Love Hina Fan Fiction ❯ Legacy ❯ Chapter 19

Tsuruko entered the room she shared with her sister, having just finished that day's chores. Changing out of her work clothes, she reflected on how much there was to be done on a daily basis in the Hinata. That Keitaro and Shinobu can keep it all current is a testament to their proficiency and discipline, thought the older woman. She had maintained her home as a married woman, and thought that it was somewhat easier than she had thought. Ever since Shinobu relented and allowed her and Motoko to share her work load, Tsuruko had suddenly understood the difference between a luxury apartment in the city, and a large traditional building like the Hinata.

 

Her domestic education had seemed comprehensive to her, but ever since she had come to live under the Urashima's roof, she had been forced to admit that her skills as a woman were lacking. That she was being instructed by a girl a decade or more her junior in the arts of the house was not easy for her pride to accept, but accept it she had. I fear that we Aoyama have left ourselves vulnerable in arts outside the blade, the eldest heir mused.

 

It was a concept that she had been wrestling with for a while. She knew the history between her house and the house of Urashima, but it had never occurred to her that the greater damage had been inflicted on their own heads by their choices than even the actions of the Urashima and Turtle clan curse. In our pursuit of our art, honor and pride, we have forgotten one of the most basic lessons of our ancestors, Tsuruko silently lectured herself. Without balance, one is not a true master of anything.

 

With her dirty clothes in the hamper, Tsuruko started to reach for her towel and bath basket, feeling the need to freshen up before helping with supper. She paused, however, as she saw the edge of a composition book sticking out from behind an old study guide that Motoko kept on the corner of her dresser. Curious about her sister's studies in preparation for another shot at Todai, she picked up the books. Glancing at the study guide, she saw that it had already been through the Hinata Todai Machine - or so it was jokingly called at times - bearing Naru's name and Keitaro's name on the corner of the cover. Below Keitaro's name, Motoko had written her name.

 

“I suppose this could be called a lucky guide,” smiled Tsuruko. Both of them made it into Todai, though it took them more than one try, thought the Aoyama swordswoman. Tucking the guide under the composition book, Tsuruko scanned the cover of the composition book. Seeing what was written on the cover, she frowned. “Kotoko Kamikuro?” she wondered aloud. That name seems familiar, she wrestled with the strange feeling of déjà vu. Perhaps Motoko is borrowing this from a friend, she speculated.

 

Opening the composition book, the woman was surprised to find herself looking at her sister's crisp, clean script. There was no way that she would mistake her sister's handwriting for anyone else's; she herself had instructed Motoko in calligraphy while her sister was still learning to read. By the time that Motoko had left home, she had the trained strokes befitting the heir of the Aoyama house. And even when working in pencil in a composition book, it was obvious that she had learned to write with paper and brush, rather than paper and pen.

 

Satisfied that her younger sister was showing proper form and structure, Tsuruko began to actually read what was written in the book. Her eyes widened as she realized what she was reading. Blinking a time or two, she sank down onto the folded futon, turning pages in the composition book. Nearly an hour went by in silence, Tsuruko turning pages one after the other, her cheeks occasionally coloring. When she reached the last completed page, she closed the composition book and stood.

 

Absently wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she put the books back and grabbed her towel and bath basket. I really need a bath after reading that, thought the slightly stunned woman. She forced herself to ignore the itchy heat between her legs, as well as the pounding of her heart. Hurrying to the bath, she hardly heard Kitsune's greeting to her, returning it automatically. Once she had rinsed off, Tsuruko slipped into the hot spring for a calming dip. “Why did that seem so familiar?” wondered Tsuruko.

 

It was something of a puzzle to her, since there was no mistaking Motoko's handwriting, but why would her sister be writing things like that in a composition book with some other girl's name on it? And even setting that question aside, how did her sister - still a virgin - have such a vivid grasp on such things? Not to mention that for all of that, she was sure that she had read something that was identical to that in feel, but couldn't exactly place it. Frowning slightly to herself, she tried to recall any hint of why she felt like she had read that style before.

 

After half an hour in the spring, she got out, dried off and moved back to her shared room. Swiftly hanging up her towel, she pulled a fresh pair of panties from the dresser's top drawer, stepping into the thin lace and satin garment before pulling a matching satin bra from the second drawer. After a moment spent adjusting the bra for comfort, she moved to the closet and perused the clothes before her. She and Motoko were nearly identical in sizes, and the two had begun to borrow from each other again after many years of being apart. Spotting a top she had admired on her sister a few days before, she pulled it out and shrugged into it. Studying herself in the mirror, she smiled.

