Kaitou Magician Origins Part One: Prince of Light

Prologue: Tanaka Mikai

“And at that perilous moment, the just and beautiful Princess Veritas held up the Mirror of Truth for the Earl of darkness to see. A blast of blazing white light flooded the palace. The Earl of darkness screamed in pain and misery as he caught his reflection in the mirror and collapsed onto his knees.” 

“Then what happens, ’nii-chan?” a little girl with large gray eyes and glossy auburn hair plaited into two thick braids demanded. She tugged on her older brother’s sleeve. “Tell me.”

It was a mild summer day, the third of June and the girl’s sixth birthday. The two siblings were seated on a wicker bench in the grassy garden of their spacious white Victorian-style house.

“I’ve told you this story a hundred times, Miho-hime. You already know what’s going to happen next,” the boy with similar gray eyes, mixed with a dreamy shade of sky blue, replied. The boy, around eight or so had a pleasant ambiance which made people feel comfortable when with him. A quiet sort of maturity as well as gentleness settled on him as he fondly gazed over his younger sister. There was no doubt that the boy pampered his little sister and treated her like an absolute little princess, though at the same time he retained a sort of quiet authority: the little girl looked up at her brother with utmost adoration.   

“I forgot. Tell me again!” Tanaka Miho replied, crawling on top of her brother’s lap.

Tanaka Mikai laughed and petted his little sister’s auburn head. Soon, he continued to tell her the tale of the fantastic adventure of beautiful, kind-hearted and noble Princess Veritas, who with her valiant guardian prince of light, defeated and the evil magician, Earl of darkness; it was a time-old tale of how “good” was victorious over “dark,” the pre-written principle rule of the universe.  

“Mikai, Miho, gather for the cake,” their mother, Tanaka Miara, called out, bringing out a lemon-white frosted, two layer cake with six candles. She set the cake on the wooden picnic table set up on the back garden, between the fruit punch and sliced watermelon.

Tanaka Keisuke, her husband and six years her elder, asked, “Miara, did you bake the cake?”

“Yes, I did,” Miara replied, tying back her long, wavy auburn hair in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. “I envy Nadeshiko, though. Her husband is really good at cooking.”

Dipping his finger into the icing, Keisuke tasted it and cringed. “Oh dear,” he murmured.

Hands on hips, Miara demanded, “What does that mean, Keisuke-san?”

“Happy birthday to Miho-chan,” Keisuke began to sing, off-tune as always. Mikai and his exasperated mother joined in, in tune.

After the song, Miho, standing on the chair, blew out the candles in one puff. “I wish okaa-san, outo-san, and onii-chan, and I can always, always be happy like this,” she said out loud. “Forever and ever.”

Slices of the cake were passed around. Their father made a big fuss about taking the piece with the least frosting. Hesitantly, Mikai took a bite of the malformed cake. It was true that cooking was not his mother’s strongest point, as terrific of a writer and journalist she was. Yet, the pungent, acidic lemon taste suited him.

“Well, how is it, Mikai?” asked his mother eagerly.

“It’s is delicious, Mother,” he replied, smiling.

“See? Mikai said it’s good,” Miara told her husband.

Taking another bite of the cake, Keisuke said, wrinkling his nose, “I guess it could be worse. But it’s too sour. Bleh.”

“Mikai, Miho, and I all like sour things,” Miara replied, tasting the cake. “Mmm… I baked it, but I say this time it’s pretty good. Well, open your present, Miho-chan!”

Opening the small silver box, Miho took out a white-gold oval locket with an intricate engraving leading to a blood red ruby in the center of it. It was quite large, almost the size of her palm, and hung on a silver chain. “Wow, it’s the locket that okaa-san always wore!” When she was younger, Miho always wanted to play with the family heirloom. Her mother had promised Miho to give it to her one day. “Thank you, thank you!”

Carefully, Mikai hung it around her neck, and Miho stared down at it in rapture.

Their father, whose hobby was photography and painting, was actually the president of the technology and computer software division of the Kinhoshi Enterprise. He called out as he set up the tripod, “Everyone, gather for a picture. Hurry, hurry, I’m setting the timer!”  

Quickly, Miara gathered her two children on each side of her. After setting the timer, Keisuke ran up to his family.

“Outo-san, lift me up!” Miho exclaimed, jumping up into her father’s arms.

“Whoa!” Caught off guard, Keisuke collapsed under the weight of his daughter, just as the camera flash went off.

They all groaned.

******

The Tanaka family was a close-knit one, living a comfortable upper-class lifestyle in a fairytale-like Victorian mansion with a spacious garden in the elite Eitoukou, the town adjacent to Tomoeda. Tanaka Keisuke, five years older than his wife Mizuki Miara, was a respectable businessman, though not as keen on money-making as his older brother of the Tanaka Enterprise. A mild, moderate man, he preferred to spend time with his family, taking photos and sketching them in charcoal or pastel in his spare time rather than pouring over market demand charts and the Tokyo Stock Exchange graphs.   

