Chapter IX: Punk
I never was someone who'd broadcast some notable attributes I possess because, for one thing, there's none and, for another, I'm just not like that. I feel now so removed from myself and the feeling is so thick it can last for over forever. These people I've plunked myself with, Mitsui, Ryota, Kaede and Hanamichi have like strapped me fastened tight into this fast-forward journey of learning. I'm always half certain about what I want, and, least of all, myself but now—
"Maki still hasn't stopped pestering me." Mitsui mutters. It doesn't register to us fast enough so he speaks again, "He's always wanted me to be his left-wing and what with his bluntness he can just go to hell. I just can't sit on his hypocrisy anymore." He has his eyes fixed somewhere ahead of us as though his senses haven't descended on him yet.
"What are you saying?" I ask.
"Gungrave. He wants me in it. Last time we talked, he mentioned he wanted all of you to be in it too. By the time we schedule another talk, he'd want the entire Shohoku School to be his minions."
It's been a week since the Ryonan match. Kaede and Hanamichi have been making themselves as scarce as a goddamn miracle lately, perhaps dodging being interrogated about their failure concerning Sendoh. On its lightest note, it's rather immature and that's as nice as I can get. They have this toddler logic like they'd mope Satan out of hell if you so much as mumbled the word 'loser'. So now it's me, Miyagi and Mitsui again carrying our feet home.
Mitsui seems lost in his musings. Miyagi and I swap glances. Our brains are just about following a road which doesn't lead to comprehension, at least not a complete one.
"How long has he been asking you?" Miyagi asks.
"Donkey years now. Ever since Gungrave was born. That's like three years ago and, man, if persistence were personified, it'd be named Shinichi. He just doesn't fucking get it. I've dropped it on him for about ten million times that it's never gonna happen. My irritation was just about the closest he got to my consent." Mitsui says it all as though he's trying to remember something, as if he doesn't know where to put his thoughts next.
"Why haven't you told us until now?" Miyagi asks.
Mitsui doesn't answer right away and now there's enough silence between us three to allow an argument. In time, he answers,
"Would it make a difference? Would you join them if he asked you to?"
I look at him, completely understanding what he has in mind. But maybe that understanding is about to disappear.
"I—I can't imagine myself being anywhere else." Miyagi volunteers, sounding almost philosophical in his brief reply. He continues, "Are you bothered, sempai?"
Mitsui stares at him in estimation as the other wonders what sort of look it was.
"Why?"
"Well, if this conversation is gonna assume some drama series quality, I'm bailing myself out now." Ryota says, half jesting. Mitsui smiles back at him.
"Come on, man."
"They're all the same. The popular jocks that they are; it's just part of their nature to NOT trouble being essential and be skin-deep only because their skins are all they've got. And if that's how a man's capabilities are measured, I can just quit being a man right here, right now." Miyagi finishes before surveying the horizon. I'm gonna put my bet on him not fully knowing what he has just said.
"Don't you think it's a little weird, if not ironic, coming from you? You're a frickin' sports jock." I say and, honest to god, I'm neither teasing nor mocking.
Mitsui laughs at this, and so does Miyagi.
"That rule doesn't apply to me. That's enough of a statement."
"If you've been looking closely, you're infinitely more than that." Mitsui tells him.
…
"I really don't get it." Sakuragi says. "I mean it makes as much sense as nothing else."
"Quit it already, do' aho." Rukawa snaps.
Mitsui is playing some survival-horror game on his PS2 while Miyagi is following the game like a friggin' headline. The world can just dissolve and they'd still be holding on to the goddamn controller and the console. Sakuragi can just shoot the same thing all day long and there'd be no difference if he was talking to a wall.
I speak up, "Everything is just in proper order. Kaede's here and so are you. More to the point, since you two go way back to the basketball team, maybe you can just start getting along, as you're gonna be stuck with each other for a very long time."
"No." Both say firmly.
"Well, at least you agree on one thing." I say sarcastically.
Looking back, it was pretty strange that Kaede had been swayed so easily by Mitsui while Maki was just about ready to cast himself on his feet. And then there's also the fact that he listens to everything Mitsui says. In fact, I suspect he wouldn't complain if he were asked to interpret and record his senior's sleep-talks.
"Let me ask you one question," Sakuragi starts at his fellow freshman, "I mean this is purely out of curiosity and, mind you, there's a lotta difference between curiosity and interest so don't go all bigheaded on me. Here goes; why are you here?"
Kaede puts on a pose of indifference. He swings his gaze at Mitsui who's just at the moment NOT gonna return the gaze, not even for the entire world, as he's still locked on the stupid game.
Kaede answers, "Why are you in the basketball team?"
This really isn't gonna go anywhere unless these two cut it with their wisecracking nonsense.
"Talent, duh."
Rukawa rolls his eyes and stuffs his earphones in their designated locations.
"Do'aho."
