. You probably don't want me dying the charity," he muttered as he limped out the door.

"No, that's not what I meant," Miranda called out to him, "Michael! Michael!"

But he had already limped away down the road. Miranda sighed sadly and watched him leave with a concerned look.

Michael ignored the pain in his leg and arm as he hobbled down to Lambeth (North) Underground station. He gave 1 pence for a ticket and stepped onto the platform and leaned against the wall and waited for his train.

He didn't mean to get angry at Miranda, it was just too much for him. He knew what he did and there was not a day that went by where he regretted it. He joined the army and lied about his age, so he could prove that he wasn't just some useless snob, he can do great things. Although, like a lot of times in his life, he made the wrong decision and only proved that he was incapable.

He sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes, 'Maybe they were right. Maybe I haven't suffered enough and that's why I'm useless,' he berated himself.

He heard heavy footsteps coming his way. He looked up and saw it was the station guard, looming over him.

"Sir, I have to ask you to go somewhere else," He sternly told him.

"Sorry," he grumbled, "I didn't mean to make a scene."

The station guard shook his head and pointed to Michael's back, "No, it's just that we had just painted that."

Michael frowned in bewilderment before he stood up straight and her a wet, sticky sound behind him. He looked back and saw that he had just leaned on a freshly painted sign of a red circle with a blue line going across it, now completely smudged. He felt his back and found that red and blue paint had coated his new jacket.

"Great," he muttered in annoyance.

Notting Hill

Lilly let Michael in and gasped as soon as she saw him.

"Master Michael, what on earth happened to you? And why are you coated in paint?" she asked in concern.

"Did you hear they adopted a new logo for the Underground," Michael sighed, "It looks like the one now imprinted on my back."

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs alerted him that his mother's presence. He sighed wearily as he knew she was going to shout at him for the state he was in. Charlotte had barely stepped onto the ground floor before she noticed Michael, her brow furrowing in irritation.

"You're late and you're filthy!" she shrieked at him.

"Hello mother, I'm perfectly fine. Thanks for asking," he muttered sarcastically.

Charlotte stormed over to him, grabbed his painfully and dragged him towards the stairs, "Don't you dare speak to me like that! Go upstairs and change now! We need you looking presentable."

Michael slipped from his mother's grip and rubbed his aching ear, "Why do I have to look presentable to Mr Larkin?" he muttered bitterly.

"Because he's the only man who is willing to give you a chance on getting into the University of Edinburgh," Charlotte replied, making Michael stop in his tracks and snap his head towards her.

"You never told me about this."

"Didn't I?" Charlotte sighed, "Well, it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me. You're sending me away all the way to Scotland and you didn't think to tell me."

"Michael," Charlotte sharply said, "Without your father, we won't have enough income to keep this house. That is why you will have to become a barrister and then eventually a judge, so you will support yourself and your future family. Now stop being selfish and do what I say for once in your life. You always causing some sort of trouble for all of "

She began to walk away, but Michael was not letting her have the last word. Not after today. Rage boiled inside him and before he could think he said something that made her stop in her tracks.

"Why don't you just admit that you're ashamed of me."

Silence filled the room and Lilly, who was standing in the corner patiently, tried to make herself as small as possible. Charlotte didn't turn around to face him, but he knew that she was angered by what he said.

"What are you talking about?" she spat.

Michael limped closer to her, "When I returned and you answered the door to me, I had never seen you more thrilled. I thought it was because of me...but it wasn't. You were expecting Henry to be there," she flinched slightly, "But once you saw your lousy, useless son, that joy disappeared so quickly. You didn't even say hello to me."

"I was in grief," Charlotte defended.

"I am your son!" he shouted, "Weren't you at least happy to see me!? I joined the army so I could, for once, live up to your expectations, but it was all for nothing!"

"I never wanted you to fight," she calmly retorted.

Michael growled, "Well, I know it was fruitless! You never liked me have you! You were the one who sent me to boarding school, you were the one who told me tolerate all the bullying, and you always clipped me around the ear if I made a single complaint until I was afraid of speaking up! And I want to know why! Is it because I was weak!? Or I'm crippled!? Or is it because I could never measure up to Henry!? Is that why you haven't spoken to me since I came back!?"

"No," Charlotte denied.

"THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU GREET ME WHEN I RETURNED FROM THE WAR!?"

Charlotte spun around, her eyes blazing in fury, "IT'S BECAUSE YOU RETURNED AND HENRY DIDN'T!"

Silence fell in the house, nobody dared to even breath. Michael was stunned by what she said and took a step backwards while Charlotte was just as astonished as if she wasn't expecting the words to come out of her mouth. They stared at each for what felt like hours, until Michael spoke in a quiet voice.

"So...you would have preferred that I died," he uttered.

"No...I..." Charlotte stammered in shock, "...I didn't intend to say it like that."

"You wish I was dead."

"No, Michael please," she said taking a step forward to him.

"But you did mean it, didn't you?"

Charlotte stopped and didn't answer, trying to think of an explanation.

He didn't wait for an answer. He had limped away from her towards the door, "Well, I do know about dying, but I'll leave and you can just pretend that I did," he opened the door and walked out, "If that's what you desire," he said, slamming the door behind him.

Lilly looked from the closed door back to her mistress. Charlotte was distraught, her face fell into a worried frown and her hand was pressed against her forehead.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled quietly.

Ulster & Buchannan Ltd, London

Reginald had worked late that night, trying to find a representative to travel to Japan in behalf of the Buchannan family on the matriarch's request. However, he hadn't found anybody no matter how many of his contacts he called.

Sighing tiredly, he decided to turn in for the night and start again tomorrow. He packed his suitcase and was about to leave, when he head a knock on his office door. Confused, he slowly walked to the door and opened it to find Michael in his dishevelled state. He was taken back in surprise, his face was gaunt, but the boys' eyes were filled with determination and focus. It reminded him of the look Charlotte would give to anyone who dared opposed her.

"Mr Ulster," Michael said, "I would like to go to Tokyo and oversee the liquidation of the assets. Can you prepare me a ship and a place to stay in Hong Kong. Oh and I need a translator."

Reginald blinked in surprise, "Oh, but what about-"

He squeaked in fear when Michael gave him a fierce look, "Would that be a problem?" he threatened.

Reginald shook his head, "I'll make the arrangements now," he promised before he thought to himself, 'He's as scary as his mother.'

And that's it! Hope you enjoyed it.

I admit, it's quite a slow start, but it'll get more excited as the story progresses.

I tried my best to be as historical accurate as possible, (I'm a history buff) but there are some anomalies that I had to make for story convenience. The Great War didn't end until November of 1918 and the treaty was not signed until 1919 for example. However, I did my best.

Please leave a review and thank you for reading.

See you next time :)