A/N: this is a series of short chapters, inspired by an image of kuroko with antlers that's spreading around tumblr, and also a manga that also explored the same setting. while I'd love to write more, I can't. because (a) I'm in the midst of my final assignments this april and may is the beginning of my final examinations for this semester, and (b) I can't focus on two things at once because my brain capacity is severely limited. I'll probably be able to write lengthier chapters after the first two weeks of May have passed, but for now, I hope short chapters will be satisfying enough? I'm just in (desperate) need to throw something in for AkaKuro week, and I am very gomen if it seems very half-assed because half-assed is my middle name sobs

but hey i do have the second chapter if you guys are interested to read more tomorrow?

Seijūrō's heard of him before.

His name is Kuroko Tetsuya and he's the finest craftsman Seirin could ever offer in such a small, dilapidated village in the outskirts of the big city. As the son of Kuroko Michiru, he's lived up to the reputation of maintaining his deceased father's store, no matter how run-down it has gotten over the many years of service. All of the great Teikō kings had their bejewelled crowns and crystal sceptres crafted by Michiru before until it's almost a tradition, and Seijūrō sees nothing wrong with having a crown befitting of his newly-granted stature designed by the descendent. It's almost partially the reason why he's gone down to Seirin by himself, without the slightest fear of thieves and assassins targeting his back, clad in a commoner's clothes and riding a horse like a seemingly harmless traveller.

The rusted sign bearing 誠凛 for Seirin creaks as it swings in the air, and for miles around, a desolate landscape paints a picture far more than what Seijūrō's imagined.

The previous king, Akashi Oryō, told Seijūrō on his deathbed that he's going to leave a crumbling empire in his hands, and Seijūrō thought he had a good mind of what's in store for him when he'll be ascending the throne. Improving the economy, establishing equality between the commoners and nobles, reducing taxes, and drafting in more soldiers to serve the kingdom is what he had in store, but he doesn't have a clue of the extensive damage his father has done to the oppressed villagers over the years.

Visiting Seirin is a good idea as an eye-opener before his coronation ceremony, he thinks, as his horse plods onwards.

To his left, a row of slope-roofed huts with puffing chimneys decorate the scenery, and clucking chickens peck the ground in search of food. Dainty shrubs of pink blossoms decorate the windows, and he spots fresh linen curtains billowing in the breeze as children ran about with laundry baskets twice their size. A bright glimmer shines in their youthful eyes as they laugh without a single care in the world, and Seijūrō smiles fondly at their freedom. He's never tasted that very same freedom before—his fingers have never even grazed his own clothes when he was young, what more dashing about freely like these children.

He's a bird, a glorious bird of paradise locked in a gilded cage, and it still hasn't changed, even until now.

A few chattering villagers to his right catches his attention and Seijūrō glances at them as they shoulder their hoes and rakes, dirt-lined fingers and smudged faces twisted into jovial smiles. Despite their apparent suffering, they're still able to go on with their lives. An unbreakable spirit, an indomitable mind, something purely noble that Seijūrō admires in these common folks. At the very least, they're untainted, not corrupted like some of the nobles loitering about on the palace grounds.

"Hey you," someone calls out from the distance, and Seijūrō twists his head in the direction of the voice. There's a man hurriedly coming his way and pacing alongside him, trying to keep up with the steady pattering of his horse, and he's got a pair of glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. "The name's Hyuuga," he introduces himself, putting a hand on his chest, "what's yours? You don't look like you come from around here."

A commoner coming up to introduce himself is a rare feat, and Akashi wonders if the man has a hidden agenda beneath his kindness.

But then again, it isn't a good thing to doubt everyone he comes across.

"Seijūrō," he replies, nodding curtly as he pulls the reins to halt his steed. "I'm a traveller in search of Kuroko Tetsuya, the jeweller. Mind pointing me in the right direction?"

That name has Hyuuga's eyes lighting up.

"You mean Kuroko? Kuroko Michiru's son?"

