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"Camp Happy Pants" Chapter Nine . The Long-Awaited Ending
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Training began early the next morning. Silva woke up his troop with a bright greeting. "Good morning, boys!" he shouted. Yoh started and rolled out of his bed. The rest of the guys looked around groggily before actually getting up. They all skipped the hole in the floor, got dressed, and moved out toward the mess hall.
"So, are we going to beat Nichrome?" Silva asked, surveying his newly reunited troop.
"Yes!" Horo cried in reply. He pumped his hands into the air and jumped, then paused and scratched his head. "At what?"
"The end of camp competition," Chocolove supplied. Horo nodded vigorously as they entered the mess hall. The first thing they heard was an obnoxiously familiar voice loudly retelling a story.
"And that's when I said, 'Hey, I didn't know the moon was made of cheese.' Then, he tried to punch me, but I kicked him and held him down while asking, 'Who's your daddy?' When he finally screamed my name, I let the sucker go." Troop Eight burst into applause as their leader took a bow and reseated himself at the head of their table.
"We're gonna kick your butt! So there. Stick that up your hiney and twist!" Silva shouted, sticking out his tongue. As Troop Eight and his own crew stared at him, he tried to regain his composure. "Let's eat."
After Silva had thoroughly embarrassed himself, Troop 69 sat down to eat. Halfway through the meal,
Ren looked up to find that Horo was staring, open-mouth, at him.
"What the hell are you staring at?" he asked, glaring angrily at Horo.
". . . Ren, you're the bee's knees," Horo sighed in reply.
Ren gave him a look then flared out angrily. "Bees don't have knees, you idiot!" As he jumped up to beat Horo to a pulp, Hao grabbed him.
"I like what I'm seeing. Why don't you come with me to the . . . ahem, bathroom and let me help you calm down," he suggested, raising one eyebrow at Ren.
"What's the matter with you people?!" the boy in question screamed. Not waiting for an answer, he stormed out of the mess hall, leaving a group of very confused bystanders in his wake.
"Well, someone isn't getting any breakfast," Silva muttered. The rest of their time in the mess hall was spent in silence. As the troop began clearing their plates, Silva made an announcement.
"I figured you all needed to have full stomachs to hear this," he said slowly, glancing at each of their faces. "Nichrome and I made a bet."
"What kind of bet?" Lyserg asked warily.
"Um... I told him that if his team wins, we can close the camp. But, if you guys win, the camp stays open another season, and I get to trade cabins with him."
Yoh stared at Silva. "You own the camp?"
"Well, no," Silva replied.
"Then how can you tell him that you'll close the camp if he wins? If you don't own it, you can't close it," Ryu pointed out. Yoh and Horo nodded in agreement.
"I may not own it, but a member of my troop does," Silva pointed out.
"No, we don't. We'd know if--" Manta was cut off when he turned to see Hao with a smug look on his face.
"I don't mean to brag, but I had the idea a few hundred years ago . . .," Hao gloated.
Before anyone could remark, Silva motioned for them to follow him.
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Ren watched as the rest of his troop approached him. He was standing next to the mud pit, which was the spot of the upcoming competition.
"Okay, troop! We are down to the wire. So, starting today, we will be practicing in the mud pit from morning until night," Silva said. "Now, Horo and Lyserg, get in."
"Yes!" Horo whooped as he jumped into the mud. Lyserg, who was less than enthused, lowered himself down until he was standing next to the already mud-caked Horo.
"This is how it goes: You two will proceed to wrestle in the mud pit until one of you quits or collapses from exhaustion. Got it?" Silva asked. The rest of the troop nodded and Horo began jumping onto Lyserg.
After a half hour of Lyserg running around the pit with Horo hot on his trail, he quit.
"You have to build your endurance, Lyserg. That's the only way we'll win this," Silva coached. Lyserg just gave him an angry look and walked off to sit down.
The rest of the evening was spent trying to outlast each other in the mud. Finally, Silva announced that the following match would be the last.
"Hao, Manta, you two can show us what you've got."
Before Manta even made a move to climb in, the mud pit was on fire.
Silva sighed. "Hao wins by default."
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The next few days were spent the same way. They practiced all day then went back to their cabin and slept. In the mornings, they were too tired to protest.
The day before the competition rolled around a little too quickly for Troop 69.
That morning, as Silva's troop shoveled the camp's suspiciously powdery scrambled eggs into their mouths, Ren had one thought on his mind.
Just a little longer. He silently repeated what had now become a mantra. We leave this horrid place day after tomorrow. Just a little longer . . . Just a little--
Ren's thought process was interrupted when someone spoke up directly behind him.
"Well, good morning, Troop 69. Having a good time being incredibly lame, as usual?"
No one was surprised to find Nichrome standing at their table, a smirk on his face and his own troop behind him. Silva opened his mouth to insult his rival, but Nichrome beat him to it.
"The tournament's tomorrow, as we all know, and my troop will so own your troop's lame asses," he gloated. As he turned to lead his troop away, he added, "Oh, don't bother trying to train this morning. We've got the pit, and we have a little practice match scheduled with Troop Five in a bit. You're welcome to come watch, though."
With a devious grin, he exited the mess hall, troop in tow. Troop 69 shot each other wary looks before returning to their less-than-appetizing breakfast.
A while later, the troop emerged from the mess hall.
"We should go see what Nichrome's up to," Silva suggested, noticing the unsure expressions of his charges. "I've got a feeling it's not something good."
