BEYOND THE AID OF LIGHT
Prologue
"Check all hospitals and police stations in the immediate area. Report back to Ore-sama whether you find anything or not." Tersely cutting the line, Atobe Keigo snapped his sleek silver cell phone shut, leaned back in his chair and said no more.
Around him, the regulars of the Hyotei Tennis Team sat or stood, all looking on soberly. Silence reigned in the team's locker room; there was no casual chatter, or even many movements as seven boys studied their captain with a general sense of edginess. Even some, such as Muhaki Gakuto and Wakashi Hiyoshi, who didn't appreciate the gravity of the situation as Atobe did, nevertheless managed to maintain at least the appearance of solemnity.
It was as though Atobe's tensely rigid demeanor had struck them all dumb. The lazy, self-assured smirk they had all grown used to was gone, replaced by a hard straight line of thin lips. His chin had lost its cocky upward tilt; he now sat with his head slightly bowed. Yet his eyes stared on ahead, white flashing beneath the black, narrowed but not narrowed, alert but stormy. His face itself appeared thinner, haughty cheekbones and pointed nose acutely defined, sharper.
He was worried, Oshitari Yuushi observed, noting the lack of poised elegance in Atobe's posture, and how he clutched his phone so tightly in one fist that his hand shook. He wasn't panicking--Atobe never panicked--but definitely worried. "Oi, Atobe, don't you think you're overreacting a little?" Oshitari finally ventured to ask, careful to keep his tone serious and his expression free of its custom mockery.
The strung up diva gave him a severe look which the team normally associated with exceptionally bad performance in tennis matches. "Ore-sama is merely taking no chances and covering all possibilities. You would do well to keep in mind that the girl has ties with both local gangs. Gangsters have a tendency to get injured or arrested, as you might have noticed by now."
Such a harsh tone. Atobe clearly wasn't taking things lightly. "She left both gangs over a year ago," the tensai pointed out reasonably.
"Which neither is happy about," Atobe growled impatiently. "Who is to say they wouldn't do her any harm in a fit of temper, or for revenge?"
"Nobody," Oshitari said smoothly. "I understand why you might be concerned, but I don't think you should jump to conclusions just because she skipped one day--one morning, to be exact--of school. Maybe some family matters came up?"
The Hyotei captain turned thunderous eyes on his teammate. "If one day you're attacked on the street and are dying of your many bleeding wounds," he said in a voice that told Oshitari it was time to shut up, "please do not blame Ore-sama for wrongly assuming that your absence meant you were attending to family matters."
No one else said anything after that. Their lunch period passed in painfully drawn out minutes of tension and anxiety. None of them left the room despite growing hunger, among other needs. During this time, everyone came up with at least half a dozen reasons why Atobe's friend might have suddenly gone missing, but very sensibly did not dare voice them out. As the beginning of afternoon classes approached, a phone call came in, reporting that there were no patients or detainees matching her name or description. They originally thought that Atobe would be able to relax a little on receiving that news, but were sadly disappointed. "It might mean she hasn't been able to call for help, or that no one else has done it for her."
Finally, five minutes from the bell, Ohtori Choutaro mustered up the courage to speak. "Ano…her classmate mentioned that the teacher didn't call her name today at morning register, right?" He watched his captain and senpai nervously, going on only when he was sure Atobe wasn't about to explode or punch him in the gut for making unwanted noise. "I think…" Hesitating, he gulped.
"What, Choutaro?" Atobe snapped. "Just say it."
"Hai!" the timid Second Year hastened to comply. "I only wanted to suggest if…maybe we should check the at the school office about…enrollment?"
Atobe's head whipped around faster than it took a tennis ball to cross a court after being hit with a Scud Serve. "What exactly gave you the idea that she would simply take herself out of school without informing anyone, even Ore-sama?" he demanded, tone broaching on anger. Choutaro stiffened, preparing to apologize for giving offence, but was spared the need to do so as Atobe pushed off from his chair and charged out of the room, the rest of the team in tow.
To everyone's surprise, he actually headed up to the office and demanded to be allowed to inquire on a certain student's status in Hyotei. Snapping out a name he waited impatiently as the unnerved receptionist hurriedly logged on to her computer and searched for the information he wanted.
