Dragon's Breath

I watched, dreading the hypnotic sway, back-and-forth, of her brilliant crimson hair, and suddenly recalled, petrified, the passage from Revelations 12:9: And the great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him.

Chapter One: A Place Called Home

On those distinct, cloudy August days, I'd grow weary of the hourly checkups and recurring psychiatric assessments, prompting me to flee during the late afternoons for the confines of the wards rooftop, what I considered a momentary sanctuary in the repetitiveness of my ostensible day-to-day activities. Up there, I sat atop a marginally slanted ridge with a pile of literature at my side, a Pocket Bible, cookbook, newspaper, or whatever else I could comfortably get my hands on, and read, resting comfortably on the solar panels underneath until the upcoming morning.

Though not my oddest characteristic by any stretch, my natural eyesight was abnormally exceptional, and I had no gripes with reading the small printed texts of Matthew 6:28, in the pitch-black of the chilly night:

And why take ye thought for raiment?

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow;

they toil not, neither do they spin:

If I were more analytical in thinking, perhaps I might've been able to calculate the approximate time of morning's gallant return; but I still used the lifetime habit of judging nightfall by the alarm clock resting on the indoor dresser of my second floor confines.

Doctor Sakura would often joke and say I sometimes ponder on things less befitting a young man, and more of an old croak, focusing too much on the minor specifications of life. It disappointments me less that she's right, and more that I just can't really do jack about it; because He won't let me.

"Damn, where do you think he ran off to now?" I picked up the echo of tired, frustrated voices below, and momentarily paused my reading session to see what was happening. Two guards—yellow jackets, Sakura calls them—more than a few stories down, bickered and bitched, their target of discussion being yours truly. "Probably took off, likely stole em' crappy books, an', if we're lucky, just may be a comin' back as we speak."

"He's a real freak, that boy." The other yellow jacket loudly coughed and then spat something he'd been chewing into the nearby bushes.

"At least he's of them 'discreet types', am-I-right?" They continued on their routinely pathway as I continued to separately watch from the rooftop above. "At least the hospital'll be getting' rid o' him soon, huh?"

"Damn straight, brother."

As I understood it, guess they were just "used to my antics". I crouched down, perched like some sort of hawk, and felt a frown rearrange itself across my lips. Off in the distance, the courtyard sprawled out in several directions, over a couple of yards, walled off by the depressing sight of tall, chained-wired fencing, yet another reminder that I was, indeed, a prisoner here. My fault, I suppose.

Doctor…

The voice again snarled, irately, the deep rumble in his tone reminding me of a bottomless pit, a violent storm or hurricane, the voice of a being which festered in the void, reminding me, once again, that He was angry like always.

The brightness of a flashlight covered my back, revealing me to the world. I turned around, not surprised that she had found me. The doctor jumped, startled. I stared back, wincing from the brightness of the light, speculating how long she'd continue to do the same. Slowly, I came to appreciate just how creepy I'd been for the past few minutes.

She sighed and switched off the light that'd been assaulting my eyes. Understanding that my scare was unintentional, she showed off a flashy smile, highlighted by the gentle ruby of her soft lips, and then started taking off her expensive-looking high heels. With meticulous pacing, she gradually made her way across the slanted solar panels to where I presently sat. As she drew nearer, I extended out a hand to take hers into mine, assisting in sitting her comfortably besides me. Her hands were very soft, the kind you'd typically associate with a mother.

Despite the profession, she was a good-looking woman, frighteningly so. She had long, hazel hair, the kind you'd see on the cover of fashion magazines, and perfectly tanned skin that I was sure had to have been kissed by the French Riviera, a gorgeous beach line I'd read about in a World Atlas.

Under the traditional white lab coat, she was wearing a sensual, pink mohair cowl-neck sweater, which did little to hide her impressive, natural properties, which barely reached the top of what I imagined to be caramel thighs, and her tight jean shorts that did little to dissuade said imagination. She was tall and lean, with a curvilinear, busty figure.

Doctor Sakura's first words to me are simple. In a whisper notched somewhere between nervousness and excitement, she leans over to glance at where the guards still continue their nightly patrol, then looks back to me and says "Nice spot." When I crack a light smile instead of reflexively saying, "took you long enough to find it," she gives me an affirming nod.

