Attention

As of lately, Handa felt like he was just blending in with the whole school body, not having the tiniest trait that made him different. He had been okay with just living the life, playing soccer with the Raimon soccer club, doing his homework more or less okay and sometimes going into town with some of his friends. To put it simple, a normal life. But he became tired that this tiny, tiny word seemingly described his whole being, normal.

Was he really that uninteresting?

The first time he had asked himself that question was when they had to fill out self-evaluation-test at school. Every student got two sheets of paper, one to fill out themselves and the other for their deskneighbour. The sheets contained the standard "does apply very much/does not apply at all"-scales for rating different traits like how social one was or if one was very determined.

When Handa got the sheet from his neighbour and saw that nearly every checkmark was placed in the middle of the scale, he was at a loss of words. He surely was not that plain.

To his dismay a similar case arose about a week later when he was put on a group with Max for art class. The homework consisted of making a portfolio that should introduce their partner. Apparently this should be of help for the next step of the project for which the class should structure their thoughts about their partner and maybe expand their knowledge with a few facts.

As Handa sat with his friend at the kitchen table, both working on the portfolio, he noticed something. While his fingers were sticky with glue from trying to stick some baby pictures of his friend onto the sheet, Max had not even touched his.

Handa blinked. "What's wrong?", he asked.

Max looked up and laughed sheepishly. "You know, I actually have no idea what I should put onto this thing about you."

Needless to say, Handa was pissed for the rest of the afternoon.

After Max went home (he had followed Handa's example and glued some pictures of Baby-Handa onto the sheet of paper) Handa mulled himself into his blanket, fully sinking into the soft fabric. If not even his friends saw something else than the normal kid from the soccer club, there was definitely a need for some drastic measures. He would show them that he was somebody.

His mother burst into the room.

"Shinichi! Did you already brush your teeth? I. Don't. Think. So."

Handa suppressed the urge to groan loudly but deemed it safe to at least roll his eyes at the housedragon.

Handa had his plan set. All of his teammates had fans throughout the school while he did not even get recognized on the corridors most of the time. He would diagnose why they were someone while he was not.

1 Endou managed to gather people around him for his very bright personality. Handa had experienced it himself. After a few years of being a invisible player on the elementary school team he had actually bid his farewell to the sport. Maybe it was not exactly his thing. But seeing Endou run around the whole school (he even dared to access the 9th-grade building as a first-year), trying to get members for the refound soccer club, he was tempted.

Out of curiosity he did stop by the clubroom one afternoon with Someoka, one of his classmates. When shaking Endou's hand he could practically feel the glow the other radiated off – he could not say no, he had to stay with that person.

So maybe, if he was able to show that he was also as dazzling, people would recognize him. Handa was by no means a bad or grumpy person, he actually though of himself to be nice around, it was just that nobody went out of their way to notice him.

He was going to be more social.

But as the next day came around, Handa woke up to the noise of a storm raging outside, constantly shaking his shutters. Of course he still had to go to school anyway.

After a meager breakfast ("That's what you get for not brushing your teeth yesterday.") he set off to Raimon. The second he stepped out on the street full of deep puddles his umbrella, the one with the little ducks printed on, decided that this was the best moment to break and turn inside out. Supposing that this was better than no umbrella, Handa hurried on to get to school at least a bit dry.

He was mistaken.

He entered the building soaked from head to toe. Trying to not look like a complete loser, the midfielder cooly walked to his locker, just to slither on the wet ground and fall flat onto his face.

All the kids in the entrance hall laughed. Well, at least he got some attention.

After Handa had heaved himself off the wet floor, he decided to do something about his equally wet clothes. Adding to the sheer amount of luck he had today, Raimon's midfielder found his sweat suit that had been in his bag to be just as soaked as his uniform. He better run to find one of his friends to hopefully lend him a dry one.

Handa made his way up the staircase to the first floor where the classrooms were. He hoped the school's caretaker did not find out that he was responsible for all the puddles in the corridors.

Entering his classroom he quickly scanned it for his friends. A pink and blue hat caught his attention.

"Max! Can you lend me your sweat suit?", he called while making his way through the rows.

Max looked up and that was the moment that the boy himself was wearing a blue and yellow uniform – the soccer clubs sweat suit.

