Love Hina Fan Fiction ❯ Legacy ❯ Chapter 66

Lamba and Keitaro were looking for their women when a Molmolese in some sort of uniform rushed over to the two, saluting Lamba briefly before saying something in Molmolese to the crown prince. Lamba nodded. “Problem?” asked Keitaro.

 

“Probably not,” Lamba said. “Excuse me, Keitaro, but I need to look into this,” he added, moving off toward the harbor.

 

“Um, ok. Let us know if you need any help,” he offered. Kami knows my girls are an army all by themselves, he thought, smiling fondly. Now, where are my girls…?

 

When a check of the room where he had last seen them proved to be of no help in finding them, he wandered back outside, trying to figure out where they might have gone. “Probably the palace or temple,” he nodded to himself. “Shinobu-chan probably wants to do that bride thing,” he smiled a little more.

 

Setting off for the palace, he got sidetracked by a stall in the market area, then got turned around in the unfamiliar streets, found himself outside the city and then had to figure out how to get back to the palace. Somewhere between then and arriving at the palace, he found himself standing in front of the temple. Shaking his head, he figured he might as well check the temple since he was there.

 

Entering the temple, he saw a few natives around the foyer, but no Japanese girls or Princesses. Moving down a hall that led off to the side, he scanned for any of his girls. You'd think that Mo-chan and Tsu-chan would be easy to pick out of the crowd here, he thought absently, not seeing any tall, proud, black-haired swordswomen anywhere in the crowd of mostly-blonde, dark-skinned natives. Come to think about it, my girls are probably the most-dressed girls on this island, too, realized the young man. Most of the women were dressed like Amalla, their native clothes not covering much more than a bikini. The men wore kilt-like wraps, the tropical weather of their native island favoring such light clothing.

 

Reaching a dead-end, Keitaro began to back-track toward the foyer, but somehow he once more got turned around, and before he knew it, he was in a room with a trio of huge statues in them, surrounded by a semi-circle of small, thin pillows. Must be their gods, he thought, studying the idols. One was vaguely bird-like, one was completely unfamiliar, and the last one felt nearly familiar to him. “Turtle,” he breathed, squinting at the idol.

 

Clearly, the idols were ancient, likely several dozen centuries. Experienced in archeology, he identified characteristics of bronze tools in the crafting of the idols, as well as signs of various pre-bronze tool usage. Forgetting where he was and what he was doing, Keitaro - once more - lost himself in the archeology before him, all his attention on the turtle-like the idol. Mumbling to himself, he fished around in his cargo shorts for a moment before withdrawing the notebook and pencil he carried, swiftly beginning to jot down notes as thoughts, theories and hypotheses drifted through his head. He also made notes on the tooling marks, general structure and did a basic sketch of the idol.

 

“What are you doing in here?”

 

Keitaro blinked, turning to find two Molmolese in ornate outfits glowering at him. “Oh, I was looking for my wives and…”

 

“This is a holy room, dedicated to our gods,” the older man cut Keitaro off. “None may enter this room without the blessing of the temple. Your presence here is an affront to our gods!”

 

“Um, sorry about that…!” Keitaro bowed, apologizing.

 

“Such a trespass will not be forgiven,” intoned the second man. “Guards! Seize the blasphemer!”

 

“Sorry, but your guards aren't going to touch him,” a cold voice startled the two priests. Spinning, they found a group of women standing behind them, looking extremely pissed. And among the women were both princesses.

 

“I'll tell mom you tried to seize my husband,” smiled Kaolla. The two gulped.

 

“H…Husband?” the elder of the two asked, his voice breaking a little. Kaolla nodded.

 

“Yep! Keitaro's marrying me and Shinobu!” she bragged. The two turned to look at Keitaro.

 

“Ah, please forgive the misunderstanding,” the priest smarmed up to Keitaro. “We had not been told you would be visiting here, Consort Urashima.”

 

“Informing you is a courtesy, not a requirement,” Amalla said, carefully moving between Motoko and Kanako, who were fronting the group. “We've been chasing you all over the place, Keitaro,” she added, smiling at the young man.

 

“Um, I kind of got turned around a time or two,” he admitted. “And got a little distracted,” added the young man. “But Haru-chan, doesn't this look very similar to that one we found on Pararakelse? The general lay-out and configuration of the stylized ornamentation…!”

 

“Whoa, Kei-kun,” smiled his cousin. “I admit it does share similar features to what we know of the main site, but to leap to an assumed connection based on superficial traits is not good archeology. After all, finding a pyramid doesn't mean you have found Egyptian ruins, right?” she reminded him. He blinked.

