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Tug-of-War	By : thewriterwhocameinfromthecold Category: +G to L > Love Hina Views: 57788 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Love Hina or it's associated characters. I am not profiting off this work in any way.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Once upon a time…
Motoko stared down at the page in consternation, her pen making absent squiggles on the margins. Above the words Once upon a time were a series of false starts: tentative and ill-fated opening phrases obliterated by brutal black scratches of ink. Mixed among these failures were several Once-upon-a-times also crossed out until finally the words were restored to prominence as the author tested the well worn phrase on her tongue and pronounced it infinitely preferable to all that had come before. Then she hit that wall known everywhere to wordsmiths who had tried putting pen to paper.
Motoko sipped her tea. “This is harder than I thought. Does Kitsune really do this all the time?”
It had taken several months for Motoko to heed her sister’s advice and contemplate something other than her katas. After she departed Kyoto, Shinosuke continued to haunt her dreams, his perfect body taunting her, stoking her hunger until she awoke with his name on her lips and a need so bad that it took forever to tame. To make matters worse, as Tsuruko predicted the symptoms did not get better as she trained. The medicine was taking the edge off things, but attacks seemed to be more frequent. At least once a week, she had been forced to take shelter in her room due to a sudden attack. It wasn’t long before her dreams of Shinosuke started turning into nightmares about her manager stumbling upon her in her weakened condition. His lips would curl back into a lecherous grin and then he would leap upon her, sending her screaming into consciousness. This only made her all the more vigilant around Urashima in her waking hours. Her punishments for his perversion were having the desired effect. He seemed to stiffen whenever she came into a room now, his eyes locking onto the sword at her side. Good. She would happily become fear personified if it meant keeping him away from her.
The other girls did not share her enthusiasm. Kitsune and Naru glared at her every time she knocked Urashima off them. It was as if they wanted him to fall on top of them. In fact, they seemed to be determined to be around him as much as possible. Even Kitsune, the eternal slacker, had taken to studying for college entrance exams: a fact that seemed to irritate Naru. Whenever Motoko would ask her about it however, Naru would deny it and change the subject. No matter. Actually, Motoko admired Kitsune for taking such a step; and it was only growing now that she was attempting to write as a way to find the inner calm Tsuruko preached. The feeling reminded her of the awe she had first felt upon meeting Kitsune, who seemed so smart, so knowledgeable of the world, so able to negotiate any situation. At least that was before the drinking, the gambling, the schemes, and the endless lewd jokes wore her down. Still, writing more than a couple sentences at a time was a daunting task. Motoko had to give Kitsune credit for that much.
When it had become apparent that Tsuruko had been right, Motoko had been terrified. Her whole life, she had devoted herself to nothing save the sword; and now she was expected to find something else to fulfill her? Before that conversation in Kyoto, Motoko would have denied such a thing could exist. When it became apparent that she needed such a thing, she became frightened that it truly didn’t exist.
“What can I do, Sister?” she asked over the telephone one evening. “I have nothing else.”
“Listen to your heart, Motoko. Think of what else you have done without a sword, and your heart will show you where it finds serenity.”
So, she had left for a weekend to meditate at a nearby shrine. Alone with her thoughts, the tension began to flow out of her as she sat upon the aged tatami. After a time, she recalled her teacher’s praise on her writing exercises. Motoko had never considered them to be anything special. They were nothing more than factual accounts of attempts to master techniques and the results; but her teacher had returned her papers, claiming to be impressed with her “creative talent and capacity for invention”. Motoko shook her head. There were more things in heaven and earth than her teacher dreamt of. Still, she had always managed to gain insight into her techniques by writing about, so why not try using it to gain insight into herself?
Except now that she sat down to do so, pen in hand, she couldn’t begin. She crumpled up the page in front of her and began again.
Once upon a time
No.
There once was
No.
For all of…
No, no, no!
Why am I doing this to myself?
Her pen froze at the dot of the question mark. She crumpled up the new sheet, dropped the pen on her desk, and grabbed her bokken. Inner peace would have to wait.
“You know this problem has a simple solution, right?”
Naru turned from her contemplation of her bedroom window through which Motoko had launched Keitaro twenty minutes ago, putting a premature pause to their study session. “What’s that?” she asked Kitsune who was lying on her back by the kotatsu. As far as she was concerned the easiest solution to the immediate problem was Kitsune going on her way rather than pretending to study so she could engage Keitaro in footsie under the table.
