Chapter 10
In his later matches, the newspaper called him the Executioner. What a silly name, James laughed. Somewhere around this time, Ryoma learned to twitch his lips along with him, even as his wrists turned into thin red lines. Criss Cross.
They say that your court is a graveyard, Mr. Echizen. What do you think of when you play? What do you think about, in your young mind?
Ryoma stared hard beyond the camera. He said dully, I think of the next ball. Where I should hit it.
Much later in the hospital, his father said to him, voice tired and subdued, "Ryoma. I should have known then. Your interviews. The way you spoke. It wasn't the boy I knew."
Ryoma did not answer back.
/
/
The semi-final with Roger Schmidt was when Ryoma perfected his tennis.
After the match, James stood up and clapped amidst a silent crowd, and he would later reported to a frozen camera, "That is what you would call a star." James had smiled at the reporters and Ryoma had stayed silent. It was when Ryoma served the ball and made it stop, made Schmidt flounder and hit the thin air. It was when Ryoma first sent a tennis player to the hospital.
Roger Schmidt's right arm was immobilized; he might never play tennis again, they would all later say. Ryoma had felt nothing over this.
Nothing mattered except that James had patted his shoulder, and had smiled at him with genuine fondness.
"Tezuka is next then, isn't he?" he asked, and it was horrifying, Ryoma thought, at how empty he felt at hearing his old captain's name.
He had nodded.
James touched the callouses on his palm and tsked. "Take better care of your hands Ryoma," he said seriously, and that was the James who would sometimes appear in his dreams, not a monster or a madman, but a man who had loved tennis once and had loved Ryoma because he could play a game set that James never could.
This time, Ryoma thinks, he wouldn't wake up.
/
/
Echizen does not appear for practice the next morning.
Keigo was never fussy about routine; if a player had the skills and the abilities enough to make it into the regulars, then by all means, Keigo was willing to overlook certain rules. But this was Echizen, who had shown up at the morning drills ever since he became a regular, and who had half-heartedly swung his rackets under the narrowed eyes of Hiyoshi. Keigo looks around and does not see Echizen.
He thinks nothing much of it until lunchtime.
"I warned that brat," Hiyoshi mutters, looking very peeved as he is glaring at his bento. "He's taking our regular team too easily."
"If you work on your stamina and level it up enough to play at the nationals, we wouldn't even be having this conversation," Keigo notes, and Hiyoshi's glare is quickly directed at Keigo until Hiyoshi gets his senses straight and realize that he was picking a losing fight with his captain. Hiyoshi lets out a small 'che' and hangs his head down.
Mukahi shrugs. "You can't help it, can you?" he says, "I mean, the brat doesn't really have any Hyotei loyalties. He's not even friends with most of us here."
"Does he even have friends?" Shishido says.
"….No. Maybe Atobe." And when Atobe opens his mouth to refute the sheer ridiculousness of the notion, Mukahi waves a hand in his direction. "I mean, the brat should feel some connection to you. Or something. You're the only one who played him—the one that actually counted, Hiyoshi, stop looking at me like that."
"I," Hiyoshi begins, but Oshitari cuts him off, "Wakashi, yes, you played him and got plummeted. You shall have your bloody revenge come Monday. Atobe," he addresses his next words to Keigo. "Maybe you should have a talk with him."
Keigo makes sure that everyone is sufficiently quiet before he punctuates his next words. "Do I look like a nanny to you all?" he drawls, "I don't care if Echizen is playing hooky as long as he can win his next matches. The end. I thought our club didn't coddle newcomers."
"He looks depressed," Oshitari points out. Keigo thinks of dismissing this, but thinks better of it and opens his mouth. He can't think of the right words to express his childishness. In the end he settles for, "I don't think the brat would appreciate me coming in as a substitute for Tezuka."
Oshitari smiles. "Having a talk with him doesn't make you a mentor, Atobe. It makes you a decent human being."
/
/
In the afternoon, it is raining. Echizen is still nowhere to be seen.
