All Right! Fine! I’ll Take You! – Zaimokuza Gaiden – Chapter 2

All Right! Fine! I’ll Take You! – Zaimokuza Gaiden – Chapter 2

“So…” Hachiman looks at me while barely lifting his eyes from his lunchbox. “What’s this all about?”

“What? Can’t I just want to spend time with my sworn brother? Must there be some kind of nefarious scheme for me to—”

“Hanging up.”

“We are not even on the phone!”

“As if such paltry concerns would impede—damn it, Zaimokuza!” Hah! He can no longer resist the call of our oath! It is time to toss aside your disguise, Hachiman!

“At last, your full reincarnation is close at hand! Awaken your soul, my vassal, and together we shall—”

“Flee from nosy girls?” Ugh! Too strong! The seal is too strong! I must wait for a more propitiatory time before I make my final stand!

“I don’t know what you are talking about, which is a small miracle, seeing as my knowledge reaches from the depths of the sea to the highest peaks! The Blademaster General shall not—”

“Hi, Sagami.”

“Eeek!”

I turn around, looking at the still empty yard around us, and spin back around to face the villain who so underhandedly tricked me. All of those ‘arounds’ might account for my sudden bout of dizziness. That, or low blood sugar. I wonder if Hachiman would part with a small measure of his restorative Max Coffee?

Likely not. He’s ever so zealous when guarding his cherished possessions. Ah, Hachiman, how did you turn out to be such a miser?

Also, his rasping laugh is really grating. Truly, a most unrefined trait.

Though, on second thought, should a God of War be refined? Westerners don’t seem to think so.

“Oi, stop running away into some dumb monologue and come back to the conversation.”

“I bet you were itching to say that to somebody else,” I grumble.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

He shows me that unpleasant smirk that means he’s referencing something his conversational partner has no hope of understanding and he’s momentarily reveling in the sense of superiority his victory has afforded him.

Despicable as ever. Only his analytical powers are a match for his low cunning.

“Come on, fatty, out with it.”

I make a grandiose show of my eloquence to explain the situation as succinctly yet comprehensively as possible, explicative gestures included to better supplement his understanding.

“And stop mumbling and fidgeting like a maiden in love. I didn’t catch any of that.”

Damn it.

“I am hiding from Miss Sagami,” I confess my utter shame and cowardice.

“Yeah, that wasn’t the part I was unclear about.”

“Must you extricate each of my secrets so uncaringly?”

“Hey, what kind of vassal would let his liege keep him in the dark?”

I stare at him, mouth agape in wonder. Has he finally—

“The answer is ‘a respectful one.’ Which I am not. So out with it.”

Ah, I guess not.

“She… came to my classroom.”

He takes a long sip of his garishly colored can of coffee.

“Bullying?” he asks with a tone as flat as Yukinoshita’s hopes and dreams.

“I… don’t think so.”

“I see. You never told me what was the problem yesterday.”

“I…” I hesitate. Astonishing as it may be, I don’t know how to use words to really transmit what it was that befell me during my brief dalliance with Miss Sagami. “I don’t think we are fit for one another.”

“And yet she goes to your class during lunchtime. She seemed in quite a hurry, when the bell rang.”

“She… was?”

“Hmmm. She didn’t even pay any mind to the usual hangers-on. Just went straight for the door.”

“Oh.” This agonizing cold welling in my chest, what could it—

“So, feeling guilty already?”

“Wha—why would I, the great Blademaster—”

“Because you just snubbed a girl who wanted to have lunch with you after having a date yesterday, and you just used me, someone she absolutely despises, as an excuse to refuse her invitation.”

“You knew she—”

“She’s a girl in my class. Chances are she’s going to hate me by default.”

“I don’t know whether to praise your self-awareness or condemn your unrepentant ways.”

“Both sound like praise to me.”

“Of course they would…”

“So. Yeah. Sagami hates me. Big surprise. Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”

“I… How could I have suspected she would harbor such ill feelings for one such as—” There’s a palm impeding the airflow from my mouth. Is this an attack from the Organization?! Stop breathing, Yoshiteru, there may be chloroform—

“For fuck’s sake, stop giving me a PTSD-induced headache for a second and just listen.” Oh. It appears no devious agent has infiltrated the school grounds, and I just have to deal with a lecture from Hachiman.

