Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach (thankfully for you). I don't own the AFC, FIFA, or anything else.

The "Cannon of Asia" is, in fact, an actual name for a Japanese player. I don't own him or that name. So prettymuch, I own nothing.

"GODDAMMIT!"

Papers fluttered everywhere as the brown debriefing folder sailed across the apartment.

"Feel better?" Detective Renji Abarai said dryly, kicking his loafers off and twisting his head to stare at his partner from the couch.

"No," panted Detective Rukia Kuchiki, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she fought to control the rage that was still spiralling inside her.

"It's not all that bad," Renji said calmly, sipping his coffee and waiting for the resulting explosion. He wasn't disappointed.

"WHAT?" Rukia screamed. "How can you say that! How can you sit there so calmly when-when-when-ugh!" She turned and stormed to the kitchen.

Renji only shook his head, ignoring the angry monologue going on behind him, grimacing as he took another sip of his coffee. He really needed to teach his partner how to make a decent cup of java…

XXX

Renji gagged on his first sip of coffee. He was going to kill whatever rookie had ignored his advice and let his partner, Detective Kuchiki, near the coffeemaker. That was the third time this week some idiot had let her-

"Renji!"

Speak of the devil, he thought wryly, then turned and smiled as his petite partner came flying up to him. "Mornin', Ruki," he smiled.

"Renji, we've been called to Byakuya's office!" Rukia's eyes sparkled, her cheeks were flushed and her entire face was filled with joy. "You know what that means?"

"What does it mean, Ruki," Renji laughed, already knowing, but wanting to give her the pleasure of saying it aloud.

"He wants our help taking down the yazuka!" She shrieked. "Now, let's hurry!"

XXX

Ten minutes later, Rukia's eyes still sparkled, and her cheeks were still flushed, but this time it wasn't due to joy.

"THAT BASTARD!" she yelled, slamming her hand down on her desk. Renji winced, but he wasn't sure whether it was for Rukia-or the desk.

"What the fuck is he thinking?" she continued, face getting redder and redder by the minute. "We had just as much to do with the takedown of Shin Horoichi as he did! He can't just transfer us over to another case without letting us see this thing through!"

'Actually, he can, unfortunately," interjected Renji.

"But he shouldn't!" shouted Rukia. "I can't believe this is happening!"

She whirled from the window and started pacing the room. Renji sighed mentally and collapsed into her chair, watching her storm past him wearily.

Ten minutes ago, Inspector Byakuya Kuchiki, the head of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, had informed his sister that she would NOT be assisting in the takedown of Shin Horoichi's yazuka superiors, as he had another case for her that was equally important and would require two or three months, at least, to complete.

Rukia had been mildly intrigued, and had asked what it was.

Inspector Kuchiki promptly informed her for the next couple months, she and nine others from the force would be offering their protection to the Japanese National Football Team.

XXX

That had been this morning. Now, ten hours later, Rukia had finally calmed down. Her head in her hands, she perused the somewhat crinkled contents of the debriefing folder for what seemed to be the millionth time. Renji was still on the couch, watching some stupid game show. She sighed and snapped the folder closed, tossed it back on her desk, and slunk over to the couch. Renji lifted his feet from the end and Rukia slid under them, slouching down til' her chin was almost buried in her chest. Renji rested his feet on her stomach while she stretched hers out to sit on the glass coffee talbe.

"When's Don Kanonji on?" she muttered.

"Eight," Renji laughed to himself. He would never understand why anyone watched that fruit loop voluntarily.

Rukia recrossed her feet on the table, then sighed. "It just gets worse every time I look at that damn file," she moaned. "Renji, we're with them from the end of this month, through the AFC Asian Cup in June, until the FIFA Confederation Cup in August. And guess where that is? Germany! Fuckin' Germany," she pouted.

"It's too bad you're not a bigger football fan," Renji agreed, poking her stomach with his toe. "And we're only with them that long if we don't solve the case before then, remember? And with ten of us going," he frowned, "that definitely shouldn't take too long."

"That's true," conceded Rukia, still frowning. "And as far as homicides go, I must admit it is pretty intriguing.., I mean, who kills FOOTBALL PLAYERS!"

XXX

Two down, eight to go. The killer smiled as they took out the reminder of their latest handiwork, two polaroids. Two polaroids that showcased the most beautiful thing they'd ever done. The smile waned as the killer leaned in for a closer look. It was too bad that two such magnificent specimens had to die, they mused. Sousuke Aizen, the captain-no, former-the killer felt their smile returning-captain of the Japanese football team and Chin Ichimaru, possibly one of the best fullbacks in the league, wore the same expression on their blood-covered faces-horror, and disbelief. But it must be done. The killer could not come up with any other plan so perfect, so neat, for revenge quite like this one.

