Chapter 1
It was hot. Africa hot. The whirring of the fans was the only sound perceptible in the listless room. Well, that and the faint groans of first-year students taking final exams in the middle of a sweltering heat wave.
It was truly unconscionable, the way administration had scheduled the tests. Every other school in the greater Tokyo area had let out two weeks prior. In fact, stultified by heat and silence as the Ryokuto inmates were, one could almost imagine the splash of the public pool and the slurping of ice-cold coffees which the Academy boys were sure other first years were currently enjoying. The vision was enough to make a grown man cry.
The only person not in hell was the silver-haired prince sitting in their midst. His tie, in a perfect double Windsor, was still tucked crisp and tight against his neck, not loosened and limp like his peers'. His white, short-sleeved shirt was unstained by dark patches of sweat. His face was cool marble compared to everyone else's flushed cheeks. To add insult to injury, the boy was done with his test. An hour early. All one hundred and fifteen questions.
The boy was sitting sideways in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and blocking the aisle. His left arm hung over the back of the chair absently while he twirled a pencil in his right hand. It seemed he was simply biding his time and remaining in the classroom out of spite.
Mitsuru Ikeda glanced up from his frantic scribbling and frowned mightily at his roommate's back. He willed Shinobu to fry, to experience the acute discomfort of those around him. He imagined roasting his friend in a cauldron of oil and counted with glee every drop of salty perspiration that dripped from Shinobu's hairline. It was evil of him, Mitsuru grudgingly acknowledged, but it was still a happy thought nonetheless.
"Tezuka, if you are quite finished, may I have your test booklet? And could you please leave? You’re disturbing me." The ethics teacher loomed over the ice prince's desk and held out one hand for the exam, wiping his overheated brow with a handkerchief in the other.
Mitsuru snickered. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who felt unnerved by Shinobu's uncanny ability to lower his body temperature. A glare from his sensei made him gulp down the rest of his hilarity in mid-chortle. He began to choke.
“Ikeda! If you can’t finish the test in an appropriate manner, you may join Tezuka outside!” The teacher swatted his student lightly on the head with the rolled up exam booklet. It was Shinobu’s turn to smirk.
“Ah, gomen nasai, sensei! I’ll behave!” Mitsuru bowed his head, properly penitent.
The teacher harrumphed and stalked back down the aisle. Behind him, Shinobu stood, languidly picked up his book bag by the handle and slung it over his shoulder. The boy headed for the door and it seemed to the other test takers that a cool wind followed in his wake. Every eye observed his exit in mute misery, Mitsuru’s being one of them. The blonde was using the strength of his mind again, but not for torturous purposes this time. He wanted his roommate to turn around.
At the door, Shinobu hesitated and turned.
Well, whaddaya know! The force is with me! Mitsuru cackled silently in glee.
He caught Shinobu’s attention by stretching mightily. The blonde proceeded to pantomime eating a sandwich, and clasped his hands in supplication, begging at his friend with pleading amethyst eyes. Shinobu almost smiled at the boy’s antics then shook his head once in negation, a wicked gleam sparking from his grey orbs. Mitsuru pouted then clutched at his stomach dramatically and made to fall from his chair in mock hunger. This time, Shinobu did grin.
“Ikeda! Out!” The ethics teacher barked sharply. He still had his back to the class but had obviously mastered the art of sensing his students’ every move.
“But, sensei…”
“Out! And give me your test before you leave. Results will be posted tomorrow. I hope, for your sake, that your current grade in this class is sufficient enough to make up for this deficient mark.”
Mitsuru muttered darkly under his breath but stood to do as he was told. His exit was less graceful and assured as his roommate’s. As the door swung shut behind the pair, Mitsuru’s voice was audible and thick with accusation.
“Now look what you’ve gone and done!”
“Me? Don’t put this one me, Ikeda. I wasn’t the one thinking with my stomach in there.”
