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May/December	By : thewriterwhocameinfromthecold Category: +G to L > Love Hina Views: 14880 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Love Hina or its associated characters. I am not profiting from this in any way.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Would it be going too far as manager if I tried to implement a co-ed policy in the hot springs when I get home, Keitaro wondered as he laid back against the spring wall and felt the warm water sap the tension in his shoulders.
Probably; he could just imagine the look on Motoko’s face right before she killed him if he ever so much as mused about the prospect. A man couldn’t ask for a more beautiful executioner, but that didn’t mean Keitaro was prepared to give his life in the name of hot tub time. On the other side of the spring, he could hear a couple of visiting salarymen discussing a meeting for later that day, while a father dragged his too-curious toddler away from the bamboo wall that separated the men and women’s sides. As he took deep nourishment from the steam-filled air, Keitaro’s mind travelled to what he might to do to occupy his time. The hotel staff had been quite helpful, especially once Sachiko had introduced him as her personal guest. They had even had a bottle of sake sent up to his room.
After he finished his soak, Keitaro donned his robe and returned to his room to dress and retrieve the tourist map, which the staff had thoughtfully marked with some of the most popular sights and a few hidden treasures. When he sat down at the hotel dining room, he was surprised to learn that there were only fifteen minutes before they stopped serving the complementary breakfast. Keitaro goggled at the watch he had forgotten to look at. He never slept this late at home, never had the chance. He grabbed what remained on the buffet and sat down to eat and consult his map. A few minutes later he became aware of a pair of eyes on him and looked up to see a woman in formal kimono, a member of the hotel staff.
She bowed low to him and held out a piece of paper. “Mrs. Sachiko Aoyama presents her compliments to Mr. Keitaro Urashima, and requests the pleasure of his company for noon luncheon at the Aoyama Estate.”
The formal words took Keitaro aback. As he searched for something to say it became apparent from the woman’s tolerant but expectant look that she expected an answer right away.
“I’d be happy to,” he said, not wanting to give offense, “But this sounds rather formal, and I don’t think I have anything to wear.”
At this, the woman smiled. “I believe we may be able to assist.”
“Naru, is that you? Hey Naru!”
Naru turned on her heel as she made her way down Kiyomizu-Zaka. Who on earth would know her here? As she turned, she caught sight of a woman in a sundress and a thin coat running up to her; attire so different from yesterday’s business formal that it took a moment for Naru to recognise Yumi.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you were here on business.”
Yumi gave her a victorious smile. “The client liked the sales pitch enough to sign the agreement early, so now I’ve got a few days to myself. Thought I check out Kiyomizu. You too, huh?”
Naru nodded and looked at the temple behind her. It was hard to imagine anyone coming to Kyoto without visiting it. She had gone to the shrine and wished to pass next year’s exam. It had been the only thing she could think of.
“Want to grab a bite?” Yumi asked.
What Naru really wanted to do was be alone. All these crowds of happy people were only making her feel worse. Yumi must have sensed her hesitation because she pressed further.
“Come on,” she said in a wheedling voice, “I’m buying.”
Naru was not yet so rich as to turn down a free lunch. “What about your colleagues or your customers? Shouldn’t you be dining with them?” she asked as they walked, wondering in the back of her mind why a grown woman in her twenties seemed so content to pass the time with a girl of eighteen.
“It was a breakfast meeting,” Yumi replied, “and my company sent me here on my own.”
“Wow, you must be really good if they trust you to close a deal without a colleague.”
Yumi looked embarrassed. “I don’t know about that. How about here?” she added, pointing at a nearby pub.
Silk against skin was usually relaxing, but for Keitaro it brought only anxiety. How much would it cost him if he so much as bruised this kimono, he wondered. Everything had happened so fast, as that concierge had dragged him into a back room filled with four hotel employees – two men and two women – sitting around a table, and called out his size – She’d known his size just by looking! How did she do that? – Then the room had exploded into activity as the four people at the table rushed out the door and returned carrying suits, kimonos, and shoes for him to try on. Outfit after outfit was thrust into Keitaro’s arms as he was given an unceremonious shove towards the small closet that had served as a change room. He’d been rather fond of the navy Yamamoto suit, but had been overruled by a hotel staff that favoured the traditional black silk kimono. Where all the clothes had come from, Keitaro had no idea. Many guests of the Aoyama family must have borrowed clothes often; that was the only reason Keitaro could think of for such a large spare wardrobe.
