Further In and On We Go

…

"Mummified my teenage dreams

No it's nothing wrong with me

The kids are all wrong, the story's all off

Heavy metal broke my, heart…"

…

The birds were singing.

An absolute picture of perfection, Yukimura lifted one arm and slammed it down on the snooze button of the bird, quieting it for the next five minutes and giving himself a few more minutes of shut-eye. He nestled his head into the pillow, rubbing his cheek against the silky fabric and the rough texture of his hair, which was splayed out around his face in the splendor of a male peacock's tail—except it was blue, and shorter, and considerably less tame.

The birds started singing again, and this time Yukimura knew in the back of his head that he had to get up. His nose twitching lazily, he sat up in his bed, his eyes still reluctant to open and face the dawn light filtering through his window and patterning his skin. He forced them up, retreating like a vampire as they fought to adjust. He turned his head away from his window, scanning the familiar topography of his room. His gaze snagged on the Rikkai Dai uniform hanging on his closet door.

"Oh, yeah," Yukimura murmured. He was starting high school today. The excitement that had brewed inside of him for the previous couple of weeks climaxed in his gut and simmered down disappointingly. "I don't feel different," he mused, shrugging. It couldn't be helped, he supposed.

He pushed himself to the edge of his bed and touched his bare toes to the ground, padding softly into the bathroom. He went through his usual morning ritual of brushing his teeth, gurgling mouthwash, and spitting the blue liquid out in his sink. He stripped down and stepped into the shower, cranking on the water to drinking-water temperature and giving himself some time to go blank.

Yukimura wasn't one to worry himself with petty pleasures like the first day of school. Guillain Barré had really put life in perspective for Yukimura, and he had finally realized how short it really was. There certainly wasn't enough time to spend any of it stressing out. The old Yukimura probably would have woken up and thought something about dominating at Nationals. The new Yukimura also wants that, but now that his vision was less blinkered, he was also determined to catch up on all of life's hidden wonders when he still had the chance.

After a few minutes Yukimura raised his arms to his head and roughly massaged his hair, teasing out the tangles. A mist began to rise into the air—his cue to hurry up. He quickly rinsed his mouth with water and spit it onto the ground. He stepped out and wrapped himself in a towel, the mirror before him misted up now. He heard the annoying ring of his sister's alarm clock and quickly dried himself up, pulling on his white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants.

"Nii-san, hurry up," Sumiko called, rapping loudly three times in succession on the wooden door.

"Wait your turn, Koko," Yukimura teased softly—she hated being called that.

"But it's the first day of school, Nii-san," she whined admonishingly, leaning on the door. Today, his pet name for her didn't seem to generate much of a reaction. "I need to get ready."

"So do I," he replied.

There was a groan and stomping from the other side. Yukimura let out a small chuckle.

"But you're a boy, Nii-san. What could you possibly need to do?"

Yukimura opened the door a crack resignedly and slipped out, letting Sumiko dash in. "Fine, I get it. Take your time, Koko."

"Thanks," Sumiko muttered. She closed and locked the door behind her.

Yukimura laughed again and went into his room, unhooking his uniform from the closet door. He set it gently on his bed, admiring the material as it slid through his fingers, whispering as it moved against his skin.

It really wasn't all that different from the old middle school uniform, but there were certain details that stood out. Like how the shade of green on the blazer was just a shade darker than the middle school one and how the tie was striped differently—green-and-white instead of blue-and-white. There was also the addition of the white pin on his heart that declared Yukimura's first-year-ness, along with the black shoes instead of brown.

It seemed fitting to Yukimura that his surroundings would change since he had.

The bell rang once, and only once, which informed Yukimura that it was Sanada—because only he could keep himself from re-tugging the elegantly crafted chain that served as a bell. He was earlier than expected, considering that Yukimura had actually set his alarm clock thirty minutes earlier than needed to claim the bathroom before Sumiko, who always spent at least an hour going in and out of the bathroom to apply and reapply makeup. (Their parents could never understand their children and how they woke before seven.)

Smiling, Yukimura poked his head out the window and watched his friend shift uncomfortably on the doorstep, too much of a stiff to let himself in even though he knew where Yukimura kept the spare key.