"Erm, Atobe-buchou." A first year is wavering at the regular clubhouse entrance. Keigo doesn't remember ever seeing him before, but the boy looks anxious, so Keigo nods and gestures the younger boy to enter.
The first year steps into the clubhouse gingerly, biting his lips. He does not even stop to look around the regular clubhouse in awe as he blurts out his words in a rush of breath, "Atobe-buchou—I—Echizen hasn't been in class today. He was fine yesterday, and we were supposed to practice serving together, or at least he said he would, and I—"
"Stop," Keigo says, and the boy takes a small breath. He straightens up and says in a steadier voice, "The teacher's been asking about him."
Keigo raises an eyebrow. "I see," he lies. He really did not see.
Mukahi turns around and rolls his eyes. "He's just playing hooky," he dismisses, "I guess he thinks he's above all rules now.
Keigo slowly turns toward Mukahi.
Mukahi is tugging off his shirt without looking at Keigo, his eyes downcast. His ears are faintly red. Keigo narrows his eyes.
He had known Mukahi for six years, and as captain, he often knew too many things about his teammates that he did not care to know. Mukahi was a bad liar, and Keigo could always see it from a mile away even without giving too much thought into it.
His ears would always turn red.
"Thank you, Kindaichi," Keigo says slowly, still looking at Mukahi. He remembers the boy's name just in time. "I'll look into that."
He hears the boy's stammering, "Yes buchou!" and the awe that was there, as how he had remembered the boy's name. Normally he would have preened at such a simple task as such to the team, and normally he would have done more than to have dismissed the first year. But there was something more important he had to do.
Keigo waits for the boy to leave, and when the clubroom door closes, it is only then he addresses Mukahi.
"Where's Echizen?" he asks. His voice is cold.
/
/
It is raining. Practice is over and the team is gone, save for Mukahi and Oshitari. Keigo stares Mukahi down as Mukahi slowly turns a dull red with each accusation.
"I didn't do anything," Mukahi first spits, and when Keigo cuts him out he begins to stammer.
"Don't be idiotic Mukahi, I know perfectly well when you're lying," Keigo says. He is standing still, and with a flash of eyes warns Oshitari to leave.
"I just—hell, I just saw Kazuhi, okay?" Mukahi finally turns his head around Oshitari and pleads, "Yuushi, where the hell would I know where Echizen went?"
"What does Kazuhi have to do with this?" Keigo asks, raising an eyebrow. He crosses his arms.
"He said that he was going to teach Echizen a lesson. A match or something," Mukahi snarls, "That was yesterday."
"And you said?"
"I said good riddance, it's not as if we're going to give him stuffed bears and flowers, are we? I said go ahead, whatever, do what you want with him, I'm sure that Echizen could handle it—"
"Pray define," Keigo cuts in, "Whatever."
There is a pause. Mukahi's face is now turning a dull red. "I meant a match!" he snaps, "Of course I meant a fucking match! Yuushi, say something!"
"No," Keigo says, "Oshitari, go home."
Oshitari hesitates. Keigo glares at him and Oshitari meets his eyes warily. "Sorry, Gakuto," he says, his voice light and betraying no emotion, "I just remembered that I have dinner plans."
Keigo's head is drawn at a blank as Oshitari packs his bags and observes Keigo.
"He wouldn't have done any lasting damage on Echizen," he says quietly, "Not if he's attending Hyotei. He wouldn't be that….idiotic."
Keigo closes his eyes.
/
/
They search the school grounds in silence.
Occasionally Mukahi would stomp his feet louder, a small rebellion on his part, but soon he would quiet down and Keigo would be free to access his mind about where a lanky fifteen-year-old boy would be. It must be the school grounds, Keigo says firmly to himself, ignoring the nagging feeling that is growing inside of him, Otherwise…where else would they look?
"Atobe," Mukahi says, over the sound of the rain, but Keigo ignores him at first. He continues to walk forward.
"Atobe!"
"What?" Keigo says testily, "If you're going to vouch for your innocence one more time, I will personally schedule a match with you tomorrow and drop you off from the regulars. Shut up."
