So, this is the sequel to Panda's "Way of the S/Word. It takes place long after 14 year-old Hiroki's last visit to his childhood kendo dojo. I think this is one of my favorite pieces that Panda has done. I wish it was canon. To me, also, this piece goes well beyond FF. It is a lovely tale, all on it's own and worthy of note.

Egoist Pandamonium

The Way of the S/Word: Act II

Hiroki had traveled outside of Tokyo for a three-day seminar. He was in his hotel room, packing for his return trip home when his mother rang with her weekly call.

Once again, Hiroki silently marveled at his mother's impeccable timing: he'd been deep in the midst of some very pleasing conjectures about his impending reunion with Nowaki when her call had broken into his thoughts.

Hiroki answered his phone with a sigh and continued his preparations for leaving as he listened to his mother's genteel ramblings, answering her personal inquiries with his usual monosyllabic responses. He stopped in his packing, however, his half-listening ear suddenly acute, when the Lady Kamijou mentioned the passing of his old kendo sensei two weeks prior.

At first, he couldn't believe it. He'd secretly entertained the thought that someone as stubborn as Sakai-sensei would likely live forever. Then the ridiculousness of such a childish notion sunk in. What followed this was no more welcome.

How many times since that last day I stepped into the dojo, did I tell myself I was going to go back and see Sensei again?

But despite how many times his childhood teacher had been in his thoughts, or how often he'd had the best intentions of calling on Sakai-sensei again, he never had. Hiroki displaced the shock of the news and his dismay at his shortcomings by irritatedly scolding his mother for calling with such important information so belatedly.

Used to such chidings by her excitable son, the Lady Kamijou didn't lose her composure and calmly replied, "Hiroki, you were getting ready to attend a seminar, at which you were the lead speaker. I had imagined things for you the last few weeks would have been terribly hectic with preparation."

She then asked with the same aplomb, if her busy boy might not spare a minute to visit the dojo to express condolences to his sensei's family, adding, "Besides, now that all relevant issues are settled, you'll have more time to talk with Kaoru-san."

Hiroki sensed a particular emphasis in his mother's voice. He understood too that, thankfully, this was not another of her matchmaking attempts: Sakai Kaoru, or rather now Fujimura Kaoru, Sensei's daughter, was happily married and her age was closer to his mother's than to his own.

"Of course I'll go visit, Mother." Hiroki let out a deep exhale.

"Ah, that's good. Safe journey back. And, Hiroki, thank you." His mother's voice, which had been distinctly sad just moments before, was now laden with relief and affection.

Hiroki blushed and grumbled an awkward acknowledgment, pretending not to hear his mother's pleased smile on the other line.

"Kamijou-san, thank you for coming." Fujimura Kaoru bowed her head to the man sitting before her.

"Ah, no... I am sincerely sorry. I've come very late. But I didn't know until a few days ago when Mother told me." Hiroki bowed back, expressing his genuine regret.

"Ah, that's fine." Kaoru's voice was sincere. "Your mother said that you were leading a national literature seminar. You have become so accomplished, Kamijou-san. My father would have been proud." Kaoru smiled.

"No, that's... Um, my mother exaggerates things." Hiroki cleared his throat. "Please don't take everything she says seriously."

Kaoru smiled even wider at Hiroki's blush.

Some things don't change.

Before Kaoru could say anything more embarrassing about his life beyond his childhood dojo, Hiroki decided that their exchange of pleasantries was adequately concluded and now it was time for more significant conversation.

"Um... on another subject, Kaoru-san, may I ask how you're doing?"

Kaoru's dark eyes blinked, her smile dimmed a little. "We are doing fine, Kamijou-san. Father had prepared for everything. He was so stoic. No one knew he'd not been feeling well for quite a while.

"He'd managed to hide it until he, uh… fell, you see. Even after such a bad fall he didn't let people know he was suffering. Having been so agile for all of his life he must have felt embarrassed to reveal such a thing.

"It was actually your mother, the dear lady, who first noticed Father's worsening condition on a visit shortly after his fall.

"Kamijou-san urged Father to go the hospital, but he insisted that he was fine. Lady Kamijou took it upon herself, then, to care for him until I could come home. But there was internal damage, bleeding. Only so much that could be done outside of a surgeon's care."

Kaoru sighed, then quickly regained her composure.

"At the end it was peaceful. He told me he was looking forward to his joints not hurting him anymore after all the tumbles he'd taken trying to instruct such rambunctious pupils."

