The usual disclaimers: The Dark Kingdom belongs to the respective people. Please don’t even think of suing me. You guys would lose even more $$. ^.^

The story itself: Well, I’ll make it no secret that I’ve always liked a happy, co-operative environment for the 4 Generals. (I can't write good angst is why!) And it’s no secret either that I love bashing the Inners, Queen/Princess Serenity and Tuxedo Kamen. If you can’t live with that...*shrug*...don’t come looking for me.

Oh yes...THIS IS AN INDULGENT FIC. I tried to have a credible plot revolving around Zoi-chan's childhood days...I think it got lost somewhere...*sweatdrop*. It's long...what else is new?

And yes, I know that -chan is usually used for girls and little kids, but I don't like the way Zoi-kun sounds....so....I invoke artistic license!

C&C are always welcome. But no flames or silly mail. i.e. DON’T tell me that Zoisite’s supposed to be a girl or something to that effect...grr...I've had a few of those already. What are you doing here in that case? But to those that did write meaningful stuff, hey, my thanks to you guys. You really made my day. ^.^ Keep those comments coming in people! ^.^

The midwife, Jan, was close to panicking, seeing the way her patient was screaming and herself being on her first case. Her senior had assure that it would be a smooth delivery, but that didn’t seem to be the case at all. Everything seemed so chaotic and nothing like the simulated lessons she’d been given by her seniors. Thankfully though, one of them arrived just in time to oversee the baby’s delivery, and Jan tucked herself out of everybody’s way so she could observe the proceedings calmly - something she wasn’t able to do when she was stuck in the mess. As the baby’s head came out, Jan couldn’t quite stifle the gasp that escaped her.

“What is it?” came the mother’s tired, pained voice, hoarse from the screaming fit she suffered through earlier. “Where’s my baby?”

Even Jan’s senior was shocked into inactivity for a moment. Everybody knew that the Tzael family had pure black hair and hazel eyes since the beginning of their ancestral family. And for close to two thousand years, there had not been a single exception, until now.

“I’d like to see my baby!” the mother demanded, tired and impatient. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

The midwife senior coloured guiltily and wrapped the baby in a towel before handing it to the exhausted lady.

“It’s a boy, my lady,” she answered, bracing for the shriek she knew would come. And she was not disappointed. The lady stared at her son. The boy to whom she had given birth had undeniably pale hair and green eyes. This time, Jan’s duty was to fetch the lord of the house so that he could calm down his hysterical wife. That happened to be the last time Jan, or the rest of the world, would ever hear of Lady Aphyll Tzael again.

“I heard he’s a bastard,” a high voice proclaimed with a giggle from behind a wall. “He’s got strange yellow hair when his entire family’s got black hair.”

“Galen! Don’t use such language!” the boy’s twin sister chastened, horrified, one hand over her mouth.

The wall that the children were crouched behind was old and crumbling, the red bricks already faded to an indistinguishable muddy hue. The wind whistled through cracks in the wall to tease and whip the children’s hair around their faces. Most chose to ignore the distraction, too intent on their little gossip session, though a girl was vainly clawing back her hair from her eyes.

A young boy around nine years of age sniggered. “Yeah. That’s why his mother killed herself the next day.”

“Terry! Where did you learn this from?” a girl’s whisper of mock-outrage and horror belied the fact that she was enjoying the gossip very much.

“My brother tells me a lot of things,” Terry declared as the other children looked up to him with a mixture of envy and wistfulness in their eyes. “Doesn’t your sister tell you anything, Chloe?”

Chloe shook her head. “No. She’s too busy with her own friends to care about me,” she said matter-of-factly. “What about Ed? Do you like Zoisite?”

The boy made a rude sign that he saw one of the older boys making, though he wasn’t quite sure of it’s meaning. “Don’t make me sick! He’s such a sissy,” Ed sneered, flexing his own undeveloped muscles. “He’s got the cold every few days and doesn’t come to school for days at a stretch. He’s gonna fail his exams,” he stated, confidant as only a child can be.

“But he’s so pretty,” a girl with two pony tails sighed.

“Why, Cala ? Are you jealous?” Galen’s twin asked coyly and poked her in the ribs. “Boys aren’t supposed to be pretty! They’re supposed to be tall, dark and handsome. At least that’s what my older sister tells me. Zoi-kun’s none of those.”

“Zoi-kun?” Terry laughed. “I think Zoi-chan would be more suitable. Is he in school today?”

The pony-tailed girl nodded. “Yup, I saw him. He was in the school gardens the last time I knew. Why?”

“Don’t be dumb, Angela! You know...” The knowing looks that crept into the children’s eyes spoke of nothing less than full, unadulterated mischief.

“What haven’t we tried on him yet?” Terry asked, looking to see if his friends had any suggestions.