With time I've learned to get good at hiding the emotions that don't matter; annoyance, anger, and exhaustion, the crap that can have permanent condos setup on people's expressions if they're repetitively indicative towards others, with timeshares set up for their less-than-desirable friends. And when you have another voice in your head, you'd better get good at keeping it under wraps…

"So," she glanced at the stack of books I had kept nearby, "what're you reading this fine evening, Issei?"

I passed her the Bible I'd been skimming over from earlier. With visible interest, she flipped through the small pages, and I noticed her painted nails: dark green.

"Where'd you get this?"

"One of the guards had it."

She raised an eyebrow and passed the Holy Book back to me. "Did you steal it?"

I knew what was coming, and we sat there in silence for a while before I admitted a prejudice. "I feel like that's a mean way of putting it."

"Oh, really?" Her eyes were those of an investigator, one preemptively cross-examining a troublesome witness. "Issei," her expression screamed of bitter disappoint, "you're killing me." The doctor blinked, and I settled on the whistle of a passing breeze as I tried my best to find a sufficient reply to her vocal dissatisfaction.

"Sorry." The ensuing quiet that followed was awkward, albeit frank, and I struggled, internally, finding some semblance of grounds to stand. She often told me I was far from a bad kid, but I wasn't confident in that specific diagnosis.

"I know." She saved me from the growing embarrassment, promptly asking, "how about we make a bet?"

"I'm afraid to even ask."

"Oh, don't be like that." Sakura flashed me another one of her showy smirks, as if it were okay for her to purposefully treat me like I was only eight years old. "You beat me, even once, and I'll let you stay up here for the rest of the night."

I contemplated making a jump for the alignment of bushes down below, but knew well enough that my chances of a successful escape were slim to none, and I loudly exhaled, signaling ultimate defeat. Well played, doc.

Her office was small and cozy, and I gathered it was arranged similarly to her own living arrangements; the kind of room that let you know, firsthand, that the occupant wasn't going to be too belligerent during your mid-day consultation, thankfully.

"It's a good thing I like you." The good doctor brought her queen out. It was the second game, and my plans for an all-nighter on the rooftops had gone the way of my three paws, two rooks, and a knight. I went with the other knight and felt a shadow of impending doom as her bishop slithered along diagonally. The stem of her pen swung around and pointed at me like the barrel of a gun, the second of the evening. "Still nervous about tomorrow?" The pen returned to her front pocket.

I leaned back in the cushioned chair and placed an elbow on my knee. The good doctor wasn't quite ready to let me off the hook just yet and skimmed the other bishop across the board for a completely different attack on my king.

"You can always tell, huh?" Generally, it was moments such as this when I questioned why He kept silent. I could've really used the help, but He seemed to only cooperative with me when He deemed it appropriate to do so. Dickhead.

It was quiet in the room as the psychologist continued to study me. Doctor Sakura's mahogany eyes flickered in the half-light of the lamp behind us. She shook her head. "Well, I wasn't your psychologist for now over a year for zilch, Issei."

"Right." I tried focusing more on the game board, rather than dwell too much on my bad habit of addressing her chest as if it had an identity of its own. It was painfully obvious I never had much interaction with women growing up.

"Case-and-point, you're finally graduating from being a patient in this gloomy place, to being an actual free teenager." I made a face, unknowingly. "And then, I'll be happy to finally see my favorite kiddo becoming a prominent, healthy member of society." Her gaze dropped back to the board. "Checkmate."

I looked at the assembly of courtly pieces and placed a finger on my king, casually toppling him over to premature death. "You win."

"I'm proud to say I've done my research on finding the perfect foster family, and the Hyoudous are a wonderful couple, Issei. You're going to love them. Trust me."

Two days prior of this conversation, Doctor Sakura informed me that a young family from the Kuoh Prefecture, despite my schizophrenia, was willing to accept me as a "nonconsanguineal" adult into an offspring role of their household; basically meaning that I was finally getting adopted.

Guess what they say is true… no act of kindness goes unpunished.

