"Hey! What are you doing in here?" A thin, too tall, black-haired student peers down at the man who's entered the room. "We're conducting a mock exam. You need to leave," he says bluntly, pointing to the door.
"I'm — I'm here for Irie," Sudo tries, and puts on what he thinks is a convincing smile. Irie is his pass for everything. He's learnt early on that all you have to do is mention his name and you're cleared.
Apparently not the case now. The student pauses, and Sudo witnesses his facial expression change from mild irritation to what seems like murderous rage. "Too bad. He's not here right now," the student eventually replies, gritting his teeth. Sudo glares at him, though he feels severely outmatched in terms of anger.
"Sudo?" A lovely, familiar voice. He perks up, forgetting his anger entirely. "Why are you here?"
"Matsumoto!" Sudo breaks free of the student's grasp, fear helping him run faster towards Matsumoto. Or perhaps it's love. "I've been looking for you!"
"You just said you're here for Irie." Her eyes narrow, and Sudo feels no less than a flea in her eyes.
He shrugs it off, smiling. "Well, he's not here. You'll do," he says, nonchalantly. Coming on too strongly might scare her away, and she doesn't look too happy. Angrier than usual. He'll find out what's wrong.
Sudo is about to near her, about to cross the room in a couple strides before he's interrupted.
"Matsumoto! Breaking the rules again," the instructor shouts, glaring at her. He's got a red pen in his hand, and he clicks it, once, twice, and then when he clicks it for the third time, Matsumoto sighs, shutting her eyes.
Sudo glances around the room. Oh. They really are in the middle of a test, he thinks, shuffling slightly.
"I haven't done anything," Matsumoto says, full defense. The instructor holds up his hand.
"I don't want to hear it. I understand you've finished your trial exam early, but there's others who are still taking theirs. Be respectful." He rubs his temples. "Come up to my desk," he tells her, setting his ink pen down.
She walks to his desk, tentatively, and Sudo watches as the teacher leans forward, speaking in a low tone. She's got her head down, but she's blinking too much, a nervous habit of hers. Sudo can tell; he's seen it only a few times, but enough to recognize it. He feels his heart tighten in his chest. Sudo's aching to get closer to the teacher's desk, aching to hear what exactly he's saying to Matsumoto.
They exchange some more words, hushed back-and-forth whispers, and her frown deepens.
"I see," is all she says, turning to look at Sudo. He looks away instantly, turning his attention to the clock ahead of him. A nice clock. It's plain, basic, standard, but it's one of the quiet ones, which he likes. Must be nice, he thinks, recalling the clock in his old physics classroom, a noisy one that ticked Each. And. Every. Single. Second.
Sudo glances around the classroom for more interesting things. He can't find any. There's nothing notable here, everything is mundane and dull. He is sure he would lose his mind in an environment like this one.
This area's atmosphere is suffocating. Sudo fights back the ridiculous urge to start whistling, picking at his cuticles instead. He's got a few old blisters, and he examines his hands, trying his hardest to appear inconspicuous.
Shame mixed with guilt threatens to take over him as he suddenly hears Matsumoto apologizing, her voice quieter than he's ever heard it.
"You may leave now," the teacher says, dismissing her. Sudo stands a little straighter, hoping she'll pass by him. She doesn't even come close to nearing him, opting to walk behind the tables instead. He's disappointed when he can't even catch her eye; Matsumoto's staring straight ahead. She doesn't even blink.
Students even look up from their assessments, watching as she takes her leave, watching as she pauses only to take all her belongings with her.
Sudo follows her, or he at least tries to, when he's stopped by the guy from earlier. He inwardly groans, feeling his feet itch in his shoes. I need to catch up to her, he thinks, wondering where she'll head off to.
"What is it this time?" Sudo asks, frustrated. "I'm on my way, see, I'm leaving," he says, putting his hands up. "What do you want?"
"You just got her in trouble," the guy says, his voice low. He looks at the open door for a second too long. Sudo frowns. Who even is this guy?
"And," he continues, glancing back at Sudo. His eye is twitching. "You got me in trouble too."