"Just let yourself in, Genichirou. I'll be along in a minute," Yukimura called down, causing his head to snap up. Yukimura grinned at the surprise that had flashed across Sanada's face. "Don't let your guard down," Yukimura teased.

Sanada grumbled. He was already dressed in his uniform, which he filled well with his broad shoulders. If it wasn't for the white pin, he almost could have fooled a teacher into thinking he was a third-year. "Don't do that, Yukimura," he muttered, bending down and pulling away a loose chunk of red brick from the perimeter of Yukimura's garden. He slid the key from the small niche and replaced it.

Yukimura receded into his room and turned back to the uniform, slipping it over himself haphazardly. Sanada was waiting for him, so vanity would have to wait. He buttoned down the white dress shirt and shrugged on the green blazer. Tossing his tie over his shoulder, Yukimura toed into his black shoes and headed downstairs,

"Are you ready?" Sanada asked, standing up from the couch as Yukimura appeared.

"Yeah, let's go." Yukimura nodded, bending down to tie his shoes.

"Seiichi, are you going already?" his mom's voice called. She appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in an orange nightgown and still looking drowsy.

"Mm-hm."

Ryoko's blue eyes narrowed. "No, you aren't. Not like that Seiichi." With the superhuman speed of a nitpicky mother, she flew downstairs and slid the tie from Yukimura's shoulder, lightly whipping her son. She dragged him to his feet and looped the tie around his neck.

"It's not that bad," Yukimura murmured under his breath. He didn't say it out loud; his mother was scary even when she was being normal. It was one of the things he'd inherited from her.

"Hmm?" Ryoko asked, barely looking up as her nimble fingers did his tie and straightened the collar on his shirt. "What was that, Seiichi?"

"Nothing." Yukimura pulled back, stepping behind Sanada in an attempt to use his friend as a shield.

Unfortunately, it worked, and all of Sanada's imperfections were laid bare.

"Genichirou, shame on you," Ryoko scolded, stepping forward to fix an already-perfect tie. "Look, there's a piece of hair." She plucked a nonexistent strand of hair from his shoulder.

Sanada froze. His eyes slid to the side. Yukimura held back a snort, recognizing the signs. "Yukimura-san, can I have a lint roller?"

Ryoko beamed up at him. "See, Seiichi you should learn from Genichirou." She turned around and bustled into the laundry room, emerging a few seconds later with a lint roller.

"Thank you." Sanada took it in his fingers.

Yukimura fought back a roll of his eyes—this is what he got for introducing two micromanagers to each other. "C'mon, Genichirou, we should go meet up with Renji." He tugged lightly on Sanada's sleeve, twisting around to face the door. "Kaa-san, we're leav—"

She hugged him.

Yukimura froze as Ryoko buried her nose into his chin-length hair. After a brief moment of surprise, he wound his arms around her and patted her back comfortingly. "It's okay, Kaa-san," he soothed, like he'd always done for Sumiko when she used to need him to scare away the monsters.

Behind him, Sanada shifted his bag uncomfortably.

Then, Yukimura felt tears seep through his uniform. His eyes widened fractionally, but he just patted her back until she pulled away and held him at arm's length. Her eyes were moist and slightly red. "Are you okay, Kaa-san?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Ryoko muttered, looking down and laughing. She dropped her arms to her side and rubbed them on her nightgown. "It's just—my Seiichi's all grown up."

Yukimura smiled gently, slightly confused by this sudden show of affection. After all, it was just high school. Still, he pulled her into another hug. "I'll see you after school, Kaa-san." He drew back, kissing her gently on the cheek in the process.

Ryoko's eyes alighted on the newly acquired tearstains on his uniform. They narrowed. "Oh, now I've got your new uniform dirty. Silly me." She rubbed at the dark splotches on his shoulder. "They won't come out," she grunted, rubbing harder. "Hold on a second, Seiichi. I'll get a rag." She turned and ran into the kitchen.

Yukimura laughed at his mother's odd mood swings and nodded to Sanada. "We should go now. Or we won't be able to stop at Momoe's." His and Sanada's rising early plus the lack of tennis practice gave them time for an actual sit-down breakfast, a rare treat given their soon-to-be rigorous schedules.

Sanada bobbed his head.

