Sword After Spring

XVIII

—

Yūto felt like the world was falling apart overhead.

— He knew it was foolish. He knew that. He knew that.

It wasn't a fight to the death. He'd been holding back severely. He couldn't use even a tenth of the techniques he'd learned – Kendo wasn't Kenjutsu. There was no reason for him to feel like this. There wasn't. But –

— "Isaiah."

… He had lost. He had lost against someone from the Holy Church. He had lost against someone he knew was there to bring harm upon Rias and the rest of the people he'd sworn himself to. He'd met that boy on the field and he had lost. He'd lost to the Holy Church again. Would he lose his friends to the Holy Church again? Would he lose himself to the Holy Church again?

His lungs burned with the phantom sensation of the poison he'd inhaled, his hands trembled with the phantom sensation of the ground he'd clung to weakly, and all he could hear was that wretched name, echoing in his head like a curse from the depths of hell — Isaiah, Isaiah, Isaiah.

Yūto fell to the ground in a daze the second he was alone.

There was no one else in the Occult Research clubroom. There was no one there to see him fall apart. No one there to see him hyperventilate. And they couldn't see, shouldn't see, because if they did — they'd see him for what he really was. Not a Knight, not a protector — a failure. A failure who'd gotten everyone he'd ever loved killed. Would he do it again?

He couldn't bear the thought. He couldn't really think. The world seemed to bleed into white noise, offending textures to his senses, cutting him off like the rapid thumping of his heartbeat in his ears like thunder — again, again, again. He desperately clutched at his blond locks to try and silence the fathomless noise, but all it did was make it louder.

He —

"...Yūto-kun."

— looked up to face the kind eyes of buchō , Rias, on the doorstep. She had followed him — though Akeno and Koneko were nowhere in sight. It was just her standing there, with her long red hair cast in the shadows of the unlit room. Her voice was kind, soft. That didn't stop shame from overtaking him.

Don't look at me.

Damn it, what would Okita-sensei think of him? Where had all their training gone? Had he truly failed his teacher so utterly as to lose to a random person from the Church? Was he truly that much of a failure? How could he call himself a Knight if —

Rias closed the door behind herself, walking slowly towards the boy — slowly, she took a seat next to him on the floor. Finally, she put a hand on his shoulder – digging her fingers tightly into his skin, just enough to draw his attention.

"Yūto, I need you to breathe for me. Can you do that?"

— He could do anything for her. She'd saved his life. She'd given him a reason to live. He'd do anything if it was for her sake. But…

He struggled to control his breathing, Inhale, count, exhale. Inhale, count, exhale. Inhale, count – Isaiah – damn it. Damn it! He —

"It's fine, Yūto. It's okay. Just breathe with me."

… Rias slowly guided him through controlling his breathing. She didn't once look ashamed, disappointed, or pitiful. She didn't once ask him what had happened, or treat him like he was weak or frail. She just sat with him, kept a hand on his shoulder, and helped him through the breathing exercises.

Inhale, count, exhale. Inhale, count, exhale.

"- There we go. You're fine, Yūto-kun. Everything's fine."

"...I'm sorry, buchō ."

But the redhead shook her head immediately.

"Don't apologise. You have nothing to apologise for, Yūto-kun."

He did, though. Yūto knew that for a fact. He'd lost — in front of everyone, no less. He'd shamed Rias and Okita-sensei and every friend he'd had who'd died brutal deaths to the Holy Church in their senseless pursuit. He'd lost, and then he'd run off and freaked out about it. He had nothing but things to apologise for.

But he couldn't say that. Couldn't say much of anything, to be perfectly honest. Words failed him — his tongue felt like lead on his mouth. All he felt was that deep, piercing feeling of dread and shame.

Rias could read him, though. She always could.

"It's okay, Yūto-kun. You had to hold back way more than Kōsetsu , didn't you? And you two had a great match. Everyone was impressed by your performance. No one noticed you leave." A pause. His King seemed at a loss for words for a second, like she was trying to figure out how to express what was in her chest — but when she found the words, she spoke them confidently. "I'm nothing but proud of you, Yūto-kun. It's okay. Sometimes the past sneaks up on us. I promise you, no one would think less of you for this."

But that wasn't true — he did. Isaiah, Isaiah, Isaiah.

Still…

Rias Gremory spoke with absolute confidence. She spoke as if every last word she said was the inarguable truth. She spoke of her convictions like they were the sun in the sky, and just like when they had been children and she'd saved his life, he couldn't help but feel like the world would move if she demanded it. At that time, he hadn't let himself believe — full of anger and sorrow and fear as he was.

