"- and this is my classroom, see, that's my sea -"
The voice choked. Akashi raised his head.
Maya-chan was flushing already.
"What are you doing here?"
"Preparing a speech," he said and then nodded to Maya-sempai. Her smile and wave back looked like royalty greeting the crowd. Next to her, Maya-chan put her foot on a chair and entered a fighting pose. With the air of someone imagining a theme song in the background, she pointed him and said,
"Why will you talk at the ceremony?"
"Why, little sister? After all, he is the number one."
"It is because he is council president!"
"How would you know, number two?"
"My, my, won't you introduce the young man to us?"
"No!"
Maya-sempai giggled.
Akashi glanced at the clock - twenty minutes - and willed himself to ignore the surrounding commotion.
He wasn't doing this speech due to his grades or the student council. He had to do it because the principal saw Akashi doing the final check of the decorations. He told his wonderful idea with a grin to Coach Shirogane and his homeroom teacher accepted before he could do anything but a scowl. It was an hour before the ceremony.
"I will be number one next term!"
Akashi startled from his contemplation of the blank sheet of paper.
Maya-chan was red in the face.
Then her words registered - she was number two? He didn't remember her score - how many points were between them?
"Quite a baseless assumption," he said.
"I will beat you!"
Fifteen minutes.
He didn't have time for this.
He stood up, crumbled his paper and threw it to the trash.
"Maya-sempai, you will be late to the ceremony, you have a speech. Maya-chan, cease your dream of beating your sister; your biggest accomplishment would be to graduate as number two."
After a nod to their parents, he left the classroom. Maya-chan's scream echoed in the empty corridor.
He had to go with his speech to the graduating basketball team members - he had nothing else.
He could imagine Mayuzumi-san's scoff. His irrelevance to the event would be an early birthday present to him.
Akashi nodded at Saito-san as he left the room after bringing his suitcase. It looked weary and dwarfed in his closet room, similar to a dusty fingerprint to a shiny photograph.
Akashi, himself, felt like an intruder to a cherished and protected relic.
His room at Tokyo looked as if he didn't leave a day.
It has been a year since he entered this room.
And he had changed.
(He got defeated.)
After shaking off his disorientation, Akashi inspected the huge room, trying to gauge the personality that lived here.
The enormous desk and bookshelf set was the main attraction, placed a strategic distance from the floor-to-ceiling windows that their abundance of curtains didn't reach it while sunlight did. Next to the desk was a shogi board so he could play only by turning in his chair. And in the corner stood his calligraphy set and latest works.
Akashi moved to examine the bookshelf, his hands clasped at his back not to touch any of the museum objects.
Management, economics and finance. Books up to the second year of high school and an empty shelf where his middle-school books used to be. Two rows of basketball magazines with Machiavelli's Prince balanced on their top. If he remembered - yes, Sun Tsu's Art of War was next to the shogi set. Their shiny pieces were in the middle of a game. It must be against himself, Akashi recalled the tactics of both sides.
His Teiko uniform was hanging, pressed and ready to use, in the closet room; his basketball uniform must be next to it. Instead, Akashi focused on the host of shirts and pants filling the room, some of them with price tags on them. He wondered if any of those clothes fitted anymore. Akashi's shoulders were wider, arms thicker, and he was, somewhat, taller.
Throwing a dubious look at the double bed, so high with fluffy covers and pillows it couldn't be comfortable, he glanced at the Rakuzan booklets at his bedside table. One told of the school's high university admittance and prestige. Another of its success in sports and social activities for the students. Akashi had underlined dorms.
He remembered feeling overwhelmed in this room. Stuffed to the brim, choking under responsibilities but having to move on. Walk on. Be victorious.
His touristic tour over, Akashi sat on the desk chair and turned on the computer.
A black wallpaper and an empty desktop except for a few shortcuts. One was to his old school folder, which was full of homework, projects and reports. He didn't bother checking it further. Another was of a chatting program. He didn't know whether they still used it and didn't open it to check.
(They had downloaded it because Murasakibara asked it rather than their belief of using it. Akashi still didn't know his reason.)