"Huh?" Sudo glances around. What is this, a bar fight? "Your teacher hasn't even spoken to you," Sudo says, suspiciously, his thick brows furrowing. "You're not in any trouble. Anyways, I've got to — "
"Funatsu," the instructor warns from his desk, unclipping loose leaf papers from a large binder. "Keep it down."
The room is silent then, save for the scrawling noises of pen on paper.
Sudo is taken aback. He watches the teacher, who's still sorting through the papers. Keep it down? After kicking Matsumoto out of the classroom? For a transgression she didn't even do? Something isn't right.
Sudo glances up at the guy, Funatsu, who's still staring out the door. Something is very wrong.
"Let's talk outside," Sudo offers, gesturing to the door. He'll have to be the sensible one. The amount of effort he has to put in around overachievers…he'll be drained by the end of the day.
Sudo feels freed as he steps out the classroom. Finally! He'll probably never return to this stuffy room, Irie be dammed.
The guy follows him, and Sudo leans against the wall, waits for Funatsu's heavy footsteps to catch up. "What's the deal here?" Sudo starts. "What's your relationship to Matsumoto?"
"What's your relationship with Irie?"
Sudo's eyebrows raise. He's after Irie?
"Oh," he says, surprised, but not really surprised. "So it's true then, everyone likes Irie." He brings a hand to his chin, muttering to himself.
Funatsu yanks Sudo's hand away from his chin.
"What's wrong with you?" Sudo asks, eyes wide. He's actually feeling frightened. Sudo takes a step to the side, away from the strange guy. He regrets standing behind the wall; he's got no exit.
He decides he'll have to elbow his way out of this one.
"Listen," Funatsu says, taking a step to the right as well, mirroring Sudo's movements. He's even closer now! "Think whatever you want. I don't care. I just need you to do me a favor."
"You've been rude to me all day," Sudo replies, glancing at his nails. "Besides. I'm afraid I'm a very busy man. You'd know all about exams — I've got those as well — and I've got a very successful club to keep up with. I'm also in the midst of jump-starting my own business," he adds, just to seal the deal. It's not entirely true, but a little fabrication never hurts.
He glances up at Funatsu, waiting for a proposition.
"L — Like I told you, I don't care," he sputters. "I just need you to do this for me."
Don't care?
Sudo pauses. "I don't do things for free," he says, slowly, heavy on the free. How dense is this guy? Surrounded by geniuses (Matsumoto and Irie) 24/7 and still socially inept. Strange. Very strange.
"Money? You need money?"
Sudo glances around, still searching for a quiet way out. Elbowing it is.
Funatsu beats him to it, grabbing Sudo's arm. "Hey! You'll take money? I'll have to check if I have sufficient funds, but I'll make it work, you'll just have to — "
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sudo demands, tearing his arm away from him for the third time today. He shakes his head, folds his arms tightly to his body. "You've got a serious problem," he says, frowning deeply.
"I'm desperate," Funatsu explains, letting his head hang low. "Exams are coming up again. I'm going to be second." His voice cracks and he almost sobs. Sudo has never felt more uncomfortable in his entire life. He wishes he could just blow a whistle and let this guy be dragged off by someone else. He'd be cleared of the problem, nothing on his hands.
Alas.
Sudo musters up a tiny smile. "That's not…a bad thing," he starts, slowly. Maybe this guy is troubled. Some people need more of a push, he supposes, which is not necessarily bad. As long as they accept help, everything should be fine. "Being second isn't really the worst thing in the — "
"You don't get it," Funatsu cuts in, his voice low. "He'll be first."
"Hmm? Who's he?"
Funatsu glares at him, and Sudo feels the intensity of it even through Funatsu's thick glasses.
"Oh, you mean Irie?"
No answer.
"He'll be first?"
Sudo can tell from his silence that Funatsu wants to strangle him, but Sudo pretends like he doesn't notice. He keeps talking, praying that his oblivious act will pay in the end. "Well, he's always number 1 in everything. It's alright to come in second place," Sudo repeats, but even he's not believing his own words. "You've got to accept defeat sometimes!"
Funatsu takes a breath in, exhales out loudly. Sudo watches him, warily, as he adjusts his glasses. He's got all these nervous ticks, touching and itching his face, fiddling with his glasses…it's too much for Sudo to focus on.