A crackling noise was heard in the sudden silence that harried on the heels of Terry’s last sentence.

“Who keeps making that irritating sound!” Terry exclaimed, annoyed. “Who’s moving around so much?”

The children all looked at each other. “I didn’t,” Chloe piped up.

“Neither did I,” the rest chorused together.

Terry frowned at them collectively and climbed to his feet, brushing off his overalls as he did. “Let’s go to the canteen and get something to eat. I’m hungry.”

This time, the crackling sound came again, five noises in quick succession. Terry frowned and half-walked half-ran to the wall and peered behind it in a sudden flash of inspiration. He wasn’t disappointed.

“What is it?” Angela asked, clomping to his side at the sound of his loud ‘oi!’.

“Zoisite! He was listening to us just now behind this wall!” Terry answered, his anger sidelining his stomach for the moment. “Let’s catch him and teach him a lesson!”

The other kids agreed quickly and enthusiastically, relishing the burst of adrenaline that surged through their small bodies. They didn’t usually have a legitimate reason to run around and make a lot of noise, and the incentive of catching Zoisite made the chase all the more attractive. A collective series of ‘whoops’ marked the start of their race.

Zoisite stumbled through the long grass, the treacherous fallen dead leaves from the trees making sharp, distinct noises under his feet, betraying his position to his school mates. Tears dripped from his eyes, and angrily, he scrubbed at his cheeks hard, choking back sniffles. He wasn’t running fast enough; couldn’t if he didn’t want to aggravate his weak heart.

“Caught you!” Galen hollered out gleefully, yanking at Zoisite’s bright hair to bring him to an abrupt stop. The smaller boy fell on his rump in a supremely undignified manner.

“Let go of me!” he demanded, clamping one hand to the base of his scalp to prevent Galen from pulling his hair out.

Galen peered at his face and in particular his slightly red and puffy eyes and made a disgusted sound. “Are you crying? You’re such a sissy!” he exclaimed.

Terry appeared, type cast in his role as ringleader flanked by his circle of lackeys. Zoisite couldn’t quite suppress the shudder of fear that ran through him when he saw the boy’s furious expression.

Terry was rather sore that he wasn’t the first one to catch Zoisite. He wanted to be the fastest runner among them, and Galen piped him to the title. That put him in a worse mood than he already was, and he wasn’t inclined at all towards charity.

“You listened in on us just now!” he accused loudly, shoving Galen away to tower above the diminutive boy.

“What if I did? You were insulting me! And I wasn’t eavesdropping! I just happened to be there!” Zoisite retorted defensively, trying to get off the ground, but Terry kicked him back down and stepped on his chest.

“Shut up!” Terry shouted angrily. “You’re nothing but a pip-squeak who can’t even run faster than a chicken!” He applied pressure to the boy’s chest, watching in warped satisfaction as Zoisite’s face twisted and turned pale.

“Stop that!” he wheezed, trying to force breath past the obstruction and into his lungs. “I can’t breathe!”

The other children were silent, mere observers in this display of dominance.

“So?” Terry sneered and spat in Zoisite’s face, making the other boy gag. “Your father may be a bigshot, but you’re nothing! You’re worse than me! So what if you’ve got more money than me? It doesn’t make you better! You’re a piece of shit!”

Zoisite wiggled and struggled violently. “I’m better than you!” he choked out, “I’m not a bully!”

Terry lifted his foot from Zoisite’s chest, which was just as well since the smaller boy was beginning to turn blue around the lips, and grabbed hold of his shirt, yanking him to his feet so that they were eye to eye.

“Say that again if you don’t want to live!” Terry roared.

“You bully!” Zoisite challenged, confident in his defiance. He knew full well he was asking for trouble, but his stubborn pride refused to let him back down from the confrontation. The fist caught him squarely in the face. Blood flew and speckled both boy’s shirts and it was a hopelessly one-sided battle from the very start. After five punches, Zoisite was reduced to a cowering heap on the floor, arms above his head trying to protect his face.

In the end, the other children had to pull Terry away from Zoisite before he got too carried away by his rage. Terry snorted and spat on the ground next to him.

“You piece of shit,” he repeated coldly and swaggered off, certain that his little entourage of peers would follow behind him.

Cala knelt down beside the wounded boy, waving for the rest to go off without her.

“Zoi-chan, are you all right?” she asked, uncertain written in every line of her. She was impatient as a sheep to go back to join the herd, but her conscience wouldn’t let her leave Zoisite alone. So she opted for the middle course. Ask a rhetoric question, get it over with and go find her friends.

Zoisite shoved her away brusquely, not wanting anyone near him at the moment. Cala looked vaguely hurt. Boys were supposed to be nice to girls and this one was being mean to her. She sniffed, offended, and ran off, yelling for the others to wait for her.

