Chapter 25: Unforgivable
Inner Kin: How rude, you little brat.
Inner Taro: Hey I didn't do a thing. All I did was eat cake.
Inner Kin: (smacks) Yeah, my cake!
Inner Taro: … Is this chapter even about cake?-.-'
Inner Kin (takes another slice): Of course not. Use your head. Why write about cake when she is clearly writing of something more important… Hey this is good cake.
InnerTaro: -.-U
Tezuka Kin's head was ready to burst. She had never experienced such an intense atmosphere before. Nothing compared to the crispness of sheet-white and navy-blue tennis jackets, the fresh scent of new rubber-cored tennis balls, the sour taste of intimidation, the uniform cheers for victory, and most of all, a giddy euphoria that consumed her heart and soul.
She had never seen a professional spectator sport before, so the gravity and energy of the ambiance intoxicated her. Before today, every time she had approached the playing court, her mind had always been concentrated on petty strategies and fusses—if Tashiro's grip tape would fall off, if Fukushi had remembered to bring the water bottles, even if Suzuki had mistaken the date. Her body had always been tense, her mind and tongue busy, and she had never been able to fully let go and enjoy herself.
This time, it was different. Next to her brother, she was ashamed to realize that she had brought no banners or headbands, as did the rest of Seigaku's fan club. Her heart dropping like a stone, she averted her sight to the opposing crowd. It seemed like every member of Hyotei's tennis club was present, as well as the cheerleading squad and Atobe's entourage of fangirls—as well as fanboys. Their every movement glowed with radiant confidence, their eyes retaining an inherent snobbiness. Their thunderous, choreographed cheers drowned out Seigaku's own pipsqueak mantra, making Kin's heart drop in despair. 'How can Seigaku hope to win against such a powerful opponent? Knowing how filthy rich they are, they probably even bribed the referees.'
She wanted to scream for Seigaku at the top of her lungs, but her mouth was dry and her tongue refused to form words. 'Who do they think they are kidding? Seigaku is no more prepared to face Hyotei than Ginka.' She clenched and unclenched her fists, and wished that she wasn't here to witness Seigaku's demise. To her surprise, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"Relax," her brother's familiar voice urged, and she nodded, heaving a deep sigh. Despite his stoic, unaffected expression, she could see his fierce determination burn through his dark eyes. For a moment, she stared at him in sheer amazement at his composure. Suddenly, a flare of fury burned inside her, and she wanted to shake him awake. This was Hyotei, the most prestigious middle school in the entire Tokyo district, maybe in all of Japan. She didn't understand how he could just stand there, watching patiently, like as if he was overseeing another drill or lap. She waited for a bead of sweat, a jittery movement—anything to prove that he understood the significance of this day.
Yet, nowhere in his appearance did he show the slightest nervousness or hesitation. He glowered of unblemished confidence and supremacy. That moment, he seemed as alien as another unrecognizable face in the crowd, a thousand miles distant. Lowering her gaze, she smiled forlornly as she stared at feet. 'That's right. This is onii-chan. Unlike me, 'nii-chan has never experienced failure. 'Nii-chan will not lose here. Not today.' She clenched her teeth. 'Not ever.'
The booms of the numerous speakers echoed loudly, and Kin felt her gaze harden. "The match between Hyotei Gakuen and Seishun Gakuen will now begin." She could see the tension in the faces of every spectator. They had anticipated this moment for weeks. "First match: members of Doubles Two, please enter the court."
-Two Hours Later-
"Seigaku wins, six games to one!" Sharing the coach's bench with Echizen, Kin nearly laughed because of the irony. She really was a disgrace. Despite the horrible atmosphere, each one of them played with no regrets. It was all because of her brother. Tezuka had trained them; Tezuka had nurtured them. A pang of nostalgia crossed her heart. There were hints that Ginka had once been like this too.
Behind her, Yuuta was cheering wildly, grinning from ear to ear. Seeing his ecstatic reaction, Kin smiled inwardly, happy that even though Yuuta attempted to act tough and cool around his older brother, Yuuta really did love him.
"Hmph, that's my aniki for you," Yuuta smirked, walking up to grip his brother in a fiercef bear hug. 'I couldn't even believe in the strength of others. Even mute and blind people can do that. What kind of failure as a vice-captain was I?' Rising from her seat, she approached Fuji, plastering a forced smile on her face.
"You're scary, Fuji-kun," she teased, "or did this all have to do with Yuuta?" Fuji's smile didn't waver at her implication.
"Likewise, Kin-san," he responded diligently.
"What did you mean this has to do with me?" Yuuta demanded. 'He hasn't realized that Syusuke-kun was only serious because Jirou had hurt Yuuta's feelings so badly during his defeat. When my brother cares about me that much, it'll be the end of the world.'
"Oh, don't worry about it," Fuji said carefully. "It's not a big deal." He ruffled Yuuta's hair endearingly, and Yuuta grimaced in annoyance.