Sudo wishes he could just tell him to still his movements, tell him to just chill.
"I'm tired of accepting defeat. I'm tired of being second. I can't accept a destiny like this, groveling at the feet of Irie. I'm tired of being branded as second in every single thing I do. For once, just for one time, I'd like to be first! The stigma that hangs around me is… it's demoralizing! It makes me so depressed, I can't do anything but think about getting in first place," Funatsu's voice rises and lowers, and Sudo wonders if he's witnessing a mental breakdown. It's not normal to be this overdramatic. And over Irie?
Sudo takes that back. He's being too judgmental. He, too, has had his fair share of melancholic breakdowns over Irie. Everyone has though, right?
"I just need to win," Funatsu is saying, pleading. Sudo fleetingly wonders why Funatsu came to him of all people. "I need to beat Irie. That's all I want. Please, help me."
Sudo's quiet. He clears his throat, looks down at his feet before he glances up at Funatsu. Now really isn't the best time, but oh well. "Are you interested in tennis?"
Funatsu stares at him, stunned. Sudo smiles at him, laughing a happy, closed eyed smile. It's nice to share a smile, Sudo thinks, and when he opens his eyes, he sees the disappearing back of Funatsu, all white, all long lab coat.
Sudo's frozen. He's actually leaving!
Good riddance.
Sudo dusts off his shirt, flexes his arm once, twice. He's fine, he's not hurt. Funatsu's not even that strong. The guy's got a good, firm grip, though, Sudo recalls, and something gnaws in his chest. He tries to quell it down, but it resurfaces, morphing into something gnarly.
He sighs, giving in. "Irie's in my tennis club," he calls out, loudly, hoping that the classroom door across the hall is closed. "Come see him!"
Funatsu pauses, like Sudo knew he would. Sudo walks over to him, patting him on the back, a little too hard.
"That's settled then," Sudo says, cheerily, but Funatsu's shoulders sink down even further.
"It's no use," he groans, but Sudo ignores him, filling him in with all the details about the club.
"We've got a rigorous training course, but we're always looking for new members! Training isn't really flexible," he lies. "So you'll need to show up. This is a great commitment, I know you'll love it here!"
Funatsu sighs. "I'm telling you already that this isn't a long-term commitment of mine. I'll just…observe," he settles on, and Sudo pauses.
"You don't want to play?" He's actually hurt. This guy's actually got some potential, Sudo thinks, sizing him up. He could go places.
"I've got no interest in sports. I'm in the robotics club, and that's it. Even that's boring," he admits, and Sudo jumps on the opportunity.
"That's great!" He exclaims, and even Funatsu's surprised by his enthusiasm. Sudo wracks his brain, trying to recall the best, most effective method of persuasion. There's just too many. He settles on Overwhelming the Victim. Client. Client.
"Great..?"
Sudo nods, smiling brightly. "There's actually a lot of mechanics involved in tennis," he begins, and he stops walking, letting his limbs hang loose. "When you're playing tennis, you've got to make sure that you're aware of each part of your body, and I mean hyperaware. Even the slightest difference in stance can greatly affect your performance." He demonstrates a few positions, going from stiff to loose. "Even the way you grip your racket can make or break a match."
Funatsu frowns at Sudo's sudden seriousness. He manages to make even common knowledge sound lofty. "That's every sport," Funatsu sighs, shaking his head.
"Here's what makes tennis different! In tennis, physics is…everywhere," he tries, watching Funatsu's eyes. Where's the telltale spark of interest in his eyes? Isn't this guy a science major?
"Physics isn't just in sports," Funatsu replies, irked. "Listen, forget I even asked anything, I'll just — "
"You could study the physics of tennis! It'd help you with your exams," Sudo says, nudging his shoulder. "Number one," he sings, dragging out every vowel.
Funatsu shrugs him off. Even the way he pushes me away is awkward, Sudo thinks. Maybe he's not cut out for tennis after all. The thought is depressing. It seems Funatsu's only motivation is Irie. He's more energetic when he's enraged, Sudo notes. Totally unlike his original personality. Odd.
"I'm not even in physics," Funatsu says, the volume of his voice rising. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and Sudo wonders when he took his glasses off.