A nod. Seijūrō's bemused at how Hyuuga's frowning at him now, rubbing his chin as calculative eyes assess every inch of his skin, from the ashen brown horse to the patched shirt he's wearing, down to the worn leather boots on his feet. After a while of slight mumbling under his breath and scratching his nape, it's only then that he speaks, but his tone is monotonous, heavy with a certain weight that Seijūrō doesn't know of.

"You don't look like you can afford the stuffs he makes, sorry to say," he begins, cocking his head to the side. "I don't think he should be wasting his time with you. Why don't you go back to where you came from?"

"I do carry a good sum of money for his services," Seijūrō says, raising his brows questioningly. "I am merely dressed like this to avoid drawing attention to myself. Now will you, or will you not take me to him? Or else," he tilts his head, nonchalant, "I am better off finding him on my own."

From the looks of it, Hyuuga doesn't buy his words at all, and his lips form a begrudging line. He toes the dusty ground with his sandals and lets a whirlwind of silence pass between them, and Seijūrō's almost tempted to urge his horse to march along again. But then Hyuuga finally comes around with an irritated sigh, and he rubs his neck guiltily before gesturing to his left. "Come on and follow me then, Seijūrō. But you better have that money—if not, we'll chase you away," he grumbles menacingly, narrowing his eyes. "Got it?"

"Of course."

Seijūrō finds no pleasure in drawing out an argument when he knows he's right, always right, never ever wrong, and he jostles his horse as it begins trotting along the villager with ease. Together, they cross by more thatched huts with wispy roofs, and he eyes the laundry lines a few ladies are setting up as their children giggle under the sun. Sometimes a few men greet Hyuuga and he never fails to reply to them with a grunt, a nod or half a smile, and it strikes Seijūrō that perhaps this Hyuuga person is someone fairly important in Seirin. After all, despite his obviously unfriendly disposition, they still regard him highly with their bright smiles.

"Sorry about earlier, man, we're a bit protective of Kuroko," Hyuuga suddenly speaks up as they both made a turn to the right, passing by a few rustling trees. The ground is harder here, less dusty and a tad bit more isolated, and the cries of the children seem so distant now as Seijūrō glances back, seeing watery blurs of houses behind him. A few birds twitter between creaking branches and the dazzling mosaic of leaves dance on his skin as he follows Hyuuga, who looks pained for some reasons. "It's not like we don't want him to get customers, but sometimes the ones who showed up are...hostile."

"Hostile?" Seijūrō echoes, catching on. "Are they thugs, by any chance?"

A noncommittal grunt and Hyuuga shrugs. "Something like that." He's leading Seijūrō into a secluded area of the village, hidden amongst thick tree trunks and large bushes of wildlife, and only the steady rush of a nearby river fills the ringing silence in Seijūrō's ears as he waits for Hyuuga to continue. "We're all just watching out for Aomine Daiki—he's the slickest thief of a dying tribe and he's tried robbing Kuroko a few times whenever we're not careful. And this Aomine bastard has friends that we had to watch out for too; a mercenary by the name Kise Ryota, and a temptress called Satsuki or something like that. They're sometimes banded together, sometimes they work individually, but we don't know who they are, we haven't seen them both before either, so I was kinda wary about you."

Well.

That's a big problem.

But that also explains Hyuuga's reluctance in the first place.

"Why don't you safeguard him then?" Seijūrō suggests, knitting his brows together. "Have someone keep an eye on him if he really is that precious to your village."

At this, Hyuuga barks with laughter and ruefully shakes his head, lips quirking into a sardonic smile. "If it's that easy, we would've done it a while ago. Kuroko's a bit... special."

"Special?"

"You'll know it when you see it," Hyuuga replies, pocketing his hands in his loose trousers. "Anyway, we're here. You're not going inside, so you just stand out here with me. God knows what you'll do when you get in."

Deciding not to mind his discourteousness as he is a future king under cover, Seijūrō exhales heavily.

Patience is virtue, and he will not demand more from a cretin.

