Chapter Text
Wooden clacks throughout the dojo, a steady rhythm alongside your counterattacks against Macaque. Each hit attempted on you growing harsher and meaner as wooden staffs clashed together.
You knew Mac wasn’t going full out, despite the intensity. No, this was barely a quarter of his capabilities. Clack! He had more power than you could imagine for yourself. Click! Yet, you could tell this training session was amped up previously. You hope it’s because you have improved under his tutelage.
But even his lessons were becoming shorter and shorter! Clack! Anytime you asked, you were met with excuses and a “you’ll be good by yourself for a few hours, kid. See you in a few.” And you could always tell when Macaque was making excuses! Click! Afterall, you’ve lived with him since a baby. Ever since the Celestial realm discarded you. But you couldn’t deny his help afterwards. He was nurturing, gentle and straight-forward. Clack!
Before you could praise your mentor some more, a well-aimed strike to your side stunned you in a wave of pain.
(It didn’t really hurt, you insisted. Just some added dramatics and flair, courtesy of the greatest teacher ever. Also, for something about a pity factor. You didn’t remember what Macaque said that one time.)
“Getting sloppy there, kiddo?” He commented languidly, more matter-of-fact than a tease.
You huff in response, stumbling back into your senses and drawing your staff once more defensively. Macaque frowns, for some ungodly reason. Did I do something wrong? But I got up. Even quicker than other times. As he said, “the enemy doesn’t wait for you to get back up.”
Bracing once you feel the familiar pull of shadows guiding you elsewhere, you’re surprised to be sitting right next to Macaque on the floor of his dojo. After a dreadful amount of silence, he attempts his ‘comforting’ smile (more teethy than most would prefer, but you don’t mind) and asks, “What’s on your mind, bud?”
“—Nothing! Nothing. We can, uh, we can go back to training.” You insist. You’d hate him getting annoyed.
His eyes only narrowed.
“Or not.” You nod, accepting your fate to the dojo’s old floorboards until your stomach rumbled.
Macaque stifled a chuckle at your expense, but got up. You tailed him curiously as he made his way to your lounge area, which doubled as a kitchen.
As modest as it was, you remember moments and milestones of your earlier childhood—seeing past the very… minimalistic decor and glorified titles (a microwave, fridge, portable stove, couch, TV, and coffee table stuffed in a closet-like space did not count as a kitchen nor lounge in your eyes) in favor for sweet nostalgia and far-away memories. Now, you got beat like a rag-doll until Macaque was satisfied how you wheezed in pain significantly less or actually processed where he was before he sucker punched you.
With a subtle glance to the TV, you pick off some mandarins from a woven bowl on the coffee table while Macaque moves towards the fridge to grab leftovers.
“Now, care to indulge me?” Mac hummed as you grabbed the TV remote.
You flippantly went through channels. “I mean, it’s not really important.” Definitely not a soap opera day.
“Not what I asked you.” Maybe not a comedy.
You glance back at him at the stove, reheating what smelled to be some zha jiang mien. You fear not even the comfort of their taste would save you from an awkward conversation. I mean, constantly wanting his attention is just sad, right? “Well, uh,” You focus on the TV more. Not a weather station. “I just figured that y’know, ever since you’ve started teaching me self-defense, you keep… leaving.”
Macaque makes no noises and you slow down to focus on the children’s TV show, probably airing its second rerun. You can’t tell if it's because he is also uncomfortable or indifferent.
“I just was wondering… why.” You keep your tone tactfully vague. You didn’t want to reveal your crippling insecurities to someone as busy as him: Why were you gone for so long? Is it my fault? Did I do something wrong? Can I fix it? Why do you have to go? Why, why, why— It was just another bothersome thing he’d have to worry about fixing. So, you set the remote down once you flip to a news channel, pivoting to drape yourself over the couch’s back.
Mac looks somber. No, guilty. With a tinge of determination. For what? Why? “I’m sorry, bud, it isn’t your fault or anything. Just trying to tie up loose ends and what not. Boring, ri—” He cuts off, looking at the TV.
You turn back around, following Macaque’s fixated gaze.
The TV blares with the news like sirens warning civilians of impending doom. Except the “impending doom” was an upstart hero(?) with powers eerily similar to the Monkey King, fighting against the Demon Bull Kind. And winning.
You drop your mandarin slices you’ve been peeling passively.
Instinctively, you whip back around to see Macaque’s reaction again; his previous expression being only a blank, petrified stare. Now, he had steeled his face to a forced neutral with thinned lips.
