Awkward Subtlety
Chapter 1

. . .

"A four-page article about Ore-sama, you say? Along with a week-long digest regarding Ore-sama's daily activities," he paused, stressing the last word so that even a child would get it, "not routine, for a king's life is never monotonous and dull."

She nodded once, automatically before she had the sense to stop. Not that she would dare not to anyway, what with his glance that easily commanded submission.

"Well, commoner, if you are to write a series of seven books about Ore-sama," he thought aloud, smoothing strands of his silver hair, as he thought of all the important details that should be compressed in those potential book installments. He frowned slightly, though, as seven undoubtedly would still not suffice. In fact, even just the marvelous descriptive introductions about him could not fit in just a thousand-page book, starting with the elegant way his dazzling hair fell to his stunning face at just the right lengths, the magnificence of his tennis prowess that radiated more when he used his infamous Insight technique, and simply the plain gloriousness of his lavish everyday lifestyle. But if indeed it was a seven-book series…

"then Ore-sama might consider." After all, seven is a celebrated number fit for a king. "But still, of course, after ensuring that only the world's finest writer would be given such honor."

His eyes looked down at her with that conceited glare only he could bestow, as if her very presence was unworthy to be within a hundred yards from the crowned king. "Why, an unsatisfactory girl like you might smudge Ore-sama's spotless reputation with your utter lack of social acumen and inept writing skills, not to mention it would disdain Ore-sama to have a societal misfit tagging behind him, just as the splendor of a limousine would be ruined by a rundown Volkswagen chugging at its tail."

She paused for a while, her brain taking in piece by piece the eloquent articulation of groundless insults directed towards her. She felt her cheeks reddening at the embarrassment and frustration building up from inside her body. She wasn't always the outspoken, prove-them-wrong type.

But there were instances, none in comparison to this one, wherein her tongue just violently breaks loose from her nerves.

"First of all, Atobe-san," she gritted between her teeth, trying to muster a smile but ending up with awkwardly twisted lips instead. "I am not a social or societal misfit, whatever you call it. I may not have a thousand Twitter followers like yours—"

"Millions," he corrected.

"—but at least all my Facebook friends are real acquaintances and friends whom I can easily recognize at a glance," she continued, paying no notice to his abrupt interruption, and emphasizing the last three words with utmost conviction.

"Around a hundred, Ore-sama would guess."

Her eyebrows twitched. He mocked a hundred. A freakin' hundred. Isn't a hundred already a lot? "Second, how could you say that I lack judgment and skills when prior to this moment you didn't even know I exist?"

"Exactly Ore-sama's point," he answered, seemingly stating what should have been the obvious.

She cleared her throat, twice, unnecessarily. This was going overblown. Or rather, it was overblown and he was going overboard. It's just a silly four-pager article for the Back-to-School edition of Hyotei's official publication meant to entertain shrieking silly fans who would just focus on the three to four phrases labeled 'Ideal girl' above everything else, let alone grammar, for goodness' sake. As if staring and ogling at it would magically transform them into fitting queens bearing such traits.

And yes, perhaps a detailed 'Daily schedule' section might rank second place, what with all the stalkers lingering within the Atobe Kingdom.

"And third," she went on with her three-point rebuttal, struggling to collect her calm and sanity before she lost them entirely. "If you really are that perfect as you boast yourself to be," she ignored the sudden raised eyebrow of the handsome yet daunting face in front of her, "then surely nothing I could write would smudge your faultless profile. And I promise to write the truth and nothing else."

The tennis captain glared at her for a moment or two, his intimidating yet poised expression denying her of any clue as to what goes on through that bloated yet sharp brain inside.

His posture relaxed as he leaned back to his chair. His lips widened to a smirk as his hand smoothed strands of silver hair already perfectly in place, leaving his fingertips high up in the air.

And she knew, she clearly remembered, she should have politely left the same way she entered the second he said no, as she had initially resolved to do the moment her own small fry of a brain captured and sorted out her editor-in-chief's instructions.

For a moment, she forgot.

And for probably the rest of her middle school years and even beyond, she's dead.

Just so dead.

. . .

