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Jean had tried.
For five months, he had tried. For five months, he hadn’t kneeled. For five months he clung to memories of Elodie, of blackberries and whispered prayers for a dragon to come and save them both. For five months he fought back against Riko.
It had made things worse.
Jean was not stupid, no matter how many times they had called him such. Every time he fought back the next hit landed harder. Every time he fought back Riko got more and more angry, his face contorted in a half-smile half-snarl as he told Jean how he couldn’t wait to break him. Every time Jean had spat in his face and bore the consequences.
Part of why Riko hated Jean was because he would not fight back against the master. Jean had come here to learn, and that was what he planned to do. He could make the best of this. At least, that is what he had thought in the beginning. He knew how wrong he had been now. But old habit were hard to break, and he did not want to aggravate two Moriyamas. Not that his compliance seemed to deter the master much.
Every time Jean fought back, his eyes followed him. They were green. Jean hated him. Except he didn’t, did he? This... overwhelming emotion couldn’t he described as hate. It was just as strong and destructive but... but it sat different in his chest. It was something that he already knew couldn’t come to light. It was a problem for another day. He pretended not to notice, but Kevin never stopped watching him.
He buried the memories of Elodie deep. The pinpricks of blood that formed on his fingers every time he mended her dress, the faerie tales, the picture books that always made her smile. He put it in a box and shoved it away.
Then the other memories.
His old Exy teammates who he was never allowed to talk to. His mothers angry voice and the sharp sting of a belt. His father’s meetings that he was never allowed to attend and how he was always angrier, more volatile, after them. His Japanese lessons that he could never keep up with well enough to please his mother, and the English ones after that.
All the memories he could not keep if he was still to live, he shoved them all into a box, chained it shut, and buried it deep inside of him.
All he had now was Riko and a sport he was starting to hate and a boy with green eyes. He would make it sustain him. He would endure.
And to endure... Jean knelt.
He felt like his body, his mind, his very soul, was ripped in half the moment his knees hit the ground. It felt so- so wrong to give up, to give in, to not even fight it. But he had fought. And he would not survive id he continued to do so.
I am Jean Moreau. I will endure.
And he will endure kneeling.