“We wait till she’s asleep, then tie her down, tease her till she can’t take it anymore, and have Keitaro fuck the daylights out of her until she can’t bear to live without him.”
A lesser woman would have flinched, but many years of companionship had taught Naru what to expect from Kitsune.
“You’ve been reading too many doujins. Even if that didn’t go against every moral fibre, even if by some miracle we got Keitaro to go along with it, do you really want to be responsible for trying to tie Motoko up? She probably sleeps with a knife beneath her pillow.”
Kitsune shuddered. “I was just kidding.” Then after a while she said, “We’ve got to go something, though. She’ll kill Kei-baby if this keeps up.”
“We could try to drive her off?” Naru suggested half-hearted.
Kitsune shook her head as her mind travelled to a time before Keitaro, a lonely evening with too much sake. She remembered Motoko holding her hair back as her body got its revenge, recalled the cup of tea and the toast sitting next to her futon the next day. Kitsune had felt so ashamed as she went downstairs preparing for a humiliating lecture on the evils of demon rum; but Motoko never said a word save to ask how her stomach was. The kindness was so unexpected that Kitsune had never forgotten it. That was why she had never moved or tried to get rid of Motoko before now. Beneath all the ice, Motoko could be a real sweetheart.
As if the mere mention of her were sufficient summons, Motoko knocked on the door. “Naru, may I come in?”
At Naru’s ascent, Motoko stepped into the room looking like she were about to deliver an awkward piece of news.
“Do you need help?” Naru asked.
“I was wondering if I could borrow a book,” Motoko said at last. “I was about to go to the library for something, when I thought you might save me a trip.”
“Um…Sure,” Naru replied. This was the first time Motoko had asked to borrow anything. “What did you have in mind?”
Motoko’s brow knitted in uncertainty. “Perhaps you could suggest something?”
Naru went to her shelf and perused her titles. Of the five shelves, the first two were dominated by text books and study guides. No help there. On the top shelf, behind some weighty and boring looking tomes, she hid a wide collection of bodice rippers and other fodder for fantasy. They had been seeing increased use ever since Keitaro had declared his moratorium on dating. Naru cast a look at Motoko. It might be fun to give the samurai one of those books – one with an innocent looking cover – to see what she’d do; but it seemed more trouble than it might be worth, so she decided against it. She bent down to the last two shelves, which contained novels collected over the years: old school books, gifts, things she’d picked up at the bookstore. What to give Motoko? She ran her finger over the well worn spines before settling on an historical novel from the Meiji Period. That ought to interest their resident sword master.
Motoko looked at the book Naru handed her. “The Duel at Rokotsu Pass? Thank you, Naru.” She turned to Kitsune. “Um, Kitsune…”
“Yes?”
“Never mind,” Motoko said and left with the book under her arm.
The book turned out to be an easy read, and quite enjoyable. It was a story of a warrior passing through a remote area who found himself caught between two samurai clans fighting for supremacy over the area. The nameless warrior began playing both sides to thwart their attempts to stage attacks on each other, only to discover that the two clans were being manipulated by a commander in the Meiji military trying to destroy them both before his army seized control. The nameless warrior united the two clans and led them to attack, the commander’s camp and then killed him in single combat before succumbing to his own wounds. It was a delightful tale that spoke to Motoko on many levels; and it turned out to be just what she needed to get her pen to write more than just an opening sentence. Everything in the book was so vivid, she felt as though she were right there. If only she could create something like that.
After the weekend was over, she returned the book Naru and went to school. On her lunch break, she took her bento (lovingly made by Shinobu as usual) and sat by a window overlooking the field. It was too cold at that time of year to sit outside and eat, but she liked to look at the trees. Their constancy and strength gave her a peaceful feeling. They reminded her of the cherry blossom trees back home, of viewing them with her sister. It was this thought that caused something in her mind to flicker. She removed her notebook from her bag and uncapped her pen.
On the top of the fresh page she wrote The Cherry Blossom Samurai. She tapped the tip of her pen against her lips in thought.
‘Listen to my heart, huh?’