Dark eyes peered at Hiroki intently. "Though not all were rambunctious…

"Every now and again there would be a student who made Father's eyes shine whenever he spoke of them."

Hiroki looked away from Kaoru and out through the living room window, pretending to notice, for the first time, a cat perched on the garden fence, although the feline had been sitting there sunning for ages.

Kaoru smiled again at the scholar's renewed blush, pleased that Kamijou-san had understood her meaning.

"We also owe a lot to Kamijou-dono for helping us with most of the legal and tax matters. Really, Kamijou-san, our family is highly indebted to you." Kaoru bowed her head again with more gratitude and humility.

"Ah, please... don't say that, Kaoru-san. "Especially after what Sensei and your family have done for so many."

It had been quite a while since Hiroki had found himself in a situation where he was being thanked for his parents' doings. In his life away from the neighborhood, he had become used to people treating him as Kamijou Hiroki the individual, instead of Kamijou Hiroki the only son of the Kamijou House. He'd forgotten how embarrassingly disconcerting it was.

A breeze through the open window stirred the up the faint scent of sweet incense.

Moved by the fragrance and still not ready to meet his hostess' gaze again, Hiroki's keen eyes swept the living room. He noted that Sensei's ashes and his photo appeared to have been removed from the open family altar.

Quite sharp herself, Kaoru noticed his expression and quickly deciphered what Hiroki's searching eyes sought.

"Father's ashes have been moved to his old room, together with Mother's."

Before Hiroki could say anything in response, she quickly added, "Uh, Kamijou-san, I noticed you looking out the window earlier. Would it please you to see our garden?"

Kaoru rose and moved over to push the sliding door open, revealing more fully the inner garden in the center of house. Hiroki frowned slightly as he peered out into the Sakai Garden.

Sensing the professor's apprehension and his fear of intruding, Kaoru offered, "I would very much like for you to see it, please, Kamijou-san."

Hiroki got up from where he had been seated at these words, unable to refuse the Lady's request. As he drew closer to the open door, he saw that the garden, like the rest of the house, hadn't changed much since his last visit.

The bamboo-dipping fountain was still there. It had been making the soothing musical clinking in its rising and falling that he'd been secretly listening to. The patches of green grass set artfully amidst the graveled paths were just as meticulous as he remembered.

A warm breeze brushed in through the open door, carrying the light perfume of blossoms: the spring had brought its cheerful colors to several small trees within the Garden. And...

Hiroki's eyes widened.

There, at the center, stood something definitely different than his last memory of this wonderfully green space.

The burnt tree.

A small tree still stood there, but if it was the same one, no one would know now how ravaged it had once been, how charred its branches, how black its trunk.

Hiroki's wondering eyes marveled at the glory of blooming sakura that decorated the tree's artfully twisted branches.

Overwhelmed by the possibility that this could be the same tortured tree he'd last seen in that spot, Hiroki lowered his gaze. He realized that it was no ghost, no conjured apparition: the tree's thickened stem was firmly connected with the ground.

But this can't be that same burned tree…

Hiroki was unaware that he'd spoken aloud until a soft voice broke into his thoughts.

"Yes, Kamijou-san, it is the very same."

How could that be? Hiroki was stunned. That tree was devastated; no living thing could recover from such damage. His dark eyes sought answers in the shifting gaze of his hostess.

Seeing Kamijou-san's reaction, hearing his quiet question, little pieces of an old puzzle suddenly fell into place for Kaoru.

Was Kamijou-san the one? A wave of jealousy washed over her at this possibility.

Sometimes I wish I had been a boy: to be able to share such an intimate bond with my father.

Rather than allowing this new sense of loss to show, Kaoru shook her head and drew a deep breath. She knew what she had to do.

Despite how difficult this would be for her, she felt a sudden relief too, knowing that Kamijou-san had come. His being here now banished any previous sense of awkwardness she'd had and she knew she could reminisce with him about her father, without feeling tiresome.

"Father took care of that burnt tree, Kamijou-san.

"I'm ashamed to admit that when he started and then kept on after it for so long, I thought him foolish. It seemed a waste to me to keep caring for something I considered dead.

"Then, when Father said it was not a dead tree, but instead a 'burnt bonsai,' I really didn't know what he was thinking."

Kaoru paused a moment; her eyes grew wistful. "Kamijou-san, I don't mean to impose on you, but do you know how my mother died?"

Looking into the woman's questioning gaze, Hiroki slowly realized that his sensei's daughter wanted to tell him something.

Clearing his throat, Hiroki said quietly, "Mother once told me that the lady Sakai died after giving birth to you."