From nearby, their lovely sister Yumiko laughed at the sight. Nostalgically, Kin recalled about all the time she had spent with the Fuji family ever since the first time she had played Yuuta. It seemed like years had passed, not weeks. Those times had been much more memorable and eventful than the silent time spent with her "incredibly loquacious" brother, but occasionally—like she did now—she felt like she was trespassing into memories she did not belong.
When she looked up, she was alarmed to see a familiar pair of cold emerald eyes glaring down from above. She could make out three figures wearing their gold and black uniforms. 'Rikkai.' Her eyes sharpened. That wasn't all. The tennis regulars of Yamabuki and Rokkaku were also here. She smiled.
The whole world had come to watch Tezuka.
Oddly enough, as she was glancing around, she saw no trace of the tennis prodigy. She guessed that he was warming up.
"Fidgety much?" Echizen taunted. She glared at him. He didn't back down.
"Oi, just because we're sharing the coach's bench doesn't mean you're better than me," she argued, resisting the urge to kick him somewhere painfully. They continued their sarcastic comments as they fought over control of the bench with sharp glares. As Tezuka appeared in view, they immediately froze.
"'Nii-chan," she challenged, handing him his water bottle, "crush them." It may have just been her imagination, but she saw the tiniest trace of a smile on his lips as his eyes glossed over her and rested on his racket.
"Idiot," Echizen muttered. "He doesn't need you to tell him that." A vein appeared on her forehead.
"You're one to talk, chibi." She tilted her head up derisively.
"You'll never understand." He lowered his cap. She barely suppressed the urge to retort back, but this conversation could continue later. The final match was ready to begin.
"Katsu no wa Hyotei, makeru no Seigaku! The winner will be Hyotei, the loser will be Seigaku! Katsu no wa Hyotei, makeru no Seigaku!"
'No. I can't let my faith waver now.' She stared straight ahead, unflinching. Even though she believed in Seigaku with every fiber of her being, a queasy feeling entered her stomach or something in her that didn't settle comfortably with the ending of the last match.
"Shou sha wa Atobe, haisha wa Tezuka! The winner will be Atobe, the loser will be Tezuka! Shou sha wa Atobe, haisha wa Tezuka!"
Every eye on the court was fixated on Atobe. He possessed the signs of classical beauty—a curve of lip, a lift of brow, a grace of movement. He was enchanting. He was exotic. He was the epitome of perfection. He was a magician: a master of hypnotism one moment, a doll of charisma the next.
She loved him—everyone in the crowd did, willingly or not—and she hated herself for it. Her eyes were glued to his every movement. His eyes seemed to pick her gaze out from the crowd, his lips half smiling tantalizingly in amusement.
"Shou sha wa Atobe, haisha wa Tezuka. The winner will be-"
Snap.
A deafening silence permeated the air and a chill ran up her back. The boy was a master of manipulation. His mesmerizing eyes held a level of undefinable intensity, and he moved with a finesse that seemed far surpassed his years.
"—Ore-sama."
She heard a condescending snort from the young tennis prodigy next to her, and she was amazed that he didn't seem to be bothered by Atobe at all. 'How can he have such composure? Isn't he worried?' When he noticed that she was staring at him wide-eyed, he simply lowered the visor of his cap.
A surge of irritation surged in her gut. 'How can Echizen show off that laid-back attitude of his now, of all times? Does he just not care about the outcome of this match because he's not going to playing?'
Only when Atobe won the first point did she realized she was drenched in a layer of cold sweat—with a sick premonition welling in her stomach.
"Ore-sama no bigi ni yoi na," he called, his words ringing clearly throughout the entire court and triggering a series of love-struck confessions and hopeful shouts. The Hyotei spirit had been redeemed. The match was on.
Atobe had won the first point. It was decidedly unlike the Seigaku captain. She wondered when it was the last time her brother had faced such a worthy opponent. She smiled when her eyes met with Echizen's. They were thinking the exact same thing.
'Tezuka Zone.'
Tezuka's foot swerved as the ball curved to meet his racket, but Kin felt slightly uneasy. 'To think that Atobe forced him to reveal his signature technique on the second point.' Unlike the previous game, both of them were giving their all from the very beginning.
"You're doing well, Tezuka... with that arm of yours," Atobe scowled, his hand placed between his dilated pupils. Both Echizen and Kin were visibly jolted.
"What arm? What's he talking about?"
Atobe's lips curled in disdain. "Your left arm is injured. Neh, Tezuka?"
"No, Tezuka's elbow is already healed," Oishi intervened, his body betraying his worry.
"I see. So it's the elbow," Atobe smirked.
"Is that for real, Oishi-senpai?" Echizen exclaimed. 'So perhaps this chibi can get worked up after all.'
Oishi collapsed on the bench, while the other Seigaku regulars stared at him in shock. "Tezuka's elbow was actually broken until recently. I'm sorry, but he told me not to say anything. I guess he didn't want everyone to worry while we aimed for the national tournament." He looked down, a lump forming in his throat. "About two years ago, when Tezuka first entered middle school, he was already stronger than all of the third-year senpai." Kin remembered. Even though she was only a little kid, she still remembered the ephemeral joy that transformed her brother's face when he discovered his life-long love: tennis. It was very, very subtle, but she discerned it, clear as day. When Oishi finished the story about Tezuka's ambition and the broken arm, Kin could only stare, shocked.
