A/N: This fic will hopefully be very long and very detailed with multiple plotlines and tons of character development. Since Kirihara was the only underclassmen regular at Rikkai there are a lot of OCs in this fic. I'm going to slowly introduce the main ones over the next few chapters so you're not bombarded with them all at once. Please bear with me as I introduce all of these characters. Thing will start to pick up around chapter 5 and everything will hit the fan in chapter 7.
Also, a quick but giant thanks to Angelico who has listened to me rant about this fic and to Fye who has looked over some OCs for me. You guys are awesome as are the other people who showed interest in this fic and encouraged me to write it.
Second Wind
Chapter 1.
Kirihara-buchou
Kirihara begins to sweat the second he steps out of the locker room and into the hot, sticky April air. It rained yesterday and the courts reek of dead worms and matted wet grass. Returning upperclassmen dressed in yellow stand scattered throughout the courts, but it's a fundamentally different sight than it was last year. Last year, everyone lined up without being told to because they knew it was what Yukimura wanted. Now, no one knows what Kirihara wants, not even Kirihara.
He heads to the courts, tries to keep his head up, and it all goes down hill from there. Currently, Kirihara is stuck between a rock and a hard place. Specifically, he's stuck standing like an idiot in front of his team because his shorts are caught in the green wire fence surrounding the tennis courts. The upperclassmen are looking around like they expected something like this to happen; the underclassmen look lost and confused because they heard Rikkaidai was a dictatorship, not a comedy show.
Damn, these shorts are really stuck.
Kirihara figures he has two options. He can either step out of his shorts and face the club in his boxers, or rip a huge hole in his shorts and have to pay for a new pair, which he can't do because he's still broke from buying all his senpai graduation gifts.
Urayama breaks away from the crowd of boys and jogs over, stopping near Kirihara to assess the damage.
"Um, Kirihara-senpai, they're wondering why you're looking at the fence and messing around with your pocket. Some guys are saying you're playing with yourself."
"My pants are caught in the damn fence," Kirihara mutters. "I bet Niou-senpai did this last year after Yukimura-buchou finally gave back his wire cutters."
"It's not Yukimura-buchou anymore…"
"I know. Shut up."
"Sorry."
Kirihara tugs harshly at his shorts and wants to scream. Maybe the upperclassmen are right. Of course something like this would happen.
"Kirihara-sen—err, Buchou, you need to do something soon or someone else is going to come over here," Urayama says nervously.
"You know what? Screw it."
Kirihara brings his knee up, attempting to step out of his shorts, but his shoe gets caught on the excess fabric and he loses his balance. He stumbles forward with the grace of an elephant, hears the loud tear of his shorts as he heads face first for the cement, and eats it. His chin burns and when he reaches up to rub it, he can feel loose skin and the sting of sweat in the open wound. It burns like sweat in his eye. Luckily, there's no blood. Only his pride and external most layers are injured.
"Are you okay?" Urayama asks frantically. "What should I do?"
Kirihara manages to turn so he's sitting on his ass and not his face, and takes off his shorts. They're no longer stuck to the fence, but they're practically torn in half and as he stands up, he wonders how the hell he's going to pay for a new pair. He'll skim from the club funds, if they even have club funds. Yanagi never told him about club funds before leaving for high school. No one told him anything.
Act like Yukimura-buchou. That's all you have to do. If you do that, you can get through it.
Another voice tells him that Yukimura-buchou wouldn't trip out of his own shorts, but he ignores that voice because it kind of sounds like Marui.
He moves to where Yukimura used to stand, puts his hands on his hips, and says, "I'm Kirihara, your captain. This guy"—he jerks his finger to Urayama, who runs to Kirihara's side and nearly trips over his own feet—"is your vice-captain."
"Hello," Urayama says, bowing slightly.
Someone in the front of the mob of unknown faces raises their hand. Judging by his height and lack of masculine features, Kirihara bets he's a first year.
"Why are you in your underwear, Kirihara-buchou?" the boy asks without being called on.
The older kids begin to snicker. Kirihara sees Matsui, a third year from his class, take his phone out of his pocket and take a picture. Matsui's a dick. End of story.
"There was an incident."
"An incident?" the boy says.
"An incident," Kirihara repeats with murderous intent. He is not beneath killing a twelve year old if he has to. He's sure Yukimura would do the same.
…right?
