The Paradox of Attraction

Sonnet of Seduction

Fuuko: Sonnet of Seduction

Name: Mikagami Tokiya

Year and Course: Second Year Political Science

Psychology 102. PERSONALITY PROFILE

1. Name one of the first books you've ever read as a child? Hamlet by William Shakespeare and the Phantom of the Opera by Gastron Lenoux.

2. Do you think it's ethical to help someone die who's in constant pain and doesn't want to live any longer? No. Life is meant to live to the fullest, even if the existence of pain is hampering you from doing so.

3. What really gets on your nerves? Aggressive people, some behavioral problem in the female gene pool which triggers them to lose all principal sense of delicacy, poise and etiquette; sloppy work, untidy places and when my precious time is being wasted.

4. What's the first sign that you're angry? I don't drop hints, angry or otherwise.

5. What do you do for leisure? How and what I spend my time on is not anyone's concern.


Ugh. So typically Mi-chan.

I found his Psychology homework stashed into one of the books he lent me and couldn't resist glossing over it.

Tokiya Mikagami is an enigma. Like a poet, whose masterpiece left indelible marks on the lives of people, but whose character remains unsigned and unknown through the mist of years. A math dilemma, which, even when supplied with all possible arithmetical formulas, can not be solved by relentless calculation.

He is an icon of vagueness. He would fashion a rather sublime and consistent carbon copy of a popsicle for one moment and qualify for a decent and sensitive human being the next. Which is very paradoxical.

ARGGH! Enough of this nonsense. Frustrated, I slammed down the totally innocent piece of paper on my desk, HARD. The alarm clock and other what-not that crowded the oak table jiggled slightly. How I got myself tangled in a behavioral analysis of Mikagami was beyond me.

Why should it matter that most of the time he was his own distant, care-less self? It's nothing out of the norm. Maybe the correct question, what bothers me is: How can he be so detached yet so unpredictable at the same time?

I'm not making a big deal of this. I'm just intrigued because I got it smack in the face this time. I was wrong in certain judgments of him. I used to see him as a person whose vocabulary revolved solely around three words: me, myself and I.

But that was really shallow. There's more to Mi-chan than I thought. And I really wanted to find out what else.


Never mind that I was lagging behind schedule, and that I still had a mountain of homework to scale. Or that last night my sleep time summed up to four measly hours and as a result, I was developing deep folds underneath my eyes that no amount of concealer could possibly hide. The only good that can come out of such conditions was that I had lost a grand total of four pounds.

But still, looking at the bright side and all, this was not turning into the best of days. Not really one for insomnia, I woke up five minutes before my first class, grabbed the first pair of jeans, shirt and shoes I laid my eyes on and dressed up in a record-breaking two minutes twenty seconds after taking a hurried shower.

Someone whistled as I breezed past the corridors. "Hey! Alert the fashion patrol! Nice outfit! Love the shirt!"

Much as I was running out of time, I looked down to examine my clothes. My jaw promptly dropped. Neon green shirt with red polka dots clashed immensely with pink jeans and ratty sneakers. Very much annoyed, I darted out of sight and back into the dormitory. Settling for a white "Don't Mess With Me" shirt which appropriately matched my mood and then paired with dark blue jeans, I rushed back to class, sweat clogging the pores of my skin.

I was reprimanded for being late by my not so favorite Political Science professor, who made me stay after class to soap the dirt infested walls of the classroom like I was an elementary school student or something.

And when I thought things couldn't possibly get much worse, I had to meet the most insufferable person to ever walk the planet in the person of the culinary "expert" managing one restaurant in that newly opened mall.

Exhausted from incessant scrubbing, I decided to go for a change of scenery. I got a cab and asked the driver to take me to the nearest mall which just happened to be recently established.

While the cabbie and I enthusiastically traded outdated knock-knock jokes, I felt my mood lighten. He seemed to take a general liking for me, saying that if ever he was blessed with grandchildren, he wanted them to turn out just like me. I had to admit, I was genuinely touched. By the time we reached the mall, he refused to take my fare, saying he owed me for the gift of laughter.

The chef, on the other hand, was another story. He took one short look at me and frowned. "Young lady, I don't feel the urge to bestow you with even the smallest amount of my fortune, so if you're going to beg for loose change, I ain't giving you the time of the day."

