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The professor's hand is warm and sweaty around her wrist. A knife in the other. He drags her around a corner, through an alleyway, around another corner. Their clamouring footsteps follow them through the sparkling night sky, but the professor's much less so than hers, it feels like.
The wraith's growling grows more faint with every turn. Was it good or bad luck that professor Yakumo happened to be on a nightly stroll? Due to unfortunate scheduling conflicts it was decided the Onikiri force would handle tonight's patrols on their own, citing the fact that she can't fight wraiths without help from her Ayakashi as reason for her to stay home. Essentially being called useless didn't sit right with her though, so she was out anyway when a possessed man got the jump on her. Before she even had a chance to take her bell wand from her sleeve the professor all but threw himself between them, brandishing a dagger that surprised her with its beauty almost more than the fact that the professor had it on him at all. He seemed to know how to use it too, the way he slashed at the poor man the wraith was possessing. Only on her insistence did they run for it - she couldn't risk banishing the wraith in front of the professor.
"Are you unharmed?"
They come to a halt in a part of town she doesn't recognise in the dark, though judging by the handful of red lanterns illuminating the alleyway it must be nearby the entertainment quarter. The professor's hands are still firmly clasped around both her wrist and his weapon, and his face feels dangerously close.
"Y.. yes, I'm fine."
He breathes a sigh of relief, finally releasing her hand.
"Thank goodness... I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you, my doll."
Silence falls as the two of them catch their breath, though it continues a bit longer than necessary. Her gaze switches between the professor's eyes and the dagger by his side, both dripping red in the lantern light. She'd always known the professor to be a gentle, book-loving sort, but he way he fought just now it was almost like he intended to kill that man...
...Neither of them is eager to address what happened, but someone has to do it. She opens her mouth, but the professor is one step ahead of her again.
"The capital is dangerous recently, you shouldn't be out this late at night. Were you out on an errand for your father?"
"I... yeah."
How could she possibly tell the truth? No professor, I was out hunting wraiths. Yeah, all those folk tales and legends you write about are true, and I'm an onmyoji, and the past few weeks I've spent every night going out and banishing wraiths to protect the capital from supernatural danger. Can you imagine? Her ayakashi aren't even with her today as proof, the professor would think she was playing an elaborate prank on him at best.
Oh, but he would probably berate her father for sending her on errands late, and that would lead to a whole other share of questions, and besides, father is... Father is...
"...Though he doesn't know. He's away for business. I wanted to get as much work done as possible before he returns."
Professor Yakumo reaches his free hand up to straighten down her wayward hair.
"Your father is a very lucky man, to have such a wonderful, hardworking daughter. Still, I don't think he would be glad to hear you've been putting yourself into danger for his sake."
His gesture, his smile, the tone of his voice, are so gentle and comforting that she almost bursts into tears. She can only hope the dim lighting doesn't make it too obvious. She can't possibly explain what's weighing her down.
In looking away to hide her prickling eyes, her gaze once again falls on the dagger still in the professor's hand. The other day, that beautiful geisha she'd become acquainted with recently nearly twisted a pickpocketer's arm off. "A girl needs to be able to defend herself in this day and age," was the geisha's bemused response to her astonishment.
"...Professor. Can I ask a favour?"
"Anything for you, my doll."
She swallows the lump keeping the words from leaving her throat.
"Can you teach me how to fight?"
She points towards the weapon. The professor startles, as if he only now realized he was still holding it, and pulls a handkerchief out of his pockets to clean it.
"Would it not be far easier to simply stay home at night? I'll gladly help with any errands for your father, and if you absolutely must go somewhere at night I will happily escort you too. I- Whatever you must do, my doll, I will do anything to keep you safe."
"I'm sorry. But it's something I can't really involve you in."
They're standing close together, in this small alleyway, but the distance between them seems greater than ever. The lanterns really do make his eyes seem red. Red in the eyes looking at her intensely, red stains on the handkerchief returned to the pockets of his red cloak, red jewels on the hilt of the dagger he wielded so effortlessly before. For a moment it feels like she's in more danger than any wraith could put her in and she balls her fists to fight the urge to run or look away. Professor Yakumo would never hurt her.
"When did you become the one keeping secrets...?"
The professor sighs, and all her tension seems silly all of a sudden.
"What was that?"
"No, nothing. You're right, a young woman can only benefit from knowing how to defend herself. Japan does have a long history of female warriors. I'm sure you would cut a most lovely figure with a naginata, my doll."
He smiles, albeit a bit weakly. She gives an equally weak laugh in return.
"I can't hide a naginata in my sleeve though."
"No, I suppose not."
He runs his hand through her hair one last time and then walks her home through silent, empty streets. Hopefully Nachi is still asleep, and she'll have to send a familiar to major Aizen later, and should she tell the others what happened...