A minute later she frowned, bit her lip and peeked up at him apologetically. "I'm afraid there are no records of this person that suggest she's part of the current student body," she said, her voice trailing away as she saw that Atobe's face grew darker with every word.
"Ore-sama wants to see the lists of all Second Year classes," he practically snarled, ripping the lists from the receptionist's hand once they were within reach. Furious eyes traveled like black fighter jets down the first page, then the next as his lithe fingers tore pieces of paper away from the pile he had confirmed that none of them showed the name he was looking for.
Finally, the team held its breath as he reached the last sheet. This one he spent whole minutes on, his gaze sweeping up and down, again and again, scrutinizing each line as though it might shape shift before his eyes. At last, when he had checked and rechecked until he could no longer deny it, Atobe lowered the page.
They waited for his reaction. For a while, he simply stood where he was, the single sheet of paper dangling loosely from his limp fingers, the rest of the discarded documents scattered on the ground all around. His expression, so fiery and purposeful only moments before, now turned stiff and shadowed. They watched his eyes, watched their intensity disappear, watched as coal black pupils disappeared behind pale lids.
The powerful Hyotei team watched as their captain displayed an emotion they had never seen on him before. Resignation.
Slowly, he turned. Everyone scrambled to clear a path for him straight out the office door. There, they dawdled in the hallway to see what he did next. The bell had rung; the corridors were empty, and they could all expect reprimands when they eventually returned to their classrooms, but nobody even thought to leave.
Nobody except Atobe. Abruptly he looked up, squared his jaw and strode swiftly towards the nearest staircase. "Oi, oi, Atobe, you can't go out now--" Shishido Ryo started to call after him, but stopped short when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Let him go," Oshitari said simply.
Together they looked on as the silver hair they were so accustomed to seeing bouncing steadily and confidently in front of them descended and disappeared from view, short curls pushed uncaringly backwards by passing wind. The last they saw of Atobe's uniform billowed out behind him, his jacket unkempt, collar flapping untidily. His retreating back said one thing that they all heard loud and clear: I don't care what you think anymore.
"Buchou…will he be all right?" Choutarou asked tentatively. "Where is he going?"
Six of them looked, one after another, to Oshitari, who accepted the unsaid plea for leadership without question or complaint. "Aa, he'll be fine," he assured them, staring after his friend and commander intently. "He's dealt with worse, I believe. As for where he's going… I think he's going to try and find her."
And all the regulars, in their own different ways, sighed.
Outside, Atobe had already reached Hyotei's gates and walked through them without a backwards glance. Breaking out onto the dusty streets he took a sharp turn and headed away from school. He was going to look for her now. He was going to comb the city until he found her.
Atobe vaguely thought about calling for his car. It would certainly make more sense, since it meant he would be able to cover more ground faster. However, he brushed the notion aside almost at once; the pent up nervous energy inside him drove him to go on foot. He walked, trotted, then went in a full out run as he rushed along Tokyo's streets, leaving the respectful, quiet neighborhood he was familiar with for the back allies, for gangster populated areas.
He was being reckless. He was diving head first into places where he knew no one would respect him for being a star tennis player, the heir to the Atobe business empire, or any other title he could claim to have.
And he didn't care.
Come out, he urged silently. Come out to see Ore-sama, wherever you are. If you are all right, come out and let Ore-sama find you. Still he could not banish that image of her lying on a pavement, hurt and scared. If you can still walk or even stand, come out. If you are hurt, let Ore-sama help you. Ore-sama will help you. He will not even ask any questions, until he has helped you.
At last, he had to stop in his tracks to catch his breath. The grubby, run down residential compound in which he'd paused was someplace he normally would never have set foot in voluntarily. The roads were none too clean, littered with garbage, especially near the garbage cans overflowing with takeout boxes, empty beer bottles and all refuse of all sorts. The people looked as well groomed as the crumbling houses on either side of the street, wearing faded attire to match the faded walls.
For all he knew and cared, Atobe's appearance was no better. His clothes were soaked, sweat adhering his shirt to his chest and back, his hair lank and damp. Gasping harshly, he continued to scan the area around him, ignoring inquisitive and hostile glances he got, looking, though he feared the thought of finding it, for flashes of red.
He found none. He ran on.
On and on, block after block, Atobe went through every alleyway, ever deserted parking lot or public garden, every place he could think of where she might have gone, where she might have fallen. It was farther than he had ever run for any training. He reached the limit after which he would usually have stopped to take a rest, and went right past it without thinking. He ran until he literally could run no more. He couldn't remember ever doing this before.
