From Sailor Moon Flash!
| Featuring: | Mushio, Daichi, Oki, Kenrou |
| IC Date: | April 2002 |
| Status: | Completed |
| Summary: | Mokushi Oki has to put up with a lot -- like the amateur psychoanalyses of classmate Takawa Daichi and the persistent belief of classmate Maroe Mushio that his familial connections make him her equal. |
Group projects were originally thought up to be a torture device; Daichi was sure of that. What other explanation could there be for lumping in three random classmates to work on one assignment together? While Daichi supported the teamwork ideal, there was little doubt that in a great many cases, teamwork was not likely to be a possibility.
Teaming up Mokushi Oki with anyone made up a large number of these cases.
Daichi didn't have anything against the girl. He very rarely had something against anyone; most people would testify to that fact. It was simply that he was fairly sure he knew how this project was going to go, and he was not looking forward to it.
They'd agreed to meet at Maroe's house to discuss the project and begin on it, and Mokushi-san had insisted they all be ready promptly at four o'clock.
It was twenty past when Daichi rang the doorbell.
He tried to hide the feelings of dread with a cheerful smile as his classmate opened the door. "Mushio-kun! I don't suppose that Oki-chan is running late and I'm off the hook?" The door opened a little wider, but Daichi didn't let his smile falter as he saw his other classmate standing behind, looking more than a little aggrieved. "Ah, Oki-chan.. So nice to see you... Sorry about being late, but you know how the family get sometimes, right?" He stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and unhooking his backpack from his shoulder.
Change of subject, and fast. "So, who was paying attention in class and can tell me what this is all about?"
"Haven't you been listening to Watanabe-sensei, Takawa-san?" A faint, chilly emphasis lay upon the honorific -- there would BE none of this silly "familiarity" nonsense, thank you. Mokushi Oki folded her arms with military precision, radiating displeasure. "We've been studying the Heian period for, oh, two weeks now, I believe? He was very clear in the instructions when he gave them two days ago."
Her eyes narrowed, almost imperceptivity. "Did you at least bring what I asked you to, Takawa-san?" Obvious expected answer: no I didn't, Mokushi-san, I humbly beg your apology a thousand times over and will go out into the streets to publicly flagellate myself for failing you. Rather pointedly, the girl glanced in Daichi's backpack.
Daichi was aware of what they were studying. He was even aware that they'd been given instructions. However, since his brain knew the due date was a significant time away, it had not decided to fitfully pull forward the information to let him scramble hectically to get the work done.
The teen raised an eyebrow as his classmate looked into his bag. For someone who was so concerned about the proprieties of names, she didn't seem to care too much about privacy. "I brought my books, some notebooks, and pens... Did you expect much more of me?" He smiled cheerfully.
"Being on time would have been nice." How she managed to sound disinterested and sour at the same time was a mystery. Probably it was from being fouled, for no cutting remarks about forgotten posterboard or markers came forth.
Oki uncrossed her arms, instead clasping her hands behind her back. "Well, Maroe-san? Shall we get on with this? Some of us", another faint, icy emphasis, "have other things to do tonight."
Mushio glanced at her, halfway grateful that at least there was one of them willing to keep up the right distances. He was still not quite sure that he'd actually heard Takawa address him as Mushio-kun. He shuddered. He couldn't ever hear that form of address without immediately getting hives of Uncle-Kenrou-antipathy.
"Fine," he said curtly, and opened the door into the front living room. He'd suggested his house as an ideal meeting place as much because -- as far as he knew -- his fridge was the only place in all of Kourakuen where he could be sure of finding his secret vice of imported Dr Pepper as for the undeniable fact that his street cred couldn't afford being seen in public with either of these two. Takawa was fairly cool, as far as it went - although Mushio had never really been able to figure out why - but he was a jock and Mushio did not do the basketball scene. Mokushi was probably hopelessly uncool and not even being entertainingly and nastily witty could save her, but she was probably going to ensure that their project would pass --
He paused. That is, if he could keep Takawa from pissing her off so much that she wrote off the whole thing. He'd never noticed Mokushi to care much about grades anyway and she might very well be willing to let their project sink if either he or Takawa did anything to annoy her.
