Disclaimer: I own a bunch of stuff, but none of it is Sailor Moon. Well, except for the DVD boxed sets. . . but you know what I mean.

The Year of the Onion

by Jessyca Thornbrook

1. Sneak Attack

Mamoru was sitting quietly at the counter in the Crown Center arcade, enjoying a pleasant, java-induced sense of well-being, when something hit him abruptly on the top of his head. Hard. He reached up and found, not at all to his surprise, a small, black shoe. And turning around he discovered, also predictably, Tsukino Usagi standing behind him, one foot clad only in a white ankle sock.

What did surprise him, however, was the look on her face. She was smiling. As if she knew exactly what she was doing. As if she had crept up silently behind him, taken off her shoe, and purposely conked him on the noggin with it.

(Which, in fact, she had.)

"Lose something, Odango Atama?" he inquired in his most sarcastically superior tone.

"Why, yes, I DID!" she cried, in a fairly decent imitation of surprise. "Wherever did you find it?" She reached for the shoe, but he held it out of reach.

"Would you mind telling me why you felt the need to attack me with your shoe? Didn't you have any failed tests handy?" he sneered.

"Nope, no tests today, thank goodness! I suppose I could've hit you with my homework, but I thought you might be in such deep contemplation of your coffee cup that it wouldn't get your attention! So, I used my shoe." She shrugged nonchalantly, as if that explained everything.

"And why, exactly, were you trying to get my attention in the first place?"

"I wanted to ask you something, of course."

"What?"

"Are you really smart?"

"Am I smart?" the question caught him totally off guard. "Why are you asking me that? I'm not going to do your homework for you, if that's what you're thinking."

Usagi rolled her eyes. "Well, duh. I just want to know: do you think you're smart?"

"Compared to whom?" he smirked.

"Compared to. . . to most people! Will you just answer the question?" she burst out in exasperation.

"All right, I'll play along. Sure, compared to the average person my age, I guess I'm fairly intelligent."

"Really?" she asked, with a mischievous glint in her eye, which made him a little nervous for some reason. She continued without waiting for a response, "Then how is it that I know something you don't know? Something about you!" He almost had to smile—she looked so immensely pleased with herself.

Mamoru considered ignoring her statement, just saying 'Oh, really?' and turning back to his coffee—she was obviously dying to explain herself, and it would make her so angry if he didn't react. . . but then she'd probably start wailing her head off, and he didn't need that. Besides, though he'd never admit it to himself, he was curious.

So he said the expected line: "Like what?"

Her grin grew even wider. "Well, I'm not going to just tell you! You have to figure it out!" And with that, she snatched her shoe from his hand, crammed it back on her foot, and scampered out the door.

Mamoru heard a chuckle behind him, and turned to face his best friend, Motoki.

"What do you suppose that was all about?" Mamoru commented in his best not-that-I-care voice.

"Sorry, couldn't tell ya, pal," said Motoki, with a grin not unlike the expression Mamoru had just seen on Usagi's face.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I've been sworn to secrecy."

"By whom?"

"Well," said Motoki thoughtfully, "I guess I could tell you that part," he paused, and Mamoru was irritated to find himself leaning forward in anticipation, "but then I'd have to kill you!" Motoki finished with an even wider grin.

"Fine," Mamoru sighed, "whatever." He slouched out of the arcade, feeling none too happy at having lost two verbal sparring matches back to back—with no idea why.