Agent M: Testament (The Agent M Series Book 2) (22 page)

The gentle embrace of Michael's muscular arms completely enveloped Shiori's body. He held her close, almost as if he were trying to say
I'm sorry
more than
I’ve missed you
. She continued to cry into his chest. She was so small and delicate, a good breeze looked like it could knock her over yet she was able to last over a decade waiting for her love to return without ever giving up hope.

Breaking off the embrace, Michael placed his hands on Shiori's shoulders and pushed her back softly. He looked into her eyes. She could see her reflection bright as day off the sunglasses he wore and quickly realized how atrocious she must look right now. Her cheeks were red and puffy. Beauty had seen better days but Michael never saw her as anything less. Shiori quickly wiped away her tears with his fingers still wrapped around her gentle frame. She looked up to face him. Seeing that stoic expression of hers made her feel like a kid again. Hiding a smile was impossible.

“Who's your friend?” Shiori asked.

Her voice had finally seemed to revert back to normal and her inquisitiveness hadn't lost a step either.

“Pleased to meet you,” Davis replied.

He gave a short bow, piecing together what he's read about Japanese culture and tried to show as much respect as he could.

“My name is Davis Tristan LeClair. I am honored to be present in such a magnificent piece of land you have here.”

“He doesn't speak-” Michael cut in.

“T-Thank you,” Shiori replied looking fairly quizzical.

Michael shot his companion and equally puzzled stare but still masking his full surprise. The words that came out of his mouth in plain and clear English. Michel was sure he heard him correctly but Shiori apparently understood everything he had said.

“You speak Japanese?” Shiori finished with a smile.

That got a lot of the students talking. They all heard and understood him clearly yet Davis was the one who was looked at as odd.

With a bright smile, Davis looked over at everyone and said, “I speak the language that all of God's creatures can understand.”

Apparently that was enough to quell everyone interest in the matter. Not Michael though. He wasn't nearly convinced. Ever since he'd been accosted by Adriel in Vegas, something wasn't right about this organization. The fact that they carried all the secrets while Michael's were all exposed still itched at his sanity.

“Shiori,” Michael stated once more.

He pulled the embrace back a bit further but still kept her gentle frame within his grasp.

“I need to speak with your father.”

His voice was so soothing and familiar, Shiori got lost in his words almost forgetting what he said completely.

“Father?” She looked puzzled. “What for?”

“Madison-san!” Another voice called running up to the group.

He was older but didn't look elderly in the slightest. A prominent beard covered his face with minor specs of white peaking their way through the sea of black. His short hair had only appeared to begin receding even though this man was quickly approaching sixty years of age. Running up alongside him, Ryosuke desperately tried to keep up pace after nearly pooping himself out minutes early.

“Father,” called Shiori. “We were just –”

“Grandfather wishes to see you,” interrupted Jiro Yamatera.

He was the eldest son of the Grand Master and father of two beautiful girls. One had long since been married and started a family of her own. The other remained here waiting for this very day to come.

“Word travels fast,” Davis smiled.

“How did you find -?”

“Sorry Shiori,” Ryosuke cut in.

Apparently Shiori wasn't able to finish sentences anymore.

“Uncle Jiro heard me running in when I got you. He went and spoke with grandpa right after. You should have seen it. The old man's eyes lit up like fireworks.”

“What did I tell you about calling him that?” Jiro snapped delivering a righteous smack to the back of Ryosuke's head.

It wasn't so much that he lacked respect for the man but to Ryosuke, that was a term of endearment if anything.

Michael pulled himself away from Shiori. He gave his former teacher and nod and agreed to his request. He followed Jiro's pace as they proceeded through the garden and to the mansion as if the last few moments never happened. Part of him still held on to some regret about it but it quickly waned. Business came first.

“Madison, wait!” Shiori called out.

She motioned to run after him but the sweet angelic voice of the young Paladin next to her seemed to stop her dead in her tracks.

“This is certainly a beautiful place. Might I trouble you young lady for a tour?” Asked Davis.

It was true that he was impressed with the place but he had his own underlying motives as well.

“A tour?” Shiori looked puzzled again.

This man who boldly wore a symbol of Christianity was as frank as he was handsome. Not as much as his companion but enough to draw a smile from the young woman.

“LeClair-san, was it?”

“Yes but please, call me Davis,” he winked.

Shiori blushed almost as if it were a nervous twitch to everything this man said. Davis understood through vigorous study how formal the Japanese people were. Using someone's first name meant they held a very close relationship with one another. Davis wasn't trying to impose or imply that in the slightest. The truth was that he considered everyone he ever met as a friend. His experiences throughout the years have taught him to love all of the people on God's earth no matter how far gone they would seem. If time allowed itself to the task, he would desire nothing more than to be everyone's best friend. And besides, he liked the sound of Davis more of LeClair.

Shiori's eyes darted back to where Michael had left. He was long gone. Part of her still wanted to run after him but Shiori understood how important this day was. She didn't want to solely monopolize his time. Hopefully, that would come later.

“Well then Davis-san,” she replied with an exuberant amount of cheer. “It's a pleasure to meet you as well.”

“Indeed,” he smiled back. “I look forward to getting to know you and everyone here with great anticipation.”

Shiori politely smiled, almost forcing it. No matter how hard she tried, her heart was still filled with thoughts and images of Michael. Shiori began walking with the young Paladin following right alongside her. This man seemed very interesting, from first appearances and manner of speaking. A small part of her was excited to get to know him as well and find out just what Michael has been up to in the years that passed.