Oh, hell. "Do either of you want anything to eat, before we start?" He said, trying to think of what to do to keep Takawa's mouth shut before he could spout off another "Oki-chan". Maybe if his mouth was full of potato chips or something...
Daichi just smiled at his classmate. "Thanks, but no. Mom has an hour-long fit if any of us don't eat enough at dinner." The smile transformed into a slight grin as he glanced back over at Mokushi. "Besides, I think Oki-chan wouldn't appreciate the distraction. What are these plans you have for tonight? Anything fun?" he continued in his usual friendly voice. He was sure if he just kept acting friendly, the two would loosen up and be a little more open. After all, it almost always worked.
"No, but thank you, Mushio-san. I've already eaten." The girl shifted her hands again, slightly. One knuckle cracked, then another. She gave Daichi a 10-point etiquette-perfect smile. "Three contracts that need to be . . . taken care of by midnight. I shall need to leave by 7:30." Another knuckle cracked. "You know how it is. One's schedule never stops being hectic." Oki turned towards Mushio, face shifting back into expressionless business. "WELL, let us get this underway, shall we?"
There was a three second pause, where the sound of the clock in the hallway was deafening, and two pairs of eyes just stared at the girl. Daichi's expression had frozen, disbelief dancing in his eyes. He knew a high school girl could not be a hitman... Hitwoman. And he just couldn't believe that Mokushi Oki would want people to have that impression of her.
All right, he could believe it. He simply didn't want to.
He shook his head slightly, clearing the expression as he chuckled slightly. "All right, Oki-chan. You don't have to tell us your plans." He glanced back over at Mushio, smiling again. "Yes, let's get to work."
"Er. Right," Mushio said, still staring at Mokushi, who was still knotting her hands together in a purposeful way.
On the one hand, he'd heard somewhere that she had an after school job as a barista at the Starbucks by Chuo, and yakuza assassins didn't have part-time jobs at Starbucks. On the other hand, a yakuza assassin would be counting on exactly that kind of logic.
He shook his head. No, couldn't be. That made about as much real sense as Uncle Kenrou being the yakuza mikado. ... ... which would actually explain a lot of things -- No, he wasn't going to think about that, and Mokushi ... just couldn't be a yakuza assassin. Except that she could.
Oh hell, now he was going to be thinking about it every time he looked at Mokushi. Strangely enough it didn't make her any more scary.
"We're already in here, Takawa," Mushio said, and pointed into the front living room, free for once of his mother and sister. "We'd already set up. When we were here on time. Mokushi-san, did you already decide what parts you want to research?"
Apparently unconscious of the consternation she was causing, Oki cracked the last of her knuckles. "Well, our focus is supposed to be the differences between the Heian period and the Kamakura period. I'd prefer to research the gender distinctions, myself. It's pleasant to think of women having so many rights and privileges, don't you think?"
Daichi ignored the rather irritated tone in which Mushio had spoken to him, focusing instead on Oki's comments. "Of course," he agreed amiably, following them into the living room. "I think it's a shame that so many generations of women were denied rights simply because generally men are stronger physically." He smiled at Oki as he took a seat, pulling out his book. "Mushio-kun, is there anything in particular you'd be interested in researching?" he asked as he opened his book. "If you don't mind, I think I'll focus on the general morale and psychological differences between the two eras, but I could easily switch to something else if you'd prefer that."
Mushio stole another glance at Mokushi. It was really stupid, but now he couldn't shake the idea that every movement of hers was her going for a knife in her boot or in the spine of her textbook. The feeling got even stronger every time Takawa said "Oki-chan".