It was late afternoon when he made to return, his feet dragging with weariness. Shoulders slumped forwards, he shambled along watching his shoes, lacking energy to even continue turning his head at regular intervals. One foot after another, step after step, he watched his once pristine black leather shoes, scuffed, dusty, and scratched. He felt sticky and filthy all over from the buckets of collected perspiration oozing from his clothes. But he did not go home.
Instead, he went to her house. It was empty, as it always was. Her parents were out doing business in one country or another. The darkened windows reflected the last rays of a setting sun as he approached it and collapsed against the fence surrounding its neat lawn. Breathing heavily, he raised his eyes to stare up at the house, taking in its size--nothing to his residence, of course--and once again realizing with regret how big it must seem to a girl of thirteen living mostly by herself. She must never have wanted to stay there alone, he reflected. She just wanted to go out and be with other people. But she didn't know what was outside.
A slight breeze picked up, chilling him through his thin, sweat soaked shirt. Atobe at last made a move to straighten his jacket and re-button it. It was then that he found his fingers were shaking, fumbling the delicate clasps. Fastening them turned out to be a laborious process. After a long while he looked up. The streets were still void of people.
Let Oshitari be right. He wished his teammate would prove correct, and that she had merely been called away for some family business that for some reason required her to withdraw from Hyotei, and that she would reenter the next day. Atobe wished that he, the diva, the god-like tennis player, were wrong in his intuitive thinking that, no, she would not be back.
He caught his reflection in the window of a nearby car. It was hard to believe that the disheveled face staring back was his; slick hair had turned choppy, strands sticking out in all possible directions, bright eyes had closed to a half-mast due to fatigue, and his mouth sagged at the corners, a result of having clenched his teeth continuously for a whole afternoon. Raising a hand he began combing his hair back into something resembling his normal style, all the while remembering, she used to laugh at me for doing this.
He wished she were here to laugh at him.
Twilight. His phone had rung half a dozen times, and to each caller he gave the same answer, "No, later. Ore-sama will come home later." Though, he had no idea why he was still there. If all he feared turned out true, she would not make it back to the house without assistance. If, say, for some other bizarre reason, her family had decided to move house and reunite in Europe, then there was even less of a chance that she would appear at all. He didn't know why he was still here, waiting for her to return.
Therefore he had no clue as to what to expect when he spotted the lone figure materializing in the distance, her white uniform glowing ghost-like in the evening hue.
She's home. Atobe closed his eyes briefly, and breathed. The image of her nearing form lingered in his mind and he quickly recognized her solid gait, lethargic and subdued like she had just had tennis practice, but comfortable and unburdened by injury. Which was just as well; it meant he could have his long awaited answers now.
As her face came into clear view he saw surprise, sheepishness, and a frown. Obviously she had not expected to see him there--meaning she didn't know him as well as he thought she should--much less looking like someone who had just run a marathon in office clothes. When he came to think of it, the circumstances astounded him too. Then, she was in front of him, looking up at him in her patent gaze. "Keigo? What happened to you?" Not worshipful, with no sign of reverence or fawning worry. Just a concerned, "Keigo? What happened to you?"
Keigo, why are you so messed up?
Keigo, is there anything I can do for you?
Keigo, I don't want to talk about what's going on with me right now.
"Ore-sama…Ore-sama went…where have you been?" Even Atobe was shocked at how rough his voice ended up sounding, as though he had been roaring himself hoarse for the last couple of hours. "You didn't go to school today," he accused.
"Yes, I did, Keigo," she said calmly, studying him with an almost sad expression.
He raised a brow, prompting her to elaborate, but she did nothing more than gaze at him. Glaring at her did nothing to help. Gradually, he found no more reason to stare at her impassive face, and his line of sight moved elsewhere. Strikingly prominent was how neat her outfit was, compared to his. Smooth, clean white dress, matching, even socks and black shoes reflecting dull streetlamp light. Her schoolbag was in place, as was her tennis bag… No, not her tennis bag. Just a tennis bag.
"You didn't go to Hyotei," Atobe amended. Her uniform was different; the collar was brown. Her tennis bag was brown.
There was no brown on Hyotei Girls' Tennis Team regulars' items.