'Okay, so here's what I have so far,' Ayame mentally noted to herself as she checked her azure notebook computer. 'At exactly 8 AM Atobe -san arrives at school for the second half of morning tennis practice. He goes straight to third floor, Section 4-A at 9 AM, and leaves at 3:20 PM. In-between classes he goes to the President's office for whatsoever discussions for 10 minutes during the morning, and, at times, graces the school-wide broadcast with a guest appearance during lunch break.'

'Alright. Good,' she muttered to herself. 'Then, right after dismissal he heads quickly to the student council room to check the update reports from each club while having afternoon tea with Kabaji-kun.'

'At 4PM to, like, right now,' she glanced at the tennis practice taking place in front of her spot at the bleachers, 'he oversees and trains with the tennis club members.'

'Whew, I just read through his partial schedule, and I'm already tired. Is he Batman or something?'

She shrugged, and instead focused her attention to the object of her notes, who was standing on what appeared like center stage, but was actually only the side court. He was sweating all over, with a towel draped over his well-built shoulders, as he directed and scolded his teammates individually. There was no denying his cool, handsome looks and neither his striking arrogance. But his charisma prevails above anything else – his superior leadership skills and compelling self-confidence.

'And his incomparable perseverance to get to where he is now.'

Click. Came the sound of her digital camera.

Apparently, the flash caught Atobe's attention, for he immediately glanced at the source of light. Ayame jerked at his sudden motion, and she impulsively waved her hands, panicky and apologetic at the same time. Atobe quickly reverted his eyes to his teammates.

"Gaaah!" she cried out in frustration, which apparently was a tad too loud, as students with all senses intent on the practice struck annoyed looks her way.

Ayame sighed in exasperation. Why does she feel like she's a paparazzo committing a criminal act? And with all her sneaky tracking and snooping around rather than direct monitoring and interviews, she seemed all the more like a stalker fan-girl rather than a student journalist. It's for a valid article in a legal school paper, for Hyoutei's sake! Why did she ever agree to this top-secret set up ordered by Atobe and her EIC!

She opened the file titled "Assignment" on her laptop, and stared at the Conditions portion of the scanned copy of the signed contract.

"Atobe Keigo, henceforth referred to as the "King," and Ayame Haruka, henceforth referred to as the "Writer" undertake to abide by the terms and conditions as set forth in this contract.

"Rule #1: No one else besides the King, the Writer, and the Editor-in-Chief (EIC) should know of the arrangement without the King's consent, but only the first two (2) should know of this contract.

Rule #2: The King would first study the article to be written by the Writer and have it revised to his heart's content, without sidestepping the truth, before anyone else is allowed to see it.

Rule #3: The King's activities would be observed by the Writer on the former's own terms.

Rule #4: The Writer should call the King as "Atobe-sama." The King can call the former however he wants to."

'Cruel, abusive king,' she lamented.

She turned her eyes to the students exiting the school gate.

'I hope tennis practice doesn't last again for, like, three hours or something.'

And three whole hours it was.

. . .

"That's all for today. Make sure you do your training assignments, otherwise, don't show your ugly faces to Ore-sama again." Ayame heard the captain give out his last instructions for the day.

"Atobe-sama!" came the screams of the dedicated fan-boys and rabid fan-girls.

The King, as expected, was quick to respond. He snapped his dainty fingers, and silence ensued. He then lowered his fingers to his face for his famous Insight pose. He declared some definitive proclamations that Hyoutei will be the winner and that they will crush the opponents they'll be facing a day from now, for all Ayame cared. And with another snap of his fingers, the crowd roared again.

With a sigh of relief, Ayame inserted her notebook computer in her shoulder bag and turned to the school gates' direction to take her leave.

"Follow me," Atobe ordered the club regulars through the thick crowd, which made Ayame abruptly turn back.

"Ayame Haruka, am I correct?" a blue-haired guy wearing glasses, who was more familiar than Ayame would've wanted to at this time, asked as he approached. He was smiling, which was even far from comforting. And was that a twinkle in his eyes?

"Hn, interesting." And the tensai's lips curved upwards.

She did not just hear him say that.

. . .

Hi, Everyone! I hope you liked this chapter. Please review! I'd appreciate all sorts of feedback, comments, suggestions, critiques, and whatever thoughts you want to express! Thanks so much for reading and I hope you'll read the next update when it comes! :)