"Hmm?" he answered Takawa. "No, actually, uh, ... I think I'll take cultural differences. Art and poetry and that whole thing." Technically this wasn't cheating; he was sure that sitting down and listening to Uncle Kenrou the almost-art-history-major talk about Kamakura versus Heian was almost worse than actually going to the trouble of finding the library books about it.
He realized that Takawa actually sounded interested in his choice of topic. Well, good. If everyone was interested, that was less chance of goofing off and screwing up their chance at a good grade, and his parents would kill him for shaming the Maroe and Amakusa names if he didn't do well in this class.
Well, maybe he wouldn't have to worry about Takawa. Maybe.
"So that's both of us done," Mushio said, writing this down on a piece of paper. "Aaaaand Mokushi-san wants the gender distinctions. So, how do we get started?"
Daichi jotted down a small note on his notebook, glancing back up at Mushio. "Well, the first section will just be independent research I'd say. We'll set a deadline and get together to show what we have so far and see how we're going to organize everything together."
The teenager stuck his pen back behind his ear as he pulled open his backpack, grabbing a small notebook. "We should probably exchange numbers, though, in case something comes up or someone has an idea before the next time we get together." He glanced up at the pair as he flipped open the smaller notebook, grabbing the pen again. "Unless Oki-chan has a better idea for how to progress, of course," he added at the end.
The look the gray-haired girl shot him had a distinct hint of polite loathing. Which was, really, nothing new. "That sounds fine, Takawa-san." Without pausing to ask permission, she reached over and delicately removed the pen from his hand, jotting her number down on the sheet. It was, really, rather impressive -- neat legible numbers written from a sharp sideway angle. She returned the pen without comment.
"I would suggest next week Wednesday, after school? I don't believe I have any afterschool work that day."
Mushio tried to think. Wednesday. He brightened. "That works for me. Takawa, here, take this down." He rattled off his cell phone number and hoped devoutly that neither of them would actually call at a time when he was around people with important opinions. "Is here good for everyone? At three, after classes, so we have time to get here but still have the evening free?"
Please don't let either one suggest meeting in public, he prayed. Please no. Please no.
"I'll need to bump it to three-thirty," Daichi commented, as he jotted down Mushio's number. "I need to at least make an appearance at practice, but I can slip out easily enough for a class project." While he was far from being the most valuable player, Daichi was always at practice unless he had a good reason, and he worked very well with the others. Which was something the 'star' players could almost never boast of. "And here's fine by me." While it was most definitely out of the way from home for him, Daichi was never the most eager to head home, anyway. A little delayed time was fine by him.
"You two can always meet at three, and I'll join up as soon as I slip out of practice," Daichi said with a smile. "Till Wednesday."
There were many things Mokushi Oki enjoyed doing with her afternoons. Bullying customers, for one; ignoring her homework, for another. (She also enjoyed playing with her dog, but was less likely to list it as a hobby. It lacked a certain style.)
One thing she certainly did NOT enjoy doing, however, was groupwork. Especially groupwork with that idiot Maroe Ðwhom she suspected half BELIEVED she was an errand girl, having apparently traded a sense of humor for a rare and impressive amount of snoot Ðand that damned idiot Takawa, the very thought of whom made her head hurt, like an chan-saying sentient pile of ragweed, determined to give her allergies.
It was, she reflected, quite difficult to be her, sometimes.
Sighing under her breath, the girl reached up to knock on the Maroe door. Probably she could convince him she was a Russian spy or a secret drug runner or Ðheh Ðone of those idiotically clad anime girls running around in mini-skirts, this time around.
Mushio had been waiting by the front door all afternoon, ever since he had gotten home. It wasn't that he was necessarily anxious to begin his project work - even though he was actually hoping for a good grade on the project, for once - but more that he was slightly nervous about having neighbors actually catch sight of Mokushi or Takawa coming to his house.
People might actually think he voluntarily spent time with them. His street cred would be gone beyond hope of retrieval.
