Another short, and yet another one that I've been meaning to do - this one since last week. I can only hope each time I succeed, I come closer to flowing with inspiration as I did before.
Genpuku was what it was called. Or, at least, what Yuffie said it was called.
The rite of passage for the samurai of her father's dojo, that changed them from boys to men. They would receive their first adult clothes, the haircut of an adult, a new adult's name, and with all these, a new life as a true adult and a true warrior. It was a necessary process, and all the pages would one day go through it. Yuffie herself expressed eager anticipation in her turn.
That would be the point when Squall and Cloud would lower their wooden training swords, share a strange look with one another, and then unanimously snort with barely restrained laughter. First off, they would state, she was a girl - only boys went through genpuku (or whatever the H-E-double hockey sticks it was called). Secondly, didn't she want to be a ninja, and not a samurai? Ninjas had no need for genpuku - regardless of size and age, all a ninja had on their plate was to steal, to deceive, to spy and to cause others much grief in the name of their contract, all without getting caught.
At this, Yuffie - in all her single-digit years - would sulk, then pointedly ask them if they would ever go through genpuku. And as they always did, they would shrug with disregard, and point bluntly that they were no samurai, and they liked their clothes, their haircuts, their names and their current lifestyles very much, thanks.
And that would be the end of it...until Yuffie decided to bring it up again.
Those were times of long ago, and times they would never see again.
For when Squall had turned 16, and Cloud nearing 14, the home they had known all their young lives was snatched from them by the wave of darkness they would come to acknowledge bitterly as Ansem's betrayal.
Squall remembered the first Heartless he faced off against. It was a tiny, pathetic looking thing with a round head and weedy limbs, and it resembled a poor specimen of a grape on tendrils. But it was the same thing that had just taken the life of the dojo master, and was the reason why he was cornered with the suddenly useless wooden sword as his only defense, and a terrified Yuffie clinging to him from behind. It was things of similar breed and appearance that had effectively separated him from Cloud, and had probably killed him as well.
Squall had always envisioned himself to be a great hero of legend, to vanquish the evil and protect the weak. Yet here, he felt true fear, as one who had never faced battle before would. And with first taste of what evil could truly be, he had froze like a deer in headlights. Such an action would have meant instant death - for him and the one who depended on him - had not Cid Highwind in all his pissed-off fury arrived, yanked them from the scene, and deposited them inside his ship.
And inside, as Cid worked at the controls while cussing a mile a minute, Aerith - the only other survivor he had managed to pick up - attempted to calm a terribly frightened Yuffie.
And as one who somehow survived his first real battle out of sheer dumb luck, Squall remained seated where he had landed, his person still in shock. The shock would wear off, and with it would come the shame - shame that he had been weak and scared when he should have been brave. Shame that, with all the words he had once said, he still did nothing. Shame that, with all the promises he had made, he had lost his best friend Cloud. Shame that, even as someone trusted him with her life, he had betrayed that trust by not acting.
And as Cid's ship left the world, it left behind the innocence,
pride and confidence that he once felt.
All that was left was the
shame.
When the first Heartless showed up in Traverse Town, he was ready for it.
It was not the same Heartless, but it was of the same appearance - the same round head and weedy limbs, the same resemblance to a poor specimen of a grape on tendrils, the same yellow glint in its glowing eyes.
Not the same, but with the same intention - to take someone's heart in the place of the one it had lost.
This time, it was different, and the boy that had frozen but a year before now flew at it with an angry roar. Creatures of this kind had taken from him, and now he would even the scales.
The battle that followed was clumsy, filled with openings and mistakes that one of inexperience often made. The creature moved swiftly, had dodged the first few strikes that flew at it. Twice, it made an attempt for his heart, and twice did he barely save himself from the terrible fate of those back home. And yet, the battle dragged on, and as they both would tire, he would learn.
When Yuffie's panicked cry at last reached Cid, and the man dropped everything but his weapon to come running, the Heartless finally fell, nothing but a high-pitched squeak filling the air as the brilliant steel of a gunblade slashed it into non-existence. And as the boy looked up at his guardian, blood dripped from the new wound he had received. Any words of reprimand were momentarily lost, and the older man merely took the younger firmly by the shoulders and guided him back inside.
Later, when Cid finally found his voice and colorfully scolded the teenager, Aerith was attending to the wounds the Heartless had inflicted on her friend. The boy said nothing, neither to the older man's vulgarity, nor to the girl's gentler reprimands. When she was at last finished and stepped back, he had turned to his reflection in the mirror, his eyes narrowing as he took in his new appearance.
For there ran a single, bold, jagged line that slanted across the bridge of his nose. It was red now, and as the wound would heal, so too would that ugly color fade. But it would scar, and that scar he would keep for the rest of his life.
"...Squall? Squall. Are you listening to me?"
The boy frowned, and did not take his eyes off his reflection as he finally responded.
"...don't call me Squall."
Cid dropped the straw he had been chewing on, confusion written all over his face in that moment, as the boy he once thought he knew continued to speak.
"Squall was a boy that had words but no action. Squall was a boy that was too weak to fight. I am not that boy anymore."
He continued to take in his new appearance. He stared at the hair he had grown out since that year before, that was now a brown mane that came down his neck and barely ended above his shoulders. He stared at the clothes he wore - the jacket, belts and leather that replaced the white shirt and secondhand military pants that he used to wear. He stared at the shining gunblade at his side - the one that replaced the silly wooden practice sword he had swung around like a toy, and the one that had won him his victory.
He stared, again, at the mark on his face - the one that slashed and marred the face of a foolish child who had been helpless and shamed, the one that branded him now as one who, at long last, was able to act on both spoken and unspoken promises.
He turned from the reflection - turned from the old life he would never look back on, and stood tall as he faced a new one.
"My name is Leon."