The first time Terry spars with Yamato, he loses.
It stings, of course it does. He has his pride as a B-daplayer and to be beaten so easily by a near-complete newbie - certainly a new form of humiliation for him. It stings, and Yamato’s mocking laughter doesn’t help. It stings, but he grits his teeth and reloads Wing Ninja and resets its target.
“One more time,” he demands, and when Yamato agrees, boasts, and starts to reload, Terry swears he spots, out the corner of his eye, Master Armada’s expression quirking into the slightest of smiles.
“Master Armada.”
He catches the catfolk on his way into the kitchen that night. The moon is high and Yamato is long asleep. Terry’s exhaustion creeps up his arms and neck to his eyes, but he refuses to give in when there is something he must do.
“Oh - Terry! You startled me -” Guilt laces everything about Armada. His head is turned to Terry but his gaze is firmly elsewhere and his fur is on end. Occasionally, Terry catches a glimpse of his tail as it wiggles into view from behind his large stature.
“Can we talk?” asks Terry, looking up directly at his face. He’s careful to show little in his expression. He does not want Master Armada thinking he’s come to quit. When Armada’s gaze flicks toward the kitchen door, he adds, “I can fix ye a midnight snack too if ye want.”
“Well, I won’t say no to that.” Armada immediately relaxes and steps past him to the kitchen.
Terry follows, making his way to the fridge he’d just stocked that morning as Armada settles at the breakfast table. There’s hotdogs in there somewhere, the kind that Armada loves, and then the weird smelling fish that Yamato had insisted on buying. He hasn’t had the heart to toss that one out to the rest of the cats.
“Your footsteps…” says Armada when he’s taken out a pan.
“What was that, Master Armada?” Terry glances over while it heats.
“I must admit, it’s something I’ve been curious about since the day you began your training.” Armada has settled into his seat, leaning back until the wooden chair creaks under his weight. He’s staring directly at Terry. “Like Yamato, your steps can be silent as a cat’s…but unlike him, yours are always that way. B-daplayer is not the first thing you’ve trained as, isn’t it?”
That…was not what he wanted to talk about. Terry turns away and slips the hotdogs onto the pan, listening for their sizzle. “I was trained as a warrior of Tsubakura first, but that doesn’t make me any less a B-daplayer.”
“No, I wasn’t implying that.” Armada chuckles. “No, you’re a talented B-daplayer, no matter what else you are.”
Terry feels his face turn red. He takes a moment to grab a spatula and turn the hotdogs, watching them darken and brown in the hot oil. It takes him a moment to say, “Thank you.”
“Don’t let it get to your head, now.”
“I’m not Yamato,” he answers automatically. That earns him a sharp laugh. He turns off the heat and steps across the kitchen to the plates, watching Armada carefully.
“No, you’re not.” Armada shakes his head and stands. The catfolk stretches, then comes over to stop him from getting a plate with a paw on his shoulder. “What did you want to talk about, Terry?”
I’m a boy, but -
No matter what else you are, Armada had just said.
He holds his tongue for a moment, thinking it over. That was one thing answered before he’d even asked. He sighs, and his mind goes back to rushing water as it so often does these days.
“I was wondering,” he starts, when Armada suddenly moves away from him. He watches, fascinated, as one large paw snatches a hotdog right off the pan. The hotdog in question quickly disappears.
“Hm? Do go on,” says Armada around a mouthful, already reaching for a second bite.
Somewhat scrunching his face out of disgust, Terry continues as asked. “Well, ye see, it’s about why I wanted you to train me.”
“You wanted to ‘get good’ and be the very best?” There disappeared a second piece.
“No - well, yes, but - there’s something else,” he admits, gaze dropping to the floor. “I think the Bdamage wanted me to come here. I think my destiny - there’s someone here I needed to meet. It…” He hesitates, because he hates to admit it, but he is friends before rivals with the boy anyway. “I think it’s Yamato.”
“Ah.”
Ah? Was that all Armada had to say? Terry frowns and looks back up at him. Every piece he made is gone now, and Armada looks most satisfied with himself as he licks his paw.
Before he can question him, Armada adds, “I’ve spoken with Alan too, before.”
“You know him - ?”