She tries her utmost to think of such things, and not the way the professor had looked at that wraith without a trace of mercy.
Next evening she shows up at the professor's house as agreed. Nachi protested at first, suspicious as he is of professor Yakumo just in general, but he relented when she lied that he was merely going to help her practise her French. If she told the truth he'd only worry more, is what she tries to convince herself when the professor lets her in.
"Unfortunately I don't have the luxury of a private dojo, so we will have to make do with my living room. Still, daggers are close-range weapons, so practising in close quarters might be in our favour in this case."
The wooden practise knife feels closer to lead in her hand. She remembers cutting herself back when she was still an inexperienced cook. Between the pain and the blood on one of her favourite kimonos she'd been inconsolable. Would cutting a person feel the same as cutting meat? The professor mentioned cooking most of his own meals once, but she doesn't dare ask him for the answer.
He corrects her grip, hands cold against hers. She strikes, again, and again, and again, and with each attack her frustration grows, until the muscles in her arms scream in anger.
"That's enough, my doll. Good work today."
She sprawls on the floor like a marionette with its strings cut, her fatigue catching up to her all at once. The professor prepares something to eat, and they hold meaningless small talk over some book or other until it's time to leave for patrols.
"Practise one swing ten thousand times" was the saying, right? It doesn't take long to form a routine. She goes to the professor's house, they practise, he prepares something to eat after they're done, and they talk idly until it's time to attend to their separate nightly secrets. The professor's teaching capabilities clearly extended beyond the theoretical. With every lesson her movements feel a little more certain, and with every shared meal she reminds herself he's the same kind and gentle man she's known for years. They talk of everything and nothing, except for what either of them was doing on that night.
It's infuriating. The practise swings are replaced with practise spars and her frustration only grows. The better her technique becomes, the more wraiths she encounters, the more experience she accumulates, the more she can grasp how the professor fights and less she seems to understand. Yakumo Koizumi is a kind and gentle man, so why, why is he capable of such killing intent? A wraith's eyes burning red with rage are almost a breath of fresh air after the suffocating calm in Yakumo's gaze as he dodges and deflects each of her attacks.
What could have possibly happened in his past for someone as warm as Yakumo to develop such a side? Just thinking about it infuriates her. She lunges forward once more and at long last her short little stick makes its way past his defences, grazing his left arm, but her victory is short lived as his own knife tears her heart out were it not made of wood. ...Yeah, it was too simple to think he wouldn't anticipate someone circling around to his blind eye.
"You're improving quicker than I ever anticipated. As expected, my doll is as talented as she is beautiful."
Today's after-training snack looks to be tuna sandwiches. She eagerly takes one before the professor even properly sets the plate down.
"I do have a very good teacher."
"A teacher is only as good as the enthusiasm of their students."
Even after all this time, the professor's endless praise is still a little embarrassing. She quickly fills her mouth with tuna and bread to put a stop to the inevitable cycle of "no, you"-s before it takes off. It's delicious, as always.
"Is your father still not back from business?"
"...No, he's still in Europe. There was a bit of trouble, so he'll be away for a while longer."
"I see. Your own business continues too then, I assume."
She takes another bite, unsure how to respond. It's the first time the topic was brought up since that fateful night.
"In that case I have a gift for you, my doll. As much as I hoped it wouldn't be necessary."
He procures a cloth-wrapped box from a cabinet and gently, almost fearfully places it before her. Unwrapping it reveals a dagger, not as decorated as she remembers the professor's being, but with an elegant design on the hilt. She lifts it from the box with reverence, first for its beauty and then for its balance. Her fingers wrap around the handle like it was made for her hands alone. Knowing the professor, it actually was custom made for her.
"A dagger is different from a sword. Its small range puts you at a disadvantage against any armed opponent, so ideally they do not know you are armed at all. Daggers are not for fighting fair, they cannot protect anything other than your own life."
"Professor...?"
"Do you understand, my doll? When the time comes to draw this dagger, you have to do so prepared to take another's life to preserve your own. It will protect you, and only you. Do you understand? I cannot teach you to fight honourably, only to survive. If you will not let me be with you to protect you myself, at least promise me you will protect yourself at all cost."
He clasps her hands with his own, bringing his face dangerously close to both her own and the sharp edge between them. Clear blue eyes desperately plead with her, the left one blind with a sorrow she selfishly hopes she will never understand. She nods, slowly, and he backs away with obvious relief.
"Silver is said to ward off the supernatural in the west, so I had the handle inlaid with it as a good luck charm. Make sure to maintain it well."
"Wait, isn't that really expensive? Are you sure I can just have it?"
"Anything for you, my doll. Anything to keep you with me in this life."
The dagger weighs heavy in her sleeve as she heads to tonight's patrol.