Clint bent over backwards to avoid a swipe that would've torn out his intestines, before returning the favour and carving the four-armed-mutant-dog-looking-thing from hip to shoulder. Shimmering red light cloaked him, and the Chitauri that was about to skewer him in his moment of vulnerability instead found itself holding a melting weapon, shrieking in pain.
"You're getting slow," Wanda called out to him, standing atop a nearby piece of wreckage. There was blood at her temple, staining her hair.
He put a dart through the eye of the insect person lining up a shot at her back. "I knew you had it," he said, trying to regain his wind. "Do you think you could finish up here? I forgot my bow, and my sword is getting blunt."
Wanda flicked her hands out, like one might when shooing away bugs, and motes of red streaked out to strangle and twist those it hit. "Cardio is good for you," she said, but her words were without heart, and her eyes were roving the chaos of the battlefield. "Can you see him?"
He didn't have to ask who she meant. "Not since he killed half his army trying to escape you."
A sound rang across the battlefield that felt like burning shivers crawling down their spines, and a wash of purple light followed it. Clint and Wanda shared a glance, and then they were off, rushing towards it in a breathtaking display of lack of self preservation. One of the space whales saw and sought to make a meal of them, but found itself crumpled and crushed, even as Clint cut down three Chitauri that rushed Wanda in her distraction. They reached their goal and took in the scene, just in time to see Tony push himself up, armour battered and ruined. Six ominous lights shone on his gauntlet.
"No," Clint said, full of denial. "Not again."
Lightning flashed, and Thor descended from the skies to land beside Tony. A moment later, Cap limped out from the shadows, joining them. Clint couldn't help but laugh, the sudden relief he felt a fire in his heart.
"What are they doing?" Wanda hissed. Red energy twined between her fingers, but she hesitated, unsure.
"They're being all dramatic and shit," Clint said. "It's over. We've won."
Then Tony snapped his fingers, and things went sideways.
X
Clint blinked, sitting up straight in the cushioned chair he found himself in. All around was whiteness, a bright room without end. He squinted instinctively, but realised it wasn't hurting his eyes. He blinked, and there was a flimsy office table in front of him, groaning under the weight of paperwork. He blinked again, and a man in a cheap suit was sitting on the other side of it. He had no face.
"What the fuck," Clint blurted. He reached for his sword, but its sheath was empty. His quiver was still on his back, but its lightness told him it too was empty.
"Mr Barton," the faceless office drone said. He was doing paperwork, rapidly signing and stamping reams of paper. "Thank you for joining me here today. This won't take long."
"You've got about five seconds to explain what's going on before I climb over that table to get at you. Five. Fo-"
"That little dustup you had has drawn the eyes of my superiors," the being said, speaking casually as some unseen force silenced Clint, his vocal cords refusing to work. "Dimensional walls thinned and in need of repair, reincarnations knocked off course, unauthorised crossover events…generated quite a bit of paperwork, too. Terribly inconsiderate."
Whatever hold was on him loosed. "How awful for you," Clint said. The smooth skin that stretched across the thing's face left him unsure where to look, and the muscles underneath it that still formed expressions left him disquieted.
The faceless man nodded, acting as if he had been serious. "Part of the job of a celestial bureaucracy, but still, tiring."
"People died."
"Yes, but no one important stayed dead," the being said. "My point is, we had to put in quite a bit of overtime on this one, and upper management put in a request for entertainment as a sort of 'thank you' for all our hard work. We were hoping for that plucky arachnid kid, but you'll have to do."
"I will put an arrow," Clint said slowly, "so far up your-"
"You'll be returned to the moment you were taken, and we'll add five healthy years to your lifespan to make up for the time you missed with your family."
The archer shut his mouth, but only for a moment. "What do you need me to do?"
"Excellent! We had hoped and planned for a harem comedy, but we've had to step quickly now that you're here," the faceless man said. He continued to stamp and sign paperwork at a rapid pace. "Still, we were able to repurpose most of our preparations to suit you."
Clint had a bad feeling about all this. "I'm married," he said. "Very married."
"We've transitioned into an underdog sports drama instead," the being continued, ignoring him. "All you must do is coach a high school archery team to victory in the regional final."
"...what's the catch?"
"No catch," the being said, far too cheerily. "You just need to take a group of Japanese teenagers, caught up in the throes of puberty, and teach them how to use a deadly weapon."
"Wait, no one said anything about Japa-"
The faceless man stamped the final page before themselves with a sense of finality. "Everything has been taken care of. Good luck."
The brightness of the room began to increase, growing so bright that Clint could see nothing but painful white light. He closed his eyes against it, the flicking of pages grew loud in his ears, and then he stumbled as he was pulled up onto the sidewalk, out of the way of a speeding white truck.
"You should watch where you're going," a man said, speaking Japanese, letting go of his shoulder.
Clint looked around wildly, disorientated by the sudden shift in his surrounds. The featureless white room he had sat in so briefly with the faceless man was gone, and now he stood outside the local school, about to start his first day at work. It had a tall, dark grey concrete wall, sparse greenery planted along it, and a road around it. He blinked, as he remembered things he had never learned. He knew where his apartment was, where he hid his spare key, the route he walked to get to where he was now. He remembered waxing the string of his bow, packed away in the soft case slung over his back.