That’s so much worse.

“Look, if you want a girlfriend who gets along with all of your friends, you are always gonna be shit out of luck. People don’t work like that: we are jealous, petty, and want to monopolize others for ourselves, and you are never going to find a voice actress willing to be seen in public with the likes of me, so stop even thinking I am a factor. I am not. She tolerates you, and you aren’t swimming in options. Go for it.” And he drops his palm, his eyes empty of energy after having forced himself through that speech.

“I—I don’t even think she sees me as more than a friendly confidant. Shouldn’t friends like friends?”

“Have you ever seen Hayama’s clique? How many of them even speak to one another when the prince isn’t around?”

“Surely you aren’t advocating for me to adopt the ways of the dreaded riajuu—”

“As if you ever could,” merciless as usual, Hachiman, I see your blade hasn’t dulled since the fields of Kyoto. “But if you can’t beat them, act as if you have joined them and stab them in the back.”

“Don’t you mean—”

“No.”

“Ah. How silly of me to wonder.”

“Certainly. Now, I am not saying Sagami is head over heels for you or is even willing to entertain the mere notion, because last I checked it looked like she wasn’t on drugs, but she has recently had a falling out with her usual group of friends, and what she went through during the Sports Festival has forced her to acknowledge what the service Club and our… unorthodox methods bring to the table. She’s vulnerable, willing to contemplate things she never has before, and just discovered that spending some time with the social pariah her caste has trained her to despise isn’t that bad, after all. So do that.”

“I—I am in awe of the devious workings of your wicked mind.”

“Thank you.”

“I wasn’t praising you!”

“Sure sounded like it.” And he nonchalantly takes another sip of his canned beverage. He’s going to make me thirsty, at this rate.

“She… levied most grievous accusations against your person.”

“Such as?” He asks, unbothered, an eyebrow barely raised.

“She said she oft pondered whether you had blackmail material you were using to string along the lady Yuigahama and the demon Yukinoshita.”

At that, he sputters, coughing up coffee all over his shirt, his face reddening in asphyxiation as he starts hammering his fist against his chest.

Ah. A chink in his armor. I should take note of this, lest he turns against his master like the despicable Miyoshi clan.

So, as I calmly pat the back of my friend, hoping he will somehow take hold of his senses before he comes across the Sanzu River, I ponder his cunning, if not wise, advice.

***

As the last bell of the day rings, I find myself wondering whether I will come across Miss Sagami. Not because of anything in particular, but I must confess that Hachiman’s words, as usual, weigh heavily on my mind.

On the one hand, Sagami’s refusal of Hachiman’s very core struck me as far too close to a reason for her to refuse me. The God of War and Harems is not so dissimilar to my illustrious self, in regards to social standing—or caste, as he so eloquently puts it.

If Sagami thinks that is reason enough to suspect foul play between him and his two closest female retainers, it would behoove her not to approach me, lest I pay her with far too similar coin.

That is to say: if a popular girl like Yuigahama cannot tolerate an outcast like Hachiman, why would Sagami even consider approaching me?

But that wasn’t the crux of the matter, just an almost trifling afterthought. Indeed, the world is filled with tales of Capuletti and Montechi, and the very goddesses themselves often deign to lie with mortal men, lithe forms with jade skin mingling with brutish shapes in carnal ecstasy that—

Great. Hands in pants, Zaimokuza. Hopefully, nobody is looking at the freakishly tall, rotund, silver-haired guy with a trenchcoat and fingerless gloves who just sprouted a tent in the middle of the school’s entrance during rush hour.

Ugh. Inner Hachiman, couldn’t you pull your blows from time to time?

No way, fatty.

Ah, as expected, inner Hachiman. Just as expected.

Right. Just rush back home and hope this isn’t the straw that breaks the camel’s back regarding what’s left of my social standing. A loner is powerful by himself, but a pack of hyenas can tear down even the most majestic of creatures.

***

This isn’t working.

As my sweat pours down my mighty brow, as thick rivulets drench what little garments I choose to wear during my exertions, I find my mind drifting away, as if ensorcelled by the dilemma that still lies unsolved after my talk with my retainer.

Not even my grueling training regime, designed to bring forth the prowess with the blade I had in my previous incarnation, is enough to have the monkey mind settle. I am, indeed, running around in the palm of the Buddha, prisoner of the concerns of the illusion that is Maya.