She put pen to paper and began to write:
Once, there was a warrior who wandered the countryside. She was a strong and righteous soldier of justice who helped those in need. Especially maidens who feared the attentions of dishonourable men. Throughout the land she was feared by anyone with lechery in their heart. One day she was passing through a village when she came upon a small teahouse. The warrior, Sakura, was thirsty, so she decided to go inside. Before she could go in, a young girl wearing the dress of a server ran out of the teahouse, chased by a samurai who stank of drink.
“Please, please let me go,” the server begged. She was a young maiden of fourteen with short hair and blue eyes.
“Just a little kiss,” leered the samurai.
Just looking at him, Sakura could see the evil in his heart. He was short with stupid looking eyes. He grabbed at the helpless maiden with dirty claw-like hands.
“Won’t someone please help me?” cried the poor girl.
Sakura had seen enough. “I shall save you,” she said, drawing her beloved sword. “Lecherous beast,” she called out. “Surrender now or face justice.”
The samurai threw the maiden aside. She hit the ground with a hard thud.
“Foolish wench,” he said with a filthy grin as he reached for his sword. “Do you know who I am? I am Taro of the House of Shimano. You must be desperate to die to take me on.”
“Talk or fight,” Sakura said. “Not both.”
She lunged forward and caught the weak swordsman on the wrist. He dropped his sword with a howl and fell to his knees. He looked up at her as she rested her blade against his throat.
“My brothers will avenge me,” he hissed. “I promise you.”
Sakura smiled a grim smile. “And I promise you, I’ll bury them beside you.”
She lifted her sword and swung, relieving the lecher of his head.
“Oh thank you, thank you,” the young maiden exclaimed, running forth to hug her saviour.
“It was nothing.”
“Not nothing. Please come inside and have tea. The other girls must hear of the valiant lady who slew the pervert Taro.”
Motoko nodded. Not a bad first effort.
“Ms. Motoko!”
Like lightning, Motoko shoved her notebook into her bag. A second later she was surrounded by her entourage: shorted-haired Sachiyo Matsumoto; Emi Ichikawa, shortest of the three, with her hair tied in twin-bun ponytails; and Kikuko Onoue, the tallest and more mature of the trio. The three girls had declared themselves to be her fan club after Motoko had led the school kendo team to victory by defeating her opponent in under two minutes. After the match, she had found the trio waiting for her; Sachiyo playing with her skirt as she stared down at the ground; Emi covering nervous giggles with her fist.
Kikuko had been the first to step forward. “We would be honoured if you would have tea with us.”
The gushing that had followed was at once gratifying and uncomfortable. Motoko had sipped and fought the desire to squirm as Emi and Sachiyo heaped accolades upon her in a glowing critique of every moment of her match. Motoko disliked behing the subject of triumph. She was a warrior of Shinmei. She did her job as a warrior, nothing more. The only saving grace was Kikuko who seemed content to bask in Motoko’s presence, and provide a restraining hand when Emi and Sachiyo’s transports of joy went too far.
When the girls showed up waiting for her the next day, it became apparent that the trio had more in mind than one cup of tea. So began the doing mission of Motoko’s Maidens who sought to carry her bags, help her with her homework, provide tea and snacks, or anything else that they believed Motoko wanted. All Motoko really wanted was to be left alone, but her propriety would not allow her to cast of these girls for so innocent a motive as admiring her athleticism and purity of spirit.
“What are you doing here Ms. Motoko?” Sachiyo asked. “You usually use the lunch hour to train.”
“I was just thinking,” Motoko replied. Good, they hadn’t seen.
“Are you all right?” Emi asked with innocent concern.
“I am fine.”
“It’s that man, isn’t it?” Kikuko asked with a frown. “The one you’re forced to live with.”
Motoko blinked. All three girls professed to be as annoyed as she with Urashima living at Hinata House; but Kikuko seemed to take the man’s presence in Motoko’s life as a personal affront. Quite a puzzlement.
“Nothing of the sort.” She turned her attention to her half eaten bento, waiting for her silence to compel them to get to the point.
“We were hoping that you would be willing to get tea with us after school,” Emi said after a minute.
“Tea?” Motoko considered: have tea and be flattered and fawned upon ad nauseum, or go home and risk having an attack in front of Urashima.
“Very well. I will meet you at the main gate after the bell.”
“One oolong tea and one masala chai.” Haruka placed the mugs in front of Haitani and Shirai. “Third day in a row, boys. First it was every weekend, then every couple of days, now this. You must really like tea.” Perhaps, hers in particular?
Shirai contemplated his mug.