… Well. He was still full of those things. But there was something else, now, too — companionship, loyalty, friendship. And faith — unashamed, unabashed, unwavering faith. Not in God, or Heaven or men. Not in Devilkind. Just in her. Yūto Kiba had unwavering faith in Rias, the woman who'd given him a name.

He could trust her this once, too.

"...Thanks, buchō. I'm okay, now." He finally said.

"You're not." Rias replied immediately. Her voice was gentle. There wasn't a hint of reproach or judgement. "That's okay, though. I'll sit with you until you are."

Yūto Kiba had faith in his King, and not even once had she betrayed it. He shouldn't be surprised. His King was the best there could ever be, after all.

Even as he calmed down, though, he couldn't get it out of his head —

Kiba Yūto had lost.

The reminder would keep him for a very, very long time.

— In reality,

Everyone has their traumas.

The things they just can't get over.

The terrors only they can see.

Isn't that right —

[— Senpai?]

(In another time, in another world —

A red ribbon might be rotting on the floor. Right next to the girl who wore it. )

"Ara Ara ~ That was quite the show you two put on."

The girl introduces herself politely.

She is stunning. There is no way around it. Shirou had already seen her before — but even then, it was hard not to get caught up in how she looked.

Beautiful raven-black locks, dark as night. Half-lidded eyes full of hungry curiosity. A face as soft as an angel's might be — with a smile that's perfect and kind, welcoming in all the wrong ways. A girl called Yamato Nadeshiko, of all things, in a high school —

And a High-class Devil.

Himejima Akeno.

Ise stuttered almost immediately upon catching sight of her — and got worse when she addressed him. Shirou had to keep an eye out to see if any magical energy escaped his friend's body in his embarrassment, but … nothing. Issei remained perfectly normal, superficially.

As for himself —

…Even he couldn't help but blush, a little. Himejima Akeno was truly stunning. Her figure was full in all the right ways, like she'd been designed to be alluring. Underneath that, he could tell she was athletic, too — because of course. And she was close — not enough to be perceived as weird, but enough to make him struggle to tell where to look.

… if Samiya heard of this, she would laugh so hard she'd die. He'd already never hear the end of it from Ise, once the bastard remembered how to speak.

"Thanks, Himejima-senpai." He responded cordially, trying not to let his thoughts show. He didn't think it worked; something in her eyes flared a bit like dark amusement. She knew. Probably did it on purpose, too. "I hope Kiba-san doesn't resent me. He could've easily won under different circumstances."

Besides Akeno, Toujou Koneko-san looked at him and Ise impassively. She didn't say much of anything — merely taking them both in with apathetic eyes. She looked tired; a strange look for a girl about a year younger than himself. He tried to shoot her a polite smile, but Koneko merely turned her head away. Okay then.

"Ufufu… you don't need to spare Yūto-kun's feelings, you know."

"I'm not," he replied immediately, not quite lying. "In any case, though — I'm sorry to cut this conversation short, but Ise and I really must be going. We have the Kyūdo tryouts to attend, and because we came here first, we're already a little late."

Hyōdo Issei looked at Shirou's proclamation that they needed to go away from the incredibly beautiful young woman like the golden-eyed boy had just murdered his puppy in front of his eyes. Never before in either of his lives did he think he'd seen eyes so utterly betrayed. He could practically hear Issei's mind going 'But Oppai!' or something stupid like that, and felt the strange urge to throttle his Auburn-haired friend surge within.

He looked to Issei.

"I'm fairly sure Shitori-san already headed there. She's probably gonna be watching. You wouldn't want to disappoint her, right?"

— That did it.

Hyōdo Issei swallowed drily, eyes widening. Indubitably did his mind travel to Sona's judgemental eyes — his skin took a slight blue colouration as he shook his head 'no' rapidly, his fascination with Akeno and her buxom figure overpowered by his fear of the Student Council President's judgement.

In the privacy of his mind, Shirou figured that — much like himself — Issei somewhat considered Sona a friend, scary though she was. He didn't think the boy had quite realised that yet, though. Unlike he and Sona, Issei hadn't had many conversations with the girl. But Issei was the soft-hearted kind. His loyalty was earned quickly.

He was a good kid, honestly. Shirou was kind of happy that more people were seeing that — abrasive personality and relentless perversion aside, Issei was his best friend. He wanted the boy to be a bit happier in school this time around.

"Oho? Sona-chan, eh?" Akeno murmured, a glint in her eyes. "I suppose she can be quite scary… I understand your hurry. Run off, then." A moment's silence — deliberate, he could tell. Akeno controlled the conversation masterfully. "Ah, but Kōsetsu-kun?"

He raised an eyebrow slowly.