Early Monday morning was the big day.

Their names were Goro and Sachiko Hyoudou—at glance, a seemingly pleasant couple—and they both appeared genuinely overwhelmed with happiness to be finally meeting me, in-person, that soon-to-be autumn day. Mrs. Hyoudou ran up to me for a tight embrace, her charcoal coat billowing after her. Mr. Hyoudou was quieter than his significant other, but joyful all the same. As they talked, I waited, but the other guy said nothing. Slowly, I felt reassured that everything was going to be all good.

Doctor Sakura's goodbyes to me were short and bittersweet, and I was soon off. From the backseat of my foster parents' Hyundai, I watched the morning clouds roll by, realizing that this was the brand-new start to chapter in my life.

It took a few hours to get the three of us to Kuoh. I read Frankenstein, the only novel I was allowed to keep, as we drove across the Kyoto Prefecture, even though I had an inkling that Mr. and Mrs. Hyoudou were saddened of my lack of oratory since the hospital, and I decided that the majority of Japan consists of flashy tall buildings and far too many bicyclists. I was still reading as we pulled up to our destination. "Thus the poor sufferer tried to comfort others and herself. She indeed gained the resignation she desired. But I, the true murderer, felt the never-dying worm alive in my bosom, which allowed no consultation."

Mr. Hyoudou carefully parked the big family SUV in front of nicely sized two-story terrace residence with a light blue exterior, a balcony on the second floor, and tiled roof, and cut off the engine. "We've arrived! Welcome to your new home, Issei."

"But I just finished the first section…" He gave his wife a funny look, and the two burst out laughing. We figured not to make things awkward, and it was collectively appreciated. I unclipped my seat belt, tossed Mary Shelley's hit piece back into my duffle bag, and glanced outside at the surrounding neighborhood. "This looks like a nice town."

Mrs. Hyoudou stepped out of the Hyundai onto the outside pathway, stretching her back and flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. Her petite build threw me off, as I'd never met a smaller woman in my entire life. "Oh, isn't it just the sweetest little town? I've lived here most my life, and Goro moved in about seven years ago."

Mr. Hyoudou's expression brightened even more as he fixed his glasses. "I was a bit of a freelance writer back in the day," he grinned at me with the full set of a severe underbite, "before meeting Sachiko, that is."

I strapped the duffle bag over my shoulder and closed the door to the four-wheeler. "What did you write about?"

"Good question." He moved from the driver's side of the automobile to join his wife's side. "I found myself engrossed with topics relating to the immigration and education systems of overseas countries, mainly the United States. I wrote a fair amount of op-ed pieces, comparing foreign issues with the country's very own." He broke out into a hearty chuckle, reaching out and holding his wife by the waist. "My stuff was fairly controversial, and I received a bit of crap from the older generations."

"Oh, you're being over dramatic." She reached and pinched his cheek, unintentionally causing him to laugh even more.

He glanced back at me and suddenly asked. "How about you, Issei? Did you ever get in trouble, every once in a blue moon?"

"Goro!" Mrs. Hyoudou playfully spanked her husband upside his head. "What are you doing, asking him such a question?!"

My expression didn't change as I tightened the blue strap. "I never got in trouble."

He watched me with great interest as Mrs. Hyoudou left to open the house. "Thinking you're not in trouble and not being in trouble are two different things, Issei."

I appeared to remain immobile, but his words deeply resonated. "Fair point." I watched my foster parents enter the house and noticed the people who were walking by stared at me. I waved, but they didn't wave back; so much for the Sweetest Little Town.

Mrs. Hyoudou called me inside. I'd never seen the inside of a genuine house before, and I wasn't comfortable being out of my element. The entry hallway led into a spacious living room, which shared space with an open tiled kitchen at the side. I also noticed the doorway next to the staircase, leading up to the second floor, was a washroom. A large flat screen television hung from the wall adjacent from a commodious velvet sofa.

My uneasiness must have been showing, and she tapped my shoulder, instructing me to come follow her up the elevating steps. "Upstairs is your bedroom, unless you'd like to later switch somewhere else. It's right besides the upstairs bathroom."

