Woodgreen Academy Archive

Summary: People do strange things to show they care. They don’t always make sense. Life finally begins to settle down in Woodgreen now that the nerves of Firsts are over.

A/N: Now that the power dynamics are done and dealt with, I can go back to crack storytelling. The last episode felt like the necessary evil of data input that would’ve been unnecessary if I had a “History of Woodgreen” separately.

———————-

A red Ferrari pulled over by the curve and out stepped the driver without bothering to shut down the engine or closing the door. The passenger merely sighed and turned the key. By the time she had stepped out and secured the lock, her companion had already gone. Resigned at being ditched, she did not bother to hurry and took her time in catching up.

She had found the excited blond standing by the path that led to the open field in front of the main high school building. The JROTC cadets were all standing at ease while a small figure at the front seemed to be giving the opening speech.

“She’ll do fine, Haruka.” Michiru smiled, kind blue eyes communicating the calmness that her friend and lover obviously needed at the moment.

Haruka’s shoulders sagged then turned to look at the battalion with something akin to longing. “I knew we should’ve delayed by a year. She’s going to command a whole battalion. And mind, they’re not few!” Obviously, the tall blond woman did not hear a thing that was said earlier.

“You’re just jealous because you weren’t able to become a commander.”

Hearing the laugher woke Haruka up and she turned to the beautiful woman next to her. She reached a hand out and touched the aquamarine dyed hair, “I still can’t believe you did this to your hair.”

Michiru ran her fingers through the wavy length and smiled mischievously, “Not many can pull off this color without looking horrid. Admit it, you like it.”

Haruka rolled her eyes, “You know I’m biased. Also, I was prefect last year so I couldn’t become a commander even if I knew I qualified. I’m just worried for Kitten. She looks so small over there and what if they bully her? Disrespect her because she’s small? What if…”

“Shh… you’re starting to raise your voice. It wouldn’t do well if someone saw you here.”

Defeated, Haruka simply stood watch. She couldn’t hear anything from where she was but it didn’t matter. All she was concerned about was the girl who was supposed to lead these ruffians for the whole year.

She was Haruka Tenou, former prefect of the East Wing and currently continuing her education in Woodgreen University. She had wanted to become a professional racer but it was more difficult than she had originally imagined. Though her gender was not an issue in the NASCAR races, some personal matters prevented her from moving ahead; the girl by the field, for one.

She had promised Usagi’s father to take care of his only daughter. Just because she was a measly five-year-old when that promise was made didn’t mean she was one to forget. They had met when the Tsukino family had a year-long stay in Hawaii due to Mr. Tsukino’s job transfer. The whole family was about to move back to Japan but Haruka clung to the poor man’s leg on a daily basis after the news was revealed. It took Haruka’s father and mother’s combined strength to pull her off each time.

Everyone realized then that Haruka Tenou could be a real brat. Her parents finally pulled off a few strings left and right to create a reason for Usagi to stay, and that was being invited in Woodgreen Academy with a sponsorship from the Tenou family. Mr. Tsukino refused time and again but even he could not rebuff the repeated offers for his daughter to study in a prestigious and private school. Just as any father, he had high hopes and dreams for his eldest child.

He had insisted on paying for all the school expenses, however. By then, Haruka no longer cared because the bubbly little girl was going to stay in her house. Usagi had been Haruka’s “Kitten” and “Princess” from that day forward.

Haruka’s best friend and present lover, Michiru Kaioh, was born and bred in France despite her Japanese lineage. They met over the previous summer in London when the tomboy was touring the little princess. There had been a strange attraction shared which others might call love at first sight if they believed in it. For the remainder of the stay in London, both had spent time together along with Usagi. Eventually, Michiru decided to forego her professional career as a violinist to study with Haruka in Woodgreen University.

Michiru had shown obvious jealousy over Usagi a few times but it did not last long.

“Haruka.”

“Yes?”