 

“Yeah, you're right,” he admitted. “We have to establish a time line for both, then…”

 

“Keitaro,” Haruka said, grinning, as she dropped an arm around his shoulders, “we're here for something else right now. How about we put archeology aside for the moment, hmm?” she suggested. “Besides, we need to talk,” she murmured.

 

“Keitaro, where did Lamba go?” wondered Kaolla.

 

“Some guy in a uniform-looking outfit came up to him, and he said he needed to check on something,” shrugged Keitaro. “I was looking for you all, but you found me first,” he added ruefully.

 

“Come on, let's go to the palace,” Amalla suggested.

 

“But, princess…!” whined the younger priest. Kaolla shook her head.

 

“I'm telling mom you are acting up,” announced the younger sister gleefully.

 

“We weren't…!” the older priest denied desperately. Haruka guided her lover out of the chamber, the others falling into a loose diamond formation like a bodyguard detachment. Four spear-armed guards were approaching the group. Motoko, in the lead position, smiled thinly. Haruka, Kanako and Tsuruko tightened up at the van of the procession. Keitaro gulped, feeling the mood among his girls.

 

“One side, boys!” laughed Kaolla. Grudgingly, the guards stood aside, since two princesses out-ranked two priests; not to mention that the four outsiders at the head of the group looked exceedingly dangerous and even eager to fight.

 

Once they were outside the temple, Kitsune had a question. “Hey, Kaolla,” she asked her one-time bedmate, “why did those priests get all upset when you said you would tell your mother what they were doing?”

 

“Didn't I tell you? Mom is the Spirit Maiden of the temple,” grinned Kaolla happily.

 

“Spirit Maiden?” Kitsune repeated, not understanding.

 

“Kaolla's mother was recognized by the temple as a vessel for our gods at an early age,” Amalla explained. “As such, her word is final for the activities of the Temple. She nearly caused a crisis of faith when she married father,” recounted Amalla.

 

“Crisis of faith? Why?” Naru asked.

 

“As a Spirit Maiden of our gods, she was supposed to find fulfillment in her temple duties while remaining chaste and virginal, but…” Amalla smiled, silently shaking her head.

 

“Ah,” Kitsune sagely hummed. “I can see how that would cause some trouble.”

 

Half-way to the palace, as the group was moving through the market, Keitaro caught a flash of movement and suddenly, he had a girl in his arms, her lips locked to his. Blinking, he managed to catch his balance, holding the girl steady. Who…?! he wondered before his mind began to sort out what was going on. Short, light-weight, smells like coconut oil and sea spray, not much clothing…Nyamo? he arrived at his conclusion, wondering how it was possible for the strange girl to be on Molmol.

 

“Hey, now!” Keitaro heard Kitsune's voice. He tried to break the kiss, but the girl was having none of it. Deciding it wasn't worth it to press the matter, Keitaro waited for her to break the kiss. Eventually, she did, settling back down on her feet. Blinking, Keitaro looked at the girl who had just ambushed him.

 

“Nyamo?” he breathed. So, she is here, he realized.

 

“Keitaro,” she smiled warmly. Haruka stroked her hair.

 

“Hey, Nyamo-chan,” she greeted the tanned Shinobu-clone. Nyamo smiled at Haruka.

 

“Nyamo!” squealed Shinobu, hugging her virtual sister. Nyamo returned the hug. About then, a group of uniformed Molmolese troops jogged around the corner.

 

“There she is!” the leader exclaimed, pointing at Nyamo. Nyamo hugged Keitaro, eyeing the troops. Taking a breath, Nyamo opened her mouth and began to sing. Shinobu remembered what happened when she did that from her first trip to Pararakelse.

 

“It's ok, Nyamo,” Shinobu assured the girl, “we won't let them bother you!” Nyamo stopped, looking at Keitaro and then the rest. Getting smiles and nods - along with reassuring touches - from the Hinata crew, she relaxed. The native men stopped before the group.

 

“What's going on here?” Amalla asked, stepping in front of the others. She suspected that the more dangerous women in Keitaro's harem were still wound up over the incident with her and Lamba and would likely start a fight with the slightest provocation, so it would be better to avoid giving them any excuse to vent physically.

 

“A ship entered the harbor without permission, and someone exited the ship. We have tracked her here,” the leader pointed at Nyamo.

 

“Well done,” Amalla said, waving her hand. “This person is a member of the groom's party, and is therefore a guest of the palace. Return to your duties,” directed Amalla.