"He said that tennis rackets are not for injuring people. It's true that at the time, the pain went away quickly and everyone thought there was no lasting damage, normally at least. It was around the fall of last year that he started having problems with his arm. Anyway, Tezuka's practice load is not easy with all the hard training everyday and that zero-shiki drop shot. Because of that, the strain on his muscles was more than twice that of anyone else. And then, combined with that old injury, his arm was completely injured. Before, it was to the point where he couldn't play tennis anymore." Kin was no less amazed as the rest of the team, who continued to bicker. 'Leading a team while deceiving them. How unlike 'nii-chan.' Then she almost chuckled. 'Not like I'm one to talk, but at least my teammates probably figured it out a long time ago.'
"Don't worry. That purple-haired freak just keeps quacking because he's insecure. He's all bark and no bite. If he was so certain of 'nii-chan's weakness, he wouldn't be openly asserting it. He's looking for assurance from us. Breaking us down psychologically," Kin grumbled, her eyes heavy with wonder. "Those two... I was wrong. They didn't give it their all since the beginning of the match. They've been giving it their all for the past few years."
As the crowd fussed over the new revelation, her eyes caught it. The Zero-Shiki.
Everyone exclaimed in wonder, their eyes gaping like they had never seen a tennis ball. "You see? 'Nii-chan's only getting warmed up."
"Don't hold back, Atobe. Come with everything you have," her older brother challenged. Atobe's eyelids fluttered. He was being taunted now?
"Game to Seigaku, one game to love!" Seigaku burst into cheers, but Kin knew better.
The game continued, disappointing no one. To almost all of the eyes in the crowd, none of them had a clue how it felt to be one of the two players. Yet, to Kin, she knew. She knew the instinct of shuffling feet, the sweat drenching the grip tape, every nerve and muscle in the body working in perfect harmony.
They were beautiful.
Creatures of flesh and blood tuned to perfection after years and years of training, transcending the laws of gravity and reality. They were dancing to a silent melody, back and forth, controlling a rhythm only they could feel, inside their souls. Every nerve and muscle was perfectly coordinated with the rest of the body, forming movements more fluid and perfect than humanly possible. It was as if their entire lives had only been preparation for this single match. Their impulses and movement conveyed inimitable messages, leaving words as superfluous distractions.
It was every bit a psychological battle as it was a physical one. They challenged each other mentally, taunting each other to make each other lose focus. They were also fighting internal battles against themselves. Against the doubt of their own abilities, against their obligation to lead and win as captains, but most of all, against the guilt and regret that would plague them forever if they gave anything short of their best.
Even though they had been playing for an hour and a half, none of their movement showed any indication of pressure or fatigue. Tezuka Kunimitsu was amazing, doing far better than anything she would have ever imagined in her wildest dreams. Seeing them so close before her eyes, she doubted that she would ever see something as memorable and beautiful as the sight before her. She didn't know whether to weep in joy or sorrow.
"What is wrong with you?" Echizen muttered as he watched her sniffle and bury her face in her hands.
"You'll never understand," she said, repeating his own words. He stared at her for a moment—really looked at her—then sighed exasperatedly and focused on the game once more.
She had forgotten. This was a Singles One battle. They proved what lay at the naked core of tennis. Tennis was not just fancy bluffs or feints. Not a simple-minded war of sheer will and force. Not strength gained from hours of manly bonding. Not even genius, ridiculous techniques with equally genius and ridiculous names.
This match had completely redefined her meaning of tennis.
"40-love. Seigaku serves."
Kin closed her eyes to prevent the tears from spilling out her eyes. This was the last point. One more point, and the match would be completely over. It was Tezuka's win—no, Seigaku's victory. Another untarnished success in a streak of endless triumphs. Her lip was trembling in pride and excitement. Her heart was ready to burst out of her chest. She wanted to wrap her arms around her brother's neck and scream like she never screamed before. They would go feasting the next day to commemorate their success, and she would give a perfectly detailed, marvelous account of every lob, every backhand, every smash. She would brag so hard and so long that her brother would be ready to die from embarrassment in his seat.
Just.
One.
More.
Point.
Yet, a tiny part of her consciousness knew the truth. 'This match is far from over.'
A scream of pain escaped his lips. Kin snapped her eyes open immediately. Tezuka was kneeling now, his teeth biting his lip in agony, clutching his shoulder.
"Tezuka-buchou!" On instinct, the entire Seigaku team rushed to his side, but he screamed something to hold them back. His lips moved in slow motion, like a movie on rewind. Her mind never registered what he said. Her mouth was open, but it never managed to whisper what she wanted to say. 'No... no. No. No. No.'
Her reality was shattered. As he lifted himself from the ground, the effort he expended was visible, even in such a thoughtless action. As he sat next to Echizen, she could feel everything: how every limb in his body felt a thousand times heavier than lead, how haggard and strenuous each inhalation and exhalation had become, how every inch of his skin dripped with salty sweat, how his mind could barely function, desperately clinging to the image of Seigaku's victory.
