A/N: For an RPG where I play Atobe. Takes place the day after his match against Echizen.
Just before the second matches against Seigaku, Oshitari and Atobe were teasing each other. Atobe semi-threatened to make Oshitari run the new Hyoutei record of laps if he lost.
...As we all know, Oshitari won his match. Atobe lost his.
Italics are Atobe speaking in English, as opposed to Japanese.
Punishment
There wasn't anybody in sight. Of course not; everyone was spending their last day of summer break somewhere far away from the school. His only company were running steps, in a steady rhythm, following the way his feet beat the ground like notes would follow the pressing of piano keys. This stubborn rhythm had echoed in his ears for quite a while already, and it would go on for another while. He wouldn't give up so easily.
Fainting. He, Atobe Keigo, had fainted in the middle of a match. Could there be anything more ridiculous? Never before had he been pushed so far to his limits, cornered so badly… but then, he'd never before played in such a long and equal match. It was unbelievable, thinking that he'd found someone stronger than himself.
Atobe hated himself.
The sound of feet went forward with him as his heavy breath reached his ears. He actually should have run the laps the night before, but not even his stubbo – ah, strong character would allow him to try such a thing. Of course he would have run, run himself into exhaustion, but it had been quite clear he wouldn't have broken any records in his current condition. And if he couldn't have done that, the laps would have had no meaning at all. It was for the better to run them now that he'd got some rest after his match.
Atobe passed the spot where he'd started his run. 247 laps. It was a lot – more than he'd ever made anyone else run – but not yet enough. He could still run, could still continue that steady rhythm that was currently more important to him than any musical masterpieces. He couldn't give up, not yet.
The match revolved in his head as he continued running. Every point Echizen had stolen from him appeared before his eyes as though a video record on fast-forward, taunting him, teasing. Showing just how weak he had been.
"There's no shame in losing to the best," he muttered, the words hardly even audible over his footsteps.
Even in his own ears the words sounded hollow and meaningless.
248 laps. More, more. Two hundred and fifty would be a good amount, Atobe decided; he would run at least until then. He had to run.
Feet hit the ground, one, two, one, two. His speed hadn't really slowed down since he'd started running. He didn't let it slow down. If he was ready to ask a lot of his team, he had to ask even more of himself. If he couldn't do that, he wasn't worth his captain position.
Was he worth that anyway, having lost?
He had betrayed his team – no, he had betrayed the entire tennis club, the entire Hyoutei, everyone who had believed and trusted in their victory. He had betrayed Oshitari, and Shishido and Ohtori, who had won so they could go forward, as a team. He had betrayed Jirou. Mukahi, Hiyoshi, Taki – he had betrayed them all.
And the worst thing was, he had betrayed himself.
They… he didn't know what to think, anymore. He didn't know what his team thought of him. He had betrayed their trust, got up to his feet only to stay still – and even then they had stood up for him. Unnecessarily, yes, Atobe Keigo never went back on his word, but they'd stood up for him nevertheless. Taki… Taki wasn't even a regular player anymore. And yet…
What had he done to earn such trust, such loyalty? He who had lost?
249 laps. Almost, almost. Still a bit further, still a bit… He couldn't give up, not now. He couldn't look his team in the eye if he couldn't make up for his weakness in some way, to himself at least…
One, two, one, two… one. His legs could simply not move anymore. Swaying, Atobe only barely managed to regain his balance, staring at his disobedient legs in disbelief. They were supposed to move. His laps weren't over yet.
The rhythm of his feet had ended, only heavy breath serving as a background to his lonely musings.
Atobe hit his leg on a moment of unusual frustration, but even then it would move no further. He simply had no more energy. The match from yesterday apparently still affected him. Flopping down to sit on the ground, Atobe did his best not to cry out in frustration. Assuming he could have made any sound from his lack of breath. This wasn't fair, this couldn't happen. He still had to run.
He hadn't forgiven himself yet.