 

“Now for a skirt,” she said to herself, satisfied with the way the top clung to her without being tight. After flipping through the skirts, she found a mini-skirt that was the perfect color for the top. Not one to normally wear a miniskirt, she held it to her hips as she studied her reflection. She really liked the combination, though she wasn't sure that she should be wearing a miniskirt that only barely covered her panties.

 

And why not, Tsuruko? a voice asked her in her mind. Your legs are as good as any of the younger girls, and you are trying to catch the notice of a man again, so what are you afraid of a mini skirt for? Tsuruko frowned. “Why shouldn't I?” she asked herself, swiftly stepping into the skirt, settling it on her hips and zipping it up. The top just covered the waistband of the skirt, though if she lifted her arms, a strip of her taunt, toned belly was exposed, as well as her bellybutton.

 

Even if I am Haruka's age, I can pass for a high-school girl in this get up, grinned Tsuruko. Turning around, she carefully bent over, looking over her shoulder. “Going to have to be careful how I sit,” she noted. Turning back around to face the full-length mirror, she raised her arms all the way up. She felt her lips twitch as she saw that doing so would give the barest hint of the bottom of her bra's cups. “I'll just be sure not to raise my hands that far,” she nodded to herself.

 

Snagging a pair of sandals from the bottom of the closet, she hooked her arm through her small, discreet purse as she moved out of the room. Glancing at the clock as she passed, she nodded to herself. Just enough time, she decided. As she descended the stairs, she saw Kitsune lounging on the couch, hands behind her head, staring at the ceiling.

 

Spotting Tsuruko descending the stairs in something other than work clothes or her hakamas and gi get-up, Kitsune sat up. “Wow,” she grinned at the taller woman, “what's the occasion, sugar?”

 

“Just have to run into town for a moment,” Tsuruko said. Kitsune stood.

 

“I'll come with,” she said, stretching her arms. “Kind of bored right now,” she explained. And I wanted to pick up some sake anyway, the girl left unsaid. “Two seconds while I grab my purse,” she said, moving swiftly to her room and returning a moment later with her purse. She found Tsuruko experimentally holding her long, black hair back in a pony tail. “Looks good,” Kitsune asked, unsolicited. Fishing in her purse for a moment, the girl pulled out a rubber band. “Let me,” she said, swiftly putting the older woman's hair up in a pony tail.

 

“Thank you,” replied Tsuruko. Her hair was nearly the same length as Motoko's own raven-black tresses, though her style was a little more involved. Tossing her head, she smiled, feeling her hair swish against her back, the warm air on her bare neck. Glancing at Kitsune, she saw the ash-haired girl nod. Together, the two exited the Hinata.

 

“So, where are we off to?” asked Kitsune as the two rode the bus toward the train station in Tokyo.

 

“Book store,” replied Tsuruko. Kitsune hummed.

 

“Looking for some reading material?” asked the fox girl, absently avoiding a wandering hand with the skill of a seasoned pro.

 

“Something like that. I assume you have a suggestion,” replied Tsuruko, smiling at Kitsune. She and the fox got along pretty well, the younger girl's lack of a disciplined lifestyle not withstanding. Kitsune could go far if she were to discipline herself, the samurai thought. Still, her nickname fits well with her personality, and I doubt that were she disciplined, her name would still suit her.

 

Switching to the train, the two made swift progress toward a bookstore that Kitsune was sure would have any book Tsuruko was after. While not an avid reader, Kitsune kept her eye on the field, being a columnist and all. She had also given her permission for one of her publishing contacts to collect her columns and short pieces into a book not too long ago. There was even talk of her doing a book-sized project if the sales of her collected materials performed as the contact was betting it would. Then, there would be two published writers in the Hinata, thought the fox, grinning playfully. Though if Motoko knew that I knew about her pen name, she'd probably punish me severely.

 

Glancing at Tsuruko, she saw that the samurai was drawing a lot of male attention. Her height, the top and miniskirt, the pony tail and her bearing made her stand out clearly from the other women on the train. Men were subtly moving closer to the woman, who was - like her - standing, hand on the hand-ring. This should be interesting, thought Kitsune, her smile anticipatory. One of them will give into temptation sooner or later, and I want to see what Tsuruko does when they do, the fox thought to herself.