"Kaa-san, we're going now," Yukimura called, already halfway out the door. He hooked a pre-packed backpack from the ground beside the door, dangling it by the strap.

Ryoko emerged with a towel in her hand. "What about breakfast?" she asked. "And your uniform?"

"It'll air dry, and Genichirou and I are stopping by Momoe's." Yukimura was now on the other side, peeking in through the crack he left.

She tsked. "Fine, go; leave your old mom here." She sat down at the table and flicked the rag at them. "I gonna give your lunch to your dad."

Yukimura shook his head. "I'll see you this afternoon, Kaa-san. I'll buy lunch at school."

He shut the door.

~x~

Momoe's, or Momoe's Super Ultra Delicious Ramen, was a renowned ramen spot downtown. They served ramen—and sushi, pizza, and just about any other food found in Japan, so it was a rather popular area. On Monday mornings, there was usually a discount meal for anyone who happened to stumble upon it—and few people did, save athletes and the early-bird tourist.

Yukimura and his friends were regulars to the place.

When he and Sanada entered, the place was already rather crowded, filled almost to the brim with early-morning runners, businessmen, and other students. Yanagi waved at them from their regular booth in the corner, a menu held in front of him even though he already had the whole thing memorized.

"Have you ordered yet?" Yukimura asked, sliding into the seat opposite him and setting his backpack at his feet. Sanada took his regular place beside Yanagi, scooting away when he turned and smiled.

"Good morning, Genichirou, Seiichi." He folded the menu in front of him. "I got you saba shioyaki and Genichirou Okinawa udon."

Sanada coughed.

Yukimura cocked an eyebrow. "Udon? He hates that."

Yanagi nodded. "Affirmative, but my data states that he plans on disciplining himself by denying himself his favorite things and replacing them with his dislikes. Isn't that right, Genichirou?" He turned to Sanada with a small smile, daring him to deny what he'd said.

He merely nodded. "Thank you, Renji." He pulled his hat down over his eyes and turned away from the booth.

"Um…excuse me, sir," a girl said, stopping by with their food. "Could you please scoot inward?"

He looked up. "Yeah, sorry," he muttered, following the girl's instructions, which brought him closer to Yanagi.

"Thank you for the food," said Yukimura, smirking at Sanada while keeping his eyes on the girl.

The girl blushed. "It's no problem, sir."

Yukimura focused on her and smiled brightly. She turned red and scampered away.

"Seiichi, you are a sadist," Yanagi murmured.

Yukimura tilted his head innocently. "A sadist? Don't group me with Seigaku's Fuji-kun. Plus, look what you're doing to poor Genichirou. He's turning green."

Sanada peered up through his hat. His usually olive skin had turned just a shade on the green side as he fought to swallow his breakfast. Finally, he choked.

"I'm going soft," he muttered.

Yanagi laughed. "Shall I order something else, Genichirou?"

"No. Absolutely not, Renji," Sanada said in the tone he used on Akaya when the younger boy was being particularly troublesome.

"All right, all right." Yanagi dug into his own breakfast: nakemono miso, ordered especially to harass Sanada because it was his favorite.

Yukimura finished chewing and balanced his chopsticks along the diameter of the bowl. "So, are you guys excited for the first day of high school?"

"Quite so," Yanagi replied mildly. "I, personally, am looking forward to the day Genichirou blushes because of a girl."

Sanada made a guttural sound in the back of his throat. "You're screwed up, Renji. And there is nothing special about today; school is school." He sipped his soup and almost wretched.

Yukimura laughed musically. "But there is, Genichirou. It's high school, and three years later, we'll be moving on with our lives. This chapter of our lives is almost over."

And then Yukimura realized why his mother had cried that morning. Time wouldn't stop, not even for the Child of God.

"We'll be all grown up," he murmured, chuckling at how he hadn't realized it sooner.

Both Yanagi and Sanada were silent, sensing the change in their friend and probably guessing what he'd been thinking. They resumed eating in silence, because Sanada was making a heroic effort to preserve the moment and not choke.

"Then we just have to make the most of it," he broke out, staring ahead with a fierce fire raging in his eyes.

"Right," Yanagi agreed. "There is an eighty-nine percent chance that Rikkai will win Nationals again this year with us on the team."

