Work Text:
Today was windy, cloudy and cold, a perfect day to spend procrastinating random, necessary tasks and drinking a great hot chocolate cup. That was exactly what Sachiko was doing, watering once again her precious heirs and occasionally sipping from her machinemade hot cocoa.
Mikura has never been the lucky one, you know? Juraku had ordered, not much later after getting her pet a small chocolate sample, her to collect dens monthly debts and not come back until she finished. “Yes, mistress” was her automatic answer.
She wouldn’t complain, it could’ve been much worse, weren’t she a personal housepet. Having to prepare tea for strangers, being constantly mocked by inferior creatures, washing clogged toilets that weren’t her master’s one. Urg, just thinking about it makes her want to puke.
A task given is a task finished, Mikura was an agile girl with a simple mission. It wouldn’t waste more than one hour to complete it.
By the end of this timed hour, the remaining club was the sports one, so she had to walk outside the relatively warm walls.
Half of the grass was vivid, spring; the other was dead, autumn. The redhead chose to step only on the dry plants, doing like a kid following the grout on the floor of their favorite shopping mall: touch the tile and you die.
It was when she reached a section of the lawn resembling a hopscotch pattern she stopped on her tracks. Her inner child screamed “jump, jump!” to her and her mature side said the same.
One, two, three, one foot.
Four, five, two feet.
Six, skip foot. There is a rock there.
Seven, eight, two feet.
At nine, she stopped abruptly, almost losing balance. She hadn’t thrown a flint, how is there one over six? She turned around to face what was covering the imaginary square.
Oh, no. No, no, no. It was the one who promised revenge a month ago. Oh, no. Its comeback happened so soon! Mikura hasn't prepared herself either physically or psychologically yet!
A fat sweat drop accumulated on Sado’s temple. Seeing this animal is a bad omen, not a good signal for her.
The longhorn beetle was stationary, seemed calm, perhaps enjoying its prey's despair before the pounce. Planning endless scenarios for bringing chaos and retaliation, its mind may be the one in charge of hiding Sado’s body after killing her.
Mikura, not wanting to die, seized the opportunity and, slightly trembling, decided to open her mouth after squatting.
— Hey… um… I’m…
“I can’t believe I’m talking to a beetle…”
She searched for any human soul who might be wandering around outside of the building and might spectate this madness, gathered some fresh air and restarted:
— I’m sorry about last month incident. I know your kind doesn’t have a great memory anyways, but… — she paused, rethinking if she would need to use all of her leg muscles to bolt from there if her short speech didn’t work. — I hope you hold no grudge…?
She was, yes, talking to a beetle, how could it possibly give her a response? Yet, it answered the way it could, but who would’ve known Mikura wasn’t fluent in its language?
It simply had intended flying to the lapels of her blazer, as a truce symbol, but the message had been encrypted on the way to its receptor. And, although Mikura wasn’t afraid of bugs, this one scared the hell out of her.
— Mercy, please!
On its pace, it went to sit on its new throne, Mikura’s left shoulder, and did nothing more, trying not to intimidate her.
Well, this ugly day needed to offer her something as a sorry gift. A new friend wasn’t the handout she wanted, but, hey, it’s better than nothing, she guesses.
The beetle was behaving so calmly, trusting the giant to not smash its wings out. Sado wasn’t expecting to experience this lucid dream. She lifted one finger to lightly touch the Hercules butt.
She was petting a hardened exoskeleton animal, and it was doing sounds resembling a purring one. Can this day get even weirder?
Murphy is doing pirouettes in his coffin, as a leafy sound reaches Mikura’s ears.
From the corner of her eye, she caught the last image she wanted to see that day: Saotome making weird arm movements behind a tall bush, eyes fixed on a static point and a focused frown.
Is she doing what Mikura was thinking…?
“It’s none of my business, it’s none of my business, it’s none of my business. Go away, don’t mind her, Juraku-sama is waiting for me, leave here for once.”