"You have two bathrooms?"

"Crazy, right?" She winked with the purest intentions. I nodded and trailed her into the space that would be my new room. Unlike the chamber that I lived in for a good year, this was a room. The walls were painted a sprightly sky-blue that reminded me of early Easter morning, and I continued to make my way through the comforting space. I had a wooden desk and two spruce bookcases; the floor was covered by grey carpet; and I had a closet and queen-sized bed with blue and white sheets. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah." I sat my duffle bag right by the chair accompanying my desk. "This is an awesome room, thanks."

"I'm so glad you like it!" She smiled and clapped her hands together. "Take as much time as you need to adjust, and get comfortable. I know we're asking you for a lot, so thanks for being a good sport about it. Lunch will be ready, downstairs, shortly."

While she spoke, I looked through my closet and noticed, amongst the abundant wardrobe, a peculiar uniform hanging from the nearest clothes hanger. The blazer was a dark grey, approaching black, with white accents running down the front break. Underneath rested a white, long-sleeved button-down shirt with vertical linings, a black ribbon for the collar, and matching dark pants. At the bottom corner, nearby my own laundry basket, rested a pair of brown dress shoes and a brown suitcase, carry bag.

"Hey, Mrs. Hyoudou, what's this thing here?" I pointed, addressing the primordial, overtly fancy elephant in the room, and my foster mom seemed unreasonably delighted about my sudden discovery.

"Oh, yay! Issei, do you like how it looks? Starting next week, this'll be your new school uniform!"

Despite the years of learning to conceal my emotions, I still stuttered. "W-What?"

"Doctor Sakura instructed us to enroll you in high school, so next week you'll be a proud second-year student of Kuoh Private Academy, the best school around! She assisted in your admission, so there's no need for an entrance exam. How great is that?"

I thought about how there were more than one hundred thousand other foster homes across the islands of Japan and how it seemed that I was now stuck with the one family that wanted to see me in school. Me: an orphan in a world without pity.

I couldn't get inside the bathroom. I tried opening it the way Mrs. Hyoudou instructed; I jiggled it, lightly, and struggled to get it to turn in the other direction, but no go. I took a break to pace around the hallway, trying my best not to vent out a sea of anger towards an inanimate object, and thought about kicking it wide open, but I wasn't too sure how well my foster parents would take that.

The thought grated me, and I decided to give it one, final "good ol' college try". Feeling victorious, I gripped the lever with a tad more force, this time around, and pulled.

Clang—!

My optimism was short-lived, and I felt especially stupid, gazing down at the broken knob resting between my calloused fingers. The instinct to glance around for the random, sudden appearance of an angry parent, only further validated my own sense of guilt, and I swiftly opened the broken door to get inside as fast as possible.

I tried to forget the incident for the time being, and slowly undressed for the first, genuine shower in my new home, moving on to address the man in the mirror.

The young man who stared back at me was born of foreign descent, his features equally toughened—a hooked, feint scar resided just under his brow and lower lip—and undistinguished except for the deep, dark blue of his eyes, which moved up to a thick head of darkened curly dirty-blond hair. I took in a breath and flexed, hardening the developed muscles in my neck and shoulders. I had trained a lot during my time spent at the hospital, whenever I wasn't reading instead. Doctor Sakura often commentated I was always in a sort of frenzy, never maintained. I'd cycle for hours on hours, followed shortly by lifting weights—the last I got to, in secret, was thirty reps of a barbell, overhead press, carrying 550 pounds. I enjoyed the burning pain, and the idea of constantly improving, the challenge to blow past one's limits.

While my form was broad, well built, and considerably athletic, more so than the average student based on my age, it wasn't a true testament to my real strength. Noticing my unnatural abilities and strength, Doctor Sakura calculated that my body, remarkably, lacked the Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness that plagued humans, collectively, whenever their bodies grew in strength. My muscles still inflamed and grew sore after a serious workout, yet the time I needed to heal after was practically non-existent.

It was supposedly a baffling discovery, according to her, but it remained our secret. I never asked why, I just gathered it was to my benefit.