"Are you ok?" the man said, watching him with concern. He was dressed in a suit, balding, and had a plastic pocket protector in his breast pocket, coloured pens in it.
"Yes, thank you," Clint said, dragging his mind back on track. "I was just distracted; it's my first day here." Subtly, he pretended to scratch his temple, and his fingers came away unstained by any of the grime and blood he had been covered in what felt like only minutes ago.
The man brightened. "Oh, you must be Barton-san! We were told you were coming. I am Nakamura Ichiro, mathematics teacher." He gave a slight bow.
"Cl- Barton Clint, gym teacher," Clint said, returning the bow. Something about the interaction sat strangely with him, but his time in Japan hadn't been spent in the most polite of company.
There was a beep, and Nakamura glanced at his watch. "Excuse me, I'm running late. Good luck with your first day!"
Clint watched as Nakamura hurried on, walking through the gates and into the school proper. On the wall beside the gate, in shiny plastic lettering, was a sign.
ノーブランド高校 the sign on the wall read. Nōburando High School.
The archer, adrift in some strange world, set his shoulders and walked through the gates. If that creepy supernatural office drone was telling the truth, all he had to do was teach a bunch of teens to shoot and he'd get back the years he had been robbed of with his family. Easy.
Inside the gates was a large courtyard, lined on the other sides by three story buildings. A large tree dominated the centre, casting shade over most of it. He did not have long to inspect his new workplace, however.
A shriek of surprise came from behind him, and he turned. On the same road that he had nearly been run over, a school girl had been sprinting towards the school. She had tripped on the curb, messy purple hair sticking up in all directions and a panicked look on her face as she barreled towards him, arms pinwheeling to keep her balance. The piece of toast she held in her mouth completed the picture.
Time seemed to slow as Clint noticed the arrows sticking out of the bag on her back, and he moved to react. Well, there were worse ways to meet a prospective student.
Springing off one leg, Clint stepped out of the way of imminent harm and the possibility of ending up with an armful of student before he had even started his first day at work. The girl tumbled past him, arms still spinning, and she skidded to a stop without taking a nasty fall onto the cobblestones. The toast she carried was not so lucky, coming free from her mouth as she bit the corner off in her panic.
The girl looked crestfallen as she regathered herself, staring down at the piece of toast with a hangdog look. "Aw, breakfast."
"You alright there?" Clint asked, startling her, and she turned to face him.
"Ahhh, I'm so sorry!" the girl said, bowing, hands flat against her trousers. "I could have killed you!"
"More dangerous have tried," Clint said dryly. "Don't worry about it. What's your name?"
The girl looked impressed and intrigued for a moment as she straightened up. She was maybe a head shorter than he was. "Midori Lily, sensei."
"You're on the archery team?" Clint asked.
"How did you know?" Lily asked.
"I'm the new archery teacher," Clint said.
The impressed look returned. "Did you see the archer's callus on my fingers? The string scar on my arm?" Suddenly, her enthusiasm waned as her brain appeared to kick in. "...my name was on the class list, wasn't it."
"No, your arrows are sticking out of your bag."
A metaphorical stormcloud appeared over her head as she slumped. "I'll just…go." She rallied, perking herself up. "Welcome to Nōburando High, sensei!"
"I'll see you in class, Midori," Clint said. "Watch your step."
Lily snapped to something that vaguely resembled attention and attempted an America salute. "Hai, sensei!" She turned and ran off, almost slipping on her fallen toast.
Clint watched as she disappeared into one of the stairwells that led up into the building block to the right. At a more sedate pace, he began to follow. He had an appointment with the principal in the same building, and - he paused. Until that moment, he hadn't had a clue about the meeting; it had popped into his head from nowhere, but now he remembered being called by the school and agreeing to it. He fought down a shiver. Having someone fiddling with his mind, again…
Agonising over it wouldn't change things, not until he was face to not-face with another of those faceless bastards and could put an arrow somewhere sensitive. He adjusted the tie of his suit and marched onwards, making for the administration section at the end of the top story.
He had noticed the lack of kids running around, loud and excitable, and as he passed through the building he saw why. They were already in class, homeroom by the look of it, and some glanced out the windows curiously as he passed. All seemed to be older teenagers, though few had hair as uncommonly coloured as Lily's. Most seemed to be well behaved, though he did pass a classroom where a boy and a girl were having a shouting match in front of the blackboard, the teacher sitting to the side with his head in his hands as the class looked on, entertained.
The school was well looked after, though perhaps not well funded. There was not a single bit of graffiti in the concrete stairwell, and no gum on the pale blue walls, but there were scratches on the class windows though they were well cleaned, and the fluorescent lights tended to flicker, even if the protective casing was empty of insects. There was a dedicated team of janitors on the job, it seemed.
With class in session, he was the only one making his way through the building, and when he reached the admin section it was similarly deserted. There was a reception area with chairs, and a counter with glass windows separating it from the actual office space. He could hear someone moving about deeper within the office side, but that was it.
Well, he was an employee. Tapping the bell on the counter, he stepped through the door beside it, ignoring the faded motivational poster exhorting students to do their best on it. There was a wall behind the counter, blocking sight into the office from the reception, but as he entered he found an open layout of numerous workspaces, all with their own large desk and plenty of room, though much was buried under paperwork. Light streamed in through the windows on either side of the space, and a small kitchenette at the far left end with a well loved coffee maker. There was what looked like a meeting table in the middle, and not a single cubicle to be seen.