Zoisite watched her run off impassively. He felt a little guilty for pushing her so hard, but right now he couldn’t care less. When he was certain he was alone in the middle of the wild, untended field, he uncurled from his ball and winced as his body protested the movement. His nose was still bleeding sluggishly, red drops of blood spotting his ruined white shirt and shorts. He didn't quite understand his feelings, but he knew that he hated himself, hated his position in life, hated his father and just hated his wretched existence. He hated the fact that he was trapped in a weak body that couldn’t do anything right when the push came to the shove. And he hated his helplessness to change his current situation.

Grimacing, he forced himself to stand. Slowly, agonizingly, trembling, he succeeded in getting to his feet. But his left wrist hurt like hell and all he could do was support it with his right hand. His father would have a lot to say to him when he went home. It seemed that he was forever getting scolded by his family members, especially his stepmother, who snatched any chance to shove the fact in his face that her own son was a true Tzael with the correct black hair and hazel eyes, who was stronger than him, even though he was a full three years younger, and who was stronger in health than him. Head full of unhappy thoughts, Zoisite began the slow limp home.

His left wrist was broken in trying to block a particularly hard blow from Terry. The matter was hushed up by the school and the parents involved. Lord Tzael wasn’t inclined to go through the trouble of dragging Terry’s parents to court over his elder son. He had a perfectly capable heir in the form of his second son, one who would take over the family line and bring glory to it. The black sheep of the family spent three months in covalence, not at all helped by the fact that he’d developed a mild bout of pneumonia for walking home in the chilly autumn weather. At that time, he was only ten.

Ah! Spring! Sakuras! Gentle breeze all around.

Snugly wrapped in his coat that always seemed too big for his slender frame, Zoisite sat beneath a very old sakura tree, it’s delicate pink and white blossoms drifting down around him. The park, though silent, was not deserted, even at such an early time in the morning when the sun was two hours from rising. There were the occasional joggers who made their rounds round the beaten path of this small park.

He’d come here every day of spring since five years ago when he first discovered the old sakura tree. His parents weren’t up yet and his siblings were all in dreamland. It was a perfect time for him to get sorted out with himself, something he did on a daily basis. His life seemed a roller coaster ride, full of highs and lows and giddying moments when his heart was in his throat and he thought he would never recover from. There was a whole string of academic successes attached to his profile in his school. Top student in class and form, contestant in countless of science and mathematics quizzes, so on and so forth. But he was also the student everybody accused of sucking up to the teachers, and hence entitled to the dubious honour of being the school nurses’ most treated patient. They had long since given up on recording the number of times he came in dripping blood onto the floor and looking like he just came from a losing gang fight. It was common to see him with a perpetual dark bruise adorning one sharp cheekbone, giving him a mournful cast to what was otherwise aesthetically pleasing features.

Yesterday was no exception. Even though it was spring break, he still had to go back to school to complete an individual project and had so conveniently bumped into Terry and his gang. Tough luck that he was still stuck in the same school with the insufferably arrogant bastard. Zoisite gingerly touched a finger to his left cheek, wincing in pain as he did. He wondered if it was broken for real this time. But there were more pressing things to think of at the moment, like what he was going to do when he graduated from school. The only thing his father had to say to him was to demand that he go to Court and be engaged as some high lord’s squire, then get his own title conferred on him.

Zoisite made a face at that idea. He wanted something where he could run around and not be stuck in stuffy Court dress or have to constantly tail behind somebody. It was demeaning in his way of thinking. Actually, he had something in mind. He just didn’t know if he could pull it off.

Michiko looked at the application form in his hand. Name, check. Address, check. Normal stuff, check. Place of registration, che - what the hell?

"Priscilla-san, I think we have a problem here.”

The form teacher of Zoisite’s class raised her head from the pile of examination papers she was marking. “What is it, Michiko?” she asked, giving her full attention to her colleague who slipped back into her native way of speaking when she was troubled or concentrating.

“Priscilla-san, are you aware of Tzael-kun’s application to his choice of higher education?”

“Isn’t it to the Court?” Priscilla asked, putting her pen down onto the table and reaching for the form that Michiko was holding out to her.

“Not quite, Priscilla-san.”

The form teacher scanned through the form and her mouth formed a soundless ‘o’ in shock. She looked up at her colleague. “What is that boy trying to do? Kill himself?”

Michiko shrugged, picking up another form. “Maybe. If I was bullied like him, I would’ve done that a long time ago. That’s the way things used to be in Japan.”

“That’s the way things are all around the world,” Priscilla corrected with a humourless smile. “I’ll have a talk with him later.” She set the form aside and bent over the examination papers again.

Zoisite calmly packed his clothes into the sportsbag on his bed one by one, not bothering to listen to his stepmother and goodness-knew-how-far-removed aunt’s high pitched tirade at all; he’d heard it all from his frantic teacher in school already. He side-stepped her on his way to his closet and reached for another shirt to add to the bag.