“What would you do if Usagi gets a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

“What?” Haruka almost yelled. “Did she say something to you?”

Michiru laughed again. “No, no. It was just a thought.”

——-

Somewhere in the outskirts of Woodgreen property but not exactly part of the campus grounds was a village called “The Lodge”. This was where almost everyone in Woodgreen resided and thus generated the funds for the maintenance of the academy. In one of its many condominiums was a man buried under a thick duvet in an almost freezing room. In contrast to Hawaii’s sunny and loud morning, the bedroom was a dark and creepy place. Up until the door banged open.

“Brrrr…and he sleeps shirtless? What is he? I swear this room gets colder every time I come in.” Lex strolled in comfortably and looked for the remote then quickly turned off the A/C.

Alfred Pennyworth, the trusted butler and guardian of the young heir, stood by the doorway looking scandalized. “Mr. Luthor…”

Lex did not stop from making the long walk towards the humongous bed to shake the sleeping prince awake. “Rise and shine, Mr. Wayne. Your good friend and fellow prince await. We have to be seen together for PR.”

“Alfred,” Bruce barely lifted his head off the pillow, “…keep the bald man out of my room.”

The butler was a balding man. Alfred cleared his throat, trying not to sound amused, “Of course, sir. I’ll show myself out.” Then he left.

“Such a nice old man, that Alfred. Where’d you get him? I must have one, too.” Lex tried to pull the covers but Bruce clung on it stubbornly, still trying to get back to sleep.

Once again the door opened but a bit gently this time to reveal Clark Kent. Like Lex, he also muttered something about the cold before heading straight for the windows. He pulled the heavy drapes and let the rest of the sun light up the gloomy room. “Bruce, Diana’s on her way, too.”

“Why do you all do this to me?” Bruce opened up one eye and glared. He was not a morning person but this did not stop any one of them from getting him up on the same schedule as the rest of the village.

“Really, Bruce.” Diana walked in and leaned against the wall, eyebrow quirked, “You hurt our good intentions.”

“Good intentions.” Bruce was still trying to wake his fogged mind as he tried to sit up, unaware that all three of his so-called friends were observing him with interest each move he made. “I’m up, now get out. I’ll be with you in a few.”

This morning ritual had begun the previous week. All three always arrived randomly to wake him up. Sometimes Clark would be first to unceremoniously dump him off his own bed. Other times it was Diana who would slap his cheeks until he snapped awake to threaten her. And the rest, it was Lex who would try to pull off his covers. It was embarrassing enough the first time when he had slept with nothing on. All three had seen him. They would never let him live that day down.

“Are you naked, Bruce?”

Bruce threw the nearest object at Lex, which was his alarm clock. It didn’t hit its intended mark, much to Bruce’s disappointment which actually showed on his face. The other man had ducked and Clark caught the object before it hit the wall.

“Too violent every morning.” Diana clapped her hands twice, “Come on, boys. He’s more pleasant when truly awake.”

Clark patted Bruce’s shoulder and followed after Diana and Lex.

Meanwhile, Alfred had been waiting outside for quite some time, half-worried and half-grateful for the daily interference of the human alarm clocks. “I must ask, is this necessary to be a daily event?”

“It’s always our pleasure, Alfred.” Clark smiled pleasantly at the old man. They had started the ritual when the last of what made Bruce somewhat happy left the condo unit to stay in Wings. The kids were growing up and although Bruce had not said anything, his withdrawal spoke a lot. Bruce was already naturally reserved, to see more of that attitude taking a new level was worrisome — even to Lex.

“Besides, I’m sure Lex takes personal glee at being able to find something to torture Bruce with. He exists to make lives miserable.” Diana flipped her hair and winked at Lex to show that her words were not as biting as it sounded, even if her eyes said there was some truth in it.

Lex’ lips spread in a predatory smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

It didn’t take long before the master of the house came out, dressed in his usual black and gray. The rest of his friends mentally sighed.