Sound drew his eye, and a head rose above a table. A young woman blinked at him, visibly wondering why a strange American was in her office. She had long black hair and a button nose.
"Good morning," Clint said. "I'm Barton Clint, I have a meeting with the principal?"
Realisation crossed her face. "Ah! My apologies, I was meant to greet you, but I had to fix my computer." She rose to her feet, rubbing at reddened knees. She wore a loose tie for some reason. "I'm Wakimoto Kimiko, but please, call me Kimiko-san. I coordinate things here in the senior school office."
"I'm here now, Kimiko-san," Clint said, waving it off. "Is there anything I should know, going in?"
"Gendo-san is easy to work for, you'll be fine," Kimiko said. She sank back into her chair, rolling into her desk as she pushed a button on her computer screen. Biting her lips, she held her breath, until it gave a chime. "Success!" she cheered. "Only five minutes before it boots, now…"
"So, should I just…?" Clint asked.
"Ahh! Sorry again!" Kimiko said. "Yes, Gendo-san said to go in whenever you arrive. He's in the office at the back there." She gestured to a door on the other end of the office, along from the kitchenette. "Let me be the first to welcome you to Nōburando High!"
"Ichiro-san beat you to it, sorry," Clint said, as he began to make his way through the narrow office lanes between desks and chairs, both often covered in folders and stacked printouts.
Kimiko pouted. "He gets all the luck. Hope some rubbed off on you!"
"Thanks?" Clint said as he reached the door. 'Abe Gendo' read the bronze plaque on the door. On closer inspection, the 'Abe' part looked much more weathered than the 'Gendo' section. Putting it from his mind, he knocked, and waited.
"Come in," a muffled voice said.
Clint took a breath, and stepped through. He was an Avenger. He had killed monsters. He could deal with this, though he did wonder what it said about him that he was more nervous about a job interview/meeting with a school principal than with Fury.
The office was utterly average, and completely forgettable. It was like someone had distilled 'school administrator' to its base essence, and then painted the walls with it. A bookshelf lined the wall to the left, filled with shiny folders that were rarely touched, and windows the right, looking out over the central courtyard. A desk faced him, and sitting behind it was a bespectacled man in a suit, inspecting him with his fingers laced before his mouth.
"Good morning," the man said. Light reflected off his glasses. "I am Abe Gendo, school principal. You must be Clint Barton." He rose, and offered his hand. He had a slight gut, showing through the suit, but his arms were strong, and so was his grip.
"Pleased to meet you," Clint said, accepting the handshake with some surprise.
"I spent some time studying in America," Gendo explained, sitting again. He gestured for one of the two seats in front of his desk, and Clint sat. "I'd like to start by thanking you for taking the job on such short notice, even if your email said it was convenient for you."
"I was made a very compelling offer," Clint said, keeping his suspicions from showing. Was this man in with the faceless drone?
"Nōburando High School demands quality from its archery coach," Gendo said. "The remuneration for the position is quite literally written into our charter."
"That seems unusual," Clint offered.
"It is," Gendo said. "My grandfather founded this school when it was still outside the city limits, and he was a passionate archer. He wished to share this passion with his students. To that end, we have made archery a core subject in our curriculum."
"Makes sense," Clint said. 'What the fuck', he thought.
"The team you will guide are the best of our students," Gendo continued. "Normally, you would have leave to conduct trials to build the team, but this year the team has already been finalised."
"How's that?" Clint asked.
Gendo glanced at the closed door of his office, and leaned in closer. "You know that you will be starting a week into term, but what you don't know is why. Our previous coach was forced to quit unexpectedly."
"Quit?" Clint asked. "Family emergency?"
"He had an unfortunate run-in with some delinquents from another district, and his hand was injured in the struggle," Gendo said, face grave. "The latest in a run of poor luck with our coaches. I am hopeful that it will not continue."
"What else happened?" Clint said. "Should I be worried?"
Gendo waved him off. "Our long standing coach retired, and his replacement was lured away by an offer from a more prestigious school. His replacement had an accident at the local archery range, and his replacement was the one who was mugged."
"That's some bad luck," Clint said. That faceless bastard had called this a sports drama, right?
"Indeed," Gendo said, before making a dismissive gesture. "But that's behind us now. You have your team of five, for better or worse." He fixed Clint with a piercing stare, out of place on his otherwise average face. "What do you hope to achieve in your time here?"
"These kids are gonna win the regionals," Clint said. There was no room for doubt in his voice.
Gendo's brows shot up. "You've not yet met the students."
"Don't care," Clint said. "If they can physically draw a bow, I can get them there."
"I see," Gendo said, seemingly considering him in a new light. "Well, that's good to hear. It has been many years since Nōburando High had a new trophy to add to the case. Mid-way through my father's tenure, actually."
"Better dust it off then," Clint said.
Gendo snorted. "Pfft, dust. Not in-" A bell began to ring, cutting off whatever he had been about to say. It was shrill and loud, mechanical, not through some kind of intercom system, and it heralded a wave opening doors and chatter that rose up about them.
Children spilled out into the courtyard, though most seemed to be moving from room to room within the three main buildings, visible through the windows on verandahs and walkways, and up and down the stairwells. From what Clint could see through the office window, it looked like each building was used by a different age group.
"I see we've run out of time," Gendo said. "Did you have any final questions?"
