Author's Note: Maybe it's just me, but doesn't Niou seem like a sleeker, more mischievous version of Yanagi? This one is set shortly after the National Tournament of their second year of junior high.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Prince of Tennis.

M is for Mannerisms

#

He is probably the second to last person who Niou would expect to find loitering around campus at this hour, but there's absolutely no doubt about it. It is him.

(There is, thinks Niou to himself as he stalks up to his unsuspecting teammate, only one Yanagi Renji in this part of the world, which is just as well, really, because even that feels like a hell of a lot too much sometimes.)

"Yo."

But Yanagi turns around a millisecond too quickly, and that immediately puts Niou on edge, because the Yanagi who knows exactly how to boss Sanada around without the latter's knowledge – and who singlehandedly masterminded Rikkai's unconditional victory at the Nationals only a few months ago – is far too shrewd, far too careful and thinks far too much like Niou (for Niou's liking) to suddenly make such a rookie mistake. Yanagi's reaction is too smooth, too casual, too deliberate to be one-hundred percent natural, and that can only mean that this must be premeditated too.

Their meeting here, Niou realizes at once, is staged and planned down to the smallest detail; it has to be. Yanagi is seeking him out for something, he's sure of it now, because there is reason behind everything that Yanagi says and does, and especially behind the things that he chooses to hold back. So Niou obliges and accepts the challenge, just as he supposes that Yanagi expects him to, but two can play this game. He refuses to take the bait. He'll make Yanagi come to him.

And so he dons his most disinterested expression, raising two fingers to his forehead in a sloppy salute. "If it isn't our strategist…" he drawls. "Practise ended over two hours ago, piyo~"

Yanagi regards him impassively with his usual, closed-eyed stare. "True," he admits. "But there was something I had forgotten at the clubhouse."

Bullshit, thinks Niou, because Yanagi simply does not forget. But out loud he says, "Don't let me keep you."

He gives a vague wave over his shoulder, and sets off in the direction of the school gates at a leisurely pace. It comes as a great surprise to neither of them when Yanagi falls into step with him a few seconds later.

"I take it that you are on your way home, Masaharu."

Niou stops walking. He's well aware of Yanagi's penchant for calling the people he knows well by their first names – and given that Yanagi and Niou are precisely what they are, and see each other almost every day of every week, it was always just a matter of time – but even then he must admit that it is a whole different thing to actually hear Yanagi say it.

"Only my mom calls me that," he replies at lasts, choosing his words with care. "And you, apparently."

"Does it bother you?" asks Yanagi promptly, and Niou can practically hear the little cogs in Yanagi's mind turn. Call it a sign of genius or proof of obsessive-compulsive tendencies, but this particularity makes the Master extremely predictable in his own way.

"It depends." He regards Yanagi slyly. "Are you my mother?"

Yanagi snorts. Niou grins, quietly satisfied to have learnt that Yanagi's eyes in fact are brown.

And that is that. They pass through the gates in silence.

Except it isn't over yet, and Yanagi's voice is unexpectedly friendly when he says, "We're not that different from one another."

Niou raises an eyebrow at this. "In what ways are we the same?"

"For one, you are no less analytical than I, and I am no less observant than you." Yanagi pauses. "There are some other aspects as well."

Niou regards Yanagi suspiciously, because this thing between them just escalated way past 'Masaharu' and Yanagi's weird quirks.

But somehow, Niou thinks he understands.

(And he catches a small part of himself thinking that this conversation probably is long overdue anyway.)

"Then let me ask you something," he says slowly, dead-serious now, because this is a sensitive subject for the both of them. "What does your precious data say about me?"

He secretly braces himself for explosions and harsh words, but Yanagi doesn't look at all surprised or even annoyed. "It tells me more than you seem to think," he replies dryly. "I admit that much of it is conflicting, but even that is useful."

Niou frowns. This is not the answer he was expecting.

"Which reminds me—" Yanagi reaches into the deep, dark depths of his tennis bag and pulls out something sleek and rectangular, roughly the size of a book. "I thought you might find this helpful," he says, "so I asked for an extra copy."

Niou stares at the videotape held out towards him. "…who?" he asks.

"Shitenhouji's Shiraishi Kuranosuke," replies Yanagi smoothly. "This is a compilation of his matches. All of his matches."

"And? Why give it to me?" inquires Niou bluntly, because nobody is supposed to know about this one yet.

Yanagi shrugs. "Like I said, I thought it might be helpful."

Niou mutters something unintelligible under his breath. Or so he thinks.

"You're very welcome, Niou." Yanagi cracks a half-smile. "After all, we all have next season to prepare for."

And with one last razor-sharp glance and a curt nod, Yanagi breaks off in the opposite direction and Niou soon loses sight of him completely.

He slowly turns the videotape over in his hands, still undecided on what to do with Yanagi's unexpected gift, and it's only then that he notices the note lodged between the tape and its protective sleeve:

Please pay special attention to 3:22-5:02, 16:03-18:10 and 51:13-54:14. I believe you'll find those sequences particularly interesting.

- Renji

Niou shakes his head. Then he puts the videotape in his bag.