“Zoisite Kohri Tazel! Are you paying attention?!”

Zoisite paused in between folding his clothes and straightened up to his full height, which regrettably was less than hers by almost half a head. His own mother had been very short.

“Yes, I have been paying attention,” he said rather stiffly.

“Well?” his irate stepmother demanded. “You can talk to your father about this yourself. I want to have nothing more to do with you, difficult child!”

“I am no longer a child,” Zoisite corrected in tone he reserved for people he did not really like, people who insisted on being condescending and totally annoying. “By this country’s law, I have been an adult since I was fifteen.”

His stepmother looked taken aback. “Oh, so you’re seventeen now, you think that you know everything do you? You may have been top boy across your standard, but you’re still a child! There are still many things that you do not know. Wait till I tell your father. He will disown you! Do you think you can survive out there by yourself? You have been so pampered-”

Zoisite cut her off. “That is what I am going to find out. Please go ahead and inform my father. I do not think I’ll be talking to him before I leave this house.”

Lady Hiode took a step backwards in shock, eyes wide and unbelieving. Zoisite had never talked back to her before. He had always listened quietly to her. And now...now...this was too much!

“I will have you disowned!” she threatened unconvincingly and flounced off in a flurry of skirts and crimped hair.

Zoisite sighed as he packed the last of whatever he wanted to bring along with him in his sportsbag and zipped it up. At least that was taken care of. He regretted that he had to leave home in this way, but he wasn’t at all inclined to go back to the past to change anything. He hoisted the bag onto his slender shoulder and quietly let himself out of the house without anyone other than the servants seeing him.

The registration officer looked down at the list of names he had in his hand. Finally, he was getting to the end of the list. It felt very much like a man faced with the promise of light at the end of a long dark tunnel. “Tzael, Zoisite Kohri!”

“Reporting, sir!”

The androgynously tenor voice made the officer look up. He pushed his glasses further up his nose and stared at the...child standing in front of him with a very serious expression on his face. It was almost funny.

“How old are you, boy?” he barked out.

“Seventeen,” came the stiff reply.

“The nursery is a few blocks down the street, boy,” came the totally unexpected comment. The officer observed the way the boy coughed, tried to hide his surprise and come up with a suitable answer. Not bad, considering that he hadn’t done anything more than turn an interesting shade of pink.

“Sir! I am here because I want to enroll here sir!”

The officer sized him up properly this time. Below average height, slender, no muscles to speak of, and a face so pretty he should have been born a girl. His strange yellow hair - a mix of bronze, golden buttercup and sunshine- framed his delicate features with a halo of haphazardly cut off ends. It merely served to reinforce the waifish look of his. But the emerald eyes that locked with his fearlessly, almost recklessly, were filled with determination and maybe even a little challenge. An interesting mix.

“Tzael, do you have any idea what it means to enroll here? Or did you come here on a whim of yours?”

Zoisite fought the urge to flush like a tomato. “Yes sir! I understand what is required of me should I be a recruit here, sir!”

The officer noted the fading bruises on his left cheek and assumed correctly that this lad had had his fair share of rough and tumble.

“Well then, Tzael. Be reminded that we keep a very high standard here.” The officer stamped the application papers with the seal of approval and waved Zoisite past him to the room beyond. “Kishten, Caen Leif!”

The reason why Zoisite endured through the beatings in school was because he was afraid of breaking his wrists again. But he had cultivated a tongue as sharp and deadly as an adder’s fangs and did not hesitate to use it at all. It was the only way he could defend himself. He’d always been quick to anger since he was young, had almost no patience to speak of, and was vicious in his remarks. Those and the fact that most people thought he was a foppish popinjay at first sight gave him a direct ticket to their black books. Needless to say, it was the same in the army.

Zoisite sure as hell wasn’t happy here. But then again, he wasn’t happy anywhere with lots of people around. Without so much as a second glance at him, his ex-commanding officer had wasted no time in dumping him off his hands to another section. Damn, but he hated the kitchens. Hated having to serve food to sweaty, stinky recruits as they filed into the canteen for their meals. He hated the sneers they gave him and the snide remarks. But most of all, he hated those that treated him like a whore.

“You going to stand there and stone all day long?” a deep voice cut in, the owner giving Zoisite a sly smile as he said that. “There are lots of other things we could be doing,” he finished very loudly and added a lewd sign as the recruits behind him sniggered.

Zoisite fought the urge to flush and schooled his facial expression into glacial iciness. The food was dumped into the recruit’s tray and he moved on, still grinning away. That wasn’t the first time Zoisite had to endure the man’s remarks. The first time he met that recruit, he’d answered back in his own scathing way and the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back on the rough road, gravel poking into his head painfully, his wrists pinned down on either side of his head and the recruit’s hot breath on him.