But when she was about to turn around, the blonde voice echoed through the empty field:
— Sado, what are you doing here?
Heavy sighing, Mikura now couldn’t ignore the girl.
“It is now everything of my business… What do you want from me, pervert?”
Mikura puckered and, not finding an alternative, she spinned 180º. Still wearing this sour mood, she shook up her head one time. She was listening.
But the other girl wanted to tell her a secret, it seemed. With the hand that wasn’t busy, Mary signaled for Mikura to come closer.
Sado has been trained to obey, hasn’t she? Although it wasn’t her master the caller, it wouldn’t kill her to comply with it. She could even get some blackmail content.
Approaching slowly, preparing her eyes for what she might be seeing in a few seconds, she never prayed harder for being wrong about the scene before her and her tired mind was playing tricks on herself.
Sado hovered over the dense bush as soon as she got there.
Oh, thank God, Mary wasn’t doing inappropriate activities inside school property. At the same time, it was a shame that she wouldn’t have a chance to be warned, to be hung by a thin string, risking being expelled, far, far away from Juraku. She was just playing finger guillotine with a stag beetle working as the blade. Not literally — she isn’t into this kind of thing — but she almost lost her index and thumb trying to pick it up.
— Damn it. Why do they hate me so much? — Mary grumbled, giving up temporarily from picking the little animal up. — They never let me carry them.
— What exactly are you doing, Saotome?
— I wanted to make these stag beetles wrestle, but… — Mary stopped on her mind tracks when she saw the Hercules lying peacefully in Sado's uniform. She pointed to it and asked: — Hey, what is this?
Having a hunch about what the blonde was saying, she looked to the distinct spot on her left.
— Really? How childish, Saotome — Mikura disdained Mary's goal. — And this is a bug that I’ve found over the grass. Much less gross than these stag ones. What do they do? Pinch your finger and make you cry on your mother’s shoulder. You were almost at the second part.
Saotome ignored the last part of Sado’s speech, looked from Hercules’ head to toes and scoffed:
— I bet the stag wins. This — she pointed again her index to the bug resting on Mikura’s shoulder — has just a frightening appearance. No way it would win this biting beast here. Are you scared of losing?
She was super confident about her fighting partner winning, and it confused Sado. How could she be sure that an eight-centimeter bug would beat one twice its size?
“It doesn't smell right, Saotome may want to cheat on this gamble.”
Well, if a gamble is what Mary wanted, a gamble she is going to have.
— Ok, but there are three conditions, Saotome — she lifted her fingers as she counted. — One: this gamble is going to happen only tomorrow, right here. Two: I’m gonna bring their arena. Three: I’m gonna call a reliable croupier for us.
This was everything she needed to ensure there would be no cheating. The day after, she would be sure Saotome wasn’t plotting anything for the present. Yes, there was even a small dome in Juraku’s mansion, a perfect fit for the winner and Mary’s bug. And Yomotsuki owes her after exposing a Mikura’s disastrous secret.
Yes, this was a perfect opportunity for her to show Juraku-sama she was better than Saotome, yes!
— Wait, Sado, I was kiddin–
Mikura wasn’t one to hear losers’ voices, so, while she fastly strode to her master’s office, everything her ears caught was “ateadoauiskn”, and she didn’t bother herself asking her enemy’s coach to repeat.
She had a bet to win.
Ok, Mikura was about to face her first problem: Juraku.
How is she going to bring the insect to their house without startling the older woman? She had been thinking about a plan on how to deal with her hysterical girl, and reached the conclusion that the less astounding lie would be the more believable one.
Sado took the longest route she knew within Hyakkaou’s corridors, just to recall to herself what she is going to say, how she is going to act.
As she reached the expensive car, she found out the older woman was already in the car, waiting impatiently for Mikura. Had she gotten more later than she was, she would’ve slept in a cold classroom for sure.