Kaoru nodded; her face was solemn. "Yes, that's true. What Lady Kamijou didn't know is that my mother gave a premature birth because she fell from those stairs." Kaoru turned, fixing her eyes to the low stone stairs connecting the dojo on the other side of the house to the garden.

Hiroki followed her gaze and winced internally at the thought.

"I had initially thought that Father's persistent attempts to revive the burnt tree were because it was the same tree that Mother planted before her death.

"You see, when she was carrying me, my mother had the idea of doing a bonsai that was not put into a pot, so that it might absorb the pure energy from Mother Earth. 'What kind of tree would it be then' was what father told me she had said.

"It was strange actually, since, if it's rooted to the ground, then it would be just a usual tree, not a bonsai." Kaoru inhaled deeply and then released a long slow breath.

"After her death, Father kept tending to the tree. He kept it small and lovely. You might remember that it gave beautiful flowers in the spring." Kaoru smiled at Hiroki's subtle nod. Then her smile faded.

"It must have been very hard for Father to see the tree fall victim to such juvenile curiosity… and cruelty. For a time he just let it stand, a sad reminder or maybe a warning, I thought.

"It was so ugly I wanted to uproot it myself, but Father wouldn't allow it.

"Then, one day, he suddenly returned to his original vigor of caring for that burned tree. He said one of his students had inspired him to restore it.

"He tried various fertilizers to enliven the ground, watered it carefully. Father would sometimes even neglect other parts of the garden; he was tending to the tree so intently.

"For years, the tree stayed black and withered. Really, it was painful to see." Kaoru's voice faltered. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"Then suddenly, one spring, the tree grew small green leaves.

"Father couldn't have been happier. I can still remember him sitting contently on the veranda, watching his reviving tree.

"What was even more surprising was that just before the season ended, there was a very small flower on one branch. It didn't fully bloom, but it was still a miracle."

Despite his fear of seeming rude, Hiroki stepped out onto the outside deck and sat down. He ducked his head, fighting away the threat of blush. Behind him there was a rustle of fabric and then, a moment later, Kaoru was also out on the deck, sitting next to him. She resumed her tale.

"The seasons passed and Father waited with anxious anticipation for the next spring. Then it happened.

"That second spring after it revived, there was again only one sakura, but it bloomed fully. It was another miracle.

"Then the next year, and the next year. Each year after, another sakura blossomed. One became two, then three and four. If only you could have seen Father's face when each of the trees main branches held a blossom."

Kaoru's eyes glistened with these happy memories, then, once again, her expression shifted to something decidedly more melancholy.

"Sadly, after six years of blooms, the tree seemed to wither once more. Its branches remained barren. I'd thought, perhaps because the tree had been so spectacular the last spring, it was blooming for the last time before it completely died.

"Father was extremely worried, but he waited and was faithful in his tending to it.

Although Hiroki had known certain details of his Sensei's life, it was still shocking to hear the in-depth version.

He had a suspicion too, of where Kaoru's story was going and if this was so, it was both disconcerting and embarrassing.

"And then the tree surprised us again. After a year of empty branches, the next spring, it bloomed fully, more beautiful than ever before. Then the next year, and the next: more and more sakura, as you can see today."

Kaoru turned and lifted her eyes to Kamijou-san's face. He had lost his battle with himself and she saw the faint blush on his smooth cheeks.

He is very sweet. Perhaps even adorable. Kaoru's heart swelled, her earlier jealousy replaced by sisterly warmth.

"Kamijou-san," Kaoru called out softly. Hiroki blinked rapidly, fighting his blush again before he finally met his hostess' eyes.

"I admit that I felt foolish at first, telling you all this, but I have a sense that this story might have some significance to you..." Kaoru let her voice trail off.

"Ah... that's... uh..." Like the burnt tree, Hiroki's blush bloomed anew and far more fully. Gathering himself, despite this, he nodded solemnly, "Yes, Kaoru-san, I believe it does."

Kaoru smiled again. So that's how it is. I was right. Kamijou-san is the one.

A comfortable silence fell between them out on the sunny deck. The bamboo fountain and the murmur of distant street traffic mixed in a quiet rhythm of old and new sounds. Then Hiroki took a deep breath and ventured softly:

"Um, Kaoru-san, this may sound odd, but might I ask for a piece of paper and a pen brush?"

Hiroki frowned slightly at Kaoru's sudden, strange expression.

"Kaoru-san?" Hiroki gently queried, concerned that he'd somehow offended his sensei's daughter.