 

Just before their stop, her prediction came true. A hand skillfully slipped between the press of men, making straight for the hem of the miniskirt. Almost too fast for Kitsune to follow, Tsuruko's hand flashed down, seizing the offending appendage. From the gasp and cry, she was sure that the Aoyama warrior was not being overly gentle with the hand. “Little boys should know better than to touch things that don't belong to them,” said Tsuruko levelly, raising the hand up to shoulder height, forcing the owner of the hand to move to the front of the group. “Are we clear?” she asked, obviously applying more pressure to the hand. The poor letch trembled and sniveled and nodded. Tsuruko dropped the hand just as the train stopped.

 

Without missing a step, the tall woman exited the train, Kitsune with her. Glancing back, Kitsune saw that most of the men were staring after the proud woman, faces pressed to the glass like school children. “Get that often?” wondered the shorter woman.

 

“Not usually,” shrugged Tsuruko. “But then, most times, I am either wearing my hakamas and gi and carrying my sword,” she observed. I also used to have a wedding ring on my finger; not that that really stopped them, the woman left unsaid. “Does Motoko garner such attention when she wears this outfit?” wondered the other sister.

 

“Can't really say,” shrugged Kitsune, “but I'd say it's a good bet, given how much you two look alike,” offered the fox.

 

“I am surprised that she had not yet killed anyone,” Tsuruko shook her head. Kitsune considered that.

 

“Well, she has a hell of a reputation around Hinata district, and when she is in town, she usually with Naru - well known since that idol incident - or with Keitaro. And when she was in high school, she had a trio of star-struck girls that acted like her vassals,” snickered Kitsune.

 

It didn't take the two long to reach the book store. Entering, Kitsune followed Tsuruko's lead, mildly surprised to see the woman head straight for the romance section. Further surprising the fox, she saw the woman stop by the bodice-ripper section of romance novels. Scanning the titles, Tsuruko picked up a couple, flipping pages for a minute before putting the books back. After several samplings, she led the even more curious Kitsune to the adult section of the book store, once more homing in on the romance books. She couldn't be… Kitsune thought, spotting a familiar set of books.

 

“Kotoko Kamikuro,” murmured Tsuruko, grabbing up the first in the series. On the cover, a proud, tall, dark-haired samurai girl was nearly having her way with a somewhat average man, one hand holding a bloody katana while at her feet, another woman was sprawled out, her wedding kimono stained with blood. Kitsune couldn't help but notice that the woman on the ground was a brunette with two antennas of hair.

 

Tsuruko flipped the book open, scanning the pages. Closing the book, she grabbed the second in the series. On the cover of this one, the same suspiciously-familiar man was crawling along a narrow ledge, overlooking the sea, while just behind him, the same samurai girl fought off a smaller girl, whose single antenna stuck straight up. The shadow of a cat could be seen on the rock face next to the battling girls. Kitsune snickered to herself.

 

The third book in the series had the samurai girl facing down a nebulous fox spirit, standing between the spirit and the man, who was crouched behind her. After thumbing through the book, Tsuruko grabbed the fourth book. This volume had a cover featuring the samurai girl bowing to a slim, short girl in a yukata, who was bowing back to the swordswoman. Behind them, the man looked like he was glad that they weren't killing each other. Taking the fifth volume off the shelf, she handed it to Tsuruko without being asked.

 

The cover of this one had the samurai and the man vainly struggling to free themselves form a blonde, tanned child-demon with a vaguely-mechanical demon under her control. Clearly, the child-demon was enjoying herself more than threatening the pair. Sixth was the newest one, released a few months before. On the cover of this one, the samurai girl and the man knelt before a goddess, as if receiving a blessing. Oddly enough, behind the goddess was a sort of pagan alter that - if one was so inclined to view it that way - could be seen as turtle-shaped. Also, the goddess was significantly endowed, one hand holding a watermelon, the other touching her temple. Dark brunette hair curled down her back.

 

I wonder if anyone ever looks at the covers of these books when standing near one of us, mused Kitsune, barely able to contain her grin. Tsuruko was flipping pages in the stack of books, nodding to herself. “So, are you a fan of Kotoko's work?” asked the ash-haired girl of her companion.

 

“I happened to read some of one of her books while at an appointment several months ago,” Tsuruko replied, distracted.

 

“And how did you like it?” asked Kitsune blandly.