— I’m so sorry, mistress! — exclaimed as she closed the door. — The teacher held us a little more to end his explanation!
It was a plausible explanation, yes, one of her available routes. It was like she was playing a date sim: choose the wrong option, and say goodbye to your hard work.
— Be aware that I won’t be this considerate next time — as she finished, she shook her hand, a signal for her driver.
Mikura was hopeful that Sachiko wouldn’t perceive her new friend, because after the command, her attention went to her cellphone. Again, you know, Mikura has never been the lucky one.
Juraku was amused by a specific short video and thought her pet would give her an even more entertaining facial response. She turned her phone enough for both of them to watch it.
When Sachiko turned her vision to analyze Sado’s reaction to that gory video, she noticed a bug-shaped blur mixed with her pup’s locks, panic took its place on her next question:
— What is this horrendous thing on your hair?
— Ah, oh, this? — Mikura promptly started speaking, trying to avoid a bigger commotion, and softly touched the bug. — The art club was distributing these clips for people who answered a survey.
— Is it right? — she didn’t look too convinced with this reply, but she let her guard down a little. — What was this survey about?
Sachiko liked to make her life a living hell.
— There were a lot of topics, ma’am — for more credibility, she started to state every art and dens related matters. Mikura’s face went from a cheery to a desperate one by the end of her monologue. — Types of paint, drawing techniques, the budget they think they deserve, random funny facts… Did you know that every artist cries after looking at their collection of work in progress not finished?
It would be convincing for a normal person, but as stated, Juraku indeed liked to make her pet’s life a hell. Still not buying Sado’s whole story, she enquired more:
— Why are you wasting your time with these trivial matters, Mikura?
Her brain wasn’t in charge of her tongue. This latter is now sentient and speaks for itself:
— I didn’t think it would take so long to end, I swear! I thought of getting it for you, Juraku-sama — Mikura kept telling lies like she was selling water in the desert and wearing the most convincing face she could. — But after finishing the survey and holding this plastic clip, I thought it wasn’t worth enough for you.
— Did you really think I would like this nightmare resembling trash? Hah — she scoffed. — May I show you again what kind of accessories I fancy?
Flirty as always, Sachiko slides a rough hand over her pet’s neck, going up for her nape. She scratched the skin there, causing the pet to shiver unconsciously, just to tighten her hold on Mikura’s hair.
Pulling her head back, Juraku made the redhead’s neck her home.
Hercules is going to be traumatized by the end of the day.
With Juraku out of her way, she now had her second piece of trouble: the maids.
They usually don’t interact with Mikura, they know how hard her bite is — Susumo-san still had Sado’s teeth tattooed on his forearm, and it seems his partners didn’t want a free sample of one — but they wouldn’t let her go into the basement alone.
You see, that basement was a house, one day, and it still has its structures relatively intact. Many secrets sleep in those walls, mysteries that even those who came after this building might not even know very well. Sachiko had once told Mikura to not even think about that place, it’s so cursed that just by imagining it would be enough to make a living hell in one's life.
However, what is a fart for the person who had already shitted their pants?
Sado needed to find the small dome she knew this family had. How to go in there without drawing suspicions on her?
Lubricated gears rotated the mind machine, slowly building a plan, assembling lots of parts together and presenting an idea that not even Einstein would have: what’s better than faking an accident? If someone found her falling the stairs, she could blame her clumsiness; if not, she was already down there anyways, why not explore?
Excuse created, she had no more seconds to waste staring at the air.
She walked to the basement trapdoor, took a long breath and unsuspiciously looked to her surroundings, seeking for anyone who could’ve followed her until here. There was none. She may not even need to fake this tumble.
It’s time.
She held the handle and pulled open the horizontal door. Sado was afraid that the noise that left the shabby hinges had alerted any soul in the house. She was wrong, though. There was no spirit paying attention to the dying elephant fuss.
After nobody minded her, she realized she lost a precious time creating a useless plan. How great, how nice.