“Convenient place to meet Keitaro,” Haitani supplied.
Haruka shrugged. Business was business, and a couple more regulars wouldn’t hurt. The bell above her door rang and she turned to great her new arrivals.
“Welcome. Oh, hello Motoko. Who are your friends?”
“Hello Haruka.”
Something scratched at Haruka’s memory as Motoko stepped through the foyer and her group of friends introduced themselves. Some niggling worry at the back of her mind; but what could it be? Motoko turned to take her usual table, and saw Haitani and Shirai sitting at it. The temperature of the room seemed to plummet.
Oh, right, that was it.
Haitani and Shirai, too busy discussing a movie the former had seen the other day, hadn’t noticed Motoko’s arrival; and Haruka held out hope that Motoko would have maturity to conclude that a table was just a table and that the teahouse was big enough to house all of them without trouble.
That could very well have been true, but Haruka would never know the answer; because the moment Emi caught sight of the two boys sitting there, she recoiled, calling out, “I know you guys!”
It took Haitani and Shirai a second to realise that she was speaking to them; but when they turned to see the group staring back at them, they shrank back in their seats – frightened rabbits that could see a fox snout blocking the only way out of their burrow. Haruka thanked providence that no other customers were present.
“There’s a lovely table on the other side,” she whispered to Motoko.
“You should not trust men such as these.”
Haruka almost chuckled. Her in danger from guys like that? “Thanks, but I can handle my own customers. Now, about that table.”
Motoko took one long look at the two boys before nodding in deference to the woman she had always admired. “Come, let us sit over there,” she said, leading her group to the other end of the teahouse.
Haruka felt a flood of relief. Crisis averted; or so she thought, because at that moment Haitani did something very stupid.
“That’s it, then?” he asked, standing up.
Motoko turned slowly, looking at Haitani like his very voice made her nauseous.
“Haitani,” Shirai whispered from his seat.
“I think you owe me and my friend an apology,” Haitani said. “And you owe him a new coat.”
Haruka had to give him one thing, he had courage. Most people would speak against Motoko after feeling her power.
“Ms. Motoko doesn’t have to explain herself to perverts like you,” Sachiyo said.
Haitani gave the younger girl a withering glare. “Hush, little girl, grown-ups are speaking.”
Motoko stepped in front of her friend as if to shield her from Haitani’s insults. “Speak to her that way again, and you’ll get worse.”
Shirai pawed at his friend’s arm. “Haitani, maybe…”
“Great example to set for your juniors.” Haitani’s voice began to rise. “Finishing school for man-hating psychopaths.”
Motoko cracked her knuckles. Haruka jumped between the warring sides. “All right, we’re all going to calm down.”
“I want…” Haitani started to say, but Haruka silenced him with a glare.
“That wasn’t a request. You’ve got a big mouth, kid. I think you better take it outside.”
“Please, Haruka,” Motoko said, grasping the handle of her bokken, “allow me to take the garbage out.”
Haruka rounded on the girl. “No, I think you’d better take a seat.” She leaned close enough to whisper, “I like you kid, but if you ever threaten one of my customers again, you are never coming back here, ever.”
Motoko cowed was a strange sight. For a moment she tensed and her frown quivered a second before she took a few steps back. “Let’s sit down,” she told her friends.
Shirai took that moment to toss a few bills down on the table and jerk Haitani towards the door. He bowed to Haruka on the way out. “I want to apologise for him.”
“Forget it.”
“May I still come here?”
Haruka arched an eyebrow. Kid must really like tea. “Sure, if you want.”
Haitani called to Shirai from outside. His voice sounded hollow. Haruka watched as Shirai rushed to steady his friend. Haitani’s courage had evidently deserted him the moment he stepped outside.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” he said.
“Naru, Naru, are you in there?”
Naru looked up from her textbook. “Yes, Shinobu, what is it?”
The door to Naru’s room slid open with a slam and Shinobu sailed inside, her face a mask of worry.
“It’s the manager. Something’s wrong with him.”
“What do you mean? Is he hurt?”
“I don’t know. He’s been standing in front of the house for the last fifteen minutes, pacing back and forth muttering to himself.” Shinobu worried at her shirt hem. “What if he’s…?”
“I’m sure he’s all right,” Naru lied, determined not to let Shinobu complete the thought.
