Chapter Nine: Secrets of a Demon

Mamori fixed some rice balls with the rice that Doburoku had cooked earlier, then added some snack food. She marked the grocery list for Hiruma, then took the food and bottled water (there wasn't any tea made), and returned to the living room.

Musashi waited until they'd all gotten something to eat and drink before he spoke. "I didn't meet Hiruma until halfway through middle school. And it took a long time to find out anything about him. But...this is what I know, or at least what I've heard." He considered. "I've told you some of this before, and some of it you might know anyway, but you need the whole picture, so just bear with me."

Mamori nodded. So did Doburoku.

He took a long swallow of water. "I don't know what happened to his mother. No one does. One time Hiruma told me she was a professional shogi player who went overseas. One time he told Kurita that she was in jail. If you ask him, he'll pass it off like it doesn't matter. But I've never met her, never heard him mention her or talk to her. He doesn't have a number in his phone for her. Knowing that bastard, he would, even if it was just to make sure he never called her. So, if I had to guess, I'd say the story about jail is true. Either that, or she's dead. Although..." He took another gulp of water. "I think Hiruma thinks she abandoned him. It's only a hunch. The only thing I do know is that he has an old set of dog tags, and I don't think he stole them or won them or anything, and they sure aren't his old man's. Don't know anything else, because he's never let me or anyone else see 'em."

"You think Hiruma-san's mother was an American?" Mamori frowned. Hiruma often teased her about her own mixed heritage.

Musashi shrugged. "Don't know. But I think there's a reason Hiruma snuck onto an army base when he was eight years old. A reason besides being interested in American football. I think there's a reason he likes ammo and dyes his hair blonde, besides pissing off or terrifying every other human being he comes across." He scooped half of a rice-ball into his mouth. "I also think there's a reason he has such extensive contacts in the United States, a reason he has the skills and the expertise to find people, even people who don't want to be found." He gave Doburoku a pointed look.

The old trainer shrugged. "There is some sense to it. Though it could simply be part of Hiruma's usual networking schemes."

"Could be. But with Hiruma, I don't make assumptions." Musashi shrugged.

Mamori was mulling over the things Musashi had said. "Did Hiruma-san really sneak onto a military base when he was so young?"

"Yeah." Musashi grinned. "I heard from the soldiers that when he got caught, he tried to bluff a platoon commander. Didn't work, but the guy was so impressed with his nerve that he brought him in on a base poker game. From what I heard, the soldiers thought they were gonna teach a smart-mouthed kid a lesson. And Hiruma cleaned them out. After that, he kept coming back, and they kept letting him. By the time he made middle school, he already had plenty of cash, plus his first guns, and he'd started dyeing his hair. Base commander told me that Hiruma was the most jaded adolescent he'd ever seen."

"That seems…" Mamori floundered, uncertain what she could say.

"It's sad." Doburoku spoke up. His expression was melancholy. "To be so young and so hardened...it is an injustice."

"It is. But I don't think Hiruma was ever normal." Musashi shrugged. "I've heard from him, and from others, that the teeth and the ears are the ones he was born with. It thought at first that he might file his teeth, but when I dared him to prove me wrong, he showed me a picture of him as a small kid, and he had them then. And the veterans on the base said he had sharp teeth and pointed ears when he turned up there."

Mamori blinked. She'd always thought – assumed really – that Hiruma had made himself into the 'Devil in Daylight'. She'd never guessed that he'd simply adapted to his own natural appearance. She had enough problems with her auburn hair standing out. She'd been teased until she'd learned how to stand up for herself (and others), but she couldn't imagine how much more trouble Hiruma would have had with his unique and somewhat menacing appearance.

Seen that way, his persistent 'demon' persona made a great deal more sense. Hiruma was the type of person who would turn every weakness he had into a strength, as much as possible. He must have started young, determined to use his looks instead of leave himself open for scorn.

She turned her attention back to the discussion at hand. "What happened to Hiruma-san after that?"

Musashi shrugged. "I don't know. It's just what I heard. I asked questions after I met him and Kurita at the base. I was hired to fix the fence Hiruma was sneaking through to get onto the base. Kurita begged me not to." A weary smile crossed Musashi's face. "Hiruma likes to harass Kurita, tease him, but...as good as Hiruma is at seeing people's strength and weaknesses...Kurita's good at seeing the type of person someone is. The things that matter to them. Maybe that's why they get along, even though they're so different. Kurita was the first person to really see Hiruma. Even with all his smokescreens and lies and his attitude."