“I like my whores to be fiery,” he rumbled softly. “I like them just like you.”

Zoisite spat in the man’s face and tried to kick him, but winced when the man used his knees to pin his legs down. The recruit shifted position, clamping both of Zoisite’s wrists down with one hand while the other trailed slowly, menacingly down his body.

There was real fear in Zoisite now...he had never been caught in this kind of position before...none of the boys in his school had ever dared to go so far as to do this. But this was the army, where the officers would sooner see you rot than come to your aid.

“Let go of me, you bastard!” he panted, trying to force air into his panicked body. And against all odds...

“Recruit! on your feet now!”

Both of them had jumped at the sound of the voice so unexpected behind them, both of them equally shocked, but the moment the recruit saw the face of the officer, he paled beyond white.

“Back to your barracks, recruit,” the blonde commanded coldly. He didn’t ever raise his voice, but the recruit saluted stiffly and strode off, his back rod straight. The officer stepped towards Zoisite who was already on his feet and brushing off whatever dirt clung to him. The number of badges and pins on his uniform jacket were enough to intimidate. But the strangest thing was that this officer looked too young to be worth his rank. Zoisite presumed he had earned it by himself, or else the recruit would never have accorded him the level of respect he showed.

Zoisite assumed the attention pose and waited for the distasteful remarks to be directed at him. He was even more startled when all the blonde did was to silently examine Zoisite’s face where he’d just acquired a new bruise, the hard sapphire eyes softening a little, and walk off.

He’d just finished ladling the food into the last recruit’s tray when one of his fellow servers elbowed him in the ribs and nudged with his chin to a group of officers walking into the canteen.

“The blonde one in the middle is one of the Generals,” the fellow who elbowed him whispered to Zoisite tugging at his scruffy beard. “Wonder what he’s doing here. Them high ranking ones never step down here before.”

Zoisite shrugged and looked turned to go into the kitchen, having no intention whatsoever to gawk at the new arrivals like a country bumpkin first come to town.

“I understand that there is a recruit working here by the name of Zoisite Kohri Tzael. Inform him that his presence is required.” The servers muttered among themselves at the captain’s words and the one closest to the kitchen door poked his head in to inform the lad.

Zoisite frowned to himself and stepped out. Great. Just what he needed. To be expelled from the army. He probably had too many people complaining about him already.

“Recruit Tzael,” a pleasant sounding tenor stated as he walked out of the kitchen.

Zoisite stared at the owner of the voice. It was the same person who had helped him a few weeks ago. The blonde was smiling very slightly, his sapphire blue eyes reflecting his smile.

The captain stepped forward. “Follow us,” he ordered imperiously, inviting his superior to walk before him before turning to follow the General out of the canteen. Zoisite tagged along behind, trying to ignore the stares and glares that the other recruits in the canteen were giving him. It didn’t turn out to be that difficult to shut them out.

The captain opened the plain wooden door just like any others down the row save that it had the initials J.B.Y printed neatly on it squarely in the centre. The General entered, motioned for Zoisite to follow suit and waved the captain and his escorts away. The captain bowed and closed the door quietly.

The room itself was simply decorated - a few plain rosewood chairs arranged around a circular table, a delicate china vase without any flowers adorned the middle of the table, and a bookshelf filled more with dust than books being the only furniture.

Zoisite looked at the General warily, half expecting at any time that he was going to pounce on him or something to that effect. But the blonde merely indicated the seat opposite him.

“I don't really use this room much," the blonde said by way of apology for the dust motes in the air. "Sit down, please,” he invited in his naturally soothing voice. Zoisite was very well aware that the voice could be made to sound harsh and threatening when the situation called for it.

“Thank you, sir!” he replied formally, pulling out the hard, functional wooden chair and gingerly perching in it.

The General himself sat down and rested his hands on his crossed knees. “You must be wondering why you have been called here all of a sudden,” he began, but Zoisite requested for permission to speak.

“Sir, please, get to the point. If you want to dismiss me, I’d rather prefer to hear it in simple terms rather than have you beat around the bush.”

The General’s smile grew a little wider around the edges. “You live up to your reputation, Tzael.” He inclined his head a little as if pondering something and slowly looked him from his toes upwards as if recording every little detail about him.

Zoisite soon grew very uncomfortable under the steady gaze. He was about to say something else when the General suddenly swung his fist at him, aiming for his left side. Zoisite hesitated for a moment before blocking the blow awkwardly with his right hand.

Jadeite clucked his tongue and shook his head. “We'll have to do something about your phobia of using your left wrist. You broke it when you were ten,” he stated mildly. “That is why you are not training with the other recruits. You do not have the strength that other men have either, nor do you have the build for it.”