"And put that away, Matsui!" Kirihara orders.
Matsui rolls his eyes, but obeys.
Kirihara swallows, takes a moment to regain himself, and tries to remember what he planned to say while he was trying (and failing) to fall asleep last night.
"This team has gone to Nationals for a long time and this year, we're going again. Only regulars will be playing in games, and since most of the regulars left me—"
Kirihara stops. Shit. He didn't mean to say that.
"Since most of the regulars graduated," he goes on, ignoring Matsui's snickering face and the first year who has his hand up again, "we'll need a new set of regulars. Starting tomorrow, there'll be a round robin for every year, further divided into singles and doubles. The top three of every section will face off in a combined tournament for regulars spots. Participation is optional. Sign up on the list posted to the bulletin board in the locker room."
He doesn't completely understand what he just said; it was Yanagi's idea. All Kirihara had to do was memorize the text he received two weeks ago. It's the last time he's heard from any of the old regulars. But it's not like he's not counting the days or anything stupid like that.
(Fifteen days, six hours and counting.)
That one first year's hand is still up, the one who asked about his pants. The boy is shorter than Echizen had been and is pretty average at first glance, with flat black hair that doesn't come past his ears and a normal face lacking any unique features. But when Kirihara sees his eyes, he double takes. The kid's got eyes like a dead fish, dull and lifeless like fogged glass. Kirihara wonders if he's looking at eyes or a pile of excessively dry mud.
"What?" Kirihara says, irritated and freaked out. He tugs at his polo, stuck to skin slick with sweat, and is thankful for the breathing room between his legs. Looking on the bright side, he has on clean underwear.
"What if we've never played tennis?" the boy asks.
Kirihara stares at the kid. He wants to ask if he knows what club this is, if he knows that they don't mess around at Rikkaidai when it comes to tennis, but he holds his tongue because the guy's dead fish eyes are staring at Kirihara, who has no idea how to say all of that without snapping. Is this kid serious?
How do you even teach someone tennis?
"Any other questions?" Kirihara asks, ignoring the first year.
Matsui raises his hand. "Yeah. Is it cold or something, Kirihara?"
Everyone laughs. Kirihara remembers the few rare occasions when he's heard laughter on these courts and the sound in his memory is nothing like the bitterness, the pure contempt in the laughter pointed at him. It's not Marui laughing because Jackal tripped, or Yukimura laughing because squirrels are having sex on the courts, or Kirihara laughing as his senpai pick at one another to lighten the mood during the long, rough days before tournaments.
Kirihara grinds his teeth together and wrings his fisted hands into his shirt. He's captain now. He can't act out, can't tell Matsui to shove it where the sun don't shine, can't scream and beat him into a pulp on the court to show who is in charge. But gods does he want to.
Then Matsui opens his mouth again: "So if we beat you in this tournament, do we get to become captain?"
Kirihara snaps.
Screw being captain. He can feel his face turning red.
Screw Yukimura's legacy. His vision begins to tunnel.
Screw Matsui. He'll dye that kid red.
Urayama puts a hand on Kirihara's shoulder, reeling him back and restraining him with just enough force to stop Kirihara from moving. Urayama's hand feels uncomfortable, unfamiliar, nothing like the comforting touch of his old senpai. Kirihara is shocked into momentary silence.
Yukimura announced that Urayama would be vice-captain the same day he announced Kirihara would be captain. The only difference was that everyone expected Kirihara to be captain. No one expected a girly looking second year to be the Sanada to his Yukimura. Kirihara knows nothing about him other than the fact that Kirihara's seen trees with trunks thicker than this kid's torso.
Urayama addresses the mob in Kirihara's stead. "We have the courts booked for today and we'd figured that anyone that brought a racket is free to play for an hour," Urayama says. His voice is soft, unsure, and people begin to murmur, only the first few rows able to hear what he just said. "Third and second years should know how to referee a match."
"Only the pre-regulars from last year knew and they all graduated," Matsui says. "Yukimura never had time for anyone outside of his little gang. And you never answered my question, Buchou."
Matsui says it like it's poison.
Kirihara wants to shout, but doesn't because Urayama stops him yet again by pushing back on his chest. Kirihara has to admit, the kid is stronger than he looks, and he looks about as strong as a five-year-old girl. Urayama is skinny and short and just plain dainty. And what is up with that hair?