"Nope," Clint said. He knew his timetable, and the school layout - his eye twitched as that faceless fuck did it again, inserting knowledge into his brain. "Nice to meet you, Gendo-san."
"And you, Clint-san," Gendo said. "Good luck to you. I have to face down the board in another budget meeting." He gestured to the thin laptop on his desk.
"We could swap," Clint suggested, getting to his feet.
Gendo pulled a face. "I'd rather deal with the blood suckers than students, this early in the morning."
Clint went on his way, laughing in the way that you had to when your boss made any kind of joke, slinging his bow case back over his shoulder as he closed the office door behind him. Kimiko was still at her desk, waiting for the computer to load, and she waved distractedly as he passed. The reception was busy, students lining up clutching forms and envelopes, while an old lady sat on a stool served them. He made his way out and through the halls, heading for the archery hall. He towered over everyone he passed, mostly because they were only teenagers but also because they were Japanese, and his appearance drew many looks. Two students rounding a corner at speed forced him to step aside, and neither seemed to notice, scowling at each other as they strode shoulder to shoulder, more focused on scowling at each other than where they were going. It was the same pair that he had seen shouting at each other earlier, and they were quickly out of sight.
The archery hall itself wasn't part of the three main buildings, but stood behind the senior school. Tall hedges surrounded its section of the grounds, just as well maintained as everything else Clint had seen, and stepping through them was like walking through a curtain, all other noise falling away. It was longer than it was wide, half again as long as the actual school building, and unlike the school, looked more visibly like a traditional Japanese building. Not that Clint was an expert on such things; he had been more focused on murdering Yakuza than on the architecture when he had visited in his own world. A torii gate was painted onto the wall around the double doors that led inside, and they swung open silently as he entered.
Inside was a long hall that ran the length of the building, windows on the other side allowing him to look into the hall proper and protect any visitors from the archery range on the other side. To his right, towards the front of the school, there were typical ringed targets set up, and to his left at the other end there was a shooting platform, slightly raised from the floor. Movement from beyond the targets caught his eye, and he saw a figure by a side door as they opened it. The light streaming in prevented him from getting a good look at them, but they seemed to glance back at him before stepping through and disappearing.
Clint focused on more important things - like the students waiting for him. Down the hall he walked, following it past the shooting platform and to a door that led into a room behind it. He stepped through, and four sets of eyes looked up at his entrance.
It wasn't exactly luxurious, but the amenities weren't lacking either. A row of benches ran down the middle of the room, designed for bow maintenance, and on the other side were two doors leading to locker rooms. The wall to the left was covered in racks full of every bit of archery equipment one could imagine, and to the right there was a sunken square of couches before the door that led to the range. That was where the students were sat, watching and evaluating him. He evaluated them in turn.
Two of them had risen as soon as he entered, and they bowed slightly as he looked them over. One was a young woman, tall and willowy, and she wore a long black skirt and white top that Clint recognised as a kyudo outfit after a moment. Straight black hair fell to her hips, and Clint could almost smell the old money. The other was a stocky young man, wearing glasses and with his hair cut short, but wearing more modern clothing, even if it all looked like new brand name gymwear.
The other two were still seated, and of them he recognised Lily with her purple hair, sitting facing him. She was wearing gymwear as well, but it looked like she had grown a few inches since buying it, and she beamed at him, waving. The other was a boy with hair that had been bleached, leaving it a violent orange, and he wore the school uniform, grey slacks and white shirt, though he had undone the top two buttons. He had his legs up on the coffee table between the couches, and his head was tilted back over the couch as he looked at Clint.
"Yo, sensei!" the boy with the bleached hair said. "Does that mean we can start shooting now?"
The eye of the boy standing twitched slightly, but he wasn't the one to scold him.
"Takashi-kun!" Lily said. She was fiddling with an arrow.
"Ah, sorry taichō," Takashi said, rubbing his head as he looked back to her. "I'm just all fired up!"
"Is that what happened to your hair?" the other boy said, completely serious.
"Man you gotta use those muscles in your face for something cause I got no idea if you're fucking around or not," Takashi said. "It's called an expression, you do it to convey emotion, Shiga."
"I did not know this," Shiga said. "Could you tell me more?" Shiga's face did not so much as twitch, and Clint would put money on it being him screwing with the other boy.
"Ebisu," the tall girl said, gently chiding, and Shiga bowed his head in apology.
Clint approached, setting his bow bag onto the closest bench and hopping up onto it. "You guys seem like you'll be fun. What's your name?" he asked the kyudo girl.
"Kusano Hisana," she said, giving another slight bow. "I am pleased to meet you, Sensei."
"And I'm Yamaga Takashi!" Takashi said. He joined the others on their feet, not to be respectful, but to point at him. "Don't forget it!"
"Let's see a bit of respect while we use deadly weapons, ok?" Clint said firmly. "But sure thing, Yamata."
Takashi flushed, shoulders hunching in, but then his brain caught up. "Wait a minute…"
Clint ignored him, already moving on. "Before we get started, there is one thing I'm going to say. Even if you alrea-"
An opening door interrupted him, and they all turned to it. Another student was poking their head through, like a rabbit venturing out of the burrow, and he flushed as he saw the attention on him. His eyebrows were somewhat thick, but his head was utterly bald.
"Yama-bro!" Takashi cheered, but quietly, still mindful of his scoldings.