Musashi swallowed some more water. "Kurita convinced me to help Hiruma. Hiruma couldn't have cared less if we became friends, or if I'd fixed the fence and kept him off base. But Kurita...that was different."

He paused, his eyes going distant. "Kurita dragged Hiruma into football after he found him analyzing plays on the roof, all alone during lunch. He was just doing it for kicks, and as part of his gambling gig on the base, but he was...he was good. Kurita had the muscle for it, but it was Hiruma who had the brains, the skills. The mind for it, I guess. But he'd have never gone on the field himself if it hadn't been for Kurita. And some match at the base that he was trying to salvage."

Mamori blinked. She had been sure it was the other way around, that Hiruma had dragged Kurita into the sport, not the other way around.

Musashi continued talking. "Once he was in though...he was...he found his passion. Something that let him be everything Hiruma is. Violent. Smart. Fast. Coordinated. He'll never admit it, but I think it was the first time in his life he ever had a purpose, beyond just surviving his life."

"Surviving?" Mamori frowned.

"Surviving. Even at 12, Hiruma didn't live with his dad. He walked or biked everywhere. Kurita told me shortly after I joined them that Hiruma lived in a one-room apartment in the rough side of town, paid for it with hustling and gambling on base. Management looked the other way on his age and his weapons because he blackmailed them with a list of safety and code violations that he was willing to overlook. How he knew enough to spot them when the rest of the building didn't...hell if I know. But he'd been there for years when Kurita met him. And after I learned more...well, he had to have been alone a long time. Or at least, his dad didn't pay much attention. What responsible parent would let their kid haul home hand grenades? Or stay out till all hours gambling? It's not like he ever hid anything."

Mamori's mother would have thrown a fit. Sena's parents hadn't even known their son was in football, much less a player, because Sena had refused to tell them, worried about their reaction. And she knew that Hiruma had told all the football parents that the America trip over the summer was an 'educational opportunity', with implications that it was a cram school for the gifted. Which it was, in a way, but still. Even the Ha-Ha Brothers, delinquents that they were, had rules they followed.

For that matter, even the Chameleons did. She'd heard some of them talking about their families post-game and during practices.

She decided to think about something else. "So...Kurita got Hiruma involved in football."

"Yeah. Hiruma saw me kicking some stuff, just for fun, and he recruited me. I was already helping in construction, but I was young enough that my dad didn't mind me taking off for school and football. He thought team sports built character."

Doburoku nodded. "I was already the American Football coach at Hiruma's school, but when he came along, I was about to be fired because there wasn't enough interest. I was also..." He paused.

"You were also an old drunk, like you are now." Musashi grinned to take the sting out of the words. "But you knew your stuff, so Hiruma kept you."

Mamori frowned. "But...you were in the United States..."

"I was." Doburoku's small smile disappeared, as did Musashi's. "I was involved in some gambling, and my drinking became worse. Eventually, I got into serious trouble. I was forced to leave Japan for my own safety. It was the beginning of Hiruma's last year of middle school."

"Oh."

Doburoku shook his head. "I didn't tell them when I left. I should have. But I didn't want my students to get involved with my problems."

Musashi snorted. "It didn't stop him. Right after you left, Hiruma started looking for answers. Right after that was when he took to the streets. Started working the underground, collecting his blackmail material. Earning his gang rep. That was when he hooked up with Agon. He was still a skinny weed back then, hadn't really developed the muscles he has now. But Agon always was built like a star linebacker, and he enjoyed the violence. It's why Hiruma enjoyed working with him. He could do intimidation and mental scare tactics, and Agon could do the physical stuff."

Mamori considered that. "But Hiruma-san is very strong..."

"He wasn't." Musashi shook his head. "Not in the beginning. When we started training, real training, he barely bench-pressed more than Sena does now. Kurita could lift a lot, and I could do more, with the construction work building me up. Hiruma though...he didn't have any of the skills he has now. No throwing coordination. Not much arm strength. Average speed. He used to sneak into the gym at night and work weights until he could barely stand, then rest, then run with extra weights on, until he could get the same speed with the weights that he did without. Then he'd take them off, check his new speed, and do it all again. He'd practice throwing and catching, throwing and catching, for hours. Until his arms were too limp to keep going. It pissed him off that he couldn't get his kicking average any higher than 40 percent."

"It still does." Doburoku muttered the words. "But he has learned that he cannot do everything."