Zoisite frowned mentally, wondering why this strange person was listing out all his inadequacies. If this was some kind of sick game that the General was playing in return for his help the last time round...

“You shouldn’t be in the army, by right,” the blonde continued. “And yet you enrolled here. I have read the reasons you gave for your choice. You did not mention your family.”

“I had no reason to,” Zoisite defended.

The General raised one eyebrow. “No reason to? The Tzael family is well known for it’s long and rich heritage, and equally famous for the jet black hair and hazel eyes. I think you have a very important reason here. Something to prove perhaps?”

Zoisite kept silent, but his lips were pressed in one angry thin white line.

“Your academic results are impressive, but your p.r. skills have been said to be mediocre at best and absent at worst. Do you know the reason why you’re here?” he asked with a cryptic smile.

Zoisite chuckled bitterly. “Sure. I’ll be packed and ready to leave in ten minutes.”

The General leaned forward to finger Zoisite’s short fine hair, making Zoisite flinch backwards in distrust. The General leaned back in his chair. “In that case...” he tapped the arm of his chair and looked back up into Zoisite’s beautiful emerald eyes now clouded with confusion and suspicion. “I’ll expect to see you at the North Wing in ten minutes time.”

Zoisite raised his eyebrow. Everybody knew that the exit was in the West Wing. “Sir?” he asked, not quite comprehending.

“You’re about to be transferred to a different unit, Tzael,” the General elaborated, though not by much. “Be punctual.” And he indicated that Zoisite could leave.

Zoisite stood and bowed awkwardly, still not quite sure of what was happening. But a General’s command, no matter how strange, was still a command. He opened the door and left to pack his bags as instructed.

Zoisite’s own room was tiny and even more asture than the General’s. All it contained was one clothes’ chest, one desk, one chair and one pallet on the floor, all dyed a monotonous off white colour to match the peeling yellowing paint of the walls. His room was one of those without windows; anyone with even a mild case of claustrophobia would have gone mad a long time ago. Needless to say, he didn’t have any sentimental attachment to it. Then again, he didn’t have much sentimental attachment to anything. His belongings fitted into one duffel bag, and in five minutes, he was waiting at the entrance of the North Wing.

He’d never been here before. All his past explorations had been confined to the South and West Wing. The North and East Wing were generally considered out of bounds to first year recruits. The East Wing contained the Generals and various other high ranking officers’ rooms. The North Wing was a mystery to him. Not many people knew what or who was in the North Wing, and the kitchen chaps were about as informative as a white washed wall.

The blonde General was already waiting for him when Zoisite got there. The same small smile was hovering about his lips - it was beginning to grate on Zoisite’s nerves. What was there to smile about? he wondered in his mind.

“If you didn’t already know, I’m Jadeite. Jadeite Byoin Yvskandes.” His smile widened a little. “From now on, you’ll be under my charge.” He raised his palm opposite an apparently bare patch in the wall, and the forbidding floor-to-ceiling silvered glass doors slid open soundlessly.

It turned out that the North Wing was similar in design to any of the other wings. It was almost an anti-climax to Zoisite. He had been anticipating something more...impressive. Then he laughed at himself. What was he expecting to see? Dragons prancing around?

“I’m the head of the specialist forces in the army,” Jadeite explained, activating yet another sense pad along the corridor’s wall such that a wooden door swung open before them.

“This is the room now assigned to you. Please, make yourself at home and I will tell you more about this department of the army.”

Zoisite entered the room. It was slightly bigger than his previous one, and there was a window set directly opposite the door. Again, there were the customary desk and chair, pallet and clothes’ chest; but they were in their beautiful natural pine colour. The walls of the room were white washed properly, no paint peeling off from corners, and it was actually quite free of dust. Zoisite was very surprised at that. He set his bag down at one corner of the room and politely invited Jadeite in.

“Thank you.” The General took the chair, Zoisite took the bed.

“You are officially a member of the specialist forces now. If there’s anything, feel free to come and report to me directly.” He folded his legs again and steepled his fingers on them.

“It is not easy to come across one of your build,” he began. “The fact that your wrist was once broken does not matter. We have the necessary equipment and technology to fix that minor problem. Your training will be rigorous, there is no doubt about that, certainly worse than what the other recruits are going through now. But have no fear that when you finish, you will be much better off than them.”

Zoisite listened quietly, thinking through the words in his head. “I see.”

Jadeite flashed his annoying little smile again. “In that case then, I presume you will settle down perfectly. One word of advice though, either you grow your hair long, or you shave it off completely; by no stretch of imagination does it look neat!.” He was not disappointed by the look of horror on the recruit’s face.

“I’ll keep it, sir,” the younger man swallowed, face turning pink around his cheeks. “Is that all, sir?”