To make up for her husband’s patient and laid-back nature, Miara, who had always been short-tempered since her youth, was ever impulsive and driven. Rather than staying home tied down by domestic affairs, Miara had taken Keisuke’s advice to continue to pursue her career as a reputable freelance journalist. She had a knack for maneuvering words cleverly with her pen, and editorial columns grew to appreciate her direct, opinionated views. Unfortunately, Keisuke was often the most direct target for her biting tongue. But he was used to it, since they had been long-time friends; Keisuke had been an exchange student at Seijou University during her junior high school days. For many years he had waited for her to succumb to him, for she had always been too spirited to admit that she felt anything for him. They spent a few years apart, each pursuing their respective dreams, he as an artist and she as a writer. By the time Miara had graduated from university in Japan, Keisuke had already finished his doctorate in Paris and was an established businessman, following his father and older brother’s footsteps.

“After all, I’ve got to support us,” Tanaka Keisuke reasoned. “The C.E.O. of the Kinhoshi Enterprise is a good friend and business partner with my father. And he offered me a position that I cannot refuse.”

“Who said you have to support me?” Miara retorted, gray eyes flashing in frustration. “I can support myself, thank you.”

Yet a few months of freelance journalism proved to Miara that the world wasn’t such an easy place to succeed in, especially for modernistic, liberal-minded young women in the conservative Japanese society.

“Say, Miara, you know that this is inevitable. You love me, don’t you? Won’t you stop being so stubborn and marry me now?” Keisuke asked her when he returned from abroad. It was a romantic moonlit night, where the sakura blossoms glistened like silver.

“I’m not ready yet, Keisuke-san,” she replied as always. She couldn’t be like her close friend Nadeshiko who married at age sixteen. “There’s so much more I have to see, so much more I have to accomplish. I have to establish my name as a writer before I am bound down by some man.”

“But who says you can’t achieve your goals with me by your side? We can see the world together and accomplish our dreams together. Together, we can be even stronger and greater—can’t you see that?” he insisted.

“Why are you so pushy? I want to run away when you say things like this,” Miara replied. “It suffocates me! Maybe you can abandon your dreams like that and take the easy road out through your father’s connections, but I can’t. I have my own aspirations.”

Any other person would have been offended, but Keisuke knew Miara too well, that she unintentionally uttered cruel words out of her temper. “I’ve been waiting for almost ten years now. How much longer will you keep me waiting, Miara? I love you. I even love this obstinate side of you. But I can’t wait forever. Father expects me to produce a fiancée soon, or else he’ll engage me off to some horrid executive’s cow of a daughter.”       

“Do you think I care? Why do you always plague me? I’m not feminine or nice or pretty; definitely not a suitable wife for a high-class society man such as you,” Miara said in exasperation. “Keisuke-senpai, tell me, why me?”

“You haven’t called me senpai since your schoolgirl days,” Keisuke chuckled. “One day, you decided to turn from a whiny, selfish school girl into a charming woman. And you started calling me by my first name, just like that. Then I realized how much you had grown, and how much I love you though you always run from me.”

“Didn’t you have an infatuation for Nade-chan?” Miara demanded, rolling her eyes but blushing all the same.

“I did, I did; she is the most gorgeous girl that I have ever set my eyes on, damn her husband; excuse my language. My artistic heart cannot help seeing her as a muse.” Now, Keisuke’s eyes were full of gentleness. “But admiration does not equal love.”

“True.” Miara as a writer understood this very well. Like how Ryuuren was the type of man she would dream about sweeping her off feet, but at the end of the day, she would like to marry a more dependable and steady man, one who would stay by her side till the end of her days.

Keisuke stared off into the distance. “Strange how we all drifted apart over the years. Her health’s not been too good lately has it? Poor Nadeshiko—she always had a weak body. We were such good friends, and now we’re all separated.”

“Spend some time away from me, and you’ll drift apart from me too,” Miara commented bitterly. “You’ll find someone much more suitable.”

“I’ve already tried, dear Miara,” Keisuke replied, eyes crinkling in the corners. “And either something must be wrong with my eyes or I must love you very much if I find you more attractive than all the gorgeous, voluptuous Parisian mademoiselles and seductive Spanish senoritas out there.”

At this, Miara was speechless.

Keisuke’s persistence in the long-drawn courtship paid off. Soon after, they had a traditional wedding at the Mizuki temple, blessed by their relieved friends and family, and after a cozy honeymoon in Paris, they settled down in the elite neighborhood of Eitoukou in a brand new house Keisuke had built just for Miara. Those first several years were so blissful and nothing could take them away from the happy newlyweds. Their firstborn son was named Mikai. When Miara saw the bright blue-gray eyes stare up at her for the first time, she felt a maternal love that she had never felt before. Mikai was a strange infant that never cried but just stared out at the world with his wide eyes full of wonder and curiosity. Two years later, Miara gave birth to her second child. By then Mikai was probably the most alert two-year-old ever seen—he managed to jump out of his crib or end up on tabletops or high cabinets when most babies should barely be able to waddle around. While most infants played with stuffed animals and rattles, he had an affinity for shiny things and liked to poke into his mother’s jewelry box or tangle himself in his father’s fancy photography equipment.    

The first time toddler Mikai saw his little sister, he had stood on tip-toes to see the tiny, rosy-cheeked infant bundled up in a pale yellow blanket and cradled in her mother’s arms.

“See, this is your little sister, Mikai,” Miara said, bending over so that Mikai could see the baby’s face.

Two-year-old Mikai blinked his blue-grey eyes and peered at his newborn little sister.”