Whatever it was, it sounded like Keitaro was agitated about something. She got up and let Shinobu lead her outside. Sure enough, Keitaro was pacing upon the grass. If anything, he looked worse than Shinobu described. He bore all the signs of a man on the brink. More than just talking, he looked like he was arguing with himself, jerking back and forth as he spoke, as if switching sides in some internal debate broken loose. He clasped and unclasped his hands, ran them through his mussed hair, over and over.
“Keitaro, what’s wrong?” Naru asked, alarmed.
“Last straw,” he spoke in one rapid stream, “Absolutely last one. Gotta have it out. Can’t. Won’t. She’ll kill me.”
“Keitaro!” Naru grabbed her boy by the shoulders and shook him. His eyes flickered and refocused on her. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Naru?” He looked away, embarrassed. He held up his hands. “Look at me. I’m shaking like a leaf.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Yes, please?” Shinobu begged, running up to take Keitaro’s hand and try to still his tremors.
Keitaro took a few deep breaths. “I talked to my friends today, and they told me that they had a run in with Motoko.”
“Those two guys from cram school?” Naru recalled Kitsune’s report on the incident.
“Yeah.” He shook himself. “This can’t go on. Someone has to lay down the law.”
Naru smiled. Her boy was getting braver. “That sounds like a great idea.”
“Yeah. I just need you to do one thing for me.”
“What’s that?”
His expression turned pleading. “Tell her for me?”
“What?” Naru asked, voice dripping in disbelieving disgust.
“She’s upstairs with her friends. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to go up there for twenty minutes, but the moment I even think about it I start freaking out.” As if on cue, he started to shake again. “She’ll chop me into sashimi!”
Naru winced. “Poor baby. But wait, you’ve had to do this sort of thing before. Remember that first month, when Kitsune tried to sedu…” She cast a nervous glance at Shinobu. “I mean, tried to con you so she wouldn’t have to pay her rent.”
“That was different. Kitsune can’t kill me a thousand times before I hit the ground.” He broke to his knees. “What am I going to do? I’m too weak to take her on alone.” His face screwed up in self-loathing. “I’m pathetic.”
Great, now he’d gone Shinji on her. She turned to the other terrified girl. “Shinobu, would you give me a second please? Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
Once Shinobu was inside, Naru propped up Keitaro’s shoulders so that he was looking her in the eye. It was time for some tough love.
“It’s up to you now. You’ve got to tell her how you feel when she does these things.”
Keitaro looked away. “I can’t. I’m not brave enough.”
“Stop that nonsense right now!” Naru grabbed him by the chin. “If you just keep running away every time she crosses paths with you, she’s going to walk over you forever.”
“It doesn’t matter what I say, she’ll just think I’m a dog.”
“Then show her that you’re more than a dog. Tell her what you want. Get her to see your side. For God’s sake, she’s not a maniac – bit of a prude at times – but anyway…”
Keitaro’s face still bore the stains of fear and self-disgust. “It doesn’t matter what I do, she’ll never learn to respect me.”
An irritated flame burned through Naru’s patience. “Where the hell is all that testosterone from several months ago? Where’s the guy who took both me and Kitsune to bed and then made peace with both of us?” Not a true retelling, but desperate times… “She attacked your friends. If you keep cowering like this, if you can’t stand up to one girl to protect your own friends, then I’ll never forgive you.”
She saw a flicker of anger behind his eyes. Good, his pride was coming back. It was time to get to the love part. She reached down to stroke his cheek.
“I know you’re frightened of her. Even I am some times, but life with her will get so much easier if you let her know that she can’t always get her own way. I promise.” She leaned down until her lips were inches from his. “Now go up there and talk it out with her. And when you’ve done it, come back to me.”
Then she kissed him. Just once for courage. Okay, maybe twice. It had been a while, and she wanted to savour it. A new fire was in Keitaro’s eyes when she pulled back. He got to his feet and marched straight into the house. Naru followed close behind. Damned if she was going to miss this.
“Motoko?”
“What do you want, I’m busy.”
“There’s something I need to discuss with you, and I’d rather not discuss it through a door.”
A moment later the door slid open to reveal Motoko sporting her usual glare. Just behind her, at her kotatsu, three girls in school uniforms whom Keitaro took to be the friends Haitani and Shirai had told him about looked on in a mix of irritation and interest. At the sight of those burning eyes, Keitaro felt his courage begin to desert, but he forced himself to think of Naru’s words, the warmth of her lips, and that was enough to keep him rooted to the spot for the moment.