"I apologise for my lateness sensei!" the boy said, bowing ninety degrees at the waist. His head gleamed under the lights. "I lost my way. It will not happen again!"
"What's your name?" Clint asked.
"Yamamoto Taro, sensei!" he said, still bowing.
"I'll hold you to it," Clint said. "Put your bag on the table, and join the others."
Taro straightened, and placed his bow bag on one of the benches, before scurrying over to the couches, stepping down into the recess to sit on the couch to the right.
"I know you're new, but how did you forget where the range was?" Takashi asked Taro, his whisper completely unsubtle.
Clint cleared his throat, and Takashi sat ramrod straight, turning back to him. "As I was saying. I expect you already know this, but it needs saying anyway: If anyone on this team points an arrow at someone, even as a joke, they're gone. We are using deadly weapons, and you will treat them as such. Understood?"
"Yes, sensei," the five kids chorused.
"Great," Clint said. "My name is Barton Clint, and I'll be your coach until we win the regionals. You-"
Lily fairly exploded from her seat, pointing at him dramatically. "The regionals?!? You think we can win the regionals?!"
"I do," Clint said
The purple haired girl began to do a fair impression of a boiling kettle, shifting from foot to foot. "Yyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeee-!"
"Lily," Hisana said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Lily took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "I'm good. I'm good." She opened them, staring straight at Clint. "I will do whatever it takes to help, Barton-sensei," she said.
Clint had heard less sincere death threats. "Great, but if you don't we'll be trying again until you do."
"What if we graduate before that?" Taro asked hesitantly.
"We'll be trying again until you do," Clint said again. It sounded like a threat.
Taro swallowed, leaning back.
Clint cast back to his prior train of thought. "You can call me coach, sensei, or sir, whatever you're most comfortable with. We're together for the next-" he glanced at his watch "-two hours, so let's move out to the range and see where we're at."
The students clambered out of the recessed couch area, heading over to where their bows were hanging on the wall closest to the range entrance, save Taro who followed suit with Clint and began unzipping his bow bag on a bench.
The bag was one Clint recognised; he had last seen it in his garage back home, packed away and gathering dust. Opening it, he revealed his work bow, matte black and looking brand new. He paused, suddenly concerned, and dug into the other pocket of the bag, searching for his quiver. He found what he feared, hand settling on the matching quiver, and all the arrows within.
Deliberately, he zipped up his bag again, leaving the quiver inside. There were arrows in the racks on the wall. He didn't need to bring his own arrows out. There was no need for any evidence of what he had brought onto school grounds to leave the bag. He would just…lock it up. The locker rooms would have lockers, surely. Yeah.
When Clint joined his students after safely stowing his explosive (and worse) arrows away, they were waiting for him on the shooting platform, waiting. He took a moment to inspect their bows. An archer's bow said a lot about them.
Lily carried an old wooden recurve, much loved and much used, but well cared for, and she plucked at its string as she stared down the range. She stood with Hisana, who carried a yumi bow, the enormous thing taller than her or Clint, and it looked old, but not in a worn way. It was handmade.
"That is a very American bow, sensei," Ebisu said. Like Hisana he carried a yumi, but his was new, and if it had been made by hand he couldn't tell at a glance. "What is the draw weight?"
"One seventy seven point six," Clint said.
Ebisu gave him a flat look.
"So cool, sensei!" Takashi said. He had a bow with the school's logo on it, a compound. "Mine is only forty pounds…"
"Draw weight rarely matters for competitions," Taro said, encouraging him. "It's about what you do with it!"
"Dude!" Takashi said, gaze shooting to Lily and back.
Taro just looked at him in puzzlement. His bow was also recurve, but metal, and looked fairly new, clearly purchased from a sporting goods store.
"You can't just say that in front of -" he gestured at the girls, and things quickly devolved into muttering. Ebisu gave a tired sigh.
Clint ignored their byplay, glancing down the range. The targets weren't exactly at an interesting distance, but they were far enough away that the kids would have to focus. "Alright. You've picked your lanes. Do I need to give you the safety talk?"
"Zaizen-sensei gave us a full lesson on it, before his accident," Lily said, breaking her staring contest with her target. "The office has our signed safety forms, too."
"Then let's get shooting," Clint said.
"Sensei?" Hisana asked politely. "Would you demonstrate for us before we start?"
"Sure," Clint said. He nocked one of the school arrows as he spoke with her, drew, and loosed. "Anything in particular you wanted to see?" He nocked another, drew, and loosed.
Hisana blinked as she looked downrange. "Just your technique in general, sensei…"
He nocked, drew, and loosed. "I just want to make sure you have confidence in my archery ability," he said. Nock, draw, loose. "If you guys are going to win the regionals, we need to have faith in each other." Nock, draw, loose.
"Holy shit," Takashi said.
"Language," Clint said, frowning at Takashi. He felt like Steve would be proud. Nock, draw, loose.
"You'll teach us this, right sensei?" Lily demanded.
Nock, draw, loose. "You'll learn," Clint said. Again, it sounded like a threat. Nock, draw, loose.
Taro was staring, open mouthed. "That is Olympic."
"I never competed," Clint said. Nock, draw, loose.
"Why were you approached only after Zaizen-sensei?" Ebisu asked, looking between Clint and the target.