Mamori considered Musashi's explanation. "That is why he helped Yukimitsu."

"Yeah. Timidity aside, those two are a lot alike. Stubborn, determined. Smart. Not willing to give up on their dreams. Willing to work hard, to push themselves harder than everyone else to get there. He respects that, more than he'll ever admit."

Mamori understood that. She knew Hiruma was willing to work hard, and respected the hard work of others. He'd shown that countless times, with the Devil Bats and with their opponents.

Still, she understood now why he'd pushed Sena, why he hadn't put up with her coddling the smaller and weaker players. He'd seen the strength in them, and known how to bring it out, having made himself the athlete he wanted to be.

Just like he'd seen the talent in her. She'd always been considered smart and pretty and respectable, but Hiruma had brought out a strength in her that she'd never expected, pushed her to into positions and out of comfort zones she'd never even thought about. She'd never planned for world travel, or taping broken bones, or learning sign language, or running across America. She'd never thought of being on national television. Or picking fights with motorcycle gangs. Or learning to shoot flame-throwers and machine guns.

Hiruma had taught them all how to be the best of themselves. Even if he did encourage some questionable behaviors. She'd just never realized that he'd learned all his lessons by trying them on himself.

Doburoku's voice broke her train of thought. "I didn't know he got involved with Agon because of me."

"Yeah. Right after you left. He was a little crazy after that. Kurita and I couldn't really help him. Except...we kept the football club together. Helped him keep it together. We got more players interested, trained them as best we could. Hiruma started using his street skills to get money for equipment and uniforms. Some of it was blackmail, some of it was brawling, and some of it was hustling. Gambling. He was good at it, and he kept up with his schoolwork. He had a plan for us."

Musashi took another pull from his water bottle, finished it, and handed it to Mamori, who gave him a full one in return.

"I didn't know everything, not about Hiruma's after school stuff. I just know he got beat up pretty bad a couple of times before he started running with Agon. But he insisted on taking care of all his wounds himself. Acting like it was no big deal. He told me once that, as far as he was concerned, it was good training for football. Quarterbacks get hammered so often, and he knew our linebackers at the time couldn't protect him all the time."

She'd seen what he endured on the field. The thought of the beatings he must have sustained to build up his tolerance made her wince. Though it explained how he'd gone back out, and even how he'd made the winning catch, when he'd had a broken arm.

"Hiruma wanted to be on the best team. He scouted, then settled on Shinryuuji. They were the best local team. He came up with a plan to get us all in."

"But...you came to Deimon..."

"Yeah. Because of Agon. See...Shinryuuji is an exclusive school. You need top grades or top skills to get in. In our year, there was one opening for a football scholarship, and then the academic openings. Hiruma knew he could get in either, so he studied like crazy to claim one of the academics. And he helped me study for another one. Then the two of us trained with Kurita like madmen, so he could pull the football scholarship. Kurita doesn't do well with exams and all, so we figured that was the only way to keep us all together."

Mamori knew about the tests for Shinryuuji. They were...difficult. Even she'd been a little bit intimidated by them. She could understand how Kurita, with his nerves, might struggle.

But… "Did you pass?"

"We did. I wouldn't have without Hiruma, but we did. My dad was proud of me."

No wonder Hiruma hadn't taken the Deimon entrance exams seriously. He'd already passed worse.

"What happened?" Doburoku was staring at Musashi, his water forgotten. "Hiruma should have been good enough, even with Agon..."

"He was. Kurita wasn't. Kurita pulled the football scholarship. Had his acceptance letter and his uniform and everything. And then Agon went to Shinryuuji and showed off his skills. Told them he wanted the football scholarship. He could have taken any sports scholarship in the school, but he demanded that one specifically. In the end, they revoked Kurita's acceptance to get Agon." Musashi grimaced, old pain lurking in his dark eyes. "When Hiruma found out...he went cold, icy. I was so pissed...I was ready to kill Agon. I would have beat him to death on a public street for what he did to Kurita. In fact, I tried to. But Hiruma stopped me. He said it wouldn't work."

Musashi shook his head. "I realized later he was protecting me. And my dad's company. Agon could have taken me apart, with his experience in fighting. And no one would have taken me to work for them if I'd been accused of assault. My dad would have had to disown me, or something."

