Disclaimer: Eyeshield 21 does not belong to me. I just play with it.
confess your sins
Graduation, she thought with a tinge of bittersweet sorrow as she swept the floor of the clubhouse, was coming up fast. Not that it would affect Mamori directly, it wouldn't be her accepting a diploma this April, she was only a second year student, but Deimon was different from most high schools in the Kantou region: third years were not allowed to participate in clubs. And that meant that in less that a month she would not be standing where she was now, contentedly cleaning up the American football facilities and acting as its resident manager.
A sigh left her as she collected the dirt dropped from cleats and uniforms into a small pile near the door. Her weight leaned into the broom handle as she starred down on it. Just when had this happened? Somewhere between her fierce desire to protect Sena and her natural drive to excel in the duties assigned to her, she'd fallen in love with the sport. When she wasn't watching Sena being tackled by men three times his size, or Monta taking a hard fall with nothing to show for it, or Kurita and Komusubi flipping sky high, or the Huh Huh brothers losing focus against an unbreakable line, or Hiruma being crushed by a true monster, it was, she realized, incredibly fun. Coming up with strategies with Yukimitsu and Hiruma, playing the team "mom", making flash observations about the opposing team during matches, Mamori enjoyed all of it. Just what had happened to the girl she had been in first year, the one who hadn't really given the sport much thought at all except to avoid its quarterback? Now with the amount of time she spent in the home away from home he'd built, it was almost as if she was living in Hiruma's pocket. And that, Mamori thought, might be what had lead to her second -
"Move it, fucking shrimps! A chris cross like that fucking dread's isn't going to come just because you've managed it once or twice on the field!" A round of ammunition emptied into the ground with this pronunciation.
Speak of the devil, Mamori thought to herself as she glanced out the open doorway and watched Sena and Monta peel desperately away from a grinning Hiruma. All five linemen were practicing in the field she knew, and Yukimitsu had asked Ishimaru to help him with his speed in this little time the two had left (the track star had been flattered to be remembered). Musashi had been absent lately during scheduled practice time, not because he didn't care after the Christmas bowl, because there was a part of him that would never abandon American football no matter how much life's pressures started weighing on him, but because Koutarou had begun stalking him after his 60-yard performance and the part-time carpenter preferred to practice on his own when he wouldn't be interrupted. It was a shame that the three founders of the Devilbats didn't spend their time together, but she supposed they were united where it mattered: on the same team with the winning cup in hand at the end of their high school career, right where they promised each other they would be.
Her attention diverted from these thoughts as Hiruma ran past, his pace slowing as he flicked his eyes to hers. Thirty minutes, his fingers swiftly sent. Then his grin impossibly widened as he added, lazy fucking manager.
Taking her weight off the broom and straightening up in mild outrage, Mamori was too slow to send off a don't call me that in reply before he was out of range. Holding in her grumbles, she swept her pile into a dustbin and put the broom back into the closet as she started preparing snacks for the hungry team that would soon be filling up the clubhouse. Seriously, this was the second thing she didn't understand, Mamori thought, setting out a tray of creampuffs and resisting the urge to munch one to calm her frustration. Hiruma was rude (unless he wanted something, sometimes), he was mean (even when you were his friend, though he'd temper it with heavily concealed kindness), and he didn't like to play by anyone's rules but his own (which he kept in a little black book) and the American football federation's (which he'd bend every which way he could without really breaking them). Which meant he should have been the utter enemy of one Anezaki Mamori, who was polite (to everyone, even if they did not deserve it), who was kind (though this did not exclude her from being stern; Mamori liked to think she achieved a fine balance of the two), and who would stand up to bullies and rule breakers to defend her friends and even complete strangers (she wasn't on the discipline committee for nothing). It should have been perfect math, a positive and a negative come to nothing, but something weird happened when they got together. Suddenly Mamori wasn't so nice (though she remained stern and protective, thank goodness). If she hadn't picked up a handgun yet to retaliate, it was only because the mop worked so well. Suddenly Hiruma didn't seem too mean (though he'd always be rude no matter how much she asked). Actions that had been delivered cruelly somehow became pillars of strength for the team. Maybe, Mamori had thought a long time ago, right before she'd picked up a flamethrower and turned poor Rice-kun to ash, maybe he wasn't so bad.
And that, the manager complained grumpily to herself now, placing the final drink on the table and giving in to her creampuff desires, was the beginning of the end. It was a slippery slope, thinking Deimon's number one most evil man was "not so bad".
The sweetness of the cream filled pastry went far towards restoring Mamori's good humor, though, and so by the time the team piled into the room, helmets grasped under arms and uniforms sticky with sweat, she smiled brightly and gestured to the table. "Good work today! It's not much, but here's a little bit of snacks to restore your energy!"