The grand hall of the dojo still held an ominous aura. It didn't bring fear so much as it commanded respect. A lot of history stood between these walls. Political empires were born as well as dynasties ended all on top of this finely pressed and smooth hard wood floor. Scrolls with ancient scriptures from distant ancestors hung proudly on the south end. A screen partitioned separated this room in to three distinct parts. One for free hand sparing, another for weapon sparring, and finally the dojo shrine where the Grand Master sits and watches the students train amongst the remains of all of the former Grand Masters before him.

Most of Michael's training took place here. A lot of blood and sweat have stained these floors. The rich hickory and archaic scent of these walls brought back memories he had not traveled back to since they were created. It was a different time back then and Michael was a different person. He never had the opportunity to simply live like a normal human until he came here. Throughout his entire youth he would wake up to the same routine. Training, learning, and practicing until he would pass out only to wake up eight hours later and do it all over again. His time during the culmination of Project Mabus taught him how to become the ultimate human solider. His time with the Yamatera clan taught him how to be human.

Michael stood firm in front of the partition that separates the shrine from the main area. Normally it would remain hidden while the Grand Master was away. A rush of thoughts entered Michael's mind as he awaited his arrival. This was a formality first and foremost. He had no intentions of ever coming back to this place. He wished they would have forgotten all about him. The very history he made on these lands would never allow that.

The wooden partition began to slide open. Jiro pushed them from one end to the other and stood firmly by watching over both men. For the first time in a long while, the Grand Master stood before the man he declared his future heir. He sat on his knees before Michael's presence and the FBI agent reciprocated by doing the same. The Grand Master was aged but looked as sharp as ever. He carried the skin of someone with someone who hasn't even lived half as long as he has. Though no hair covered his scalp, he had a distinctive but thin white beard that extended for several inches before stopping at a fine point.

“Yamatera-dono,” Michael greeted.

There were only a handful of men on this earth that Michael cared for let alone respected but the head of the Yamatera was one who could proudly say he was both. Michael owes a lot to this man. He gave him a safe place to call home for many years, put up with his constant barrage of questions, and didn't even question his heritage regardless of its scientific roots. This man made Michael who he is, including giving him the identity of Michael Madison. If not for the experiences and skills he learned while training here, he many have never survived his hunt for the FBI's Most Wanted criminals. Though their initial meeting was filled with strife, Michael grew to respect this man for not only who he is but the sacrifices he has made.

“Madison-kun,” the old man spoke.

His voice was rattled but strong. The times he chose to speak were rare but when he did, everyone felt honored. Especially when he started with your name. However, the way he finished deflated any promising thoughts.

“Is that you?”

Sure it had been a few years since they've seen each other but the Grand Master never forgot a face. Something was off about this one. When his grandson Jiro came running into his room with news of the heir's return the old man felt a sense of happiness he hadn't been touched with in quite some time. Coming here now and seeing this man in black suit carrying an expressionless posture didn't share much in common with the one who left.

“Let me see your eyes,” he stated in a commanding tone.

Michael hesitated. The Grand Master was renowned for being able to look into someone's eyes and instantly know everything there needs to know about that person. Michael had his fair share of secrets since he left this place but he knew one thing for sure. The old man was not going to like what he was about to see.

The FBI agent reached for his sunglasses slowly. He carefully took them off, sliding them gently across the sides of his face and exposed his sharp brown eyes to the Grand Master. The old man studied them for a while, taking seconds and extending them into hours during his gaze. Cold hard globes of brown and white stared back at him filled with sorrow. Something else was hiding underneath. The Grand Master peered deeper in into them. Masked underneath that cold exterior he could see a small light flickering in the darkness. It was small but danced violently against the black landscape it resided. This place was once a monument to peace and tranquility. Now, the Grand Master saw a tiny flame beginning to grow.

“Jiro,” called the Grand Master

His voice was calm and inquisitive. Something very out of character for him. His grandson came running up at his Master's request.

“Master!” Jiro exclaimed. “What's wrong?”

“I thought you told me Madison-kun was here today,” stated with an air of disappointment.

His hand rose and pointed a boney finger in Michael's direction.

“Who is that man?”

Michael felt his heart dip a little but the old man's response was better than he originally anticipated. He put his glasses back on and stood up. There was nothing left for him in this room. All he had left was to get the answers he desired and he could leave this place once and for all. Michael walked out of the Grand Master's presence and dojo without even a passing look goodbye. Jiro quickly bowed to his Master and gave chase after the now supposed heir to the clan.

“My apologies Madison-kun,” said a humbled Jiro.

He placed a hand on the FBI agent's shoulder hoping it would show his deepest sincerity for what just transpired.

“Don't be,” Michael replied coldly as was his nature now.

“I'm not sure what Master meant by that. I will talk to him later -”

“No,” Michael interrupted. “I didn't come here for that.”

Michael procured the bandana that was formally the late Ryoo Myung-Dae's and passed it over to Jiro.

“I took that from a man I fought on assignment. His name was Ryoo Myung-Dae.”

“Ryoo Myung-Dae?” Jiro replied as his expression dipped. His face told the whole story.

Michael nodded. He was right to come here. At least, for business purposes anyways.

“He knew the techniques and styles of your family. What can you tell me about this man?”

“About a year ago, we had visitors from the People's Army of Korea.”