Kirihara takes one step back out of force, then another two out of his own free will.
"Don't push me," Kirihara says. The majority of his anger fizzles away.
"I'm just trying to help, Kirihara-senpai," Urayama says meekly. "I don't think a captain's supposed to yell at his members like that…"
Sanada-fukubuchou did when he took over, Kirihara thinks.
"And don't tell me what to do," Kirihara adds childishly.
Kirihara looks back over Urayama's shoulder, consciously aware at how easy it is to do so, and looks at the team, his team. Third years like Matsui are taking control, ordering second years to set up the nets and first years to get the balls, like they're the ones in charge. No, he realizes. This isn't his team. He doesn't recognize them, doesn't care about them. They don't care about him either. They're just a means to an end.
The little voice in the back of Kirihara's head that sounds a lot like Marui says, If you had some pants on or more manly underwear, maybe they'd take you more seriously, Akaya.
Kirihara sees Urayama shift in front of him, snapping him out of his own head.
Kirihara wants to let his shoulders drop, to lower his defenses in front of his vice-captain, but his muscles remain tight and tense in his back. He can't let any weakness show, not even in front of Urayama, who radiates weakness like it's going out of style. He is the captain of Rikkaidai. He cannot lose face.
"I'm going to go put on my sweats," Kirihara says. "Watch over them."
"Yes, Senpai!"
"It's Buchou."
Urayama looks like a deer in headlights. His voice shakes when he says, "Yes, Kirihara-buchou!"
Kirihara rolls his eyes at the kid. He still remembers talking to Yukimura after the announcement. He asked, "Do I really need to work with him, Yukimura-buchou?" He doesn't remember the response he got.
When he turns on his heels to head to the locker room, he sees a giant on the court. Standing several centimeters short of two meters with straight shoulder-length black hair and a distanced look in his eyes, the guy is a monster. He is pale but not sickly, and his dark eyes remind Kirihara of Niou—calm, calculating. He has on a yellow polo and white shorts, meaning he's a returning player. Kirihara would know if he was in his year, so it's a second year.
Kirihara squares his shoulders the way Sanada does, and holds his ground the way Jackal does at the baseline in a match. "Who are you?" Kirihara asks.
"Oyama Kenta," the monster says. "I'm Shiita's doubles partner."
"Shiita?"
"Me!" Urayama says quickly, bouncing over and nearly tripping over himself.
Don't bounce, Kirihara groans mentally. Rikkaidai players don't bounce.
Seeing Urayama and Oyama stand next to one another is like a really bad joke. Urayama is a little shorter than Marui and Oyama is a giant among junior high schoolers. Where Urayama is soft and friendly looking, Oyama is sharp and monstrous.
"Were you two even on the pre-regulars?" Kirihara asks arbitrarily.
"Does that matter?" Oyama questions.
"I asked you so, yeah, it matters."
"No, we weren't."
Kirihara honestly never paid much attention to the pre-regulars anyways. None of the regulars did. Damn. Maybe Matsui had a point about Yukimura only caring about the regulars.
"What do you want?" Kirihara asks.
"We'll be participating in the round robin, but we're also able to referee," Oyama says. His voice isn't as deep as Kirihara expected. Definitely a second year.
"Who else can ref?"
"I don't know," Urayama says. "Sorry, Se—Buchou."
"Stop apologizing all the damn time. Have some backbone."
"Sorry!"
Kirihara rolls his eyes and looks to Urayama's partner.
"I don't know who can referee," Oyama says, mouth tense and jaw tight, like he wants to say something else entirely but is just barely holding himself back. "I don't talk to the upperclassmen. Practices last year were divided by year."
"Damn."
"But you could just look on the courts now and see who is refing the matches now," Oyama suggests. His voice is flat and dull, as if he thinks Kirihara is an idiot. Kirihara feels like an idiot so it would be an accurate assumption, but it still makes him mad.
Kirihara jerks his jaw to the side instead of yelling, his expression similar to Oyama's. "Keep track of who can," he orders. "I need to put on pants."
"And maybe you could, um, get something for your chin?" Urayama says helpfully.
Kirihara is suddenly aware of his burning chin and grimaces. Urayama runs off before Kirihara says anything. Oyama follows his partner. Kirihara can't remember seeing them ever play before. He wonders if they're any good.
