"Shin-chaaaan!"
Damn it! She knows how much I hate that kind of familiarity. In private or at home I had already stopped paying attention to it, but out on the street, in front of other people, that sort of address really got on my nerves. Still, I couldn't show how much I disliked it—that would only egg her on—but I shouldn't ignore it either, or she might get used to it. So, putting a mildly displeased expression on my face, I turned around.
"Ah, Koyama-san, hi. Long time no see."
"What, shrimp, have you gone nuts? Already forgot who woke you up this morning and drove you out of the house to school?"
"Ahhh, so that's who was flickering in front of my eyes all morning. Sorry, didn't notice."
Wham. The professional blow to the liver wasn't exactly painful, but it was rather unpleasant. Which wasn't surprising. After all, Koyama Shina knew very well how to both attack and defend.
"That was so you'd wake up at last, in case you fail to notice something important again."
Yeah… And the rotten thing was that you could never guess whether she'd hit you or ignore you. In short, a child, damn it, of the female variety. All right, Max, calm down, just calm down. She's only a child, a seventeen-year-old girl who has been studying martial arts practically since birth. And in this world, which always was and remains the domain of men, no one had ever even heard of such a thing as feminism. Even though at first glance it might seem otherwise, a woman here is practically the property of a family, a lineage, a clan. And no matter how Shina behaved or what she thought, going against the will of her father or grandfather was unthinkable for her. And that was the case everywhere. There were exceptions, but they usually belonged to families where the men were complete weaklings. Though that made no difference to me.
Oh, right, I should probably introduce myself. My name is Max, Maksim Rudov, and I am that very fairy-tale transmigrant.
"Well, why are you all hunched over? Come on, or we'll be late because of you."
"Because of me, damn it! Incredible…" I muttered.
"I didn't quite catch that. What was that you mumbled?"
"I said: as you wish, great lady."
"That's more like it, if only you were always like that!" And, straightening her back, she floated ahead with the proud gait of an aristocrat.
I should probably mention that today is the sixth of April, which means the beginning of a new school year, and accordingly I am going to school. To the first year of Dakishuro High School.
Tall fences, behind which private houses and mansions hid, rose on both sides of the road. People kept coming out of gates. Children and adults, men and women, all hurrying about their business. And I, trying not to lag behind Shina, who was striding quickly ahead, was thinking that choosing this school had been a mistake after all. The story of how I chose it is actually rather amusing.
After graduating from middle school, I faced the question: continue my studies or not? And if continue, then where. And since I live without parents, the choice was entirely on my conscience. As for my parents and my life after they left it—that's a whole separate story, I'd even call it an epic, but more on that later. So, after I graduated from middle school, Shina's family, my neighbors, quite literally laid siege to me. They used everything, from banal stories about what a wonderful educational institution Dakishuro was, to inviting me to a dinner in honor of the school's foundation day and, accordingly, repeating stories about it countless times and praising it in general.
For a long time, I couldn't understand what was going on or why they were trying to set me up there at all, until one incident happened. That evening, Shina's mother, Koyama Kagami, invited me to dinner, and even though I could already sense how it would all end, I couldn't refuse that kindest of women (incidentally, the Koyama family, knowing this, often takes advantage of my good attitude toward them).
I don't know how it happened, but on our street, consisting of standard two-story private houses, only my neighbors lived in a decent-sized mansion built in the traditional Japanese style, with a fairly large yard. And all that wealth was surrounded by a two-meter stone fence. Still, its height did not prevent the Koyama sisters from easily overcoming that obstacle in order to make my life excessively merry. True, Shina, the elder of the sisters, stopped doing that in the last year, apparently finally realizing that it was inappropriate for a girl her age to be jumping over fences. A pity only that she didn't stop coming to see me altogether—she had found herself, you see, a whipping boy. I myself never climbed fences, even though I could, so, stepping off my porch and walking a few meters, I simply opened the gate and entered this abode of evil. I am exaggerating, of course, but the younger part of the Koyama family can hardly be called anything but demons.
Having crossed the yard, I took off my shoes at the genkan—a small stone ledge about ten centimeters high running along the front part of the building. After walking along the narrow veranda, about a meter and a half wide, I entered the house.
"Good evening, everyone," I said, raising my voice slightly, since there was no one in the entryway.
"Shinjiiiii!" The squeal from the depths of the house was replaced by pounding footsteps, and a sixteen-year-old red-haired wonder launched herself at my neck. "Shinji, Shinji, I finally mastered that terribly difficult technique and now I can break bricks with my head!"
What? Ah, right. "Spirit Armor." It wasn't really a technique but rather an ability trained by followers of any combat style—the ability to concentrate a layer of energy around the body that both protects and helps in attack.
