Chapter Text
“You’re the Crown Princess, not some petty-criminal street kid.” Her mother had said that as if it were an irrefutable truth, while packing Chibiusa’s suitcase with stoic determination. The girl’s pink hair flew up as she shook her head.
“That’s so freaking unfair! You just want to get rid of me!”
Her protest echoed through the palace corridor. No answer. Just the soft click of Serenity’s shoes on the marble floor as she turned away.
“It’s decided,” she said over her shoulder, and that was the end of the discussion.
It had all started with a ridiculously minor offense—a stolen lipstick from the royal beauty salon.
“We’ll show you how real teenagers have fun,” PallaPalla had whispered as she pressed the shiny thing into Chibiusa’s hand. Her eyes had sparkled like the stars and planets in the sky—the very ones she was supposed to protect. Chibiusa couldn’t resist. Not when CereCere showed her how to bypass the alarm systems in the Rose Garden. Not when JunJun taught her how to send the royal butler—with his arachnophobia—into a panic. And certainly not when they all took her on nighttime excursions to the entertainment districts of Crystal Tokyo, where the neon lights were so much more exciting than the sterile glamour of the palace, and VesVes had plied her with cheap booze.
Yeeeaaah, she’ll admit it. She’d messed up pretty badly ever since the former Amazon Quartet had been revived as the Sailor Quartet in the thirtieth century.
They were now Chibiusa’s personal Sailor Senshi—supposed to be protecting her! Instead, they’d ended up causing Chibiusa to be sent off by her parents to an extremely strict girls’ boarding school. Just great.
All her pleading and begging had been to no avail. Instead, the queen had told her that she lacked discipline and that this school would finally teach her some.
For the ‘Chrysanthemum Academy for Daughters of the Elite’ (the name alone sounded like a threat!) was known for its extraordinary strictness.
The car came to a stop with a soft squeal of brakes in front of the wrought-iron gate. Chibiusa pressed her face against the window; her breath fogged the glass and blurred her view of this teenage prison rising behind the black bars.
“Looks like a Victorian madhouse,” she muttered, while her mother silenced her with a single, perfectly raised eyebrow. The chauffeur opened the door with an exaggeratedly polite bow—she’d hated that kind of subservient behavior ever since she was a child.
“For one trimester to start with, and then we’ll see if they’ve managed to teach you some sense here,” Serenity said as she had Chibiusa’s suitcase hauled out of the car—as if it were a perfectly normal school visit and not her personal exile. The crown princess bit her lower lip until it almost bled. Teach her sense. As if she were a stubborn foal that needed to be broken in.
The school’s gray walls seemed taller than those of the Crystal Palace; the iron gates closed behind Chibiusa with a final creak, as if she would never come out again. The headmistress, an elderly, tall, slender woman with a face like a frozen lake, approached her and her mother.
The headmistress moved like a robot with rheumatism—every gesture calculated, every step measured. Her black skirt suit seemed to swallow the light as she bowed before Serenity, deeper than necessary, almost submissively.
“Your Majesty. What an honor.” The words sounded as smooth as polished ice. Chibiusa watched as her mother acknowledged the greeting with a barely perceptible nod, her hands folded in her lap.
Then, at last, she turned to Chibiusa and scrutinized her with a disparaging gaze, as if she were a cockroach or some other disgusting creature.
She extended a hand that looked as if it were made of the same material as the school walls—cold and unyielding.
“Welcome to Chrysanthemum Academy, Miss Tsukino,” she said in a voice that brooked no contradiction.
Ah, ‘Miss Tsukino’… so no princess privileges for her here?
Serenity’s embrace was so tight that for a moment Chibiusa felt as if her ribs were going to break. The Queen smelled of roses and that distinctive scent she had exuded back in the 20th century, when she was still “baka Usagi”—a scent that had reminded Chibiusa of safety and security ever since her childhood. Now it smelled of betrayal.
“Behave yourself,” her mother whispered in her ear, her voice trembling slightly as though she were fighting something. Then she abruptly pulled away from her daughter and turned around quickly.