 

“It was…moving,” Tsuruko replied judiciously. “And insightful,” she added in a soft murmur. Taking the books, she headed right for the register. Kitsune followed her. When the tall warrior placed the stack of books before the sales girl, the girl - probably still in high school - squealed.

 

“Oh! You read miss Kotoko's stuff, too!” gushed the girl. “She is such a wonderful writer,” the girl rambled on, scanning the books with the laser reader. “I can't wait to see the next one! The ending of volume six is such a cliff hanger,” sighed the younger girl.

 

“I hear tell that Kamikuro might finally get her man,” Kitsune said, delighted to find such an entertaining scene before her. “Though, the seal she put on the Kitsune spirit might not have been strong enough to contain the spirit,” she warned playfully.

 

“You think?” asked the girl working the register, “I always wondered about that,” admitted the girl. “For such a spirit to be sealed with so simple a move seemed a little suspect,” she continued. “Even if the heroine is supposed to be a direct descendant of the Shinmei-ryu arts, fox spirits are like the traditional nemeses of them, aren't they? You'd think that it wouldn't be so easy to seal a powerful nine-tailed Kitsune with only two techniques.”

 

“Depends on the techniques,” Tsuruko joined in blandly. “And on the power of the warrior's arts,” she added.

 

“But, she was protecting her true love from the tricky Kitsune!” protested the girl, sighing wistfully. “What could be more powerful than that?”

 

“Lust,” Kitsune interjected.

 

The girl tittered. “Well, she certainly understands that, too, right?” she whispered, blushing.

 

“Indeed she does,” Kitsune said, leaning on the counter. “Even though she acts so straight-laced and proper, she is quite the lustful woman, isn't she?” whispered Kitsune, grinning.

 

“I am not sure that you are old enough to be reading her works,” Tsuruko said drolly to the cashier. The girl blinked.

 

“I…I'm old enough,” she insisted.

 

“First year?” asked Kitsune casually. “I'd say…Kisaragi? Maybe Jindai?”

 

“How…?!” began the girl, only to stop, blushing.

 

“Well, I won't tell anyone,” shrugged Kitsune, glancing at Tsuruko. The cashier took the offered bills from the tall woman, making change before fumbling for a plastic bag to put the books in. She paused, looking at the cover art on the third book, then the two before her. Looking back at the book, she opened her mouth to speak, stopped, minutely shook her head and closed her mouth, pushing the books into the bag.

 

“Something wrong?” asked Tsuruko. The girl glanced at the two again.

 

“No, miss,” said the girl. “It was just, I thought you two sort of looked like the characters on the covers for a second, that's all,” explained the girl. “Thank you for your business,” she said formally, bowing to the two.

 

Once they were outside, Tsuruko turned to fix Kitsune with a steady, level gaze. “You know,” stated the woman. Kitsune instinctively knew not to try and play it off.

 

“Yeah,” shrugged the slacker, “I think maybe Shinobu does as well, though I suspect that we are the only two who know.”

 

“I see,” Tsuruko said, her lips pursed. Silently, she turned and moved back toward the train station. “Did you need something while we were in town?” Tsuruko asked without looking at Kitsune.

 

“Might as well pick up a little sake while we're here,” replied Kitsune innocently. Silently, the two made their way to Kitsune's favorite supplier of spirits. As they rode the train toward the bus that would carry them to the foot of the hill the Hinata sat on, Tsuruko spoke up again.

 

“Do me a favor, Kitsune,” she said, “don't say anything about this to the others.”

 

“I haven't said anything yet, have I?” asked the ever-playful Kitsune. A few moments later, she asked a question. “You going to read those first, or talk to her right away?”

 

“I think I will read them first,” Tsuruko said, absently stroking the books.

 

-

 

Wiping his forehead, Keitaro surveyed his work. “That should do it,” he nodded to himself. Carefully, he moved down to the edge of the tile roof, balanced carefully, and vaulted over the edge, landing on the stone footpath beneath the overhang. Hearing some clapping, he turned to see Haruka smiling at him as she clapped.

 

“Nicely done,” she said, grinning. Keitaro shrugged.

 

“I'm just amazed that I didn't somehow end up head-planting myself,” he said self-deprecatingly. Haru hummed. “Anything else on the list?” he asked his lover. Haruka shook her head.