Oh, that actually would make for a good premise! Let’s see, we start with a retelling of the Journey to the West, but this time it’s set in a cyberpunk dystopia. The wastelands of India where the sacred sutras are hidden is actually a sprawling megalopolis that covers the whole subcontinent, its electronic, neon ruins, glittering with flickering light that will never go out yet will forever fail to vanquish the darkness that lies at—

“Yoshi, would it kill you to answer when I knock on the fucking door—” My sister freezes as she rudely intrudes upon my sanctuary.

I strain to keep the heavy dumbbells aloft mid situp, as my horrified gaze is locked onto the mirror I find on her visage. This would be a really bad time to trip.

“Is… Is that my sports bra?” she asks, as if unwilling to allow the words to come to light.

“Wha—no! How would you come to that monstrous notion?!”

“It looks like my sports bra!”

“It’s my Under Armour compressive vest! I need it to not jiggle around!”

“It has the same design!”

“I don’t even know what your sports bra looks like! I didn’t know you had one!”

“Well, it looks just like an Under Armour compressive vest!”

“That doesn’t make any sense, this is far too long and—” Aaaand she’s laughing.

Of course.

And people wonder why I am so afraid of girls, I swear.

“Pffft—never change, little brother; you are an endless source of amusement.”

“Just as the no less plentiful torment you keep throwing my way.”

“Ah, you love it. Or me. Or a weird mix of those two. Anyway, I just came to tell you that—” The ringing of my phone interrupts her. We are both surprised by that, though her own astonishment at somebody calling me hurts a bit more than my own.

“Wait just a moment, sister. I should answer this call.”

“Sure. I can wait.” There’s something weird in that emphasis, but alas, when isn’t there when it comes to my tormentor?

“Yes? Blademaster General Zaimokuza speaking.”

“… If you answer like that, it’s no wonder no editor ever calls you back, Zaimokuza.”

“Ah, the younger Sagami. Why is it that you are contacting me? Perhaps are you seeking a rematch after our duel?” I magnanimously ignore his jab: a lion doesn’t concern himself with the yapping of dogs.

Besides, if he’s calling about his sister, I should keep the mood as cordial as possible. Just… as a meaningless, unnecessary precaution.

“No, I am actually calling about my sister.” God damn it! “Look, I don’t know what weird thing is going on, but she asked me what’s your address a while ago, and she hasn’t gotten home yet, so I was wondering—”

“Zaimokuza, how long are you planning on making me wa—”

And Sagami enters my room.

The one who isn’t on the phone. The female one. You know: slender, brown, reddish hair in a bob-cut, with big boo—

Goddammit!

She is standing in the middle of the door, frozen, looking at me dripping sweat while wearing nothing more than a drenched vest and shorts that were already far too tight before my last growth spurt, holding my phone with my right hand and a big dumbbell with my left. And my sister is leaning on the doorframe, holding her belly, laughing her ass off.

“Zaimokuza? Everything all right, there?” asks the younger Sagami, blissfully unaware of the sheer wrongness of his query.

I think I won’t be writing that cyberpunk Journey to the West, after all. I seem to have developed a sudden yet profound distaste for the notion of karma.

***

So. Tea. An hospitable act, to offer a guest a cup of the hot beverage as a proper Japanese host should.

Said proper Japanese host isn’t usually caught in what amounts to wet underwear by the guest in question, though. The only bright side to this whole debacle is that it’s unlikely she had the time to process both my gargantuan, unveiled form, and the shelve full of mildlyinadequate anime figurines.

Slanderous curs would surely attribute lewd connotations to their presence in my room, ignoring all of the other reasons a healthy, young male would have to collect a varied assortment of busty women wearing scant clothing.

…

I really, really hope she didn’t catch sight of them.

Also, I must plan revenge on my sister. Perhaps I shall recruit Hachiman’s aid on the endeavor.

… No, Yoshiteru, don’t cross that line. Familial bonds demand a measure of restrain.

“Thank you,” Sagami mutters as I place a cup of green tea with a sprig of mint in front of her. She appears unwilling to fully lift her gaze from the hands that remain clutched In her lap.

I sympathize.

Wholeheartedly.

“Please, do excuse my sister. She has a… particular sense of humor. And propriety. And fashion. And direction. And anything to which the word ‘sense’ may even tangentially relate to.”