Her mind came to a standstill. Her vision projected images of a tired middle school tennis captain, who looked far older than his years, being advised by his teammates to prioritize his own health above one win in a junior high tournament. She did not recognize the exhausted face, drenched in sweat. She did not recognize this injured, stubborn child rubbing his shoulder.
As he rose from the seat, her heart was no longer existent. His hand was clutching his tennis racket, as always, but something was amiss. His grip had moved slightly to relieve some pressure on his shoulder. His concentrated eyes were still hazy in memory of the excruciating pain. She realized that once again, in a long, long array of mistakes, that she was wrong.
He was not perfect. He was just as human as every other person on this earth, and just as prone to mistakes. His flawless, calm face was simply an illusion to hide this sad truth.
Everything became blurry again. Right crashed onto wrong. Strength blended into weakness. Beauty unveiled into ugliness. From that moment on, nothing was definite anymore. The threads of delineation that weaved her life together slowly unraveled, and eventually shattered en masse into a heap of chaos.
'Watch and learn, Tezuka Kin.' As much as she wanted to believe the voice in her conscience, she knew that the match's outcome had already been decided. In that moment, something deep inside her was lost forever.
Tezuka Kunimitsu, her older brother, had been entirely and utterly defeated.
-In the Evening-
"Kin-chan..." Taro muttered under his breath, his heart heavy with worry. "What are you going to do now?" From the corner of the brick building, he peeked to see Kin's shady figure with a tennis racket under her arm. She was walking leisurely, a baseball cap covering her eyes. Ever since Tezuka had lost the match, she hadn't said a single word. There was one mysterious incident when she had disappeared and slipped away, only to reappear again with a hardened look in her eyes. Whenever people said something, she had pretended not to hear. Or she really didn't hear them in the first place. Taro couldn't tell.
He dashed, tiptoeing as quickly as he could towards the shadow of a tree. He knew how profoundly her brother's loss had struck her, and how the match today was so important. 'Kin-chan, I'm worried about you. What's happened to you?'
As he followed her diligently, covering up his tracks, he realized where she was going. 'A tennis court. But why?' Suddenly, his stomach rumbled noisily. He froze in mid-step, praying that she hadn't heard it. After a few moments, when he realized Kin's head wasn't going to pop from the corner of the street to investigate, he nearly sighed in relief. He hadn't eaten dinner yet. He had lied to his mother that he was going to eat dinner with Kin's family, but he had no idea what Kin planning. 'What am I doing? Stalking her? Have I really fallen so low?' He felt lost, confused. He didn't understand anymore. He didn't understand this alien girl he was following, this silent girl with intense, vengeful eyes. For some reason, instinct told him to push on, to pursue her. Hopelessly, his legs moved on their own.
When she reached the tennis courts, she entered the steel fence and sat down, her arm protectively holding the covered tennis racket. After detecting absolutely no movement from her for a few minutes, he exhaled and collapsed... and waited.
-An Hour Later-
Her head tilted at the sound of approaching footsteps. She rose to her feet as the man walked to the opposite side of the tennis court.
"I apologize. It was difficult to get away from my teammates and fangirls without them noticing," the princely voice justified himself. She lifted her ice-cold blue eyes to stare at his gray, visibly shocked eyes. She was not the least amused.
"I don't want to listen to your excuses all day." Her every syllable dripped with venom, and Atobe's secure smile immediately faltered. No one had talked to him like that in a long, long time. "One set match." Atobe sighed, hoping that this would take no time at all. He had better things to do than play a vengeful greenhorn player. She unzipped the cover of her tennis racket, her fingertips caressing the familiar undulation of the strings. Atobe's dilated pupils immediately betrayed his surprise.
"That's right, Atobe. This racket has my brother's sweat, tears and blood on it. With this, I'm going to kick your ass." Her lip curled derisively. "Oh, I'm sorry, was my language too strong for you, Atobe-sama? Perhaps you didn't understand. On this day, I..." She tossed the ball in the air. He was in ready stance, his eyes fixed on the ball.
"Will..." She jumped, the muscles in her knees and legs propelling her light body into the air.
"Break..." Her entire upper body swerved back, the muscles in her back flexing with controlled power.
"You!" The impact of the tennis ball on the racket resonated through the fence and street, its echoes replaying over and over like a broken record. Her entire body swerved forward like one immense, elastic spring. Before her feet reached the ground, the yellow ball had already scraped Atobe's high cheekbones and was spinning as it penetrated the chain-link fence. Atobe glanced behind him, his pupils fully narrowed. The ball rolled back after bouncing off a brick wall. Its rough nylon edges had already frayed off. 'Was that a fluke? Or... it doesn't matter. She won't get lucky on the next point.'
She didn't wait for him to recover. She tossed the ball again, leaped and swung again using her entire body. A sharp pain stung his cheek again, and he realized that the new cut was one centimeter above her first cut. None of these scrapes were accidental, not with her pinpoint precision. 'It's unbelievable that this girl, two years younger than me, has won the first two consecutive points. The next point, I'll be ready. It's impossible that her serve is faster than Ohtori's Scud Serve.' His knees were bent, his eyes focused on her every movement, and he was determined to never back down.
