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❃𝓘 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓫𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓯𝓪𝓫𝓾𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓼,
𝓘𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓽𝓸 𝓪𝓼𝓴?❃

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Akira pondered Huan's question, his gaze drifted, distant and unfocused. "I'm not entirely sure," he replied, though the words felt like a hollow lie. In truth, he knew exactly what the eye in his clan's symbol represented. It was a remnant from a time long past, a gift bestowed upon his ancestors by a mighty kitsune—a giant fox demon they once worshipped in their cult during the end of the Sengoku era.

The story had always amused him in a dark, sardonic way. As his grandfather had told it, the kitsune, pleased by the devotion and human sacrifices offered by the clan, decided to grant their lineage a powerful gift: a set of extraordinary eye abilities, called Tamina-me. But, of course, with every blessing came a curse. Future generations of the clan would be plagued by poor eyesight as a side effect, he was lucky enough to not be effected but a lot of his other family members do wear glasses. On the other hand the power did turn their eyes grey which became signature aspect of his family. And to seal the pact, the kitsune left behind a host of fox spirit servants to watch over them.

It was a grotesque tale, steeped in blood and mysticism, and Akira had always found it difficult to take seriously. He imagined the kitsune's parting words to be less dignified: 'Hey, thanks for the worship and sacrifices! Enjoy the super eye powers, but be prepared for some bad eyesight! Oh, and here are some fox spirits to keep you company. I'm out—bye~bye~!'

Of course, the truth was more complex than that, and explaining the intricacies of how the eyes worked would have been exhausting. So Akira chose the easy way out, shaking his head. "I'm not sure about that either. It's one of those things passed down through generations, but no one really talks about the meaning anymore. It's just... tradition, I suppose." He deliberately omitted the truth, not out of malice, but because his social battery was running low.

At least Huan seemed amused, a light laugh escaping his lips, a sound that was almost intoxicating to Akira. There was something about Huan's laughter that felt like a rush of sugar, sweet and slightly addictive, as if it could lift the spirits of anyone who heard it.

"It's fascinating," Huan said, his voice genuinely intrigued. "Maybe one day, you'll figure it out."

"Maybe," Akira agreed, though his tone was dismissive, because he already knew the answers. "For now, I just want to focus on what I can do, not why I can do it."

Their conversation was interrupted by the chime of notifications on their phones. Akira glanced at his screen and saw a message from the SSE administration—a survey on what subjects they would like to study.

"Looks like it's time to pick our classes," Huan remarked, as he typed on his phone.

Akira nodded, already knowing what most of his selections would be. His family had predetermined his path long before he'd set foot on campus. As he opened the survey, the choices were already laid out before him: History of Martial Arts, Leadership Learning, Cultural Arts, Language Skills, and Basic Medicine and Medical Skills. These were the subjects expected of him, designed to mold him into the perfect successor of his clan. There was no room for deviation, no space for personal choice.

Huan, on the other hand, seemed to take more time considering his options. "Let's see... Robotics and Mechanics," he began, tapping his selections on the screen. "Cultural Arts... Basic Medicine and Medical Skills... History of Martial Arts... and Aerodynamics."

Akira watched him for a moment, curious about Huan's choices. "Cultural Arts?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Did you pick that one for yourself?"

Huan nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, he almost seemed embarrassed. "Yeah. I thought it would be a nice break from all the tech-heavy stuff."

Akira couldn't help but respect that. Huan's choices seemed to reflect a balance between his natural inclinations and his desire to explore new areas. It was a freedom Akira didn't have, but he found himself admiring Huan for it.

"I've got Cultural Arts too," Akira said, though he didn't mention that it was more of an obligation than a choice. "Maybe we'll end up in the same class."

"Maybe," Huan replied, his smile growing. "It'd be nice to have a familiar face there."

Akira couldn't help but let his gaze linger on Huan as they talked. He had something intriguing about him. It wasn't just that Huan was good at what he did—even though he was definitely capable. The man's battle prowess was stunning; his accuracy and ready wit distinguished him from the crowd of others who were involved in combat, it was almost like he trained as a child. But there was something else.

Huan was... beautiful. Akira found himself almost startled by the thought, but it was undeniably there, like the French men. The way Huan's smile lit up his face, how his eyes seemed to sparkle when he was genuinely interested in something—it was a kind of beauty that was both gentle and comforting. Huan was naturaly graceful, a warmth that seemed to draw people in. Even in the short time they had known each other, Akira could see how easily Huan connected with others. He was friendly, kind, and approachable.