Chibiusa watched her mother return to the car with quick steps—too quick, as if she didn’t want anyone to see her face. But for a tiny moment, before the chauffeur closed the door, Chibiusa caught a fleeting glimpse of tears that her mother had wiped away with an unnaturally jerky movement. The image burned itself into her memory like a stigma.
The headmistress suddenly grabbed Chibiusa’s wrist, as if she were a thief, not the crown princess of the entire solar system.
“Here, you will learn what discipline means,” she said, her voice sounding as though she were imposing a death sentence.
Yep. Definitely no princess privileges.
Or would she be subjected to especially harsh treatment here? Perhaps even on Mama’s orders? She wouldn’t put it past her…
The headmistress dragged her through vast, cavernous corridors, their towering walls echoing every click of her high heels. It reminded Chibiusa of the sound of a hammer driving nails into a coffin. Chibiusa’s sneakers squeaked on the marble as she tried to shake off the woman’s grip—to no avail. That hand was like iron.
The headmistress’s office door creaked like the entrance gate to a prison as it swung shut behind them. The room in the school’s high tower looked as though it had been there since the nineteenth century, untouched ever since. It smelled of old leather, dust, and something else—something unidentifiable that reminded Chibiusa of burnt hair. The walls were paneled in dark oak that seemed to swallow every sound. Soundproofing? Was that intentional?
“Sit down,” the headmistress ordered, pointing to a chair whose seat was so worn that it looked like an elephant’s skin. Chibiusa obeyed reluctantly while the woman disappeared behind her desk, a monstrous piece of mahogany furniture adorned with carvings of pleading angels.
The headmistress yanked open a drawer in her desk as though she were drawing a weapon. What came out was almost just as menacing—a thick binder with yellowed pages that sent a wisp of dust swirling as she opened it.
“The Chrysanthemum Academy School Rules,” she said, sliding the document across the table as if it were a death sentence. Chibiusa accepted it reluctantly. The binder felt like parchment, cold and slightly rough beneath her fingers. Was she supposed to read all of that? The thing had at least 300 pages!
Then the old bat opened a narrow cabinet door that Chibiusa hadn’t even noticed before. With a dramatic gesture, she pulled out a coat hanger from which hung a stiff mass of gray and white fabric.
“Your school uniform,” she said, holding it out to Chibiusa like a last meal. “Wear it with pride. Or at least with obedience.”
Both might be a bit difficult, Chibiusa thought to herself. Everyone who knew her could tell she had plenty of strengths. But obedience was definitely not one of them.
The headmistress opened a folder to a page covered with red stamps.
“Room 13, Hall C, West Wing.” Her lips twisted into a smile that looked more like a grimace. “An honorable number. Thirteen was the number of plates set for the executions of the French royal family.” Chibiusa narrowed her eyes. Was that a threat?
The woman continued as if she hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary: “We follow the traditional six-day week here. Wake-up at 5:30 a.m. Make your bed before washing. Seven minutes for washing. Breakfast at 6:15, not a second later.”
Wake up at 5:30 a.m.?? Was she freaking crazy? On weekends, she went to bed at that hour!
“Classes begin at 7:00 a.m.,” the old woman continued, her eyes narrowing into slits as if she already sensed Chibiusa’s resistance.
“Punctuality is paramount. Lunch is at 12:00, followed by three more hours of regular classes.” Her hand slammed down on the folder cover as if she’d just written Chibiusa’s death sentence there.
“At 4 p.m., compulsory afternoon sports begin. Volleyball, horseback riding, or classical ballet. Your choice.”
Ooh... what a choice... She hated volleyball. She just never figured out when it was her turn to receive the ball and when she should let another teammate handle it, so she usually ended up getting hit in the head. And ballet? She’d tried that back in the 20th century, and it had been a total disaster. That was out of the question, too. But at least she liked animals! And she’d ridden Pegasus once before, after all. Learning to ride might not be such a bad idea. So she signed up for that class.
The headmistress continued, her voice as sharp as a surgical scalpel:
“Dinner at 6:30 p.m. After that, there’s still time for homework. You must be in your room by 8:30 p.m. Lights out at 9:00 p.m. Do you understand?” Her eyes bored into Chibiusa as if they wanted to pull the answer straight out of her skull.