She glared at him.
A glare of undiluted hatred.
As she jumped, he was prepared to return it immediately. This time, however, it was a regular serve. Amazed, he hit it a straight shot. Too late. She was already at the net. 'She's fast!' She smashed the ball in the far corner. This was impossible. If she won another point, then it would be a love game—when was the last time that happened? He couldn't remember. Atobe wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. He could barely remember the last time that had happened. He refused to underestimate her. He would turn this game around.
The ball was tossed. Her legs sprung. Atobe's eyes and legs moved on instinct. The ball hit the net, spinning with so much raw power that Atobe thought the strings would snap. But the ball rolled down, as if relenting in fatigue. 'Fault. Is she playing mind games with me?' His lips curled in amusement. The fault was no accident. This girl was far, far beyond his expectations. She had humiliated him and forced him to betray his visible nervousness.
'There it is, the jumping kick serve.' All of her serves had targeted his body, since those areas were the hardest to return. In the split second the ball hit the pavement, Atobe ducked his head and prepared to hit it above his face. But his eyes had betrayed him. The ball rose slightly from the ground and immediately dropped. Bouncing, it stopped at Atobe's ankle. 'A drop serve? Is there such a thing?'
Her entire body radiated murderous anger even though she had won a perfect game. He blinked in mild confusion. Her lower lip trembled, her glossy eyes penetrating his disconcerted gaze. As they passed the right side of the net to change courts, she mumbled under her breath, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Her voice was dangerous. Low. "Do you think you're doing me a favor by going easy on me? Pitying me, maybe?" Each word, consumed by disgust, was forced out of her gritted teeth.
Her composure burst. "Where's the person who forced my brother to his knees?! The captain who forced my brother to sacrifice his shoulder?!" She was shouting uncontrollably now, her slim body shaking from the effort. Her hand was clutching the racket so hard that her knuckles were white. "How could he lose to you, the king of narcissism cowering in fear?" Atobe noticed bitter tears swelling in her deep-set eyes, which contained a nearly inhuman level of condemnation and fury.
Then he understood. She wasn't challenge him for revenge. She was testing him. She wanted proof to show that he deserved his victory against Tezuka. She wanted to experience firsthand a match against him to gain even the slightest understanding of why her brother lost.
"Tennis rackets are not for injuring people. Have you no shame? Is that flashy appearance simply anillusion of dignity? How can you destroy your opponent's shoulder and still walk away smiling? You're... unforgivable."
He had to admit it, this girl was blunt. His conscious had already echoed the truth of her words, but he refused to acknowledge the heaviness in his chest. What was that—shame? It couldn't be. 'It's been a long time since ore-sama's ego has been scratched. Very well, since you asked for it, you are going to pay for those words.'
Only the slight twitch of his left eyebrow betrayed the irritation bubbling inside him. It was more than just the reality of her words. More than just realization. He closed his eyes for a second to regain his composure. He knew what the lingering feeling of sickness in his chest was now. Regret. Self-disgust. When her older brother had brought out the worst in Atobe's obstinacy, this girl had forced him to come to terms with his emotions buried beneath the layers and layers of egotism. 'What a fearful family the Tezuka are.'
"Enough lecturing. Resume the match," he snapped, holding the ball next to the racket in preparation for a serve. Kin readied her stance. Her eyes sharpened like daggers, her pupils dilated with a deathly concentration.
All eyes were on the ball, suspended above Atobe's outreached palm. Time froze. In that moment, she could make out the black ink of Penn and each fuzzy yellow hair. Suddenly, time accelerated by multitudes.
At the speed of light, the ball struck near her left ankle. The impact resonated in her ears heavily, and everything else was history. The synapses from her eyes to her brain to every nerve in her body, reacted simultaneously. She screamed in defiance when she slammed her brother's racket into the ball. Like she had expected, the resistance she encountered was remarkable.
But manageable. The return shot was a powerful ace. It aimed for the opposite corner, and barely scratched within the white line. She was breathing heavily now, and it was only after a single return. Perhaps if she hadn't been blowing a gasket earlier, she wouldn't be gasping for air now. 'Chikusho, more serves like that and I won't last long,' Kin realized in revelation.
Returning the favor, Atobe didn't wait for her to recuperate. The second shot was more merciless than the first. 'He was holding back the first time, damn it!' She managed to return it, but it was a weak net ball. If Atobe was careful, the point was over.
He was. A drop shot rolled towards her ankle. "Know your place." His gray eyes were radiating confidence again. "Brat." She wiped her brow. Apparently the two bleeding cuts on his cheek weren't enough. The thought of permanent damage to his gorgeous supermodel face invigorated her limbs. 'Sorry, Atobe, but this game is mine.'
Her eyes were fixated. The perfect angle and speed maximized the spin Atobe gave her... she could see it. 'Can you feel it, Sato Jiro-san? The eternization of your legacy?' The slice passed in the blink of an eye.