What is that weird noise?

Oh. Sagami is giggling.

…

What do I do now?!

“Yeah, sorry to intrude like that, I just…” She lifts her face, some mirth still leaking from her grey orbs. And she meets mine.

Uh, should I say something? She was in the middle of a line right there; surely it wouldn’t be chivalrous to interrupt a lady?

“What did I do wrong?” she finally asks, as she turns her eyes back toward the safety of her lap.

“Uh?” Once again, my superlative mastery of the spoken word is challenged.

Hachiman must never know.

“What did I do wrong? I… I know things didn’t start that well, but I thought.. we got to talking, and I thought it was nice. Interesting. That I could just talk with you without… without any of the bullshit,” she spits, her visage twisted in a disgusted grimace. “And then you suddenly snub me. And I wait for you at the school entrance this morning, and you somehow evade me.” What? I did no such thing, I just came early—not like that! “And then I go look for you at lunch, and you just, somehow, have a previous engagement.” Ah. Yes. That one’s actually on me. “So I wait for you at the entrance, and you just rush by as if you didn’t even see me…” Uh. Because I didn’t. I was a bit preoccupied at the time,though I would rather not explain how. “And even now, I come to your house and you, you—” She finally looks up again, and her eyes are fiery as she grasps the collar of the shirt I have so hastily thrown on and pulls me toward her. Is this— “Why won’t you worship me, you fucking NEET?!”

What.

Her cheeks are flushed, her breath ragged, and her hand slightly tremulous, but she doesn’t let go, neither of her grip nor of my eyes.

“Did you just—”

“It slipped out. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“It sure sounded like—”

“My brother is an otaku. I live with him. Osmosis.”

“You do realize Aqua-sama isn’t a character you should take as—”

“The line. Fit. Stop. Focusing. On. Dumb. Things.”

“I… am not quite sure I can, at the moment.”

“Gah!” she exclaims as she throws her hands up in disgust. Which kind of lets me breathe a bit more easily, so I am grateful (even though that’s the closest I have been to a girl who isn’t a family member since—not the time). “Typical chuuni bullshit! Here I am, trying to understand what happened, and you just, just—”

“You insulted my friend,” I let out before I can stop myself.

“What?” She looks at me. Eyes wide.

“I… enjoyed our conversation. A lot. But Hachiman is my friend. Has been for years. He was there when nobody else was.”

And that’s it. No embellishments. No half-measures. Just the truth.

How editorial.

“I… didn’t know.”

“And now you do.”

There’s a pause in the conversation, if what just went on can even be called that, and Sagami busies herself by taking a sip of the tea.

“It’s… This is very good. The fresh mint is a nice touch,” she says, once again refusing to meet my eyes.

“I am sorry.”

“For giving me good tea?” There’s some bewilderment there, and likely some offense.

“For snuffing you like that. It was mostly unintended. I didn’t see you this morning, and neither did I this afternoon.”

“… So, it was just yesterday and at lunch.”

I sigh and take my own cup. A thin slice of lemon and another of ginger, because I just exercised and I need all the help I can get with that.

“Yes. Yesterday I was… And today I panicked, which I guess you could easily tell.”

“… A bit. Why...” she swallows before throwing me a sidelong glance. “Why didn’t you say anything, yesterday? Before I dug myself deeper?”

“What? What could I have said?” I tilt my head in the non-verbal sign of inquisitiveness par excellence, and blink a couple of times in bafflement. Sagami looks at me as if she just discovered I hit my head as a child.

“That I was badmouthing your friend, and you wanted me to stop?”

“But that wouldn’t have changed how you felt?”

“Are you for real—Zaimokuza, I was venting. The guy gets on my nerves, and I am sure I get on his, it doesn’t mean—” and she interrupts herself.

“Doesn’t mean?” I ask leadingly, because this is genuinely intriguing to me. Somebody is explicitly telling me they didn’t mean what they said, and if someone could actually explain for once why people do this instead of—not the time. Not the time, Inner Hachiman.

“Doesn’t mean I hate him…” she answers, as if unwillingly, as if it hurts her pride to do so.