"Yes, Rikkai's unstoppable Big Three," Yukimura said.

But he knew that whatever happened, he would always have Renji and Genichirou to depend on.

~x~

Marui leaned back against his arms and yawned loudly, squeezing tears to his eyes. "Man, I can't believe school's beginning again. And just when summer started."

Jackal rolled his eyes. "A week ago, you were complaining about the lack of things to do."

"But that was when we didn't have school!" Marui reasoned, digging into his pockets to pop a slice of gum into his mouth. He chewed then blew a bubble. "Now it's completely different. Early morning, tennis practices, fan girls." He shuddered.

"And here I thought you liked the attention," Jackal remarked dryly, thinking back to a few months before school had let out the year before and how Marui had been practically mobbed by fans.

"Like, my ass," Marui muttered.

Jackal cocked an eyebrow, a retort on the tip of his tongue.

"Shit, Bunta, I didn't know you felt that way." Niou approached, lazily chewing on gum as well. He looked different, older somehow. Maybe he had finally trimmed that rattail of his.

"Language, Niou-kun," Yagyuu reprimanded.

Marui shot Niou a glare. "I'd tell you where you can stick it, but I'm not sure you have one of those."

Niou popped his gum in a scarily Marui-like manner. "Jackal, I love you," he said, mimicking Marui's voice.

"Huh?" Jackal looked around and then realized that it was Niou. "Don't do that, Niou. It gives people the wrong idea."

"Yeah! Now they'll all think I'm gay!" Marui shouted angrily.

The people around them turned and eyed him warily. They were all Rikkai students.

"Nothing to see here people," Niou said loudly, in a way that suggested something quite the opposite. He waved them away, smirking. "We're just helping him deal with sexual-orientation issues."

They all turned away, but their ears remained perked.

"Niou-kun, don't say it so loudly," Yagyuu scolded, talking at the same volume. He had joined along in his own subtle, gentlemanly way.

"Fuck you guys," Marui muttered sourly. ("Why, Marui-kun, I was just trying to help.") "Guys, it isn't what you think!" he said to the obviously eavesdropping crowd. "I'm just being victimized here."

"Heh-heh, too late." Niou slapped his back good-naturedly, his eyes still bright with mischief. "But don't worry. They won't judge. Maybe."

"Yeah, we're all nice people," Jackal added. "I'm sure we can find you a club in the school or something."

"Not you too, Jackal!" Marui wailed. "My reputation is ruined—hey! Watch it kid!"

A kid had zoomed through them, his backpack bouncing behind him and knocking Marui into Jackal. He weaved through the crowd of students heading toward Rikkai high school, uncaring that he had just reinforced Marui's troubles.

"Wonder what he's rushing about for," Niou muttered.

~x~

"Sorry, gay kid!" Yasuo didn't bother to turn around as he called this back, dashing through the crowd. Sure, it was Marui Bunta, but he had his sights set on bigger fish.

He barreled on, gaining speed, as Rikkai's wall got closer, until he spread one leg out in front of him and stepped up onto the bike rack set conveniently under the brick wall. Another stride and he was on the wall and then flying down, landing with cat-like grace on hard-earned muscles. He planted his hands on the cement ground for barely a second, but long enough so it looked like a cool moment from a movie, and then continued his mad dash through the crowd.

It was the first day of school, and as always, stands from every useless club in the school were taking up the lawn, the chosen representatives from these clubs trying to gather kids. The sports teams had the biggest lines so far. Yasuo made his way to the one with Boys' Tennis stitched into a red banner above it. He bulldozed into the last person in line and continued forward, until he was at the front.

"Hold on a sec, kid. You just cut through the whole line," the third-year manning the stand scolded, intercepting Yasuo's hand as he reached for the pen.

"If he's at the front, just let him sign up," another blond-haired third-year muttered, staring ahead with boredom glinting in his gaze. He had his feet propped up on the stand and his arms folded over his chest.

"Now, Koichi, if we let everyone cut, what do you think would happen?" the first boy asked, oblivious to his patronizing tone.

"They'd sort it out?" the second boy murmured.

The first boy sighed and spread his arms out. "But it's the principle of the thing, Koichi. It's not right."

"Kid, move," the person behind Yasuo demanded.