That being the case, he yanked open the door before Mokushi could knock, and almost pulled her inside before he reconsidered the wisdom of actually touching her. She'd probably break his wrist with some yakuza trick or weird government operative training - not that she was anything more than a schoolgirl, of course. Not that he believed any of that.
"Hi," he said, standing aside to let her in. He looked behind her, at the empty street, and sighed. "Is Takawa actually going to be on time?"
He was not going to be late. Daichi was sure of that one fact. He had two minutes and thirty-seven seconds, according to his watch, and he wouldn't be late. If he ever wanted to get on Mushio and Oki's good sides, he'd have to be there on time.
The young athlete vaulted a fence, bag and jacket flying behind him as he cut through someone's yard, yelling an apology to the old women working on her gardening as he flew past. One more street over, and that would be Mushio's. He ran along beside a hedge and burst out onto the sidewalk. A few seconds enabled him to get his bearings, and he turned the right direction, pounding up to the doorstep, a cheerful grin on his face.
"I made it!" he announced happily, bounding in to join Mushio and Oki in the foyer. "Practice ran a little late, so I had to make a detour," he explained when he noticed how the two were looking at him. "Are we all ready?" He slipped off his shoes and headed into the same area as last time, unzipping his backpack while he waited for the two to join him.
"Yes," said Oki, in the same tones she might have responded to a question like "Are you ready to begin the torture?" or "Do you loathe Takawa Daichi?" She slipped off her own shoes and removed her hat, following Daichi into the room.
Calmly ignoring the others, the girl took a seat at the first available location, then reached into her bag and removed a folder. A little tag on the uppermost right corner labeled it as being for 'Completely unnecessary and ridiculous project', in neat characters that were quite deliberately large enough that anyone could read them. Mokushi Oki was not a fan of subtlety when it came to conveying how little she enjoyed group work.
"I've done all the research I need to. I assume both of you have completed the necessary work as well?"
Mushio stopped glaring at Mokushi's folder, and looked instead up at her. He shrugged, and leaned forward to tap his own notebook lying on the table.
"Got it all right here," he said. He wished he'd thought to label his folder as ... flamboyantly uncaring as Mokushi had, but he had to admit that when it came to aggressively forthright disdain, he was nowhere near Mokushi's class.
He glanced at Takawa and prayed that the jock had done his work. "What'd you do, again? Social dynamics or something?"
"Yeah," Daichi agreed with Mushio's statement, as he opened his backpack and began rifling through it. Unfortunately, Daichi was a very typical guy, and his bag was a complete mess. The silence was becoming deafening as he took out several loose, crumpled papers, filled with notes, and began rifling through a number more.
"I seem to be missing page two," he began conversationally, as he flipped through the papers crinkling in the silence. Oki and Mushio did not seem to be very impressed with his organizational skills; Mushio was looking rather impatient, and Oki... Well, Oki had too many different expressions for utterly annoyed to begin with; how was he supposed to keep track of which particular one this was?
He finally extracted the last two pages from the mess in his backpack, setting it aside and trying to smooth out the crumpled pages full of messy handwriting in pencil. "There we go," he pronounced with a smile, looking between the pair of them. It'd be too much to hope for a smile back, he supposed.
Yes, yes it was. Oki eyed the crumpled pieces of paper much as one might eye unattended dog droppings on the side of the road, or a rat scurrying in the corner of the room, though admittedly the 'disgusted loathing' look of Mokushi Oki was only a few degrees away from "bored loathing" and, for that matter, 'sincere joy'.
She paused a moment, then rather pointedly placed her immaculate folder besides the crumpled pages. "Let's get on with this. I suppose it's too much to hope that you --"
The doorbell rang.
Mokushi Oki visibly twitched, whipping her head around towards the direction of the sound, and then turning slowly to pin Mushio with an icy glare. She had been just about to deliver a line so sarcastic it could have cut teak, and his impudent doorbell had ruined it. "I imagine," the girl said, tone faintly ominous, "that you had better get that."
