ôHey, hey! Wake up!ö The voice was very close to the voice of his dearest friend. It was younger perhaps, but it held a quality of arrogance and charisma that he remembered very clearly, even ten years afterwards. The nostalgia alone hit him like a train, causing him to shake the sand out of his eyes. Has it been so long already?
He could still see the powerful man standing before him so clearly. The vermillion cloak embroidered with gold threads and furs flapping in the tumult winds, denying the very world. He could remember it: lying in the manÆs shadow, unable and unwilling to walk out of it. But just being in there gave him the power to stand.
He looked up, seeing some vague, translucent silhouette of the man who conquered him, only to have it slowly disappear and fade into the shape of one of his least promising students.
ôI must be dreaming again,ö he muttered as he yawned. Without a care for the supposed boy before him, he laid his head down on his desk again and allowed the warmth of sleep embrace him againà
àonly, the voice did not leave, ôWake up! What a pity that I have such a lazy Master!ö
ôMasterà?ö He frowned and lifted his head again. Even in the fuzzy land of the half-awake, he realized that this was no dream. But once again, he saw his liege standing proudly before him with his hands on his hips.
He stifled a groan and took a deep breath.
Then he blinked away the sleep from his eyes and focused on the boy before him, ôKoà sanderà was it? YouÆre the new student who joined the class late, just last week. What do you want, boy?ö
Rather than be intimidated, like any of his other students would be, by his disgruntled glare, the boy laughed. He laughed loud and heartily with his chest puffed out and his face towards the sky.
ôWhat a man youÆve become, Master! To even address me as a mere snot-nosed brat! You have guts!ö The flame-haired youth landed a stinging slap on his back, nearly knocking him into his documents.
He winched; the slap hurt. ôNo, youÆre the one who has guts,ö he growled. He leaned forward using his arms to support his body and absorb the shock of the slap.
His student laughed again, even louder, and had the audacity to flick his forehead, ôYou silly Master! Of course I do, Iùö
ôHave detention,ö he interrupted, unwilling to put up with the brat any longer than necessary.
ôEh?ö The boy blinked, his laughter, which had been pounding against his ears, finally stopped. Confusion was all over the boyÆs face. ôWhaà what? Why?ö
ôI have guts? You have guts to barge into a teacherÆs office, and to interrupt my personal time like this, andà andàö The picture of his Servant was once more vivid in his mindÆs eye, ôGet out!ö He shouted, pushing the boy out of his office and then slamming the door behind him for good measure.
The boy, now alone in the vast halls of the Association, frowned. He opened his mouth to retort, but he knew the man was not listening anymore. Unlike the Servant, this boy was much more vulnerable to such rejections.
With slumping shoulders, he sighed quietly, ôBut itÆs your office hoursà Masteràö
He could still see the powerful man standing before him so clearly. The vermillion cloak embroidered with gold threads and furs flapping in the tumult winds, denying the very world. He could remember it: lying in the manÆs shadow, unable and unwilling to walk out of it. But just being in there gave him the power to stand.
He looked up, seeing some vague, translucent silhouette of the man who conquered him, only to have it slowly disappear and fade into the shape of one of his least promising students.
ôI must be dreaming again,ö he muttered as he yawned. Without a care for the supposed boy before him, he laid his head down on his desk again and allowed the warmth of sleep embrace him againà
àonly, the voice did not leave, ôWake up! What a pity that I have such a lazy Master!ö
ôMasterà?ö He frowned and lifted his head again. Even in the fuzzy land of the half-awake, he realized that this was no dream. But once again, he saw his liege standing proudly before him with his hands on his hips.
He stifled a groan and took a deep breath.
Then he blinked away the sleep from his eyes and focused on the boy before him, ôKoà sanderà was it? YouÆre the new student who joined the class late, just last week. What do you want, boy?ö
Rather than be intimidated, like any of his other students would be, by his disgruntled glare, the boy laughed. He laughed loud and heartily with his chest puffed out and his face towards the sky.
ôWhat a man youÆve become, Master! To even address me as a mere snot-nosed brat! You have guts!ö The flame-haired youth landed a stinging slap on his back, nearly knocking him into his documents.
He winched; the slap hurt. ôNo, youÆre the one who has guts,ö he growled. He leaned forward using his arms to support his body and absorb the shock of the slap.
His student laughed again, even louder, and had the audacity to flick his forehead, ôYou silly Master! Of course I do, Iùö
ôHave detention,ö he interrupted, unwilling to put up with the brat any longer than necessary.
ôEh?ö The boy blinked, his laughter, which had been pounding against his ears, finally stopped. Confusion was all over the boyÆs face. ôWhaà what? Why?ö
ôI have guts? You have guts to barge into a teacherÆs office, and to interrupt my personal time like this, andà andàö The picture of his Servant was once more vivid in his mindÆs eye, ôGet out!ö He shouted, pushing the boy out of his office and then slamming the door behind him for good measure.
The boy, now alone in the vast halls of the Association, frowned. He opened his mouth to retort, but he knew the man was not listening anymore. Unlike the Servant, this boy was much more vulnerable to such rejections.
With slumping shoulders, he sighed quietly, ôBut itÆs your office hoursà Masteràö