"Shush," Yasuo hissed, jamming his elbow into the boy's groin and causing him to double over. He looked at the two arguing third-years and inched his hand toward the pen.

"Don't even try it," the first boy warned in a low voice, spotting Yasuo's hand from the corner of his eye. He slammed his hand down on the pen.

"Damn it, Makoto, just let the kid sign up already. You're holding up the line." Koichi pressed his fingers to his temples in agitation.

Makoto looked up and realized that there was indeed a whole line of agitated teenage boys being forced to wait unnecessarily. "Fine, kid, but remember: nobody likes cuts." He pushed the pen at Yasuo with an amiable smile. "You're off the hook for now." He mussed up Yasuo's hair.

"Thank you, senpai," Yasuo muttered, bowing out of the way and taking the pencil to scrawl his name in Kanji on the sign-up sheet. He slipped a registration paper off of the top of the pile and quickly slid out of line.

With his "thunder" now officially ruined, Yasuo supposed that he could get some data on his fellow first-years. Around him, old friends and new acquaintances were greeting each other with bright smiles. Both of Yasuo's friends had moved away during the summer, leaving him by himself. Which was totally fine, but at times like these, it was terribly awkward to be a lone star among a group of people who just—belonged. He probably didn't stand out at all in reality, but in his head, he was like a sour thumb.

A light bulb appeared above his head.

"Hah-hah, get it!" someone shouted into his ear, slapping his backpack.

Yasuo ducked away and whirled to glare at the idiot. "Dude. What the hell?" he demanded. Who did that to a stranger? He hadn't even been having an idea.

…Wow, did that sound stupid or was it just him?

"Sorry," the boy said, holding out a hand. The first thought Yasuo had when he saw him: Wow, is he really a boy? The second: Why is his voice so low?

"Um…" Yasuo stared at the hand; had he picked his nose with it? He certainly looked like the type. Yasuo weighed some numbers in his head and decided that there was roughly eighty percent chance likelihood of him being at least an ear-picker if not something worse. "No thanks," he said, pushing down the hand with an index finger.

He looked up, and the boy seemed be holding in snickers. Yasuo arched an eyebrow, and he burst out into wild laughs as he turned around and raced toward a group of other boys who were cracking up in the shade of a cherry blossom tree.

The hell? Yasuo thought again, staring at them with a bemused expression.

"Hah-hah, the fuck d'you got on you, man?" someone shouted behind him.

Yasuo whirled around, his face still carrying his confusion. The person was gone. It had probably just been a bored upperclassmen looking for a first-year to tease. Yasuo hated people who made fun of other people for their own amusement. The bastard, he thought venomously, clenching his hands at his sides.

"Um…excuse me." A finger tapped on Yasuo's shoulders. "You have something on your backpack."

Yasuo turned around. His eyes flew open wide; in front of him stood the Big Three—Yukimura Seiichi, Yanagi Renji, and Sanada Genichirou. Yukimura was the one who had tapped his shoulder, his slender fingers arched gracefully at his side now.

"Um…" Yasuo immediately cast his eyes downward. "Thanks, Yukimura-san." He reached behind him and tugged off a piece of paper, not bothering to look at the writing scrawled on it before he crumpled it up and stuffed it into his pocket. He plunged his hands after it and hunched his shoulders.

"Are you new here? I've never seen you around Rikkai," Yukimura observed.

Yasuo didn't look up as he smirked in satisfaction—That's because I didn't want you to know about me.

Then: "He is Yuudai Yasuo, a first-year here, like us. He doesn't play any known sports, but his physique is comparable to some of our second-stringers back at the mid school, which suggests that he trains privately. He is of a gifted intelligence, his IQ ranging around 115 to 125. Grades range from high-eighties to mid-nineties. Body measurements are—"

Sanada coughed. "Enough, Renji."

Yanagi quieted.

Damn. Yasuo pursed his lips, but otherwise stayed silent. His fists clenched in his pockets; he itched to challenge them there and then. But—he had to wait, bide his time. "Wait for the opportune moment," according to Captain Jack Sparrow.

Yukimura laughed lightly. "I hope I see more of you this year, Yuudai-san." He patted Yasuo on the shoulder, acting like his touch was some great gift to Yasuo, and brushed past him to the front of the line tennis line.