For the briefest of seconds, Maroe Mushio felt the ineffable urge to duck behind Takawa and be protected by the other boy from Mokushi's cold stare.
And then he got ahold of himself, because it was absolutely asinine to seek protection from Takawa, about Mokushi. This groupwork was really frying his brain.
He considered saying something snappy to Mokushi, but in the end settled for getting up and starting towards the front door. He couldn't imagine who it would be - all of Mom's friends would be out at this hour, and neesan's stupid fiance called before he came to pick neesan up. None of his friends would be gauche enough to come to his house, so that left -
The door opened before Mushio could get to it, and then his life came to an end, or at least it may as well have, because his stupid stupid STUPID uncle was smiling at him. "Arrrrgh," he said indistinctly, in instinctive Uncle-Kenrou-loathing, and hoped that neither Takawa nor Mokushi had heard.
"Mushio-kun is kind to think of opening the door," Uncle Kenrou murmured, and brushed past him. He twitched. Stupid Uncle Kenrou always assumed that every house involved with Amakusa-ke was glad to see him. It was a wonder that Uncle Kenrou had even used the doorbell.
And then Mushio realized that it had been a positive picnic, just answering the door, because Uncle Kenrou had seen the open door into the living room, and was looking through it, stupid smile firmly in place. "Ah, Miss Mokushi, the barista of the end of the world."
That was it. His life was over. He caught Takawa's glance and sent a wordless plea for Takawa please not to notice this horrible intrusion.
Daichi greeted the older man entering Mushio's house with his usual friendly smile, staying seated for now. Though he did wonder somewhat at the man's choice of clothing. Was that... purple? He wore it far too well for it to really be purple, but that was the color it was. Unless it was periwinkle... But no, it was definitely purple. Daichi made a mental note of that, wondering if there was something in one of his psychology books about people who wore unusual colors, but were extremely confident in them.
Another matter caught his attention, though. He glanced over at Oki, a slight grin spreading onto his face. "Barista? You work at a coffee shop? Awesome! Do you get discounts?" he asked, clearly enthusiastic, despite the fact that students weren't exactly encouraged to work.
Daichi, quite obviously, hadn't understood Mushio's pleading look in the slightest.
Though it could never have been proven in a court of law, for a brief second Oki actually looked startled. Mildly, slightly, almost invisibly, but startled nonetheless. And who could blame her? Caught unexpectedly on enemy territory without so much as a half-full cup of lukewarm cappuccino for artillery - it was embarrassing.
She composed herself, pasting a graciously disinterested smile on her face which, unbeknownst to her (not that she cared) would have won accolades from the court ladies of the Heian.
The ones with a taste for inspiring frostbite-themed poetry, anyway. They would have loved her.
"No, Takawa-san. O-kyakka-san here is merely in the habit of calling strangers by service personnel titles." (A play on words: 'o-kyaku-san', 'Mr. Customer', slurred into 'kyakka', 'dismissed', 'Mr. Please Leave the Premises Or Be Escorted Off'. Oki could pun. Who knew?) A pause, and then the young woman thought better of trusting Daichi to recognize sarcasm and continued, "Yes, I work at a coffee shop." Unspoken, but clear, was "You are not allowed to visit."
While Daichi was occasionally somewhat oblivious about people, at least when they were trying to thwart his efforts at friendship, he wasn't stupid. He did, however, give Oki a slightly crestfallen look for the unspoken admonishment not to try to visit her at work.
Instead, he focused on Mushio and the man who'd come in, whom Mushio was still gaping at. It would be rude to introduce himself to someone, he supposed, but it didn't seem that Mushio was going to do it. Daichi settled for reaching to poke his classmate with the corner of his notebook instead in reminder, since outright mentioning the lack of introductions would also have been rude.