“Oho! So now it’s my fault…”
The bickering faded and the whirring of the fans resumed prominence once more. With one, last collective sigh, the rest of the students buckled down and focused their thoughts back to the exam at hand. Two seats over from the recently vacated chairs, a dark-haired boy chewed at the nub of his pencil speculatively. But his mind was not on Bushido or the intricacies of feudal imperialism. Instead, he allowed his thoughts to fixate on the unruly blonde and his mysterious compatriot.
~
Lunchtime was a hushed affair. The heat still baked the classroom’s occupants, and the boys found quickly enough that minimal movement was the key to gaining a modicum of relief. Bentos full of lumpy gyoza filled the immediate area with an aroma of garlic and pork. It was normally a mouth-watering smell, but today, with the sun’s rays a tangible shimmer in the air, the smell was nauseating.
Blue eyes scoured the room alertly although the owner of those eyes lounged insouciantly against a window ledge. To the casual observer, the boy looked half-asleep, head on casement and cocked slightly to the left. His right leg was bent, foot planted behind him to rest on the wall. His left elbow was clasped negligently by the opposite hand. Ryan Sakata practiced this pose religiously in front of a full-length mirror every night.
In his ears were plugged miniscule earphones, from which blasted the latest single from Incubus. Ryan resisted the urge to bob his head to the beat; this would mar the air of studied nonchalance he was cultivating. Rather, the boy allowed the jangling rhythm to wash over him as he continued his observation of the room and its inhabitants.
So this was the famed Ryokuto Academy, one of Tokyo’s premier private schools for boys. It was famed for producing prime fodder for top colleges, which, in turn, churned out ambitious state officials and ruthless businessmen. Or so Ryan’s father had orated, ad naseum, for an entire hour after dinner last night. The boy had vowed to hate it with every fiber of his American-born soul.
And the hate was justified that day. What school would expect a new student to endure final exams when said new student had no inkling of what was being examined? Ethics, for the love of Pete! What did Ryan know of ethics? Did they even offer ethics classes in any high school in California? Highly doubtful. It was supremely lucky for the boy that his father had inculcated Japanese into his skull since birth or Ryan wouldn’t even have known that the exam was about ethics to begin with.
Gah! The entire situation was ridiculous! It was July. Prime beach time. Ryan missed the sweet surf at Seal Beach, the fly honeys in Newport, the cool ride his best friend, Moon, had been gifted with right before Ryan had been blind-sided by the news that his father was moving him to a different country. The boy inwardly raged at the injustice of it all. Oh, Dad had given him multiple explanations for the immigration, touting Ryan as the number one reason. Ryan didn’t argue; he knew, of course. But he didn’t have to like it…
My God! That smell! What the hell are they eating? What I would give for an In-N-Out burger right about now!
Ryan started salivating at the prospect then his little bubble of yummy goodness burst as another blast of heat assailed him. There would be no In-N-Out, no fly honeys, no sweet surf. He was stuck in this god-forsaken school surrounded by god-forsaken people who probably didn’t even know the difference between Linkin Park and Papa Roach. Reality was a bitch.
The doors swung open and a loud shout of unadulterated exuberance parted the curtain of heat that shrouded the room.
“Oi, children! Look what Papa Ikeda brought for your sorry souls!”
The blond-haired boy held up plastic bags that clanked merrily. Through the translucence, Ryan spied the letters “UCC”. Beer? It had to be, by the way the other boys swarmed over their classmate in their haste to grab a can. Nothing but alcohol could induce such a stampede from any of his friends back home.
Tops were popped and eager slurps, interrupted by hasty “arigato”s, filtered through the rousing rendition of “Drive”. Ryan was half-tempted to pull the earphones from his ears and join the crew when a new smell wafted his nostrils.
Coffee. These losers were going ga-ga over coffee! Oh, man…
“Hey, new kid! Want one?” Mitsuru made to toss a can Ryan’s way. His friendly overture was rebuffed as the other boy stared at him silently for a second longer than was polite then closed his eyes, effectively shutting everyone out.
“What’s with him?”
The boy Mitsuru had jostled with an elbow looked up from his can and shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know. He’s been like that since lunch started. Just leaning on that window and listening to some really loud music. We tried talking to him earlier but…well, I don’t think he speaks the language, you know?”
