The Kingmaker

The Crow and The Owl

Blossom 'neath the lake

All eyes fixed upon her grace

In water, flourish

 Imayoshi Shoichi has a huge smile on his lips as he stares at Tetsuya as if he has discovered a new species. His eyes, though twinkling with warmth, hold a different kind of glint. Either he does not know how to hide his motive or he simply does not care enough to pretend that he likes Tetsuya.

If Tetsuya were to guess, he would choose the latter.

Unlike the other southerners Tetsuya has encountered thus far, Imayoshi bears the unmistakable aura of a northerner. It came as no surprise when the former queen's whisperer revealed his roots in the kingdom of the White Crows. He did not, however, state what his prior role was. Upon retiring, Imayoshi sought refuge in a land where summer reigned supreme.

"Enough about my past," he says, his tone turning from self-indulgence to the topic at hand. "Behold these weapons. Do they not stir a sense of intrigue within you? Just because I am not a soldier or a guard does not absolve me of the need to master at least one blade. Would you not agree?"

Standing in an expansive field, the relentless heat of the sun kisses Tetsuya's neck, enveloping him in a stifling embrace that tempts him to strip bare and seek comfort in the cool water. He may no longer be a Dancer but he still has to be composed. Mayhaps he is overthinking it, but he is guessing that Imayoshi is testing his physical endurance. Why else would the whisperer ask for him to wait here whilst Aomine Hiroko readies herself?

The colonnade does not help to shield them. Truly, the legendary heat of the south can be felt now that he is no longer surrounded by the loud blooms and towering arbours. Grateful for the modesty of his plain white robe, he shudders to think of the agony he would have to bear had he chosen a darker hue.

Under the cruel sun, each weapon's blade gleams.

"But this," Imayoshi says, brandishing a sword that has a blade as thin as a needle and a length that allows its wielder to keep a safe distance from the enemy, "is my favourite. Many names it has borne, but once, it was known as 'krala.' Have you ever beheld its likeness?" He turns it over and watches its shine reflect his face.

Tetsuya maintains a neutral facade as Imayoshi's gaze bores into him once more. Everything about this whisperer is odd, from his attire—a long-sleeved quilted robe layered over a tattered black tunic, a stark departure from his former council garb—to his erratic mood changes.

This man is testing him; of that, Tetsuya is certain. If he claims ignorance of the krala, Imayoshi will see right through him. Is he truly a trusted ally of Aomine Hiroko or a subtle enemy?

Left with little choice, Tetsuya regards the sword. "Ah, indeed. I am familiar with it."

Imayoshi's eyes widen, excitement glittering within them. "Oh? Pray tell, when and where did you encounter it?"

"Why, sir, I assumed that, as a whisperer, you are privy to news and rumours from every corner. During my time as a hostage of the Black Dragons, I witnessed firsthand the skill with which their captain wielded the krala." He peers at Imayoshi through his eyelashes, still humble but challenging him head-on.

Imayoshi blinks, sweat drops rolling down his face, but he doesn't seem to notice them as he puts back krala on the flat surface of the table. He also gives no notice to the soldiers marching from the distance, their feet clopping with a steady rhythm.

In a second, Imayoshi looms over him, a grin etching across his lips, his face twisted in a manner that suggests his skin might tear at any moment. "Interesting...Interesting." He scratches the side of his neck as if digging something out. "No wonder why the Queen heard you. No wonder why."