It’s the Young Master!

Kasumi half elated, half panicked, edged her way towards where the young Lord Forrester was dancing with some trashy bimbo. Though he looked like a beautiful man with protruding pointed ears and long, silky platinum blond hair, Kasumi could easily tell it was him by his actual physical shape. No amount of purely visual alteration would make her unable to determine his true location due to her senses. Or rather, her Mist.

So what if she was cheating? She won the challenge. Prove it otherwise. There are more important things afoot.

Kasumi could remember the time before when she didn’t care for the Young Master. It was a darker time. It was a less fulfilling segment of her life. Heartbreakingly, she even recalled a time she was disgusted with the Young Master’s glorious illusions. Hearing how he had subdued the criminals in Vanguard made her feel revulsion, to her current chagrin. How could one so… magnificient, inspire revulsion? Her past self was stupid. Incredibly idiotic. Fatally moronic. It deserves death. If killing it would satisfy her Young Master, then so be it.

Fortunately, her Young Master was magnanimous. He would forgive her foibles. If he did not, she would happily and smilingly throw herself upon her sword. She would certainly smile. How could she not, when she could die in the service of her Young Master? Nothing would bring her greater happiness than to be useful to him, even in death.

Finally, the song ended and the harlot was discarded. She trudged away dejectedly as the Young Master’s appearance transformed into a handsome man with a thin, muscular body and an extremely tight shirt. His abdominal muscles looked as though they had been trained for seeing rather than labor. Kasumi shook her head disappointedly at the next meaningless floozy that attempted to dance with the Young Master. Once again, his greatness shined through as his charitable soul once again deigned to dance with the incorrigible trollop with a smile that made the heavens brighter. Clearly this woman was under illusion. No one’s breasts are naturally that bi… wow. Nevermind. Kasumi’s Mist returned a shocking truth to her psyche so she stopped thinking and continued making her way towards the Young Master.

When the next dance finished, Kasumi stood only a few steps away from her Young Master, about to request a dance with the apparent ‘stranger’. Unfortunately, at that moment Renee dove between Kasumi and the illusioned Young Master and declared herself the winner. The Young Master stared at her blankly for a moment before noticing the scandalized Kasumi behind her.

“I think you may have me confused with someone else, miss… but if you are willing, I’d be happy to dance with you?” The Young Master lied poorly.

“Yeah yeah, Young Master. Try to fool me all you want, but I knew from the beginning that Kasumi would cheat. There’s no way she didn’t identify the right person.” Renee declared with a cleverness Kasumi was not aware she possessed.

“Oh, did you find me though?” An illusion of the Young Master with no physical substance appeared behind Renee. Renee swung her fist and violently disrupted the illusion’s face without hesitating for a moment.

“You over sold it, Young Master. There’s no way you’d come out pretending to not be you if I had found someone else!” Renee then began to provocatively gyrate around the stunned Young Master while chanting to herself in a sing song voice “I won… I found the Young Master… I’m the best… Kasumi lost…”

The Young Master finally cracked and started laughing uproariously.

“Renee, you’ve had a bit to drink.” He announced while his appearance returned to normal and he took her by the hands.

“I’ll dance with you next, Kasumi.” The Young Master said while winking at Kasumi, her knees going ever so slightly weak with the announcement. Truly, her past-self deserved a fate worse than death.

After dancing through a jaunty ditty Kasumi wasn’t familiar with, the Young Master ended his dance with Renee and took Kasumi by the hands to lead her through a slow waltz.

Calm yourself, Kasumi! You can do this… calm yourself… calm yourself…

They danced slowly and with grace, the seductive number pushing Kasumi to her breaking point. By the time the song was finished, both her and the young master were red faced and panting, though perhaps for different reasons.

“Phew… that’s enough dancing for me… I’m pretty tired.” The Young Master said with sweat dripping down his forehead.

“I’ve danced like… nine songs in a row. I’m ready for a breather.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and started dabbing at his face, removing the perspiration. Kasumi took in the treat with falsely impassive eyes. Her night was going wonderfully, and nothing at all could bring down her high.

“Excuse me!” Two young women were attempting to get their group’s attention. One of whom was Aleala Gamete. The other… Bayeth Quoro. Kasumi glared at Bayeth without restraint, causing the girl to flinch when she noticed it.

“Hah… you go first.” Miss Gamete relinquished her chance and stepped away with a disappointed frown. She sat down at a nearby café table and ordered a drink while waiting. Bayeth hesitated slightly, then stepped up to an impassive Young Master, gauging his response. He waited for the next song to start, determined it was an appropriately distanced cha cha, and proceeded to dance alongside a strangely skilled Bayeth. In truth, her skills far exceeded the Young Master’s, though given his amnesia that was clearly expected. Give him a little more time and he would far surpass the Quoro girl.

“I guess one… no, two more dances won’t kill me. By the way, I’m sorry I’ve been so… poopy? Yeah… that’s a good word for it. Sorry I’ve been so poopy lately. I was disgusted with your father, and took it out on you like you have any say in the stuff he does. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

He apologized… Kasumi could not understand. Neither could Bayeth Quoro either, as she suddenly lost all technique and started performing her steps mechanically.