Nock, draw, and loose. "Just worked out that way," he said, finally looking down the range at his target. Ten arrows, or rather, one arrow and the splinters of nine more, protruded from the target. Each of them had been split by the arrow following it, save the last. "I hope that answered any questions you had."
"Yes, sensei," Hisana said. "Very much so."
"Great," Clint said. "Now, let's get started. Regionals are only six months away."
Suddenly enthused, the five kids hurried to their place, and Clint settled in to watch their form. He had a good feeling about all of this.
High above, in a shadowed corner of the hall, the red light of a camera blinked as it recorded.
X
Clint walked along the rear of the shooting platform, watching his students as they worked their way through their quivers. There was a range of skill and aptitude on display, though his gut instinct had been right, and all had clearly earned their place here.
"Yamamoto, engage your shoulders as you draw," he said to the bald boy. He was clearly the newest, though he had a raw skill, and the feel for whether a shot was good or not the instant it left the string. "Don't be afraid to hold your shot until the right moment."
"Yes sensei," Taro said. He did so, and smiled as he loosed his next arrow. It landed in the inner circle.
"Good work," Clint said, moving on. He gave Lily a glance. The girl was actively working on a problem with her grip, so he said nothing. "Shiga," he said, as he reached the stocky boy.
"Sir?" Ebisu said, pausing with an arrow nocked.
"What made you choose a yumi?" Clint asked.
Ebisu glanced at Hisana for a split second before answering. "My father suggested it."
"Do you like it?" Clint asked.
"I respect the history behind it," Ebisu said, looking back down the range.
Clint gave a hmm, and left him to it. He passed by Yamaga, the boy fiddling with his finger guard, quiver already used up. He had been very quick to shoot, almost half as fast as Clint, though his accuracy had suffered somewhat for it. "While you wait, I want to see situps," Clint told him.
"Ah, sensei!" Takashi said, complaining. "I'm not trying to rush; I'm just a reflex shooter!"
"This isn't a punishment," Clint said. "Strengthening your core will make you a better archer."
Takashi was moving almost before Clint had finished speaking, placing his bow down carefully and dropping onto his back.
"Straighten your back and let your feet slip a bit further away," Clint told him. He watched as he complied, technique improving. "Now, what did you mean by reflex shooter?" He wasn't sure if his translation was right, or if the kid was just excusing his hurried technique.
"The reflex events are my events, sensei," Takashi said. "I'm the best in the club at them!"
"Reflex events?" Clint asked.
"You don't -" he let out a breath "- have them in America, sensei?"
"Not by that name if we do," Clint said. "What is it?"
"You score points -" huff "-based on how quickly -" huff "- you can hit the target -" huff "- once it appears," he said, falling back, clutching his stomach. "This is harder than I thought."
"Sit ups aren't a race," Clint said dryly. "Take a break, and do another ten after the next round. Slower."
Hisana was only halfway through her quiver when he reached her, shooting slowly and methodically. Each shot was near identical to the last, from the way she drew the arrow to the breath she let out before releasing the string. The grace involved reminded him of another woman he knew, and he quickly pushed the thought from his mind.
"Barton-sensei," Hisana said, only speaking after she loosed another arrow. "You have not heard of reflex events before?"
"Not official events, no," Clint said.
"Then you have only competed in the static American competitions," she said, a slight frown creasing her brow.
"I never competed," Clint said. Maybe he could have been one of those rich athletes with richer sponsors, but then he never would have met Laura.
This surprised the tall girl. "Then how did you become so proficient?"
"I used to hunt a lot," Clint said. He wasn't lying, technically.
"The favoured American pastime," Hisana said. "I see."
Clint watched as she drew another arrow, matching his breaths to hers. Her movements were precise, and she used as little motion and force as she could, gently nocking the arrow with only the faintest of touches. It was handmade, too, the fletching some kind of feathers he had never seen before. Ten seconds after she had drawn her arrow, she loosed, and hit the centre ring.
"How do you do with the reflex events?" Clint asked.
"I adjust," Hisana said. "Though it is not my best event. I prefer the labyrinth."
"The la - that's another event, isn't it?" Clint asked.
"Given the lateness of your hiring, I suppose it is to be expected that you are not familiar," Hisana said.
Clint raised an eyebrow at her.
"My grandfather is on the school board," she explained. "I do not take advantage of this, but I hear things."
"Right," Clint said. "Rotate your lead foot about an inch to your left."
Hisana frowned minutely. "My tutors assure me my form is flawless."
"Humour me."
Doing as he had said, Hisana shifted her foot, not that it could be seen under the long skirt she wore. Clint watched as the change affected the rest of her stance and alignment as she went through her process, firing her second last arrow. It hit the centre ring again, but she blinked in surprise all the same.
"Feels better, right?" Clint asked.
"How did you..?"
"Footwork affects your stance affects your spine affects your grip," Clint said. "You've got a range at home, right?"
"I do," Hisana said.
"Homework is to shoot three quivers at the range your accuracy usually falls off," Clint said. "Let me know how it goes."
"Yes, sensei," Hisana said. Still, she frowned. "I thought I was following the art correctly."
"Were you emulating something?" Clint asked.
"It is an art that has been passed down since my ancestors served the shogun," Hisana said. "Every Kusano has learnt to perfect it and pass it down."
"There's your problem," Clint said.
"Your pardon?" Hisana asked, tone almost frosty.
