Replacement
Disclaimer: I don't own Slam Dunk, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.
Summary: AU. Rukawa, a freshman, auditions for the school band only to find a growing animosity between him and the front man. RuMitRu. Dedicated to mayfaire. On-going.
Important: Uh, this story is formatted blog-style so I suppose it wouldn't be that original. One of my favorite authors, Hisashi Loves Yelen (who is seriously brilliant by the way), has written a fic whose title goes like Mitsui Hisashi's Blog; this is some kind of ripoff of that only this time, the owner of the blog in question is Rukawa Kaede. And yeah, this is dedicated to mayfaire, who, like me, is in love with the pairing. Merry Christmas!
Rukawa is EXTREMELY OUT OF CHARACTER here (his mode of speaking is somewhat borrowed from mine). I know. I just had to take advantage of the fact that this is an AU fic and thus decided that I could twist Rukawa's attitude a little (okay, a lot). But enjoy.
This is heavily based on the manga Only the Ring Finger Knows.
Chapter I: Win Some, Lose Some
June the 7th. Wednesday.
First day of school. Day's sunny. Temperature's on the warm side. I decided to take a walk to school instead of typically reinforcing the help of my beautiful swanky bike. I suppose Shohoku is an okay enough high school. Apart from the fact that it lies in a convenient distance from my house, the building isn't as rundown as the rest of the structures that surround it. It seems new enough, maybe fifteen years old downwards, and not quite tasteless in its execution.
I'm bunched together with section 1-7. Room's located in the fourth floor of the building. Maybe forty pupils in one classroom, or more. One teacher at a time. I wonder what he has up his sleeve to get the whole lot lending an ear to his boring lectures. Whatever. Not really my problem.
My first class is Algebra. Back in middle school that subject could be a total bitch. A clear testimony to which is my barely passing mark. I'm not what anyone can call an expert when it comes to numbers and numbers likewise are not expert when it comes to dealing with me. Most of the time I find myself hardly tolerating them and hence, I can only do so much to try to appreciate math.
Second class is Japanese History. Since it's the first day we've only been briefed of the outline and everything. The teacher made a round of roll call and right away proceeded to the preliminaries, which involved checking out how well-versed we all are in general knowledge. Some girl up front seemed to have memorized the whole textbook over the break and at one point it almost got on my nerves, so much so that I nearly walked out of the classroom. Honestly! What good would trivia do?
Science and Technology is next. By the looks of it, it must be every bit as grueling as History. And the schoolmarm of a teacher doesn't look any nicer than the panther at the zoo.
Language is... hunky dory. All we have to do is read this and that material. I'm not illiterate or a slow reader. In fact, reading moods hit me at times, albeit not that frequently. Conclusively, it's not half bad.
And then, I don't know or half care anymore what subjects follow. I can't readily remember. Maybe some other time I would. Besides, whoever finds looking at a course syllabus NOT boring?
Never mind. I can't see why and how senior high school is going to be exciting for me.
June the 12th. Monday.
I should've written something in the last five days but I found updating this blog equally boring. So I postponed. I don't reckon either that narrating details on my academic subjects is remotely interesting. Suffice it to say that they all suck as much as I suck at putting up with them. Besides, there's not a bit of significant news. I mean, yeah there is, but that's only due to the things I missed.
It turned out that there was some sort of audition for the band club last Friday. I missed about all of the publicity because, I don't know. Perhaps I was too busy ignoring everything that was going on around me. So much for cranking up the infamous I-don't-give-a-fuck face. So how did I learn about the audition? To tell you frankly, everyone in the class was all a-buzz about it. And in fact, deep inside, I was too. How could I ever miss it, right? Music is the only thing I can stand for more than a day. And I'm not too bad myself. I used to be in a band in middle school but my last year kind of demanded all my focus and so forced me to resign. My band mates went on in their separate ways. I landed here, scouring in the dark for the sake of redeeming my position.
I play the guitar by the way. Not bass, though I'm more than too good for it. It's just too easy what with the four string fret and the narrow range of notes.
But going back, a second try-out is going to be held on Wednesday. Word has it that majority of the dudes in the first audition are utter geniuses. The club has never seen a better group, this year is yet their best yadda yadda yadda. I wonder how they'll measure me up. As I've said, I'm rather good.
So Wednesday it is. Band club, get ready for your hottest lead guitar player, ever.