Chibiusa offered only a sullen grumble in response. A big mistake. The old hag’s eyes flashed with anger, her bony fingers clawing at the edge of the folder as if she were considering hurling it at Chibiusa’s head.
“Miss Tsukino,” she hissed, each word sounding like a trapdoor slamming shut, “here, you answer with ‘Yes, ma’am’ or ‘No, ma’am.’ Understood?”
“Yeah, yeah, ma’am…” Chibiusa replied with feigned subservience, while her fingers secretly clenched into a fist.
“Do you think I don't know what ‘yeah, yeah’ means?” she barked at Chibiusa.
(A/N: I originally wrote this story in German. In German “ja ja” can be used sarcastically to mean something along the lines of “yeah, yeah, whatever” or “Screw you”. The latter is exactly what Chibiusa is implying. In Japanese, using "hai hai" can also be extremly disrespectful, depending on the tone and who you are talking to.)
The headmistress stood up so abruptly that her chair scraped backward. Her hand shot forward like a snake and grabbed Chibiusa’s chin with iron fingers, forcing her to look up.
“Here, you will learn respect, Miss Tsukino. If necessary, even the hard way.” Her breath smelled of black tea and something metallic—like blood, Chibiusa suddenly thought.
“Yes, ma’am,” Chibiusa hissed through clenched teeth. The old bat’s fingers were still pressing into her chin, as if trying to imprint submission directly into her bones. Only when Chibiusa’s eyes began to water from the pain did the woman let go.
“And don’t expect any special treatment because of your title.”
The uniform was itchy. She’d had to change right there in the headmistress’s office, behind a folding screen. Just another form of harassment.
Chibiusa tugged at the high collar and its ridiculously tight bow as she was marched down the long corridor (because, obviously, every single button on the blouse had to be done up, and the bow might as well be trying to strangle her); her luggage clattered behind her on the polished marble. The headmistress had finally handed her over to an older student—a girl with a strict bun and eyes that never smiled.
“I’m Takahashi, a prefect,” she introduced herself without even nodding her head. “Follow me. And try not to get lost.”
The room was small and more sparsely furnished than a prison cell. But at least it was a single room! Not a dormitory or anything like that, as she’d feared. At least she’d have some privacy. Chibiusa ran her fingers over the narrow metal bed frame, which barely budged under the weight of her hand—bolted down, of course. The mattress was thinner than her schoolbooks and smelled of disinfectant and the faint, unpleasant odor of hundreds of girls who had slept here before her. They might as well have just used one of those wooden planks hanging from the wall by two chains, she thought.
The window was tiny, and there wasn’t even a bathroom—just a tiny sink on the wall. So there was a public washroom. Hooray. Chibiusa stared at the narrow wooden door to her room, which had no keyhole. No latch or anything else, either. Were they completely out of their minds here? As a crown princess, she should have had a bodyguard! But her mother had just rambled on beforehand about security provided by a magical shield and guards at the school gates. All well and good, but that didn’t protect her from the TEACHERS or nosy classmates.
She rolled up her sleeve to look at her communicator. Cell phones and other mobile communication devices were, of course, strictly forbidden at this elite institution—she’d known that all along—so she’d smuggled in her Senshi communicator to at least be able to check in with the Quartet every now and then and vent to them. But with that door that wouldn’t lock, she’d have to be incredibly careful with it.
The door swung open before Chibiusa had even unpacked her things. A girl with shoulder-length, jet-black hair stood there, her hands clasped behind her back.
“Dinner,” she said tonelessly, as if delivering a military order. No smile, no greeting. Just that one word.
Chibiusa raised her eyebrows.
“Now?” She’d barely had time to adjust her uniform—the collar was still digging uncomfortably into her neck.
“Yes, now. And hurry up. I don’t want to be late because of you,” said the student in a voice that sounded as if she were grinding granite. Her eyes swept over Chibiusa’s still half-unpacked suitcase, then back to her face, without lingering even a second longer than necessary. No welcome. No smile. Just that icy efficiency.
The student walked ahead with a quick, steady stride, her heels clicking on the marble floor. Chibiusa almost had to jog to keep up.