 

“No, not that I recall,” she said. It had been an odd stop-over at Okinawa so far. Mutsumi's mother had herded them onto a boat, and two hours later, the two were looking at the island that was populated entirely by the Otohime clan. Keitaro had seen it for the first time after he, Naru and Mutsumi had washed up on the back of it after a disastrous decision to leave a ferry in the middle of a run. Since then, he had been back a time or two, usually with one or more of the girls in pursuit.

 

After being shown to a room in the house - which, Keitaro noticed, had only one futon - the two had slept for nearly fourteen hours. After they woke up, they had indulged themselves in some good old fashioned sex. When the pair were satiated for the moment, they had cleaned up and gone looking for their host. They had found her in the kitchen, working on some fish and rice for them.

 

The two had also learned that they had been more vocal than they thought, which seemed to amuse the older woman. Keitaro knew that Mutsumi was far from being an only child, having a significant number of siblings. Most of them were old enough to be at school, or work, or engaged in other activities thankfully. Chatting with the mother, they had learned that some work needed to be done, but hadn't been attended to for one reason or another. Keitaro had, of course, volunteered to help out. Haruka had no issue with that, though she did give him a fond grimace.

 

So, they had spent the rest of that day and the first part of the next repairing the large house, working on the grounds, and generally making themselves useful. It was good stress-relief and it felt good to know that they were helping out not only old friends of the family, but people that they truly cared about. With the last item done, the two moved into the inner courtyard, finding Mutsumi's mother dressed in some strange robes.

 

“Um, we finished the roof,” Keitaro said, eyeing the robes the woman wore. “Anything else?” he asked her.

 

“Just one more thing, Keitaro, Haruka,” said the mother. “Will you two come with me?” she asked politely, moving out the rear gate of the house's yard and along a thin path toward the shore of the island. Keitaro and Haruka did as asked, curious about what she had planned. Moving along the shore, the woman led them into a slender cave right above the high-tide line. Haruka noticed that the stones on the floor of the cave showed faint wear signs, and there were also nearly-hidden indications of chisel work on the walls.

 

Ahead of the party, Keitaro saw the two youngest Otohime children - Mutsumi's youngest sisters - standing quietly by a shadow-shrouded mass. As they drew nearer, the two began to light torches along the walls of the cave, which had a bend in it that kept the back out of view of anyone passing by on land or sea. By the light of the torches, Haruka saw that the two were dressed like their mother, and that the dark mass was a turtle idol.

 

“What's up?” she asked their host.

 

“Just a little something that needs to be done,” replied the older woman, smiling at the two reassuringly. Haruka and Keitaro exchanged glances. “Hina knows about this,” added misses Otohime.

 

“We trust you,” replied Haruka. After all, we have been allies for nearly six hundred years, she thought, amused. “But what exactly needs to be done?” she repeated her original question. A silent head-shake was her answer.

 

Motioning to her youngest daughters, the mother of Keitaro's dearest childhood friend directed them to the sides of the narrow chamber, gracefully sinking to her knees in front of the turtle idol. After a questioning glance at each other, Haruka and Keitaro shrugged at each other, kneeling as well as the woman began to chant softly in a strange tongue.

 

Minutes passed, only the soft voice of the mother of the Otohime family, speaking that strange language, filled the cave. Absently, Haruka noticed that the cave had excellent harmonics and acoustic properties. Distracted, she didn't realize that their host was moving until she felt a soft, warm hand on her cheek. Focusing on the older woman now before her, she saw that one of Mutsumi's mother's hands was on her cheek, the other on Keitaro's cheek.

 

Haruka stared, her mind blank, as the hand on her cheek slid down her neck and over her chest to rest briefly over her heart. She didn't have to look to know that the move had been mirrored on Keitaro. As the pitch of that alien tongue rose slightly, the hand moved once more, down her toned belly, stopping once more below her belly button. Abruptly, the cave was quiet. Smiling, misses Otohime withdrew her hands, helping the two up as the torches were extinguished.

 

“Blessing?” guessed Haruka after they had departed the cave.

 

“Of a sort,” replied the brunette.

 

“You didn't…?” frowned Haruka. A head shake preceded the reply.

 

“No, the curse is still fully in effect, I'm afraid. Only after the choice is made will that be addressed,” the quiet voice of Mutsumi's mother came to her.

 

“Then, what exactly was that about?” wondered Haruka.

 

“That was…my gift to the Urashima, as well as being something of a precautionary measure.”

 

“Precautionary?” wondered Haruka, her mind re-visiting an issue she had been thinking about from time to time ever since she had chosen to accept her desires.