"I meant to tell you today," she sighed heavily. "Right after school or even during lunchtime. But I left my cell phone at home. Honest mistake."
Her half-shrug infuriated Atobe just as Choutaro's suggestion from before did. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing casual about uprooting oneself from one school to another without prior notice to anyone. There was nothing casual about leaving one's friends to wonder where one was, their imaginations going out of control with scenes of fists and knives and blood. "Do you have any idea what Ore-sama thought when you didn't answer Ore-sama's calls? Aa?"
Outrageously, his plainly valid question annoyed her. "Keigo, we've been through this before. I thought we established that I can handle myself just fine. Just because I'm not in school for a day and you don't know why doesn't mean--"
"And this!" Atobe made a sweeping gesture at her uniform. Her non-Hyotei uniform. "When did you ever mention this to Ore-sama?"
"I just told you," she murmured, rather shamefaced again, "I was going to let you know today."
Atobe took a step forwards. He towered over her by almost a foot, and she had to strain her neck to keep eye contact. Good, he thought. He had to let her know that he wasn't to be treated as a triviality. "So it wouldn't have been possible to do that the month before? The week before? The day before?"
"No, it wouldn't."
He blinked, temporarily thrown off balance. She actually had a reason? There was a brief internal struggle on whether to be glad there was a reason (and thus her purposeful omission of this critical news was premeditated instead of a completely thoughtless act with no consideration for his feelings) or to be upset that there was a reason (thus implying that he legitimately needed to be deceived). In the end, it all boiled down to one question. "Why?"
Why didn't you give any forewarning of something that will change our lives so drastically?
Why didn't you mention being pressured to leave, so that Ore-sama could have made things better, so that you wouldn't have had to go?
Why didn't you trust Ore-sama to know?
"Because you would have found a way to stop me."
In that instant, Atobe stopped inhaling. The next moment, air rushed into his lungs in a harsh gasp and a waterfall of his ferocity from earlier on that day came cascading back as a wrenching sense betrayal drew tight around his chest like iron chains.
"I'm sorry, Keigo. There was…there was something…it doesn't matter now, but for a while I've been thinking…I considered forgetting about it but then my new school accepted me and I wanted more than anything else, to be able to just walk out. I should have told you sooner, but then I could tell you wouldn't have gotten what I meant and would have tried to help. You'd mean well, but anything you could do would just backfire. Not because you're incapable; it's just that--"
Holding up a hand, he made a slashing movement. He didn't want to hear about how powerless he was. He didn't need to be reminded, right after finding out that he was unable to keep track of even one person's life, that he was inattentive enough to not have noticed that she was dealing with problems she hadn't shared with him.
"We're still friends, even if I'm going to a different school," she offered meekly. She had on such an innocent expression, like she believed that 'sorry' would really make things all right again.
"Friends?" Drawing himself to his full height, Atobe raised his chin, looking haughtily down his nose at her. " 'Still friends'? Apparently you can't even trust Ore-sama to respect your decision to leave Hyotei, much less support you in whatever it is that has compelled you to leave in the first place. If that is how friends are to you, then your definition of the word is very different from Ore-sama's."
His words rang in the air around them long after he had finished speaking. They would not sit well with her; she loathed guilt, and he was having no reservations about giving her a double dose of it. Atobe searched her face, looking for anger, for defensiveness, for a hint of apology, anything, but her expression was blank.
The blankness perplexed him. Throughout her Freshman year and earlier Sophomore days, she had been a hot-headed little spitfire, but at least then he always knew how she felt, because when she got mad, she raged. The current emptiness of her face was haunting, unreadable, civil but distant. Atobe imagined this was what she would look like when she died.
"You're right," she said in a curiously flat voice. "I can't trust you to respect my decisions, or to help me with anything, because you can't trust me to make my own judgments on what should and should not be done."
With a monotonic air, she turned on her heels and pushed open the gate to her front garden, pulling out her key at the door and entering the house without looking back. She was out of sight and the windows of her home were bright with light before Atobe was done processing her parting statement.
On the sidewalk, where a pale yellow moon was starting to show itself, a splash of silver hovered near the fence, like a fallen star, an exiled spirit, or the last speck of a fairy godparent about to leave.
Later that night when the girl inside the house ran to the window and threw back the curtains, it was gone.