Kenrou surveyed the scene calmly. Obviously he had happened upon his nephew in the midst of homework. He was pleased that Mushio-kun seemed to be taking his schoolwork and the honor of Amakusa-ke seriously; he was sufficiently pleased that he forgave Mushio-kun the inability to judge the proprieties of introduction. He could even concede the difficulty of the decision; on the one hand, Kenrou was clearly the eldest and most societally highly-pleased, thereby meriting introduction from Mushio-kun's two young friends, but yet, on the other hand, guests must always be accorded deepest honor.
He noted that Mushio-kun's young friend with the blue-black hair was trying to save face for Mushio-kun, protecting his giri. How kind. Kenrou smiled, and gave the young man a precise half-bow. "Our apologies for disturbing your study," he said, including Mokushi-kun the recalcitrant young lady. "I am Amakusa Kenrou, Mushio-kun's mother's brother. Thank you for being so gracious as to study with this son of Our house; I consider it a kindness." Mushio-kun stiffened slightly, possibly in sincere and fervent desire to be worthy of two friends so close as to visit him in his home.
Or, as someone less gracious than the August Kenrou might have considered, out of sincere and fervent desire that the ground would open and swallow Uncle Kenrou, his stupid deep purple suit, and his stupid stupid STUPID horrible perfect manners - whoever heard of being polite to MOKUSHI? - whole.
Daichi could not help but wonder how long it took someone to learn to speak like that, and if the man actually thought that way, or if it was something he strove for. Daichi had to vote for naturally thinking that way; absolutely no one could pull that off without sounding awkward unless he really, truly believed it. Daichi knew he could never ever ever in a million years sound that polite and formal, so he didn't even try. He'd counter it with his own natural friendliness.
"Hello there, Amakusa-san," he greeted easily, giving him a friendly smile. Mushio still did not seem inclined to introduce Oki and himself, a fact that Daichi would be inclined to analyze at a later date, once time permitted. Introductions were of greater importance at the moment. "I'm Takawa Daichi..." He hazarded a glance over at Oki, and found that she was still staring rather stonily at the purple-suited man, so he figured he'd manage the introduction for her, too. "And this is Mokushi Oki." Had the temperature suddenly dropped? Daichi weathered on, still smiling cheerfully. "We're working on a project with Mushio-kun on the differences between the Heian and Kamakura periods." He was probably providing more information than Amakusa Kenrou needed or wanted to know, but he had to do something to fill the silence his two classmates were leaving.
Oki waited juuuuust long enough after Daichi finished speaking for the atmosphere in the room to turn uncomfortable Ðwell, more uncomfortable, it wasn't exactly Happy Home of Cheer and Joviality to begin with. Finally, after glancing down at her schoolwork Ðthis stupid rassemfrassem project wasn't going to complete itself, especially with some freak dressed like Prince's lamer twin brother hovering around being an aggravationÐshe said, in the mildest of voices, "I'm pleased to learn your name," a beat, "O-kyakka-san." Schooling her features into an air of pleasant dismissal, the girl promptly ignored him.
Turning her attention to her classmates, the girl queried, in tones of benevolent evil, "I hate to be rude, Mushio-kun, Taichi-kun Ð yeah, sure, Oki, whatevah, tell us another one "- but I'm under a bit of pressure, timing-wise. May I see your folders so I can see how much work we have left to do . . . ?" Note the automatic assumption that she shall be the one determining the comparative quality of the others' work. Not like Daichi could be trusted, and as for Mushio, yeah, whatever, your uncle wears purple, there's obviously something freakish in the genepool.
Kenrou shook his head very slightly. "Mushio-kun's young lady is very brisk," he remarked indulgently. It was a tone that carried with it headpats and wowwipops for good little girls who would, no doubt, be the epitome of courtesy, tact, and gracious behavior when they grew up, some day obviously far in the future.
For some reason his nephew saw fit to grace this pronouncement with a curiously strangled squeak of despair. Kenrou regarded him benignly. It was entirely possible that one day Mushio, too, would grow up.
He turned to the one person who had behaved with an adult's tact and good manners, and gave a shallow bow. "It was entirely a pleasure meeting Takawa Daichi-san. Please study well."