Musashi paused. Mamori watched as his hands clenched into fists. "Hiruma...he just sat down, asked Agon why he'd done what he done. Said that if Agon had wanted to be in Shinryuuji, there were other ways. That they could have gone together. And you know what Agon said? He said he did it, destroyed us, just to see Kurita cry when he dreams were smashed. Just to make us feel like failures. He didn't actually care about football, or the school, or the scholarship. He just wanted to hurt us. He said it was because of Kurita, but the way he talked...he wanted to hurt Hiruma. It was about stabbing Hiruma in the back and twisting the knife. And Hiruma knew it too."

Musashi's voice cracked. He paused for a drink, then slammed the bottle back down. "The worst though, was when Agon stood up to go with his friends. One of them asked if he knew us. And he said...right there, to Hiruma's face, even though they'd been working together for a while by then, he said he'd never met us, didn't know us. Hiruma's expression, it just iced over. The look on his face was horrible. Even worse than when you left, old man."

He took a deep breath. "Afterward, we went back to the clubhouse...Hiruma trashed it. Completely trashed it. Broken desks, destroyed equipment...he punched his knuckles bloody, ripped the room apart. I was afraid he'd kill someone. Or kill himself, he looked so crazy. So betrayed. The next day, we applied to Deimon and ripped up our Shinryuuji papers. Hiruma set fire to the uniforms out by the river. And we never told Kurita about Agon, or that night."

"We had to start all over, build a team from the ground up. Just the three of us, without even a coach. Hiruma...he did the training schedules, got the equipment funding or figured out how we could make things work. He got the uniforms, crappy as those first ones were. He designed the logo, the team name. All of it. No one wanted to help him, because American Football wasn't important and he was a delinquent. But he worked hard, and we thought it was gonna work. And then...my dad collapsed."

Musashi twisted, looking at Mamori for the first time. "I had to leave. The business would have gone under if I hadn't. And I was old enough, at 15, to do it. So I did. But that was why I was smoking in the hall in my work overalls, where you could find me. I wanted to get kicked out, so Hiruma wouldn't feel like I'd left him. I wanted him to think I had no choice, or be angry that I'd done something stupid." He sighed. "I should have known he'd see right through it."

Mamori felt her stomach clench, remembering that hallway confrontation. Hiruma's quiet, too-calm tone of voice. She'd thought he meant to be threatening. And knowing what she did, he'd meant her to take it that way. But if Musashi was telling the truth...he'd been masking pain.

Musashi shook his head, anger, grief and admiration mixing in his expression. "Bastard could still have picked up a winning team. He really could have. The guys he got were raw and untrained, but they could have made it. But he wouldn't leave me in the cold, any more than he'd go to Shinryuuji without Kurita. So he never picked up another kicker, and they wound up with the worst win-loss record in Japan."

Mamori had seen what had happened. Everyone but Hiruma and Kurita had quit the team. The American Football club had barely avoided being disbanded. Deimon's team had been considered a joke among other schools, and even within their own school, they'd been ridiculed.

At the time, she hadn't cared. She'd had no interest in American Football, and she considered Hiruma an unruly, dangerous delinquent, and Kurita a misguided idiot he was stringing along for his own amusement.

Deimon third year students didn't participate in sports. They were supposed to focus on classes for graduation. This year had been his last chance. And he'd had to start all over again. Building a team from the ground up.

No wonder he'd been so adamant, so determined he'd practically kidnapped Sena into the team.

"Hiruma-san has...he's overcome a great many obstacles."

Doburoku shook his head. "I had no idea it got that bad."

"He didn't want you to know. He didn't want anyone to know. To be honest, I don't think I know everything. I didn't know he had a private doctor, or that he'd been injured or ill enough to need one. I didn't know he still had contact with his father until you mentioned the number in his phone. I didn't know about his contacts in America until he showed up with you. I still don't know how he got those contacts, with his age and the time difference and everything else. Or how he wiped out your debt and your record so you could come back. I don't know where he gets his money from. He has to still have an income, though who knows how he has the time for it. His schedule is insane. I don't think he gets more than two or three hours of sleep a night. I don't see how he could. I'll never understand how he keeps functioning most of the time."

Musashi's voice dropped. "I don't understand...I don't want to understand how he survived alone before he got involved with us. I don't want to know about the fights. I don't want to know why he hates being vulnerable so much, why he won't sleep around other people unless he's dead tired. I don't want to know why he hates anyone seeing him undressed, why he never showers with the team. Why he barely even eats with them. I don't want to know where he learned the kind of control he had that night with Agon, or how he learned it. I don't want to know how many times he's been abandoned or betrayed or hurt, that loyalty matters so much to him that he'd risk his entire future for it."