Once he was dressed they had sent him off to the Aoyama Estate in a town car. As they headed towards the outskirts of town, Keitaro had asked the driver if he knew how many people would be at this lunch. The moustached older man replied that he would be the only guest so far as he knew. At first Keitaro had been relieved – it would be easy to sit down to a meal and chat with Mrs. Aoyama – but the driver brought such relief to a sad end by telling him that Mrs. Aoyama’s daughters would also be in attendance. When Keitaro had asked in a haunted voice how many daughters, the driver replied that there were four young ladies living at home. The rest of Keitaro’s car ride had been haunted by visions of being the ball in a game of Hot Potato as four Motokos of varying size smacked him back and forth.
The visions of his impending execution were broken as the car crested a hill a few miles outside Kyoto and the estate came into view. Keitaro’s jaw dropped as he took in the massive walled compound. The white-washed stone wall before them seemed to stretch on forever. At the centre was a gigantic wooden portcullis gate, and he could just make out the sloping roof of the main building at the top of the wall. If Keitaro saved every yen he ever made for the rest of his life, he figured he might be able to afford the tiniest room. He’d had no idea that Motoko’s family was so rich. Of course, as he considered the Spartan girl’s almost bare room back at Hinata, he realised there was no way he could have known.
“A word of advice I may, sir?” the driver called from the front.
“What’s that?”
“The young mistress Satomi can be rather…rambunctious. Don’t let her get carried away.”
“Duly noted,” Keitaro replied, a chill running through him as he tried not to think about what that could mean. “Anything else?”
“You are the landlord of Ms. Motoko?”
“Yes.”
“Then it would be well for you to know that Ms. Motoko and her older sister Fujiko share certain views.” Showing discretion as all servants ought, he did not elaborate as he drove the car through the gate and parked of the towering Tenshu building at the centre of the compound. The driver opened the door for him and motioned for the awestruck Keitaro to follow him inside the house. He was led to a small sparse office – a desk and a few cabinets. Sachiko was sitting at the desk gazing out the window behind her, her mind miles away. At the sound of the door sliding open, she turned and gave Keitaro a welcoming smile.
“Welcome, Mr. Urashima,” she said, rising from the floor. “Thank you for responding to my invitation. I hope you bring a good appetite.”
She led him out of the office and down the hallway to a large sitting room. Keitaro stopped short in the doorway. Two girls sat in front of a Shogi board in deep concentration. The older of the two, appearing to Keitaro to be around his age, ran her hand over the long braided ponytail slung over her shoulder as she nibbled on her thumbnail, eyes glued to the board. Her skin was the same milk white – a trait shared among the Aoyamas, it seemed – and her angular beautiful face brought relief to the sharpness of her deep brown eyes. Her opponent, possibly a year older or younger wore her hair loose about her shoulders, her lovely face marred by a scowl of frustration. Her body was tense like a coiled spring with a power that Keitaro could sense from across the room. This, he guessed on instinct, had to be Fujiko.
“Girls.” As soon as Sachiko called out, the others’ heads turned in unison towards their mother. “This is Mr. Urashima, Motoko’s landlord. Mr. Urashima, these are two of my daughters: Fujiko and Harumi.”
Keitaro felt gratified that his instinct about Fujiko had been correct. Both girls rose to give dutiful bow; but whereas Harumi seemed to regard him with polite interest, Fujiko’s hard eyes subjected him to an almost naked scrutiny that made him want to seek shelter behind Sachiko, who asked “Where are Satomi and Eri?”
“Here I am, Mama,” said a happy voice from behind. Keitaro and Sachiko turned to see a happy, smiling Motoko in miniature. “Who’s this?” she asked, ogling Keitaro.
“Satomi, don’t stare so. Mr. Urashima, my youngest daughter Satomi.”
“Eri is in the kitchen,” Harumi said. “A pleasure to meet you Mr. Urashima.” She smiled at him, and Keitaro felt relief that it would not be him against an army of man-haters.
At this, Sachiko ushered everyone into the hallway. She and Keitaro walked in front while the other girls took up the rear. Keitaro’s neck burned at the feeling of three sets of eyes upon him.
“Regrettably, my eldest Tsuruko is away with her husband at the moment,” Sachiko said.
“Ah, is that so?” There was another daughter? That made six! Were all Aoyama women this fertile?
Sachiko concealed a grin behind the sleeve of her kimono. “Yes, most people are surprised.”
“And your husband, is he away as well?”
Sachiko’s smile lost some lustre. “My husband passed away two years ago.” Keitaro winced, but she only waved off his apologies. “It’s quite all right. How were you to know? Here we are,” she added, indicating the dining room.
Suits of Sengoku armour and wood block prints lined the walls of the room dominated by a long rectangular table. By unspoken agreement the ladies found their accustomed places. Satomi tugged at Keitaro’s hand, and he sat down next to her. As soon as they had sat down another woman entered from the opposite end of the room. She looked to be about Naru’s age, wearing her dark hair in a tight bun. She wore an apron over her kimono. She radiated a matronly sort of aura that made Keitaro like her immediately.