“He doesn’t always have a destiny for everyone.” Armada’s expression darkens and he starts toward the kitchen door, mumbling to himself as he walks. “He’s not always so nice, but - well, the Bdamage works strangely…”
Terry doesn’t think he was meant to hear that, but he scurries after Armada, watching as that tail curls tightly.
“He told me once - ” and this was louder, more clearly. “ - to expect new pupils. Children with great destinies, he said. Not everyone is so lucky, and I dreaded it, but then you and Yamato - ”
Master Armada has gone mad, Terry thinks as he follows the rambling catfolk through the winding corridors of his home, their only guide the faint moonlight filtering through the windows. Eventually, Armada stops at a door Terry does not recognize.
One large paw pushes the door ajar, and a smattering of moonlight crosses Terry’s field of vision. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust, and he realizes this is the backdoor Armada has never let them open. From its position in the house, it could only open into a cliffside. Yamato had eventually lost interest, but now excitement rushes through Terry as he considers how likely it is that Armada is about to show him a secret few others - maybe even no one - are privy too.
They emerge into a garden, surrounded by tall rocky cliffs on all sides, covered with overgrown vines and leaves painted silver In the night. The moon sits directly overhead of them, surrounded by a mere sliver of the night sky. At the center of the garden stands two statues, their backs pressed against each other’s, their bases surrounded by a wide moat of water breezing over cobblestone. Terry gawks at the status themselves: one of a slender catfolk, dressed finely in a cloak and carrying a cane, and the other of a man with wild hair and garbed in armor. His heart races at the sight of the latter.
“There’s this legend,” starts Armada as he meanders closer to the statues. “The greatest B-daplayer in the B-daworld lived hundreds of years ago, and then there was a war…but that part’s not important to the life lesson I’m dropping on you right now.”
Terry is barely listening now. He strides up to the second statue, looking up at the finely sculpted features barely visible under foliage.
“The greatest B-daplayer in the B-daworld had a follower who was the greatest swordsman of his time. Together, they were nigh unstoppable,” Armada continues, the deep rumble of his voice following Terry as he circles the statues. “But they went on their own ways for reasons we don’t know. The greatest B-daplayer disappeared from history, never to be seen again, but he left behind valuable knowledge and techniques on the art of B-dabattling.”
“And the swordsman?” Terry doesn’t dare look away from the statue. He does not want to forget it.
“He stepped out from the B-daplayer’s shadow to became a hero of his own name.”
A chill tears down Terry’s back, and he shudders where he stands. The motion forces his gaze away, and finally he looks back to Armada to find the catfolk had returned to the door. Biting his lip and this time not daring to look back, Terry runs to him.
“But, Master Armada, why tell me this? What does this have to do with…with me?”
Armada looks down at him, the deepening shadows on him making him look…older. Terry furrows his brow, waiting patiently for an answer. A sigh escapes the catfolk, and he feels a paw around his shoulder as he’s herded back inside.
“Be like that swordsman, Terry,” Armada’s tone is kind, soft, and the paw on Terry’s shoulder is firm and comforting. “Whatever Alan told you, whether you decided it on your own or not, don’t let Yamato’s destiny dictate yours.”
“Don’t let…” It stings as much as losing. It stings to be told he’s doing this wrong. The first hint of his fortune, and he’s messed it up entirely. Armada is right, of course, as he often is. Whatever Yamato’s destiny is, he has nothing to do with it. Nothing, whatsoever…but that doesn’t sound right at all! Whether it’s the Bdamage’s plan or not, he is Yamato’s friend. If Yamato asks him to join him on an adventure, he isn’t going to say no.
He laughs, and beams up at Armada. “You’re righ‘, but shouldn’t I be the greatest B-daplayer?”
Armada’s posture sags noticeably, and his tail, which had been still, suddenly twitches. A tension in the air, one Terry hadn’t noticed, fades. He’s been so caught up in his thoughts that he hasn’t been alert enough.
“You’re the one with the sword.”
“Doesn’t matter!” He laughs, and Armada follows.
When their laughter dwindles, Terry doesn’t resist when Armada pulls him into a hug. Practically sinking into soft white fur, surrounded by warmth and his teacher’s unwavering support, Terry imagines the rapids of his mind turning still and even into a lake, and he decides he’s in the right place to find his fortune this time.