The shower was quick and uneventful—I had hot water at the hospital—and I comfortably ventured back to my new room. I sat, lazily, in the chair by my duffle bag, and broke out Frankenstein to continue from where I'd left off in the car ride. I never closed my closet, and, suddenly, found myself peering inside my closet, at the school uniform my foster mom had been gushing over from earlier.

"Why the heck not…" I spoke to nobody, maybe Him, and abandoned Victor and his Creature once more, pulling out the hanger that supported the extravagant items. I picked out the white shirt, dropping the rest of the catalogue out over my bed, and began fitting myself into the fabric of my future school uniform right before…

Shhh—rippp—!

The threaded, posh streams of the shirt tore in two, right before my eyes, buckling under the pressure of my sizable forearms and physique. "Oh, hell…"

Regardless, the shirt wasn't my size.

Downstairs, I glanced back to the clock sitting high above the living room wall: 11:30. She'd be done with work for the day; we'd always play chess around seven or at least eight. I glanced around for the home phone, finally discovering it by the slice of wall attached to the kitchen counter. I'd never used one before, but I'd seen some TV shows before and pushed one of the little buttons that had a tiny phone image on it, was rewarded with a chirp and slow ring, and was immediately homesick.

"Hello, this is Doctor Sakura."

"If you could look out your window, across all of Kyoto, you would see a young, yet ruggedly handsome, student-to-be safely tucked away in his new home."

There was a pause. "You doing okay?"

Evidently, I was in trouble. "Is that a problem?"

Another paused, followed by the sound of her sweet laughter. "No, not at all, but how on earth did you get this number?"

"The internet." I reached over and pulled up a chair from the counter to sit. "I just wanted to call you and talk about books and stuff, like we usually do…" There was even another pause, and I started getting a little miffed. "Sakura…"

"Issei."

It was a short word, but it had a lot behind it. A jolt of pain ravaged the muscle that supported my body's blood flow, and I felt like crushing the cheap plastic emitting the soft tone of her breath. "Hello?"

"Stop." Though there was no physical way, I swear I could feel Sakura looking down on me from miles away. "You're a bright, gifted eighteen-year-old boy, finally reaping the rewards of society, and I'm an old, outdated physician. I know you wanted something between us… but we're years apart, and you were my patient, Issei. Your extraordinary case has finally been settled. You're free."

I looked up at the living room clock, heart heavy, and tried not to sniffle. "I just…"

"No, Issei…" The irritation was returning to her voice. "…Do me a favor, one last time. Please." Her crossness dissipated, and I promptly listened. "Give this new life of yours a chance, one week at least, and in due time you'll forget all about me. Okay? Do you think you can do that for me?"

I failed to respond, cooped up with far too many emotions for my own good.

"Thanks, Issei. Goodbye and good luck. I know you're going to be just fine."

"I'm getting that." I hung up. There wasn't any reason to argue; I'd lose. The longest silence since I'd arrived to my new home. By the time I'd returned the phone to it's stationed port, it was already late, and the woman I had feelings for was long gone. I had to smile and shake my head, ignoring the tears. "Already?" I watched the clock on the wall, thought of the ripped shirt on the bed, my foster parents peacefully asleep, and sighed.

One week passed, but Doctor Sakura never left my mind.

The first morning of school; I awed at the sea of vibrant pink and white cherry blossom petals that flew overhead, shooting high into the bright sky, a reminder that I was in a different world to any I'd previously known. The stacked stone brickwork looked like the castled defenses of the Great Wall of China along the school entranceway, with the bright sunrise illuminating the wall as if it was some gateway to Heaven. I could hear the bickering and socializing of the many classmates surrounding me, and I seriously worried that I would not fit in this place. I'd never actually been to a school before, no less a high school, so maybe that's why everyone kept shooting stares in my general direction. Still, what was most puzzling to me, conversely, was that I'd yet to single out even one guy. Everywhere, in every nook-and-cranny, there were girls only, and I was starting to think I was somehow in the wrong place.

I shook my head, following the rest of the entourage, until someone eventually braved me. "Yo, Tarzan, you lost?" I watched as a poised student around my age made his way across the sidewalk and approached my right, smiling wide enough to reveal his back teeth. His head was shaved clean and he wore the school blazer unbuttoned.