The last item on the desktop was the online shogi game he played with Midorima.
He clicked. It opened to a bare board and the list of friends he had. It was empty.
Midorima had unfriended him or deleted his profile.
(It was full of defeats anyway.)
Maybe he had also uninstalled the game.
Akashi should have formatted the computer when he left for Rakuzan.
He should just do it now - after copying his middle school folder to a hard disk.
He explored the folders to see if there was anything else to save. Documents folder, check. Movies folder, it was empty. Music folder, he had transferred his achieve to his laptop before leaving. Photos folder -
What was this jumbled bunch? No folders, no names, nothing to distinguish the files. Akashi opened them in random.
A go tournament. Akashi and Yukimaru - he had to be around ten years old. He was in traditional robes, in front of a temple. Akashi and Nijimura-sempai - the training camp of the first year.
He wondered what Nijimura-sempai was doing. Did he hear Akashi's defeat? Did he even follow Japan high school basketball?
Akashi looked so young in the picture. And his expression -
Argh.
He saw it often.
Starstruck.
He didn't keep on shaking his hand, right? Or take notes of his favourite dishes?
(It was fried rice.)
Right.
He chose another picture.
It was their second year nationals awards ceremony.
He was looking ahead, face blank, with a gold medal around his neck and holding the cup.
It was heavy.
He remembered Nijimura-sempai taking it after the photos because Akashi's arms were shaking. After a look at the team already walking to the changing rooms, Sempai had given him a worried frown and patted his shoulder.
It meant to be encouraging but only seemed like more weight on his shoulders.
Nijimura-sempai had held the cup until they reached the school.
Akashi chose another picture.
Ah, happy times. The silence before the storm. Second term of the second year.
Akashi was even eating a popsicle. They must have reached him before Murasakibara ate the whole pack.
He chose another picture.
A small Akashi was holding a basketball ball larger than his head, giving the largest grin he could manage while sitting on his mother's lap.
Akashi choked.
He turned off the computer.
The room was stuffed and overbearing already.
Three days. That was all. Then he would return to his life.
A knock came to his door.
"Young master, the dinner will be ready in ten minutes," Maiya-san called.
The dinner would always be ready at seven o'clock in this house but Maiya-san insisted on reminding every day.
He thanked her and moved to his closet room.
Akashi left his room for his first face-to-face conversation with his father with a shirt too tight on the shoulders and itchy trousers.
He entered the dining room just as the antiqued clock's first strike echoed in it. His seat was at the long table's closest end to the door so he put a hand to the high-winged chair and waited. His father entered at the second strike and with only a nod to acknowledge his presence, walked the length of the table to his seat.
Akashi sat down after his father did. Maiya-san entered with soups at the clock's seventh strike.
"How was your school year?"
"It was beneficial, father."
"How is your team?"
Akashi didn't upset his spoon, kept his hand and posture relaxed. Nothing but a normal question of a normal dialogue.
"They are fine, father."
They had talked on phone after his defeat. It was a short conversation. He hoped the subject was closed then.
His father didn't speak until the main course came.
"Are you comfortable in your accommodations?"
"Yes, I am, father."
Silence returned. Akashi expected nothing more until his father dismissed him.
He finished his meal before his father. They used to eat at the same rate, Akashi must have gotten faster. A side effect of working on lunch hours.
Maiya-san's food was delicious. They also came with decorations and a nice arrangement. Akashi always wished to see them in a clear light instead of the low one of the dining room. He wondered if they would taste as good with normal plates and chopsticks instead of bone china plates and silver cutlery.
Father finished eating and put his cutlery on his plate. Maiya-san entered before their tiny ringing finished.
"We will take our tea in my study."
Father stood up. Akashi followed him.
Why wasn't he dismissed? What else could they talk about?
(Not his defeat. Not his defeat. Please, not his defeat.)
His father's study comprised a huge, mahogany desk facing the door and several bookshelves covering the walls. The desk had two chairs in front for visitors. Father sat at one. Akashi settled at the other across from him.