“Oh,” she said as if she had stubbed her toe, “you’re early.”
Fujiko gave her sister a sardonic smile. “We’re not early, Eri. You’re late, and so is the food.”
Eri gave her a smile that was equal parts serenity and sharp teeth. “Cooking is an art that can’t be rushed, dear sister. You ought to remember that from the last time you tried to boil an egg.”
Satomi giggled and, catching Keitaro’s eye, pantomimed an explosion with her hands.
“Girls.” This one word from Sachiko was enough to plunge the room into silence. “Now, then,” she went on, “Are you ready to begin, Eri?”
“I was just about serve.” So saying, Eri stepped out of the room and wheeled in a cart with a large stockpot. She ladled out a generous helping of beef stew to each person and sat down to eat.
Keitaro’s mouth watered at the scent that threatened to rival even Shinobu’s cooking as he began to eat. He suppressed a moan as the broth caressed his tongue and the delicate morsels of beef almost melted in his mouth. Next to him, Satomi dug in with aplomb, showing just enough restraint to still appear ladylike. In fact all the girls around the table seemed to show the same delicacy Motoko had when eating. As he looked around the table, his eyes landed on Sachiko. She was gazing down at her bowl with a faraway melancholy smile. The same smile he had seen moments before she had noticed him back in her office. Then, as quick as that, it was gone, replaced by the same engaging smile as she looked up from her bowl to ask if he liked the food.
“Very much,” he replied, wondering if he’d been imagining things.
Naru looked up. High above her head, the white wings of an exquisitely carved crane flashed down at her. Behind her, Yumi and a group of girls in school uniforms followed suit and marvelled at the glamorous carvings of flowers, dragons, and birds that decorated the karamon gate of Nijo Castle. As Naru regarded the wingspan of the bird, she felt the strangest fear that it might leap from its bed of red flowers and swoop down upon her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the schoolgirls kneel down with a sketchbook and thought, Keitaro would love this place. Had he been here, where her feet were now? She felt a ripple deep within as she began to wonder where he was now, but before she could complete the thought, she felt Yumi’s hand on her shoulder and they ventured through onto the grounds Ninomaru Palace, the home of Tokugawa Iemitsu, grandson of the man who had done what many had thought impossible and united all of Japan under one banner.
“Just imagine living here,” Yumi said as they stepped into the giant austere audience hall that made up the centre of the palace, a mere doorway away from the private residences where the most powerful men in Japanese history had lived out their days. “Being the greatest man in Japan.”
“The grandson of the greatest man in Japan,” Naru corrected. “Imagine living in that shadow your whole life.” After all, she thought, almost only counts in horseshoes.
“Bet he never had to work unpaid overtime, though,” Yumi replied as she looked out at the gardens dominated by a great lake.
Despite the great many trees, the garden had not a single flower in it. Naru grimaced at the sculpted and severe sight, so unlike the karamon on the other side of the palace in its sacrifice of visual beauty for ascetic elegance of form. Naru shuddered away from the from the symmetrical but sterile sight. Why had she come here? Why had she agreed to go with Yumi at all? Naru could barely recall the conversation in the pub. It had all come on the spur of the moment. One minute they had been talking about different nothings, the next Yumi suggested they go somewhere and Naru had nodded her head.
Yumi seemed distracted too, Naru thought as she followed the older woman into the gardens. This was the fourth time in fifteen minutes she’d seen the office lady check her watch.
“You have somewhere to be?” Naru asked.
Yumi shook her head. “Nowhere to be at all. Take a look at that,” she said, turning, “Isn’t that pretty?”
Naru followed Yumi’s finger to a bush covered in pink flowers sitting next to a stone Toro lantern. The shock of colour caught Naru off guard. The bright flowers seemed to reach inside and shake her from the melancholy that held her. She approached the shrubs with the slow cautious manner of a deer. She circled around the lantern and realised that there was a second shrub on the other side bearing the same flowers.
“Reminds me of home,” Yumi said with a wistful sigh. “Not in Tokyo I mean. My parents have a house in Nagano. Rainy as hell, but everything’s so beautiful and green in the summer.” She shook her head, forcing a laugh. “Look at me, getting all misty-eyed.”
“It’s all right,” Naru replied. “I love it too.”
“Let’s get a picture,” Yumi suggested, fishing a camera out of her handbag. Naru nodded and they hailed another tourist to snap a shot of the two smiling women. “We can get the pictures developed before you leave,” Yumi said. “How’s that sound?”
Later, they were walking down the street to their hotel. It wasn’t quite time for dinner and many shops were still open. The streets were alive with talk and laughter.