Sudo pauses. Wait. He's not in physics?
That can't be. Sudo turns to the direction of the classroom, glancing back at Funatsu.
"That's chemistry!"
Sudo is quiet. "I see," he says, defeated.
Funatsu sighs. "Just forget about it," he says, turning to leave.
"Wait," Sudo tries, one last time. "You could always just watch Irie." For me, he almost adds, catching himself. "He's our star player."
"I already know that," Funatsu snaps, frowning at him. "You don't have to rub it in."
Sudo glances around the hall. This guy is so loud. "I didn't mean it like that," he replies, taking a step back. "You know, this anger of yours can be dealt with in a better way."
"How's observing Irie going to get rid of my resentment? You're just saying things," Funatsu replies, angrily, but all Sudo sees a sliver of consideration. Yes! His resolve is breaking!
"No, I'm serious. You'll have to be well informed on your opponent if you want to take him down, right?"
Funatsu is quiet. Sudo smiles, mostly to himself. He fights to keep the smile out of his tone as he continues, focusing on speaking without inflection.
"Irie's a natural-born champ, but that doesn't mean that he's perfect. No, he's definitely not perfect. It's up to you to find out his weaknesses. You've already observed him academically, what's stopping you from looking into his athletics? Wouldn't hurt, right?"
"I guess," Funatsu mutters, turning slightly. "Even so, I can't just stalk him, that's strange."
"Right," Sudo agrees, itching his mustache. He can't think of a better way to hide his growing smile. "That's why you'll join my club."
Funatsu's already objecting, opening his mouth to further disagree, but Sudo shushes him. "I already have a spot open for you. An easy one," he adds, when he thinks he spots tears in Funatsu's eyes.
"You'll help make my dream come true," Funatsu starts, losing his train of thought. "Wait. You'll really help me?"
"You'll be helping me too," Sudo replies ominously, patting him on the back. "I'm counting on you, Funatsu!"
"Wait, I still haven't — "
"Practice starts this afternoon! See you there!" Sudo waves, smiling cheerily.
He keeps the smile on his face as he bounds down the halls, having checked off one criteria off of his To Do List. It's not what he originally intended, not his Plan A, not his Plan B even, but it'll do.
Kotoko will be happy, at least. It's good that someone will be benefiting from this plan.
He arrives at the library, looking like a misfit in his cargo shorts and bright orange zip up sweatshirt. His collar is undone as well, and Matsumoto feels embarrassed for him. Casual sports wear in the campus library is a surefire way to earn you a few laughs.
Sudo greets her, but she ignores him. Don't talk to me, she almost says, but he does the run the tennis club and he is her senior. Still. Even with all that out the picture, Sudo humiliated her in front of her entire class. She is sure silence will get her point across perfectly.
She continues to ignore him, but he keeps following her, sputtering out apology after apology even in the library. Sudo is shameless, blubberingly loudly and almost crying. Matsumoto doesn't even care about the stares anymore, not with Sudo collecting them like coupons.
Her footsteps are muted against the thick carpet, and she's thankful for the sound absorption they provide. The bookshelves catch her attention as she speeds up her pace, the bronze shelves blurring into muted colors in her peripheral vision.
It's not his fault, not really, but she needs someone to shift her all anger towards and Sudo's the perfect person. It's so easy to dump her frustrations onto him, and so she does. She'll feel remorseful later, she knows, but right now, Matsumoto couldn't care less.
"Leave me alone," she tells him, when they're finally out of the library. "You got me in trouble. That teacher already dislikes me, and now you've just made things worse for me." Matsumoto sighs, shaking her head. Her glossy hair bounces on her shoulders. "To think I'd get kicked out of class."
Sudo frowns. "Why doesn't he like you? You're the perfect student. There's not a single reason why he shouldn't like you."
Matsumoto glares at him. "Who cares about why? I'd rather not think about him at all," she says, and it's partly true. Who cares about a hypocritical instructor? She doesn't want to relive the humiliating memory, though it's repeated in her mind over a hundred times since then.
Sudo huffs, and she can almost imagine his unhappy, puppy-dog like expression. "I did think the way he treated you was strange," he admits, sadly. "It seemed like he had something against you."