"Depends," I shrugged, then jabbed a thumb in the opposite direction. "This Kuoh Private Academy?"

"Nah, Sherlock, this is the gateway to Narnia."

I wished I understood the reference; it dawned on me that this wouldn't be the last time that I'd misunderstand a mention to mainstream culture. "Mind if I tag along then?"

He scratched his eye, not totally uninterested, and kept up that wide, wolfish grin. "Shit, man. Welcome to paradise on earth. What's your name?"

"Issei." I paused a moment. "Issei Hyoudou." Saying that was going to get some used to. "How about you, wise guy?" I smiled, knowing full-well how to banter too.

"Wise guy?" That got a laugh out of him. "I'm Matsuda, second-year."

"Guess that means we're in the same boat."

His right eyebrow rose in a curve. "Yeah? Dude, that's all you had to say! There's like a one-to-sixty ration of guys-to-chicks in this school. We need the extra manpower!"

We strolled left and went towards the large, oversized school ahead, our designation. It was a beautiful day, and the overhead structure shined from the direct sunlight and encompassed the entirety of my view, almost as if expressing its undeniable grandeur. It was less of what I imagined to be a school and more of an overly crafted, exotic mansion. The campus also extended just beyond the main school building, and I glanced by at the other surrounding structures. "Isn't this place like… overly fancy…?"

"This used to be an all-girls school. That's why it's all sunshine and rainbows."

His tidbit of information was useful, and the obvious lack of male students was starting to make sense to me. "When did they decide to assign it co-ed?"

"Shit, I wanna say like three years ago, maybe, but I dunno."

As he talked, I studied this new, mysterious environment of mine. It was amazing to me just how many students were still walking to school. There were girls laughing and walking arm in arm, girls swinging their school bags in a desperate pursuit of momentum, and another male student, approaching us, rocking the dark school blazer buttoned up and a pair of ordinary spectacles.

I watched as Matsuda greeted him up with a unique sort of handshake and then pointed at me. "We finally got ourselves a trio of second years, my guy! The circle is now complete!" Again, the endless concoction of art, music, and literature references were throwing me off. I really needed to visit a library for once, rather than steal from it.

I nodded. "I'm Issei."

He copied me, and unlike Motohama, smiled like a normal human being. "Issei? Howdy, I'm Motohama. This shmuck's only friend." His voice was remarkably cultured, and I looked at him for a second more—unable to see the eyes behind his thick glasses—and then continued on with Matsuda.

"He's a dick."

"Correction: I'm a 'well-mannered' dick." He pointed towards the far right end of the school, somewhere far off. "You skipping first hour?"

Matsuda smiled some more. "You know it!" He bumped my shoulder, passing on the invitation. "Issei, wanna join us?"

I was surprised by my classmate's hasty offer. "I, umm…"

"Sorry, he's a little too forward, huh?" He waited. "I guess he really is, since you're not talking." The sudden self-scratching of his scalpel was meant to snag my attention.

"No, I was just thinking. I do that, sometimes, before I talk."

"Oh, okay." He grinned and gently slapped Matsuda on the back. "You should do that more often, then everyone won't think you're a raging dumbass."

"Hop off, four-eyes." They were still curious if I wanted to join them, and after a jangled conversation of bluffs, evasions, challenges and general bullshit, I gave in to the shared charisma of my two classmates, and I joined them in a secluded spot behind the hedges of the main building.

Motohama studied me for a little moment and then smirked. "Are you even from Japan, Issei?" Quite unlike Matsuda, I had the immediate feeling that Motohama was legitimately perceptive, granted all the signs were there. "You're also fucking jacked." I watched him sit up against the bark of a tree, enjoying the shade.

"Yep," I sat up straight, "but I don't know my real parents."

"Orphan; tragic." He shrugged and continued to smile. By that point, I'd noticed the pen and notepad in his hands. I'm sure he was aware I was staring at him, so he undid his blazer to confirm my suspicions. I noticed the press tag at once, a prized magnetic badge hung over his neck, and asked whom he worked for. "Nobody," he yawned with gaping jaws. "I'm just sort of getting the feel of things; I'm writing a book: Tig Ol' Bitties."