There are a great many techniques in this world. They are divided into four categories: hand-to-hand combat, swordsmanship, blunt-weapon combat, and projectile-weapon combat. The last category also includes firearms. And the categories themselves are subdivided into various techniques. For example, the Koyamas use the "fire hand-to-hand technique." And there is, for example, the "shadow projectile-weapon technique."
As for the bricks and the head, that's an old fixation of Mizuki, Shina's younger sister. The thing is, Shina performed that trick back when she was eleven. And when Mizuki was adopted, that was the first thing her new sister showed her. No wonder little ten-year-old Mizuki was struck to the depths of her soul. True, she was only able to repeat it now, six years later, which is not surprising, since Shina began training at five and Mizuki at ten. Plus, I often heard people call the elder Koyama sister a genius. So it all follows naturally.
"Mizuki, I'm happy for you, of course, but don't you think your behavior is unbecoming to a girl? Besides, behaving like a little child at sixteen… You know, that gives rise to certain thoughts."
"What kind of thoughts?!"
"Well…" That you're a defective little idiot. "Umm… Well, you should think about that yourself."
"Think about it, think about it," she grimaced. "Who cares? You're not a stranger, almost a member of the family, so with you I can behave however I want."
Well, damn, what joy!
Koyama Kagami appeared in the doorway of the neighboring room—the mother of the family, a clever woman, a beauty, and simply an amazing woman.
"Kids, wash your hands and to the table."
"Coming, Mom." And, letting go of my neck, Mizuki skipped off into the depths of the house.
"As you say, Kagami-san," I replied, bowing in greeting. "You look as wonderful as always." A compliment to a woman never hurts: it's not hard for me, and it pleases her.
"Oh, Shinji, you underage ladies' man, hurry up and go wash your hands."
Entering the living room, I smirked: in the tokonoma, an alcove in the wall of the house where the television usually stood, there was today a pot with a Japanese palm, also known as a cycas, and on the central wall hung a black-and-white drawing depicting some men and the leaves of the same palm. If anyone doesn't know, the emblem of Dakishuro School is precisely a palm—more exactly, palm leaves. Which, in turn, are a symbol of victors.
About ten minutes later, when the first hunger had been appeased, Koyama Kenta—a still solid sixty-nine-year-old man, Shina's grandfather and the head of the family—finally began the conversation for which I had been invited that day.
"Shinji, have you already decided about high school?" Old man Kenta looked at me attentively and sternly, making it quite clear by his whole appearance that the question was more than serious.
In principle, I had long since decided that I would go to high school; for legalization it was necessary. But certainly not to the one Shina attended. However, telling Shina's family that felt somehow awkward. And here I made a mistake. I could have found a dozen reasons why I wanted to go to a different school, but instead I chose the most idiotic answer:
"Yes, I've decided. I thought about it a lot and decided to finish with middle school."
"And for what reason, may I ask?" A smile flickered on the old man's face. "You know perfectly well that continuing your education is very important."
"It's the same as always, Kenta-san, the same as everywhere—I simply don't have the money to pay for school." My finances are somewhat different now, but the old man couldn't know that, which means he couldn't catch me on it either. "So I decided it would be better for me to go to work."
"Well, in that case everything is settled. Get ready to enter Dakishuro High School, Shinji."
"Huh?"
"If the only problem is money, and that is the only problem, as I understand it, then you needn't worry, the money will be found," the old man smiled.
All right, I see. So that's what this was about. It turned out all their efforts had been because of simple pity! No, I'm not a very proud guy, at least when I was having hard times, I swallowed my pride and accepted overly frequent invitations to lunch or dinner. And when Kagami-san brought various tasty dishes, supposedly so the child wouldn't live on nothing but noodles, I smiled and thanked her. But everything has its limit. And even my pride sometimes begins to rebel.
"Kenta-san, I am very grateful to you for your concern, but no. I cannot accept your help." It took a certain effort not to explode and do something foolish. "I… don't need… in short, no. Thank you, of course, but no."
I very much wanted to do something, say something nasty, be rude, deliver a couple of sarcastic remarks, or, for example, throw my chopsticks onto the table and leave in silence—in short, somehow express my attitude toward the situation. The difficulty was also that in my past life I wasn't used to hiding my feelings. No, I know how to control them and, if necessary, I can hide them too; after all, I was trained in a thing or two. But at the same time I remained a Destroyer, not some spy, and my main specialty was strength, and after a certain stage of my development—considerable strength. I simply had no reason to hide my emotions, because I felt strength behind me.