“Her name is Miho,” Miara pronounced.

“Mi-ho?” Mikai repeated, tilting his head. He reached out with his chubby little hands to stroke the baby’s peach-soft cheeks. “Miho!”

The baby girl giggled gleefully.

“So pwetty!” Mikai exclaimed.

“Isn’t she?” Miara laughed, delighted. “Take good care of her from now on, Mikai-onii-chan!”

******

“What a beautiful girl,” Nadeshiko said, gently cradling an infant Miho in her arms. “I think she will grow to resemble you a lot.”

“Mikai adores her already,” Miara replied, smiling, gazing at her three-year-old son, whose bright auburn hair glistened in the sun as he drew pictures with crayons for Nadeshiko’s two-year-old daughter, Kinomoto Sakura. Little emerald eyed Sakura had already been drawn into Mikai’s toddler charm and followed him around almost as in awe of him as of her own older brother. Nadeshiko’s son, Touya, was at school, already in the fourth grade since his mother had married ridiculously early.  

Looking a little pale, Nadeshiko handed the baby back to Miara, who rocked her tiny, fragile child back and fro in her arms. Turning her head away, Nadeshiko began coughing.

“Are you okay?” Miara asked, concerned. “I thought your health has been improving recently.”

Fumbling for her handkerchief, Nadeshiko continued to cough, her emerald eyes dark and bloodshot. Miara drew a quick breath, not having realized how her close friend’s health had been deteriorating while she had been obliviously lost in matrimony and the birth of her second child. And for the first time Miara realized how far they had come since the battle against the Dark Ones.

A little less than a year later, Nadeshiko passed away, leaving her three-year-old daughter and ten-year-old son in the care of her husband, Professor Kinomoto Fujitaka. He was a good man and one of the kindest Miara had ever met, the one person who in every way deserved such a wonderful woman as Amamiya Nadeshiko.

Though she had meant to keep an eye on her close friend’s children, Miara found that contact with old acquaintances were hard to keep, especially since she became occupied with raising her own children, overlooking their education, participating in her husband’s corporate events and fundraisers, and pursuing her journalist career. For the first couple years of motherhood, Miara mainly wrote at home as to tend to her children’s upraising. Yet, once they entered school, she found she had more free time at hand and was able to work fulltime. She had never been much of a domestic person, so she left household chores to their housekeeper and cook. Their chauffeur drove Mikai and Miho to and back from school when she and Keisuke left for work; Miara always made sure the family at least ate dinner together, so that the children never felt neglected from having both parents working. Not that they minded, since they had each other.

The fact that Mikai was so responsible and dependable reassured Miara greatly. Ever since his little sister was born, he had learned on his own to tend to Miho and keep an eye on her. He always acted a lot older than his age, impressing his parents with his superb grades, the numerous awards he brought home from school and the compliments they received from random people on how well they brought up their son. In fact, they hadn’t done anything at all.

Mikai had taken up archery at age five, barely old enough to bend a bow, after watching his cousin in a high school archery competition and deciding that it was a worthy pursuit. His parents had to custom-order a tiny bow with matching arrows for him. Within a year, he was already participating in elementary school competitions, and within a couple years, junior high level competitions. Nobody ever pressured him to excel in school, yet he was recommended to take advanced courses. An excited elementary school principal called home once, stating that Mikai had scored perfectly on an IQ test and that their son was undoubtedly a genius. Though his father figured that Mikai may have inherited his mother’s ambition, Mikai also had his father’s selfless, generous personality. The kindness and care he showed his younger sister always was a relief to their parents.

“My brother certainly was not so nice to me,” Keisuke recalled. “And we two fight all the time still—wonder where he gets such a deep heart from, smart little boy.” He stroked his sleeping son’s auburn head.

Since both their parents were busy with work, Mikai from an early age learned how to look after his sister. Since most days, Miara was rushing off to her office or to a press conference, it was Mikai who brushed Miho’s hair in the morning and braided it for her into two neat pigtails. In fact, he was much better at it than Miara was; she was too impatient to comb out all the tangles in her daughter’s hair and usually ended up snaring the comb in her hair. Before leaving for school, Mikai always remembered to pick up the two lunchboxes that the cook prepared for them. At school, he always kept an eye on Miho to makes sure she wasn’t bullied or pushed around since she was prone to be weak-willed and had difficulty standing up to some of her over-domineering peers. It was Mikai who tucked Miho into bed at night and told her bedtime stories, and woke her up in the morning and made sure she was washed and ate breakfast.

“I really do wonder who he takes after,” Keisuke commented demurely to his wife as they watched their son receive his first gold medal in the national elementary school archery competition. While Mikai was not a competitive boy, he undoubtedly liked to win. “Definitely not his mother, who still hasn’t reached maturity in her old age.”

“Don’t insult my age, Kei-san; remember you’ll always be older,” Miara replied nudging her husband’s side. “Well, having two very immature parents must have had such an effect on him. With a deep, throaty chuckled, Keisuke brushed her forehead with a gentle kiss.    

So Miho and Mikai grew up to be a tight pair of siblings, inseparable for a day. And the Tanaka family dwelt in so much happiness that would soon be shattered, for such bliss rarely can last.