There’s a flurry of movement as soon as Terry enters the room he shares, and very quickly he finds himself in another hug. Powerful arms around him - and orange. A lot of orange. When he pulls away, Yamato is beaming brightly at him, already dressed in his green pajamas.
“Geez, Terry, I thought you finally chickened out on me!” exclaims Yamato, then he pauses, looking Terry up and down. “Wait, why do you smell like hotdogs? C’mon man, where are you hiding them?”
“Naw, laddie.” Terry grins. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’ve still got to become the greatest B-daplayer in the B-daworld.”
“Whaaaaaaat!”
“Time for bed.” He pushes past Yamato and makes a beeline for his half of the room. “C’mon laddie, we’ve got training tomorrow.”
“But -”
“No buts, go to bed.”
He can feel Yamato’s gaze on him as he clambers back into his bed, can feel the curiosity. It’s a strange and long moment before Yamato speaks again. “When did you get this bossy?”
Then, to his surprise, he feels his bed sink in the direction behind him, then comes the warmth of a certain someone laying down beside him. Then he feels the extra weight of a certain cat jumping onto that someone.
“Night, Terry!”
“What are you doing -”
His answer is a ridiculously loud snore, and, unfortunately, knowing Yamato, it has to be genuine. Terry sighs. He doesn’t mind this at all. Annoying as Yamato can be, the lad has never really let him down where it matters, in the short time he’s known him. What a strange friendship, he ponders as his eyes grow heavy.
Shifting closer so his back is to Yamato’s, he drifts off with the pleasant dream of returning to Tsubakura with every accolade a B-daplayer can earn.
“Master Armada, there’s a quick stop I wanna make before we get too far.”
Armada pauses, looking down at Terry. The bright morning sun turns his fur a creamy yellow. He leans on his staff, tail curling as he considers the request.
“Saitoon, I suppose?”
“Aye, I want to say bye to Alan.” Terry looks forward to where Yamato is walking several long paces before them, with Tommy settled on his head. Yamato’s singing reaches them even with the distance. He wonders, for a moment, how nice it must be to be so simple-minded.
“C’mon, guys!” shouts Yamato suddenly, “The Winners’ Tournament isn’t waiting forever!”
“Chill out, Yamato!” he hollers back. This earns him, he notes, a small chuckle from Armada.
“I don’t see why not.” Armada finally answers, and starts to walk again. “Saitoon is close enough that it won’t make too much of a difference.”
It isn’t a long trip indeed. Saitoon greets them, rising out of the dry landscape with its gleaming white buildings. The sight of the church in particular sets off an unusual fondness in Terry, and he’s smiling ear-to-ear by the time they reach the main road.
“I wonder if she’s still here…” mumbles Yamato as they step past the threshold, just loud enough for Terry to hear. A glance at the lad reveals a rare frown set across his face. Then he shakes his head, and his expression is bright and eager once more. “C’mon Terry! Let’s go see your friend!”
Yamato was resistant to the detour at first, but then he’d learned Terry only wanted to see someone and he’d been excited the entire way instead. Yamato isn’t ever too complicated about things, but Terry wonders if he has a reason other than the Winners’ Tournament to not want to come to Saitoon.
“Yamato - ” he starts, but then a bundle of white fur rushes up to them.
It’s Kit. Terry hears Armada gasp, but the little catfolk ignores his companions, instead grabbing Terry’s hands and cheering loudly.
“Terry! It’s great to see you again!” they shout, “Are you here to teach me more about B-daman?”
He laughs and shakes his head sheepishly. “Sorry Kit, I’m just here with my teacher to visit Alan, then we’ve got to hit the road again.”
“Your teacher?” Here, Kit’s gaze travels up to Armada, who, to Terry’s confusion, has turned away and is refusing to look back to them. “This big stinky catfolk?”
Terry’s jaw drops. Only Yamato has ever spoken to Armada that way before. He’s about to chastise Kit when the lad in question butts in.
“Man, Terry! You never told me you knew any catfolk!”
“Really?” grumbles Armada.
“Cool catfolk,” amends Yamato with a big wide grin. “Is this the friend you were talking about? She - ”
“They,” corrects Terry and Kit simultaneously.
“They don’t look like a priest!”
“You came to see Alan?” Kit tugs on Terry’s hand, peering up at him with wide eyes.