There is another strain of silence.
After another round of the school grounds, Mukahi sighs and says, his voice a sulk, "I think I remember Kazuhi say something about the school guard."
Keigo sighs. His hair is matted and his uniform is already soaked. The school gates would close soon. Already he hears the distant roaring of the cars; the teachers are starting to leave. "Yes?" he inquires.
"I mean…Kazuhi said that he was going to meet up with Echizen where even the school guard doesn't come." Mukahi takes a breath. "Is there such a place in this school?"
Keigo thinks. He looks around.
The sky is grey and he is starting to grow cold. He doesn't try to think of the younger boy as he searches his mind, this school where he had often walked around, a place where he used to hide when he wanted to read a book, his many hideout places, the shady vines and oaks some girls dragged him towards to confess their love…
"At the edge of the basketball court, there's a forest clearing," he says slowly, his mind whirling, "There's a small shed there."
Mukahi stares at him.
/
/
The shed is very small, and quiet. No sound emerges.
"So," Mukahi says, "I don't think anyone's in here?" He looks around, shivering. "False alarm. Maybe we should just call his house. Maybe he's just sick?"
Keigo gives him a look so full of disdain that Mukahi holds up his hands in surrender. "A thought," he mutters. "Geez, Atobe, you don't even like the kid."
Keigo takes a step forth and Mukahi follows. He yanks open the door of the small shed. The first thing he smells is copper.
Blood, he thinks.
Then the sunlight filters inside the dank and dark hovel; behind him, Mukahi gasps as he only looks at the figure before him.
"I—" he starts, his footsteps advancing, but Keigo puts a stop to that; his arm is out to desist the other boy.
"No," he says, and walks forth.
Echizen is curled up against the wall of the shed and does not stir at the sound of Keigo's footsteps nor Mukahi's gasp. He crouches next to the huddled form that is Echizen, and turns the boy around. A lifeless arm flaps against his chest; he catches it with his hand easily and inspects the damage.
The boy had a cutter knife inside the side of his pocket, he sees; the knife is lying next to the boy, deceptively harmless, streaked with specks of pale red. He sees the wrist he is now holding; the cuts are done hurriedly and with an amateur flourish, but beneath them, there are older scars and white lines. This is why he is always wearing his jersey. He thins his lips and checks for the pulse. It is faint, but still there. Minimal damage then, he thinks. The boy's eyes are closed; his mouth is partly open. White foam lingers around the corners of his lips.
"He's claustrophobic," Keigo says quietly, and adds sharply, when hears Mukahi's footsteps again, "Don't come over here Mukahi, and don't make me repeat myself."
"Is he dead?" Mukahi's voice is a shrill whisper and Keigo hears the fear lacing the redhead's words, "Oh my god, is he dead?"
"Don't be an idiot," Keigo says scathingly, "He just had a panic attack and fainted." When, he doesn't want to know. His chest tightens. He lets go of the boy's wrist gently, and puts his own hands under the boy. Shifting around a bit, he heaves the boy up and nestles him against his torso; Keigo is surprised that Echizen doesn't weigh more. Echizen fits easily inside Keigo's embrace, despite his somewhat tall and lanky figure. He is suddenly struck by the thought at how Echizen did not ever join them for lunch, at how he has never seen Echizen in the lunchroom at all, not only at the regular's table. Why do such useless memories come forth at a time like this? His heart is hammering but he makes his face impassive. It would not do to fall apart while the boy is still unconscious.
He stands up, Echizen's thin legs dangling helplessly against him.
"I—" Mukahi stops when Keigo turns around with Echizen, his eyes bulging, "He has blood on him, Atobe!"
"Brilliant, Mukahi," Keigo says, "As if you haven't smelt it the moment we came in. But I suppose I can't expect much from you in this area, can I?"
Mukahi shuts his open mouth and his horrified face soon sharpens with a glare. Keigo meets those fierce eyes with his own coldness.