I looked down at my soiled shirt and tattered jeans and got his point. "Ahh, sir, you see-" I desperately tried to tell him I was there only to avail of the restaurant's service; to dine, no more, no less, but he was adamant.

Clicking his tongue, he said, "Such a tragedy, today's generation. Look at yourself, young, pretty and relegated to the degrading profession of leeching on other people's income."

That's what he said, leeching. Keeping my temper in check, I opened my mouth to protest, but he beat me to it.

"I don't doubt you are gifted with intelligence and potential, but you are probably too poor to even consider education, am I correct? Let me guess, your mother had you by unwanted pregnancy and your father is either an alcoholic or a drug addict. Or he took off with some whore in your early childhood. Such waste. " he smirked at me, ignoring the line of people who had gathered behind me to state their orders as well.

Suppressing the urge to soc him in the face, a habit I had supposedly outgrown, I took a deep breath. I did not come all the way here to play butt of joke to this… this human scrapbook of irksome personality traits. And he can have that tray of ramen noodles I was allegedly ordering shoved down his throat.

Regretting the fact that I had left my fuujin in the deepest recesses of my closet, I stormed out of his territory, furious with rage. Adding to my temper was the heavy traffic that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. For the second time that day, I was late for a class. This time it was Literature.


"Mikagami Tokiya, may I request that you read a sonnet of your choice from the options on page sixty-three?" Mr. Yakiba was saying. I darted past him and plopped down on my seat.

When I looked up, Mr. Yakiba was glancing in my direction. His lips formed a smile. "De ja vu?"

The class laughed.

"Gomen nasai!" I forced a cheerful voice. "You don't know what ordeal I had to go through!"

He waved it away, as if it were an everyday incidence that late pupils turned up 30 minutes into the first period for class. Relieved, I pulled out my textbook from my backpack and turned it to the mentioned page.

When I looked up, Mikagami stood in front of the room, an open book in one hand. He was wearing one of his many collections of suits, a black blazer over white turtleneck, dark gray pants, no necktie in sight. One girl audibly sighed. Mikagami slammed the open book shut and looked around solemnly. "Sonnet #18, by William Shakespeare. I will recite from memory."

The girls were gaping at him. I couldn't blame them. I myself had grown eyes the size of saucers.

He paused, and his whole countenance changed. With a relaxed semi-smile on his face and his tone soft and gentle he began in deep tenor, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"

"Thou art more lovely and more temperate."

Iceman sure conquered every person's 100% attention. I took a deep breath, starting to enjoy a rare, once-in-a-lifetime performance exhibited by one of the most unforeseen artists around.

"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer's lease hath all to short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimm'd, And every fair from fair sometime declines, by chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd."

Something about his voice, the manner of his delivery, the apt accent and the way he applied rising and falling intonation ignited admiration within me. For those reasons, he recites poetry the way a good pianist plays—with transparency of tone, faultless dissection and enunciation (phrasing in musical terms) to make diverse words (or the melody, still applying to the musical realm) shine forth.

In building crescendo:

"But thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;"

Stealthily now… what? I peeled my eyes open… Mikagami had just sounded… well, gentle. And why were these goose bumps suddenly rising in my skin?

"Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;"

His voice returned to moderate, gradually reaching a more sedate pace.

"So long as men can breathe or eyes can see…

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."

Cheers burst forth and echoed through the classroom walls for five minutes approximately. Most girls had either fainted or were staring at him indiscreetly with various shades of pink tainting their cheeks.

I wasn't expecting him to look in my direction but when he did, I flashed him a thumbs-up sign.

He picked up his books and started to walk towards me.

My heart skipped a beat.

And I felt invisible daggers bore into the back of my skull as his fangirls looked on.

"Why were you late?" He asked without preamble.

I sighed. "Can we please not talk about it?"

He gave me a once over. "You've had a bad day."

I tried to hide my surprise. "How do you know?"

He shrugged. "I have my instincts, Kirisawa." He thrust a No Fear Shakespeare book into my right hand. Our gazes met. "I hope you feel better."

With that, he turned around and walked away. Leaving me with a heartbeat that tripled in speed.

"He dedicated the poem to her!" an angry female voice accused in the background.

I took a deep breath. It wouldn't hurt to wish.

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