“I was hoping to speak in private.”
“These are my friends. Whatever you have to say can be said in front of them. Besides, it will be good instruction for how to deal lecherous males in the future.”
Why did she spit back every attempt he made to be nice to her?
“Fine then, I spoke to my friends today.”
“And?”
“Well…” His gaze kept being drawn to her sword, and the words stuck in his throat.
Motoko crossed her arms. “Well what, Urashima?”
Damn it, just say it. “They told me you attacked them.”
Her hand was on the hilt of her sword so fast that Keitaro jumped back, fearing the end.
“Who?” she demanded, “Who spreads such tales about me?”
Everything in him wanted to run away, but he remembered Naru’s words and stood still, despite the knocking of his knees.
“My friends Haitani and Shirai. They spoke to you outside Hinata Station several months ago.”
“He must mean those perverts who accosted us,” the taller girl said. “The one’s from the teahouse.”
“Yes,” Keitaro said. “Actually, it’s about the teahouse.”
“I should have known,” Motoko said, “Birds of a feather. And now they’ve sent you to do their dirty work?”
“No! I’m here because you attacked my friends.”
“They accosted us.”
“They asked you to tea, and you launched them across the street.” God, he wanted to run. “I would like you to apologise to them.”
Motoko poked him in the chest. “You tell them that if they want satisfaction, they can come for it themselves.”
He stepped away from her finger. “I am speaking, because I have had enough!”
The three school girls jumped at the outburst, but Motoko didn’t even flinch.
“How dare you shout at her?” the tall girl said, getting up to come to Motoko’s aid.
“Because I’m tired of getting hit, and glared at, and generally referred to as scum just for existing.” He turned back to Motoko. “Look, like it or not, we live together. Now, we can either learn to tolerate each other or one of us is moving. And it’s not going to be me.”
For a second, just a second, Motoko looked uncertain. “What do you mean?”
“My name is on the deed to this building. I don’t think I need to say anymore.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“No,” he relented, “I don’t want to. But things can’t go on like this. If we’re going to live with each other, we need to at least try to be civil. I am the landlord, I work here, I live here, and I will be bringing my friends here.”
“Those two per...”
“I will be bringing my friends here. I think the landlord should have the same rights as his tenants.” He felt his legs grow weak as a terrible light-headedness began to settle over him. He had to wrap this up before he fainted. “I’m tired of fighting with you, okay? Can we just agree to live with each other?”
Motoko’s eyes seemed to pierce right into his soul, but he refused to blink.
“I agree,” she said at last. “If men are going to be in this house, I will have some conditions.”
Wait, he’d actually won? “I’ll listen to them. I can’t promise I’ll accept them all, but I will listen as your landlord. Thank you for your time. Now if you’ll excuse me…” He forced his rubbery legs to turn towards the hallway.
“If…” At the sound of Motoko’s voice, he turned back, dreading that she’d changed her mind. “If we are to live and let live, will you hear my side of the story now?”
What he really wanted to do was crawl into bed, but he nodded.
“Defence of one’s friends is admirable Urashima, but you should know that I was not the instigator this afternoon. Haruka restrained me from saying anything. It was your friend Haitani who escalated the situation when he called me,” she gritted her teeth, “a man-hating psychopath.”
Keitaro winced. “I’ll talk to him. I’d really like you to talk to Shirai about his coat. He loved that jacket.”
Motoko scowled over his shoulder, clearly annoyed. “If it is consequential to my continued living here, then I will do so.”
Keitaro groaned. “No, I’m not going to evict you over this. But is there the slightest possibility that you…” He was going to say overreacted, but there was no way that would go over. “That you might have hit him harder than necessary to get the point across?”
That same hard stare again. Being brave sucked.
“Fine, as you wish. I still wish to meet to discuss my conditions.”
Hallelujah, it was almost over. “All right, then. Excuse me.” He forced a stiff march down the hallway until he heard Motoko’s door shut and collapsed against the wall in relief.
“Way to go,” Naru said, coming up from her perch on the stairs. “You actually managed to talk to her without her killing you. Are you – Whoa!” Keitaro collapsed like a ragdoll into Naru’s arms.
“Thank God. If she’d glared at me like that a second longer, I’d have peed my pants.”
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