Almost immediately the players descended upon the table, which was set, excepting the creampuffs, with mostly healthy food. Hands snagged items as thanks filled the room.
"Appreciation MAX," Monta yelled, quickly peeling a banana.
An echoing, "Thanks, Mamori-neechan," came from Sena, with Kurita swiftly following. Those were her two politest boys, Mamori, thought with a small amount of pride. They were growing into wonderful young men.
Yukimitsu's exhausted formal "Thank you," blended with Ishimaru's inconspicuous one and even the Huh Huh brothers nodded their acknowledgment after Komusubi's succinct "Good." Suzuna practically bubbled praise beside Doburoku-sensei. The table almost cleaned itself as food and beverages disappeared into eager hands.
In fact, the only one who had remained unmoved was the devil himself, which Mamori by now found unsurprising. Almost immediately upon entering he'd found a spot on the couch and popped his laptop open, pulling up statistics and records of the middle school students who had recently sat the entrance exam. Willing herself to ignore this (heaven help her teachers if he actually found somebody good. If Deimon didn't already accept most applicants to the school, Hiruma would make sure they couldn't deny his hand-picks entrance) Mamori retrieved the plastic container she had set aside earlier and opened it up before turning to him. "Hiruma-kun," she interrupted kindly, lifting the box, "lemon slice?" They were one of the few sweets she knew he'd eat, the honey dipped citrus. Plus, she'd added a bag of calcium infused tea when she'd steeped them at home, which she knew was great for bones.
"Kekeke, trying to fatten me up?" he returned without glancing away from the screen in front of him. "It's past the hibernation season, fucking manager. Maybe you'd better think of cutting back on the damn sweets."
Mamori felt rather than saw the rest of the team collectively scoot away, but that didn't stop her expression from darkening. "If you don't at least rehydrate after a two hour practice, you'll suffer from electrolyte problems that can negatively affect your health and athletic performance."
A cheeky drink bottle waved from his far hand. Before she could come up with more of a reply than a miffed "hmm" though, he'd snapped his computer closed and leaned back into the sofa. "Alright, listen up! Deimon's school festival is coming up in two weeks-"
"Huh?"
"Huuh?"
"HUUH?"
"But we just had one, Hiruma," Kurita pointed out, looking confused. "Deimon usually has their festival in the fall."
Two long legs crossed themselves upon the short table in front of the couch. "The principal has decided to have another one to make sure everyone who wants to can attend."
This time Mamori knew she wasn't the only one thinking it. You made sure the principal decided to have one.
"So this time," Hiruma continued as if he hadn't been the focus of his team's shrewd understanding, "fucking idiots, you have to make sure that each class does an activity involving kicking or throwing of some sort."
"EH?"
"How are we even supposed to do that? Half the activities have to be inside!"
"This'll ruin the maid cafe!"
But as most of the club surged forward in dismay (especially Togano, who had started adding a maid to his manga sketches nearly a month ago), Mamori stood back with a feeling of almost heartbreaking understanding. Hiruma was planning something that he had probably avoided thinking about for as long as he could: he was going to have to find his permanent replacement on the team. It was a sign that he knew just as well as she what was so rapidly approaching. The end of their second year. Their "graduation" from American football. For the one who had perhaps worked the hardest to assemble the no longer rag-tag group around him with the singular goal of playing the Christmas bowl, she imagined that he would feel the separation the most. More than Musashi, who would stoically say they had had a good run, more than Kurita, who would cry even as he tried to crush his beloved teammates to him, Hiruma would be the one to walk away with the unrecoverable hole in the heart that she thought might just be there (after all, if nothing else Hiruma truly loved American football). Mamori knew her expression at this thought had to be overwhelmingly sympathetic (which she knew he hated) but she just couldn't seem to stop. Hiruma, too, would be living life without the fun of the American football club to brighten up the day.
"But wouldn't Musashi be the best one to find a kicker?" Kurita asked, being one of the few in the room who didn't seem amazingly fazed by Hiruma's new scheme. As the one who had assisted the devil of Deimon high in his numerous prior recruits, he likely had plenty of experiences like this.
"Of course, fucking fatty. Which is why if the old man doesn't show, he's dead!"
Kurita seemed cheered by this (he turned to Doburoku-sensei and immediately exclaimed that this would be the first school festival the three of them had attended together since middle school) but the remainder of the team was less than swayed.
"What? Are we just going to line footballs along the hallways? How are you going to see everyone?"
"This is complicated MAX! Should I ask people to try throwing to me?"
"You should throw to other people, catching genius. We need to find a receiver to replace Yukki, too."