"...Yes, Himejima-senpai?"

The raven-haired beauty smiled serenely. It was a little scary.

"Buchō wanted me to invite you over to our clubroom for tea later. Are you free tomorrow?"

…Oh, man.

Issei would never let him live this down.

"Sure," he replied, smiling just as peacefully. Inside, he was screaming. "I'd love to."

He and Issei turned their backs, walking away from the smiling ravenette and her young companion. They quickly left the dojo, though Issei looked absolutely flummoxed all the way — the second they were a fair distance away from prying eyes, though, the boy's liveliness returned to him like fall of a lightning bolt, because he immediately grabbed Shirou by the shoulders and slammed him into a wall (without too much force. Softie.)

"...Oi! You! Gremory-senpai! Explain!"

Oh, wow. He couldn't even formulate a sentence about it. He was mad. Or envious, more like.

Shirou averted his golden eyes from his furious friend with a chuckle, trying desperately to find a way out of this. It wasn't like he could tell Issei — "No, you misunderstand, I'm not into her, we both just want to make sure we're not going to brutally murder the other." He didn't even like thinking about it — [that wasn't how a Hero would think.] Not that he was one.

— But. He also really didn't want Issei to think he was into Rias.

… Call it childishness, he didn't care. Petulance wasn't his thing most of the time, but he didn't want to put himself through Issei's teasing, mission be damned, okay? Sure, it would be a convenient way for him to explain his sudden interest in her, but…

… ah, damn it.

"It's not like that at all." He replied immediately, crossing his arm and pushing the auburn-haired boy away. "It's just…"

"Just what, bastard?! How the hell did you get the school's idol to show an interest in you, huh? Tell me! No, wait, teach me! Asshole, you've been playing innocent all this time, but you're just as bad as Motohama, aren't you? You — you Kakashi!"

…Oy.

Kakashi was cool, but that kind of hurt. (God, he'd let Issei get to him too much.)

"We…" Quick. Come up with something. "...met in a Kenjutsu competition a few years ago."

Not technically untrue.

Issei paused.

"Eh?"

… A story quickly developed in his head.

Sorry, Samiya-nee. Sorry, Anastasia. But he couldn't let Ise have that kind of blackmail material on him, mission be damned.

"She wasn't really there for the same reason I was, but we exchanged a few words. I just remember her because of her hair."

Issei furrowed his eyebrows, confusion mixing into his expression.

"Her hair?" A pause. "Do you have a kink for redheads or something? You should've just told me, man. I have so much good material —"

Issei was swiftly interrupted by a heavy fist to the top of his head. Bam!

"No, you idiot." Shirou grumbled. "I have red hair. It's not that common a trait, so I kind of wondered …"

He intentionally trailer off, letting Issei connect the dots he'd just come up with on the spot. The boy did — his expression softening.

"Ah. Are you thinking she might be a relative or something? I mean, isn't your hair also white? Rias-Senpai's definitely isn't."

… Absolutely not. Shirou had no clue who his biological family was, but he was Fairly confident they weren't literal hellspawn.

On the other hand — yeah, sure. Anything was better than having Issei think Shirou had a crush on Rias. Not that the girl wasn't beautiful or anything — she was — but he really just didn't wanna hear it, okay?

"I was just wondering," he replied. "Could be nothing, though. But even she wasn't, her family's supposed to be big in town, so I was hoping she might know someone to point me the right away."

He paused, looking up at the little of his messy red-and-white locks he could actually see. He needed another haircut soon, probably — still, though.

"Also, my hair isn't — naturally like this, you know?" He said with a bitter smile, pinching a white lock between two fingers. "It used to be way whiter when I was born, but now it's about 50/50. It's a condition or something — something to do with Marie Antoinette. I'm not super sure about it myself, but my hair's naturally red."

— There was a moment of silence. Issei sounded like a train trapping steam in his mouth; red and crossed arms, tapping his feet in frustrated thorough thoughts, until.

He erupted.

"Ah, damn it!" Hyōdo Issei bellowed, turning to Shirou and pointing at him petulantly. "Fine, you bastard."

Shirou blinked.

"...Fine?"

"Yeah, fine!" Issei repeated, scowling. "I'll help you, so you can quit guilting me with that damn look, okay?! You should've just told us sooner, asshole. You know we would've all helped you."

"...Helped me?"

Oh, no.

"I…" Here, the boy looked a little embarrassed. "I didn't know you were lookin' for your parents and stuff." That's because he wasn't. Fuck. Abort, abort, abort. "There's no way I won't help you find them, though, you asshole. You're my best friend, jackass. Matsuda and Motohama are gonna help, too, you'll see. You should've just said so instead of acting all cool about it, dumbass."

