Chapter Text
Fuji Shuusuke doesn’t make house calls.
See, that’s the whole point of building up a reputable business. If people want him, they’ll come to him. The Tachibana Kippei had crossed the damn continent during a week-long thunderstorm to track him down after all, so Fuji counts that as a notable accomplishment on his resume. After all, it isn’t like it’s an easy feat to get to him.
Now it isn’t as if he’s trying to hide away per se; he just prefers the energy here. There is something captivating about the region in general, this particular patch of land. Fuji’s been to many enchanted forests in his life. He knows the aura they bring, why mages tend to be drawn to them, those with earth affinities especially. But he wasn’t tricked into settling down here the way some mages might’ve been. For Fuji, it was because he had a good feeling about the forest the second he stepped within its borders, and his good feelings were always bang on.
And it isn’t as if he likes being stuck at home. Quite the contrary, his job takes him far and wide, and Fuji’s no stranger to seeing things through to the end. But there’s something comforting about it all starting from the same place, from a client making the trek to his home, asking him if he’s willing to take a job. Part of the beauty of being a freelancer is exactly this: dictating his own terms and conditions. It’s been quite some time since he made a name for himself, enough to survive without the employ of any of the major magical associations, even thrive. And in that time, Fuji’s realized just how picky he can allow himself to be now.
Besides, anyone who’s not willing to journey into a remote enchanted forest for his services just aren’t serious enough – and based off his experience, there are plenty of people who are.
So, Fuji’s created a system of sorts since he became popular.
First, they have to find him.
Where he lives is an open secret. It doesn’t take too much work to find out if one knows the right people to talk to. Fuji’s plenty confident in his own seals and abilities that he doesn’t mind making his residence his primary place of work. But what he’s testing is if the client will take those necessary steps to find him, and of course, that they can afford him.
Getting to where Fuji lives, a couple of days out from any major city, is both a time and likely monetary commitment. Enchanted forests, first and foremost, are protected from being reached via magical means, the most common being teleportation arrays. The closest point of access to him then, is at least half a day’s hike. That always felt like a bare minimum kind of commitment to Fuji, getting off their butt to actually walk somewhere. For that effort, Fuji will listen to their problem. Even more so if they found some other ingenious way to get to him.
Regardless, despite teleportation arrays becoming widely commercialized with non-mages in recent years, they still didn’t exactly come cheap. So, spending one on the trip signalled that the problem they wanted Fuji to help solve was a big deal, at least from their perspective.
Which leads to the second part of his system: the actual problem at hand.
By the time they actually arrive, it’s at least comforting to think that Fuji doesn’t turn down many clients. Sometimes, the issue isn’t so interesting, but if he had the time, he figures, what the hell. Other times, he’d just refer them off to an expert instead, and brush off the majority of his usual hefty fee.
Every time he hears a knock on the door, Fuji’s attention would flutter with anticipation. That’s why he just hangs up whenever he gets a call detailing a sob story or another – he likes the surprise. Plus, see factor number one.
But of course, there have been times when Fuji’s been swamped and just couldn’t take more work on, and other times, well, there are some crazy people out there.
And then, there’s those people who come to him, pleading for help with their arduous, proclaimed urgent problem – when in fact that only rose from a distorted sense of self-importance.
For example, once, a man named Mizuki whatshisname had came to find him at Yuuta’s urging. Now, Fuji was certainly never one to deny his little brother anything, but damn was that man the most self-absorbed person he’s ever met. It had taken so long to pry the issue out from his lips that Fuji almost didn’t want to hear it – and when he did, he was instantly sure it was not worth his time. If not for Yuuta, Fuji would have forcibly expelled him out the door! But instead, he sat there and listened to Mizuki’s story for over an hour before whipping him up a quick cleansing brew, a semi-detailed reading, and resolutely declaring that his bad luck was in fact, all in his head.
This case, however, is an exception.
The client was a referral from an old mentor and friend of his, Ryuzaki Sumire, on behalf of one of her professors. Fuji had promised to take the case on as soon as the man knocks on his door, but got woefully taken out of his element when Sumire stated that he wouldn’t be doing that at all.
“Why not? You know how I operate; I can’t take his case if he doesn’t see me.” Fuji had asked, more curious than annoyed.
And then Sumire broke his second rule and proceeded to tell Fuji exactly why. And whether out of longstanding respect or just pure intrigue, Fuji didn’t tell her to stop.
“You know I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice.” She had said.
“That’s what you always say.” Fuji had retorted.
“But I got your attention, didn’t I?”
Indeed, that she did.