 

“You and Keitaro were in a temple, were you not?” asked the Otohime woman playfully. Haruka blinked, blushing faintly. “Even abandoned, such places can hold power a long, long time,” related the woman.

 

“I see,” murmured Haruka. Does that mean that we…that Kei-kun and I might be…married? she asked herself, a tingle in her spine at the very possibility. Peeking at Keitaro, she fought off a smile. Even if it isn't `official', even if it might not even have any true validity, I'll take it! she decided giddily. Feeling a hand take her own, she focused back on the moment, finding that it wasn't Keitaro who had taken her hand. No, it was a smiling Otohime woman, whose other hand held Keitaro's hand.

 

-

 

Dawn, Hinata House. The stillness of the crisp air was broken by the soft whoosh! of sword blades. On the high rear deck, two swords cut through the air in perfect synchronization. Motoko and Tsuruko were doing their daily morning drill, the weather nearly perfect. When the two had started practicing together again after years of being apart, the two heirs of the Aoyama style had found that they preferred real swords for their drills over their bokken.

 

Thus, the light flashed from the highly polished steel in lightening-like flickers and flashes. Tsuruko's sword - slightly longer than Motoko's blade - was mirror-bright, religiously maintained and dated back almost to the time of the split of the two houses. The simple wooden sheath and hilt were newer, but the blade itself - the soul of the sword - was ancient; and revered within the family of swordsmen.

 

Beside her, Motoko was using the blade she had acquired after her sister had broken her first sword years before. The younger sister was using the Hinata blade. It had been a strange set of circumstances that had placed that sword in her hand. Imprisoned within was the soul of a perverted demon. For others, to use the sword was to be possessed by the trapped oni, but Motoko had mastered the devil in the blade, and it now served her.

 

Unlike her family's sword, which had one been clothed in the traditional wraps of the samurai age but now was clad in simple wood, the Hinata blade remained defiantly traditional. Black iron guard, stingray skin corded hilt, and leather over wood sheath, it was the same now as when it was forged centuries before. Motoko had gotten to know the sword very, very well. While caring for the blade, she had had occasion to completely disassemble the sword down to the bare blade. Etched on the hilt - hidden by the wraps - she had not found the normal `this blade was tested on x number of people' common to most swords of the samurai age, but rather a very odd etching that read like a haiku. On the opposite side of the tang, the crest of the Urashima and two lines of unknown characters had been etched with extreme care. It had been slightly unnerving to look at the black iron guard when removed from the sword only to discover that it looked like a stylized turtle.

 

Also differing from the family sword of the Aoyama, the blade of the Hinata sword was polished smooth, but remained dark, as if the blade were in shadow even when the rising sun was striking it. Even the edge, sharpened to perfection, remained muted when compared to the family sword next to her. Motoko occasionally wondered just how strange it was that the sword of their family's rivals should fit her hand and build so perfectly.

 

As a bloodline descendant of a legendary family of samurai warriors, she had been raised on the arts of the blade. She fully understood the importance of the weight and balance of a sword fitting the wielder of the blade. Too long a sword or too heavy a blade cost the swordswoman usability; and could cost her her life. Her ancestors had been taller and stronger than their peers, and it showed in the blades they used. When Tsuruko held her arm straight out from the shoulder, sword in hand, point down, the tip of the blade was just short of touching the ground. It was the same for Motoko when she held out the Hinata blade.

 

“Motoko?” came her sister's voice. Motoko blinked away her thoughts, seeing her sister eying.

 

“What?” wondered the younger of the two.

 

“We finished our swing drills, but you kept going,” explained Tsuruko. “Something wrong?” she asked. Shaking her head, Motoko deftly twirled the sword around and sheathed it, marveling yet again at the handling characteristics of the blade. Clicking the sword home in the sheath, Motoko wiped her forehead with the back of her free hand. Unlike her older sister, she didn't wear a cloth headband when practicing.

 

That may have been because Tsuruko had not been as conditioned as she when they had first started. Years as a married woman in the city had worn the edge off the elder sister's physical condition, though Motoko wouldn't put any money on that diminishing her nee-chan's abilities. Now, once more doing daily practice - combined with the physical work of household chores - Tsuruko was rapidly regaining her conditioning and stamina. For her part, Tsuruko had to admit she missed the exercise and disciplined lifestyle she had grown up under. Treadmills and gyms are no sort of substitute for daily practice with my Mo-chan, thought the older sister fondly.