The ball sliced through the air and bounced surprisingly low and to his right. He cursed as the ball hit the rim of his racket and fell from the net. Her sheer control of such an extreme backspin amazed him. The technique felt familiar. Perhaps it was similar to Tezuka Zone? Genetics probably had something to do with it.
"Watch your mouth," she warned, "and that pretty face of yours." He gave a genuine smirk and wiped a trail of blood from his cheek.
Then he pointed towards his face. "Try and get me. You won't be touching this." The next serve was different than the two before. It was precise and calculated. But so was her return. They both aimed for corners, but for Kin, rallies were foreshadows of losing battles. Simple reality proved that she could not compete with the raw strength and speed of a man, especially one two years older than her. The only tools she possessed were the wisdom of a dead man sixty years prior and the drills from her own observation. She had no formal coaching. No equipment worth thousands of dollars. No prestige beyond her own teammates.
Only the ragged sheets of heart-filled calligraphy, and her own iron resolve to never bend in defeat.
The rally was hers. It had to be hers. She simply would not allow anything else. She smacked the ball in a heavy groundstroke even though she knew she was just procrastinating her inevitable defeat She had won the rally, but lost the game.
"Now we're even," he declared as he sauntered to the other side. She had collapsed onto her knees with exhaustion, and grudgingly discarded her body's screaming need for rest. Like her brother, she was an advantage server, after all. This time, however, she couldn't use her jumping kick serve. She didn't have the strength to keep the ball slightly above the net and at an unreturnable rate. If the ball wasn't hit with extremes, the serve would be a waste of stamina.
Her puny body was a burden. She saw everything in her mind's eye. Everything needed for the sake of victory. But her lungs never generated enough oxygen. Her muscles were never agile enough to move the way she visualized it idealistically.
Furiously, she dove for the ball. She knew it was a lost cause, and yet... why did she bother? She grunted as she smacked the ground. If only she was born a boy. If so, maybe she wouldn't be this slow. This weak. This fragile. She was helpless in the genes that controlled her, that built her identity. 'Why was I born the girl, damn fit? I can only return weak shots now, and whine about what can't be changed. Why am I so goddamn PATHETIC?!'
In the end, she had forfeited her service game. Atobe now had the advantage with two games, and she only won one. Soon that would be four. Five. Ten. Infinity. Her complete annihilation, and she could only cling to the first game she won. A lucky fluke. Or perhaps a generous pity present from Atobe.
"Ore-sama will generously allow you to forfeit because ore-sama has other matters to attend to," he hastened, annoyance dabbling in the edges of his voice as he placed his racket on his right shoulder. In the end, this girl could not hold up her challenge.
Kin licked her lips. To her amazement, the salt didn't just come from the sweat. She touched her cheek.
Tears.
'How long have I been crying?' It beyond her comprehension why the involuntary flow of tears refused to stop. It was ridiculous. She was wasting precious water and dehydrating herself. 'What is wrong with me?'
She rose and dusted her pants. Not meeting his gaze, she sauntered deliberately slowly to the opposite side. Why had she challenged Atobe after all, when she knew deep inside that the match was lost? Was it really just a rash, spontaneous decision or was it something more?
Every fiber of her being clung to desire. A desperate need to avenge her brother. To pour her reason for existence into a match she would never regret. But that was a whimsical dream. Nothing was going to be accomplished now, just like she had proven nothing in her life so far.
She looked at her palm. Her rough calluses were bleeding. The tape grip had imprints of her grip and dried blood. Yet, it was a good sort of pain. The sensation was hard to describe. It made her feel alive. Tangible. Mortal. Like she was putting her blood into something meaningful. She licked the blood off. It almost tasted sweet. She just needed... more.
'What are you talking about? You have everything you need.' A shrill laugh escaped her wry lips. "Do you still remember what I told you at the beginning of the match?" The ball was levitated before her eyes in the perfect position. "I don't waste words... I meant it quite literally." She collapsed to one knee with the double-edged rising shot.
Her hit, this time, was completely different than before. 'She's aiming for my left knee?' He was forced into a half volley. She was at the net, her lips licking in a circle.
Each vein her eye... was bloodshot. Her pupils were completely contracted, and Atobe could see the pulsing of hot red blood.
Before Atobe could realize anything, a gasp escaped his lips. He collapsed to the ground, clutching his left knee. Delirious pain spiked through his body, and for a moment he couldn't think. Couldn't move. He gasped for breath, and forced himself to calm down. 'I'm... alright. She just smashed the ball into my knee, that's all.' To his amazement, he had to restrain himself from using commoner curses that was decidedly leagues below him. As he rose, ignoring the intermittent spasms of pain from his knee, his feet were cut off below him.
Fear.
He could not mistake her aura of murderous intent. The red veins in her eyes popped in malicious delight. Blood dripped from her tennis handle. But she was oblivious to it all. All that mattered was the perfect construction of his hell.
His serve was awkward.