 

“As you wish, Princess,” the leader saluted her. He and his men moved off.

 

“Thanks, Amalla,” Keitaro said to the older sibling of his bride before looking at Nyamo. “Now, Nyamo, what are you doing here?”

 

-

 

“Ah, mister Sakata, how are you doing today?” asked the doctor, looking up from his notes.

 

“How do you think I am doing?” came the irked reply as the young man sat down on the couch. “Why must I continue to waste my time here?” His tone was petulant now.

 

“Because it was mandated under the plea bargain, mister Sakata,” the doctor replied calmly. The young man just grunted. “So, tell me about your week,” the doctor began the session.

 

“Nothing special,” his patient replied stiffly. “I worked at the office,” he began.

 

“Your father's firm, yes?” the doctor interrupted. “Is he still upset about your car and arrest?” wondered the doctor.

 

“Yes,” gritted out his patient. “I can't believe he thinks that was my fault! Even worse, he won't buy me another sports car! I had to ride the train here!” complained the young man irately.

 

“Lots of people use the train,” noted the doctor, jotting down some notes. “Including me,” he added, covertly watching the patient's face.

 

“But I'm different,” his patient patiently explained. “Rich people don't ride the train - we drive.”

 

“I see,” came the disinterested reply from the doctor. “And yet, you are riding the train. How does that make you feel?” he pressed.

 

“How do you think it makes me feel?” grunted the young man. “Father should have replaced my car by now, but he just won't stop talking about how many cars I have lost! What does it matter? Even if they weren't destroyed, a young man of my social standing has to replace his car every year or two in order to maintain a fashionable impression, so why is he being so unreasonable?”

 

“Destroyed?” wondered the doctor. “What do you mean, `destroyed'?”

 

“Well, there was the car that was cut in half by that freaky swordswoman, the one that was wrecked when I was helping Narusegawa find her housemate, and then this last one that was destroyed by that robot,” accounted the young man.

 

“Narusegawa?” the doctor frowned, pen flying.

 

“Yes, Narusegawa Naru,” confirmed his patient. “She's a close friend of mine,” he added. “For a time, we dated,” he hinted clumsily.

 

“Hmm,” the doctor managed, his mind trying to recall as much as he could about his former patient. If I still had her session notes, I could use them as a reference in treating this patient, he thought. Even as he thought it, he felt a tickle of fear run down his back, recalling the cold, cold gaze of the young woman who had repossessed all records of his sessions with one of the most technically challenging cases he had ever had. On second thought… he dismissed that train of thought - it wasn't worth that kind of trouble.

 

“Speaking of that,” his patient changed gears on him, “why haven't the police impounded that robot yet? It isn't even safe for me to visit my Naru with that thing lurking there!”

 

“So, this robot bothers you more than the talking cat?” the doctor accepted the change in direction, but didn't let his patient get sidetracked.

 

“Well of course it does!” snapped the scion of the Sakata family. “The cat doesn't shoot missiles at me or blow up my car, now does it?” he asked rhetorically. “And where is Narusegawa, anyway?” he wondered aloud. “She hasn't answered any of my phone calls, and she's never home lately.”

 

“You are still insisting that the cat talked?” the doctor sidestepped the issue of the girl. I think it better that I consider the Narusegawa girl as too hot to handle ever again, decided the doctor. He just wished that she wouldn't keep turning up in so many of his new cases.

 

“Yes,” hissed his patient, “that cat talked! And it flew, too! Just ask that old man - he saw it too!”

 

“I see,” murmured the doctor. “Have you seen or heard of a flying, talking cat before or since?”

 

“Of course not,” scoffed the young man. “Cats don't fly or talk - except for that one!”

 

“Of course,” came the bland reply from the doctor, more notes being entered in the legal pad.

 

“How soon will we be done here?” the young man wanted to know. “I don't even know why I am being forced to come here! It's not like anything is wrong with me,” he denied.

 

I won't say it, I won't say it, I won't say it…! “Of course not,” assured the doctor. “How about we talk a little about your home life?”

 

Almost an hour later, the doctor was unsure where he stood with the patient. Finally, he made his choice. Waking his computer, he typed up a letter, loaded a sheet of paper with his letterhead printed on it, printed out the letter, signed, sealed and dated the letter before folding it into an envelope. When his secretary announced the arrival of his next patient, he handed her the letter.

 

Picking up the current legal pad for the incoming patient from his locked file, he scanned the last session notes to refresh his memory of where he was with this patient. Hearing the door open, he glanced up, seeing his next patient. “Good afternoon, sensei,” he greeted the man.