Jadeite rose from his chair. “As of now, yes. But tomorrow, I’ll expect to see you in my rooms at eight sharp in the morning. Don’t try to wander around here by yourself because you haven’t been keyed in yet. I can’t say what the consequences will be like. Your seniors are the ones that designed the security system here.”

Zoisite saw him out of the room and closed it securely. Only then did he allow himself to sag to the floor in a heap. Finally! He was going places! And then the bullying would stop! He clenched his hands tightly, bringing them close to his chest. He, Zoisite Kohri Tzael, black sheep of his family, would be worth something at long last. The feeling of immense satisfaction and joy left him giddy-headed for the rest of the day.

The laboratory visits. He was beginning to dread the cold silver walls, the white beds and the countless injections they gave him. At one point in time, his entire left arm was mottled with needle marks. His superiors kept telling him that they were all necessary to prepare him for further training - his health had been more delicate than they assumed it to be.

And apart from that, there were the countless training sessions. Once in a very long while, when he had the energy left after one of those grueling sessions, he found himself wondering if the human brain could absorb so much information, much less assimilate it. This wasn’t quite how he expected it to be...he wondered if he could take all the strain that they were heaping on him. But there was no doubt, really. Zoisite’s mind didn’t take very well to defeat.

“Presenting the newest batch of officers for inspection!” her Majesty’s herald proclaimed, his loud deep voice needing no external agent in projecting it to the corners of the massive crowd. “Captain Tzael Zoisite Kohri!”

The young man that stepped forward for the Queen to pin the captain’s badge on couldn’t be more than eighteen. And he didn’t look any more suited to his post than his superior standing next to the Queen, the General Jadeite. Some in the crowd who weren’t quite informed of the General’s accomplishments muttered darkly to themselves about boys trying to fill the shoes of men. But Jadeite's case wasn’t that bad. At least he had a string of achievements behind him. Zoisite was a different matter. Did the army honestly think that a fragile looking waif could serve the country well?

Zoisite found himself scanning the left side of the crowd that were comprised of the nobles. The absence of his family stung him more than he cared to admit, or rather, his ex-family. His father had wasted no time in disowning him, it seemed, the letter sent to him during his training had been kept by Jadeite until he emerged out of his capsule. But at least he knew the ‘secret’ behind Jadeite’s youthful achievements. His mind had been placed in an alternate time frame than the one functioning now. It had the effect of letting him go through six years’ training while barely five weeks passed in reality. Then his body had been placed in yet another time frame where it developed by a year in the same five weeks such that it could be modified fully by the kingdom scientists. Such was the technology of time-splicing.

The ceremony was over in the space of an hour, by which Zoisite was sweating under the stingingly hot sun and glad to get indoors as fast as possible. Whichever part of his fair skin that was not covered was turning bright red in colour, and his scalp was itching under the captain’s beret. He hurried down the corridors to the North Wing and held his palm up before a square patch around his shoulders. The doors slid open silently, no longer as forbidding as it once seemed. In the relative safety of the Wing, he took off his beret and let his silky hair tumble down past his shoulders.

“Don’t you feel hot? Betcha wondering why you didn’t opt to shave it bald in the first place.”

Zoisite turned around slowly to find Jadeite smiling at him. It was still the same old infuriatingly calm, small smile. Nothing had changed in the six years that his mind had spent with his General.

“Not quite. I prefer it this way,” Zoisite replied candidly, not bothering to sound defensive with his superior. Both of them knew each other too well by now. “It looks better on me like that.”

Jadeite grinned. “You have an overly big ego. We ought to have come up with something more difficult for you so that you wouldn’t end up with a perfect score, but the engineers were lazy, so you get to keep the honour of being the first candidate to achieve that feat.”

Zoisite raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe they’re just becoming inept?” he tossed back casually as he disappeared into his rooms.

Jadeite stared at the closed door for a very long time. “Oh, really?” he mused aloud, smoothing his bangs away from his eyes in an automatic gesture. In that case, perhaps it was time that Zoisite be given a mission to accomplish to blood him. And then, maybe, he would recommend that the other two Generals take a look at him. If they hadn’t already. He couldn’t really tell with his peers.

Zoisite eyed the dossier placed squarely on his desk half in anticipation, half in a strange kind of fear of the unknown. Jadeite had already told him that his first assignment would come within the week, but it didn’t mean that he was quite prepared for it. He opened it and scanned through the contents. It was simple enough - assassinate a certain loud dissident that was causing more than a little embarrassment to the Queen. There wasn’t any deadline given, but Zoisite assumed that the Crown wanted the job down as fast as possible. He was mentally allocating the newt week to stalking him and finding out about his activities when his mind briefly entertained the idea of asking his seniors for information through their established network. Then he dismissed the notion. Better he learn things the hard way and set up his own informal information web than rely on others.

Jadeite regarded the scout in his office with somber sapphire eyes. “He didn’t approach any of you for help or assistance?”