"It's not my fault," Mukahi says slowly, his voice terse, "I didn't do it, Atobe. Fucking hell."
Keigo shifts the boy's weight so that Echizen's head was not lolling around but secure under Keigo's arms. "No," Keigo says, his words devoid of anything, "But you didn't do anything about it either, did you?"
That's not fair, he knows. Mukahi was an idiot and childish to a degree. He would have raged at Echizen and called him names and sneered at him; but that was as far as Mukahi would get. He wouldn't lock Echizen in a shed overnight; he wouldn't use such petty and useless revenges. But Keigo is too angry to care.
He should have—they should have known Kazuhi was a dangerous idiot.
/
/
/
The first thing Ryoma thinks about when he opens his eyes is his mother.
It is very bleary, coming back into the world. The world is a blur; he blinks once, trying to retain his focus. As his vision clears, he tries to sit up, but soon an arm prevents him from that, and a strange, new voice, "Echizen-kun, you can't sit up yet. Let me take the needle out for you."
That's when Ryoma realizes; he is in a room full of white hangings, and a needle is stuck alongside his arm. There was a reason for his blurriness, he thinks. He shifts around some more.
"Do listen to the nurse, Echizen, and lie still."
He stops, and looks around.
Atobe is on the other side of the bed across the nurse, and as the nurse fusses around and takes out the needle and dabs his wrist and arm with alcohol, all the while tsking about the state of his wrist, Atobe's eyes stay on him, no emotions shown in those eyes. Ryoma is reminded of a predator before it leaps forth to rip its prey apart; he makes sure to not look away first and glares.
Surprisingly, it is Atobe who backs down, a little resigned, a little exasperated, even, as the nurse nods briskly and taps his wrist once. "You can sit up now, Echizen-kun," she says, and he makes to sit up, only his head refuses to cooperate.
"Here," Atobe says, and before the nurse could prop his pillows up so that he can lean back against the bed without any harm, he reaches out and catches Ryoma's arm gently, and allows the nurse to slide an extra pillow between him and the bed frame for his back. "Careful," he adds, as Ryoma's glare does not abate, "You've just come back from the land of the dead."
"Atobe-kun," the nurse says, so severely that Atobe's bland façade drops a little and he looks ashamed, "I wouldn't joke about things like that, if I were you. He was found during practice, wasn't he? What were you doing for tennis drills, I'd like to know—"
"I," Ryoma says; he voice comes out in a croak, but at his voice, both Atobe and the nurse look at him, "I—got lost, not during practice. It's not a big deal," he goes on hurriedly, as the nurse narrows her eyes, "Does my mom know?"
The school nurse pursues her lips. "I haven't called her yet," she says slowly, disapproval layering her every word, "But of course I was about to—"
"No," Ryoma says resolutely, just as Atobe intervenes smoothly, "I told your mother that you were due for an overnight training session."
At this, both the nurse and Ryoma swerve to look at Atobe, who looks back at Ryoma with a small smile. "School registry," Atobe says to Ryoma's unasked question, "Quite a few perks for being school president, I should think."
"Well, really." The school nurse sighs, now almost exasperated, as she looks at Atobe and Ryoma's wrists again, her face now tired. "Training sessions, is it now? You boys think yourselves very smart. I'll let go of it just this once, Echizen-kun, but—" and she fingers Ryoma's wrist again, this time not the red, new scars but his old ones, and he takes care not to flinch—"Have you been doing this often? And answer truthfully," she adds in a warning tone, as Ryoma is about to open his mouth, "Or I'll sign you off to a therapist. School nurse authority does allow me to do that, you know."
Ryoma looks at his wrists and the nurse's hand holding him in place, a little disgusted. He wishes that Atobe wasn't there. "…Sometimes," he mutters, aware that Atobe was listening to every word. "It helps me not to think," he adds, only because the nurse has now fallen silent and Atobe is looking down at his own hands in inexpressible interest. "But not as much as I used to."