It gets me thinking; it's bound to, one way or the other. I size about all matters of benefits his hanging around with us can potentially bring; there's a lot for us, maybe, and there's nothing much for him; that is, if we're talking about personal growth. He can just say goodbye to us anytime and that won't alter his course anyway. He'll be a superb professional athlete someday, an achievement which barely requires our presences.
"Baka, I'm asking you seriously here."
Rukawa sighs, "Nothing."
"Huh? What sort of a crazy answer is that?"
"I'm here for nothing."
I'm this person who frequently fusses over small matters. As it is, that isn't exactly an ideal answer for me. I looked at Mitsui and Miyagi, who are just nowhere near ready to listen. I'd like to chip in some personal words, but Hanamichi pipes up,
"No strings attached?"
Rukawa's eyes dart at Mitsui again, perhaps expecting him to talk. What the hell can he say when he doesn't even realize people are talking in the first place?
"I'm in this for nothing just as there's nothing that can make me leave this. If you still don't get it, perhaps you should purchase a brain somewhere and come back when you've finally come to terms with it." He rises from the couch and turns to me, "Sempai, I'll bounce now; I have to pick something up for my mom." He pummels his way to the door.
"Oi, Kaede, where are you going?" Mitsui asks, cocking his head away from the screen.
"I have to run an errand."
"Oh. See ya later."
"Bye, sempai."
Sakuragi is staring at me. Apparently, he has risen halfway from his seat. It appears that Rukawa's sudden departure is something that has just passed him by; not something that actually occurred. And maybe the same goes for me too.
"Did he just leave?"
"Yeah."
"He's a goddamn plagiarist."
I throw him a questioning look.
"How so, may I ask?"
"He took the words outta my mouth. I'm supposed to have come up with that."
He continues to stare at the doorway, looking somewhat hypnotized, perhaps ruminating on the fact that he and Kaede ought to be in a no-rivalry relationship. As for me, I seriously think Mitsui has stumbled upon a very strange kid.
…
Sometimes I just can't help detesting myself for what I construe to be a total lack of will. There's always this irremovable presence of mixed regrets in me of could've-been's and might've-been's which just about render me incapable of leaving alone thoughts about my future.
So now I lumber on the sidewalk on my way home to plunge into yet again another evening of splendid boredom. Nothing really gets more ordinary than this, except that when I emerge onto the highway, I start hearing these raised voices from the river's embankment. So I go over to where the commotion, only to find myself recoiling at the sight.
There are these three guys, with all sorts of punkish faces, rounded upon some cocky-looking dude. If you had half a brain, you couldn't just mistake the scene for anything else. Street brawl. Shit like this happen a lot under the bridge, in dead alleys and, most of all, along the undying riverbank. It's the undying venue to settle accounts with punks you'd wanna beat the crap out of, to simplify. I myself have been involved in such undignified activities. That said, I've long ago stopped fraternizing with trash. So maybe I'll just stand by and watch. Nothing beats reminiscing the good ole days, after all.
And then this guy in the middle, the prey, is grinning from ear to ear. I look around for anything in sight which can potentially be a laughing matter; no luck. I recognize the kid. I always come across him when I loiter around the campus doing the same thing. As a matter of fact, he's a freshman from Shohoku High. Maybe I should jump in. But I guess if I do that there'll be more than the three dudes to worry about; there'll be the possibility of being demanded to explain as to why I'm meddling and all.
But then there's just no need for that because now he's standing alone and all them three bastards are scuffling about on their knees. There's a massive difference between what I'm seeing now and the ones I've watched in the movies. Though, technically, absurd as it sounds, they're the same thing; teenage rumble and the strongest shall remain standing yada yada yada…
He now cracks the sort of smile you see from cartoon character villains when things go their way. It surprises me how minor the task has been for him. More to the point, guessing from the way he recovers his bag from the corner, he's had quite a lot of share of street brawl, perhaps more than the necessary amount.
Needless to say, I've tarried longer than I should've allowed myself to, I decide to depart. To my fascination, he catches sight of me and gives me an empty shrug before swiveling around to exit. Somehow, I'm pretty glad he didn't ask anything, because I couldn't have said a shit in response. Hell, I was just watching.
…
By the next day at lunch break, I sit myself somewhere in the cafeteria while I wait for Mitsui to finish buying his meal, and perhaps I'm also waiting for something else that'll never happen.
Soon enough, Sakuragi dumps his food tray beside mine.
"I've a question to ask you." I start.
"What?"
I grab the top of his head and steers it to the far corner of the hall, "See that guy with black hair dining with a fat boy, a blonde boy and a moustache boy? Isn't he a freshman like you?"
Sakuragi disengages my hand from his head, "They're my friends. Did they do something to ya?"
"No. What's his name?"
"The one who's not a fatty, a blondie and a moustache boy?"
"Yeah, that's him."
"He's Youhei Mito."
TBC