Kirihara didn't get the team after Nationals ended. He heard that Tezuka passed on the torch to Kaidoh immediately after the U-17 camp, and Atobe was eventually convinced to hand Hyotei over to Hiyoshi after a month of overdramatic bitching and grand exits. Shiraishi told him that Zaizen took over as co-captain to learn the ropes. Kirihara doesn't know about the other teams, but he always figured that the newbie captain candidates began being full-fledged captains last year.
Yukimura didn't hand his team over until graduation. He trained the regulars for their advancement to high school, and continued to run practice as he always did, with the regulars coming first and foremost, everyone else acting as background characters. At the time, Kirihara didn't even want to argue with the way things were run. He was in no position to be captain, not even after that U-17 fiasco. It never quit hit him that this meant he would be left standing on the courts on the first day, a captain, with no idea what he was doing.
It's the second day of his captaincy, and it still hasn't hit him.
What kind of captain is he? Is he charismatic like Yukimura, calm yet determined, unforgivingly brutal yet understanding? Or is he like Sanada was, firm without compassion, merciless but fair? He could be flamboyant and all-powerful like Atobe, he could be enabling like Shiraishi, or he could be like Tezuka.
Yukimura is the only captain he's known. He tells himself to act like Yukimura and not worry about it.
He receives a brief text from Marui asking how his first day went, but Kirihara doesn't respond. He doesn't need any misquoted genius advice from Marui, and he doesn't want sympathy right now either. He doesn't need to be treated like a child through this. He's resolved not to ask them for help unless he messes up the team so badly that they can't even get through the first tournament in five weeks.
The first tournament is in five weeks, Kirihara realizes with a groan. And if he messes that up, it's game over. There are no second chances.
Kirihara gets up and goes to school at the ass crack of dawn, using his key to unlock the tennis club's locker room. During his first year, Yukimura and the captain before him managed to convince their club advisor to give permission for numerous fundraising events to collect enough funds to build the private locker room at the beginning of last year. That reminds him…
Kirihara steals a sharpie from the bulletin board and writes a note on his hand.
lunch see T-sensei
He grabs the sign up sheet for the round robin off the bulletin board, sits down on one of the benches, and holds the sharpie between his teeth to scratch off joke names. He counts up how many players will be in each section of the tournament and then pulls out a time sheet Yanagi sent him with the round robin information.
"What the hell do I do with doubles players who didn't sign up in pairs?" he grumbles. "And there's an odd number of singles players in the third year section. Am I playing?"
He sees Urayama and Oyama's names paired together on the second year doubles page. It's one thing for them to play—for all Kirihara knows, they could be horrible—but it's downright unfair to whoever gets matched with Kirihara. None of the current club members would stand a chance against him. But if he played, it would level out the number of players…
He goes to scribble on the time sheet and hears another voice in his head. It's Jackal's this time, Maybe you should use pencil in case you make a mistake.
I never make mistakes, Marui chimes in.
Remember that time you cut your own hair? Jackal replies.
Marui's bubble pops then he says, You owe me lunch now.
Jackal sighs.
Kirihara is officially going insane.
He gets a pencil from his bag and plans the afternoon practice. He still has a sharpie in his mouth and a pencil behind his ear when he hears the door rattle. He spits out the sharpie when the door opens. It goes under one of the lockers.
"I told you it'd be unlocked, Kenta," Urayama says. He comes inside, followed by Oyama. "G-good morning, Buchou! Why are you in the dark?"
Kirihara looks around. "Didn't notice." It's the truth, at least.
Oyama hits the lights and Urayama comes over to straddle the bench in front of where Kirihara is working. Urayama looks through his bag then hands Kirihara list of five names, two of which look vaguely familiar. Oyama comes and stands next to the bench.
"Who are these people?" Kirihara asks.
"You asked us to figure out who could ref a match," Urayama answers. "Kobayakawa-kun is a second year like us, but the rest are third years. Is there, um, anything else you need help with?"
Kirihara puts the list of names to the side and goes back to planning practice for the rest of the week. He's going to combine the first year doubles and singles tournaments since not many first years signed up. If he's lucky, he can squeeze in second year singles today, meaning tomorrow is second year doubles and third year doubles. Thursday will be devoted solely to third year singles since it has the most people. Friday will be the top matches to determine who is a regular.
Why is this so confusing? Last year, it never seemed confusing. Yanagi told him when and who to play and that was that.