— He messed up.

… Shirou had committed a long, continuous lapse of his judgement, and he did not expect to be forgiven.

Oh, no.

"...Thanks, Ise. You're a good friend."

Kyūdo was a sport about philosophy more than about archery.

It was about the philosophy of attaining a goal. About the philosophy of meditation. About eliminating unneeded movements. About cleansing oneself of superfluous thoughts. About the absolution that only discipline and tradition could bring.

Shirou had always found it peaceful.

Even if he never once had missed an arrow — it didn't really matter. Sure, he didn't need to train in it, but he'd never stop practicing it, because Kyūdo brought him a strange sense of peace, and always had. It was a wonderful practice.

— A wonderful practice Ise was absolutely butchering.

The two members of the Kyūdo team who'd taken it upon themselves to guide Ise through the steps of the practice clearly couldn't tell if they wanted to be annoyed or profoundly amused. Every once in a while, the girls would exchange looks, chuckle, sigh, then go back to trying to poke and prod Issei into the right positions.

Unfortunately, they were both rather attractive young women. Which only meant that their proximity distracted Issei further, made his eyes travel down when they shouldn't, made his hands move when they should be still, and ultimately caused him to mess up even more. If it wasn't for Shirou's proximity, as well as Shitori-san's disapproving stare, he was fairly sure he would've said something perverted by now.

Still — he wasn't completely hopeless.

Ashibumi — the footing, the beginning stance. Dozukuri, the correcting of the posture and approach. Yugamae, the readying of the implement. Uchiokoshi, the raising of the bow.

Issei managed to grasp the mechanics of it — the movement, the stances, the posture. But he clearly hadn't managed to grasp the mindset. That was why, when he got through Hikiwake, the drawing of the bow, through Kai, the completion of the draw, and to Hanare — the step of release —

— His arrow sailed through the winds and hit the edges of the practice target.

"Not bad for a first try, Hyōdo-kun. You took a little bit, but that's fine." One of the girls consoled him. She clearly found his attempt amusing. "Feel free to drop by if you want to learn more, okay? I don't think you're a good match for the main team just yet, but you could be with practice. Just keep at it!"

And she walked away with her friend, intent on helping another newbie try his hand at Kyūdo. Friendly bunch, that one. [Nothing like Shinji, the bastard.]

— who the hell was Shinji?

… anyway.

Shirou approached Issei, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder as the auburn-haired youth stared out into his target, where his arrow stuck pitifully to the edges of the circle. He seemed a bit disappointed in himself — though he'd likely rather die than admit it out loud. Ise had always been a tad too competitive for his own good. Sometimes it helped, others…

"I do think you'll benefit from practicing from time to time." He commented drily, drawing the eyes of both Ise himself and Sona, who'd met them near the entrance of the Kyūdo tryouts area. He was fairly sure she'd tried to look stern as ever — and it worked on most people. But when he smiled at her and thanked her for being there with them, she'd held this small, pleased expression, and nodded just once.

Yeah, they were friends.

"What do you mean?" Issei asked, scowling. "I kinda suck at this."

Sona glared at him for his use of coarse language. Issei flushed a bit, but didn't apologise.

"I can't say you don't," Shirou replied, smiling apologetically. "But I don't think it's a matter of just talent."

Issei blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"I've told you this before, I think. Kyūdo is more about the philosophy than the practice itself. Your movements were good, I think — you're more athletic than you give yourself credit for. But if you can't get into the mindset, you won't ever really do well in Kyūdo. And even if you did, it wouldn't mean much."

"Dude, don't you ever get tired of the 'old master at the peak' shit?" Issei grumbled, but Shirou could tell he was listening. "What is it, the white hair? I mean, come on. If you call me a whippersnapper, I'm going to hit you."

… Oy. This bastard.

In the edges of his attention, he could tell the two of them were drawing the eyes of a few more people. Sona herself, yes, but also the two Kyūdo club members who'd been showing Issei the stances, and a few other people who'd been there to try out or help the club members.

"Shut up and pay attention, idiot." Shirou replied, left eye twitching rapidly in frustration. Honestly. "I'm telling you this because it's how Kyūdo was designed. It's traditional practice for a reason. It's not just archery — you're meant to be able to apply the steps it takes to hit a target to your life in general. Here, give me that."

He took the bow from Issei's hands easily, picking five arrows from the small quiver on the floor they were all using. Patiently, he walked to the shooting spot in front of another target.

He assumed the initial stance.