 

“Good afternoon,” replied the man politely, sitting on the couch.

 

“How have you been doing lately?” asked the doctor. “I see you have a fresh suit on,” noted the psychiatrist. “Things looking up a little?” he pressed.

 

“Yes,” the man replied calmly. “Those prescriptions seem to be helping, thank you.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” nodded the doctor. “I got a call from the court about your progress earlier today,” shared the doctor.

 

“Ah,” was all the man said. He was sitting back on the couch, a calm, relaxed expression on his face.

 

“I told them that I was recommending you for supervised release,” added the doctor. His patient blinked.

 

“I don't think that's such a good idea,” the man urged the doctor. “I don't think I'm quite ready for that.”

 

“Interesting,” allowed the doctor. “Just why don't you feel you are ready to start interacting with society again?”

 

“I have tried and tried to find a rational explanation for what I thought I saw, but there isn't one,” the man said, his expression a little haunted. “So, if there is no rational explanation, then it only leaves the fact that I am irrational, doesn't it?” he suggested.

 

“I would agree that you were irrational,” came the conditional agreement from the doctor. “But you have made significant gains since that incident. In fact, I have never seen a patient work harder to recover,” praised the professional. Well, ok, maybe Narusegawa, he left unsaid.

 

“And yet, I can't explain what I thought I saw and heard. Clearly, something is not right with me, and if so, I am not ready to resume my career or life,” the patient countered.

 

“An astute observation,” nodded the doctor. “Not surprising, considering your career and position.”

 

“I fear it is likely `former career' by now,” sighed the man. “Still, better that than risking the youth of this nation in a room with me,” he half-smiled.

 

“Yes, I can understand your concerns. Has the school administration been in contact with you recently?” the doctor asked.

 

“No,” the man said. “Though I have been receiving partial pay for the last two weeks from them. I think they are preparing to pay me my severance pay,” shared his patient.

 

“Well, I don't know about that,” the doctor said. “If they did, however, what would you do?”

 

“There is little to be done, except to try to find a means of supporting myself,” answered the man.

 

“You wouldn't pursue the issue further?” questioned the doctor. A head-shake was his answer.

 

“No, I can understand their position on this,” the man said simply.

 

“I am glad to hear that,” praised the doctor, a few notes hitting the pad. “What would you do in that case? Pursue a job at another school, perhaps?”

 

“With the circumstances being what they are, I doubt that any other school would hire me; well, reputable school, anyway,” he corrected himself. “There was a time when I was younger when I thought I might want to be a policeman. Sadly, my…legal troubles also close that door,” he shook his head slightly. “No, I think I will look at the private sector. Maybe work in an office, or perhaps seek to find a job working for a corporation's training department or human resources staff.”

 

“And if that doesn't work out?” the doctor asked.

 

“Then I suppose I'll find some job somewhere,” shrugged the man.

 

“And how do you feel about that possibility?” pressed the doctor.

 

“I feel…disappointed,” frowned the man.

 

“That you might be forced to stoop so low?” the doctor suggested.

 

“No,” the man sighed, “that I allowed it to come to that.” More notes on the pad. “I can only hope that my…issues,” he delicately stepped around the situation that had landed him there, “haven't permanently scarred Maehara. Or the other students I once taught,” added the man.

 

“I couldn't say for sure,” the doctor replied, “but I think Maehara will be fine.” Seeing the man perk up, the doctor decided to give him a little test, to judge where the man's recover was at. “I have heard that she is on track to take the Todai entrance exam shortly. Her grades from high school were excellent, and from what you have said, she should get in relatively easily.”

 

“I hope so,” the man replied earnestly. “If she failed, I…don't know if I could ever forgive myself.”

 

“You think her failing the entrance exam - one of the toughest in this country, mind you - would be your fault?”

 

“Whose fault could it be but mine? I was her homeroom teacher. She has the brains, and the drive, but after what happened, she might be traumatized. And that would be my fault.”

 

“Aren't you taking a little too much credit?” asked the doctor. “Her housemates seem to have issues of their own, after all, and wouldn't it be more reasonable to think that they, and not you, were the cause of any emotional trauma?” Compared to Narusegawa, you're a light-weight in emotional trauma!

 

“Well, that is possible, I guess,” the man slowly replied, “but after the last few weeks, talking with you, I think I was projecting more than seeing.”

 

“Hmm,” hummed the doctor, jotting down a few more notes. “So, were you projecting the talking, flying cat as well?”

 

The man flinched, a pained look crossing his face. “I wish I knew, doctor, I wish I knew.”