The scout shook his head. “No. He’s been out the entire week by himself. None of us have seen him since Tuesday.”

The General steepled his fingers in front of him on his desk. Given the lad’s nature, he supposed it was natural for him to want to do things his own way rather than follow a prelaid path.

“Dismissed.”

“Yes sir.” The scout exited the room silently.

After perhaps a few minutes, a precise set of knocks interrupted his work. Jadeite called for the person to enter, not looking up from the notes laid in front of him.

“Sir.”

“I know. Take a seat.” The faint aroma of herbs could be smelt in the room causing Jadeite to glance up in surprise.

Zoisite sat in the chair casually, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He was dressed in plain commoner’s clothing, earth-toned and nondescript, and the slightly cloying scent of freshly dried herbs wafted from his figure.

“What’s this?” the General asked in surprise. “Did you just take a romp through some herbalist’s store?”

“Umm, something like that,” Zoisite replied, staring intently at his superior as if saying that he ought to know the actual reason for the smell.

Jadeite stared back. "Zoisite, I know that you're an intelligent kid, but not everybody is capable of making incredible leaps of deductions like you," he complained.

"You don't think I have so much free time as to ramble through shops in the streets do you?"

Jadeite rocked backwards in his chair, running various possibilities through his mind. Then... “Oh, I see. I should expect the press to carry an article tomorrow about the death by food poisoning of a respected dissident?” A half question.

Zoisite stretched fluidly, and stood up. “Close-”

“But not the bull’s eye.” Jadeite smiled, a real smile that Zoisite had only seen three times during the entire duration that he had known the General. “So tell, me what is it?”

“Korit has this habit of drinking herbal teas. I apprenticed myself to a local herbalist for a week and slipped into his house to introduce him to a new blend.”

“A concoction to die for,” Jadeite commented dryly then nodded his approval. “Wonderful!”

The Captain stood up and glided to the door in an unconscious display of grace. “If you do not mind, I’d like to take a bath right now.” He didn’t wait for Jadeite’s wave of the hand, just left the room. Jadeite wondered how his peers would take to this insolent youngling. He considered that thought for a while, head inclined at an angle, lips flexing upwards slightly. They might just be won over...But the time was still too early. Better wait for a while more first. And in the meantime, give him more chances to prove his worth. He would need it.

“Hey midget, heard about your promotion.”

Zoisite ignored the voice behind him and continued walking. If that idiot dared to lay a hand on him...

“Bastard, I’m talking to you. Just because you’ve got three pretty stripes on your sleeve doesn’t mean you can- Hey!” With a startled yelp, the private found himself on the floor with Zoisite’s boot on his throat and staring up into ice-cold emerald eyes. The slender Captain applied pressure downwards until the private was choking and gasping in fear.

“Get out of my sight,” he said quietly, almost pleasantly, his soft words eloquently conveying a threat of violence that no amount of action or volume could possibly hope to emulate.

“Yes sir!” the private gasped out, his garbled voice barely understandable.

With a final disdainful look, Zoisite raised his foot off the man’s throat and walked off.

“Here are his records.” Jadeite passed the folder to the General sitting opposite him.

“You think he’s good enough?” the deep voice asked, reaching for the folder and flipping through it.

“Not think. I know he’s good enough,” Jadeite corrected confidently, catching another pair of sapphire eyes.

“Neff, What do you think?”

“Worth a try, Jad. Kunzite?”

The silver haired man tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the desk. “Since both of you are agreeable to the trial, why not? Jadeite, summon this Zoisite to the laboratory tomorrow at eight.”

Jadeite grinned. “Right!”

Nephrite pushed himself off the wall that he was leaning against. Without his slouching, it was clear for everyone to see that he topped Jadeite by about half a head, his long wavy mahogany hair falling midway to his back.

“You know, I’ll be glad if Zoisite gets through the test.”

“Oh, why’s that?” Nephrite asked, playing along.

Jadeite smirked. “He’s shorter than me!”

Kunzite chuckled. “You must be so relieved. It’s difficult enough trying to find somebody your height.”

Jadeite rolled his eyes. “I’m telling the truth. He reaches around my eyebrows. Oh and Neff, he’s got longer hair than you.”

Nephrite blasphemed incredulously, not to mention creatively, through six long inventive sentences. “No kidding, and I thought I was the only mad one.”

“Vain one,” Kunzite corrected.

“Whatever,” the mahogany haired General retorted sharply. “This one I want to see. Bet it was your idea, Jade,” he muttered out, glaring at the younger man to his right.

Jadeite flashed him a sly grin and blinked innocently for Kunzite’s benefit. “Pardon me, I didn’t catch what you said,” he said, trying to sound angelic and nearly succeeding if not for the wild glint in his eyes.

End of part One.