"Following a style is great, but you gotta adjust it for each person," Clint said. He had known people who were real snobs for the 'purity' of their style, but N- that had always been beaten out of them. "Finish your quiver so the others can get their arrows." She nodded, and he moved on.
"Sensei," Lily greeted him as he reached her.
Clint glanced down the range, taking in her target. "Nice shooting, captain." Her arrows were all clustered in the inner ring, save one that had barely hit the target. "Except for that one. What happened there?"
Lily gave a nervous laugh. "Don't worry about that one, sensei." She rubbed her head as he gave her a look, and gave in. "My stomach rumbled as I shot."
"You missed breakfast," Clint said.
"Haha, yeah…" Lily said, cringing.
"A piece of toast was your breakfast?"
"I lose track of time in the mornings," Lily said. "It won't happen again. For at least a week."
"Riiight," Clint said. In the next lane, Hisana fired her last arrow. "Range is cold! Retrieve your arrows and your targets."
The students made their way down the range, some more enthusiastically than others, and Clint waited for them, thinking over what he had learned. The sport itself seemed to be more complicated than he had expected, and he had some research to do. He tensed, half expecting the information to pop into his head, but nothing of the sort happened, and he forced himself to relax. The students themselves clearly came from a wide range of backgrounds, but that was nothing he couldn't handle. At least they all seemed friendly enough. He watched as they reached the targets - rather than approach their own, they had first clustered around the one he had used as a demonstration, and were discussing it. Some were quieter than others.
"-wild shooting, we're gonna destroy-"
Takashi was hushed by Lily, and they looked back, but Clint was inspecting the ceiling, definitely not paying attention to them. There were a number of security cameras hidden up there, but he supposed that was to be expected.
In short order, the kids returned with their arrows, new papers affixed to the targets, and began to shoot again after he gave the all clear. He settled in to watch once more, watching for things they could improve on, hawk eyed.
The lesson passed quickly, and Clint gave what advice he could. By the end of it, he had a decent grip on where they were at. Hisana was the most polished, and one of the most accurate, but the others were no slouches either, even if they had their skills and weaknesses. As their time came to an end, he led them back into the room behind the range, and directed them to pack away their gear.
"Kusano, you've got your homework," Clint said as they each claimed one of the maintenance benches, inspecting their bows and arrows. "Yamaga, I'm going to send some exercises on your school email."
"I don't have a gym membership, sensei," Takashi said, not looking up from his school bow.
"Doesn't matter, you won't need one," Clint said. "Hope you like pushups."
Takashi groaned, though his spirits picked up all the same.
"Yamamoto, I want you to put in another hour on the range before our next lesson," Clint continued. "Doesn't have to be all at once. I'll see about arranging for you to have access while I'm not here."
"Without supervision, sensei?" Taro asked, his thick eyebrows rising.
"I'm teaching you to use deadly weapons," Clint said. "If I can't trust you to use the archery range without me staring over your shoulders, we have bigger problems." He glanced at the others. "That goes for the rest of you too."
Takashi pumped his fist, but the others seemed unaffected, though Lily was appreciative.
"What of me, sensei?" Ebisu asked. He seemed discomfited not to receive a task.
Clint eyed him. It was only their first lesson, but still… "I want you to research different bow types. Focus on what they were made for, their strengths and weaknesses."
"How many words?" Ebisu asked.
"No report, just do the research," Clint said.
The boy nodded firmly.
He should probably give them a pat on the back or something. "Good work today, all of you," Clint said. "We're going to focus on base ability for a while, and then we'll start more specific training for specialty events." Yeah, that sounded like he had a plan. "I'll see you all the day after tomorrow."
"Yes, sensei," they chorused.
The bell rang, audible even in there, and they hurried to finish packing their gear away. Takashi returned his bow to its place on the wall, while the others shouldered their bags, and they trooped out the door, Lily chattering at Hisana, while Takashi and Taro dove into a conversation about some video game. Ebisu followed behind, nose in a book, and the door closed behind them, leaving Clint alone. For the first time in what felt like years, he had a moment to breathe.
He let out a breath, sinking into one of the couches, head rolling back. His family was back, returned from dust, and he wasn't there. What would they think, reappearing to find him missing? He was putting them through the same thing he had suffered, the day they disappeared. Laura would be there, he reassured himself. She would take care of them. He only had to make sure this team won the regionals, and then he could be there too-
The sound of an opening door cut off his line of thought, and he looked up in time to see a young woman step through. She wore a long skirt and floral blouse, and the lanyard around her neck told him she was a teacher, but little else.
She brightened when she saw him, flicking blonde hair over her shoulder. "You must be Mr Barton," she said in English, with a very proper British accent. "I'm Susan, Susan Pope." She was in shape, though it looked to be from cardio, not weights.
"Yeah, that's me," Clint said. "Did you need one of my students? You just missed them."
"I need you, actually," Susan said. "Another teacher had a family emergency, and had to leave. We need someone to supervise their class until a substitute arrives, but no one else is free. Could you watch them?"
"Sure," Clint said. It was better than stewing in his thoughts. "What subject was it?"
"You don't have to worry about that," Susan said, waving him off. "Just keep them occupied and don't let them eat anything they're not supposed to." She stepped back through the door, and he could hear her speaking in Japanese.
Clint frowned, suddenly suspicious. Why did he feel like he'd been tricked?