“Then why—”

“Because I resent him! Because he is able to throw away everything I try so hard to get, and he doesn’t even care! Because I am surrounded by fake friends, with fake smiles, with fake support, and I have to watch everything I say and to who I am saying it to while he just, he just—” And she buries her face in her hands, her back round, curled on herself, on the verge of something far too emotional if it was just about her feelings toward Hachiman.

I… Is this…?

Internet, don’t fail me now.

With extreme care, as if handling a calligraphy brush to draw the seal for the Ninth Demon Lord, I reach out and… pat Sagami’s head.

Her hair is soft, far more than it looks, and my palm effortlessly glides over it, going from the crown to the neck in a single, uninterrupted motion—

And she throws her arms around me.

… Is this some kind of illusion? Have I finally reached the point where my world-renowned imagination can no longer be contained by the meager confines of my flesh and is leaking over my surroundings? Am I fucking hallucinating an attractive girl hugging me because the alternative doesn’t make any fucking sense and oh God I am freaking out what do I do this is insane no one ever—

And she starts quietly sobbing.

Ah. A girl is crying after I have touched her. That makes far more sense.

Gently, I keep patting her soft hair, trying not to notice the subtle jasmine scent that wafts up to me while I circle her shoulders with my other arm.

“I am sorry I didn’t take a shower. I just toweled off my sweat.”

“Gods, don’t remind me,” Sagami mutters against my chest, her voice frail.

“I am also sorry you had to see… me. In that state. Siblings are a plague that no force of nature can contain.” My fingers run through and over her tresses. Short, yet not too short, a brocade of cinnabar cascading with each gesture.

“You are telling me. Shigeru is an insufferable little brat.”

“And my friend.”

“And my brother,” she lifts her head a bit, her eyes not quite as red as her cheeks. “See how that works? I can badmouth him without it meaning anything.”

“So you see Hachiman as a brother?” She frowns at that (cutely, I must say) and buries a finger into my side.

My yelp is as manly as a yelp can be, though I would rather not quantify that magnitude with any precision.

“Don’t push your luck, Yoshiteru; you already have gotten farther than any guy I’ve dated.” Her pout is a mix of scorn, bafflement, and indignation. It would look even better with cat ears.

Also, I am currently trying not to hyperventilate.

“D-dating?” I ask. Sagami seems to realize what she just said, because suddenly she’s on the other end of the couch, her arms raised as if warding away some great evil.

“Yesterday! We went on a date! Yesterday! You are a guy! A guy I have dated!”

“I-I know that, but you just called me Yoshiteru—”

“It was in the heat of the moment!”

“What heat, woman! You were about to bawl your eyes out on my chest!”

“That is the heat of the moment, and it is far too uncouth of you to point that out! A true gentleman would just act naturally and think nothing of it!”

“Wait, ‘uncouth?’ And yesterday you were so interested in my ramblings about magic systems… and you called me a ‘chuuni’ just now, after letting out that line—”

And suddenly Sagami’s face is once again far too close as she grabs my collar in a white-knuckled grip.

“Not. A. Word. To anyone.”

Scary! Crafty women who hide their actual origins and nature are scary!

… I feel like this is, somehow, no great revelation.

***

After a few more lines that clearly imply our association isn’t over and that I would better remain quiet as the grave if I don’t intend to go early to mine, Sagami leaves.

I am sitting on my bed, missing today’s episode of whatever it is I am supposed to be watching on a Monday evening, because I don’t even—

Precure. Yes. I am missing Precure.

Dammit.

Well, I will catch it later on stream, no need to watch it when the episode is already ten minutes in and—

I better silence my notifications. Plenty of spoilers to be had.

I reach for my phone to do just that when I notice I already have an unread message. Curiously, some may even dare to say recklessly, I open it, hoping it doesn’t contain a particularly revealing hint at whatever mysteries I have already missed.

It doesn’t.

Instead, it’s a photo of Sagami cradled against my side as my flustered self tries to console her with no inclination that I know what I am doing. At all. The picture, instead, seems to capture me flailing around rather than how I imagined my careful, smooth moves would have looked to an outside spectator.

An outside spectator who, in this case, seems to have taken the furtive photograph from the door to the corridor.

A spectator who has dedicated her stolen piece with a despicable line.

‘You 2 look so cute together <3 ヽ(´▽`)/ (`･ω･´) ( ˘ ³˘)♥’

Dammit, sister! What have I told you about those emojis!