She licked her lips. This time, she aimed for his right cheek. Dodging it caused a dagger to stab his knee. Service aces were impossible now. Avoiding the ball from hitting him took all the effort he had, and no matter how hard or how quickly he hit the ball, the return would always aim towards his vulnerable areas. The ball came at such irregular angles that reminded him of Kaidoh's Snake, but this was more deadly. More malevolent. Tantalizing, almost, as if she was only playing a game of cat and mouse.
He was trapped and helpless before the sinuous weaving of her plans. Even though the sides of the court was spattered with her blood, she gave no indication of caring. If anything, it propelled her will further. This girl—she would bring him down with her, even if the effort killed her.
'Monster.'
"STOP IT! Kin-chan, please." Taro could no longer restrain himself. He could no longer watch helplessly in horror from aside. He ran out into the open, glowering in shame at his hiding spot. His breath was uneven with nervousness, but his eyes—they were terrified. The horror inside the void of his heart consumed him. His reality was shattered.
"What are you doing? Kin-chan, look at me!" Her icy eyes with a ring of blood red remained fixated on Atobe's like she was savoring every drop of his blood. She gave no indication of hearing Taro. He was invisible to her. In her reality, only the court existed. She tossed the bloody ball again, her legs propelling from the ground...
Atobe had lobbed the ball, and he immediately cursed. His vision was blurry from strenuous pain and effort.
Taro knew what was going to happen. The smash. The ultimate technique. Being a girl, Kin always had remarkable flexibility, but she didn't have the speed or strength to propel that into an unorthodox style when playing with boys. There was one technique, however, that she was forbidden to use. She had sealed it herself, deeming it too much of a stress on her own body. The final move that would end both of Atobe's and Kin's careers.
His eyes were glued to bloodshot ones. She gave no indication of his presence. Was his mouth really open? Or was the scream from his throat just an illusion of his conscious? Her lips were curled like the Devil's, who was returning to a blood fest that had lasted millenniums.
He searched for any hint, even the smallest, that the monster standing before him was the girl whom he loved, his adorable best friend with whom he grew up with. Was she really the one who stayed up past midnight, drooling at her failed math homework? Where was the girl who was proclaimed the Heart of Ginka? Who was this... this beast who had molded into her skin and soul?
Blood was everywhere. It was all over the court. The ball left a trail of blood. It lined her fingers like a lace glove. It soaked her socks. Her sock! He had completely forgotten. Judo. Her match with Shima-jiichan. Her sprained ankle. If she were to use the forbidden smash, her entire leg might be sacrificed.
He wanted to wake up from this feverish nightmare, but reality was just too real. Kin-chan, as he had known her his entire life, was replaced by this unrecognizable murderous monster. It sounded too ridiculous. Like a set from a Hollywood horror film. Or the dramatization of an anime where she would peel off the mask, hold out a peace sign, and tease, "Did I scare you?"
Her knees bent and she went flying. Her body curved like a sinuous whip, her racket and upper body tilting back with unbelievable flexibility.
Their fates came down to this last point.
Taro ran. He was screaming as he ran, but his ears recognized nothing except for the swish of her body through the air. He was a coward. He always had been, nothing more, nothing less. He was too cowardly to prevent the rift in their relationship even as he could feel it gaping wider and wider. He was too cowardly to confess his love buried underneath years of hesitation. He simply watched on the sidelines, watching his life roll out of his grasp, and he did nothing. He wasn't like Kin, who took the reins of her own fate.
Yet somehow, he found himself screaming, his arms outreached in a protective stance, face-to-face with the devil disguised as Kin. He was a total idiot. There was no doubt of that, jumping in front of a smash that could snap his neck, break his spinal cord and end his life.
He had always dreamed that he would live a long, fulfilling life to a ripe old age. He had always imagined Kin at his side, whether she was a bride or just a friend. He had expected children, maybe grandchildren, filling up his house. The deck would be full, the smell of barbecued ribs tantalizing his nostrils. He would die in his sleep, surrounded by people he loved. In that moment, his future wavered.
The ball flew towards his face. He saw flashes of the future: his corpse with a cracked neck, a funeral with sobs and screams, but most of all, a broken Kin--a cracked soul who would never move on past this day, the very core of her being torn by guilt and shock. He couldn't stand this image of Kin. But he hated the monster before him even more. He didn't care what happened to himself, but he would die a thousand times over to prevent the girl he had always loved from losing herself.
The ball scraped his right cheek. Over and over, the scene played in his head. The sharp sting and the spurt of blood. Time was stuck, and it rewound and played over and over again.
He would remember her expression forever: her eyes wide in the horror of self-realization, her mouth agape in a wordless scream of regret, drops of her blood suspended in the air, defying physics and gravity.
The ball bounced behind him, the impact airless as it resounded inside them.
Her feet landed. A shriek of immeasurable agony pierced through the air. She doubled over on the ground, gasping for air and clutching her ankle. Before she knew what was happening, she felt a soft caress on her ankle. Someone had taken her shoe off.
"Damn, you were beating the shit out of me with this?" She did not notice when Atobe had gotten this close to her. Her sock was crusted in layers of blood. The ankle brace, given by her brother so many eternities ago, had snapped. She flinched from the random episodes of pain. It seemed like there was more than just torn ligaments and bone fractures. Her entire leg seemed pretty much screwed.