"Ah, no... Of course, Kamijou-san. Please, wait here for just a moment." Kaoru quickly stood and hurried out before Hiroki's questioning eyes.

Hiroki stared at the open screen door a moment longer. Once Karou had disappeared through it, his eyes were drawn back to the blossoming tree.

He was overwhelmed by her story.

The last time he'd been here, he was fourteen and suffering, wrestling with his sexuality, his feelings for Akihiko at the root of the matter. He'd been desperate, knowing that what he felt was not some strange "phase."

At that time some of his fellow classmates had already had their first "experiences," all with girls. He'd struggled to understand why he'd never felt any attraction to girls and focused solely on Akihiko.

When he'd realized that, unconsciously, he kept comparing other boys' bodies to Akihiko's too, and for him it was only boys that caught his attention, Hiroki finally understood his nature.

While Hiroki was quite familiar with the subject of homosexuality from literature he had read, he was shocked to find that reading about it was not the same as experiencing it.

Once it had become clear, he'd been all but overwhelmed by the isolation of his situation: unable to talk about it openly with Akihiko, the other boy being the object of his attention; and certainly not with other boys he knew, for the sheer shame of it.

The last time he had visited the dojo, the awareness of his difference had been slowly eating Hiroki alive. He'd found himself having to be constantly on guard, always fighting his desire for Akihiko.

Lost in these thoughts, Hiroki's eyes drifted from the tree over to the sunbathing cat. He watched it drop gracefully from the fence and its striped back dip in a languid stretch.

Oh, the things I wanted to do to "Princess" Akihiko.

He had been on the verge of breaking the day that he'd come here, his youthful urges screaming for attention, feeling he couldn't bear to be around Akihiko for a minute longer.

They had been together the last years of primary school, the whole three years of junior high, and were about to spend another three in high school.

At that point, Hiroki couldn't be two steps from Akihiko without wanting to push the other boy down and he'd become extremely worried for Akihiko's safety. He'd tried to "see" other boys to calm himself, but was afraid that what he'd been told was a "weakness of character" might corrupt others' innocent youth.

So I ran. Here. To the dojo. I just wanted to find some space to think things over, away from my family… Away from him.

But instead I found Sensei.

Hiroki still recalled everything from that fateful afternoon.

Full of anger and dissatisfaction, the atmosphere of the dojo and Sensei's (semi) forced labor had done a lot to calm him down. Then there was his sensei's quiet guidance, reminding him of his other passion: Literature.

Hiroki had been ashamed that he'd been so fixated on his arduous physical demands that he'd lost his mind. He'd forgotten how to control himself.

Immediately after their makeshift tea ceremony in Sakai-sensei's garden, he'd transferred schools.

"M" High School had not been as distinguished as his previous "T" High, but its literature club had a good reputation. At least, that was the reason he had proposed to his parents.

His mother had been appalled that her Hiroki would want to "separate" from the Usami boy. His father, meanwhile, though he'd quickly read through the lie, had merely raised an eyebrow at his son's embarrassed blush. Thankfully, he hadn't said anything and proceeded with the transfer.

Hiroki had steeled himself to tell Akihiko about it soon after. To his utter disappointment, Akihiko had merely stared and finally said, "I see. Good luck then, Hiroki."

Hiroki sighed at the memory.

True to his promise to Sakai-sensei that day, thereafter he'd dedicated most of his time to studying. Wiser about his sexuality, he'd carefully navigated his way through the world, never wanting to lose the battle between his mind and his flesh again.

A grimace twisted Hiroki's mouth at this thought. He watched as the cat, previously so lazy, suddenly coiled and pounced on some invisible prey in the grass.

He'd managed to stay out of trouble through high school, but he'd broken down not long after entering college: one night of bitter revelations set his drunk self loose. But even then, he'd still held to that fragile promise of studying hard. It was the only thing that had kept him sane.

Well, that and my pride.

Another sigh escaped Hiroki.

Then came Nowaki.

Hiroki shifted his eyes away from the striped tabby lying in the grass, its tail tapping in annoyance as it studied empty paws.

His gaze slowly swept back to the resurrected burnt tree. He stared at the blooms and inwardly counted.

One, two, ... eight.

If his calculation and suspicions matched, each flower represented a year he had spent with Nowaki. The missing blooms in the sixth spring—

The year Nowaki had left me for America.

But how is that possible?

Hiroki vaguely remembered saying something about "a burnt bonsai" the last time he'd seen his sensei. He hadn't known then that his feeble attempt at humor would intangibly link him to Sensei's wife's tree. That by some unforeseen magic, conjured that afternoon long ago, somehow, Sakai-sensei's burnt bonsai would come to personify him.

