Do we really know what goes on inside Yukimura's head? It's why I'm completely taking advantage of a convenient lack of background and voice. Other than those intense moments of determination, what do we know of him anyway?
Hyoutei plays a fairly large influence. I mean that. This isn't the Child of God I'm writing here.
I look forward to the day I screw Rikkaidai's dynamics over.
The thing I've never understood was their fervor until I saw them that day at that concert. And I thought, "Ah. This is what it means to play."
"These are my parents," I tell myself. "These are the people they were meant to be without having me."
I say to them, "I can only respect you when you're up on that stage. When you play in front of a crowd, you deliver without fault, without hesitation. You are gods descending upon the people. You are magnificent when you play. You look at each other and know that it is right. This is your world and it is only right."
And then, before them, I smile.
"It is your place, your birthright. It is not mine. There is no room for errant offspring in your world. You forget this. You forget this all the time, but you have forgotten something, Mother. Father."
Ironic, bitter twist of the lips, I smile. My eyes glow with a fervor that is not my own.
"You forget, it is the only time I do not exist."
--
"Enough," he says, striding forward with all the impotent calm he can muster. He is frustrated, I can see. I see very well no matter how hard he tries to hide it. He is not the only one to wield an intuitive blade.
"Yukimura," he drawls in his particular way. "Sakaki specifically said to wring the fledging first years through drills. Where are the sweat and blood, the pride of Hyoutei, I wonder?"
It is not poised as a question. No, of course not. It is Atobe in all his irate glory. He is fuming, not really. He only plays at concerned captain because I am a subordinate and he is a power high boy playing at a man. He is Atobe Keigo, and he won't let me forget it.
I level him with a look. Does it convey my utmost feelings, I wonder? I wonder if I am not eloquent enough for my peer? Do meaningful stares count?
What do I need to do, shout? "Sakaki-sensei told me no such thing."
Ah, I thought. There's the narrowed glare I've been waiting for, so contemptuous in nature. He affects cool apathy, appalling calm, but either way our interactions don't befit his standing. He finds our encounters degrading. I suppose I should care.
It seems Atobe is in a perpetual state of court fever whenever facing me. It's confusing considering I've never played him on court. I find this boy fascinating, really. How does he keep up this farce of a rivalry? We both know I cannot compete with him in matters of tennis. What more does he want?
Music has never been his forte. Perhaps he just wants to best me in all things Hyoutei?
Or maybe it's in his nature to be this cocky, this arrogant. Always provoking me, this one. What more do I have to offer?
He will not accept it, of course. He doesn't believe in my apathy. He doesn't think it's real.
As always, I am startled out of my thoughts. "While you're down here, Yukimura, go round up the first years. They're useless just standing there, which reflects badly on all of us—especially ore-sama. You're in Sakaki's favor. Act like it."
Atobe has a way with words. His ridiculous speech impediments actually do tone down while talking to me. With everyone else, he has them chirping his name.
Oh, those eager first years! Bloodthirsty and cutthroat, while being held under the thrall of their captain and leader. I can't coincide the images of sabotaging boys and puppy eyed fans.
The actual team is much less susceptible. I talk to them frequently.
I still don't understand why I'm ordered to keep up this pretense. I am not a tennis player. My talents and my will do not belong on that court. Why else have I been enrolled here, districts away from my home? Sakaki confuses me.
He sees something in me? What, the desire to flaunt more results into my parents' faces, forcing them to see more unsightly parts of me? I am not their perfect son, so why should I allow myself to sink further? Or even try harder. I am perpetually stuck.
I am tired. I'm hard pressed to conceal this.
At Hyoutei, it is not wise to let down your guard. This is compounded by the fact that I have no one to let down my guard with. I am always wary.
I miss my old district, but I hardly regret my decision. I have chosen Houtei Academy, and that's that. What use is there to bemoan lost opportunities or to puzzle over what could have been? Had I stayed for one of my home's grade schools until I could naturally progress into the junior high level? It's useless to speculate such things.
What could I have been had I enrolled in Rikkaidai?
I do not allow my mind to wander into these dangerous parts.
--
"You forget, it is the only time I do not exist," I say.
My mother lays a wavering hand upon my arm. "What is it that you want?"
"Yes," my father says, stepping forth. His face is curiously blank; the sight pleases me because of its opaque nature, and I know that I have hurt him. I am sure of it. "What is it that you want?"
"I want to get away from you," I say to the two of them. I say it, detached. There is no thrill in me when I twist in the words further. I watch them with the mechanical eye of a bird, a curious tilt to its head as it watches the insect it has pierced. "I want to get away from you long enough so that I can breathe."
The sight of my mother's cringing does not please me. My father does not say a word.
And for that, I am strangely left with nothing. There is nothing. My mind is not even cleared or remade into a blank slate—I feel nothing.
It is a strange apathy that descends upon my young shoulders then. A sort of grave, innate knowledge that nothing can be turned back and that I have made my choice. Nothing can ever be the same. There is no point in regretting.
This is my choice, to be driftless without a path, to live without a structured goal. This is what I've wanted...isn't it? For years I've been drifting, yearning for a certain goal that I have not achieved. I do not yet know what I am supposed to achieve, I only know that it must be spectacular.
But this yearning, this waiting. It gets old. I wonder what it is that I want. I am listless yet restless, always forever shifting in all directions for a purpose, for my focus.
And I am sick of it. I'm drowning, and I wonder if Sakaki does do right by me when he notes, quietly,
"You are wasted on our music program."
And I wonder if he is right.
To my father, a humble man, and to my mother, an alumnae of a similarly elite school, what does my choice say to them?
"Don't go," my mother begs on her knees. She clutches me with her hands, holds my legs in place, keeps me from taking another step. She is a disgrace. "Don't go, Seiichi. Don't go there."
My mother, whom I loved, knows full well the horrors of an elite school when she says those words.
I ignore them.
My father says nothing to me, has nothing to say. He is speechless, and not in a good way, but there are undertones of anger there. Disappointment. He draws back a hand to slap me, and then slowly, wretchedly, it lowers to his side.
His face turns away from me. It is the greatest insult he could have given me.
My father is a humble man. In that one instant, he chose not to strike at me. What does that say about my father's concerns when he, a respectful and humble man, does not strike out against his son? Is it mercy? Is it an impeccable shine to his character?
It is a fault of mine when I can read the undercurrents so easily. I recognize renouncement when I see it. Perhaps it is too extreme to say so, but I'm saying it like it is.
My father refuses to acknowledge me. Meanwhile, my mother begs. Begs and begs.
This is my family, my parents. The god figures I've looked up to, magnificent creatures I've dragged down from off their stages and corrupted with my willfulness. My spite.
Maybe it's only then that I truly began to drift.
Atobe might be mangled. I wish I could pull off witty dialogue, but it's not to be.
I read all of the Echizen vs. Yukimura match, and I thought, "What a lovely yet pragmatic, jaded bastard." Without tennis, Yukimura is nothing. His entire being had seized upon the sport like a lifeline. Not to say there isn't more to his character, but his focus is a little bit scary and I wonder where he'd be without his tennis. I've grown really fond of him now that I've actually experienced the source material. It makes me love Rikkaidai all the more, but then I start to think about where poor Sanada would be without the luminous and intense guidance of Yukimura?
Music. I have no excuse. If you want obsession, then my Ootori Choutarou fic is just absurd.
I'd like to know how I pulled off Yukimura, please.
