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“Isn’t that a recipe for disaster?” Eichi had said when Keito showed him the room assignments. “All three of those children are some combination of eager and, er, sharp. Doesn’t it worry you?”
Keito, perhaps foolishly, had waved him off. “Kanzaki is responsible with his weapon. And the other two look up to him; they’ll follow his example. Really, it’s the best place for them.”
“Mm. Well, if you’re sure.”
It’ll be months before Keito realizes just how rich with foreshadowing that one passing interaction truly was. For the time being, Keito looks back down at the page in his hands, frowning at Natsume’s room as though that could make it less potentially destructive.
They move into the dorms. Keito has a little under two weeks of relative peace, before–
“Senpai! Hasumi-senpai!” Tsukasa is red-faced in the doorway of the RhyLink office, breathing hard.
The sheer alarm in his voice drives Keito to his feet before he can think twice about it. “Suou? Has something happened?”
“It’s– Kanzaki-senpai, he–”
Keito must make a particularly frightening expression at the mention of his junior, because Tsukasa falls silent. He sweeps out of the room without bothering to put on his jacket, mind already running through the hundreds of possible scenarios. Tsukasa follows him nervously.
“In your room?” Keito asks, tersely, pushing open the door.
Tsukasa nods. “It was an accident, Hasumi-senpai. Please don’t punish Shinobu-kun too badly…”
Keito hopes Tsukasa would have called an ambulance if it were truly a life-threatening emergency, but he knows that sometimes the mind jumps to the nearest solution, and not necessarily the most effective.
He just hopes– Souma has to be okay. He’s Akatsuki’s heart; without him, they would have fallen so deep into darkness that it would have been impossible to claw their way out.
Keito forces himself to breathe.
They cut across the square and make it to the room in record time. Keito’s been in Souma’s room a few times before, but the sheer number of weapons collected in one place between the three of them still makes him shudder. For once, though, that’s not what draws his eye as he enters.
Souma is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, a faded old T-shirt pressed firmly to his left bicep. There’s quite a bit of blood soaking into it, slowly dripping onto the wood around him. Shinobu, close to tears, flits around him nervously, intermittently trying to help staunch the blood clearly still flowing from whatever wound is on his arm and trying to mop the blood off the floor. The offending weapon – a shorter sword than the one Souma typically carries – lies on one of the beds.
Souma’s speaking softly to Shinobu, but when Keito enters, he looks up. His whole face brightens, as it always does.
“Ah– Hasumi-dono! Look, look– Sengoku managed a clean strike on me today! Isn’t his improvement remarkable?”
Keito blinks. “Kanzaki,” he says, slowly, “Are you– happy he stabbed you?”
Fresh tears spring to Shinobu’s eyes at the word stabbed. Souma only looks confused, which is possibly the most infuriating response to that question.
“Not precisely,” Souma says, grimacing. “I cannot say it doesn’t hurt. But I am proud of Sengoku – very much so!”
Souma removes his hand from the wound to ruffle Shinobu’s hair in a manner that would probably seem more affectionate if it hadn’t also served to absolutely drench the poor boy in Souma’s blood. Shinobu seems touched by the gesture, quickly overpowered by horror as Souma’s blood starts to drip down into his eyes.
Keito sighs and moves closer to inspect the wound. It’s not particularly long or particularly deep – Souma is, he knows, too skilled to allow himself to be caught like that. It will require stitches, though. Keito sighs.
“Put pressure back on it, Kanzaki, this is basic wound care. Suou, help Sengoku clean himself up. I will be speaking with the both of you when I return. Kanzaki, come with me.”
Souma gets to his feet almost automatically, but he’s clearly confused as he follows Keito down the hall. “Hasumi-dono?” he asks, tentatively, as they turn toward the parking lot. “Er, where are we going?”
Keito sighs. “I’m driving you to urgent care to get stitches for your stab wound.”
Souma winces. “Ah,” he says.
He gets blood all over Keito’s passenger seat. He starts to apologize, but Keito cuts him off.
“You have to be more careful, Kanzaki. This could have been a lot worse.”
Souma looks down at his hand, clamped over the wound on his arm. “I know, Hasumi-dono.”
“What happened? Why weren’t you using training weapons?”
“The weight of a wooden training weapon is much different than that of a proper blade,” Souma says. “I would never insult Sengoku by training him poorly. He is a precocious and earnest child.”
Stopped at a red light, Keito looks over at Souma – his own precocious, earnest junior. He’s looking out the window, a soft, fond smile on his lips, one Keito’s sure he’s worn a hundred times.
Did Souma grow up while he wasn’t looking?
“I truly am proud of him,” Souma says. “He takes to the sword well. Even the parts that aren’t as exciting as his ninjas. Even when he has a hard time sitting still, or dislikes the work necessary to care for a blade. I apologize for worrying you, Hasumi-dono, but I would take a hundred such wounds for the sake of that child’s growth.”
The light turns. Keito blinks, then huffs a gentle laugh. “It seems I have to apologize once again for underestimating you, Kanzaki. You’ve really grown into a reliable senior, huh?”
Souma flushes, staring at Keito with wide eyes. “I– do you truly think so?”
“Mm. In a lot of ways you’re doing better than I did. I should have treated you with more care, Kanzaki. I’m proud of you. And I’m– sorry. For the way I was during your first year. You deserved to be treated with the compassion you’re showing those kids now. I was too caught up in my own plans to see that properly.”
From the corner of his eye, Keito sees Souma frown at this. They’re coming up on the E.R., though, so Keito gives Souma a reassuring smile. “We can discuss this more later, if you’d like. For now let’s get you sewn up, hm?”
The visit itself is mostly painless. The nurse keeps her face carefully blank when Keito explains what happened and puts seven stitches into Souma’s arm. Before Keito knows it, they’re back in the car.
“I would not change anything about my years with Akatsuki,” Souma says, abruptly. “Even if it could have been easier, or kinder, what it was forged the person sitting here now. But–” Souma smiles, gently– “It makes me happy to know that you would like to have been kinder to me.”
Keito swallows around the lump in his throat. “Of course. You know I care about you. That’s why… I don’t want to see you hurt. It’s good to see you acting as a senior, but you’re still my adorable junior, you know? I want you to be safe.”
Souma looks close to tears, now, too. “I understand, Hasumi-dono!” he exclaims. “I, too, would not want to see Sengoku or Suou hurt… Ahah.”
“Hm?”
“The impulse to protect them, coddle them… I feel as if I understand you a bit better. It makes me happy.”
Keito raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps,” he says, “but I’m still going to be the one reprimanding you three muscleheads over this. I thought at least Suou was smarter than this…”
Souma laughs and laughs at that. Keito is privately glad for the chance to take care of him just a bit longer.