Disclaimer: I own very little.
A/N: I play Atobe in an LJ-based RPG. We're currently approaching the second of the Hyoutei matches, and I decided to write a fic about it.
Italics mean Atobe's talking in English. Like, actual English, the one Kirihara can't understand, not Japanese-disguised-as-English.
Ice King
Atobe fell unusually inelegantly onto his bed, eyes closed. The fingers of one hand were slowly drawing a meaningless figure on the smooth surface of the sheets while the other lay relaxed on the covers. Listening quietly to the ticking of the grandfather clock in the semi-dark room, Atobe felt his breathing calming down and settling into the same, peaceful rhythm. He was absolutely exhausted.
Well, this wasn't entirely true – or rather, this wasn't the entire truth. In fact, he'd already been absolutely exhausted at least two hours earlier, but it hardly would have been an option to stop his training. When Atobe Keigo decided to exercise, he'd also do so, and his body had to either deal with it or suffer and deal with it. Weakness could not be tolerated.
Tic, toc. The ticking of the clock followed his thoughts, quiet but clear in the almost perfect silence of the big room. Atobe slowly brought a hand to his face, covering his closed eyes with his arm. The silk sleeve felt cool on his face.
He was close. Atobe knew this; he felt it, sensed it. But not close enough yet. He'd get closer, though, he had to. He'd get there yet.
"You've still got lots more to work on," he whispered to himself. The familiar words flowed easily from his lips, fading into the quiet darkness of the night like falling drops into water. Drops of blood.
Atobe chuckled. It was true he wasn't good enough yet, probably would never be. However, it was also true this was only for him to decide. Only he could say when he'd reached his goal; nobody else was allowed to judge him. And he was the strictest of judges, himself.
He still remembered his first tennis match – years, many years earlier – and made a face. He'd been young, so very young and unskilled… but that had been ages ago. He was no more Keigo, the self-centered little boy with a Japanese father. Now he was Atobe, the captain of Hyoutei, invincible in everything. The Ice King.
A king who now feared for his throne.
Flinging the arm from his face, Atobe opened his eyes, staring up without seeing anything. No, that wasn't true. It couldn't be, wasn't allowed to be. Nobody and nothing could shatter his power – his, Atobe Keigo's. He was perfect, he had to be. He had his tennis – both that he played naturally and that he'd chosen for himself – and his instincts. Once he got his new technique honed to perfection, he'd be absolutely invincible. It was simply ridiculous to think otherwise. It simply wasn't possible for things to happen otherwise.
The perfect technique… it was close. He just needed a true opponent, someone on his own level, someone he could play against until he'd fixed every last flaw. Then his technique would be finished, invulnerable. Like a perfect diamond – or an icy crystal. A technique worthy of the Ice King, truly. After all, nothing else would do for him.
The last opponent he needed… The options were few. There weren't many he considered worth himself. Tezuka, of course, but…
Maybe he'd at last have to visit Rikkaidai.
A slight smile touched Atobe's lips as he closed his eyes again, the slow drawing of the other hand finally coming to a rest as he lay quietly, quietly, as though he were already asleep.
"Bring it on, Seigaku," he mumbled quietly, Japanese fading away from his mind as he slowly fell further into the slight daze preceding sleep. "I'll be waiting…"
Soon the only sounds in the room were the ticking of the clock and quiet, peaceful breathing.