*******

Chapter One: Tanaka Miho

Several years later…

“Hey, Prince,” Namuru Shidaiko, a classmate of Mikai, called out. “You’ve topped off another gold trophy. Who’d believe you’re only in fifth grade, when you win prizes in high school level competitions?”

Shidaiko Namuru gazed upon his classmate and class president with envy. Tanaka Mikai, age ten, was already an Eitoukou legend for all the trophies he won in archery competitions. Topped with good brains and cordial manners, he was the Prince of Eitoukou Elementary, the “Great Tanaka-sama” or simply “Ouji-sama.” Luckily, neither the title nor the worship he received inflated his ego, and Mikai pretty much tried to ignore the fact that he was the only one in the Eitoukou Elementary with a personal fan club. 

At that moment, a third grade girl came rushing into the classroom, her thick red pigtails streaming out behind her. “Onii-chan, onii-chan!!!” She ran to her brother’s arms.

“Miho-chan! How many do I have to tell you? You’re not supposed to come into the fifth grade classroom area,” Mikai scolded lightly. “So, what’s wrong this time?”

Gulping nervously, Miho replied, “T-the computer lab was open during break so my friends and I sneaked in and played a computer game—you know the new software from daddy’s company, Princess Revolution? And then I don’t know what I pressed, but suddenly the computer screened turned weird and froze! If we’re caught by the teacher, I’m going to get bathroom cleaning duty again!”

“Which I helped you do last time?” Mikai asked, sighing. “So, what did you do after you snuck out?”

“Well, me and my friends just locked the door and ran out,” Miho said desperately. “But I think Ryoko-chan saw me, and she might tell on the teacher!”

“Miho-chan, how many times do I have to tell you that you must handle your own problems,” Mikai said, half-heartedly. “Someday, I’m not going to be there to get you out of all the little scrapes you get in.”

“Please, ‘nii-chan, just this once?” Miho looked up at her older brother, blinking her clear gray eyes in her little girl’s way, which she knew her brother could not resist.  

“Just this once, okay?” Mikai said warningly.

Miho led her brother to the computer lab, which indeed was locked with an electronic number system. Out of curiosity, Shidaiko followed.

“Should I try to get the key from the janitor?” Miho asked. “He likes me so I might convince him to not tell the teacher.”

“No, it’s okay, we don’t need keys,” Mikai replied, glancing around both directions in the hallway. Quickly, he entered the code for entry into the computer lab. “It’s convenient how the more high-tech the school becomes, the easier it is to break in.” The door swung open. “Read about this in one of Hanada-san’s pamphlets,” he said when he saw the questioning look from his classmate. Hanada-san was Manager of the Kinhoshi Security Unit System. It was lucky that the school used the security system developed by the Kinhoshi Electronics, Security Department.

“I can’t believe the Great Ouji-sama is really doing this, breaking the rules,” Shidaiko whistled, impressed.

“This computer?” Mikai asked, pointing to the computer with the blue screen. Miho nodded, wordless, as she checked the hallways once more to check if it was clear of all teachers.

Probably at the same age he first learned how to read, Mikai had also learned java and programming language; he quickly went into MS-Dos mode and reformatted the computer. With a final enter, he then rebooted the computer. He was not the son of a computer software and technology division company president for no reason; in fact, he perhaps had more interest in that field than his father did. Oftentimes, his father took him to work, and the employees at Kinhoshi Electronics headquarters took young Mikai around the research labs and explained to the boy the latest technology—oftentimes more than they should since they thought a kid wouldn’t understand all the technical information.

“Is it okay now?” Miho asked, hands clasped behind her back and squirming in anxiety.

“Yup, the problem is fixed.” Then, peering at Miho with serious steel blue eyes which twinkled with mirth if you looked carefully enough, Mikai said, “Miho, don’t ever make me do something like this for you again, okay?”

“I promise, onii-sama,” Miho said, pressing her chubby hands to her heart solemnly, knowing this would produce a smile from her brother. “I swear on okaa-san’s unwritten novel that I will from now on be a good girl and not make more problems.”

“That’s my little princess,” Mikai said, patting his sister’s head adoringly. “Now go and tell your friends not to worry anymore. Let me lock up the lab again.”

Miho’s third grade friends who had been peeping from around the corner anxiously, rushed up to Mikai when he exited the computer lab, exclaiming, “Thank you Tanaka-senpai, thank you!” Then they squealed and rushed into their classroom. “We talked to the Ouji-sama! Miho-chan is so lucky she has such a great brother!”

Smiling smugly, Miho waved to her brother and called out, “See you after school onii-chan—I’ll go see your archery club practice!” In her excitement, Miho almost collided into a golden haired, pale girl in the long-sleeved winter sailor uniform of Eitoukou Junior High.

“Oops, sorry,” Miho said, bowing low to the girl, before running into the classroom.

Without shedding any acknowledgement of the apology, the older girl kept on walking. Black-rimmed glasses did not conceal her cool violet eyes which met Mikai’s for a second, before she glanced away and walked on ahead towards the library at the end of the hallway.

“Whoa, you’re letting someone get away after pushing your little sister?” Shidaiko demanded.

Staring at the girl who walked off so briskly, Mikai asked nonchalantly, “Who is that girl?”

