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“Clover Box, lend us your power!”
Cure Peach’s impassioned shout spelled the end of their attempt for the day. Despite how poorly the girls had started against the twisted green limbs of two Sorewatase, they managed to organize their teamwork well enough to fend off both. After tricking Westar’s vine-wrapped streetlamp into falling on top of Soular’s monstrous plant, the four took their chance to end it.
“Lucky Clover Grand Finale!” they said in unison, and the Sorewatase were enveloped in a purifying prism that swiftly destroyed their cores.
Soular could only manage to sigh, but Westar raised a threatening fist in their direction. “We just let you win! You won’t be this lucky next time!”
Cure Passion stepped ahead of the other girls and shook her head. “I know you well enough to tell when you’re bluffing. No matter how often you try, it won’t be enough. We’ll stop you every time.”
Even more incensed at being spoken to by her in particular, Westar bared his teeth. “Shut up, Eas!!”
“I’m not Eas!”
“We’re leaving,” Soular interrupted, already at his side and tugging firmly on his cape. Although Westar gave the girls another frustrated look, he obediently turned to join him in leaping up and over the low building to their right. The girls, satisfied with so little as ever, didn’t give chase.
The two walked side by side through the forest surrounding the mansion shortly after. Westar spent some time complaining about something or other; Soular was too focused on turning thoughts of the future over in his head to pay it much mind. The sound of leaves crunching under their feet slowed when he came to a conclusion.
“We might need to personally intervene even more than usual soon,” he said with his hand loosely curled over his chin and mouth, and Westar halted as well. “But we’re more outnumbered than we used to be. Miss Northa likely won’t join us.”
His partner caught on quickly lately. “What’s your idea?”
“We should practice against each other. If we increase our effectiveness, we’ll have a better chance of overcoming that difference.”
“You want to fight me?” Westar squinted doubtfully. “Are you making a joke?”
Soular chuckled with disdain, waving his hand back to pose by his shoulder. “You think I can’t hold my own against you? I might not hit as hard, but I would have lost against them a long time ago if I wasn’t cunning.”
“Oh, you’re confident.” Westar eagerly pounded his fist into his own open palm. “I won’t lose, even if it’s you!”
“Try not to forget this is for practice and not to put one of us out of commission.”
“...Yeah! Right! I knew that.” He was absolutely unconvincing on that, but his barely restrained enthusiasm was unfortunately charming enough to get a pass for it. “When do we start?”
“First, let’s find somewhere more open than this path.”
That choice turned out even more necessary than expected, despite Westar’s initial impatience. Once they faced off from across a generous clearing and Soular counted down aloud, both in a battle-ready stance, the speed in which they sprung at each other demonstrated how little they would have been able to prepare if the distance had been any shorter.
The wind swirled up around them when they met in the middle, Soular guarding his face from Westar’s jab. It didn’t feel like the man was holding back much (if he was at all), but it was nothing Soular couldn’t handle if it was projected that well. Westar followed with a swift kick from the side, blocked more easily with one arm, and pushing that leg aside left him landing slightly off balance.
Soular, on the other land, touched down on the ground with grace. Immediately, he lowered himself to sweep under Westar’s feet. The “Gah!” and flailing fall proved it effective.
Westar landed heavily, but wasted little time. He rolled until he could shift into a kneel and blocked a kick launched at the side of his head. Rocketing to his feet, he swung up for a well-telegraphed uppercut that was dodged simply by stepping and leaning back. Soular retaliated with a knee strike aimed at his gut, which was skillfully prevented by Westar forcing his palm out against Soular’s chest and shoving him back.
It was some serious force, as could be expected. He was off his feet for some distance, and stumbled back even more once he reached the forest floor.
“Not bad!” Westar commented energetically. “I didn’t expect a pushover, but I didn’t expect you to be any fun either.”
“This isn’t supposed to be fun,” Soular replied, rushing him again. When he leapt up and aimed a kick downward, Westar met the attack with both arms crossed protectively and grinned.
“Live a little, Soular! If this isn’t fun, what is?!” he asked, grabbing him by the ankle and pulling him down. Stomach lurching, his back hit the firm ground before he could do anything about it.
Westar dove down to keep him there by sitting on top of him. With little finesse, he started swinging his fists at Soular’s head, who narrowly avoided the blows by twisting his shoulders away from them. At the first gap in the pattern, Soular brought his knee up into Westar’s back, driving him forward onto his palms over Soular’s shoulders.
When their eyes met, there was a moment he didn’t act — Westar, too, took a break to give him a spirited smile from above, shining with sweat. Feeling his heart start pounding harder, Soular instinctively scowled in return.
Bringing both hands up and over Westar’s right arm, he clasped them together and forced his opponent’s elbow back. Moving one over the back of his elbow and one over his wrist, Soular rolled them over to his left, breaking the mount and getting some distance before he could get locked into a guard.
Given the advantage of being the first to his feet, Soular stepped toward him, twisted his own arm down and his hips to the side, rotating on his toes to kick out with his shin. Westar blocked it with a grunt of effort, surprised by the force if not by the move itself.
“You can look pretty attractive when you get serious,” Westar said as they both regained their balance. Soular’s eyes widened at the out of place remark, the shock unwittingly weighing down his reaction time. Westar’s fist hurtling toward him was the last thing he saw. His ears managed to catch Westar distantly calling his name after he collapsed, and then his senses faded entirely.