Despite his embarrassment, Hiroki believed that if Sakai-sensei had suspected his truth at that time, he would not have revealed something so personal or humiliating to anyone else. But now, somehow, Kaoru-san knew.

Hiroki brushed his furrowed forehead with the index finger.

How much more embarrassment can I handle in a day?

Turning his head at the sound of shuffling steps Hiroki saw Kaoru-san come back out onto the deck. She carried a square box wrapped in a dark blue cloth. Behind her another woman followed, the house help apparently, carrying a tray set for tea.

Hiroki frowned.

Kaoru-san and I just had tea…

"I'm sorry for the wait. Kamijou-san, here is your piece of paper."

Kaoru sat down and gently pushed the wrapped box forward to Hiroki. Hiroki's frown unconsciously deepened.

"Ah, well, you see," Kaoru quickly explained, "Father said that I was to give you this, should you ever come here and ask for a piece of paper and a pen brush.

A light blush colored her cheeks this time. "I worried that it was just a dying man's ramblings, so I was surprised when you actually came to call and then asked."

Hiroki's eyes widened in disbelief.

What is this? Did Sakai-sensei master some sort of samurai magic?

Kaoru smiled as she moved to take the tea tray from the house help. She then presented it to Hiroki.

"Father also asked me to provide you with this." Kaoru looked searchingly into Hiroki's wide, dark eyes, then she bowed deeply.

"Kamijou-san, thank you very much for coming. This is the final possession of Father's to be given away. Thank you for allowing me to fulfill my Father's last wishes."

Hiroki's throat constricted with overflowing emotions. He found himself unable to speak and merely bowed in return.

Seeing this, Kaoru straightened and for the umpteenth time that afternoon, she smiled. Though this one seemed somehow different: her expression held a new look of serenity.

"Well, then, I shall leave you now to enjoy my father's garden. Please, make yourself at home, Kamijou-san, and don't rush. Just call out whenever you are done."

Kaoru bowed slightly again before she stood to leave, her house help followed close behind her, closing the screened door. Once Kaoru departed, Hiroki stared at the wrapped box for several minutes, then at the tea tray. His heart raced.

It can't be...

After all these years...

Hiroki breathed deeply, as a wave of guilt swept over him. If only I had been brave enough to come and meet Sensei in person so much earlier. If only I had realized sooner...

A soft breeze brushed soothing fingers against his suddenly sweaty forehead. It also carried the sweet balm of the blooming sakura to his quivering nostrils. Closing his eyes, Hiroki tried to quiet his habitual, internal, self-deprecation. After several minutes he opened his eyes again, his vision clearer.

Reaching long fingers out, Hiroki brushed the dark, wrapping cloth. After gently pushing it aside, he carefully opened the wooden box inside, only mildly surprised to find a piece of paper held in the center of the box. On the left side, there was a pen brush and a jar of dark ink; on the right side, another, wooden box.

Reverently, Hiroki picked up the paper.

As he suspected, it was blank. Something in the back of his spinning mind told him that this was the same paper Sakai-sensei had offered him all those years ago. In fact, the pen brush and the jar of ink (though he thought it would have dried out by now) also seemed to be the same.

Typical of Sensei. Never one to throw away useless things.

Hiroki's eyes returned to the box and he was surprised to find a collapsible wooden frame beneath where the paper had been.

Sensei even thought of that. Hiroki's lips twitched in a small smile.

Removing the frame, Hiroki reveled in its smooth, varnished, wood surface. His brows furrowed anew.

This was no doubt hand made.

Hiroki swallowed the implications of this alongside his emotions. The two didn't go down his throat easily. Then, shifting his burning eyes to the remaining small box inside the larger one, he pondered what could be waiting within it.

A book? But the box is too long and narrow for that. A letter? That seems more likely.

With growing curiosity, Hiroki reached for the small box and opened it. His heart stopped.

There, safely cushioned on dark-blue velvet, was a brand new calligraphy brush.

Hiroki gripped the box tightly, fearing his stunned fingers might drop it. He lifted the brush and stroked down the polished bamboo handle: the brush too was obviously crafted by hand.

He examined the fibers, wondering if they might be deer tail, but a feathering of his fingertips across their soft surface told him they were of a higher quality fur.

This is sable…

While pen brushes were used widely in common daily practice and also in calligraphy, a brush such as the one in this other box was of an entirely different caliber. The sharp tip of pen brushes made the use easier to produce quality writing. With its stiffness, one could avoid sloppy strokes, at least to a certain extent.

