Interlude

Her body laced with sweat, Hikari finally moved from the threatening finishing pose of her final set into a moderately relaxed stance. Moist, heavy breaths could be heard throughout the dawn-lit hall, as well as the sounds of scabbard against sheath, before the young woman calmly walked to a nearby pair of gym doors and reached for a small, white towel to dry the rivulets from her face.

She was unprepared, however, for the sudden stab of a thorn in her fingertip.

Hikari hissed, biting back the miniscule, yet persistent pain of the wound as she indifferently watched a large, long-stemmed, red rose fall from the folds of the towel where it had recently been hidden.

"Bastard," the girl growled, glaring at the soft, innocent-looking rose as if her stare could set the token of love ablaze. She then looked away and mechanically toweled off, seemingly unmindful of the cut and the flower, but inside, her mind was a disjointed maze of hate, disgust, and fear.

He knows I hate this. Why can that moron never get the hint and leave me alone? I've refused him so many times, in every possible way I know how, and yet he still comes after me like a lovesick little puppy.

Gods, I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate this place, I hate this world that makes me feel like I'm worthless.

I'm not worthless. I'll win these damned duels. I'll make them stop hurting me. I'll never have to hurt again, not like that. No one will. I'll win, and make them pay.

Splash.

Hikari looked down once more to the crimson rose, dotted with sunlit motes of a similar color, then to the bound edge of the dripping towel she was grasping as unbidden tears welled in her eyes. With a small, choked sigh and practiced ease, she moved to her gym bag, opened the small first aid kit within, and began to patch the freely flowing wound on her hand.

Weak. You let it get to you again.

Weak. You're losing control, Hikari.

Weak. It was just another stupid rose from that idiot. You should have just ignored it.

Weak. At this rate, you'll never win the duels. You have to be better than this if you want to revolutionize the world.

Weak.

She experimentally flexed her gauze-wrapped finger, then re-packed the kit and picked up her bag, gazing down at the bloodied handtowel and her gift as they sat darkened in her shadow.

The girl stared, unmoving, unblinking at the two items for a moment, then slowly knelt and reached for a clean corner of the terrycloth rectangle, using it to carefully lift the thorny blossom. At this distance, the smell of sweat, blood, and the rose mingled sickeningly, and she fought down her sudden gorge.

A quick glance about the room located what she was searching for by an open set of doors, and she headed for them with grim purpose, cloaking both her rampaging feelings and the illness she was experiencing in cold, emotionless duty. The steady tapping of light, even steps and a softly rustling thunk were the only sounds that echoed through the gymnasium as Hikari calmly left the room, empty-handed.