And so, Troop 69 trekked around the bank of the now-empty lake, across the camp, to the mud pit. They arrived just in time to see one of the members of Troop Eight force the head of an unfortunate Troop Fiver into the mud. Said troop member held it there until the other kid stopped struggling anf just lay there.
Nichrome cackled as his follower climbed out of the pit. With a haughty smirk plastered on his face, he gestured to the unconscious bodies of Troop Eight that littered the mud pit."I've made an example of Troop Five, as you can see. We'll be sure to do the same to you tomorrow," he scoffed. With that, he motioned to his troop, and they walked off toward their cabin.
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Later that night, at the pretournament bonfire, Silva sat sadly on a log, idly poking at the fire with a stick. He didn't even hear Yoh approaching, and started at the boy's voice next to him.
"What's the matter, Silva? We're going to try our --" Yoh's inspirational speech was interrupted when something exploded in the fire.
Ren, who had been sitting across the fire from Silva and Yoh, nearly fell from his spot. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, looking around angrily. Beside him, Horo leaned toward the fire with a stick, poking at it until something rolled out.
"The fish is ready!" he stated happily, rolling a charred can back to his seat.
"Fish?" Ren asked suspiciously, turning his full attention to Horo. He glanced down, taking in the burned can with one of its sides blown off. "You were the one who caused that explosion, you moron?"
"Well, the Jack Mackerel needed to be cooked, and the fire was the best choice," Horo replied matter- of-factly.
"You could have taken it out of the can first!" Ren shouted.
After seeing this exchange, Silva turned back to Yoh. "What were you saying?"
"Uh . . . Good luck finding a new job," Yoh consoled, patting Silva on the back.
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The day of the competition finally came. Silva had dragged his troop out of their cabin and all the way over to the mess hall at the first light of dawn. It was later in the morning that they found themselves standing near the mud pit, gazing off into the distance.
"Just think," Hao began wistfully, staring at the little hut on the horizon that was the infirmary, "in a few hours, you'll be over there, having the limbs that Troop Eight ripped off handed back to you."
Silva tried his best to be positive. "Don't talk like that! We're ten times better than Nichrome and his troop of sickeningly vicious, rabid, murderous . . ." He trailed off as he observed the looks his troop was giving him. "Maybe we should save ourselves a lot of pain and forfeit," he then sighed.
"No way!" Horo piped up. "We'll beat Nichrome! Don't worry yourself over it!"
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Troop 69, to say the least, had their sorry butts kicked into the next century. They had been slated to go against Troop Eight in the first round. Said round didn't last too long.
Almost all of the Troop 69'ers lost horribly to Nichrome's crew. The only one who didn't meet a muddy demise was Hao, who won by default after setting the mud pit on fire.
It was later, while Silva's troop was cleaning off and having their minor wounds treated at the infirmary, that their rival troop paid them a last visit.
"What do you want?" Silva asked dejectedly, looking away from where Horo was joyfully wrapping a bandage around a cut on Ren's arm.
"Oh, don't worry," Nichrome responded. "I just came here to gloat. We won, not that you would know after having your troop's mangled bodies toted off after the first round and all." He gestured to the trophy one of his troop members was holding near the door. "And you can't forget that since you lost - -" Nichrome emphasized this word happily. " -- we get to close the camp."
As the got a good laugh out of this, the members of Troop 69 looked relieved. Truth be told, they definitely weren't disappointed over the closing of the camp.
"Well, I guess we should go pack. Come on everybody!" Ren gleefully stated. He stood up, grabbed Horo's hand, and dragged him out of the infirmary toward their cabin.
". . . That's the happiest I've ever seen him," Silva noted. The rest of Troop 69 nodded then followed Ren's lead.
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Back at the cabin, each boy, minus Hao, packed their things and piled them near the door. Their spirits had been waiting for them in the cabin with 'sorry you lost, we still love you' presents. While most of the troop had been trying to hide how happy they were, Ren had been celebrating openly since he had returned.
As Silva entered the cabin to tell them it was lights out for the last time, Ren was tossing jelly beans from the economy-sized bag in the air while walking circles around a singing Horo.
"Celebrate good times! Come on!" Horo sang, happy to see Ren in such a good mood.
Instead of making a speech, Silva just turned the lights out and left.
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The next morning, everyone filed into their assigned buses and headed home. As Troop 69's bus pulled away, Horo turned back to watch the retreating Camp Happy Pants sign. While he watched, the sign fell to reveal an old plastic sign that had obviously been there for a while.
"Caution: Land Mines," he read aloud. Ren turned to glare at him as he pondered the sign.
"Shut up," Ren said. The rest of the trip home was spent in relative peacefulness.
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A few weeks after the Camp Happy Pants incident, Yoh found him sitting around the table with the rest of the former troop, excluding Hao. He was sifting through the day's mail when he saw a conspicuously plain envelope with his name printed neatly on the front.
Yoh ripped it open and skimmed the letter inside. "Hey, this sounds interesting. 'Dear Yoh Asakura, you've been selected to attend the prestigious Happy Pants Private Boys' Academy. The --'"
No one objected when Ren snatched the letter from Yoh and tore it up.
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the end !
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a/n . Well... it's over. We'd like to sincerely apologize for the super-long wait for this chapter (almost six months, right?). No excuses here, we're just happy to have finally finished it. Feel free to drop a comment on how lazy we are. Hope you enjoyed it. See you next time, folks.