 

“Sister,” Motoko said unexpected, “may I hold the family sword for a moment?”

 

The request surprised Tsuruko, but she nevertheless handed the sheathed sword over, accepting the also-sheathed Hinata blade from her sister. Curious, Tsuruko watched as Motoko reverently drew the family blade and assumed the basic guard position of their style. Motoko ran through a standard kata drill twice, the cuts and thrusts, blocks and parries perfectly timed and executed. It didn't escape Tsuruko's notice, however, that Motoko was frowning ever so slightly as she ran through the drills. When she settled back into the guard at the end of the second run through the kata, Motoko slowly nodded her head a fraction of an inch.

 

Retrieving the wooden sheath, she reverently sheathed the blade, turning and offering the sword back to her sister, balanced across her two palms. Tsuruko slowly took the sword, placing the Hinata sword on Motoko's hands. The younger sister bowed her head briefly, holding the sword at her side as they moved off the deck. It was time to wash off and prepare for the day. The pair could already smell the beginnings of breakfast as they headed toward the baths.

 

After washing off, the two enjoyed a quick ten minute soak in the hot spring. After a few minutes of silence, Tsuruko spoke. “We are doing laundry today with Shinobu, aren't we?” she asked. Motoko nodded.

 

“Yes,” confirmed the younger. “Shinobu also has a friend from school coming over later today to help her with her school work, and Naru, Mutsumi, Shinobu and myself have a study session tonight,” Motoko mentally reviewed her schedule as she talked.

 

“Kanako-chan has requested that I meet with her about some matter or another this afternoon,” Tsuruko said. Motoko glanced at her sister.

 

“Any idea what about?” worried Motoko. Tsuruko shook her head. “Kanako has been relatively quiet since Keitaro left,” mused Motoko.

 

“That does not mean she has been inactive,” warned Tsuruko. Motoko nodded.

 

“I know, sister,” she said, “believe me, I know!” Of the two, Motoko had far more experience with the younger sister of the landlord. She still blushed a little when she remembered her very first experience with Kanako. Disguised as Naru, Kanako had groped her in an alley in town. She tried to tell herself that it was just a coincident that the girl's confident, skilled touch had made her nipples snap to attention and caused her to have to change her panties because the ones she had worn were damp when Kanako was done with her.

 

It had been the first time that she had really confronted her own sexual urges. Before, she had ignored them as best as she could. But after that, it was nearly impossible. After Kanako's first groping, she had been re-thinking her sexuality. She had been shocked and embarrassed when she had been working part-time as a Kendo instructor on the Todai campus and seen Kitsune - working as a campus café waitress - all but having sex with Naru - working a part-time job as a cheerleader recruiter - against a phone pole by one of the administration buildings. She had learned later why the fox had jumped Naru, but that wasn't of any real interest to her; the implications of what Kitsune had done did.

 

Kanako had been instrumental in forcing her to confront her own desires and lusts. In a way, one could argue that she wouldn't have written the books she had if not for the groping Kanako had given her. At the time, she had been humiliated, embarrassed and flustered, but now, she was mostly glad that it had happened. If not for that, I would still be trapped as I was, Motoko thought.

 

It wasn't that she was attracted to girls - far from it! Motoko had just come to understand the sister of the only man she could admit she loved enough to grasp what Kanako was looking for. And it isn't like Kanako isn't sexy; because she is, thought the younger sister idly. Come to think about it, all the girls here are unusually good, mused Motoko. Not just physically, but also in talents and personalities. “I don't think we need to worry about her too much,” said Motoko softly.

 

“Oh?” wondered Tsuruko. It was clear to the older sister that nothing short of death would stop the younger sister; and even death wasn't entirely sure to stop her.

 

“It's not a question of her giving up,” Motoko said, “because she won't,” continued the younger as the two rose and dried off. “It is a matter of her not having the ground from which to fight us on this,” opinioned Motoko. “Even though she is not blood related to him, her name is entered as his sister in the records, so no marriage can occur between her and Keitaro.”

 

“You checked the records?” wondered Tsuruko. Motoko nodded. Smiling, Tsuruko squeezed Motoko's shoulder fondly. “Good thinking,” praised the elder sister. She herself had done that a few weeks before. “But that does not mean that she can't fight in another way.”