Soular awakened some time later to something freezing cold touching his face. Flinching, he tilted his head to avoid it, registering a firm pillow underneath.
“You’re awake!” Westar’s relieved voice came from above. “Hold still, or this won’t work.”
“Ugh. How long was I out?” Soular groaned, still tilting his pounding head away from the freezing object. He opened his eyes slowly to see what it was and found much more to be startled by. Westar, with his back to the gathering room’s couch cushions, was very close — enough to barely have to lean over to put a bag of ice to his eye. The pillow had to be one of his thighs. “And why are we like this?”
“About twenty minutes, and because I wanted to help you,” Westar answered, offering a truly bizarre explanation. “I did this to you, even after you warned me about it.”
“You’re terrible.”
“I’m sorry! I was sure you’d block a punch like that when you were fighting that well.”
That cut deep. Mentally reviewing what caused this, Soular frowned. That remark had been completely out of nowhere, so it more than deserved the apology. He would have caught that swing otherwise. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“Do what on purpose?” Westar inquired with all the ignorant innocence of a child.
“...Nothing.” Soular exhaled, tiredly giving in and closing his eyes one more time. “Do what you have to. You seem to know what to do about this better than me.”
“Got it. Just tell me if it gets too heavy or cold to handle.” The ice settled around the eye radiating pain. Relaxing and giving in to it, a warmth at the back of Soular’s head and a soothing chill at the front, made some of the pain subside already.
“This would work better if my hair wasn’t in the way.”
He felt the ice subtly switch hands and lift too high to feel. Westar’s free hand brushed over his forehead, smoothly clearing his bangs from hanging over his eyes. Even that was oddly nice, so he couldn’t complain.
“Better?”
“Better,” Soular replied, and he felt the mild weight of the ice return. “I didn’t know you could be this gentle.” Westar was doing his best to make it up to him. While he was going to have to see a terrible bruise in the mirror later on, the careful treatment before then was at least going to make it less so.
“Hey, I’m not only good at fighting!” Westar said defensively, muscles stiffening. “Is that really what you think of me?”
“...A little.” It would have been strange to think otherwise when the man was constantly either brute-forcing his way through confrontations or working out at the mansion. “But this side of you isn’t bad.”
He shouldn’t have admitted that. The migraine was impairing his reason.
Westar relaxed again. “I learned about dealing with injuries when I learned how the people of this world exercise. Great idea, right?”
“Well done.”
“You’re nice like this. This side of you isn’t bad either,” Westar said appreciatively.
It was Soular’s turn to tense. “Don’t get used to it.”
Westar snorted and lifted the ice. “I wasn’t planning on it. Well, I’m taking this back to the kitchen and we’ll repeat it later. It’s more helpful to alternate than to hold it there forever.”
“Right.” Lifting up from his shoulders, Soular allowed him to get off the couch. Before he was even past the door, Soular dropped down and closed his eyes. It wasn’t very refined, but in this state he deserved some time to act otherwise. The flat green cushions proved to not be the most comfortable place to do it.
Westar sauntered back in a few minutes later. “Do you think you’re up for…” he began, hand at his hip, before quietly staring at Soular. The one on the couch had pushed his hands down and lifted his back. “...Are you waiting for me to sit down again?” he asked instead in disbelief.
Having moved without thinking, Soular tried fending off mortified self-awareness by staring ahead at the wall. It was too late to pretend he was doing something else. “You don’t want to?”
“I just didn’t think you would want me to…”
From the heat creeping across his face, Soular could feel himself losing his battle. “Take responsibility for what you’ve done. You’re more comfortable than no pillow at all.”
“Fine! I’m taking responsibility, I’m taking responsibility,” Westar insisted, returning to his place on the couch. With some relief, Soular laid down with the back of his head against his thigh again.
Keeping his eyes closed helped him feel more at ease. It wasn’t like the pain gave him that much room to overthink anything. Westar wasn’t that fortunate, and Soular could feel him start to fidget before long.
“There’s nothing for me to do like this,” he complained eventually.
Soular was silent for a moment, then opened his eyes. He had a solid guess on where to start. “Tell me about Okinawa.”
“Okinawa?!” Westar repeated excitedly. “I ate even more than what I brought back as souvenirs! Did you try any of them?”
“Yes. The chinsuko went well with my tea.”
“I thought you’d like that one. It’s too bad I couldn’t bring back the soba. It’s incredible! Completely different from what you can get around here.”
Westar went on about his food tourism, listing dishes he’d seen, tasted, brought back or hadn’t. He smiled with such joyful honesty that an uncommon envy pricked Soular’s chest. Ugly, selfish thoughts unsuitable for a denizen of Labyrinth came to mind.
How can you enjoy such trivial things? How can you make an expression like that? I don’t understand.
“—And the sea grapes had a texture like nothing else I’ve tried before!”
“It sounds like all you did was eat.”
“There was a lot to try!”
Soular sighed. “There had to be some interesting sights to see to learn more about their history,” he replied, amused.
“Well…” Westar trailed off, briefly losing his nerve. “Well, maybe if you go with me next time, I’ll do that too. I thought about you while I was there, but it was too late to ask you then.”
“I will.”
“Really?” Astonishment and delight brightened his expression even more. “You’re the best, Soular!”
When Soular smiled up at him in return, it was the same old hollow imitation. “If you keep praising me, I might not take it back.”
“You can take it back?!”
“I will if you ever knock me out again.”
“I said I was sorryyyyy!!”