Truth
Yukimura Seiichi was known as the "child of god." But that was then, and this was now. Now was the encompassment of bland white walls that encased him and suffocated him, squeezing every drop of energy from him and strangling him until he clutched the sides of his bed and gasped for mercy. Now was the daily routine of waking up dreading another dull day imbued with the clattering of medical equipment and the lingering stench of chemicals that sickened and numbed his senses. Now was his sorry state of being: trapped, chained, and suppressed. In short, hospitalized.
How pitiful, the demon sneered.
When Sanada paid him his near-daily visits, Yukimura always calmly reassured him with a smile and the usual I'm fine's,Don't worry about me's, and Focus on bringing the team to the Nationals's. Each time, Sanada would leave with his mind temporarily at ease, isolating Yukimura once more in his cage, for the blue-haired buchou never revealed anything about his worsening condition: how he was developing more respiratory problems, how the initial numbness in his legs was spreading to his arms and face, and how he was beginning to lose a sense of positioning.
It was ironic that the very body he trained for tennis had failed him.
And it was especially disgusting that he kept lying blatantly through twisted lips, a thin smile, and violet eyes glimmering with poised composure. He loathed how weak he had become because he was no longer able to lead his fellow teammates, but he loathed even more how he masked this all with his perfectly refined face of pristine serenity. Reassurance was the only plausible thing he could do to support his team, and he clutched desperately to this raw chance.
Even so, every night, Yukimura laid himself in his hospital bed, tormented by chastising chains and endlessly fiddling with the doctor's words in his mind.
I'm sorry, Yukimura-kun… but I must inform you that the operation has a low rate of success.
Through his veil of despair at that moment, he could have almost seen Yanagi behind the glinting spectacles of the doctor, the data master's omnipresent notebook in hand and his sharp mind calculating probabilities and statistics with such dexterity and speed that it was almost startling and amusing to hear the numbers flow smoothly from his lips. Only this was no laughing matter, and it was a doctor who uttered those words, not Yanagi.
The familiar acrid sensation tingled throughout his body.
You're scared, Yukimura, hissed the demon, its face contorted with sadistic mirth. You fear death.
Go away.
Don't try to deny it.
I'm not.
You've been denying everything since the day you were diagnosed.
No…
Accept it.
No!!!!!!!!!!! screamed Yukimura silently, writhing in the echoing ripples of his shout that no one could hear. He forced the demon back into dormancy in the back of his hollow mind, but its cold cackle lingered like the smoky aftermath of a fire clutching its sticky fingers onto black, charred wood.
"Yukimura?"
He started slightly. Sanada was peering at his face, concern etched on every crease of his worried face.
They were standing on the rooftop of the hospital. It was a stormy day; growling gusts laced the gray clouds above and twirled Yukimura's sleek hair. He suppressed a slight shiver.
"Ah, I'm fine, Sanada."
And he smiled his usual sweet smile.
Liar.
Sanada continued to pierce Yukimura's soft eyes with his sharp brown ones.
"Yukimura, I think you should undergo the surgery."
"Hm?" he looked at his fukubuchou in surprise.
"Yukimura," Sanada continued quietly, "you said to me before you were hospitalized that tennis is your life, that you only lived for tennis."
The memory of leaning on the railing of the bridge in the glowing sunset with Sanada floated hazily into Yukimura's mind. He nodded, watching a fly, its semi-transparent wings flitting silver flashes, buzzing lazily onto a splotch on the gray floor.
"I want you to return to us as quickly as possible. Back onto the courts."
Fufufufu… but you fear it, don't you?
Yukimura closed his eyes. His head was spinning again.
"I'll think about it, Sanada."
"Yukimura—"
"I'm fine," he cut in, perhaps more harshly than he intended. "I'm fine."
When Sanada left this time, Yukimura felt even emptier than before.
Another cold, lonely night.
What will it be, Yukimura? taunted the demon. You're going to refuse.
Another dizzying spell. Breaths came in shudders.
You fear it, don't you? You fear taking the chance.
Such tingling. It cut through every pore, every fiber of his body. Breathe.
You fear death.
It was enveloping him.
Accept your fate.
NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! his lungs twisted and screamed. He screamed with it. He struck at the demon with a strength he didn't know he possessed after that fateful day when he collapsed. He watched the grotesque creature dissipate into countless particles and, from there, splatter unseen to the foot of the bottomless pit. Like rays of sunlight falling to the earth below on every leaf, every tower, every human.
When he woke up, it was indeed a fine day, graced with abundant sunlight that blessed the humble earth. Yukimura felt as though his mind had been cleared up, much like the clouds from yesterday had been pushed aside during the night. The sunlight that streamed through the flimsy curtains of his hospital room danced to him, holding his head in its gentle hands and feeding him such clarify and such confidence.
He might be the "child of god," but he had to strive to remain on his pedestal through perseverance and endurance. And sometimes, taking risks—those big leaps filled with such shining rays of hope it ached to stop hoping—was the hard way to go. It would be a long path ahead with lingering fear and tough rehabilitation, but Yukimura had resolved through those endless nights of lying awake in bed. And now, he promised himself, the demon would not return anymore to cackle its chilling tones.
It was all for the sake of Rikkai's third consecutive National victory, for the sake of returning to the courts and feeling the thrill of delight in returning the ball back to the opponent's side with a satisfying bok, and for the sheer sake of living. Tennis was all he had, after all, and he was not about to let it slip through his grasp by giving into the demon—the disease—within.
The next time Sanada came to visit on a lovely sunny day, Yukimura finally told him the truth.
"I'm going to undergo the operation."
A/N: I do not own PoT. The demon (symbolizing the disease) is inspired from this weird creature thing in the anime when Sanada was slicing the straw before the Kantou finals and when Kirihara was in his demonic state at the camp and also from the fact that Yukimura is one of the Three Demons of Rikkai. Written to honor Yukimura's courage to take risks and because he's just so wonderful like that. Criticisms/praises/flames/any-sort-of-reviews are welcome. Happy New Year!