The nurse sighs a little, and lets go of his wrist. "Okay, then," she says quietly, "Okay. You shouldn't do it anymore though, yes? Try not to. Or I really will call your mother. A school nurse—" and here she throws a withering look at Atobe, who meets it with a small but insincere smile, "also has all the student's registry on hand. Not just our very able school president."
Keigo gives the nurse a nod. "But of course," he says, and crosses his arms, falling silent. She nods back in grudging approval, and nods at Ryoma too, her face softening. "I haven't called your guardian, so maybe you should? It's six, Echizen-kun. I think the school's janitor is about to close the school gates."
"Oh." Ryoma turns to look out at the window; the sun has already set, twilight fading into view. It is still the last days of winter, and the sun is quick to hide behind the frosty night skies. "I…didn't know how late it was," he says slowly. It hurt to talk; he works at his mouth and tries to swallow. A lump forms inside his throat and he grimaces a little. The nurse notices and smiles a little wearily.
"I think you might have screamed a bit too much in that little shed, Echizen-kun," she says, "Make sure you drink some hot water, and rest for a few days."
Ryoma nods, and shifts on the bed, trying to remember where he left his phone. "I should call—" he begins, but Atobe beats him to it. He stands up.
"I could drop him off, sensei," he says without looking at Ryoma, "I already have my driver waiting."
/
/
The walk from outside the infirmary to the school gates is more awkward than he can say. He grips the edge of the bedrest to quell his shaking legs, and barely hobbles a few steps before Atobe looks at him and sighs. "Wait," he says, and he walks over to where Ryoma is barely standing. "Here." With one arm, he grabs his tennis bag and heaves it around his shoulder; with his other arm, he guides it around Ryoma's waist loosely.
"What—" Ryoma starts, but Atobe just gives him a flat look and gestures to Ryoma's two hanging arms. "Put one arm around me," he instructs. Befuddled, Ryoma obeys, and Atobe ends up half-carrying, half-dragging him out of the empty hallway towards the exit. The silence is huge, as their footsteps seem to pounder against the walls; they do not speak until they get into Atobe's car. Atobe's driver is ready for them at the school entrance, and he holds out a hand for Ryoma's bag, which Atobe gives him. As Ryoma moves to get free of Atobe's grasp, Atobe prevents it, and with another blank face, he says, "I think I should carry you. On my back," he adds, when he sees Ryoma's almost horrified expression, "Don't be picky, Echizen, you can barely walk."
"I've been lying down for half a day," Ryoma says, when he finally gets his voice back. "Of course I won't waltz out of here on my first try. It's fine."
Atobe rolls his eyes. He looks tired. With another gesture, he signals the driver to go forth and levels a look at Ryoma. "I can carry you either way," he says shortly, "I'm just giving you the option of what would be more dignified for you."
Ryoma has never been fazed by Atobe's glare.
"It's only a few steps," Atobe says, irk etched across his face, "Or are we going to stand here until you make up your mind?"
Ryoma, you are such a dawdling child, a voice mumbles inside his head. Ryoma flinches outwardly at that, but the voice persists. Oh, you thought me gone? I wonder why—this is not the first time I came back. I always come back, don't I?
"Echizen." Atobe calls him, but Ryoma all but shoves Atobe roughly; Atobe staggers out of surprise and the force Ryoma puts in his shove; they fall apart, and Ryoma regains his footing. He exhales.
Who is this boy? The voice whispers gleefully. He looks very posh and groomed. Is he helping you? What did he do for you? Child, my dear Ryoma, listen to me. You are so, so foolish after all these years, after all the things that I have taught you.
Yes, Ryoma thinks blindly. Yes, I am an idiot. He had seen my wrists.
"Echizen." Atobe walks forth and his eyes are narrowed. Ryoma forces himself not to take a step back. "Stop being ridiculous. Your legs are shaking. Michael, help me get—"
"Why," Ryoma starts, and his voice is far away and foreign to him; Atobe stops in his tracks, "are you helping me? You don't have to," Ryoma adds, and he feels his lips curve. James's smile, his terrible, easy smile, and Atobe looks at him. His irk is replaced by confused and wariness. "You weren't there. You didn't have to find or rescue me. You didn't even want to." The last words are thrown very carelessly into the cold wind and waved off. Yes; he could feel his legs shaking and his wrists still ached, but it was a good thing. Pain was always good.
