Saori Part 1

Saori had never been inside the Ito Institute’s austere ballroom before, having only seen the building from the outside. It was much more glamorous compared to the rest of the campus, most likely due to its exclusive use for hosting events such as this. The ceiling is dominated by a massive crystal chandelier which casts a brilliant prismatic glow over the crowd. Orchestral music echoes from speakers hidden in the rafters. Even though the interior is the size of a small airplane hangar, it is sparsely occupied—only about four-dozen people are attending the Dance tonight.

A silver platter of soda- and juice-filled champagne glasses is balanced on Saori’s outstretched arm. She scans the room with tired eyes. Dressed in the Ito Institute’s white uniform, with black and red highlights, she cuts a professional figure. She stands ramrod straight, ready at a moments notice to deliver a refreshing drink to any partygoers in need. With a careful tug, she adjusts the S/AD collar around her neck. The device doesn’t usually bother her due to its constant presence around her throat, but the stress of tonight’s event is stifling.

The Ito Institute’s Graduation Dance celebrates the end of middle school, but despite the name, no students that are actually from the Ito Institute are partying tonight. At least, not yet. The attendees make up two separate groups, easily identifiable by their outfits. The first and larger group consists of Lords and Ladies wearing fancy clothing—tailored suits, elegant dresses, and expensive jewelry. The product of highly exclusive prep schools and private tutors, they busy themselves with conversation, concessions, and ballroom dancing.

On the other end of the spectrum, busying themselves with serving food and drink, is the second group, made up of boys and girls dressed in the Institute’s uniform. These are the true graduates of the Ito Institute, and it shows: despite being only 14 to 15 years old, they conduct themselves with excellent manners and form, easily maneuvering amongst the crowd while handling fully-loaded platters of food or drink.

Other than the teenagers, there are also a half-dozen chaperones; Ito Institute teachers and staff dressed in their own black uniforms, with white and red highlights. They act in a similar capacity to a head maid: directing and encouraging the students as they perform their serving tasks.

There is a gold band tied around Saori’s arm, constantly visible out of the corner of her eye. She is acutely aware of the message it is silently broadcasting to everyone else in the ballroom: “I am the best.”

It’s not that Saori doesn’t appreciate the armband and what it represents. Achieving the number one spot in her class took a lot of hard work and dedication, and wearing the gold armband is proof of that. In the end, the validation hardly matters to Saori, not that the validation was even meant for her in the first place. She didn’t work hard for the sake of being number one, she did it to guarantee her escape.

Saori finds herself focusing on the Ladies twirling about the dance floor, laughing and holding onto their dance partners without a care in the world. She wonders what it would be like to live like them. As far as she could remember, Saori had never worn a dress in her life, certainly not at the Institute. Being Ladies, these girls could have anything they wanted and be anything they wanted. They were free, while Saori was anything but.

A boy approaches her, his navy-blue suit and gold ear-piercings advertising his Lordship. His shoulder-length blonde hair is pulled back into a small bun, an uncommon style. He regards her armband with golden-brown eyes that remind Saori of butterscotch candy and her stomach does a little flip once they meet hers. He smiles, “So, you’re the top graduate this year?”

Saori quietly clears her throat before responding, “Yes, your Grace.”

Saori offers the young Lord her tray of drinks, which he carefully selects a glass of cola from. He takes a sip before introducing himself, “My name is Clain, Clain Hughes.”

“It is a pleasure, your Grace.” She nods her head respectfully.

“I was looking at your profile earlier and I have to say I’m very impressed, if a little skeptical. You specialize in using the Katana? That’s not an easy weapon to wield.”

“Yes, your Grace. I have studied with the weapon extensively over the past two years.”

“Of course. That’s what your profile said. It also said that you have a win/loss of 84/5?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“That must be one of the highest ratios in the Institute’s history?”

Saori pauses, considering the mild disbelief in Clain’s voice. She decides to play it safe with a simple response, “So I’ve heard, your Grace.”

Clain looks Saori over again. “Meeting you in the flesh like this, I just can’t believe that a girl like you could have such a high record.”

“Oh, really?” Saori drops her air of respect, her expression changing to one of mild indignation. “Then perhaps you’d like a demonstration of my skill? I don’t mind kicking your—”

Saori stops herself short, mentally chastising herself; she should know better than to talk to a Lord like this. Hopefully, she stopped herself in time.

For his part, Clain is taken aback by Soari’s sudden choice of words, a look of surprise plastered on his face. After a moment, he takes a breath. “Wow. Well, that kind of response was unexpected.”

“Well it’s the truth.” Saori’s anger turns into confusion and embarrassment. “Didn’t you see the recordings of my matches? You just said that you read my profile. You know the stats published by the Ito Institute are taken very seriously.”

“Of course I did.” He averts his eyes, studying the polished marble floor. With a deep breathe, he begins to nervously fidget with one of his ear-piercings. “I’m just surprised. I wasn’t expecting you to be so…”

“So… what?”

Clain blushes and clams up, causing an awkward silence to settle over the conversation. He impulsively throws back his head and pounds the rest of his cola before placing the empty glass back on Saori’s tray. With a closed fist, he covers his mouth and stifles a resulting burp.

“I just wasn’t expecting you to be so…” He pauses, thinking very hard about how to finish his sentence. “So, uh, feisty?”

At first, Saori doesn’t buy his reply, his uncertain tone making her question if he’s telling the truth. Eventually, she averts her eyes, embarrassed by her lack of composure, the anger she harbored before completely gone. “My apologies. I have trouble controlling my temper, though I’m sure you already knew that based on my profile?”

“Yeah…” Clain laughs nervously. He seems disappointed for some reason, but quickly changes the topic, “Why did you choose the katana anyway?”

“No reason in particular.”

“Really?”

Before Clain can say anything else, a girl in a turquoise dress yells excitedly, attracting looks of curiosity and annoyance from the other partygoers.

“Claaaiiinnn! Clain, I thought that was you! Hey!”

The girl homes in on Clain like a heat-seeking missile, clutching his arm possessively on arrival and gushing complements like a broken faucet.

“Oh my gosh, look at you! You’re so cool Clain, your hair looks great! I absolutely love the piercings!”

“Thanks Lidia.” Clain smiles, not bothered in the least with her high energy or the attention she’s attracting. “I thought I’d try a new look before we arrive on Arena Island.”

“As if you didn’t look good enough already!”

He laughs, not seeming to take the girl seriously.

“Hey! Have you met Angelo and Sabrina, yet? Let me introduce you!” She drags him away, chattering all the while. “What do you think of my dress, Clain? I heard that turquoise was in style right now, but I don’t see anyone else wearing the color. Maybe it was tourmaline? Hey, are you listening? Clain…” He weakly attempts to resist the girl’s efforts, indicating Saori with a hand, but Lidia doesn’t seem to care and he quickly gives up.

With a gentle breathe, Saori calms herself. Before tonight, she had never met an aristocrat and Clain was far from what she had been expecting. Hopefully Saori’s temper hadn’t just destroyed any interest he had in her. Despite having taken etiquette classes for nine years, the subject had never been her strong suit, especially when it came to keeping her opinions to herself. Thankfully, it was just a misunderstanding and Clain didn’t seem to mind too much. She wonders what he was really trying to say when he said she was “feisty”.