You were keenly away from Macaque's strive for vengeance against the Monkey King, self-proclaimed Sage Equal to Heaven (at least Mac says it’s self-proclaimed). He’d mention it in passing and make a face at you when you returned from school even muttering names associated with Monkey King. You knew Sun Wukong had wronged your mentor and the extent. Your mentor had “died”. He faked his death, he said to you, in order to live. ‘Sometimes, you must feign vulnerability and weakness to win the war.’
But when you saw Macaque’s face, his reaction to a mini, revived version of another stone monkey who had severely harmed Macaque, you paled. He was normally stoic, sassy, petty, and more with a clear strength underlying backed up by confidence. But he wasn’t right now. He shrunk in on himself, seemingly in both fear and resentment. And that made you worried you’d lose him, this time permanently.
“Mac?”
You hear the tremble in your own voice, pathetic and strained. Are you worried for yourself when you are alone once more? Or your mentor, who seems to be reliving his own demons silently?
Macaque’s focus rips from the TV to you painfully. You faintly hear the hero’s victory. And just as quickly as the news from the TV popped up, he disappeared into the shadows with a motive hidden deep in his eyes. You stare at the remnants of the shadow where he disappeared into, unsure on what to do next.
He’s just taking a break. He’ll come back with a plan we can enact or something, you repeat to yourself like a life-saving mantra.
(It might as well have been.)
You don’t know the order of what happened next: You salvaging the burnt zha jiang mien in the stove, chewing your nails until reaching your nailbed, sobbing softly in fear of the unknown, or waiting patiently for Macaque to return for hours on end before falling asleep against the door.
(In your dreams, he comes back quickly with a bowl of various fruits. It’s all sweet.
He promises to stay. For as long as you live and breathe.
Then you wake up.
And you wish it was real, to your earnest.
It is not your destiny.)
— - ˚.⋆
Mac doesn’t come back for almost a month.
You keep yourself busy in the meanwhile, focusing on your school studies rather than self-defense.
It’s been a while since you’ve opened up your textbooks. When you fish them from under your bed, the thin layer of dust assaults your nose. You still had some years until you weren’t necessarily mandated to have school. Macaque insisted he’d keep you until you chose to stop, but he made no effort to make ample time for extra studying.
“You won’t even survive to study if you’re taken off the streets like liver spread.” Macaque once hummed with amusement to the mere thought. You shivered, yet still chuckled at the absurdity. (Deep inside, you know it isn’t absurd or far-fetched for demons and immortals to strive for power.)
So you mulled over the latest science class lab you got a surprisingly good score on despite little comprehension. By the time you’ve gone over basic guidelines and equations, it’s lunch.
You pull out your phone. Ever since Macaque left, you hadn’t had the heart to touch the stove. What if you burnt the house? Or at least something along those lines? Honestly, you wouldn’t put it against yourself. So, you took advantage of the allowance gave you (part of his theater profits after maintaining the routine costs of keeping his theater afloat) to buy some takeout. There were fast food options, a particular barbecue stand, and more that you frequented. Yet, recently, you were hooked on a noodle shop owned by a demon single-handedly. Nowadays, demons faced several forms of persecution and it’d be hard to even get a job. Owning a business as a demon was severely difficult. (Well, unless they abused and used violence.)
However, most didn’t mind. Those that did mind would opt for delivery, where a delivery boy—overly kind and more overly energetic—would give their noodles. You ordered ahead of time and walked most days.
Once you arrived, the restaurant was…chaotic to say the least.
To them though, you knew it was a normal work day. You seem to have caught MK on his break, in the middle of some mobile game match with Mei from the way they were yelling at each other. You take a meek seat by MK (scared you’d be jumped by Mei when she yowls after winning) as you make eye contact with Pigsy, the owner of the restaurant.
“Welcome back, kiddo.” He gruffly nods, accepting your cash after setting down your plate of zha jiang mien. It reminds you of something. You push it aside as you turn your attention to MK and Mei.
MK suddenly groans, seemingly losing, and then shoots up with a wide smile to your direction. “Hey! Sorry ‘bout that, we were testing the new Monkie Mech mobile version. How’sit going?”
“Haven’t seen you since, like, yesterday!” Mei cackled, setting down her phone.
You laugh at their antics, their energy fueling you. “Just doing more homework. It’s soo booorringg.” You elongate your vowels, watching both of them vehemently nod.
“Right? Maybe we can have a party or something soon, just you, me, and MK! Doesn’t that sound so fun!” It wasn’t really a question, more of a very, very excited statement. “How about a sleepover?!”