"I don't know if it escaped your notice," Atobe says slowly, but the earlier annoyance was gone and replaced with careful, measured tones, "But I happen to be the captain of the tennis team that you're on. Of course I would help you. As you so crudely put it."
"I don't need your help," Ryoma says clearly, and regains his footing.
Atobe studies him. The sun is darkening and the last rays of light touch Atobe's brown hair, making his head into a halo form. His eyes are empty and vast and his hands are still by his sides. What is he thinking? What is anyone in this goddamn school thinking about?
They will laugh at him, surely. With their smug smiles and tug of hand, whispers and flurries behind hands, I heard that the Echizen boy was locked up in the tiny shed the other night. Kazuhi put him there to teach him a lesson.
Eh? That doesn't sound so bad. Weather's warmed up, hadn't it?
Yes, of course it has, a gleeful voice meanders, but the boy. He fainted.
No!
Yes. And what's more, our captain had to drag him out. He was frothing in the mouth.
What a little shithead.
Those voices are common to him; people have always talked behind his back, and this would not be the first time. But to see Atobe like this, in his clean face wiped off any emotions he might be feeling towards him, well, it insulted him. He wanted Atobe to give him blatant displays of dislike and hostility. At least he must have earned that, if nothing else. Didn't he deserve honesty?
"You think you don't," Atobe finally says slowly; he is pondering over his words, rolling them inside his mouth. Ryoma imagines he is tasting each syllable and relishing the face Ryoma would make, "And that just proves how far you have to grow. Really, it's not a good idea to place me as your enemy. Nor do I want to be one of yours."
"Who said anything about being enemies?" Ryoma sneers, "I just want you to leave me alone."
Atobe opens his mouth and seems to think of something else. He presses his lips thin. Whatever he had been about to say vanishes. "I talked to Kazuhi," he eventually offered up, "I'm looking to have him expelled."
"That's a bit far-fetched."
At this, Atobe's face transforms into a pained one. Ryoma isn't sure how to read into that.
"Of course it isn't," Atobe says evenly, but Ryoma knows that Atobe wants to say something quite else entirely, "It was never in Hyotei's policy to malignly handle their fellow classmates. Or be a sore loser in the first place. Also, I should have known he would have acted like this. Some of this falls unto me, of course," he adds, and this side of Atobe, this cool and logical, matter-of-fact Atobe is so foreign to Ryoma that he can only hear him, a bit astonished. The words send him wheeling.
"Don't be ridiculous, monkey king," he says, when he finally finds his voice. "Of course this has nothing to do with you."
Atobe looks at him. He does not rebuke him for the nickname, nor does he look at Ryoma in dislike or dismissal. Atobe looks tired and worn.
The look is quickly erased, and Ryoma could only later think it is the trick of the last rays of the sunset. Atobe chuckles a little and shakes his head. "Don't wander off during practice anymore," he says, his normal voice of arrogance and amusement intact, "Next time you're bored, come find me, and we might play a match."
Ryoma rolls his eyes. "Che," he sneers, lifting his head a little. "I'd beat you, you know."
Strangely, Atobe does not answer to this. He merely smirks and turns back, gesturing Ryoma to follow him.
That lack of answer unnerves Ryoma enough to silently obey his orders.
They do not speak for the rest of the car ride. Ryoma does not ask how Atobe even knows his address.
/
/
A/N: Sorry to keep all of you waiting! I'm sorry that this is such a slow update but I promise that I will see the end of this fic for those of you that are reading it! Thank you for the reviews, they always make my day! I promise to reply to each and every one of them when I get the 's system of reviewing feedback makes me too lazy to navigate it all, urgh.
Reviews are (always) welcome! (especially with this fic because I have my doubts on it lol I have no idea how I'm going to plot out all those matches...ewwwww)