Matsumoto stops walking. She turns her head, meeting Sudo's gaze. "You think so?" Her voice is quiet.
He nods, gravely. "He let that other guy off easily," Sudo explains, "but then called you out in front of everyone."
Matsumoto turns her bag over in her hands. Even Sudo's noticed, she thinks, feeling a certain sadness wash over her.
"Hey," Sudo says, peering at her. "Are you alright?" He's uncharacteristically gentle, Matsumoto thinks. She lets him take her bag, for some reason, and he walks her to the exit, not saying anything. They walk in a comfortable silence.
Has Sudo always been this nice? She figures he's just feeling bad for what happened earlier.
"See you this afternoon," he says, winking at Matsumoto. She rolls her eyes in response.
He's about to hand her bag over, when he suddenly perks up.
"Oh! One more thing. We'll be doubling today," he says, smiling when her eyebrows raise. "I know you've been asking for a partner on the court, so I've made some arrangements."
She can't even try to hide her surprise. "Really? That's great," Matsumoto says, a smile finally tugging at her lips. "Who will my partner be? Do you know? Or do we get to pick?"
Sudo smiles at her enthusiasm. His heart warms. This is the Matsumoto he knows.
"I was thinking of doing rotations, based on skill level. Obviously you're one of our better players — one of our best players, actually — so you'll be paired up with someone who's got a similar level. That leaves who you'll be playing against. We'll probably have the losers move, so it'll always be changing. My goal is to have everyone play against each other at some point," Sudo says, tapping his finger against his lip. Matsumoto frowns at his mustache. "Of course, it'll only work if we have an even number of players."
"Will everyone be on the court?" Matsumoto asks, determined to find a solution. "If even the ball chasers get to play, then it's likely that we'll have an even number of players."
Sudo's smiling a little too widely at her. She looks away from him, staring at her bag in his hands. "You're exactly right," he replies. "We'll have our ball collectors play too."
Matsumoto nods, but Sudo can tell she's still thinking. She always looks up and away when she's contemplating something. The sun brightens the color of her dark eyes, revealing a chocolate-brown shade that almost sparkles in the light.
"We'll need a replacement for them then," Matsumoto says, eventually. "Got an idea for that?"
"I've found someone," Sudo replies, smoothly. He ignores her questioning stare, handing her bag over instead. "Don't worry about it. Leave it to me."
"Alright then," she says, waving goodbye to him. "See you."
The weather is cloudy. Dark, virtually no sun in sight and there's a chilly barely-there breeze. Still, Sudo's insistent on keeping practice on, like he always is. Persistence is only effective to an extent, Matsumoto thinks. Too much of it and people will start to resent you.
Still, Sudo is a difficult individual to hate.
Regardless of his known rigidness, others try (and fail) to change his mind. Kotoko, in particular, is adamant on begging for a reschedule.
"Please, let's just reschedule! Please, please! It looks like it's going to rain soon, come on! No one can practice…efficiently in this weather," she pleads, chasing after Sudo. Unsurprisingly, not a single person comes to back her up. Matsumoto giggles. Everyone's given up. It's fruitless to try and change Sudo's mind.
Sudo frowns at her. "I knew you were weak, Aihara, but not this weak! What's a little rain going to do to you?" He points his racquet at her, and she jolts, jumping back. Matsumoto laughs harder. Gosh, such a visible reaction. "Besides! You skipped yesterday, so you'll have to make up a day."
"Make up a day?" Her eyes widen. "It was only one day, s — something came up!"
She's obviously lying, Matsumoto thinks, suddenly bitter. Aihara was with Irie, all yesterday. Her smile fades, and she walks away, heading towards the fences instead. She'll busy herself with lining up the water bottles, though she doubts anyone will be thirsty enough to need more than one. Today doesn't look like a particularly difficult day, and the weather's cool enough.
Matsumoto pauses when she hears Sudo laugh. Sudo in a good mood? During practice? Impossible.
"You've finally made it," he says, cheerily, and Matsumoto turns around.
Irie?
No, someone else. She sighs, setting down the plastic water bottle in her hand. Looks like Irie won't be coming today either. Her giddiness and enthusiasm from earlier is halved. She was counting on his appearance. Who else matches her skill? Who else is on par with her? The stakes will be higher if she'll be doing all the work, while her partner just hangs around at the opposite end.