The door opened again, and Susan led the class in. They entered in pairs behind her, holding hands and hardly coming up to her waist, and he felt a dawning horror. This wasn't a class. This was a mob of toddlers.
"Say good morning to Barton-sensei, children!" Susan said. She met his gaze with a beatific smile.
"Good morning Barton-sensei!" the class sang. They were watching him like one might an undiscovered species, unsure if it would taste good or not.
"Hey, good morning guys," Clint said weakly. He got to his feet and stepped out of the pit, not wanting to risk being swarmed and overwhelmed.
"You shouldn't need to watch them for more than an hour," Susan said. "Maybe two."
"I'll remember this," Clint said in English.
"I'm sure," Susan said in the same, her smile threatening to slip into a smirk. She made to leave, leaving him with twenty odd children that were already looking at the racks of archery equipment with interest.
"Alright kids," Clint said. "Who wants to see me shoot an apple off of someone's head?"
Susan froze in the doorway, but the class was already clamouring in enthusiasm. A grin that some might have described as 'shit eating' was the last she saw of Clint before the door closed behind her.
"Head on through that door, and wait for me there," Clint told the class. "Whoever is the quietest and best behaved gets to hold the apple on their head."
The mob of seven or eight year olds marched out in perfect silence and in better order than some military units Clint had seen, and he turned for the equipment racks. The apple trick wouldn't keep them occupied long, and he'd have to think of something else. For a moment, he considered showing off some of his own arrows, before common sense reasserted itself. Better not. He didn't want to have to rob the Yakuza to pay for damages.
In the end, it took three hours for the substitute to arrive. When they did, it was in the nick of time, relieving him just as he was starting to seriously consider some of his expanding foam arrows as a way to keep some of the little blighters pinned. The school day had practically been over, the last of it given over to supervising the mob as they cleaned up the hall, and the final bell rang just as they finished.
Clint's feet were heavy as he trudged through the town streets, the weight of the world heavy upon him. Whatever that faceless bastard had after they grabbed him might have refreshed his body, but his mind was starting to slow, and he felt like he had been awake for days. The sun was a brilliant orange as it set, bathing the town, and it was uncomfortably close to the Soul Stone. Every time he closed his eyes, Natasha's face flickered across his mind's eye, forcing him to turn his thoughts elsewhere, but they always circled back to her, and the expression she wore as she fell.
His apartment wasn't far from the school, and his path took him down quiet streets and sidelanes. He had been slow off the mark to leave, missing the rush of students, and it was still too early for everyone else to get out of work, leaving the streets mostly empty. The only other person he saw was the figure on the footbridge that ran over the road ahead, cast in shadow as they faced away, watching the sunset.
A pebble found its way into his shoe, and he cursed, stopping by a power pole as he worked at it, trying to get it out. He had no luck, and he placed one hand on the wooden pole for balance as he began to pull his shoe off.
The next moment, an arrow sunk into the pole with a thwick, right between two of his fingers, and his heart rate soared at the sudden attack. He dropped and rolled, pulling his bow bag around as he scanned for the one responsible.
There was only one other person around, the figure on the footbridge, but they were no pedestrian. They stared down at him, bow in hand, but made no move to string another or flee. The arrow in the pole had a note furled around the shaft, he realised.
The honest-to-god ninja on the footbridge, black outfit and mask and all, watched as he straightened up slowly, reaching for the arrow. The note came free with a tug, and he kept one eye on the man as he unfurled it.
If you value your ability to put an arrow to string, you will leave Nōburando High School and never return.
It was written in delicate calligraphy, with a brush even. Whoever had written this wasn't an amateur - in that, at least. As far as threats went, he'd heard better from Nathaniel come bath time. A moment later, the note sparked and caught fire, and he flung it away as it burnt to ash.
He looked back up, and saw the ninja still watching him, as if waiting for an answer.
Well, he'd give him an answer. One that couldn't be misunderstood. Slowly, he retrieved a pen and paper from his bag, and began to write, taking great care to be neat and precise in his kanji. It wasn't as fine as the note he had been given, but it wasn't too shabby, even if he did say so himself. When he was done, he tugged the arrow free from the pole - it was made of wood, the fletching some bird he didn't recognise, and had a metal tip - and wrapped his note around it. There was some residue from whatever adhesive had been used for the first note, and he used it to keep his note in place.
Still moving slowly, Clint retrieved his bow, and strung the arrow. He didn't aim at the ninja, but straight up in the sky, not breaking eye contact with the man for an instant. The moment stretched out, and he loosed the arrow. A cool evening breeze swept down the road, carrying leaves with it as they locked gazes, eyes narrowing at one another. Had a bystander passed by, they would have felt stifled by the tension in the air.
The arrow made a hard thunk as it hit the footbridge, landing right between the ninja's feet. The man knelt, pulling the arrow free, and unfurled the note. Clint saw the exact moment he saw the message, the man pulling his head back in disgust, and he smirked.
I can't read Japanese.
The ninja stormed off, leaving the bridge and disappearing from sight, leaving Clint alone. He waited, just long enough to be sure he was gone, and began to stow his bow away. He shouldered the bag, and continued on his way, considering.
The threat certainly cast new light on the school's hiring troubles, but Clint wasn't about to let it stop him. He was going to lead Nōburando High to victory at the regionals, no matter how many ninja or samurai or teenagers he had to go through to do it.
Believe it.