June the 14th. Wednesday. Half past midnight
I've been in this school for exactly a week already and I'm about fed up. My only saving grace is the Band Club. I guess you all have been hanging out for that one overhauling experience of my first year in Shohoku.
It went... I'm not sure how to describe it. When I got there were only literally three of us and that's not to mention that I was the only one who was on audition. The other two are already members of the club. The redhead one, who is by the way as smart as that chair, turns out to be a freshman. He's the drummer. He didn't say he is A drummer; he said he is THE drummer. Loud and clear. Then he laughed, boisterously that for the first time in my life I could kill for a pair of fucking ear plugs. According to him, they call him "Tensai"; I have good reason to believe his name is Sakuragi Hanamichi.
The other one shushed him. Though he's in the tall department, he's a few inches shorter than Sakuragi. He has bluish hair and blue eyes, both of which accentuate his fair hue. He has that kind of face that instantly stops traffic, an easily labeled looker. A little, almost invisible scar on his chin. If one looks closely, one invariably realizes that it plays a big part on his perfection. Or so I think.
Conversation more or less went like this:
"I'm Mitsui Hisashi. Senior." The blue-eyed guy stood up to shake my hand. "So what instrument?"
"Guitar. Lead."
"Uh-huh. I see you brought your own." Mitsui said good-naturedly, eying my most prized possession which was still encased in a black leather. "That's good. Shall we rev up, then?"
I remember nodding and retaining my gaze at him for a longer while than necessary. I told him I was going to play Black by Pearl Jam and that this cover of mine would be a different version. The tempo would be faster and there would be a little addition in the chords.
So I played. It was the longest five minutes of my life. Mitsui was raising his right eyebrow every so often while Sakuragi, on the other hand, looked nearly ecstatic. I tried not to steer my glance to their direction, afraid to witness disappointment there. But it occurred to me that there wasn't the slightest cause for them to be disappointed. I killed this song; Sakuragi proclaimed that he digs it. He even asked me for the chords so he could practice it at home. I didn't tell him that the track was exclusively for acoustic performance only and that a drum accompaniment would only ruin the purpose. Whatever.
It's Mitsui Hisashi who bothers me. I mean, "bothers" would be an understatement. I can't quite figure out, even after hours of brooding over it, why there was a sudden shift in his attitude. He was frowning and tutting, which annoyed me. I just don't get it; half a heartbeat ago he was being nice and casual to me. The next moment he was being a complete bitch. Though he didn't say anything, his expression said it all. He doesn't want me in the band and fuck knows why! I did great as far as I'm concerned.
"I'm not sure about--"
"Shit, Mitchy. What are you saying? That has gotta be the best number I've heard off-stage. Will you have your ears checked up?"
"But you do understand that what you heard is a little...how shall I put this? Punk-ish?"
"Punk is variety. What we need is variety. We can't just be grunge relics all the time, can we?" Sakuragi protested. I never would've thought, of all people to fill in the role of my unexpected ally, that it'd be Sakuragi.
"I'm the club officer here; ergo, I decide." Mitsui muttered gingerly while cocking his head. He was speaking as though I weren't there. It just came to me, the screen name "Mitchy the Bitch" would suit him best.
"No, you don't. Why don't we just deliberate it with the rest of the members tomorrow?"
"I don't like him. I doubt if Miyagi and Akagi's opinion would differ." Mitsui clucked his teeth. What a fuckin' line. How dare he! If he thinks I like him, he must be dreaming and sleeping!
"Let's be fair and square and let's not get ahead of ourselves. Ryochin and Gori may agree with you but what about the rest, huh? Forgot them, neh?" Sakuragi said and frantically waved an arm.
"Sakuragi, you're not exactly conforming to the regu--"
"Rukawa, is it?" Sakuragi cut Mitsui short and turned to me. "You're dismissed; you can go back tomorrow same time and we'll have the rest of the club to judge you. Though personally there's no more need of that if it weren't for..." Sakuragi mischievously shot a glance at Mitsui and muttered in staccato, "some assholes here. Anyway, you can go." he patted me on the shoulder. I darted out of the place, feeling as shitty as any day goes. Why the hell does the bastard have to take it so personally?
Shit. I feel like he just made me eat shit.
This is a long post and it makes me utterly sick. I guess this merits a good night sleep.
TBC
A/N: Just so you guys would know, this fic is already done. Yeah. I'll upload the following chapters anytime I'm finished polishing and trimming them down.