"Ashibumi is the start. The footing. The foundation. You can't do anything without a food foundation — your feet have to be solidly positioned. Then — Dozukuri is when you align yourself. You correct your upper body. You prepare yourself for the task." He inhaled — positioning his arms, with the wooden bow alongside them. "Yugamae is the readying of the bow. So that when you reach Uchiokoshi, the raising of the bow, your hands are already perfectly positioned for the task you're about to undertake. Every step is meant to help you reach a state of mental acuity. The target is a metaphor. The act is self-refinement."

He didn't need to talk through the other stages. Hikiwake, Kai — in one fluid movement, he goes through two perfect stances. The unnecessary arrows hang off the fabric of his belt for later use, but — for that single moment, the rest of the world bleeds into nothingness, and all that exists is Shirou, the bow, the arrow, and the target.

Hanare.

[The girl in the ribbon] had practiced Kyūdo, once. He'd helped her learn it. In this act, he thought he might be honouring her, just a little.

Let all worries bleed away. Let all concerns fade to dust. Let all memories turn to ashes. When his fingers released the string of the terse bow, the snap of the arrow's release was pitch-perfect —

The implement cuts through the air as it does through his thoughts, and before the second is over, the arrow impales the very centre of the target. Not even a single inch off the paint.

The ensuing silence echoes loudly.

"Zanshin. The shooting does not end with the arrow's release. The movement continues — like water. And when you finish, you must lower with Yudaoshi, to prepare yourself for the next beginning." He turns to look at Issei, smiling serenely. "I didn't come up with this myself, you know. Generations have been doing this before us, and it's helped a lot of people better themselves. I think you could use some self-tempering, too."

… Well.

He was meant to show off, wasn't he?

It was a bit distasteful, but.

"— Plus." In a single, swift movement, going through every step perfectly — Shirou had drawn an arrow in perfect posture, nocked it expertly, and released it in an instant. Before anyone could tell what had even happened, the projectile lodged itself right next to the first arrow he had fired, the arrowheads touching. "When you get good enough, you can do stuff like this."

Shirou loved Kyūdo.

But as awed, shocked looks turned to face him, he figured out pretty quickly — He didn't like the attention as much, though.

The picks for some of the clubs were released later that day.

Most were unsurprising. He was a bit shocked Motohama and Matsuda had both found a home in the photography club, but if things were as he feared, the two would get themselves kicked out soon enough. Maybe he needed to… talk, to them. Ensure they were on their best behaviour.

He'd made it into both Kyūdo and Kendo, as he'd wanted. It would be a bit time-consuming, but he'd manage it with proper planning. Was needed for the mission, anyway. Issei hadn't made into Kyūdo, obviously, but he had made it into the Kendo Club — a fact that had made the boy cheer loudly when he saw the list, much to Shirou's amusement.

What was surprising, though, was the third newest member of the Kendo Club —

"—Yūto Kiba, huh."

"Are you sure about this, Yūto-kun?"

"...Yes, Buchō. I need to improve. Sensei isn't always available to teach me. And…" A pause. "...I don't think I'll be able to rest easy if I don't. It'll be for just this year, Buchō — but still, I am sorry for the inconvenience. I have to do it."

"...I suppose you do, don't you?"

And he did indeed.

Yūto Kiba couldn't rest — wouldn't rest — until he put that shame to rest. Until he got to see for himself what Kōsetsu really was — whatever that was.

(And maybe then he could put Isaiah to rest with it, too.)

A.N;

Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. This is Lily, coming to you from beyond the veil; a few notes are relevant to this chapter.

Akeno isn't actually a High-class Devil. Shirou just thinks she is. He's not adept in Devil culture.

Shirou does not know Sona is a Devil yet. He's only met her in Kuoh Academy, which he has noted smells remarkably like Devils throughout because of Rias & Co.

Rias is particularly notable to his senses due to the Power of Destruction she wields. Again, though, Shirou doesn't know that. This makes her a bit overpowering to his senses.

That being said, due to Sona's heritage, he'd be able to tell immediately that she is a Devil if he met her elsewhere.

Shirou's mission is to try and draw the Devils out into recruiting him. He was instructed to show off desirable qualities due to this. Because he knows who the Devil in question is, he is hoping to manage not to get drawn into a fight he doesn't want. Unlike the Church, Shirou isn't convinced Rias is dangerous.

The reason the Church is moving in such a brazen way is the reports of increased supernatural events in Kuoh. They do not know who the Overseer is yet, nor do they have a channel of communication. The "peace talks" are a mystery to everyone but the upper echelons, so the people in charge of responding to threats don't have many options aside from trying to take out the root of the problem quickly.

More is coming very soon. Sooner than you thought before I started this batch, I am sure. Please review! It's always fun to read what people think.