“Lord Forrester… I…”

“No, Bayeth, none of that. Until your family stops getting up to crap like that, we can’t really associate… but we were friends, weren’t we? You can call me Syron. Please do, in fact. I hate that I’m having this conversation like some sort of Japanese light novel character, but you’re being too formal with me. I thought about it a bunch, and it’s ridiculous to blame a child for the acts of their parents. Or grandparents. Or great-great-great parents. Crimes shouldn’t be passed down generationally, and to do so is beyond idiotic. So… I’m sorry I was an idiot.” At this point, the Young Master stopped dancing and bowed his head down to his dance partner. Feeling both confused and flustered, Bayeth Quoro just lifted his head and smiled proudly at him.

“Of course, Syron. We ‘are’ friends. I look forward to the day we can spend time together again without elaborate illusion-themed masquerades.”

“Me too… and Bayeth?”

“Yes, Syron?”

“You’re a cryomancer, right? Mind cooling me off?” The Young Master asked sheepishly like he didn’t mind at all the thought of another person intentionally using their powers upon them. The act of trust appalled Kasumi while Renee stood next to her and nudged her side with an elbow.

“So Kasumi… you’ll never believe what just happened. A girl claiming to be the Young Master’s sister appeared in front of me, then vanished. It was a joke in pretty bad taste, don’t you think?”

Kasumi took her eyes away from the Young Master who had just begun dancing a folk dance with Aleala Gamete, focusing instead on the slightly slurring Renee. Aleala was attempting to make the dance far more… touching-based… than strictly necessary, but the Young Master just laughed and took it in stride.

“Yeah… that is not a funny thing to jest about.” Kasumi said, returning her gaze to the dancing couple. Frowning, she continued to stand totally still in the middle of the dancing area, only a few meters away from the Young Master like some sort of overzealous eighth-grade dance chaperone.

If the Young Lady survived… this is troubling. I shall need to notify Marigold as soon as we return to the mansion.

* * * * *

With the party wrapping up, Rue tracked down Syron with extreme difficulty and proudly presented him a sword taken from the Royal Treasury. It was an ornamental piece, sort of, as only a grand master activator could even utilize its enchantment. It had lain unused in the treasury for decades, requiring constant maintenance so that it did not rust over time. Extreme care was necessary too, as it had quite a large amount of power enchanted into it… so if it was misused it could potentially erupt. Basically, it was the perfect backhanded gift to give Syron Forrester as it was both valuable and a burden. A burden the royal family was happy to be rid of.

Rue may not particularly hate Syron… anymore… but it did not change the fact that Rue was frequently frustrated by him and definitely felt the need to reciprocate.

Syron did the unthinkable and unsheathed the unwieldy broadsword only a yard away from the Royal Prince and began swinging it around like a complete amateur.

“Look, you’re never too old to pretend you’re a jedi.” Syron explained with a smile while making buzzing noises where the swords would ‘clash’.

Apparently, whatever world Syron lives in makes their weapons out of bees instead of steel. And what the hell is a jedi?

“But you are old enough to look like an imbecile.” Rue responded with a twitching cheek, and with a slight wave he was subtly stopping his Guardians from cutting down the blatant lese majeste occurring in front of them.

“Haters are gonna hate, Rue. You’re just jealous. Maybe the next time I put on a play in the plaza, it’ll be ‘A New Hope’. Then you’ll understand… you’ll understand with your very soul.” Syron continued rambling on without any real regard for whether or not people around him understood what he meant.

I can never tell with him… is he an actual moron that just happened to outsmart me… or am I getting pulled into a political play? There are many that have shared the belief that he never had amnesia to begin with. So that’s the question… long con, or lucky dunce? To think he was once considered fairly talented as a swordsman… even if he had a garbage aptitude for monster slaying. Ridiculous.

“I’d show you now, but why ruin the surprise?” Syron asked when he paused his one man show and tilted his head like Rue was the one that lacked common sense.

Rue sighed deeply, causing Syron to smile broadly. He sheathed the sword and handed it off to a nearby maid.

“Young Master, shall we add swordsmanship to your training retinue?”

“Oh, no need. I’m still rubbish at fisticuffs anyway. Let’s get passable in at least one category before we shake things, up, yeah?”

This peaked Rue’s interest, as he was unaware that Syron was actually learning combat skills since his ‘accident’.

“You’re learning to fight once again, Forrester? How is that going for you?” Rue asked, smirking.

“Well… I crushed your larynx… so not well, apparently. If I had any skill at all I could have won without a potentially fatal injury to you.” Syron replied honestly. His candidness made Rue want to grit his teeth.

“Next time, you will not have as much luck.” Rue said, challengingly. Syron looked at Rue like he was admiring a cute child. Somehow, this infuriated Rue even further, but he pulled that anger down deep so that it wouldn’t surface on his face.

“Of course I won’t have any luck next time Rue, oh buddy oh pal… I won’t need it.” When the Guardian went to pull his blade out once again, Rue nearly didn't stop them.