Real brushes, however, offered no such luxury. The thick but soft tip would need determination and precision to maneuver. Writing with it would require high concentration and a tranquil mind.

Sable especially, its texture is so silken.

Hiroki's hands trembled. His body too, soon began to tremor, unable to contain his stifled emotions any longer. He was overwhelmed having just learned of his old sensei's enduring affection towards him over the years, and now of Sakai sensei's display of trust through the challenge in the choice of writing implements.

Knowing what he must do, Hiroki took the brush out of the box and held it tightly.

I didn't know, Sensei. I couldn't… but if only I had...

Stirred by the spring breeze, a long-forgotten memory rose to the front of his mind.

"But, Sensei, why aren't you taking down my nameplate? I'm not a member anymore." Ten-year-old Hiroki asked in desperate confusion.

He'd felt badly about leaving the dojo without removing his nameplate from the wall and had returned a week after to request Sensei to remove it.

Sakai-sensei gazed down into troubled, dark eyes. "Do you still remember what I said when you hung that plate?"

"Yes, Sensei."

Hiroki recited Sensei's speech.

"Not every member can have their name on the wall. Only those who truly understand the path of sword and use it for greater good."

Although it hurt his pride, Hiroki added, "But obviously I have failed you. I don't deserve to have my name on the wall."

Hiroki hung his head, ashamed of yet another failure.

"You undervalue yourself again, Kamijou. Those who understand The Way of the Sword does not necessarily mean they must always wield a sword. Those who understand the path of the Sword are those who understand what a sword can do. It can protect. Or it can destroy.

"Those who follow The Way of the Sword treat the swords with respect. They will not lie to the sword. You spoke your truth, Kamijou."

Dark eyes looked up at the unusually kind tone in Sakai-sensei's voice. His teacher met his gaze evenly. Then Sakai's eyes flickered over to the open door of the dojo, alighting on the back of a pale-haired figure sitting out on the porch, hunched over an open notebook.

In a flash, Sensei's eyes returned to his young student. His look held an intensity Hiroki had never seen before.

"Yes, you let the sword go. You say you have chosen instead, The Way of the Word. But listen to me, Kamijou… This does not mean you're not a warrior." Sakai-sensei gaze held Hiroki's widening eyes.

"Which is mightier? In the end, who can say? The Word holds the same powers, neh? But like the Sword, to be honorable, it must be wielded in truth.

"It will be up to you, how you use your tool of choice… What you do with your hand."

Hiroki found himself dropping his eyes again from the over-bright light in Sakai-sensei's.

He felt his cheeks begin to burn, knowing that his instructor was trying to impart some vital truth to him and intuiting that, while he understood perhaps part of what the man was saying, he could not yet comprehend the fullness of the admonition.

In a rare move, Hiroki felt a calloused hand suddenly under his sharp jaw and his face was lifted with an unknown tenderness. The light in his sensei's eyes had not dimmed, but its brightness was now suffused with a strange sorrow.

"It is my hope that your heart will remember your training here. That you will learn that some paths may look like that of the Sword or the Word, but in truth they are not: only dead ends and treacherous trails to inevitable destruction.

"But I have great confidence that someday you will know the true Way of the Word and follow it. It will be a higher but harder path, yet I am sure you can navigate it with your brush and your words.

"You will learn to cherish the past, appreciate the present, and write for the future.

"I hope that when this way seems too difficult, rather than divert to easier roads, paved with desire and destruction, you will hold fast and continue the ways of wisdom and creation.

"As long as you seek the true paths of the Sword and the Word, you will have a place here.

"This is your home still and you will bring it honor by living up to your name, Ka-mi-jou Hi-ro-ki."

Alone on the deck in Sakai-sensei's garden, Hiroki openly broke down, tears flowed freely down his cheeks at this unbidden memory: his last conversation with Sensei before that of the burnt tree.

I had forgotten that.

He knew of me all along, even then. And yet…

I despised myself for so long I couldn't remember. But you remembered for me, didn't you, Sensei?

Hiroki started when he felt a soft brush against his thigh. He looked over to see the garden cat had joined him on the deck and was pushing its striped head willfully against his best trousers.

He made no move to shoo the animal away however, nor did he need to. As soon as his eyes fell on the cat, it looked up at him. Its unblinking eyes were unusually dark. With a solemn expression, the cat met his gaze.