"Are you sure we'll find a good kicker and quarterback at the school festival?"
Hiruma snapped a large bubble before answering Yukimitsu's question, addressing the response to the whole team. "It's your job to get them there. Distribute fliers from hell! At least ten visitors per person or you'll get a penalty game!"
"WHAT?" This time the three brothers managed a synchronized shout.
"Not again," Sena sighed softly.
Yukimitsu continued doggedly. "But the upcoming festival is on a Saturday. If people have school that day, they won't be able to come. We'll be missing a good amount of potential replacements."
This time Hiruma straightened up, his face morphing from its threatening grin to a more serious expression. "We have an eighty percent chance of finding someone good for either position in two weeks."
"...eighty percent success means a twenty percent fail, right?"
"Kekeke, fucking shrimp is getting smart." The smile that broke the quarterback's face was far closer to a smirk. "Which is why we'll continue looking for people once the new first years start in April."
A relieved sigh seemed to go around the room as the team realized the pressure of replacement was not quite so immediate. Monta even began to chatter excitedly about the possibility of finding two people, which would allow them to switch out throwing styles depending on the situation.
Out of all the members of their still relatively small group, this left Mamori as the only one still frowning. "Wait a minute," she began, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the group, "'we', Hiruma-kun?"
"You think I'd leave the selection to people without experience throwing?" he replied nonchalantly, popping another bubble.
Mamori's eyebrows came down. "Third years at Deimon high are not allowed to participate in any clubs!" After all, she had already been asked by her homeroom teacher to step down from the discipline committee (though she would still remain as an a third year liaison and adviser), and it was assumed by even Sena (who had stepped up with a promise to advertise carefully for the spot) that she would be leaving her position of manager within the month. Third years were supposed to focus seriously on exams to make up for the fact that Deimon was not an escalator school!
By this time Hiruma had swung his attention fully towards her and he eyes had narrowed slightly. With an uncomfortable start, Mamori remembered that he could read her just as well as she could read him. It was part of the trick of their sign language. As if on cue, his fingers rose. Jealous?
Fighting a flush, her fingers rose automatically to respond to his. Can't you trust your teammates?
The two feet propped on the small table slid to the floor as Hiruma suddenly stood and set his automatic rifle down on the surface recently abandoned with a resounding thump. As one the rest of the team seemed to slide themselves towards the nearest wall. A long finger rose to point straight at her. "Alright, fucking manager, three question challenge sudden death round! Answer this correct and I'll revoke your previous loss. You can do whatever the fuck you want. Lose and you'll be the one convincing the principal that extracurricular activities improve studying habits!"
Reaching for the mop leaning near the door, Mamori squared her shoulders. "Fine!"
A ridged tooth grin broke out across from her. "Question! Who, in this entire school, is the one person that you'll follow into hell itself? And you'd better be fucking honest," he added, looking smug. "It's an automatic loss if you lie."
Ah, she thought with sudden consternation as the rest of the room seemed to blink to itself in surprise and Monta stifled a gasp of hopeful delight, he'd set her up with an impossible proposition. And she'd fallen into it without even thinking twice. Yep, Hiruma had definitely pinned her right before, she was jealous. Jealous of how easily he seemed to be able to keep his place in the American football club they both enjoyed when she had been facing the looming termination of her responsibilities. It had made her snappy and irritable all week (she hadn't fought with Hiruma as much in the last month as she had in the last three days) and it was making her transition even harder. Anezaki Mamori was not a person for bending the rules, she believed in them (the rules were after all what helped to protect people from bullies and unfair treatment) and she did her best to abide by them, but every once in a while she was jealous of people like Hiruma, who seemed to make new rules effortlessly (nefarious methods not included). And her raging sense of unfairness had caused her to rush into an agreement that she should have thought twice about.
But she was stuck now, and the only thing for it was to answer. She could lie, she knew. She wasn't very good at it, but she could do it and hold off giving her answer for just a little bit longer (she was sure he had known the truth since before that terrible game with the Hakushu Dinosaurs, she'd been so terribly obvious she felt, but Mamori had entertained hopes that perhaps he would allow her to voice that truth in perhaps a little nicer setting than in front of the lockers or in the clubroom – though she could hardly find a more suiting place than the last). It was just... if she was going to lose either way (and she could admit it, he knew it and she knew it, there was no way she was going to walk away with his agreement to back down from participating in the American football club in his third year) she might as well go with the truth. She was hoping that perhaps she'd benefit in other ways from it (and who was she kidding, without his ultimatum she would have settled into a comfortable, if that was possible, companionship with Hiruma without saying anything).
Her fingers signed the answer without a quaver. A devil's confession. Hiruma Youichi.