“Aye,” answers Terry. He glances up at the sky, noting the sun directly up overhead. It’s a sunny day not unlike when he set off from Saitoon. “It’s about lunch…he should be at the church or the B-Center.”
Kit’s expression falls, and worry sets into Terry with a harsh grip.
“Alan left too…” Kit can barely get the words out. “A week after you. He said - ” Here, they sniffed. “ - there was someone who needed his help more than the town. I think he left with this new B-daplayer. My mom said Alan is too nice if he’s helping someone find their family - ”
“Did this B-daplayer have gold hair and a green hat?” Yamato butts in again, and Terry looks at him in surprise. What a strangely specific question!
“…yes.” Kit is paying attention to Yamato now. “You know him?”
Terry can see, and feel, the sheer excitement emanating off his friend. He’s never seen Yamato this cheerful before, it’s a completely new level, as far as he’s concerned.
“I’m - !” Yamato sucks in a breath. “I’m glad. He’s a great B-daplayer and he’s been looking for his little brother who went missing.”
A missing brother…Terry takes a moment to try and imagine the feeling. The closest he can muster is imagining something happening to Joe, something that turns that rough and loud personality into a silence that refuses to answer.
He feels terrible at the idea. He can’t imagine what it’d be like to live it everyday.
“Alan’s a great guy,” he says, “Your friend’s in good hands, Yamato.”
The road to the Winners’ Tournament is long and dusty, but at the pace they’ve set, Armada estimates they’ll be there with another day of traveling. Yamato’s singing has gotten sparse, and he’s slowed down enough to walk at Terry’s side rather than ahead.
“That B-daplayer Alan’s helping out…”
Yamato’s voice cuts through silence, and Terry realizes he’s actually been quiet for a fairly long while now. Long for him, at least. Terry thinks back to the conversation they’d had with Kit in Saitoon, and supposes Yamato has just been worried about his other friend. “What about him?”
“He’s actually a girl,” starts Yamato, “and her name’s Karen -”
Terry stops in his tracks, and feels his cheeks warm and anger flush through him, his hands clenching into fists as he seriously considers punching Yamato. “Y-you can’t just reveal that! Or talk that way, for that matter!”
“What?” Yamato stops too, then jolts as realization widens his eyes. “Wait, no, it’s not like that! She’s really a girl! She’s dressed like a boy to avoid trouble! We had a really long talk about it! I didn’t know if Kit knew so I wasn’t going to say it in front of them!”
A paw touches Terry’s shoulder, and he looks up to find Armada offering comfort again. “Easy now, Terry. Breathe.”
He does so, inhaling the arid air and shuddering when it fills his lungs. He exhales, and shuts his eyes, willing the growing rush in his mind to calm once again. Yamato knows better, he reminds himself, it wasn’t like that.
“Terry, I’m sorry.” Yamato’s voice cuts through. It feels much like a curtain of water being parted.
He toys with the hem of his tunic, gaze low. The weight of Armada’s paw lifts and he can feel their mentor hanging back. This is between him and Yamato. He sighs. “I know you didn’t mean it that way, laddie.”
Despite his words, Yamato still looks as if he’s been kicked, evidently upset with himself. Terry inhales deeply again, then exhales. He knows just the thing to make this better.
“Race ya.”
“Huh?” Yamato blinks, expression draining into one of confusion.
Terry forces himself to grin, still smarting with the lingering pang of anger. He points at a distant rock formation down the path. “Race ya to it.”
At once, Yamato changes again. Relief slides across his face before eagerness takes over. “You’re on!”
Yamato is fast, but so is he. They run down the dusty path, letting Armada catch up to them at a more leisurely pace. A slight breeze picks up somewhere as they run, and Terry feels the wind in his hair and sliding under his cloak. Tommy leaps down from Yamato’s head and joins the race, and Terry grins when he notes that Yamato is more interested in beating his cat than in beating him.
He beats Yamato by leaping into air and letting the breeze buoy him to the rock, landing beside it with a smirk. Yamato catches up and yells about being beaten, then demands another race to the next one.
The chase peels back a weight that had been on his shoulders, and Terry feels less like he’s swimming against a current and more like he’s making his own right now. It’s no name (he has one) or fortune (soon), but he will dig all his own riverbeds if he has to, no matter how many it takes to reach both.
This is it how it should be, he muses.
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