“Oh her? She’s a first year Junior High student—wonder what she’s doing in the elementary area. She’s pretty notorious for being a real snot. Students says she’s a foreigner—she doesn’t really look Japanese, huh? She hardly talks to anyone, you know, and the junior high students say she’s stuck up and really cold. But the boys like her—she’s a beauty, after all. Ice Queen Kamura Karin.”

“Kamura Karin.” Mikai repeated underneath his breath. The name had a pretty ring to it.

******

Eitoukou Academy in springtime was perhaps the prettiest school campus in the Kanto prefecture, with luscious garden space and a greenhouse. The large campus was interconnected from elementary to university, though the university was more isolated from the other levels. There was a large archery court where all levels came to practice in, and the court was one of the many facilities that Eitoukou boasted of since Eitoukou Academy was especially famous for its archery club. Though Mikai had just entered sixth grade, his name was even known throughout the junior high and high school. No instructor could teach him anymore, so Mikai often lead archery classes after school.

Often, out of the corner of his eyes, Mikai caught glimpses of the golden haired girl watching the archers from a silent distant corner, away from the usual crowd of students who came to watch practices. Of all the times he saw her, she never came any closer, nor did she ever speak to another person.  

“Onii-chan, what are you looking at?” asked Miho, tugging on her brother’s black hakama, the uniform of the kendo club.

“Hmm?” Mikai stared down at his little sister who had come to watch his archery practice as usual.

Miho gave a little pout. “Are you really going to junior high in America?”

“No, where did you hear that?” Mikai said with a chuckle.

“Everyone’s talking about how you’ve been recommended to an elite boarding school in the States.” Miho’s lower lips trembled. “It’s not true, is it? You won’t leave me, will you?”

“Of course not,” replied Mikai. His little sister was now a fourth grader and put on little airs of superiority now that she was no longer in the bottom half of elementary school. Yet, she would always be his baby sister.

“But in a year, you’ll be in junior high, and I’ll still be stuck in elementary. We’ll be in different campuses.” Miho’s pigtails drooped, and she sulked.

Patting his sister’s head, Mikai said, “Silly Miho-hime, the junior high building is right next to the elementary building. It won’t be any different from now.”

One warm, summery day, during lunch break, Mikai perchance wandered into the outskirts of the Eitoukou elementary grounds. He saw the same girl seated on the grass, isolated from the clusters of chattering girls as usual. She was dressed in the short-sleeved white sailor uniform of the junior high division. To his amusement, he saw by her side were several small white doves, pecking away at the crumbs of bread that the girl fed them. Up close, he could see that her loose white-gold hair was shoulder length, glistening in the sunlight that seeped in through the tree branches. The rigid formality she usually maintained had relaxed, and she looked at peace with the gentle summer breeze blowing on her face. Quietly, Mikai approached nearer until he was close enough to reach out to her. Finally, the girl noticed him and jumped back, startled.

“Why’d you sneak up like that without a word?” she demanded, her thin shapely eyebrows furrowing down. “It’s rude, you know. And what are you doing on junior high grounds—aren’t you in the elementary division?”

“Sorry,” Mikai said. So the ice princess could speak. Her words showed no trace of a foreign accent, though she looked so foreign. “I was fascinated by the birds and didn’t want to scare them off.”

“What birds?” the girl asked.

“Why, the doves that were…” Mikai blinked and looked again. Indeed, the birds were gone, instead replaced by four white handkerchiefs. “Wow, how did you do that?”

“Do what?” she repeated, crossly. “We’re not allowed pets at school anyway.”

“It’s okay, you can trust me not to tell anyone,” Mikai said, smiling. “Do you know other magic tricks too? You’re Kamura Karin-senpai, right?”

Even Karin had a hard time resisting to Mikai’s smiles. So she pushed her glasses up her nose and replied curtly, “I don’t know how you know my name, and I hate busy-bodies.”

“Ah, I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. My name is Ta—“

“You’re Tanaka Mikai. The Great Tanaka-sama,” said Karin curtly. “Everybody knows who you are. You’re famous even among junior high girls; they call you the Prince.”

Not being overly fond of his nicknames, Mikai diverted the subject. “Can you change them back into doves again?”

Sighing, Karin snapped her fingers and the handkerchiefs twisted to look like a pair of wings, then turned back into fluttering white doves. “Now will you go away?”

Ignoring her abruptness, Mikai exclaimed, “Amazing! Can you teach me how to do that too? It’s like real magic.”

“Real magic?” Karin scoffed. “This is only trickery and illusions, deceiving the eye.”

“I’ve seen you at the archery court often,” Mikai said, ignoring the older girl’s rudeness. “Why don’t you ever come closer to watch or actually try out shooting yourself?”

“Because I don’t feel like it,” Karin replied shortly.

“I’ll tell you what,” Mikai said, petting one of the doves that pecked curiously at his shoelaces. “Next time you come to the archery court, let me show you how to hold a bow and shoot. And you can teach me a few magic tricks in return.”

Before Karin could decline the offer, the lunch bell rang and break was over.

“Well, I have to head back now. See you again, Kamura-senpai,” Mikai said, nodding his head in an informal bow, and waving goodbye.