 

“Realistically, the only thing she can really do is throw her support behind Su, Naru or Shinobu,” Motoko mused. “If she chooses to side with Shinobu, it could cause us more trouble than we had anticipated.”

 

“Indeed,” agreed Tsuruko, closing the door to their room behind them before removing her towel. “But don't forget that Mutsumi may seek Kanako's backing,” suggested the older sister. Motoko paused.

 

“I don't think she will seek anyone's support,” Motoko said. “She has never been that sort of woman.”

 

“I get the same impression from her,” Tsuruko said, accepting a pair of panties from Motoko, who was by the dresser. “Perhaps we should speak with her, and see if we can gain her support,” suggested Tsuruko, seeing Motoko holding out a lace bra.

 

“So, you think that forming alliances with the other girls is the best course of action,” Motoko said softly. She had been thinking about that for a while, but wasn't sure that they could find common ground with the other girls, given the depths of emotion involved with the issue of Keitaro.

 

“Yes, I think so,” said Tsuruko, pulling on a pair of shorts before picking up a cotton tee shirt. “Don't you agree?” she asked.

 

“I…yes,” said Motoko softly. “Have you approached Mutsumi about this?” asked the girl. Tsuruko shook her head. “Then, I will speak with her about it, since I know her better,” said the younger sister.

 

“Also,” Tsuruko said, tying her hair back in anticipation of the work ahead of her, “we should investigate the possibilities of gaining Shinobu's support; perhaps Naru's, as well.”

 

“I…do not think that asking Shinobu to support our bid would be honorable,” murmured Motoko, mostly to herself.

 

“What?”

 

“I said, I do not think that asking Shinobu to make such a sacrifice would be honorable, sister,” said Motoko firmly, meeting her sister's gaze. “Of all of us girls, she is the one that never wavered in her devotion to him. She never offered him violence, never hesitated to support him. Asking her to support us in this would not be honorable. We cannot do that, sister.” pronounced the younger sister.

 

Tsuruko stared at her sister for a long moment before pulling the startled sibling to her in a tight, close hug. Motoko was surprised, but pleasantly so. She could remember being hugged like that way back when she was just starting to learn the arts of the sword, but as she progressed, the hugs had stopped, and she and her sister had settled into a static relationship where the roles were clearly defined. After her sister announced her marriage, that relationship had soured and stagnated, though the emotions remained. Now, with the turmoil surrounding them, they had moved into a new relationship. Tsuruko was still her big sister, but she was no longer the idol-worshipping novice she had been before. Now, they were sisters.

 

“I'm proud of you, Motoko,” Tsuruko whispered in her sister's ears, squeezing the girl tight to her. “You have grown up to be a fine heir to the Aoyama,” praised her elder sister.

 

“I…um,” Motoko managed, blushing even as she returned the hug. To hear my sister tell me that…! the girl thought, dazed. Burying her face against the base of her sister's neck, Motoko basked in the warmth of her sister's love and praise. Their moment was interrupted by a soft knock at their door. The knock preceded the opening of the door by about a quarter second. Still hugging, the two turned to see Mutsumi standing in the door.

 

“Oh, my!” came her playful voice, a hand covering her mouth as she took in the scene.

 

“Mutsumi,” managed Motoko, “what brings you here?” she wondered, separating from her sister a little.

 

“I came by to…” she trailed off, frowning. “I forgot why I came by,” she said, smiling as she shrugged. This had happened a lot, though not so much recently.

 

“Well, we were just heading down for breakfast,” said Tsuruko, “care to join us?” she asked the busty brunette.

 

“I already ate,” replied Mutsumi. “I have a meeting with my guidance councilor at Todai today, so…” her face suddenly brightened. “That is what I came here for!” recalled the girl. “Would you go with Naru today, Motoko?” asked the girl.

 

“Me? Go with Naru?” blinked Motoko. Mutsumi nodded.

 

“I was supposed to go with her, but the meeting…” again, a shrug. “Could you go with her instead?” she asked, smiling.

 

“I…yes,” said Motoko. “If it is ok with Naru,” she said. She had never been to a therapy session, and it wouldn't be true to say that she wasn't a little curious about what it was like.

 

“Oh, it's fine!” Mutsumi assured the girl. Turning to leave, she paused, looking back at the girl. “Motoko-chan? Don't bring your sword,” she said softly. Motoko nodded. “And maybe you should wear that cute miniskirt and top you look so good in,” smiled Mutsumi. Motoko wondered what that was about.