He begins to fill first years into the time blocks. There's only six first years so it doesn't take long, but there are significantly more second years.
"This is a second year, third year pair," Urayama points out. "Where do they go?"
"Crap. Wherever there's an odd number?" Kirihara says, thinking out loud. "Second year is odd. So second year bracket."
"That means the third year bracket is odd," Oyama says.
"And you forgot this person," Urayama adds. "So I guess that means second year is even now, so you can add them back to third."
"No, he has them there," Oyama replies.
"Nu-uh."
"Yes, he does, Shiita."
"Shut up!" Kirihara snaps.
Urayama flinches back. Oyama, however, does not react at all. The giant reaches down, pointing to the schedule, and calmly says, "You scheduled this person twice."
Kirihara erases the name with enough force to tear the entire paper in half.
"Damn it!" he swears. He glares up at Oyama. "I got this. You're just messing me up. Why are you even here this early in the morning?"
"You never told us the morning practice schedule," Urayama replies quietly, not looking at him.
"There is no morning practice this week. Put a note on the door or something."
Urayama gets up slowly, cautiously, then the doubles pair leaves together.
Kirihara swears so loudly it echoes in the empty locker room.
Kirihara spends lunch working on the schedule instead of seeing the club advisor. His friends try to talk to him, but he brushes them off, saying they'll eat together tomorrow and he's sorry but he really needs to do this right now. Matsui passes him by on his way out of the room and asks if he remembered to bring a spare pair of shorts, and Kirihara tells him to shove it or he'll cross his name off the participating list. That shuts Matsui up real quick.
He checks his phone on the way to practice to see if Yukimura has finally remembered to give him some sagely advice, but there's only another text from Marui wondering why he hasn't responded yet. He's too busy looking at his phone that he nearly walks straight into the door to the locker room and probably would have if that creepy ass first year hadn't opened it from the other side first.
"Good afternoon, Kirihara-buchou," the kid says. His eyes are still as dead as they had been yesterday. He's wearing the standard first year gym uniform given out at orientation; his name isn't written on the shorts yet. Crap. Kirihara has to get uniforms for the new members.
"What's your name?" Kirihara asks. Yukimura made a point to know the name of everyone in the club. Kirihara figures he could give it a shot. What's a hundred names, after all? (The answer is that it's a hundred names he will forget and will have to have repeated to him.)
"Nishimura Daiki. First year, class C." Even his voice is prepubescent and flat. "What do club members do as warm-up?"
Kirihara forgot warm-ups existed. He didn't plan anything.
Think, Akaya. What would Yukimura-buchou do?
"Ten laps around the court, thirty push ups, crunches, and squats, and fifty racket swings," Kirihara says. That was his warm-up his first year. He remembers the kid's question about never playing tennis. "Do you have a racket?"
"No. I've never played tennis before."
Kirihara remembers Sanada telling members where the spare rackets are, but he can't remember where that was. Regulars never had to clean up, not even when Sanada was in charge. Regulars were supposed to take the time to cool down properly to avoid muscle strain.
"I can show you where the spare ones are," Urayama says, coming out of the locker room, already dressed. "I-Is that alright, Kirihara-buchou?"
Kirihara nods stiffly.
Urayama takes the boy outside to the supply shed on the far side of the courts, outside of the fenced enclosure. Kirihara changes in the back at the good lockers, the ones reserved for regulars, the ones that are all empty except for his. A strip of masking tape is still stuck over his locker from last year with his name on it. With no one around to tell him to keep his locker clean, it's already cluttered.
It's hot, and he's sweating from half of his usual warm-up that Yanagi gave him, and his muscles ache almost as bad as his scrapped up chin. He rubs at the bandage there and hopes it stays on despite the sweat. He rolls ups his sweatpants after his laps, but it doesn't help him cool down in the humid April heat.
The worst moment yet comes after warm-up. He stands in front of the mob yet again, ready to start the first year sections, and he can't think of what to say.
Yukimura would tell everyone to do their best no matter their opponent. Atobe would demand practice began. What would Hiyoshi do? Is Hiyoshi like Atobe?
Urayama looks at him expectedly. Matsui laughs with his friends in the crowd. The first year—Kirihara's already forgotten his name—is staring at him with those unsettling eyes.
Kirihara steps forward and panics. He thought stepping forward would make something come to mind, but he still has no idea what to say.