MK raised a brow hesitantly, “Even after the housesitting incident yesterday?”
“Hey! It wasss…perfectly fine!” She crosses her arms indignantly.
“Did she break and or burn her house down?” You chip into the conversation after surrendering to a bite of the zha jiang mian (How could you not? It was delicious to a fault!), a traditional sweet and savory hitting your tongue, just how you liked it. Just like Macaque got and made it.
Mei glared between you and MK, her voice getting defensively louder, “You both are so evil! It’s not like I totally destroyed it! Just maybe the main hall. And some other halls. And parts of the ‘trophy room’. Nothing vital!”
“Keep it down, gremlins! At least, you both, MK and Mei! At least the tiny tot pays.” Pigsy yelled from the kitchen.
MK and Mei begrudgingly voiced their acknowledgement.
“Oh, by the way MK,” the pig demon emerged, stirring what seemed to be some sauce, “me and Tang are going out tomorrow for ingredient refills, so the shop will be closed.”
Both aforementioned young adults seemed to reflate at Pigsy’s words. “Great! Awesome!”
Mei quickly stared at you with starry eyes, so quick you might as well have experienced whiplash, “That’s like, a mystic and Celestial sign!” You wince. “Tomorrow we can hang out for a while!”
“Tomorrow?” You parrot hesitantly.
“Only if you want to.” MK quickly butts in insistently.
You went over what you had to do tomorrow. Maybe some of that dumb math class could use some polishing. But, after that, your schedule was filled up with a whole bunch of nothing, nothing, and (guess what!) nothing. “I—uh, sure! Might be busy in the morning though, so I hope you guys won’t miss me too much.”
“If you change your mind, we have board game night the day after tomorrow.” MK offers helpfully, much to your relief. “However, be warned: We are super competitive.”
Mei giggled, “He only says that because he always loses, pipsqueak.”
“Hey! I’ll get my boys after you if you keep that up!” MK snaps docilely.
“Oh, like that time at the arcade?”
MK huffs, a split-second visibly panicked, before resigning to annoyance. “That was one time… you gotta stop using all this blackmail.”
The restaurant—buzzing with more of your, MK, and Mei’s barely quieted chatter (much to Pigsy’s chagrin)—lasted until the sun began to set. You waved goodbyes while Pigsy made you swear you wouldn’t die on your way home. You never really disclosed where you live exactly because of your ‘affairs’ at home, which is the only reason why you were never escorted back home. It wasn’t really important anyways. They always worry about it like mom hens, you smile as you walk the streets in the dim streetlights.
Upon the quiet chatter of Megapolis, you add to the symphony with your content hums. The environment from Pigsy’s Noodles was foreign, yet welcomed. Macaque had raised you in a tender quietness, careful and deliberate. He was the personification of tough love. You admired him, as any other child would to their parents.
But the humble noodle shop that you visited everyday? It was a gem along the streets. Like a large family reunion, daily. They were a cozy safe space in the uncertainty you’ve lived ever since almost three weeks ago. They never once asked why you came alone without a parent, how you had all this money (thievery was surprisingly easy in the big city), or the brief mention of your ‘home alone’ situation.
(You weren’t really home alone.
You were sure that Macaque kept tabs on you, whenever he wasn’t doing whatever he was doing.
You were sure.
Very.
Sure.)
So! Either way, Pigsy’s restaurant had grown on you like mold.
You glance down to your cat wallet-purse that Mac had jokingly bought for you once while strolling the market, arranging a roll of cash for tomorrow—already eager to use it.
MK especially was your favorite. Mei was a tad pushy and insistent at times, Pigsy was busy manning the kitchen, and Tang only loaded on old myths and free noodles. Sandy couldn’t always come over. He was flexible. He adapted to people like a social butterfly, making sure whoever he was hanging out with was comfortable. Better yet, he was just a genuinely good person and funny (to a degree, you had it with his Monkey King puns). Sometimes, when he had time, you’d hang out with him in his apartment, just upstairs from Pigsy’s Noodles, to draw with him. He’d easily slip you a compliment about your latest work or specific details, and gave you supportive feedback whenever you asked.
Mei was adoring, simply put. She had no qualms with showing her affection in a straight-forward, chaotic way. And she showed you affection quite a lot. Pigsy told you that she didn’t really have many friends besides those in the restaurant, and, even then, she was only close with MK. Ever since you frequented Pigsy’s, she warmed up to you like a tornado of an older sister. Mei gave you gifts almost on a daily basis—as seen with the haphazard stack of stuffed animals in your closet-of-a-room. She’d also give you miscellaneous advice, like with your… lacking fashion sense. Macaque and your collective lacking funds didn’t give you much room to experiment.