"Well, I'm sorry, I'd rather not run around naked", answered Max, gesturing towards his clothes.

"You got soaked, too, huh?"

"Yep. Damn the Japanese spring."

…

"So, what am I gonna do now?", Handa asked somewhat panicky.

And so he ran around the whole school looking for somebody who had some dry clothes he could borrow. But it seemed like nobody had bothered to bring their swear suits since most club activities were canceled due to the weather. It was finally thanks to Kazemaru who had found his old track team clothes that he was able to sit at least somewhat dry (although freezing) in his classroom.

The teacher wrote a surprise test.

2 Maybe trying to be happy and social was not exactly his thing. Handa wondered how Endou did it all the time even though there was hardly any reason to be in the hard life of a middle school student. Especially if you were Handa.

He checked Endou's name on his "How-to-get-attention"-plan and shifted his eyes to the next number. Two.

Kazemaru was famous at Raimon for his rather good looks and beautiful long hair. Handa did not want to grow out his brown hair but figured that maybe it would be nice to have a change of pace. His hairstyle was almost too normal compared to his schoolmates'.

Groggily Handa heaved himself off his bed and headed downstairs to the living room. He swiftly checked if any family members were around but apparently the house belonged to him right now. Crouching down in front of the couch table he put aside the TV magazine and found what he was looking for. His mothers fashion and styling magazines. Maybe he could find some inspiration for a new haircut?

He browsed through the glossies for about an hour and was rather terrified with what some people did to their hair. Apparently undercuts were the newest thing, no thank you, not with him. He would rather shave off his whole head Someoka-style – no half-assed stuff. It would probably look good on him and it suited the men who were posing for the camera but it was simply not him.

At that moment the clattering of the front door announced his older brother's return so he quickly stuffed the magazines back in place before greeting him.

A new morning arrived and Handa had not come a step further with his hair problem. Maybe a totally new haircut was a to drastic change?

While brushing his teeth his eyes wandered over his cosmetics basket (manly cosmetics like deodorant, a nail clipper etc, mind you). There also was a small tube of hair gel – he had never used it before, his brother had brought it home for him one day.

Maybe he could try that.

Fixing his hair had taken longer then Hand had thought (Oh God, he sounded like a girl) and now he was running late. Just his luck that the traffic lights decided to switch to red just as he wanted to cross the street. Now he was jumping up and down at the cross-walk, next to him a giggling group of girls from a middle school he did not know.

A bit stressed he ran his hand through his hair, liking how fluffy it was (he had only settled for a minimal amount of hair gel, just making it stand up a bit) when one of the girls tipped his shoulder. Handa turned around to look at her – she was very pretty. Had he done something wrong?

"You're from Raimon, aren't you?", she asked.

"Uhm, yes."

"I'm from Machida Middle School! I guess we don't live that far apart then! My name is Masuyo Itou, call me some time?" With that the gave him a small sheet of paper with a neatly written phone number on it and crossed the street, following her friends who giggled non-stop.

Had he just been hit on?

Handa just stood dumbfounded at the cross-walk, staring after the pretty girl. Unfortunately he had stared to long and the lights switched back to red.

Thank God he played soccer everyday or else he probably had been late to school. Handa managed to slip into the classroom right before the last bell rang.

After two hours of homeroom the class had a short break. Max practically jump off his seat and dashed back to Handa's.

"What are you doing?", he hissed in a low voice and gestured towards the midfielder's hair. That was the first time Handa had seen the boy so distressed and that was saying something, considering the fact that they had been together in one hospital room for a room with completely battered bodies.

"What...?"

"You look like you just ATE the Aliea Crystal, don't kid with me!"

Oh. OH. Handa had been aware of the fact that the malicious crystal had not only improved their physical abilities back then but also altered their looks. But who would have guessed he would receive a similar effect looks-wise if he used a bit of hair-gel? That could seriously prove a problem. The whole school had seen the match Raimon VS Dark Emperors on TV and now they probably thought he had suffered a setback. All because of a bit of hair gel.

Handa slumped across his desk. Max patted his had sympathetically. That did not stop him from barging into the clubroom before training and declaring that "Dark Handa" had returned.