“Remind me to take you out shopping some time, Bruce.”

“No, thank you.”

The man simply walked by, grabbed his car keys from the extended hand of Alfred and went for the main door. Bruce was halfway out when he stopped and turned, “Diana, let’s go.”

The door closed.

Diana blinked at the rest of the people with her in the living room.

“Of course, why am I not surprised?” Lex shook his head then turned to stare at Clark, “Next time I’m not bringing a car just to see what he’ll do.”

“This is such a waste of petrol.” Diana frowned but followed after Bruce. “Hurry up, you two.”

The four always ate breakfast inside the campus. Once it was a convenience that everyone preferred due to their early schedule but now it was more of habit.

One of the first establishments found within the university grounds was the café by the corner of the whole block dedicated for various eateries. Back in Woodgreen’s military days, the whole block was a large mess hall. It was torn down and the lot was emptied and cleaned then was promptly opened for bidding. This became the heart of the university. If anyone needed finding, this was a good place to look and the café was the first in the list of places to comb. Everyone loved their caffeine. This was also why the first thing that would greet the person upon entering the café was the university’s wall-length message board.

A wide enough space was dedicated for the student council members, which as of this point, was only made up of four people until all the other colleges and batches were done casting their votes for their own reps. Four pairs of eyes automatically slid to that reserved part. It was a routine, not just of these four people but of every single student who knew better. It was also the place where official announcements were posted concerning university events.

A piece of paper with the university seal caught their attention. Clark took the paper only to be pulled away by Lex then be taken by Bruce and finally handed to Diana.

“I sense favoritism as of late,” said Lex.

“You tend to leave out sentences you don’t believe are necessary to mention.”

And to end all arguments, Diana gave the paper back to Clark.

“Thank you.” Clark skimmed through the paper then passed it to Lex, “Everyone can read it instead.”

“Why would our mentors be appointed by Dumbledore? I would’ve thought that our own deans knew better who to get.” Diana folded the piece of paper after she had read it.

“Our meeting with Dumbledore is still over lunch. Let’s have breakfast for now and discuss things after the food is well digested.” Lex, ever the practical one, led the way to the vacant booth.

There was no need for an office to house the representatives. Individual contact information was posted on the board as soon as they were given the position. The needed meetings were often conducted in this café for everybody’s convenience as well.

In contrast to how the high school was being run, the university was a menagerie, one step away from absolute freedom. The only rules could be found were inside the classrooms, and by the professors. Because of this much independence, it was not surprising that the total number of students per batch decreased with each year.

Probation status was not easy to attain once a notice of dismissal was already issued. The most common reason for being dismissed was the grade point average due to the 5% increase with each level in all the majors.

Dishonorable dismissals due to misconduct, on the other hand, had lessened to nonexistent ever since the fraternities and sororities were disbanded, abolished and then banned by Treize Kushrenada. Nonetheless, some of these groups still thrived in the underground. Everyone knew of this existence but no one knew the names, or the members — and with good reason. If blood was spilled once more and a name of an organization was involved, the whole brotherhood would be subject to dismissal from Woodgreen with no possibilities of probation.

There was one real law in the university, ‘Don’t get caught.’ It was far easier to qualify for the entrance than to stay qualified. And people always got caught when situations became serious.

——-

Along the edges of Woodgreen U. was the land area dedicated for the ROTC. Although most of these cadets intended to pursue their careers in the military, they were still university students taking different majors. The ROTC was simply an extracurricular activity to their real majors. Unlike in Woodgreen High, this was no longer mandatory for the seniors but the rules remained the same. The only days dedicated for the program were Tuesdays and Fridays. The rest of the week was dedicated for their original courses.

Despite the added burden of the ROTC, there were still enough cadets to make a decent-sized battalion. And this always surprised the professional staff of the program. However, the numbers did not matter. The program would push through even if there was just one person to train – fortunately, the situation hadn’t come up yet.