As Karin watched the tall boy, two years younger than her but somewhat more mature than boys his age were, she realized why he was admired by so many in the school. She had expected the Prince to be more arrogant and cocky; instead, he was an excellent conversationalist who didn’t leave the opponent feeling stupid and was able to make people fall under his charm with a single smile or the twinkle of his cloud-gray eyes. Was it an act? It didn’t seem like it, for his eyes were very sincere. She liked how he looked at her directly in the eye without flinching, though it also made her feel uneasy. From her pocket, she drew a deck of Tarot cards. She picked out a card.

“An interesting boy,” she murmured, smoothing her dove’s feathers. “Though I don’t like people like him at all. Too pure and good.” Her turned card revealed “The Magician.” She shook her head with a crooked smile.

******

As captain of the elementary archery club, Mikai oversaw practices and helped supervise students when their instructor was occupied. Nonetheless, there were times when students were distracted because archery was a disciplinary sport, and at that age, children held a short attention span.  

A group of students in the gymnasium had gathered around a boy at one corner. Eitoukou Academy was a private school located in one of the wealthiest districts in the prefecture and its students consisted vastly of rich young boys and girls who would inherit their family’s business. Amidst an environment of open social stratification and hostility and rivalry amongst the children of the leader’s of Japan, Tanaka Mikai was one of those rare figures that was liked universally by students of both sexes. Perhaps Mikai’s dignified presence commanded that he be treated with distance and respect, and that reputation served as umbrella for his little sister as well. But on the whole, elementary students could be quite malicious and spiteful to the scapegoats of the school, the kids who looked different or came from a socially different background.

One unlucky boy, a grade below Mikai, was often the target of older bullies who found him an easy target because he could never argue back. This boy wished with all his heart that he could be someone like Tanaka Mikai. Nobody dared to insult Tanaka Mikai.

“You’re so fat and useless—a waste of space, Tomoaki,” taunted a pigtailed girl. “Let’s see you jump—the entire gym will shake.”

“L-leave me alone!” cried out a chubby, bespectacled boy with mousy brown hair in an unfortunate bowl-cut and a gym uniform that was unfortunately too tight around the stomach and thighs. “Or else I’ll t-tell on the teacher!”

“Yeah, crybaby Tomoaki-kun,” added a boy one grade lower, poking the chubby boy in the stomach. “Go tattle on the teacher again.”

“Look, Buta-Tomoaki is blubbering again,” stated another boy gleefully. He spun a basketball around his finger then threw it at Tomoaki. “Catch, Piggy. Can you catch, or are your bear-paws too fat?”

Tomoaki ducked and the ball hit his side. He whimpered. “S-stop it!”

“S-stop it!” mocked the first girl. “Poor Piggy-wiggy. How big is your bento today? Let me guess, does it take up your entire desk?” She jabbed Tomoaki in the belly. “Or is it in here already?” She sharply poked him again in the side.

“It hurts!” Tomoaki said, sniffling.

“Back off—captain’s coming,” whispered one of the boys to the pig-tailed girl.

Mikai walked through the crowd of students who made for him and stared at the boy who sat crouched on the ground, trembling, glasses askew. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing, Tanaka-sama,” said the pig-tailed girl, stammering in front of her idol. “That boy was talking back to us for no reason. He’s only a fifth-grader and was being rude to us.”

Frowning, Mikai turned to his classmate. “Shikaido-kun. You’re supposed to be practicing—what are you doing here?”

“C’mon, Tanaka-kun. We’re just having fun. This underclassman here was just standing around getting in our way,” replied Shikaido Namuru.

“This is a gym, not a playground.” Mikai frowned as he saw the drops of tear dribble down the bespectacled boy’s face. “Shikaido-kun, the instructor was looking for you—it seems like you ran off on cleaning duty yesterday.”

“Shoot,” muttered Shikaido.

“The rest of you, you’re not part of the archery team. Please leave this area. If I ever see you giving this boy a hard time, as president of the student body, I will make sure to address this issue with your homeroom teachers and the Parent’s Board.”

Tanaka Mikai’s voice was full of authority and the girls and boys shamefacedly scattered off.

Mikai knelt down in front of the sniffling boy. “What’s the matter?”

“I-I’m not crying,” replied the boy, readjusting his horn-rimmed glasses.

“The spring pollen gives my eyes a hard time too,” replied Mikai, smiling gently. “It’s a problem when I practice archery outside. And your name and class?”

“I’m Akagi Tomoaki, from class 5-C,” replied Tomoaki.

“I’m Tanaka Mikai, 6-A,” Mikai said extending a hand.

“I know,” said Tomoaki glumly. “Everyone knows who you are. You’re the ouji-sama, captain of the archery club, student body president.”

“I know you too.” Mikai ran a hand over his head bashfully. “Well, I mean I recognize your name. You’re the one who writes the sports columns in the school newspaper, right? Akagi Tomoaki-kun.”

“Y-yes,” stammered Tomoaki.

Mikai smiled. “I always look forward to reading your articles—when I read them, I think, ah, this is a person who really enjoys sports. And your articles always are very observant too and your commentaries have so much humor and insight.”

“Ah, well…” Now, Tomoaki was blushing bright red to have been complimented by the great Tanaka-sama. Nobody ever read his articles because the journalism club was perhaps the most unpopular club in the school.

“Well, you were hanging around the basketball court. Do you play, Akagi-kun?” Mikai picked up the basketball and twirled it around his finger.