First point for the manager after walking in: it’s pretty smokey down there, even when she turned every available switch on the nearest wall on.
Second point: it smelled like the mold over the furniture surface has been smoking cigarettes for decades. It was awful and almost made Mikura give up from her treasure hunt. But she was more than her nauseous brain, there was no room for backing off.
Walking through the hallways, she noticed that nearly all the floor was full of junk, ready to make her trip whenever she wasn’t paying attention to it. Examining some items closer, she found out that this junk was a gold mine, really.
Old CDs, numerous record players, group pictures of all Juraku’s generations, aged toys, antiquated pieces of cloth. Mikura was almost feeling like she was living in another era. She touched everything she thought that wasn’t going to transmit any mouse diseases.
Yes! There the adapted arena was! If you looked from far, it was like a Beyblade stadium, a rounded floor surrounded by relatively tall walls, nothing more. Mikura thought it wasn’t necessary to have extra accessories, nor a roof.
After fooling around for a long time, she locked eyes with a weird equipment.
A medieval human-sized cage was rotting in a corner, and Sado stared at it with a distressed expression. It looked like it’s been there for centuries accumulating termites and fungi. This apparatus caught her mind in a way she wasn’t expecting. She hoped that her mistress wouldn't ever be aware of the existence of this machinery. Not that she would use this exact model, but she surely would buy a similar one.
What kind of business this family was into? Where has she set her foot on?
Letting her head wander off, reluctantly accepting the fact that there were more torture tools within this family reach than she was expecting, the redhead did not notice the faint creaking noises behind her.
These sounds were so light, they didn’t bother any rats nor bats. The calm imprinted on them was unique. They had a solid aim, an unaware victim ready to be silenced for a long time.
When the specimen stopped, just centimeters far from the girl, they kept themselves in total silence, pondering when is going to be the perfect second to take action.
Not so long, a pair of hands dropped onto Mikura’s shoulders, who screamed her lungs out for her life.
— What are you doing here?
— KYAAAAAAAAAAAH!
In panic, Mikura turned around as she was a ballerina, while hiding the object she had been holding on her back.
The person who was standing there was no one other than Tasukete Juraku, the patriarch. He was there, wearing a neutral face, arms crossed, waiting for an elucidation for her unusual presence here.
— Oh, sir, I tripped and unfortunately fell in here — Mikura tried to explain to the figure. — I had no intention of snooping! I swear!
She really needed to stop lying whenever she had the chance.
The man didn’t answer, he felt no need to, leaving only silence for them, an uncomfortable one, if you asked Mikura.
She was caught red handed, and what now? Sado didn’t have any authority to inquire the man in her front, but it seemed he read her question and felt serene enough to explain:
— I come here sometimes to smoke. Sachiko doesn’t like the smell, so I don’t do it next to her.
Now that he said it, she noticed. It wasn’t the mold, the one enjoying tobacco. It was Sachiko’s father. And also, Juraku-sama wouldn’t have the idea of the existence of that cage. Nice!
— Cool, sir — Mikura has never wanted this much to slap her own face. “Cool, sir.” Who says this for a smoking addicted person!?
There was no more word to be said. Tasukete looked like he didn’t mind his daughter’s human pet wandering on the estate, but he might care about his smoking escapades.
— You won’t say what you saw here to anyone — his ragged voice had it serious. Whether he meant about the cigarette or the things in this basement, Mikura didn’t know, but she wouldn’t risk to utter any of those.
It was a mutual secret, Mikura’s mouth is sewed, she hoped that the patriarch Juraku’s was also this way.
Once he finished his tobacco, he turned to go back to the upper storey, and Mikura decided to follow him, she didn’t need anything more from here.
The brightness the windows provided blinded the girl’s eyes partially. It was much easier to breathe here.
They parted paths, not looking once for their backs. They had nothing more to talk to each other, and goodbyes were only for known people.