"The list is in your pocket, Kirihara-buchou," Urayama says softly.
Kirihara reaches into his pocket, pulling out the list of names. "Right," he says to himself. To the crowd, he says, "I want the two first year double pairs to get on court A. Urayama is your referee. The two single players get on court B. I'm refing your match. Everyone else get in the bleachers and support your teammates."
The words don't feel right coming out of his mouth.
"Which court is which?" a first year calls out. It's not Nishimura—that's his name!
"Follow your referee," Urayama says as he climbs up into the chair at court A. "You can look up the court layout in the locker room."
They can? Kirihara thinks.
"I'm posting a map tomorrow," Urayama adds.
The first years are horrible. It physical hurts Kirihara to watch the matches. Even the boys who have played before—and it looks like only two of them out of the six that signed up have—are awkward and stiff and can't serve. The doubles players are uncoordinated. They're obviously just friends who wanted to try out tennis and have never actually played together.
Is it possible for people to be this bad at tennis? At least Nishimura doesn't play. That would have been a train wreck.
Kirihara doesn't remember the names of the winners after he circles them on his list, which he turns over to see second year singles. There are six courts and each of them is in use. Twelve second year singles players signed up, yet Kirihara doesn't recognize any of them.
None of them turn out to be anything special, but they are very obviously Rikkaidai players. Yukimura, Sanada, and Yanagi and the rest of the regulars had taught them and it shows. Their serves have accuracy and power, their movements are concise, and their volleys don't pointlessly drag on. But no one stands out, meaning no one is pulling ahead of their opponent.
Kirihara groans when his match hits another deuce.
"Damn it. I forgot to see him again," Kirihara mutters when he comes out of the locker room on Wednesday and sees Takeda-sensei sitting on a bench inside the fence.
Nishimura comes up to Kirihara's side and asks, "Who is that man? Is he a pervert who watches practice?"
"Don't say that about him."
"Well, I wouldn't say that about him if I knew who he was. Who is he?"
"The club advisor. He controls all of our funds and whether or not we can have practice camps. He has to sign off on forms when we enter tournaments, too."
Kirihara has heard horror stories about this man. He's heard that Sanada had to drop his head and pride, and plead for money for a new ball machine when the last one broke. He heard that Yukimura had to clap all of the erasers in the school for a month for club funds. He heard that Yanagi played him in chess for a weekend practice camp and Yanagi lost, meaning he had extra clean up duty for a week.
"He's the devil," Kirihara says.
"I read in a magazine that you were the devil, Kirihara-buchou," Nishimura says.
Kirihara locks his jaw. "Run an extra five laps."
Nishimura sighs and jogs off to run around the fenced in courts. Kirihara rubs at the bandage on his chin—it's an ugly yellow now, but it's almost scabbed over—and it doesn't burn when sweat touches it anymore. It will heal, but the club members won't forget.
Kirihara walks over to Takeda-sensei, avoiding members who are running laps, and unlatches the door on the fence.
"Good afternoon, Sensei," Kirihara says, bowing slightly like Yukimura, Sanada, and Yanagi would whenever this geezer showed up to practice.
Takeda-sensei is a living fossil, probably older than dinosaurs, with no hair and a fat face. He smells too clean to have just spent hours teaching in front of the classroom. He wears hideous sweaters and uses a cane to walk, but he is never out of breath, and Marui theorized the cane was a trick to make people think he was a weak old man.
"If he isn't a weak old man, what is he?" Jackal would reply.
"I don't know." Marui would blow a bubble. "Not a weak old man."
Kirihara stands up straight and looks at the devil.
"Ah, Kirihara-kun," Takeda-sensei says slowly with a dangerous, closed lip smile that reminds Kirihara of Yukimura. "When I hadn't heard from you, I thought that something had happened. It looks like I was right. Is your chin alright?"
"It's alright. And there was an, uh, incident the first day."
"Yes, an incident. I heard all about this incident from Matsui-kun. He was kind enough to talk to me while you took your time changing in that locker room I helped your team get. Although, I suppose that was before your time."
Kirihara looks around the courts for Matsui, but sees no sign of the backstabber.
"Please, sit," Takeda-sensei says. It's not a suggestion. Kirihara sits next to him, unsure of what to do with his hands, and ends up putting them on his knees. He tries to sit up straight like Sanada but it hurts his already sore back. Proper posture sucks. "So, Kirihara-kun, or should I call you Kirihara-buchou?"