Tomoaki shook his head. “I’m too fat. I can’t run. During gym class, no one wants to pick me for their team, so I always have to sit on the benches and watch during games.”

”But I think you like basketball a lot?” Mikai said. “I’ve seen you in the bleachers watching the basketball team practices before.”

Tomoaki nodded. “Michael Jordon is my hero—someday, I would like to jump as high as him and dunk the ball into the hoop.”

“Why don’t you join the basketball team then?” asked Mikai.

“People would laugh at me,” muttered Tomoaki. “Besides, I wouldn’t even pass tryouts. And they’ll make fun of me.”

“How can you say that without even trying?” Mikai questioned. He spun the ball around his finger one last time, then casually dribbled the ball up to the three point line, where he made a clean shot towards the backboard. The ball whooshed through the hoop and bounced three times on the floor before Mikai caught it again.

Tomoaki looked up in awe—he’d never seen an elementary schooler make a three-pointer before. “How’d’you do that?”

“Concentration and focus,” replied Mikai.

“Easy to say from a champion archer,” muttered Tomoaki.

“Akagi-kun,” Mikai said, passing the ball gently to Tomoaki, who caught it to his own surprise. “It took me years to master archery. I practiced till my fingers bled. I practiced from the crack of dawn until sundown. I practiced till my arms were stiff and my legs numb.”

“No way—I thought you were a natural,” replied Tomoaki in disbelief.

“That’s what I want people to believe. Life is an illusion. People see what you want them to see,” said Mikai, smiling. “Now, you try getting the ball in, Akagi-kun. “Just concentrate with all your might and picture the ball going in.” Carefully, Mikai positioned Tomoaki’s stubby fingers around the ball, over his head. “Bend your knees and release!”

The ball spun up in the air, and bounced against the backboard, then swayed dangerously around the hoop. Finally, it fell in through the hole, rolling back towards Tomoaki’s feet.

“It went in,” whispered Tomoaki. “It really went in!”

“It did!” Mikai grinned, patting Tomoaki on the back.

“I felt some sort of breeze—it was as if something outside of myself swept through the gym, and put the ball inside the hoop,” said Tomoaki, exhilarated. “I want to do it again and again. I want to make many many balls into the hoop. And someday, when I grow taller, I want to dunk like Jordan.”

“Well, you can start practicing now for that day then,” said Mikai with a gentle smile that reached to his eyes that he usually reserved for his little sister. “But by the time you are dunking the ball, people would call you a natural—no one would know that you’ve been practicing hard since elementary school. That can be our secret.”

Akagi Tomoaki, age ten, nodded. Then, he stared up at the hoop and grinning widely which greatly changed his pudgy features.

Mikai liked practicing archery by himself after club activities ended because usually during practice, he was busy helping out other students. For him, kyudo was a very relaxing sport and it kept him levelheaded and cleared his mind of worries.

That afternoon, as he as fit an arrow to his bow, Mikai sensed that someone was watching him. Everyone had already left. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of girl with golden hair pulled into a loose ponytail, standing in one remote corner of the court, trying to hide behind the door. Turning to Kamura Karin, he waved. She looked away, pretending not to see him.

Yet, Mikai ran up to her and exclaimed, “You did come!”

“So what?” Karin said, not matching Mikai’s enthusiasm.

Mikai dragged her over. “I’ll teach you then; come over here and choose a bow. Find one with a grip and weight that suits your hands.”

Despite Karin’s reluctance, Mikai dragged her to the court and demonstrated how hold the bow, fit the arrow to the shaft, keep the hands steady, and shoot the target.

“Very good,” Mikai said, when Karin made her first attempt.

Scowling, Karin replied, “The arrow didn’t even hit the board.”

“It’s okay, it’s still within the range,” Mikai reassured. “Most beginners have a trouble drawing the bow. You have good form.”

“Funny coming from someone who can hit bull’s eye five times consecutively,” Karin said, as she made her second attempt.

“See, much better!” Mikai stated.  

“Why do you bother doing this?” Karin asked after ten more tries. Despite herself, she had to admit archery was a lot more difficult that it looked, and sweat was dripping down her neck. “It’s dreary, just standing here and aiming for the far target.”

“Is it?” Mikai asked. “Well, it may be boring to some but I like it. It’s so simple, having one target and simply having to aim for it. No complexities, no other worries. You just have to concentrate on your objective and continue to practice over and over again until you have the hang of it. All you have to do is shoot forward. And then, your goal is in your hands.”

“Sure it’s simple. But I certainly hope that’s not your life philosophy, for it sounds like it,” Karin said, one corner of her lips curving up.

Mikai laughed, not mockingly, but with carefree ease. “Will I disappoint you if I say it is?”

At this, Karin was taken back and almost smiled. “No, not at all. I wouldn’t have expected any less of you.”

“Wow, you smiled,” Mikai said, blinking at the transformation in the upperclassman’s face.

Abruptly, Karin handed Mikai back the bow and arrow, picking up her bag and mumbling, “I have to go.” Then she hurried out of the archery court.

Sighing, Mikai resumed practice.

******

“You are persistent, aren’t you?” Karin sighed, when Mikai turned up again the next time she was seated under the willow tree, having jumped over the wire fence separating the elementary and junior high school campuses. Again, she was surrounded by doves, isolated from the rest of the junior high students during lunch break.

