Part One:

Chapter One: Blue Scarf

Persona waited. Approximately ten minutes had already passed—he was sure to appear any second now. He felt somewhat annoyed. It was already quarter to five, for heaven's sake, and Natsume had to be back at the Academy soon. The boy was dawdling. He hadn't been like this before. For heaven's sake, did he think he was still ten years old? Come to think of it, what kind of a mentor had to put up with a pupil who was better at ten than fifteen?

Well, he'd be turning up soon enough. Persona wasn't at all worried that something had happened to him.

He wasn't disappointed; in a moment, a boy wearing a black cat mask over his face appeared behind him. "You're slowing down," Persona stated, noting a small cut on the side of Natsume's face.

"I'm fine," the student said, irritated, gingerly touching the mark where it had gone through the mask. His voice was slightly muffled. "They're gone, the mission's over. Isn't that what's important?"

"Go back to the Academy," Persona instructed as though he hadn't heard a word of what he'd just said. "Wait until I call for you again."

Natsume pulled off the mask, letting the night air hit his face. "What's that?" Persona suddenly said sharply.

"What're you—hey, get away," Natsume said angrily as his mentor took hold of one end of his bright blue scarf and forced him to put the mask back on.

It was clumsily knit and obviously handmade—after all, no self-respecting store would have sold something like that. "Where'd you pick this trash up?" Persona snorted. "You know better than to wear things like this on a mission, it's a dead giveaway of your location, anyone can spot this from a mile away."

"Shut up," Natsume said, moving away. "It's none of your bloody business. I'll wear whatever I like, whether it's a scarf or a fruit-covered hat and a coconut-shell bikini." The mask administered a shock for his cheek, but he felt it was well worth it. "Why should it matter to you, as long as I do the dirty work and haul the garbage out?"

"Stop," Persona commanded. The boy kept walking, but the electric shock from the mask made him freeze in his tracks.

He took the scarf from him. It had Natsume's name awkwardly embroidered on the inside of it. The boy glared at him, yanking the material from Persona's hands.

"I see," Persona said softly. "So that little pet girl of yours gave it to you, then? I have to say that I don't see what's so special about her—or her little gift. It looks like a three-year-old made it."

Natsume said nothing, but a malevolent spark lit up in his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said evenly. "It's pathetic, I know. I don't wear it if I can help it. I was just… cold," he finished lamely.

"It was just a stupid Christmas present from one of my classmates and happened to be the first thing I grabbed." His cheeks flushed, and he was suddenly glad that Persona had put the mask back on him.

The boy was a good liar, but he wasn't good enough to keep the little tremor out of his voice. "Go back to the school," Persona said. He watched the boy disappear, jumping from tree to tree stealthily. But his footsteps were slower, his mind focused on other things.

Clearly something had to be done.

In one room at the Alice Academy, the light was still burning brightly as a pigtailed girl scribbled on a piece of note paper in lopsided, childish handwriting. She'd been putting off writing it earlier while she was out with her friends, but she'd promised herself to have it ready to be sent off by tomorrow.

Dear Grandpa,

Things are going on as usual in the Alice Academy. I've been doing well with my lessons—Hotaru and Ruka and Yuu help me out a lot, so I manage to pass all my tests, although Hotaru usually whines a lot. She'll never admit that she does and I'll never tell, but Hotaru whines quite a lot.

It seems almost impossible that I've been here for five years already. Time really flies by, doesn't it? I miss you. I haven't seen you for such a long time, and I wonder how you're doing—I just hope that you're doing fine.

I really miss you, grandpa. Things are so confusing here. It isn't that I'm not happy; I don't want to offend you, but I don't think I could ever be quite this happy if I enrolled in a public middle school back home. It isn't that I wouldn't want to be with you, but I really love it here at the Academy. When I first got here, I was miserable, but now I really feel as though they accept me. I have such great friends.

Speaking of friends, I'm worried about one in particular—although I'm not sure if he really is my friend. It's Hyuuga Natsume… I sent you earlier letters about him, as you might remember. And while he's not as unbearable as he used to be, he's changed. I can't quite describe it.

Sometimes I think that we're really good friends because he does or says something nice, and then suddenly he insults me or worse, ignores me altogether. I'm worried about him. I'll never tell him, of course. He hates it when he makes people anxious.

He always says that he can take care of things alone and that he doesn't need anyone else—that's what worries me. It's the things that come out of his mouth. He doesn't seem to know exactly how horrible what he's saying is.

I guess I'm being a little meddlesome, grandpa. He says that he doesn't want to be worried about; but I do, and he's really cheeky about it too. Don't worry; he hasn't done anything to upset me—well, not really, anyway.

I hope that you write back soon, grandpa. I really, really miss you!

Love,

Mikan

With a tiny smile, she folded it and stuffed it into an envelope. Turning to look outside the window one last time before she went to sleep, she looked sadly down at a boy in a black mask entering the Academy gates and making his way into his dorm building.

Natsume fingered the scarf hanging around his neck. It made him think back to last Christmas. He hadn't liked it much. There was all that hubbub around him, and those soppy girls forcing presents on him, cluttering up his room with useless things. Usually he dumped them in the rubbish bin, unopened, or used them for target practice.

He only ever gave presents to a few people—Ruka and Yoichi, in fact, were the only ones who basked in his largesse, such as that purebred dog that he gave to Ruka and a real silver watch he gave to Yoichi last Christmas. He never spent his money on anything much anyway, and was glad for an excuse to make those two happy.

Although he never saw the point in buying things that were so expendable; those things weren't necessary, they were just there to be appreciated, and he never understood that—well, they made them briefly happy, whatever he might say about it.

"Hey Natsume, merry Christmas!"

"What do you want, polka dots?"

"I'll let that slide, just this once. It's Christmas! How can you be so gloomy on Christmas?"

"Bah, humbug."

"Here's your present."

"I don't have anything for you. Would you stop giving me all this stuff already? I tell you every year that I don't want anything from you. I don't know whether you're optimistic to the point of stupidity or just stupid, but—"

"I don't care what you say. Friends make stuff for each other."

"You're not my friend."

"Whatever. Open it. Do you like it?"

"This tacky thing? I pity the sheep you murdered to make this godforsaken crap If you're going to kill the thing, the least you could do is make something decent out of it."

"But I stayed up all night last week just to make it for you!"

He let his hand drop down his side, remembering his reply: "I guess I needed something to clean my shoes with anyway, if they're even worth that much." He didn't regret saying that, not in the least. It was better that she thought that he despised her. He did, in his own fashion.

She had taken no offense, just smiled and said, "Well, as long as you keep it, I don't mind. I'm not too good with knitting, but I tried my best and if you keep it, I'm happy."

He let out a long, shuddering breath. That girl crawled under his skin, insinuated herself into his dreams in ways that he would rather not tell anyone. There was no space in his life for silly infatuations.

How could someone be so ridiculously happy? She had that annoying little grin permanently plastered to her face, and it shook him. She smiled no matter what. It made him want to shake her. He could insult her a million times over and she would stand there with that stupid, silly grin of hers. It made him feel like screaming in her face and wiping that irritating smirk off because there it was—reality was nothing to smile about.

He had quashed his growing obsession for five years now, but it was undeniably there.