And she would follow him into hell. Hadn't she already done it once? It was hell and it was heaven out in the gridiron, but she had learned to love it anyway. And she would follow the demon commander himself to the field, because she had learned to love him, too. Sena she would protect, she would shelter, she would set free like a fretting mother, but Hiruma she would follow. Not because he wanted her concern and her protectiveness (even if she would give it anyway) but because he wanted a partner (and of all the things Mamori had been asked to do, she perhaps liked this the most; she was good at teamwork, she appreciated the solid buffer of support it provided).
Just over five feet distant, Hiruma's attentive eyes had followed her every gesture, and he clicked his tongue in amusement as he set the rifle down on the table when she had finished. Mamori was not naïve. She did not relinquish her mop. "Kekeke. 'Least you're not stupid enough to lie, fucking manager." He took a step in her direction, and she could swear she saw a grenade sticking out of his pocket. "Not going to speak up, though? Afraid the fucking monkey will break into tears?"
"Monta-kun has grown a lot in these past few months." Another step forward, the grenade was tossed behind him without a glance. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Togano and Kuroki desperately juggle it between them before Jumonji snatched it up and threw it out the window. The rest of the room seemed unnaturally still, as if they had forgotten how to talk, as if she had forgotten them as well.
"Then answer the question. Forfeiting is losing, too." One long fingered hand shot out. She thought about fighting him for the mop, but he seemed to understand her reluctance to let it go, because instead of tossing it away he only pushed it to the right, changing her grip from two hands to one. And then he was looming over her, pointy hair shining, pointed ears pricked, and pointy grin anticipatory. "Who will you follow into hell?"
Mamori was vaguely conscious of his right hand lingering somewhere to the side of her face, and she knew she ought to be more worried about it, but she answered anyway with her chin lifted. "Hiruma Youichi."
With a speed he must have perfected with his laser throws, long fingers caught the back of her neck and propelled her lips up the rapidly extinguishing distance to his. She felt the smirk that twisted his expressive mouth all the way to her toes, and it rattled her bones and her heart on its blistering path down. Like an explosion, that single action seemed to spark everyone around back to roaring life. The noise was immediate and percussive.
"HuHuuHUUHan!" came the four times line incredulity, so fast that they nearly overlapped each other.
"I so knew it! I knew it when I met Mamo-nee and You-nii!"
"M-mamori-oneesan? Oh, man..."
"Hm. And to think she denied it when I asked."
"Do they even remember that we're here?"
"M-m-mukyaa!"
"Hiruma! I'm so glad! You finally got a girlfriend like Mukashi recomme-"
"Shut up, fucking fatty!" And just like she'd known it would, another weapon appeared in his hands. It took a bit of quick maneuvering to get her mop up in the way of the handgun he'd pointed blindly behind him, but she thought she'd succeeded when she heard no immediate squeals of pain when he fired.
The tip of a tongue darted out to swipe at the corner of his lips, and Hiruma grinned back down at her. "Been snacking behind our backs again, fucking manager?"
Her instantaneous struggle to regain full control over the mop elicited an amused laugh from him. Mamori scowled up at the young man in front of her. "Don't call me that."
"Looks like you won after all." The grin that looked down at her didn't even appear intimidated. If anything, Hiruma looked elated at the recent course of events. "Gonna go disqualify me from the tournament now?"
Mamori ignored the tumult still surrounding them as her frown remained. "You're not even supposed to be participating in training," she protested with a sigh.
A thin lipped mouth lingered by her ear for a brief second. "Mamori." And then he had the nerve to laugh at her again as she flushed instantaneously.
"Stop that!" He chuckled harder and avoided her weak push with ease. Putting her hand to her hip, she stared up at him with narrowed eyes. The devil stared unrepentantly back. He knew she had told the truth just a minute ago. She'd follow him into hell, no matter the circumstances. Finally, she shook her head. "I'm not about to break school rules, Hiruma-kun. If the board of school directors approves third years participating in activities, I guess then I wouldn't have a problem with-"
A loud "Ya-Ha!" overrode the noise for a moment as a thin black notebook emerged.
"-it, but at least stick to the spirit of it! Don't play in the games!" She had a sinking feeling she'd just unleashed a monster (probably in a manner reminiscent of what he'd been planning to do, but a whole month earlier; seriously, just what had happened to the girl she'd been in first year?). "Too much," she added with a resigned sigh.
"Kekeke, you'd better be prepared for new strategies next year then, fucking manager!"
And, Mamori thought, shaking her head both fondly and exasperatedly about the name as Hiruma backed away to grab his laptop and Sena, Monta, and Suzuna seemed to instantly fill the vacuum he left beside her, perhaps next year would be even more fun than this one after all.