“Oh, sure!” Mitsuru scoffed. “He doesn’t speak the language! Baka!” He swiped at the other boy’s shoulder good-naturedly. “He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t know Japanese!”
“You go talk to him, then!”
“Maybe I will,” Mitsuru took on a semi-belligerent tone at the challenge inherent in the other boy’s comment.
“What kind of trouble are you getting into now?” A new voice interrupted. Its tone was one of amused long-suffering.
“Ah, Tezuka! Just the man I wanted to see. What took you so long? You were right behind me.” Mitsuru tried to throw a sweaty arm around his friend’s shoulders. Shinobu neatly side-stepped the gesture, and his roommate, used to such fastidiousness, opted for a small punch to the gut instead.
“I was detained by the shopkeeper. You conveniently forgot to pay for those coffees again.”
“Are you mad at me?” Mitsuru asked teasingly.
“Not really. I’ll just add it to the monumental tab you’ve managed to accrue since the beginning of this term.”
Mitsuru grinned, undeterred. “Thanks, Shin.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Shinobu’s eyes crinkled faintly in what passed as a smile for him. Mitsuru caught the good humor and didn’t take offense at the other’s seemingly curt order.
In the months since the two had first met and become instantaneous friends, Shinobu had only let his guard down twice that Mitsuru could remember. The first time was when he’d entered Room 211 before school started and found his new roommate shifting through piles of clothing laying haphazardly all over the floor. Shinobu had exploded over the mess and was cajoled out of his ire only after Mitsuru had sworn never again to ignore hangers.
The second time was during the middle of their second month at Ryokuto, when the blonde had almost gotten into a fight with another dormer over a comment about his gang-affiliated past. Defending his honor, Mitsuru was within an inch of giving up the ghost under the bigger boy’s pummeling when Shinobu had come upon the scuffle. The sight of his roommate’s purpling eye and bloody nose was enough to send Shinobu into a manic fit. He’d dragged the older boy off Mitsuru and had taken him aside to speak at him fiercely. Mitsuru never did find out what was said, but ever since then, that particular dormer always gave both him and Shinobu wide berth when passing them in the halls.
Two incidents of unleashed emotion. Not bad, considering it had been Mitsuru who had gotten a rise out of his friend on both occasions. The blonde took great pride in being the only person capable of shattering the ice prince’s now-infamous calm. Of course, he knew better than to play with fire; Shinobu unleashed was kind of scary. So Mitsuru chose wisely the days when he pressed his friend’s buttons. Today felt like one of those days.
“Hey, Shin,” Mitsuru dared to repeat the pet name. “Ishida here says that the new kid doesn’t speak any Japanese. And I say he does. Now, this looks like a wager about to happen here. And we need you to officiate. So, you go over there and find out for us, ne?”
Shinobu did not take kindly to orders, no matter how carefully phrased as a request. And he certainly didn’t like to solicit friendship where none had been previously offered. He narrowed his grey eyes. Mitsuru was walking a fine line…
“What do I get out of this little venture?” he asked dangerously.
“Well, if I win, Ishida pays for today’s coffee break. Right, Ishida?” Mitsuru clamped a hand over the other boy’s mouth and nodded his head for him.
Shinobu grunted at the helpless boy in his roommate’s relentless grasp and stalked across the room. He was a walking container of composed irritation. About four feet from the seemingly oblivious target, the new kid’s eyes flew open. Blue bored into grey. A tendril of mute contention and sudden understanding flared between the two boys. In that brief instant, an immediate rivalry blossomed and was acknowledged by both.
Ryan pushed off from the window ledge carelessly and pulled the earphones off. He took his time coiling the wire around a curved fist, never breaking eye contact with Shinobu. He hit the pause button of his MP3 player then slowly extended his right hand.
“So, you’re the hot shit around here. Pleased to meet you. I’m Ryan Sakata.”
Shinobu blinked first. The new kid spoke flawless Japanese.