Sighing, the killer tucked the pictures back into their envelope and slid it back into it's hiding spot. The TV flickered to life, and a news recap came on. The killer turned to stare at the screen as the reporter droned, "In regards to the murders of Sousuke Aizen, Captain of Japan's National Football Team, and Chin Ichimaru, the famous defensive fullback who saved the game for Japan against Italy in the FIFA World Cup semi-final game last year, police say there are currently no leads, but at a press conference today Tokyo Metro Police Chief Inspector Byakuya Kuchiki stated that there will be a protective contingent of Tokyo Metro Officers accompanying the team as they play in the Asian Cup and the Fifa Conference Cup later this summer." It cut from the reporter to grainy footage of the press conference. The killer leaned forward, holding their breath as the Inspector droned, "It is our hope that our presence with the team will deter the murderer from striking again," he cleared his throat, "and, as I am sending the best we have, I'm sure we will have the mystery solved soon-"

Oh, but I disagree, Inspector. You won't "solve" this mystery until I feel that my revenge is complete…and it's too bad you won't even know you're helping me do it.

XXX

"You going to Uryuu's tonight?" Renji asked from the doorway, twirling the keys to his and Rukia's patrol car around his finger.

"Of course," Rukia replied, walking out from her bedroom. "I haven't seen Orihime in so long!"

"I thought as much," Renji replied. "Although I'm not sure that I miss her cooking so much…"

"Well, with any luck, Uryuu will have convinced her to order in," laughed Rukia.

"I hope so," Renji threw up a prayer. "Now, are you coming or what?"

XXX

There must be a God, thought Renji. Either that, or his lucky stars had finally decided to come through for him. Uryuu had somehow managed to convince his wife to let him take the team (and her) out for dinner at the local sushi bar. Renji had nothing against Orihime, of course…it was just that she often made 'mystery' dishes that you didn't dare not eat. Uryuu was a pretty levelheaded guy, but, you insult his wife, and you were done for. Plus the fact Orihime was one of the most sensitive women he'd ever met, and he couldn't for the life of him ever imagine deliberately crushing her by telling her her cooking sucked. So he ate it. They all did.

The team that Byukuya had chosen consisted of 11 people, one for each of the starting players on the team, the debriefing explained. Although Inspector Kuchiki hadn't assigned specific people to specific players, he had mentioned that it would probably be a good idea for everyone to attach themselves to just one person, instead of having the entire contingent try to blanket the entire team. The team had decided that, after dinner, they would draw the player's numbers out of a hat. Whoever you got, you were stuck with for the next three and a half months.

Captain Ukitake, from District One, was the team leader. The rest of the team consisted of himself, Rukia, (of course), a scowling veteran detective named Kaname Tousen, a hapless rookie named Hanatarou Yamada, another rookie named Nanao Ise, Lieutenant Tatsuki Arisawa, Uryuu, of course, Kukaku Shiba, the bad-tempered officer from explosives and her (pretty much useless) brother Ganju, and lastly, Soi Fon from Central Headquarters.

"Let's have a round of sake for good luck before we draw!" shouted Lieutenant Arisawa, taking off her baseball cap so Hanatarou could drop the pieces of paper with the players numbers into it. Of the team going, Tatsuki seemed the most enthused. She was a huge sports fan, and, at one time had been the second highest martial arts champion in all of Japan-a fact she never let any of her friends forget.

She raised her glass of sake and downed it quickly. Her action was repeated all around the table, and then the cap was passed down to Orihime to draw.

"Who wants to be first?" Orihime said softly.

"I will," Uryuu said, smiling up at the auburn haired beauty.

"Ok," she smiled back. "Uryuu Ishida, you have…number 23!"

"Who is that again," Uryuu wrinkled his forehead.

"Izuru Kira," Tatsuki replied. "Good going, Orihime!"

"Who wants to be next?" Orihime said by way of reply.

XXX

"There's the icing on the fuckin' cake," Rukia mumbled to herself, slouched in her chair with her arms crossed as Lieutenant Arisawa let out a very undignified whoop at the news that she had "scored" number 19, Kenpachi Zaraki. "He's so dreamy," she sighed. Rukia snorted. If she remembered correctly, number 19 was a huge man with crazy spiked hair and an eye patch. So Tatsuki thinks eye patches are sexy, eh? she laughed to herself.

"Rukia, we're left with you," Orihime said. "Are you ready?"

"Yeh, sure," Rukia mumbled.

"Ok…you have…" Orihime pulled the paper from the cap with a flourish.

Number 15!"

Rukia felt horror creeping across her face, seeping from the cloud lodged in her brain. Not number 15! She screamed to herself. Number 15 was Ichigo Kurosaki, the "Cannon of Asia," center midfielder extraordinaire. She could feel her blood boiling. She knew his type, just from seeing brief recaps from interviews on TV, and hearing Tatsuki discuss whatever stupid move he'd decided to make that 'miraculously' worked. Oh, yeah, she knew his type. Brash, hot-headed, arrogant, rebellious, unpredictable son-of-a-bitch

I don't believe this.

Byukuya, my brother.

You are so DEAD.

XXX