Confident that the schoolchildren would do precisely that, like good Japanese, Kenrou turned and let himself out of the living room to let them get to their schoolwork.
Daichi managed not to choke at Mushio's uncle referring to Oki as Mushio-kun's young lady and instead only smiled in return, hoping that Oki would restrain herself until the adult left the room.
He tried to remember what Oki had asked to see, right after being unmentionably, but accidentally, he was sure, rude to their classmate's uncle. Oh, right, his research. He paused in reaching for it as Amakusa Kenrou turned back to him, and he returned the shallow bow by bowing his head in return. "Of course," he returned, and somewhat remembering the manners his mother had tried so hard to drill into him, he continued, "it would be an honor to meet you again."
Funny how once Mushio's uncle had left the room, the tension lifted only slightly. Daichi pulled a grin onto his face as he handed Oki his folder and casually pulled her research notes towards him, flipping through them as though this was precisely what they'd all planned on doing. "So, Mushio-kun," he began, idle conversation being Daichi's speciality, "does your family often visit?"
For a long beat, Oki remained staring at the living room entrance. Her face was as composed and motionless as a statue Ðexcept, no, there was a slight twitch by one eye. The kind of tic one might get, for example, when suppressing deepest utter apocalyptic rage.
Finally, she took a long, slow breath, and said, in a voice as sweet as hardtack, "I would just like to establish," a beat, "that the phrase 'Mushio-kun's young lady' will never be spoken again." The tiny little smile on her face was almost pleasant; no doubt she was already planning her revenge.
Calmly dismissing thoughts of Kenrou's existence from her mind, Oki glanced down at the folder in her hands, flicking dismissively through its contents. "Acceptable, Takawa-san. Maroe-san, may I see yours as well?"
Mushio had been pretty sure, for the past five minutes, that he was going to die at any second - if not from sheer humilation at having people discover that he was related to Uncle Kenrou, certainly from Mokushi killing him in outrage at Uncle Kenrou's ... ... ... calling it a 'joke' would be too kind. Maybe Uncle Kenrou had been wanting to get him killed.
And then Takawa had had to REFERENCE said Uncle Kenrou! "No," Mushio said tersely. "No, Takawa, my family only ever drops in when there are people present to be rightfully horrified."
When Mokushi made her decree that all was to be forgotten, and then her demand for Mushio's research, he could have wept with gratitude. Now if only everyone else who'd ever met his stupid uncle would forget him too...
He passed over his folder, mutely, and counted the seconds until he could go upstairs to his room and drop-kick his pillow into his wall a few times until he felt better, as was his usual practice whenever Uncle Kenrou did anything particularly horrible.
"I think you're being a little harsh on your uncle there," Daichi told his classmate with a laugh, giving him a smile. He understood embarassing relatives; anyone who'd ever met Akio knew that. "But let's get back to work on our project," he suggested easily, as the glares of two people came converging on him at once. Amakusa Kenrou seemed to only have one supporter in that room, and in the best interest of completing this project without needless bloodshed, he'd keep his opinions to himself. He'd actually rather liked Mushio's uncle, though his critics and supporters alike would be quick to point out that there were few people Daichi didn't like, at least at first.
Oki still felt she had to give him a disdainful look, likely for suggesting that they do what they'd actually met to work on. The rest of the meeting subsided into classwork, with all of Daichi's attempts at friendly conversation shot down by one side or another.
When their results came out, several weeks later, reactions were varied. Oki seemed to accept their 'A' as a simple matter of course, Daichi was cheerfully enthusiastic about their teamwork, and Mushio simply seemed relieved, though whether by the grade or the fact that he didn't have to associate with either Takawa Daichi or Mokushi Oki was up for debate. The fact that the association was at a firm end wasn't something that two of the group thought needed to be debated.
Unfortunately for them both, the third member was Daichi. And everyone knew that successfully working together was just a precursor to friendship. Wasn't it?