Mamori could sympathize. It had been shocking enough, to see the man behind the mask of Deimon's Devil. The rough kindness, the humanity. The first time she'd tended his injuries, and he'd let her. The first time she'd found him, passed out in his room after a long day.

Knowing what she did now, his behavior made a great deal more sense. But it was also disturbing, to think of him as vulnerable, as hurt or betrayed. Even though she'd seen him in pain, seen him nearly broken with it, even though she'd seen his rage at Agon, it kept surprising her.

There was a thump from the bedroom. The three of them exchanged looks, then stood. Mamori was the first to the door. She opened it cautiously. Musashi had unloaded one gun, but Hiruma rarely had just one gun on his person.

She wondered, for the first time, how much of that was a personal preference, and how much of his fondness for firearms stemmed from a well-honed preservation instinct.

Hiruma was tangled in his sheets, his t-shirt soaked with sweat. He blinked at them as they entered. "What...fucking old man..."

A glance at the clock indicated that it was time for his medicine. Mamori moved to the bedside table and began unscrewing caps and taking out dosages. It was easier than looking him in the eyes so soon after hearing about his past. She had no doubt that Hiruma wouldn't have wanted her to know so much about him.

"What...are you doing?" Hiruma sounded exhausted.

"Getting your medicine, Hiruma-san. It's time for your next dose."

She turned with a handful of pills and a bottle of water to find bleary green eyes staring at her.

"Why...would you...fucking care?" The words were snarled out.

"Because I do." Better than giving him a monologue. "Because you're a member of the team."

Bitterness surged in his eyes. "Like that...matters...damn manager. Never matters. No one...fucking cares."

"That isn't true." Musashi stepped forward, his solid presence bolstering Mamori, even as he laid a careful hand on Hiruma's sweaty shoulder. "A lot of people care about you, crazy bastard."

Hiruma stared at him. "Old man..."

Musashi grinned. "Shut up, take your meds, and go back to sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up."

Hiruma's eyes flickered to the others. Musashi sighed. "The drunk and your manager have things to do. But they'll come back, if they aren't here when you crack your eyes open."

"Musashi-kun is right." Mamori held out the pills, and the water.

Hiruma's face twisted. "I...don't need..."

"Shut up and take them." Musashi scooped the pills up and dumped them in Hiruma's mouth, followed by a dose of cough syrup. Hiruma swallowed and gagged. Musashi took the water bottle, tucked one big hand behind Hiruma's head, then tipped the water into his mouth. "You can shoot me later, when you're well."

Hiruma swallowed, then snarled. "I'm not...your...father."

"And I'm not yours."

Hiruma froze for a moment. Then his expression hardened into a sneer. "Keh. You...don't...know..."

"Shut up. I know enough. Don't forget where I met you. And what you told me. I'm not an idiot." Musashi pushed him down. "Go back to sleep, punk."

"Listen to Musashi, Hiruma-kun." Doburoku moved forward.

Hiruma's eyes were already sliding closed, but he still managed a hoarse snarl. "Shut up, damn lush."

Doburoku smiled grimly. "Go to sleep, you violent brat."

Hiruma's eyes fell shut, tension running out of his frame. Musashi sighed and sat down next to the bed. "You should go home. Doburoku can take you. I'll stay here with him."

"All right." Mamori nodded. "I'll bring your notes from school tomorrow."

"And we'll find an excuse for you if anyone asks." Doburoku added.

Mamori made her way to the living room. She cleaned up the remains of the meal and gathered her things, then followed Doburoku out to the truck.

Neither of them spoke much on the drive back to Mamori's house. It was late, and only her mother was awake, waiting for her. Mamori greeted her, answered her questions with vague replies, then escaped to her room and crawled into bed.

She kept seeing Hiruma, the pain-filled rage of his earlier raving, and the disturbing revelations of the evening. Some of it, she had known, but Musashi was right. Taken in context...it was disturbing. The life Hiruma had led was one she hadn't ever imagined. She'd grown up happy, healthy and sheltered, cared for by loving parents. Nothing like the life Musashi had described, or hinted at.

Mamori rolled onto one side and curled up, shutting her eyes as she tried to push the thoughts aside. It was hard. Hard not to keep going over the things Musashi and Doburoku had revealed.

She was only certain of one thing. She wouldn't abandon Hiruma.

Even if she wasn't certain how she'd face him when he recovered.

Author's Note: This chapter was hard to write. But the characters insisted...so here we go.