“Um, I’m Usagi, but my friends call me Chibiusa. Nice to meet you…” She held out her hand, a tentative attempt to make contact.
The student didn’t even glance at her. “I know who you are, Princess,” she replied coolly, without introducing herself. Instead, she marched on as if Chibiusa were invisible. The message was clear: she wanted nothing more to do with her than was absolutely necessary.
Fine, you stupid cow. You’re not the only one here. I’ll find some friends here soon enough, Chibiusa thought. After all, she’d never had much trouble with that. Making friends had been easy enough in the twentieth century, too; she’d fit right in at her old school, and even with the Quartet, things had clicked from the very beginning after they’d been revived, despite the fact that they’d been her enemies back in the twentieth century. Maybe a little too well for her mother’s liking.
She sighed.
The dining hall looked like a castle dungeon—high vaulted ceilings that turned the clatter of cutlery and the murmurs of the girls into a menacing echo. Gloomy and cold, just like the rest of the school. The heavy wooden tables were lined up with military precision, every edge perfectly aligned, as if an architect were walking through here every morning with a protractor. There were no chairs; only hard, heavy wooden benches stood in front of the tables.
A teacher paced slowly back and forth between the tables, scrutinizing everything closely and apparently making sure, even during meals, that the daughters of higher social standing behaved as befitted their station.
“There’s the food line. Grab a tray, get some food, and find a table,” said the taciturn prefect, leaving Chibiusa standing there and sitting down at a table in the very back corner with a few other students.
Suddenly, several pairs of eyes turned to Chibiusa, scrutinizing her, and the students began whispering quietly among themselves. The stares felt like needles pricking her skin—curious, appraising, some even openly hostile. A group of girls at the next table giggled behind their hands, while another raised her eyebrows in perfect synchrony, as if she’d been practicing it for years. Chibiusa’s fingers clenched around the edge of her tray until her knuckles turned white. She knew this game. New girls were always the targets. Except that, unlike during her time in the 20th century, she wasn’t just any new girl—she was the princess, which, of course, everyone knew, and that made everything even worse.
The food counter was a narrow window in the wall, behind which stood three students in starched white aprons, their faces expressionless. Chibiusa stepped forward and held out her tray without saying a word. The first student slid two slices of dry bread onto it; the second placed a thin slice of bland cheese and a slice of dry turkey cold cuts, as if it were a punishment. The third slapped a carton of yogurt onto the tray—0.2% fat, skim milk variety. Yuck. No fruit, no salad, no hot food. Not even butter for the bread.
What was this supposed to be? Some kind of Western-style hospital diet?
She went on to get something to drink. The choices were water and bitter tea. She poured herself some tea—at least it was warm. Or so she hoped.
“Um, where can I find sugar here? Or sweetener?” she asked a student at the food line.
“We don’t really have anything sweet here. This school focuses on healthy eating,” the girl replied curtly and turned back to her work.
Horror spread across Chibiusa’s face. Four months without sugar?!? That would be brutal cold turkey. As if this place wasn’t already awful enough!
Apparently, she’d been standing there dumbfounded for too long, because she was rudely shoved aside by the student who was next in line behind her. The tea sloshed over the rim of her cup.
She quickly moved away from the food line. Clutching her tray with its meager portions tightly, she let her gaze wander across the hall. Every table already seemed to have a set group of people. She could feel the stares following her, as if she were an exotic animal at the zoo.
Should she go sit down somewhere now? No, that might make her seem pushy. And she didn’t think she could handle another rejection like the one she’d just experienced today without bursting into tears. And THAT would probably be the worst first impression imaginable… So she found an empty table, sat down, and tried to choke the meager meal down somehow.
She toyed with the dry bread on her tray while the murmur around her grew like a swarm of bees. Suddenly, a plate clattered down on the table next to her. A girl with reddish-blonde corkscrew curls sat down next to her without asking. Her heavy lily perfume immediately stung Chibiusa’s nose. The girl’s uniform looked much better than Chibiusa’s. It was made of finer fabric and fit like a glove. Tailor-made? She was also wearing makeup. Was that allowed?