"Dude," Matsuda cupped both of hands up under his chest, "the amount of titties, shape-and-size, at this school…" His face twisted into one hell of a perverted smirk. "This place really is Nirvana."

"You two must be popular."

"Shit," Motohama laughed, "I wish." He paused and then inclined his head a little. "This place used to be an all-girls' school, not until a couple of years ago that is. As the grades go down, the amount of guys go up, but girls still outnumber us by quite the margin." His glasses were falling, so he adjusted them accordingly. "Here, the girls have all the authority, and we're stuck with the scraps."

I nodded and pointed. "But that still doesn't explain the pass."

He wrote on his notepad and looked back at me. "Kuoh Times: Copy-editor."

"He's basically a super faggot."

"I don't know what that is." I replied.

"Ignore Humpty-Dumpty," he pointed the pen at me, "how old are you, dude?"

"Eighteen."

"You're eighteen?!" I nodded. Matsuda grinned, suddenly, and reached into his blazer, pulling out a messy-looking cigarette. "Okay then. Here," he said, "have a joint."

"Dude!" Motohama practically dropped his notepad. "How'd you sneak that in here?!"

"Cause I'm the only man of culture in this whole pompous shithole," his eyes suddenly met with mine. "Ya dig, motherfucker?"

"Put that away, dumbass!" Motohama looked considerably apprehensive.

Matsuda ignored him and held it out to me, and suddenly, without warning, I was thrown into one of those definitive instants, a fork in the road. Here I was on my first day of school, ever, and it could quite possibly turn into my last. I knew what it was; back at the hospital, the guards often smoked grass whenever they had some free time.

I felt, at that moment, a weird mixture of panic and anticipation. For a whole, solid week I'd been living in Kuoh, trying to bury and forget my unresolved feelings for Doctor Sakura. And now, with this joint in front of my face, everything, emotionally, poured back into my heart like a mountainside avalanche. By the time I'd returned to reality, Matsuda had already lit the lumpy little marijuana cigarette for me.

Screw it.

With the joint in my hand, glowing in the darkness of the nearby shade as I inhaled, I figured, well, I may as well get as numb as I can. Then, in a moment of fine inspiration, I took a nice lungful and turned my head upwards to stare at the puffy clouds passing by. For eighteen long years, since I can remember, a nameless, dreadful voice drifts from within the deep confines of my very consciousness, as if stirring from a continual, great slumber. A bottomless voice, He speaks to me, every so often; sometimes it's advice, and sometimes it's a simple complaint or vocal disdain for his present surroundings. Yet, ever since I've started living here, in Kuoh, and abandoned the haven of Doctor Sakura and the boundaries of the hospital, he's been awfully quiet. In that moment, between the puffs of hazy smoke and bright autumn sunlight, I wondered if I truly was crazy.

All this was running through my head as the joint came back to me, and my sense of humor returned along with my sense of taste, and I realized, after three or four novice tokes, that I was smoking some really retrograde shit, and I wasn't feeling jack. "What the hell," I said, "this is really awful stuff, where did you get it, the backwoods?"

My classmate who'd given it to me laughed and said, "Dude, that's THC. What you taste, pal, is old school Colombian. It's chemical grass synthetic stuff. The guy I got it from soaked it in THC and dried it out."

Synthetic grass! I was tempted to jam the butt of the thing into the bald bastard's eye, maybe that'd show him! All this time, and I wasn't even smoking grass, but some kind of neo-legal bastardized Colombian that tasted like the toilet water from a public restroom. This, for one, was definitely not worth getting expelled over on the first day of classes.

It was just about then that I got the first rush. THC, DMZ, OJT— the letters didn't matter, I was stoned. Matsuda and Motohama suddenly looked like they were over nine feet tall and the trees above the courtyard seemed to press down on us; the light coming from the sky grew brighter, and bluer, and seemed to track as I wandered off to find a bathroom. I really needed to find a bathroom.