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Hiroki watched as the tabby straightened and with a dignified pace, moved over to the far corner of the deck. It turned and sat then, facing him. Its eyes held him intently, its long tale curled round its haunches in front of its feet.

Only the tip of the cat's tail moved now. It tapped patiently against the deck's cedar planks, waiting.

Hiroki left off looking at the animal and his eyes returned to the brush still held in one of his hands.

A million of times in past years I asked why I was carrying on with life. Why I continued to endure.

As Hiroki's mind played through what seemed like an endless reel of moments from the years of his painful, unrequited love to Akihiko, he knew now that there was something more than just his stubborn Kamijou pride that had carried him through.

Despite his best intentions, tears welled again in Hiroki's eyes. Head bowed once more, he watched one drop after the other silently fall and stain the worn planks of the deck beneath him.

Anger, relief, sadness, happiness, hatred, and love: all these emotions welled simultaneously in his heart and suddenly his broad chest felt far too small. A blush formed on Hiroki's cheeks when he realized that the last time he cried like this was that rainy night in the library, just after Nowaki had returned from America.

Hiroki suddenly realized how tightly he was gripping the calligraphy brush in his hand, and quickly loosened his hold. He didn't want it to break. Staring silently down at the brush, he knew somehow, that this particular instrument was made by Sakai-sensei.

Despite his dripping nose, Hiroki was suddenly aware of the mixed scents of altar incense, fresh earth, and sakura. These mingled together in a sensory symphony with the solemn clink and clank of the bamboo fountain.

As the emotional tumult that likewise had gripped him so tightly, faded, Hiroki's chest was slowly filled with a new sensation. He felt his Sensei's presence embodied in the ever-beautiful garden. Hiroki swept his eyes around the grounds again and a small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

I met Nowaki in a garden too…. Of sorts, anyways.

At last his dark eyes returned to the deck. They fell upon the cat once more. But for the tip of its tail, it hadn't moved since taking up its new post. The two stared at one another and then, Hiroki was shocked as one of the cat's eyes closed a moment, before resuming its unblinking stare.

Did that cat just wink at me?

Hiroki's lips twisted a bit more.

The garden's quiet atmosphere had finally, fully, seeped into his heart. Again.

After one last pass with the back of his hand at his drying eyes, he straightened and adopted a formal seated position. Carefully, he took the ink jar from the box, opened this and set it to his side. He unfolded the small frame and used it to press down the edges of the paper, securing it. Then with a deep breath, Hiroki dipped the tip of the calligraphy brush into the ink.

His hand trembled a little at first, but, unlike the last time his Sensei challenged him to take up his brush, Hiroki knew that this time it would be different.

Another deep breath and Hiroki laid down the mark of his first character. After this, it was not easy, per se, but his motions were fluid: the strokes were deep and precise, his hand steady, and his mind clear.

There was only one word he could offer his Sensei to relay his journey in The Way of the Word.

Advance.

Hiroki looked at the finished Kanji. He smiled a little, recognizing the subtle softness in certain parts and determination in others. Setting the brush to the side, he sat back. Having already used the frame as a weight, he traced the character lightly again.

While the ink was drying, Hiroki turned to the tea tray. Brushing his hand against the side of the ornamental teapot, his brow furrowed. He lifted the lid of the pot to see that actually, instead of tea, there was only cold water inside.

A light snort of pleasure escaped him.

On that day when his fourteen year-old self sought refuge here in this garden, he had proceeded with the water "tea ceremony" routine to humor his teacher. He now did the same, only this time his every movement was dedicated to showing respect for Sakai-sensei.

The lovely ornamental cup Kaoru-san had chosen held just below his slightly smiling lips, Hiroki glanced over to his feline sentinel, still watching him. He gave the cat a gentle nod, then he bowed his head and his eyelids slowly dropped.

Sensei, this is Kamijou Hiroki. Your useless student. I am sorry that it has taken me so long. I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long.

Hiroki's tears had stealthily returned; they weighted the corners of his eyes.

I am fine now. No, the truth is, I am more than fine. I am... happy.

A new blush filled Hiroki's cheeks.

Please don't worry about me anymore. Not that I'm saying you ever did worry about me.

Hiroki couldn't keep his small smile from further teasing his mouth. He touched the rim to his lips. He inhaled and could smell the sweet life contained in the water

On the outside, the ceramic had been warmed by the sun. Hiroki sipped his "tea" slowly. The coldness of it was refreshing after his extended time under the clear spring sky.

Thank you, Sensei. Thank you very much.

Hiroki set down the cup and raised his gaze to the tree.