"Taro, you big IDIOT!" She bit back tears. "Jumping out like that. Were you trying to commit suicide or something?"
"I-I—" He was speechless. All he could do was stand there, agape, his fingers trailing the cut on his cheek.
She winced as Atobe removed the bloody sock, and cursed under her breath for getting herself into this huge mess. To her amazement, he was smiling in amusement.
"What did you say about how tennis rackets are not meant for hurting people?" he teased, his gray eyes containing an unusual gravity. Hearing his playful tone and his forgiving appearance, she couldn't contain it anymore. Her entire body hurt. Every breath made her chest heave in effort. Every limb was ready to explode from extreme overexertion. A waterfall of tears exploded from her eyes. Hot, bitter tears. She felt a soft hand brush away her tears, and was surprised to find the soft caress of her former best friend.
"I was supposed to be the first person to defeat 'nii-chan," she gasped between sniffs, her voice heavy with sarcastic acrimony. "For me, he was always like an unattainable goal. An invincible god in the horizon. He wasn't supposed to lose today." Atobe faced her with serious gray eyes, but she didn't return the gaze. "I thought that maybe... I don't know. Maybe I could prove myself that I was worth something by defeating you, no matter what it took." She turned her face towards her blue-eye twin. "Aoki, you shouldn't have stopped me. You should've just let me—"
"Stop talking like that!" Taro clutched his hands in anger. "Stop talking like as if this only concerns yourself." She looked at Taro in surprise, her gaze broken.
"I see. You're right. I'm disgusting. So disgustingly selfish," her voice cracked, staring down at the tears on the bloody court. This was the same court where she had, beneath the stars so many lifetimes ago, promised to climb to the top of the world. 'Now look at me. Look at how that promise ended up.'
"You have a family. You have friends. You have memories, but most of all, Kin-chan... you have a future." Taro's voice was barely audible, but his words were true. "Kin-chan, I—I-" Fear you. Miss you. Love you. Only playful twists of gibberish escaped his mouth. When it came down to it, Taro was a coward to the very end.
"Ah, Oshitari, you're here already? Yes, I'll be right on my way," Atobe said coolly to his cell phone, and then turned his attention back to Kin. "Ore-sama regrets injuring your brother, as well as yourself."
She scoffed. That was as much of an apology she was ever going to get. She scoffed. "Like I've run a marathon across Mount Fuji, fallen off of twenty ski lifts, and just got chased by a psycho with a chainsaw." At least she hadn't lost her sense of humor. "Actually, I wish I felt half that good."
He smirked, but a flicker of pain showed in his eyes. "Here, hold onto me."
"I can get myself to the hospital by myself, thank you very much. Besides, that knee of yours needs checking up on," she flushed, brushing him away when he put her arm around his neck. He replied by scooping her up gently, much to her amazement.
"It's against my principles to leave an injured young girl by herself," he justified, his normal narcissist edge returning to his voice. Her eyes sparkled with an odd mix of happiness, frustration and amusement, despite the pain spiking in every limb. In the weak, broken girl, he could not find a trace of the monstrosity he had come face-to-face with moments ago.
When he took a few steps, he grimaced in pain and nearly dropped her when a jolt of pain stabbed through his knee. 'Stupid.' She laid her head on his sweaty chest. Up close, she got a VIP view of his true beauty, beyond his lavender curls and mole to the leader inside. She understood now, why he controlled so many hearts of young men and women.
"Atobe-san?" she gasped hoarsely.
"Hm?" She felt her vision blacken. Her limbs no longer obeyed her. She managed to croak two words before she felt her consciousness drift to the stars.
"Thank you."
OMG I'M DONE I'M DONE I'M DONE!! I had envisioned this chapter ever since finishing chapter three, so it feels ridiculous to actually be finished with it. A part of me will never be satisfied with it, and I know there are parts that I forgot.
I am so sorry for releasing this chapter so late. You guys have no idea how much I struggled with this chapter. This is my third re-write, because not only was I dissatisfied with my writing, but because it didn't convey a depth of reality that I wanted. So I ended up revisiting the entire Hyotei vs. Seigaku arc, so it was a lot easier. The entire chapter must have taken me at least fifteen hours of writing and even more for editing. Crazy, no? Hopefully the final product was worth the wait.
So I changed some parts. I absolutely forgot Akutsu. Hyotei vs. Seigaku happened right after Ginka's forfeiture with Rikkaidai, not a day later. Sue me. After I'm done with the epilogue, I'm going to go and reedit the entire story. I don't know about rewriting it all, but definitely revisiting them.
I have to admit it, Kin displaying signs of sadomasochism even creeps me out. There's an epilogue, sure, but that's it, folks.
Lastly, but not least, a heartfelt thank-you to my fellow beta readers (I'm warning you, never get more than two beta readers):
Gold.paperclips for your generous comments.
Crazian for helping with keeping Yuuta IC and the beginning arguments.
Alolha to help boost Atobe's ego properly.
But most of all, Lieyan for being a steadfast friend and catching mistakes no one else caught.