“Good afternoon, Kamura-senpai!” Mikai greeted, helping himself to a seat next to her.

“I got curious with the whole archery business. But that was a one time thing,” she replied coolly.

“You’re welcome to come practice any time,” replied Mikai, smiling. 

“I prefer to be left alone when studying, you know,” Karin said bluntly, returning to the book she had been reading.

“Sure!” Mikai said. “Don’t worry, I have things to do also. I was looking for a quiet place to work.” From his bag, he fished out his laptop and began typing away.

From the other side of the fence, they heard girls shrieking, “Oooh! Where did Mikai-sama go? I swear he was coming this way. I packed lunch for him!”

Without paying any heed, Mikai continued to be type away on his laptop.

“Shouldn’t you better go back?” Karin asked, rolling her eyes. “Your fan club is making a big fuss because you’ve disappeared.”

“Well, let’s hope they don’t find me” Mikai replied, looking up from the MS-DOS screen.

Was he joking? “I can’t believe you are that ouji-sama of Eitoukou,” Karin muttered, turning the page of her hardcover book. One of her doves perched on her shoulder. Another landed on top of Mikai’s auburn head.

Smiling, Mikai looked up. The dove pecked at his hair. “What’s his name, Kamura-senpai?” 

“She doesn’t have a name,” Karin replied curtly. “I don’t name animals. They don’t need names.”

“Poor thing,” Mikai said, stroking the dove which had hopped down to his finger. “Why, because you’re afraid that if you name them, you might get too attached to them?”

“Huh?” Karin looked up at Mikai for the first time since he had taken a seat next to her. Then she said scornfully, “Don’t say such idiotic things. Why would anyone get attached to stupid little birds? You know their brains are the size of peas, and they only stick to me ‘cause I feed them.”

“Really? They seem to like you very much,” Mikai said. The school chime rang, and he looked up. “Time for class, I guess.”

“Go along,” Karin said, turning another page of her book, leaning back against the tree trunk.

“You’re not going to class?” Mikai asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Karin replied shortly.

“Kamura-senpai?” Mikai called, as he walked over to the fence. He stared at her hard with his calm blue-gray eyes.

“What?” Karin slammed her book shut. “Oh fine, I’ll go to class then. This book was boring, anyway.”

Grinning, Mikai swung himself over the high fence with ease. Shielding her eyes from the glaring sunlight with her hands, Karin looked up at that lithe form soar through the air for a brief second before landing with perfect balance on the other side. From the other side of the wires, he waved. “See you after school in the courtyard, Kamura-senpai!”

Picking her book bag up, Karin walked away, slowly, toward the junior high building. She muttered, “So persistent. How annoying.”

******

While, Mikai had long since grown accustomed to his mother and father’s consistent squabbling, he realized that there was an increasing tension between his parents as of late. Tanaka Keisuke was a temperate man, and it was short-tempered Miara who lashed out and triggered an argument. Usually, Keisuke would just patiently listen to Miara rant at him before she ran out of fuel. Then, the two would make up with laughter and a family dinner out at their favorite Japanese restaurant. Tanaka Keisuke was a man of laughter, the kind of person brought laughter to the room. However, these days Keisuke had been unusually taut and weary. Mikai could tell because his father no longer sketched pictures in the evenings or took the children out on the weekend to the museum or zoo. Oftentimes, he came home late at night reeking of tobacco and alcohol long after he believed his children to be asleep. Keisuke had quit smoking back in college after an especially intense scolding from Miara.

On days when their parents were engaged in a heated argument, Miho would come to Mikai’s room with wide eyes and chin wobbling, clutching her teddy bear. “Otou-chan and ‘kaa-chan won’t get a divorce, will they?” she would ask.

“Don’t be silly. They love each other,” Mikai would tell her.

“Why are they shouting at each other?” Miho would sniffle.

“Because they’re adults, and adults sometimes have disagreements. But that doesn’t mean they don’t love each other, Miho-chan.”

That night, however, Miho was wordless, shivering in her yellow pajamas. She simply crawled into Mikai’s bed, burying her head in his chest to drown out the shouting across the hall from their parents’ master bedroom.

Mikai smoothed Miho’s tangled copper-red curls and covered her ears with his hands. He could hear the muffled conversation through the walls.

“I don’t like him at all, that Kinomoto Fujishika-san,” his mother said.

“He’s onii-sama’s good friend,” replied his father in a level voice. “He wants to help the company. We’ve got to trust him.”

“Why do we need a loan from him? I don’t trust him one bit—we can talk to the banks! We can manage—I have my savings and our summer house and...”

“Miara, let me handle this! Don’t make it anymore difficult than it is. I know what I’m doing—I’m the president. I can’t let the company go. Kinomoto-san can save the company—he’s willing to help me out.“

“But it’s so sudden—he wasn’t willing to help before. Why now?”

Keisuke burst out, “I have things under control—there’s nothing for you to worry about!” This was the first time Mikai ever heard his father raise his voice.

That night, Miho fell asleep tucked in her brother’s arms. But long after a dead silence filled the house, Mikai stayed awake, watching his little sister’s chest heave in and out in deep slumber.

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Continue to Chapter Two: Kamura Karin

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