Later that night, a little before leaving the phone on the floor, Sado texted Yomotsuki, demanding her presence as the judge. After some minutes, the croupier sent back a message “aight, captain!”. It was the easiest deal she has ever faced.
Now she was ready to sleep. The adrenaline from the misadventures she had today was being drained out. Sado was feeling accomplished, everything she had done would guarantee her victory in tomorrow's gamble.
Her eyelids were glued now, her heartbeat was decreasing its rhythm, she got comfortable hugging her pillow. This, until a low voice from the back of her mind whispers something quite not decipherable for a drowsy individual. She just knew it mentioned the basement.
Oh. Oh.
She forgot to bring the arena from the basement. Trying to not let the patriarch see what she had in her hands, she left it behind her on a box pile next the torture tackle and never touched it again, she recalled.
“Oh my God, please, end my suffering.”
The next day came in a few deprived sleep hours. Mikura didn’t blink last night and, still, is plugged in a 220V wiring system.
Her pride was on the line here, she needed to make the Hercules win this for her.
— Why are you still wearing this? — Sachiko inquired while waiting for their driver. — Throw it away, it’s disgusting.
— I think its details are impressive. It was manmade, a student from the Art Club painted themselves — fearing Juraku would make her throw it away, she gave her the best puppy-eyes she could gather.
— You have no sense of style — Sachiko sneered, but said nothing more. It was an implicit permission.
And now, already at school, she needed to wait for all her boring classes to finish. It wouldn’t be a problem if she weren’t that nervous. How come her body betrays her? She can’t recall the last time she felt like this for a gamble, why has it come back to torment her?
Four p.m., the same hour of the day before, finally made its way on the clock. Mikura was almost dragging Runa through the lawn, hurrying her for the most expected event of that afternoon.
What wasn’t her surprise to not see her opponent here? “Where is this coward that can’t pick a bug up?” There is no way to start a bet if there is no one to go against the caller, so they put themselves to wait for Mary.
These were the longest thirty minutes of her life, she decided. With nothing but the Hercules walking through her blazer, she was feeling a deadly boredom. She had already set the arena on the sixth square of that imaginary hopscotch, and nothing more was left to do, but wait.
Yomotsuki was finishing a secondary mission of a random game on her Switch, when they finally heard footsteps on the grass.
— You are late, Mary-chan! I was almost giving Mikura-chan an instant win. Nyahaha.
— I’m sorry — Mary said with a delicate tone, that one she uses with strangers, before staring Mikura with the corner of her eye, changing her tone, and continuing: — I was discussing some strategies with this fellow here.
The stag beetle was locked in a plastic recipient, with some water and food.
It would be an easy win, Mikura was very confident of her friend, not that she had a look on the lame small beetle.
Not delaying anymore, the woman set their respective bugs on the diameter of the circular ring. They did not, however, withdraw their fingers from the animals’ backs, to avoid their escape before the permit call.
It was promised, by the way the beetles were behaving, one, flapping its wings hard, but not enough to fly; the other, pinching the air with a strong aura, this battle would be legendary.
— Okay, everybody is ready? — Yomotsuki put. — If you are, then, let’s get round one to start!
With the referee’s approval, they were walking towards each other, having no purpose in giving up. They were standing like that iconic Dio versus Jotaro frame, a beetle live action performed as flawlessly as they could.
Hercules was harder, better, faster and stronger than its enemy. When it approached the other enough, it used its horn as a lever, giving the sky a new bright star. No, it didn’t die, but was nowhere near to be found easily, given that their adapted arena didn’t have a ceiling.
…
…
— Well, it was supposed to have three rounds, but it seems one of the participants went to another dimension. The victor is Hercules! Congrats, little one — Runa announced after recovering from her delay. — Mikura-chan won the wager.
Both coaches looked deadpanned to each other. Was that the so awaited wrestling? A fifteen-second disappointing fight could be accounted as real combat? Even the commercials before their act were longer than this!