It helped getting recruits when the officers were seen as good examples, and when the commander was a charming and strong person — something that could not be said to the recent one, half the time. Roy Mustang, current commander of the ROTC battalion, was sitting on a bench in a room full of rifles and cleaning each one leisurely.

“Sir!”

He looked up and sighed heavily when he saw the CSM, “Lectures are done?”

“Sir. Yes, sir,” Riza Hawkeye glared at her commanding officer.

“Okay, let’s drop the formalities…” Still ignoring the obvious glare, he continued to wipe the nonexistent dust on the rifle. Could anyone blame him for not wanting to do his real task — which was to go through the paperwork of the commandant? His glorified status as the battalion commander could be interpreted as the commandant’s personal secretary. He hated his office.

“You’re not supposed to be here. Each cadet is supposed to clean his own weapon, anyway.” Riza dropped the folder she held on Roy’s lap.

“What’s this?” Finally, he let go of the rag and replaced the rifle on its stand. When she said nothing, he began skimming through the small print and his eyebrow twitched every now and then.

He closed the folder with a snap and stared at his subordinate, “This is not a joke?”

“No. The replacement is due this week.”

“I suppose this means I’m off from stapling papers and organizing someone’s desk today, does it?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Riza tried not to smile.

Sighing again, Roy sat on his bench and picked up a different rifle, “Life is so boring these days. Who’d have thought I’d get tired of being a commander on the second day?”

Roy’s aversion of the veteran was not simply based on doing the paperwork. Being the commander had placed Roy directly under the commandant’s supervision, which meant the senior was officially Roy’s mentor for his final year. He had been given access to the desk, thus was allowed to read everything that was within his reach while he tasked on organizing the artificial mess. He did not like what he had read, and did not wish to know more through the looking glass of his commandant.

Even though the sulky commander continued his procrastinating method, Riza knew well enough that her friend was relieved. Their commandant had been dubbed as Fuhrer King Bradley as far as everyone could recall. The man was a war veteran and already in his fifties. Despite his age, he still exhibited the youthful strength of a confident man.

Though he could be very lenient and as amicable as the director himself, the classes he conducted on leadership training was disturbing, to say the least. Anyone who could justify genocide, logically, and with words that almost made sense even to the most disagreeable person in the room was a formidable man; a man that Riza personally believed should not be teaching over two hundred cadets willing to learn.

“What in the world are you….oh,” Maes Hughes, Battalion Executive Officer, stopped short when he saw Riza inside the gun room with Roy. “Am I interrupting something?”

“You can start cleaning with us, Maes,” Roy snorted and threw a piece of rag at the man.

Maes shrugged and picked up a rifle. “Would you two mind if I smoke?”

“YES,” both said at the same time. Even if the rifles were demilitarized, there was still a truckload of weaponry deeper in the room and those were meant to fire.

“Never let it be said that Maes Hughes did nothing for his friends.” The Fuhrer King Bradley had sent him to search for the commander who had been missing since the brief with the officers that morning. Knowing full well where his best friend was, he went straight for the gun room. For some strange reason, Roy was very comfortable in a room full of firepower.

He had already conveniently forgotten why he was sent here. Besides, he had received a new order from his direct superior: clean the gun.

——-

Above and around Woodgreen, birds chirped, clouds parted and the sun shone brightly — a great menace to everyone wearing the military uniforms. As it had been in the past by the time real classes began, all the cadets had left their jackets in the lockers and were walking around campus with just the white shirt and the cargo pants.

“I didn’t know Weasley goes for the young girls this year.”

“Young girls? He probably sees them as his sister most of the time…oh wait, that one? That’s a boy.”

“Oh crap. What was his name again?”

At that point, Blaise stopped walking with Draco and company and observed the new face and body walking right next to the tall redhead. Recognition filled his features, “That’s Momiji Sohma, first year. Wow, he looks cute. I knew my wing was on crack but didn’t think it went this far.”