But what stood out most to Akira was that Huan actually seemed interested in holding a conversation with him. It was a rare thing for Akira, and he found it oddly comforting. Most people in his life, even within his own family, treated him with a kind of distant respect. The disciples his age, those who were supposed to be trained alongside him in the clan, never seemed to share any of his interests. Not like he would know, he never even tried to talk to them.

In truth, most of them avoided him altogether. Akira had grown used to the isolation, the whispers behind his back, the way people would subtly steer clear of him. It wasn't always like that, though. There was a time when he had been close to someone, Muichiro, who had been his first and only true friend. But then, Muichiro had died, murdered by an Oni.

Akira had overheard one of the clan elder disciples speaking in hushed tones, spreading a cruel rumor that Akira was cursed. The elder had suggested that being close to Akira would only lead to misfortune, maybe even death. It was a vile, baseless accusation, but it had taken root in the minds of the younger disciples. They began to distance themselves from him, fear and superstition driving them away.

Even though the rumor had been swiftly shut down by his grandfather, who had punished the elder for speaking out of turn, the damage was already done. Akira was only eleven years old at the time, grieving the loss of his friend, and now he was being treated as though he was some sort of harbinger of doom. The memory of that time still lingered, a dark shadow that occasionally resurfaced in his mind.

The idea that people believed he was cursed—that he could cause harm just by being close to someone—had planted a deep hole in his heart. It was a loneliness that he carried with him, even now.

So, when Huan sat across from him, engaging in conversation, showing genuine interest in what he had to say, it felt... different. Akira wasn't used to it, wasn't expecting Huan to continue and here him out. But he found himself relieved, feeling more at ease than he had in a long time. For once, he wasn't just the clan heir, or the prodigious warrior—he was simply Akira, talking to someone who seemed to see him for who he really was.

The more they talked, the more Akira realized how much he enjoyed Huan's company. Huan's friendly demeanor, his willingness to listen and share, made Akira feel appreciated, perhaps even valued in a way he hadn't felt before. Huan didn't treat him like a fragile relic or a cursed object; he treated him like a person, an equal, someone worth getting to know. And that, more than anything, made Akira want to keep the conversation going.

Until he remembered he really needed to go to the shower. It's been a long day at the examination and he had been sweating, not mention he had to wash his long hair from all the grim and dust it had most likely collected. Though disappointed he got up, "I need to head to the shower...before we get dinner..." He said.

"Oh sure, see you in a bit then," Huan replied.

Akira gathered his fresh clothes and towel, heading toward the shower. As much as he enjoyed talking to Huan, he knew he needed to wash off the exhaustion of the day.

Back home, Akira preferred long, luxurious bubble baths, complete with bath bombs that filled the room with fragrant scents. He would soak for hours, letting the stress melt away as he indulged in his favorite manga series—particularly those with romantic plots that he could lose himself in. It was one of the few times he allowed himself to fully relax, away from the pressures and expectations that constantly weighed on him. But here at the SSE, there was no such luxury. The showers were functional and utilitarian.

As he let the hot water cascade over him, Akira thought about what life might be like if he were just a normal civilian. What if he didn't have to train relentlessly, didn't have to learn how to fight demonic creatures just to uphold his family's honor? What if he could live without the weight of those expectations pressing down on him?

His thoughts drifted to his hair as he worked the shampoo into his scalp, thinking about how different his life might be if he didn't have to keep it long out of tradition. What if he could cut it short, wear it in a way that felt more comfortable, more like himself? But then again, he loved his long hair—the way it felt, the way it moved. He just wished he had the freedom to style it how he wanted.

Why couldn't he wear his hair up, adorned with pins and accessories, and still be considered a man? He wanted to express himself freely, to be both pretty and strong, without feeling confined by traditional gender roles. But here he was, in a place where those desires felt out of reach, where he had to keep parts of himself hidden.

The desire only grew stronger because he couldn't express it. If he were allowed, maybe he wouldn't feel this urge so intensely. But because he was surrounded by expectations, the need to break free, to be seen as he truly was, became almost unbearable. Akira sighed, letting the water wash over him, wishing for a world where he could be both the warrior his family expected and the person he longed to be.

I wanna be strong and fabulous...is it to much to ask?

After Akira stepped out of the bathroom, he felt refreshed, his long hair now clean and neatly tied back. He spotted Huan sitting on his bed, focused on his laptop. The soft glow of the screen highlighted Huan's features, and when Huan noticed him, he looked up with a smile.

"Hey," Huan greeted him warmly. "Ready to grab dinner together?"

"Yeah," he agreed, a hint of a smile on his lips as he moved to put away his things.

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Poor Akira :(