For many people, considering my character, I was quite an unpleasant man, but even my superiors put up with it because they understood: people of my level are professionals, they know what subordination is, and they do not betray. Even after meeting my future wife, nothing changed. Svetik loved me as I was, and the situation I found myself in after our marriage turned into a banal war against everyone, but by no means into spy games. So it took a certain effort for me to calm down—or rather, not even calm down, just do nothing. Because the anger itself was not really that strong; I suppressed it quickly, but my contrariness demanded an outlet.
Fortunately or unfortunately, I didn't have time to do anything, because that was when the most interesting part began. Old man Kenta clearly had no intention of giving up. The pause after my words was not very long, only a couple of seconds.
"Hm, Shinji…" The old man was as calm as a boa constrictor; it gave the impression that he had thought through the entire conversation in advance. "I never said that we would be the ones paying for your education. Your parents will be paying for it."
A few things need to be explained here. The thing is, I live alone. And my parents did not go off to earn money in another city or abroad, they were not killed in a car accident, they are not in prison. Nothing of the sort, not at all. They abandoned me when I was ten. In this world, by the way, I arrived when Shinji, the boy whose body I inhabit, was eight.
Waking up in the morning and not finding my parents, I never once thought that they had abandoned me. Hell, even two days later I still didn't suspect such a thing. I kept putting it off and didn't go to the neighbors, figuring: who knew. If something had happened to them, someone from the police or social services would have come to me. Really, how quickly would you raise the alarm? But two days when your ten-year-old son is home alone—that's too much. So on the third day, after making sure that morning that there was no one at home, I got ready to go to the neighbors.
While putting on my jacket, I found a letter in the inner pocket in which my so-called parents wrote that they were going abroad and that I should go to the Koyama neighbors, who would help me. And I felt so hurt—not for myself, no, but for the boy whose body I was in. At first I didn't even understand what I had read. It simply did not fit in my head that such a thing was possible. Rationally I understood that there is a lot of filth in the world—hell, in my previous life, in another world, I had encountered all kinds of crap more than once, and every time I was ast… flabbergasted. But it simply does not fit in my head how this happens. I cannot understand how they could leave their child alone in the house, a child who is only ten years old. I'm not even talking about the letter they stuffed into the inner pocket of the jacket. No, really, what kind of idiocy is that? What would it have cost them to throw the letter onto the table in the living room? I, as a… ah, already former father, completely failed to understand what was going on in their heads.
In short, it was a mess. After reading the letter, I began to think about what to do. On the one hand, I should go to the neighbors and tell them what had happened. Because, by and large, I don't care where I live: with so-called parents or somewhere with relatives. On the other hand, my entire previous life, or at least most of it, had passed under the motto: don't stand out. Everything should be as usual, like for everyone else, you must not attract attention to yourself. Because when something goes wrong and people start paying attention to you, problems begin at once. It was like that when I worked for the government, and it was the same afterward, especially afterward. Of course, not every oddity brings problems, and in my case most likely nothing bad would happen, but there was one "but." I am not from this world. Remembering the Herald and its words about dimensions and the beings inhabiting them, wouldn't it be better to play it safe? During the two years I had lived here, I had heard nothing about dimensions or their inhabitants. But if the Herald was to be believed, they existed, and I had no reason not to believe it so far. Which meant that those unknown beings were hiding, or were being hidden, and information about them and the dimensions was being concealed. And it was entirely possible that the local government knew something and had ways of identifying, so to speak, outsiders. And what they did with them, who the hell knows. And I was only ten then; I had no way to protect myself at all.
In Japan, an orphan is sent to an orphanage only if he has no relatives at all, or if all the relatives refused him, which, strictly speaking, is not customary. But at first the government would still deal with me, even if only for a short time, even if only through social services, but they would. And I had become a paranoiac long ago. By the way, I had never heard anything about my relatives. Which was strange; in two years I ought to have learned about at least some grandmother or grandfather. In short, all those reasonings were a little strained, a little crazy and paranoid, but there was a grain of truth in them. Besides, not the least role in my reasoning was played by the fact that alone I would have more freedom. And I would have to hide much less.
So I decided to lie and pull off quite a serious scam. I told all my neighbors that my parents had gone abroad for work and that they would send me money for living expenses. Yes, nothing extraordinary, but things like that happen, everything was within normal bounds. The only snag was my age, but fortunately it worked, though everyone was outraged by such irresponsible behavior on the part of my parents. Later I often asked myself whether I had done the right thing, and each time I found both advantages and disadvantages in that decision. And over time, the number of both only grew. But by then I could no longer do anything, because an abandoned child is one thing, while a surviving ten-year-old boy is quite another.
And now old man Kenta, who knows nothing of my situation, says that my parents will pay for my education. And that seems to be check to my king. Because what does that mean?