He surpassed his urge to wipe his sweating hands on his pants and swallowed.
Behave like an Akashi. Like the son his father groomed him to be.
He raised his head at a snail's pace and looked his father in the eye. Then shivered.
In that moment, Akashi understood the reason behind the ridiculous long table and low light of their dining room. It was for his own good. Looking into Akashi Masanori's eyes with only a coffee table between them was like drowning in the man's immense presence.
Akashi didn't let himself break the eye contact, blinked as little as possible, even as his ears rang. He didn't take his eyes off his father when Maiya-san entered and left the room. Only when he focused on his tea did Akashi feel like he could breathe and took a shaky one. With a numb mind, he watched as father prepared his tea the way he liked, with some honey, and took a sip.
"Drink your tea, son."
He gulped down the whole cup. It burned all the way to his stomach. His tongue ached.
Father leaned forward, took the empty cup from his hands and filled it. Akashi's hands trembled and his heart hammered - Why was father serving Akashi? Was he such an inept son that -
"Everything deserves respect, Seijuro. Maiya-san prepared this tea for us, leaving it unfinished would be disrespectful for her. Tea itself deserves respect too, or it would burn you." He put the cup back to its saucer and extended it to Akashi. "Drink this tea with small sips but don't take too long or it would turn bitter. Everything deserves respect, son, but you determine how much."
Akashi nodded and took a small sip. It hurt his tongue. He tried to hold the cup like his father, a hand under the saucer and the other touching its rim.
Father looked him in the eye. The cup shuddered in its saucer. "You have grown up, my son. Not enough to have this conversation but we have no choice." He took a sip. Akashi did too.
It hurt his clenched stomach.
"You are my heir. For now, it means you need to study more than anyone else, but for ahead - you are the company's future, Seijuro." He focused on his father's lips so he could comprehend the speech -
And he knew all of this. Father said it before. But - still - his heart speeded up for a different reason this time. His hand curled around the cup as if protecting its warmth would also shelter the one in his chest.
"This is not a secret, everybody knows it. It makes you quite a catch."
Akashi frowned. "I don't date and I am careful of my schoolmates trying to be my friends."
"I know. You are a clever boy."
Eh?
Father paused, then took a sip of his tea. Akashi followed.
"Answer me: Who would benefit the most from getting close to you?"
Akashi's life revolved around studying, basketball, working out and various school responsibilities. Anyone near him would get lots of exposure to these subjects but no direct help. Akashi neighter shared his homework, lest it turned into an attractive commodity for the student body, nor did he tell the critical information about the basketball team or student council to unrelated people. This was how he dissuaded the power-hungry people from getting close to him for his various titles.
But father wouldn't care about his school titles and their consequences; his concentration would always be the company.
So - "Company employees?"
Father nodded and smiled.
Akashi's heart skipped a beat.
"Our employees are hard working and eager yet they are also survivors of an ambitious multi-nation corporation. When you work at the company, just your vague recollection of them would be invaluable and might mean their future insurance."
Father took a large final sip and put his cup back to the tray. Akashi took a small sip, still wanting to hold the cup.
"In Tokyo, where our headquarters is, you were always under Saito-san's eye."
Ah.
His begging not to use a driver to school, to look like a normal student and his father's strict refusal.
"I believed you could be freer in Kyoto. It didn't turn out to be the case, thus our conversation right now."
Akashi's throat closed.
Will he live in an Akashi household and driven back and from the school in Kyoko as well? Have a curfew and feel eyes on him whenever he was outside school or home? Have to report why he came home late? Or left early?
His ears ringed.
"Open your eyes, son, I won't change your living conditions."
He opened them and looked at his father, who was holding a streaming cup.
(How much tea was there?)
Akashi bit his lip and put his half-empty cup back to the table before it made any more noise in his trembling hands.
So much for behaving like a good son.
"This conversation is a warning. An employee got close to you in the place we thought the most secure." He got a dossier from his desk and extended it to Akashi. "Read it, son. Know as much about him as possible, for he knows everything about you."
He opened the dossier. It was about -
Kuroko Tetsuya.