“That’s not a toy, Li’l Princess,” the girl said, her voice wavering between mockery and amusement. “Around here, you eat what’s put in front of you. Period.”
“Oh, really? Have you ever heard of vegetarians or food allergies?” Chibiusa asked, pushing the tray with the bread away.
The girl with the reddish-blonde hair merely shrugged, while her eyes pierced Chibiusa like two blue knives.
“Rules are rules. Anyone who doesn’t eat what’s served here gets nothing at all.”
Chibiusa’s fingers hovered over the dry bread. The heavily perfumed girl grinned at her, her ice-blue eyes sparkling with schadenfreude. “Were you expecting a feast to celebrate your arrival, Your Highness?”
Aha, so they thought she was a spoiled little princess who always expected to get things tailored to her liking. She had to dispel that impression quickly. So she decided to deliberately pretend she hadn’t noticed the sarcasm.
Chibiusa took a bite of the dry bread and chewed demonstratively slowly while eyeing the reddish-blonde girl.
“Not exactly a feast, but something edible with a little more than 100 calories would’ve been nice, don’t you think? And my name isn’t ‘Your Highness’—it’s Usagi. And you are…?”
The reddish-blonde girl leaned forward. “Miyu Kurokawa. And you’re just ‘Usagi’ here because that’s your alias, right? How cute, ‘Bunny’… But everyone knows who you really are.” Her eyes drifted to a group of girls at the next table who were openly eavesdropping. One of them snorted softly through her nose.
“Princesses don’t get special treatment here. In case that’s what you were thinking.”
“So you’re telling me that your visit to my table and the others staring at me is standard treatment for newcomers? And ‘Usagi’ isn’t a code name. Even princesses have first names—imagine that!” Chibiusa replied ironically, while continueing to force herself to choke down the tasteless stuff.
Miyu’s lips twisted into a smile that looked more like a predator’s than a girl’s.
“Standard treatment?” She leaned back, her fingers drumming on the tabletop. “Oh, we have much nicer treatments in store for you, Usagi.” She spat the name out like a poisoned candy.
Behind her, the group at the neighboring table giggled, a cascade of mockery that made Chibiusa break out in a sweat.
The other girls had stopped whispering and were now watching the scene with undisguised curiosity.
“Nicer treatments?” Chibiusa forced a smile she didn’t feel. “Sounds almost inviting.”
Miyu’s eyes flashed, as though she had been waiting for exactly that answer.
“That’s right,” she said, slapping her palm down on the table hard enough to make the dishes rattle. “I’m inviting you to undergo a little… initiation. To prove that you’re worthy of belonging with us.” Her voice dropped to a theatrical whisper. “More details later.”
“Ooh, can’t wait,” Chibiusa said, doing her best to sound disinterested while every alarm bell inside her was screaming. “And what does it look like?”
Miyu’s fingers drummed more slowly, as though she were deliberately building the suspense.
“Everything in its own time, Li’l Princess. You’ll just have to be patient a little longer.” She grinned at Chibiusa and left the table to join her giggling friends. The cloud of perfume lingered behind.
Since it was Sunday and she didn’t have any homework to do yet, she hurried to the washroom after dinner—if you could call that slop dinner—to take a shower and brush her teeth alone before anyone else could join her. They were communal showers... great. The last thing she needed was those jerks making fun of her over some supposed physical flaw. Not that she had any. But she knew there would definitely be some stupid comments. Or worse, they could take pictures and sell them to the press!
No. If there was any way to avoid it, she was not going to let them see her naked.
After showering and getting dressed again in the horrible uniform (she wouldn’t get a second one until tomorrow), she slipped into her room—or should she call it a ‘cell’?—and sat down on the hard, squeaky bed.
Well, that had been a great start. Living with the terrible headmistress and the dreadful military-style rules might have been bearable if she’d at least had a chance to make a few friends here. And that had never been a problem for her before. She was just like Usagi that way... Pah! She cut that thought off before she could take it any further. In the end, the Usagi from the twentieth century, who had always made friends so easily, was none other than the person who had banished her here!
She ground her teeth as tears welled up in her eyes.