It didn't take me long to realize that I was a goddamn lightweight, and that I should get the hell out of dodge while I could still walk. The scene was bad enough with a perfectly straight head; peripheral vision was the key to survival—you had to know what was happening all around you and never get out of range of at least one opening to run through when the attack came. Which was no place to be with a fuzzy head…

…What the actual fuck was I saying?!

My face felt like it was slowly turning to putty; with adrenaline up so high, for so long, that I knew I'd collapse soon as I'd reached the facilities, wherever the hell they might be. I aimed myself across the sidewalk and into the nearest door I could reach, where it suddenly occurred to me—how was I going to walk up the steps?

"KYAH!" I accidentally scared a girl, nearby, as I pushed through and practically stumbled onto the floor of the inside hallway. Honestly, I'd scream too. I might have only stood around 5'7, but I was physically bigger than everybody else on campus.

Akin to a headless chicken, I found and then latched myself violently onto the stairwell leading upstairs, climbing on all fours like a bonafide primate. My head felt like it was close to exploding into a shower of chunky confetti, and with each upwards step I felt closer to puking my guts. I prayed that the male washroom was somewhere close by as I neared the top of the second floor, when, suddenly, the cries of my scared classmates shifted into joyous squeals and whispered fits of excitement and girlish shrieking.

"Hey, is that?"

"Oh my God, no way! It totally is! It's Big Sister Rias!"

"She's so beautiful and perfect in every way!"

"Wait, is she walking over to that crazy guy?"

"Holy crap, she is! No way!"

I took a deep breath, ignoring the surrounding ruckus, and stopped climbing. My hands felt cool against the wall. "I'm okay." I tried to laugh, but I think all I accomplished was a funny face, so I dipped my head back down and blinked to clear my vision.

"Are you alright?" The voice that spoke out to me from above was seductive and silky like the strings of a first rate violin, yet extraordinarily refined; I'd yet to hear a voice so imposing and firm. I looked up from the steps, and it dawned on me that my temporary high had mysteriously cleared. She looked at me, not sure. "Do you want me to get the nurse?"

An angel. I blinked, but that's indeed what I was looking at. Standing at the edge of the steps, enclosed by an awed school body, was an unbelievably gorgeous figure, watching me with a pair of bright, hypnotic, ocean blue eyes. She wore the traditional school uniform, a white long-sleeved, button-down shirt with vertical linings that barely held up a pair of spherical, earth-shattering breasts, tied together by a black ribbon. Her beautiful European heritage, uncovered by exposed porcelain skin, reminding me of fine, expensive china, was white as arctic snow, the rest hidden by a black cape rested over the shoulders, a matching button-down corset, and a vivid magenta skirt with white accents. Gorgeous. I'd never seen a human more mesmerizing, noble, and indescribable in my God given life, and my body froze in awe.

She was tall and curvilinear, with slim proportions that were nothing like a normal student's. Yet, what captivated me most was the deep, vibrant red—the crimson of her long hair, reaching all the way down to her sensual hips. Her long, crimson hair swayed gently with each and every graceful, elegant step downwards. My breathing stopped as she drew nearer; I was close enough to where I could smell her incredible fragrance, stimulating like the pleasant weather of spring morning.

Suddenly, as she slowly revealed a blinding, dazzling smile—wooing the remaining passerby and I in a complete stir—a sense of foreboding engulfed my heart like a dark storm, and I slowly began to fear her mortal beauty… mortality…

Something about my classmate… was not mortal…

I watched, dreading the hypnotic sway, back-and-forth, of her brilliant crimson hair, and suddenly recalled, petrified, the passage from Revelations 12:9: And the great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him.

Devil…! His words, suddenly returning, brassy and foreboding, bore deep into my skull, and I felt my knees buckle a little. Retreat, now…! He roared, endeavoring to return me to reality. But the next thing I knew—shocking everyone—the stranger stood on the final step before mine, crouching to somewhat gain a similarity in height, and leaned forward into my left ear, covering my nose with her fragrant crimson hair, and sweetly whispered…

"Welcome to Kuoh Private Academy," I felt a sharp pain of jolt, followed by a series of harsh chills rush down my back, "Wielder of the Booster Gear."