That brings him to today. Ironically, his newest client also so happens to live on the border of an enchanted forest. Fuji had begrudgingly drawn up an old hasty teleportation array himself, rusty as he was, but he didn’t mind taking a detour if the exact coordinates were slightly off. It isn’t like the cities, labeled doors and straight roads, so he’s not expecting a perfect landing by any means. He just hoped it wasn’t too far of a detour.
Luckily for Fuji, he was only about an hour off the mark. After admiring the scenery along the route, all sky-tall willows and wistful brooks, Fuji finally stops in front of the small bungalow, pleased to have made it to his destination.
But since he’s a professional, there’s no harm in checking. He drops his suitcase by his feet and pulls out a crumpled scroll from his back pocket. Unfurling it, he waves his hand over the ink on the page. A smoky image rises from the page, splaying out like a projection, wispy and dreamlike. Fuji glances up at the house, and then at the mini house flickering in his palm, and smiles.
He made it.
The house before him is not large at all. In fact, Fuji would call it kind of small, homey even. It’s a flat one-storey dwelling with ocher-coloured tiles for walls, a dark red roof with a matching door. There’s a set of silver windchimes hung up above the door, a classic guest screening tool. At a first glance, it looks to be charmed with multiple layers of enchantments and seals, as expected from a professor under Sumire’s employ, but none of them threatens Fuji.
So, Fuji reaches out and touches it, signaling his arrival. It sways gently from the touch of his fingers, the sound vibrating, crisp and beautiful. He hears it echo inside too, the same melody but in a different tone. By the sounds of it, an intention spell, a mirror charm, maybe even a magical affinity check. The latter wouldn’t help his client anyway, Fuji thinks soulfully.
Then he hears sturdy doorsteps from inside, rising in volume until they stop at the door. A heartbeat later, it swings open – and on the other side is a man who Fuji presumes must be his client.
He’s tall, taller than Fuji, almost as tall as the door frame itself. His expression is unexpectedly stoic, faint frown lines across his forehead and a matching frown gracing his lips.
To be honest, it catches Fuji off guard, because people are usually so grateful for his presence that he’s used to being greeted with anywhere from an ecstatic smile to downright euphoria. This man on the other hand, Tezuka, if he remembers the name correctly, looks at him through a pair of glasses and narrow eyes as if Fuji’s just another irksome solicitor going door to door.
As if he’s not Fuji Shuusuke.
It’s – huh, actually kind of refreshing. It relieves the pressure in a way.
Because he’s here for two reasons: as a favour, and to satiate his own curiosity. Sumire had given him an overview of the case, and given what he knew, his first impression was frankly blank and a little stumped. Not that Fuji’s planning to fail, but it’d be best if his client didn’t pin all his future hopes and dreams on him being able to work a miracle.
“I’m Fuji Shuusuke. You requested me?” He asks, giving the other man his best, most professional smile, just a few notches shy of dazzling.
Tezuka gives him a firm nod and steps aside, bowing ever so slightly, seemingly unaffected. How polite of him.
“Of course. Please come in. I’m Tezuka Kunimitsu, I believe Ryuzaki Sumire contacted you.” Tezuka answers and steps aside.
His voice is deep, calm, like nothing could shake him.
Nodding, Fuji takes Tezuka up on the invite and steps inside the confines of Tezuka’s home, dusting off the soles of his boots on the doormat.
“She did … and promised me it’d be worth my while.” Fuji smiles, eyes curled in their usual crescent moons. They remain for a second before he drops it in favour of taking a look around.
The interior is neat, really neat, not a speck of dirt to be seen. It’s quite a feat, really, especially if it’s done without magical means. The colours around the room are warm, but erring on the side of neutral, minimal furniture placed around in optimal placements to allow for more open space. It feels like a place built for one, an air of efficiency attached to it. There is thought put into it too though. Fuji can tell by the hung paintings and quilted blankets on the sofa, flavour and taste befitting a professor.
“I appreciate you being here. Please.”
Fuji looks up to see Tezuka gesturing him towards the living room table, set up with four chairs despite every indication that Tezuka lives alone.
Getting right down to business huh, Fuji thinks to himself, but follows the other man’s lead and takes a seat, tucks himself in.
“Coffee? Tea?”
Fuji shakes his head.
“Water is fine.”
Tezuka follows suit and returns with two clear glasses of water, and sets them down on two wooden coasters. Fuji takes one with a quiet thank you, takes a sip before placing it back down.
“So, Sumire told me the gist, but I’d really like to hear the full story from you, Tezuka.” Fuji begins to say, propping his elbows onto the table to lean forward slightly.
