I'm Not After Him, I'm After His Ramen

~8~ I'm Not After Him, I'm After His Ramen

Hey there loyal fans who don't hate me yet! Thank you SOOOOOO much for waiting on me I am SOOOOOOO sorry. Just a lot of sheet has been going on lately >_< But without further ado I present to you chapter 8 :D

OH and I want to thank skittlesbiatchx for her AMAZING work on my cover!! :D

Cameron's POV 

             I sit in class for what seems like an eternity until the teacher -a fine young blonde who seems like she came fresh out of college- strolls in after finally finishing her gossip with another more serious and old looking teacher. “Hello class,” she says, “I hope you’ve all finished your homework that I assigned last Friday.” 

        Half of the class groans. “ Music to my ears,” she says with a smile and walks over to collect it but stops in front of me. “ Hmm, you’re new too? Oh, you must be Cameron,” she says. “Well my name is Miss. Caulf, your Asian History teacher. Why don’t you stay after class so I can get you a textbook.” She smiles a bit and even winks, I resist the urge to laugh.

          “No need ma’am,” I whip back at her, “the office gathered all the books I needed this morning.” I pull out a large blue textbook that says “History of the Asian Continent” I allow myself a little smile as she walks past me a bit disappointed, “ah, oh-okay, oh well,” she says a bit flustered. A second later my pants vibrate and catch me by surprise.

THOUGHTless: EWWW! Did she wink at you?!?!? XP

Cam: No worries, this isn’t the first time ^_^

THOUGHTless: Sleaze! >_<

Cam: Heh heh heh heh

            I laugh and stuff the phone back into my pants.

            “ Okay class, today’s lecture will be on the Japanese Samurai,” says the teach.

        The reigned from- Tommy! Why aren’t you taking notes! Everyone better take notes, I’ll be checking them on Friday as always. Moving on, the Japanese Samurai....”

            Crap, Tatsuo’s totally going to get an easy A. He knows more on this stuff probably more than an actual historian. My mind wanders to the past and picks up a memory of my old life in Japan.

         “Hey, Tatsuo wait up! Your house is totally massive, were could that soccer ball have gone anyways,” asks 12-year-old Cameron speaking fluently in Japanese.

            “I don’t know man, maybe in there?” 12-year-old Tatsuo points to a room open by just a crack. I slide the paper door open and stand there in total awe.

        “Wh-what is this,” I manage to mumble while looking at the massive and beautiful suit of armor before me that was hung-and still intact- on the wall. The whole suit was a rich black onyx with woven strands of deep blue navy and a crimson cloth tied the helmet to the body of armor. On the shoulders were gold and glimmering medals, on the helmet was the biggest medal of all, shaped to the symbol of what looked like a snowflake. 

            Tatsuo’s laugh shakes me and I turn around to watch him put on his devilish grin. “This is the armor of my ancestor, it has been passed down for centuries, though it hasn’t been worn since the 1700s when the last had to commit seppuku in it.” He slid his fingers down the sheath of the katana, gradually picking up a thick coating of dust. He flicked it off and his face grew even more evil, “want to try?”

            I watched as Tatsuo unsheathed the long and majestic sword, holding it just as the Samurai in all of the paintings scattered among the Naganori house had.  He sliced and cut the air so skillfully and calmly as if he had been practicing for years, though I knew that this was his first time. It seemed as if he did it by memory.