True to his words, they're now standing in a small clearing, the lawn of a quaint-looking hut of lovely red bricks and dazzling stained glass windows. It doesn't look like any of the houses he's passed by earlier, as he's expected another utterly rundown establishment judging from the surroundings. But it's like unearthing a gemstone in the heart of the forest. While it's true that the rusted scroll leaf grills needed a good replacement and the scratchy brass doorknob warrants some heavy polishing, something about the place whispers of faded romance, yet there's still an air of poignant bliss that's undisturbed by civilization. A lingering scent of crushed roses and scattered petals, primly maintained courtyard that's a simple combination of a covered well and a crudely paved walkway, Kuroko Tetsuya's abode sings with an air of mystery that Seijūrō cannot fathom.

A tad bit puzzled at this, the redhead climbs off his steed and hands the reins over to Hyuuga, who accepts it with a grudging glare.

"Hopefully he's not too busy," Hyuuga mumbles to no one in particular, looking over his shoulder to give the surroundings another once-over. Seemingly satisfied with no presence of anything suspicious enough to warrant a heart attack, he shoots a glare to Seijūrō and huffs, "Now you listen here, if Kuroko says that you can go inside his house, under any circumstances, you can't go in. Got it?"

"That's rather impolite, don't you think? If he has invited me inside, then I will enter as a customer and nothing else," Seijūrō blithely remarks with a frown. Regarding the little residence with a dismayed stare, he eyes the luminous sparkles of the exquisite stained glass windows and catches a fleeting dark shadow casting dim shades over the vibrant hues. What was that? He blinks, at a slight loss. Shifting his weight to one foot, Seijūrō crosses his arms over his chest and squints harder at the windows as though the strange apparition would manifest itself if he stares hard enough.

As if noticing his lack of response, Hyuuga follows his line of sight with a hesitant glower.

The door creaks.

And then Hyuuga's jaw dropped. "W-Wait Kuroko, damn it! Don't you dare get out of the house, damn you!"

It's staggeringly slow how the door's being pulled by something unseen inside its dark depths, but Seijūrō's sharp eyes catches a twinkling blue fabric spilling onto the ground the moment sunlight filters within. Soft patters fill the unearthly silence in the woods as he waits with bated breath, and daintily pale feet slowly steps into the light, revealing the hems of a fabric that glows ethereally as though each woven strand is harvested from apatite gems. Hyuuga's breath hitches at the mere sight and his hands tremble, but he maintains his fierce disposition and manages to glare at Seijūrō sideways as though it's his fault that this is happening.

Unaffected, Seijūrō watches on with mounting interest, his eyes narrowed.

And then an antler peeks out from the shadows.

A crystalline antler growing out of a messy tuft of head.

A human head.

A human boy's head that's weighed down by a pair of Celestine crystal-like antlers, where each branching form jingles with the weight of the golden chains, pearl beads, and silvery ribbons hanging off them like a chandelier of sorts. The curious sight of it all doesn't instil terror within Seijūrō's mind—no, it does not make him tremble at the unknown, it does not make his palms sweaty, and it certainly does not repulse him. Yes, he cannot fathom why there were antlers growing out of the boy's hair like a mutated protrusion of sorts, and yes, he cannot begin to comprehend when he sees pale shoulders uncovered by a gradually slipping robe, but it isn't nausea that fills Seijūrō's heart.

It's awe.

The strange boy's gaunt skin blossoms scarlet at the exposure to sunlight, but he's indifferent to the growing burns. Rather, bony fingers trail over the doorframe with no destination in particular and his translucent blue eyes, as bright as the overhead skies, as empty as a broken heart, stares at Seijūrō instead.

"I am Kuroko Tetsuya," he says softly, barely above a whisper. "Do you need my services as a jewel maker? Or are you here to capture me?"

#2: At this, Kuroko manages a semblance of a smile, a wistful smile generated from hazy memories of happier moments in his life, and he gazes longingly at the stained glass windows, the rainbow mosaics reflected vibrantly in his glassy eyes. "My father told me that the Akashi kings who visited him have hairs of coagulated rubies and crushed persimmons, and their eyes are like the ripest of cherries you can pick in the summer." He pauses, casts a sidelong glance at Seijūrō, and bites on his lower lip. "You fit his description perfectly, Your Majesty. Your hair is like the dahlias blossoming in spring and your eyes are the exact same colour of my father's blood spattered against the wall."