Whether it was a great contest or not, Hercules is still the winner and it is definitely doing its victory dance — the way it could, don’t be mean with it.
Mikura, not wanting to sadden her small partner, mocked Mary:
— And you bet on that one. As if it had a chance against mine.
— Haven’t you ever heard of “the best perfumes come in small packages”? — and Saotome bit the bait.
— Is this what you were believing? You know this is just a marketing strategy, right?
— Don’t underestimate popular sayings. They carry lots of knowledge.
— Why? What is there to learn from commoners’ generic sentences?
— Nyahahahah — Runa laughed, getting herself distant from the girls, feeling that things would become interesting very soon.
She was right. The wrestle restarted and changed the fighters!
Mary lost her patience and went for blood. The blonde was the first to shut her fist and strike her opponent, gaining an advantage.
You see, Mikura has never been the main character of anything, she isn’t supposed to win fights against the show leader. What are the chances of her overpowering Saotome in her territory? Perhaps, zero, but she isn’t going to let her leave with her face intact.
Hair was to where Mikura’s hands were going to, the easiest target to destabilize any woman with long locks. A low blow in their unofficial clandestine wrestling, but the referee didn’t mind. She hasn’t been called for this.
Low blows are favors returned in more low blows, Mary didn’t care anymore. She dropped her right hand on Mikura’s neck, above the collar. Hah, Saotome, were you expecting a reaction hitting her there?
This was surely more balanced than the beetle battle, much more interesting to watch.
All of sudden, when Sado was switching her base foot, Mary decided to sweep kick, an action which triggered an unstoppable domino effect. The redhead started to fall to her back; the blonde jumped and sent herself onto the other to try to catch her blazer, ready to throw more fists in Mikura’s arm. Saotome’s attempt was rated as a big F, zero, because she wasn’t strong enough to cease Mikura’s descent. Long story short: they both fell like ripe jackfruit.
It was a game cutscene. They were watching themselves in a third-person view, seeing the TNT wick being consumed by a short flame: the punches, the insults, the last straw, the flawless sweep kick, and their topple. A crack sound was the exclusive thing that could be heard in the last animation frames.
Mikura felt like Sisyphus. So much effort to make Hercules to call a truce, and for what? She smashed it without wanting to and kept lying on its body, too shocked to react properly. When she was finally in control of her bones, she got up as fast as light and its consequence was instantaneous dizziness.
— Hercules!
Oooh, what did it do to deserve this fate? It believed her, swallowed its pride and fought in her name to defend their honor. It’s heartbreaking, the most avoidable death. It’s also like a famous saying: “the worst part of a betrayal is that it never comes from the enemy”. Mikura turned her back (quite literally) to it and striked it.
To give a look on the corpse, the defeated stag beetle flew the right path until here. It got closer to the deceased, touching its leg, looking for a corporal response. This little bug was a good loser, it knew the reason it had been beaten was skill issues, and it didn’t want its opponent to pass away.
— Is it… dead? — Mary risked asking, breaking the gloomy silence.
No, of course not. Have you ever seen a bug die that easily? But this scenario would’ve been better for both of them than reality.
Mikura, who was grieving the damaged animal, thinking it was dead, saw behind the forming tears a blur moving. Drying the vestigial water from her eyes, she focused better.
Small legs twitched randomly, before focusing in doing harmonic movements. Hercules was alive!
No longer than a minute, fully recovered, an enraged sound resonated once, then twice and thrice. The heavy wings flapped as they have never before. Wrath was the only language they could speak right now, and this one Mikura understands very well.
Oh, no. Hercules was alive!
The apocalypse finally came to end her, it’s a newfound life-during suffering. She could hear, while killing every flower in her path, the loud roaring Seven Trumpets behind her and approaching faster than her run. Now, Mikura has two mortal enemies, from two different species, desiring her blood to spill over their territory.
How to explain to her mistress that she fucked everything up?