Please be happy too there. I will carry on with your legacy.

The soft breeze teasing the sakura petals was the answer to Hiroki's prayer. Looking away, his chest filled with a never before experienced sense of peace, he noticed that the cat had vanished: slipped silently off, back into the garden's grasses.

Or perhaps somewhere else.

That night, back at home, tucked into tangled linens, Hiroki held Nowaki close.

He had surprised his younger partner in their coupling with both his fierceness and his tenderness.

Against his cooling chest, Hiroki clasped Nowaki tightly. A dark head was tucked beneath his chin, strong arms wrapped around him. Running a hand down his lover's lean side, Hiroki could feel the slick of Nowaki's sweaty skin, the lingering rapidity of his breathing.

The weight of Nowaki's exhausted body pressed to his, anchored Hiroki. He could feel the strong steady beat of Nowaki's heart.

It matches my own.

Fighting his embarrassment, Hiroki reluctantly let loose one arm. He stroked long fingers silently along Nowaki's jaw, then caught his chin and gently raised his partner's dark head. Nowaki's expression was mildly drunken, slightly sleepy too, but his lips were curled into a smile and his face glowed with contentment.

Hiroki said nothing. Nowaki too remained silent. But looking deep into Nowaki's luminous, dark eyes, no words were needed for Hiroki to know what his partner was telling him.

These eyes, the way they look at me... They never change.

Once again, Hiroki reveled, awe-struck, in the immense love, affection, and admiration contained in Nowaki's blue-black gaze.

I am truly blessed.

An unexpected vision suddenly obscured Nowaki's sweet face from Hiroki for a moment.

He saw himself, immensely old, wizened, hobbling into a garden, a striped cat pacing along at his side as he went to count one hundred blooms on Sakai-sensei's burnt bonsai.

Then his eyes cleared and Hiroki saw Nowaki staring at him with a slightly puzzled expression.

"Hiro-san?"

Still saying nothing, Hiroki leaned his head forward so that Nowaki couldn't see how glossy his eyes had suddenly become. He pressed a kiss to Nowaki's forehead.

Nowaki's eyes fell shut and he sighed as both Hiroki's arms returned to his cooling skin, enfolding him in warmth, gathering him closer, tighter.

Than you so much for reading this wonderful piece of Panda's. I hope it touched you as deeply as it did me. Please consider leaving our shy bear a review. I know that they bolster her immensely.

Peace,

Cerberus

Additional AN:

The bit about Hiroki drinking cold water is Sakai-sensei's twist on the practice of "drinking tea from an empty cup." I found a bit of writing on this idea and it seemed particularly applicable to this story:

Becoming an Empti-Full Cup:
A Personal Practice for Doulas

by Pam England

When a Zen Master meets a new student, there is a tea ceremony. Tea is poured into the student's small hand-held cup until he or she gives a small gesture to indicate "enough, thank you."

A long time ago there was a mind-full, accomplished, self-certain monk who arrived at a temple for training. The Master poured tea. The young monk gestured and gestured to stop pouring, but the Master kept pouring tea until the cup overflowed. Why?

The Master explained, "When you arrived, your cup was already so full, there was no room for new. Empty your cup. . ."

The "empty cup" becomes a powerful metaphor for personal practice. The "cup" represents your Heart, senses, or mind. At every moment, the Holy, Life itself, wants to pour Itself into you, into your "cup." When your "cup" is full of your ideas, plans and judgments, there is less room to receive the Holy, the unexpected seeing, Light, or gifts the moment is offering.

It becomes a living practice to consciously "empty your cup," again and again and again. The cup fills up easily; we want to fill it with the tea we "like." It takes fierce courage to choose Love over being right or comfortable. It takes a commitment and courage to be empty, open, and receptive. It takes courage to hold out your empty cup to receive something new and unexpected, including what seems to us the dark, not-so-sweet side of the Mystery of Life.

The practice of drinking tea in-awareness teaches us how to live fully awake in our bodies, senses and breath. It can be a vital training for a doula aspiring to be mindful in her work. This is a poem I wrote:

feeling the cup in my hands warm
as tea is poured into it,
smelling the aroma of the tea
as I raise the cup to my lips and breath-in
the moment tea and body meet
on my tongue there is an awareness of taste
(without preference or judgment for the flavor)
and blessed awareness that
drinking tea
tea becomes my body
and my Life. . .

As a doula, the metaphor of holding out your empty cup becomes a powerful, personal living practice.

Source:www. birthing from within empti_full_cup (take out spaces)