Pigsy was definitely one of your favorites, and not even because he made killer noodles. He was grounding within the group’s cacophony, anchoring their antics safely. He was practically the gruff dad of the group, and literally the gruff dad to MK. He’d extend his heart towards you as well over time, quicker than most since you actually contributed to the cash in his registers (unlike someone, he’d spiritually add). You appreciated his blunt responses too. You had a really bad tendency to overthink, as everyone had pointed out very early on. He was a key player in helping that quell.
Sandy was also vital to starting that journey. He was basically just an unpaid therapist and moral support. He’d been helping you meditate (something that Macaque had been pushing that you’ve never gotten into) with cool, scented candles. You think your favorite so far were pomegranate-scented, but he’d always switch them out. Either way, he was a sweetie, and he let you use his ship’s kitchen to bake some cookies that you’d invite him to share over some herbal tea. Currently, you both were working on learning tarot card reading for the fun of it.
Tang earned your mire only because he’d always beg you to pay for his noodles as well. But it was only playful banter, as you knew he was a sweetheart, truly. He indulged your curiosity with stories of adventures (sometimes, you did actually pay for his noodles for his better ones). You never once told him of your affinity for your mentor, but he read between the lines surprisingly well—a week of storytelling and then all his tales involved the Six-Eared Macaque in some way. He also bestowed upon you his wisdom, and scarily helpful advice. Only one time did you ever subtly hint that you were left to your own devices at home for two weeks (at the time), and he comforted you quickly. He told you to strive through the challenge, as it’d only highlight your strength in solitude. It’d be much cooler like some angsty book with a main character being mentored by the decrepit, wise man if you didn’t have to ask for the definitions of some of the words.
While you wouldn’t outright admit to any of them that you’d probably cross even the Jade Emperor for them, you were egregiously thankful for their unconditional kindness.
By the time you’re done reflecting on your entire month, you’ve reached the raggedy dojo once more that you called your home. Honestly, it was kind of sad, but it kept many loving memories. Either way, you grip the old, coppery doorknob and pull.
When the door closes, you’re surprised by a faint, familiar smell. Mac.
“Glad you haven’t gone rusty, bud.”
You turn your head to the source of noise, staring at him in disbelief. His entrance was… theatrical. For sure. And very non-serious.
(You could feel your face burn in embarrassment, reflecting over the past month. You were overreacting again. His indifference told you everything.)
“Welcome back.” You steel your expression, walking in as he watches intently from the kitchen. “I bought more mangoes a day ago. Below the sink.”
He immediately makes a face. “Who puts food under the sink?”
The banter was greedily welcomed.
“Deal with it! I had to make room for margarine in the fridge.”
“Margarine? For what?” Mac seems to relax visibly. He puts a hand on his hip after moving out your way when you make your way to the kitchen. “What’s so much more important than my mangoes? Must I remind you of the importance of a balanced diet with emphasis on fruits?”
“Please don’t.” You clear the tiny counterspace you have and pull out some mangoes to peel and cut. “I just saw some recipes for some sweet breakfast.”
“Hm. …Make some for me tomorrow. Put plums on top.” You roll your eyes at his demand.
The knife you hold echoes in the room. “Right.”
Quiet settles into the room for more time. You were sure that you were imagining things, but you were pretty sure that when someone you lived with went away for a month with no contact or notice, you don’t just settle back into the usual without confrontation. (MK made sure you were aware of that after a hypothetical during one of your insane overthinking sessions.)
So, you jumped the gun. “Uh, so, like, where have you been?”
Mac perks at the question, the silence now deafening. He lulls the questioning over, staring at you searchingly before growing colder in his features. “All over, xiao ying. I can tell you’ve been busy.”
His words are nothing but icicles scraping down each bone in your spine. “O-Oh?”
“That delivery kid,” Macaque leans over. “I’d probably advise against being friends with him. It won’t last long—I can tell you that much.”
Your brows furrow in response, confused, “Why? MK is nice! Like, to a fault!”
“Well, because I’m going to train him. And make him betray Monkey King. He’ll be angry when I’m done with him. Sad, really, but collateral damage is necessary. So, he won’t be pleased when he eventually realizes you’re connected to me.”
"Betray? What are you talking about?" You pause with knife in hand uncomfortably. "He only dreams of knowing the Monkey King. The, the Monkey King is his idol."
Macaque's face drops. "Xiao ying. You—you didn't know? He's that little Monkie Kid."
You drop the knife in your hand.