She had to talk to someone, or she was going to have a crying fit that would last for hours.
She pushed up the sleeve of her stiff uniform blouse and stared at her communicator. Then at the unlocked door. If someone came in while she was talking to the Quartet, she’d probably lose her communicator on the spot, and she absolutely couldn’t risk that. An entire term without being able to communicate with her friends? Impossible! That was almost four months!
No. She had to make sure that damn door was barricaded.
Her gaze fell on the desk, which, along with the bed, wardrobe, and chair, was the only piece of furniture in the room. Without a second thought, she shoved it in front of the door, which thankfully opened inward. The wood scraped across the floor, an unpleasant squeal that could definitely be heard outside. She froze, her hands still gripping the edge of the desk, and listened intently.
No footsteps in the hallway. Good. The desk was heavy enough that no one could simply push it aside—at least not without making a racket. That would do.
She quickly flopped down onto the bed and contacted her friends and fellow warriors, the Sailor Quartet. The screen of her communicator flickered pale in the darkness as she nervously waited for the connection. She held the device so close to her face that her warm breath fogged the display.
Finally, four familiar faces appeared—CereCere, PallaPalla, JunJun, and VesVes, their eyes immediately filled with alarm.
“Chibiusa!” JunJun’s voice was the first thing that had felt like home to her in hours.
“Where are you? We were starting to worry—”
Chibiusa cut JunJun off with a hurried wave of her hand. “Shhh! Not so loud!” she whispered, her eyes darting toward the door. “I’m in my room, or rather my cell—this place is like a prison! And phones are forbidden, so we really have to be careful.” Chibiusa glanced nervously at the door again.
“Easy,” CereCere whispered, her holographic image tilting slightly as though she were trying to get a look at the door through the communicator.
“Tell us everything. Slowly.” Her voice was a warm contrast to the scratchy fabric of the uniform irritating Chibiusa’s throat.
And Chibiusa told them. About the intimidating building, the brutal headmistress, the unfriendly schoolmates, and the bland, sugar-free food. She had to take several deep breaths and swallow hard to keep from bursting into tears.
“...and that’s why you absolutely have to send me some snacks! If the food here is alway like this, I’m going to starve. Or even worse, my blood sugar’s going to crash!”
Her stomach growled as if on cue.
The communicator flickered briefly as VesVes slid forward.
“We’ll bring you something! First thing tomorrow morning!” Her eyes sparkled with excitement as her hands made hurried gestures. “I’ll sneak you the muffins with the extra chocolate chips from the palace kitchen—we’ll hide them in the bushes behind the gym. There’s a little hole in the wall—we’ve already scouted the whole place out.”
They’d already figured that out? Wow.
“Thanks…” Chibiusa sniffled, wiping her eyes with her stiff sleeve. “But I don’t want you guys to get caught. Just be careful! Otherwise, you’ll end up in even more trouble with my mother.”
The communicator flickered again as PallaPalla leaned forward, her blue braids bobbing. “Listen, Chibiusa… if things are really that bad over there, then maybe we could—”
Chibiusa gasped as PallaPalla’s voice was abruptly cut off—a loud knock on the door made her heart leap into her throat.
“Who’s there?” she shouted, her fingers instinctively shoving the communicator under the pillow. The knocking repeated, harder this time, followed by a gruff voice:
“Tsukino! Open up! Room inspection!” The door jolted against the desk she’d pushed in front of it, which slid across the floor with a squeak. Chibiusa jumped up, her breath shallow and rapid. The connection to the quartet was still active—a faint hum under the pillow.
Oh God, she absolutely couldn’t let them find the communicator! She quickly pulled it out from under the pillow again, disconnected it, and stuffed it into her neckline. Surely they wouldn’t go as far as a body search, would they??
The desk scraped across the floor with a shrill squeak as the door slowly swung open inward. Chibiusa barely had time to tuck the communicator deeper into her neckline before a burly teacher with a stern bun stormed into the room. Her eyes were two narrow slits behind thick glasses that reflected the cold neon light from the hallway lamp.
“Usagi Tsukino.” Her voice sounded as if she were scratching chalkboards. “What does this blockade mean?”