Instead of launching into his story, the way his clients tend to immediately do, Tezuka furrows his eyebrows, his lips still tightly lined.
“You call her Sumire?”
Fuji blinks his eyes open in surprise, but then he quickly remembers to revert to their usual crinkled smile.
“Well, ever since I helped her with Gakuto’s anti-gravitational potion incident, we agreed to be on a first name basis. It’s weird, I know, given how long I’ve known her.” Fuji explains, chuckling to himself.
“Gakuto … I remember. You did a good job with fixing him up.” Tezuka says sincerely.
Fuji smiles at the recognition. So, Tezuka has heard of him.
“You’re one of her professors, right? You must be familiar with my work then, though I apologize, I haven’t met you before.”
The first time Fuji had answered Ryuzaki Sumire’s call after graduating was a couple of years back. Ever since, she’d proceeded to toss a student or two his way periodically to seek his help. Fuji never made any exceptions for her students either, in fact, floating the idea that if it gets too tough for them, that it could double as one of their final examinations. Sumire, with a roaring laugh, said she’ll take it under advisement.
Hence, despite having seen quite a few Seigaku students, Fuji’s only set foot on its campus only a handful of times. Even then, whenever he was there, he tended to look at the students’ behaviour, not so much the professors.
Tezuka though, thinking about it now, looked a little young to be a professor. Despite his ultra serious expression and the way he’s dressed, a dark sweeping mage’s robe despite it being the middle of summer, Fuji guesstimated Tezuka couldn’t be much older than him.
Which is to say, fairly young, at least by his books.
Then again…Fuji would consider himself more than qualified to teach at Seigaku, so maybe Tezuka was too. He’d have to be, to come under Sumire’s employ.
Tezuka must have not gone to Seigaku then, if they don’t know each other, the thought flashes through Fuji’s head. Maybe he’s from out of continent, studied at Shitenhoji or something.
“I am. And I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.” Tezuka answers, but again, not in a way Fuji’s used to. No elaboration, just curt, straight to the point, his expression so still it was statue-like.
“Me too. Anyway, this house call is a favour, if you know of my usual policies?” Fuji presses on, his smile Cheshire-like.
It’s not like Fuji’s no good at small talk, but this feels a bit bizarre to him. For a moment, Fuji contemplates that perhaps he’s losing his charm, because most of his clients, while frustrated at their ordeal, at least cracks a smile at his easygoing tone.
“And I am very grateful, Fuji.” Tezuka answers back with a serious nod.
Still nothing, wow.
“Anyway, that must explain why she was so eager to have me help you. You must be one of her favourites.” Fuji teases, switching tactics.
He’s been here for five minutes and he doesn’t think he’s even seen Tezuka’s mouth go higher than barely level. He could only imagine how his students would feel in his classroom every day, being stared down with such intensity.
Probably terrified.
“I just try to do my job, which has been difficult to do as of late.” Tezuka replies, shooting Fuji’s compliment down politely.
Oh.
“It’s still gone, huh?” Fuji asks softly after a pause, gazing at Tezuka with thinly veiled sympathy from across the table.
Tezuka grimaces for a split second, but it fades just as quickly.
“I wouldn’t waste your time here if it had returned.” He says solemnly.
Fuji doesn’t know Tezuka at all, not really, but from what little he knows, that statement sounds quite apt.
He also can’t tell if Tezuka usually looked like he was trained to be a covert spy, taught to never show emotion lest he get caught, or just has a stick stuck up his ass, but he has a vague feeling that this could either work in his favour or very much against it. To Fuji, Tezuka Kunimitsu comes across very honest, but also very restrained. It isn’t so much whether or not he trusts Tezuka’s words so much as he’d wonder if he’s missing something, if there’s something Tezuka isn’t sharing with him that could be pertinent to his case.
But they won’t get anywhere if Tezuka doesn’t talk, and it didn’t seem like he was the type to launch into it without some prodding.
So, Fuji takes the initiative and asks again, letting his smile finally fall.
“Would you start at the beginning? What happened the day your magic vanished?”
This is his job after all, and he does take it and his reputation seriously. After all, it is one of his many prized possessions, his spotless record. It’s that which allows him to pick and choose his clients, to do his job the way he wants to, without the bureaucracy of all the other agencies breathing down his back.
It also so happens to a job he liked, one he’s proud of.
It’d just be silly if he broke his own self-imposed rules for a case that he ended up failing at.
Good thing Fuji Shuusuke doesn’t intend to fail.