As Yasuo walked away, he couldn't help but notice that Makoto hadn't said anything to them about "cuts."

~x~

"Hit it, dogface! C'mon, what're you? I've seen two-year-olds play better than that! That's pathetic!"

Kirihara barely looked up from his phone as a superfluous amount of insults took shape on his tongue and flooded from his mouth. He didn't care that there was nothing to be corrected or that everyone was doing everything right—somewhere, sometime, someone would mess up, and he would be prepared to shout at him for it. He continued texting on his phone, leaving all the technical stuff to his newly acquired assistant, Masanori.

The boy was a jumpy little specimen with a bird-like frame and wide bubble eyes that had almost scared the shit out of Kirihara when he'd first seen him, not that he'd ever admit that. And, believe it or not, the kid had actually offered his services. No bullying needed. Well, actually, some bullying. Kirihara had found some second-year guys beating on the kid during school, and being the do-gooder he was (he'd actually just been looking for someone to beat up), he had helped the shrimp out. After that, Masanori hadn't let Kirihara out of his sight. And Kirihara was really rather proud—he bet that even Niou-senpai couldn't get a personal assistant on the first day of school as a first-year.

Another thing for him to be happy about. Even though all of his upperclassmen had left for high school, they were in that hellhole at the bottom of the food chain, and here Kirihara was: sitting high on a throne of success and might as a third-year at the top. (Actually, he was sitting on a park bench amidst sweaty, terrible excuses for tennis players, but same dif.)

He got a text. It was from Yukimura.

His phone had been practically buzzing with texts from random strangers for the first hour or two of school. By lunch, the myriad had subsided. Now, only an occasional few from Kirihara's most trusted confidants (AKA: his "posse") appeared regularly. He'd been cleaning out his inbox when the first text from Yukimura since the school year officially started appeared.

Kirihara opened it up. Akaya, how's Sumiko?

His eyes narrowed. Who?

Sumiko, Akaya. Sumiko, my baby sister.

His eyes bugged out of their sockets. YOU HAVE A SISTER!? WHEN THE FUCK DID THAT HAPPEN?

Kirihara could practically hear the sigh from the other end. I sent you ten texts about her last night, Akaya.

Why would you do that? Kirihara typed back. He assumed his ex-captain would take a while to get his head around that, and switched back to his inbox.

There was a text from Yanagi-senpai. It read: Language, Akaya.

Kirihara wrote back, You're such a stalker. He then went back to his and Yukimura's chat.

Akaya, I told you to keep an eye out for her at school.

Really? Kirihara asked.

Akaya, I don't have time for this, and neither do you, I must remind you. Just, in the future, watch out for Sumiko at school. She's the second-year with blue hair.

Kirihara snorted. He didn't have time to look after Yukimura's little sister. He had a social life of his own, people to bully, teachers to annoy, friends to grace with his company. Besides, she was just Yukimura 2.0, nothing important, certainly not as great as the original.

But—Kirihara hesitated—it was Yukimura, Kirihara's former captain, and if he would put his pride aside to ask Kirihara for a favor…Well, Kirihara could always demand some sort of payback. Kirihara entertained this new idea in his head, watching the tennis courts before him.

Why was Masanori playing human target instead of getting him water?

Kirihara's eyes widened and he stood up with a series of cuss words. "You little turd! I need water!" he roared.

"Sorry!" Masanori squealed, quickly scrambling away from his bullies.

Kirihara sat back down in satisfaction. Being captain felt good. He now understood why Sanada had been such a control freak—because it was so much fun. He supposed he could help Yukimura (he imagined the former captain kneeling in front of him and thanking him). After all, Kirihara was feeling generous today, and he was in a good mood.

Plus, had a fuckin' personal assistant.

A/N: Yep, so this is basically my take on what'll happen when the regulars go into high school. Warning: there is a lot of OCs in this story, but I will definitely try to stay away from the Mary-Sue/Gary-Stu area. The only OCs that I go in depth with is the ones that will contribute to the story.

Without further ado, I hope you like this first chapter. I understand it was kind of weird, but please, just bear with me for a while. It should get better.

Disclaimer: Lyrics at the top are from Centuries by Fall Out Boy, which I don't own.