“Do you mind waiting for me?” Yumi said. “I’ve got to take of a few things here.”
For the first time that day, the idea of leaving Yumi and seeking solitude didn’t even occur to Naru as she nodded. “I’ll just wait in the lobby and read my book.”
Yumi’s hotel was a traditional inn much like Naru’s, though not as large or as fancy looking. It had a sort of weatherworn look, a sort of weary constancy that Naru found reassuring.
“Do you have any messages for Yumi Ichihara?” her companion asked at the front desk. Naru watched her drum her fingers against the desk as the clerk went in back to check.
“Expecting something?”
Yumi’s only response was to bite her lip, her glance never wavering from the older man’s back as he searched. When the man turned back to her empty-handed, the drumming stopped.
“No messages, Ms. Ichihara.”
“None?” The hand seemed to clench.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Ichihara. Nothing since you last asked this morning. If you would like to send…”
“No.” Yumi waved him off. “No, thank you. You’ll be all right here, Naru?” she asked and left without waiting for a reply.
Naru blinked, sharing a quizzical look with the hotel clerk. “Is there a place I can get something to cool off?” she asked after a pause.
The man directed her to the small bar just beside the lobby on the other side, and soon she was sipping at a bottle of pineapple ramune as she glanced through the romance that she’d picked up at the train station book shop. Her mind kept travelling back to Yumi at the desk. How strange it had been. Then again, to Naru Yumi seemed strange. Why was a professional woman so interested in spending the day with a complete stranger?
Her question went unanswered as she became aware of a trio of guys walking into the otherwise deserted bar. They looked to be about her age; high school students, college-hopefuls like her, maybe.
“Bartender,” called one of them, a tall lanky guy with close trimmed hair, “some champagne for my friend here. We’ve got celebrating to do.”
“Shut up, Kyosuke,” replied one of his friends with weary amusement. “We’ll have a couple beers, please,” he told the barman as they sat down at a nearby table. He was short, but bulky. Even under his long sleeved shirt, Naru could make out the muscles underneath.
“Beer?” Kyosuke looked scandalised.
“You only get rich after you go to university,” the third, a shaggy haired boy with glasses, said.
“Come on.” Kyosuke threw his hands in the air. “It’s not like it’s everyday your friend gets into Keio!”
Naru’s heart clenched. Keio was one of the most prestigious private universities in Japan.
“Stop telling everyone,” the first guy muttered, giving the room a self-conscious glance.
“Why the hell are you being so modest?” Kyosuke asked.
“He has a point, Ken,” said the third, giving his friend a pained smile. “It’s almost like you’re embarrassed.”
Ken rubbed the back of his neck as he looked over the shoulder of the third boy. “Well it’s just that…You know.”
“What?” The third laughed. “Because you got in and I didn’t?”
Ken seemed to search for something anything he could say other than the truth before giving a pathetic “Yeah…”
The silence seemed almost unnatural while Naru watched this stranger, her counterpart and waited for his response.
He shrugged, staring down at the table. “There’s always next year. It’s my fault for getting cocky anyway. I didn’t even try for a safety school.”
Naru flinched. How could anyone be so calm about becoming a ronin? What was she missing?
“Hey, now,” Kyosuke said as the beers arrived. “Now’s no time to be sad! We’ve finally made it out of high school. No one can take that away.”
“Easy for you to say,” Ken said. “You didn’t even try for college.”
Kyosuke shrugged. “Working in my Dad’s shop was my destiny the moment I was born. It’s fine with me,” he said, pouring beer into his glass. “The world will always need plumbers.” He raised his glass. “To us: plumber, ronin, and student. It only gets better from here.”
“To us,” his friends echoed and drank.
It only gets better, Naru mulled the words, tested them on her tongue. She hoped so, but from the deep pit she seemed to be in it didn’t seem possible. Her book forgotten, she watched the trio as they drank and laughed.
“Here you are,” Yumi said, sitting next to her. “Thought I’d lost you. Shall we get going?”
Naru nodded and the two got up to leave. In the lobby doorway, she paused. “Give me a minute,” she said, and turned back towards the table of guys. Some unknown force propelling her forward, one foot after the other until she was standing before the three boys, looking down at the unknown third; her counterpart.
“I…um…”
The boys looked up at her, Kyosuke giving her and eager onceover and a smile. Ken and the third boy’s smiles were a little more guarded.
“I just wanted to know your name,” she said.
“My name?” The third boy looked confused. “It’s Jin. Who are you?”
Jin. She smiled. “I just wanted to wish you good luck next year,” she said and left the bar without another word as the trio of boys stared after her.
“Who was that?” Yumi asked as they hit the street.
“Just someone.”
- 5
- 6
- 7
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May/December