Chibiusa’s heart was pounding in her throat.
“Uh, blockade—what exactly do you mean…?” she asked, trying to force an innocent smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched nervously.
The teacher took a step forward, her fingers clenched around the edge of the door.
“You know exactly what I mean.” Her gaze wandered to the moved desk, then back to Chibiusa’s face.
“I’m going to tell you this just once: The furniture stays in its place, understood? If you don’t follow the rules, you’ll face the consequences.” She surveyed the room with exaggerated slowness, as if examining every speck of dust. Chibiusa’s shoulders tensed as the muscular woman approached—she could feel the cold metal of the communicator between her breasts, a faint throbbing against her skin.
“Um, yes, understood. It won’t happen again,” she hurried to say.
“I should certainly hope not,” the teacher replied matter-of-factly, and then entered the cramped room like a force of nature.
There wasn’t really much to check yet, since Chibiusa hadn’t even unpacked, so the teacher turned her attention to the open suitcase on the bed. Her gaze fell on a dark gray ball with cat ears sticking out from among the clothes her mother had packed so meticulously. She peered over the rims of her glasses. “What’s that?” she asked sternly.
Chibiusa swallowed hard. If they took Luna-P away from her here, too… that was her secret weapon! It wasn’t as overpowered as it used to be—her parents had had some of the more extreme functions deactivated because Chibiusa had simply gotten up to too much mischief with it—but it was still indispensable in this teen prison!
“That… that’s a stuffed animal…,” she lied with a nervous smile.
The teacher picked up Luna-P and turned it over, as if searching for a hidden button that would suddenly make it pop open and reveal some kind of illegally smuggled item. When she found nothing, she put it back with a snort.
“You have strange taste,” she said, clearly disappointed at not having found anything.
The teacher looked around the room one last time, peeking under the bed, under the mattress, into the desk drawer, and into the closet. Then she snorted.
“Remember to observe the curfew. Staying in the hallways after 8:30 p.m., except to use the restroom, is strictly prohibited.” Her fingers tapped against the edge of the door before she abruptly turned and stomped out without another word. The door slammed shut behind her with a dull thud into the (unfortunately nonexistent) lock.
Chibiusa slumped onto the hard bed as if the air had been let out of her. That was close! Way too close! From now on, she’d have to keep Luna-P with her at all times. Preferably transformed into a bracelet or a necklace or something like that. The thought that Luna-P could simply be confiscated made her blood run cold. Hastily, she reached for the gray ball and pressed it tightly to her chest, her gaze darting toward the door. No footsteps in the hallway. Good.
She took a deep breath and bounced the ball on the floor a few times: “Luna-P, transform!” A soft Poff, then the ball transformed into a silver cat-head pendant necklace, which she immediately slipped around her neck, well hidden beneath her high collar. The metal pendant felt cold and soothing.
She lay stiffly on the thin mattress, her fingers clenched tightly around the silver pendant. The chain pressed coldly against her neck as she turned onto her side. Every creak of the bed made her flinch. Today she didn’t dare contact the Quartet again—the teacher had given her such a fright that it had seeped right into her bones. And for tomorrow, she had to figure out how she might transform Luna-P into some kind of alarm system so that she’d notice in time if someone tried to open the door.
She lay awake for a long time after the light had been turned off, unable to sleep, unable to even begin to relax. She hadn’t been able to stand it for long and had transformed Luna-P back, just to have at least SOMETHING from home to cling to.
She pressed the ball against her face to stifle the sobs burning in her throat. The tears were hot and tasted of salt, but she wasn’t crying just out of despair—it was anger that flooded her eyes. Anger at her parents, at the headmistress, at her schoolmates, at this whole suffocating school. As a Sailor Senshi, she had fought demons and Lemures, defeated powerful enemies who wanted to destroy the Earth—damn it, she had even traveled back in time 900 years all by herself when she was five—but here? Here she was powerless against ridiculous rules and mean stares. This wasn’t a battle where one could prevail with courage and magic. Here, blind submission was the only thing that mattered, and it felt like an invisible hand tightening around her throat.
No, submission and obedience were definitely not her strong suit.