"Kirihara-kun is alright, I guess."
"You guess." Takeda-sensei laughs lightly, in little huffs instead of a steady steam. "You are quite amusing, Kirihara-kun. Yukimura-kun said I would like you."
"He did?"
"Yes. He said many things about you, as did Yanagi-kun during our chess matches. Did you know that rascal managed to beat me the last time we met? Why, I think he pretended to lose every other time to get on my good side. You know, when I think about it, Yukimura-kun did always stop by for a cup of tea the days after I beat Yanagi-kun. Your senpai were quite something, don't you agree?"
"Yeah," Kirihara says softly, trying not to think too much about it.
"Hmm. What's bothering you, Kirihara-kun?"
"Nothing. If you don't need anything, I should really—"
Takeda-sensei stomps his cane into the ground. He isn't done yet. He smiles like an innocent old man.
The devil, Kirihara thinks.
"The principal tells me that your club will be given less funds due to your, ah, incident at Nationals last year." Takeda-sensei turns to look at Kirihara, who fidgets but does not look away. "I am very proud of this club, Kirihara-kun. As you may know, I was once a member myself, back when my bones did not rub and I was much more attractive." He pauses.
Am I supposed to compliment him? This is getting really weird.
Takeda-sensei laughs. "Calm down, calm down. I have no intentions of harming this club. It is my legacy, you see, and I want it to be a legacy worth bragging about. Your loss at Nationals last year was quite the disappointment. Yukimura-kun promised me three consecutive wins, but he fell through on that promise. And because of what, a first year? It's a shame, to be honest, a down right embarrassment to the Rikkai name. Yukimura-kun still apologizes every chance he gets, as if that will change the outcome.
"Now, as much as I want this club to succeed, I will not advocate for club funds unless I think it is worth investing in. The girls' club did quite well last year as well. In fact, one could call their loss in the third round at Regionals better than your advancement and loss in the Finals at Nationals. You see, when you expect nothing of someone, their victories always surprise you but their disappoints only confirm your belief."
He's talking about me. He expects nothing from me.
"I'll be watching practice today, Kirihara-kun," Takeda-sensei says slowly, a glint in his eyes that old men should not have. "Try not to let another incident occur, would you?"
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"I'll try," Kirihara says. "I mean, there won't be another incident."
"Good, good. That's what I like to here, Kirihara-kun."
Kirihara stands up, hands balled into fists, and jaw clenched.
Don't let anyone down. Keep a straight face. Act like Yukimura-buchou.
He spends the entire day refing doubles matches, trying not to slip up in front of Takeda-sensei. He doesn't know how Urayama and Oyama do since he does not ref their match, but they win their match and advance to the next round, which they also win. Kirihara is curious about their play style, but not curious enough to look away from his match and disappoint Takeda-sensei. Urayama and Oyama will advance to the final round on Friday, along with a pair from the match Kirihara refed.
Takeda-sensei says nothing about practice when he leaves, only that he hopes Kirihara stops by for tea some time. Kirihara nods, makes sure the nets are put into the storage shed, and goes into the locker room.
There's a voice mail waiting for him on his phone. He holds the phone between his ear and shoulder as he drops his pants.
"Akaya," Sanada's voice says, slightly deeper than it had been last year. Kirihara nearly drops the phone. "Takeda-sensei sent me an email saying he was visiting your practice. Don't mess up. That man is the devil."
In the background, Kirihara can hear Marui, "You know that if he isn't picking up, it means he's already at practice, right?"
"Marui!"
"Don't yell, the captain will be mad," Yukimura says. "Genichirou, tell Akaya I said—"
Beep. The message cuts off.
What was Yukimura going to say? Kirihara wants to throw his phone at the wall. Instead, he clutches it in his hands and hits it against his forehead.
Get it together, he tells himself.
The end of the week and the end of this tournament don't come soon enough for Kirihara. He doesn't play during the round robin tournament and none of the upperclassmen except for Matsui say anything about it.
"You think you're better than us? Is that why you didn't play? Or did precious Yukimura-buchou tell you not to?"
Kirihara turns red, his fists balled, and he wants to yell, but Urayama stops him with an uncomfortable, alien hand to his shoulder. Kirihara shakes off the second year and goes to stand in front of his team. Don't freak out. Act like Yukimura.