At first Draco did not notice the reason why heads were turning up until he himself finally followed suit. The boy was wearing a girl’s uniform. Even Draco had thought the boy was a girl when his friend explained otherwise. That Momiji Sohma was going to receive an earful from Draco but Ron blocked his warpath.

Draco pointed at the cowering boy behind Ron. “Send him back to his room and make him wear the proper uniform.”

“This is a proper uniform.” Ron stepped aside and pushed Momiji so Draco could have a look.

“For the girls.”

“I’m not wearing a skirt.” Momiji flipped the flap over and held the edges of his skirt which stretched to reveal the partition between his spread legs, “You call this a skort. It’s still shorts but just more loose.”

That explanation did not help any for Draco. He refrained from commenting how weird the Japanese were, and even more so the half-bred ones crossing two cultures. It was like a curse on everybody’s fashion sense and no one else did the most extreme combinations other than the Japanese half-breeds in Woodgreen. Now, he was more annoyed.

“I don’t care if you’re wearing a ‘skort’. The shorts are for the elementary students and you’re already in high school. Your top is wrong. Girls wear that, not boys.” Draco silently wondered why he bothered to explain anything to the cross dressing rebel in the first place.

“But I remember seeing Haruka-nii last year wearing the boy’s uniform.” Momiji pouted and unconsciously leaned against Ron, already moving to hide behind the solid body.

“He got you there, Malfoy.” Ron crossed his arms. In truth, Ron did argue with Momiji over this during breakfast and Momiji used that same excuse and won.

“Do you two have any idea what this little show is causing?” Hermione walked forward, making her way through the gathering crowd. “I heard the fuss all the way from the other side of the hallway. Never underestimate the speed of rumors.”

“What’s the rumor about?” Pansy asked. It had only been ten minutes since the first exchange of words and the rumor mill had already done its job.

“Malfoy and Weasley, fighting over a cross dressing boy,” Hermione quoted. “I’m sure you can imagine all the wrong things in the phrase.”

“Indeed, but I am amused.” Pansy laughed. “Are there others?”

“Yes, but I still want to live,” Hermione said, an uncharacteristic smirk dancing on her lips.

While Pansy explained to Hermione what really happened, neither Ron nor Draco withdrew from the glaring match.

“To be honest, Momiji has a point,” Hermione frowned, looking disagreeable to the idea. But another long look at the boy only revealed what had been pointed out earlier: he was wearing the proper uniform — for the girls.

“Hah” and “Yey” came from both Ron and Momiji’s direction.

“It’s too short!” Draco pointed at Momiji’s skort that was over the knees and already showing a hint of thighs.

“And since when was ‘short’ a problem for the girl’s uniform?” Pansy’s eyebrow went up. Her black skirt was mid-thigh level.

“I don’t believe this.” Draco was genuinely surprised and did not bother to hide it. “Can you imagine what this boy would be like when he’s in senior year and still wearing that ‘skort’?”

From the crowd, girls and boys began to murmur no doubt imagining the same thing. Someone actually said Momiji might be able to pull it off. Girls sighed. Boys were disturbed. And some had strange expressions on their faces, still deciding whether it was a good or bad thing.

“I won’t! I’m just wearing this because I’m still small. When trousers begin to look good on me, I’ll wear them.” Momiji beamed, still hiding behind Ron.

Draco wanted to yank the little bastard out of the hiding spot. The whole thing was starting to bother him. He could not believe how being ‘right’ could turn around and make him look so wrong in the face of this little creature.

“No. Go home and change into something more decent. If you want to keep wearing that skort then make sure it’s longer.”

“I’ll have to take Draco’s side on this one,” Hermione frowned, looking at Momiji then straight at Ron’s eyes as if trying to bend his will with just that look.

“Two against two,” Pansy folded her arms and stepped to stand beside Ron. “I find the attempt to distort the uniform always a good thing. It takes guts and originality on Momiji’s behalf and that’s always a plus in my book.”