First, the old man may be aware of my real situation. And I cannot even imagine what all this will lead to or what I should expect now. And most importantly, why the hell had he kept silent all this time? An interesting question, by the way. Koyama Kenta was not the kind of man to watch an abandoned ten-year-old boy in silence. Under any circumstances. Even if, for example, my parents had warned him about me before leaving. Even if afterward I had deceived everyone by saying they hadn't abandoned me and would send me money. Even then he would not have pretended that everything was normal and behaved as usual. One way or another, he would have indicated that he knew. Which means that back then he did not know. And as time went on, finding out about it became more and more difficult. He could have begun to suspect something—the brains in that family are sufficient. But you can't attach suspicions to a case. And now, six years later, after all my work at covering my tracks, the truth could be learned only by asking me directly. Or, like now, by confusing and provoking me, gradually gathering information. But I couldn't just tell the old man to go to hell.
Second, Koyama Kenta may know nothing at all. It is quite possible this was improvisation. What matters to him right now is that I agree. And it would be easy to wriggle out of it: saying he only wanted the best. Or even playing the fool, claiming that I had misunderstood something, and in order to clear it up, proposing that we call my parents… In short, no matter where you throw it, it's a wedge everywhere. But I'm not done struggling yet; I have brains too…
"Shinji, we cannot, and do not want to, meddle in your personal affairs," Koyama Akeno, Shina's father, took up the conversation. "But you understand perfectly well yourself that continuing your education is necessary; without it, it will be much harder for you to make your way in life."
Now try and understand what exactly he meant by that.
"Shin-chan, you are not just some neighbor's boy to us, you are almost family," the mother of the family began earnestly. "We wish you only good and would never advise you to do anything bad. And Dakishuro School is an excellent option."
That was it, checkmate. After Kagami joined in, it became very difficult for me to refuse, at least without cause. Especially since before that the old man had already driven me into a corner with a single phrase. And I really didn't want to offend this family. Well, I'd grown attached to them, I had. All that remained was to smooth over the matter of my parents and agree.
"Yeah… I didn't think Father would call you after he and I… disagreed. He knew whom to call. Just tell me this: why Dakishuro?" Of course, I already knew why, but I wanted to hear their version. "Because, as far as I've heard, it's not easy to get in there."
"Well, to begin with, that school is closest to us, the education there is excellent, the teachers are very good and understand not only their subjects but life as well, and if anything happens, they will help you with your problems or give you useful advice." Highly unlikely. You, Kenta-san, do not even suspect what kind of problems I may have. "There are many different clubs there, and you are sure to find something you like. And at the end of your studies, the school provides recommendations and helps you get into an institute you would otherwise never be able to enter. All in all, it is a very good school, and graduating from it will help you greatly in your future life. Oh, and I forgot to mention: many children of influential parents study at Dakishuro, and acquaintance, or even friendship, with them will help you acquire useful connections."
Hm, that part I was hearing for the first time. Connections are certainly good, but studying with spoiled rich kids was somehow not very appealing. Still, I'd survive. On the bright side, I heard nothing about the fact that Shina studied at the same school and Mizuki would be entering it this year. Oh well, they hadn't left me any choice anyway.
"All right, Kenta-san, Akeno-san, Kagami-san, you've convinced me." By the way, I could put them in an awkward position so they wouldn't meddle in my affairs in the future. "I'll call Father today and have him send the money."
"Um… hm…" Kenta mumbled. "Shinji, you know, you'd better not mention us to him. You see, your father asked me not to mention him in our conversation, and if you give me away, I'll look rather bad."
Well, it wasn't in my interest to show off either, so let's let it slide.
"If you ask, Kenta-san, then all right. I'll say that Shina-chan changed my mind."
"What?" Shina flared up.
"Shina," Kagami said, not loudly, but in such a voice that even I would have quieted down, let alone her own daughter. I'd catch it for that later, of course, but that would be later; for now, it was fun to watch her.
"Well, since everything is settled, let's finish with business and give due honor to Kagami-chan's cooking," old man Kenta said, and with a broad smile picked up a shrimp in batter with his chopsticks.
So, what do we have? The Koyamas pity the poor boy and want to help him. Or rather, not even pity him, simply wish him well. My constant evasion of the Dakishuro topic convinced them that I either did not want to or could not go to high school at all. Which was what triggered this conversation. But that remark about my parents proves their suspicions about me. It is unlikely that everything happening here was improvisation; that would have been too stupid and illogical.
It turned out to be a strange conversation, strange and dangerous. And the situation is still not entirely clear. Oh, I can feel this coming back to haunt me in the future.