But the first years are still confused about Matsui's outburst.
"Why didn't you play, Buchou?" Nishimura asks without being called on.
"I was on the team last year."
"He thinks he's better than all of us," Matsui says loudly.
One of the doubles pairs that just won their match and a spot on the regulars looks at Kirihara, who does not know what to say. He knows he's better than them—all of them, even Urayama, who is his vice-captain and is standing in the crowd with his monster partner. Kirihara stood on the court with the kings of Rikkaidai and everyone else here were just the leftovers used for support they didn't need. None of them stand a chance against him. He deserves to be captain more than anyone. He's better. He's stronger.
Don't get angry. If you get angry, no one will follow you.
"See?" Matsui says smugly.
Kirihara clutches the final roster in his hands until it's wrinkled. He hates that Matsui is on the list as a singles player. Kirihara saw him play. He could beat Matsui with his eyes closed, but with some luck, some other idiots in the tournament won't be able to. Yukimura, Sanada, and Yanagi trained him well.
Nishimura asks again, "Buchou? Is that true? Do you think you're better than us?"
"We're a seeded team so we skip the District Tournament next week," Kirihara says, gritting his teeth and ignoring them. "We'll hold another tournament to determine regulars before Kanto Regionals and another one before Nationals."
"You're avoiding the question," Nishimura says bluntly.
"He's an arrogant bastard who would take this team to Nationals by himself if he could, but he can't!" Matsui says, nearly shouting. "You can only play one match per round so you need pawns. Yukimura knew it too, that's why you hand picked your teammates like cattle for the slaughter."
"Slaughter?" a first year mutters.
"We lost last year. Because the captain was an ego driven ass, just like Kirihara."
Kirihara sees red. "Shut up. Don't you dare insult—"
"What are you going to do about it, Kirihara? Cry to Sanada like you did last year?"
"Please stop talking," Urayama says, but his voice is lost in the mob and only Kirihara and a few others can hear him. Kirihara's rage quells temporarily. "You're not the captain, Matsui-senpai, so please stop."
"Am I supposed to listen to a second year?" Matsui asks. "Kirihara, did you even pick this brat out? Or do you think you're too good for a vice-captain too?"
Kirihara looks at the roster, avoiding the question, gritting his teeth and caging his overwhelming rage.
"These are the regular members for the Prefecture Tournament," Kirihara says. "Singles—Kirihara Akaya, third year; Matsui Ryuu, third year; and Yamauchi Seiji, third year. Doubles—Hirai Yasushi and Azuma Toshiyuki, both third year; and Urayama Shiita and Oyama Kenta, both second year."
"Buchou?" Nishimura says. He raises his hand, like he's not sure if Kirihara can hear him. "Why didn't you play in the tournament? What is Senpai talking about?"
"I told you—!" Matsui shouts, but Kirihara can't take it anymore. He can't hear Matsui's protests. They think he's a joke. He's done trying to be like Yukimura.
Don't do it, Marui says.
Akaya, you'll only make it worse by getting angry, Jackal adds.
And screw his senpai. They left him here alone, unprepared.
"Shut up!" Kirihara yells, cutting off Matsui. "I could beat you all with my eyes closed. The only people from this school who could beat me graduated last year. If anyone is stupid enough to think they can beat me, then come up and fight me right now. I'll dye you red!"
Nishimura lowers his hand. His dead eyes drop to the ground.
"Well, anyone?" Kirihara prompts. He looks around the mob of boys. They're quiet. No one dares speak out of fear. Matsui and his damn grin fuel his anger. "I'm your captain because I'm strong—stronger than all of you! I deserve this. Now shut up and listen to me, or you're off my team!"
Kirihara shoves the piece of paper into his pocket and looks out at the crowd. Nishimura and the other first years look confused, almost hurt. This is obviously not the Rikkaidai they expected. The second years look pissed and the third years don't look surprised, like their suspicions about Kirihara over the last three years were all true.
"Anyone else who managed to reach the final tournament today is a pre-regular. Clean up the courts and go home. Morning practice starts Monday for regulars. That's all."
Nishimura raises his hand with another question, but Kirihara turns before he can ask it.
As he heads towards the locker room, he thinks, Rikkaidai must have a ruler, then frowns because he's heard that somewhere before but he can't quite remember where.