“I hate to be the one to break this wonderful show of strange alliance but,” Seamus began, trying to get the attention of all four, “… you’re all going to be late for class.”

A collective escaped from the crowd, the sound of disappointment that this was where the show must end.

“Fine.” Ron was the first to say something, aware of the ticking time on his wrist. He quickly unbuckled his belt and kneeled before Momiji.

The act made everyone stare at the redhead, wondering what he was doing. Some imaginative minds wanted for the trousers to fall off, however. Some thought he had snapped and was now going to literally whip the Malfoy.

“What are you doing?” Draco lost his original vow of silently glaring his point in favor of asking the obvious question.

“Making everyone happy.” Ron snorted then looked at Momiji, “We’ll ask someone in the house to fix your uniform later but for now, just tolerate this, okay?”

Still unsure of what was going to be done, Momiji just nodded.

Ron lifted Momiji’s shirt a little and began to tug and pull on the skort, loosening the zipper every now and then that held it up firmly around the boy’s waist. He made sure the hem of the skort was over Momiji’s knees before wrapping his belt around the loose skort to keep it from falling freely. It now rested on the slim hips and Ron was worried the belt would come loose as soon as he let go.

“Okay, it’s still loose so don’t run around too much. We’ll go home by lunch. Do you know where my table is?” He tried to pull the shirt as low as it could get to cover the bare skin and hardly succeeded.

“Yes, Ron-nii.” Momiji sighed, feeling ashamed.

“Hey, don’t pout.” Ron tapped Momiji’s lips with his index finger and smiled, “I’m not angry and neither is Draco-nii. You did nothing wrong.”

“Draco-nii?” Draco twitched and moved forward but Hermione grabbed his arm and glared. Momiji looked like he was about to cry and no one wanted to have a crying boy in their hands.

Seeing the new problem that was Momiji’s skin, Ron sighed. “Come. I’ll make you wear my undershirt.” Ron grabbed Momiji’s hand and began to drag him towards the lavatory.

Once the crowd had dispersed, Pansy finally made her piece. “Way to go on bullying a small kid, Draco-nii.”

“Why am I the bad guy in this? I was the one in the right!”

“That may be the case but you cornered the poor boy,” Hermione explained. Her expression was clear enough that she felt guilty over the whole thing. She did choose to side with Draco earlier, after all.

Draco threw his hands up, “Always the cute one. They always get out of everything. He’s not a ‘little kid’. He’s in high school.”

“If you ask me, Draco just doesn’t like that someone’s cuter than him.” That was Blaise Zabini, and in Draco’s eyes, a soon-to-be-mangled one.

“Malfoy’s jealous over Momiji? That’s new.” Seamus made a face and looked at Blaise, “And Malfoy? Cute? Where did that come from?”

“For your information, I happen to prefer looking like a man and a gorgeous one, at that. Cute is below my level.”

“Don’t make me laugh, Malfoy,” Ron growled, Momiji still in his hand and was now sporting the too large beater underneath his black top. It did its job to cover the skin and the mess of the skort being loose but it made Momiji look like a punk. The boy almost looked like a mini-Ron with the unbuttoned black top and a missing tie.

Draco gave Momiji a once over, scowling at this new development.

Pansy did the same but included Ron in her observation, “I like it. You, too,” the last bit she specifically told Ron. The white fabric of their prefect uniform barely concealed what was underneath and she knew she wasn’t the only one who noticed. When a person was often seen in rags and mediocre clothes little revelations like this one tended to tease and lead into wild mile jumps.

“Have you been working out?” Pansy was not able to stop herself. She really wanted to know. She’d pay to see what’s underneath that white uniform. There was much need to confirm whether she was just imagining things or she could really read fabric folds as well as she deemed herself to be.

“This conversation has gone on to so many wrong ways and I suggest we all go straight to our classes.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “We are going to be late.”

TBC