Matsumoto sighs again. "There's no point," she says, out loud. She's got a bad habit of speaking to herself when she's stressed. She squints again at the figure in the distance. Who is the person with Sudo?
A lanky man, surveying the area with a…clipboard in his hand is talking. It's entirely absurd. It's only when he turns around that Matsumoto recognizes him, solely from his thin ponytail.
Funatsu?
What in the world is he doing here? It's similar to the thought she had when she first saw Aihara play.
Speak of the devil. Matsumoto turns her attention away from the water bottles for one second, and when she turns back around, she's immediately greeted by the one and only Aihara. When did she even get here?
"Sorry if I scared you," Aihara begins, watching Matsumoto takes her hand off her chest. Scared doesn't even begin to cover it. "I was just wondering if you had a partner?" She smiles at Matsumoto, crinkling her eyes. Her hair sways slightly in its twin buns when she cocks her head to the side. "We could be partners," Aihara offers.
Matsumoto returns the smile, though hers is thin-lipped. "I'd rather not be on the same side as you," she replies curtly, turning to leave. To her dismay, Aihara runs after her, trailing behind her like a stray cat.
"Matsumoto! Please! I can't keep picking balls off the ground! Please! Sometimes they hit me and they hurt so much, you've got to understand, please! Just one time, I'll be your partner, I'll try my best, I swear I — "
"Bothering someone else now?"
Both Matsumoto and Aihara turn. Irie's walking towards them, racket in his hand and headband in his hair. Aihara straightens at his presence, smiling brightly up at him, her aforementioned grievances entirely forgotten.
He walks right past her, ignoring her and her sunny greeting completely.
"Irie," Matsumoto says, smiling a genuine smile at him. "Finally come to save me?"
Irie ignores her as well, glancing at her racket instead. He's got a questioning look on his face and she holds it up for him to see. "I know, it's old, it's dirty, but it works well," she explains, handing it to him.
"It definitely looks worn," he says, handing it back to her. "But I trust you know what you're doing."
"Thanks," she says, a little surprised. Trust?
Aihara's got her hands clasped behind her back, and she sways back and forth on her toes. "So," she starts, looking off to the side. "You guys will be partners?" Her eyes plead no as she glances back at the two of them.
Irie almost laughs at her. "We will," he says, his eyebrows lifting slightly in amusement.
Aihara deflates. She watches them for another moment, before she walks away, slowly and as silently as she came.
Matsumoto's even more surprised than she was before. "Really? You'll actually be playing with me? Not just stopping by?"
Irie lets his racket hang down until it's almost touching the ground. "I look ready to play, don't I?"
Matsumoto falters. "Well, it's just a little unusual to see you here," she admits, taking him in. He really is ready to play, wearing his clean sneakers and white shorts. He always looks handsome, she thinks, watching as the wind ruffles his hair gently. "Never mind then. I'm happy we'll be playing together," she says, smiling softly. Maybe today won't be so bad.
Matsumoto bends down to retie her sneakers, making sure they're secure by double tying them. Irie watches her, and she smiles up at him. "You should get some stretches in," she tells him, standing back up. "The rest of us have already done ours, plus, you haven't played in a while."
Irie nods, racket still in his hand. "Good idea," he replies. "I'll do that right now, while we wait."
"We should practice our stances together too," Matsumoto says, and when he nods she turns to retrieve her own racket off the ground, a little ways ahead of them.
"I'll warm up first," Irie tells her, lifting his racket up off the ground. He extends his arm out in front of him, twisting to the right. Pausing only to switch the hand that he's holding the racket with, he does the same again, holding his racket with his left hand, stretching his left arm out in front of him and twisting his body, entirely unaware of Kotoko walking up behind them again.
She's hit, whacked in the face with Irie's tennis racket.
Aihara stumbles backwards, crying out. Irie jumps at the sound, turning around quickly. Matsumoto's eyebrows raise in alarm.
"Did I hit you?" He asks her, abruptly dropping his racket. It clatters loudly as it hits the ground.
Matsumoto rushes to Aihara. Irie's already by her side.
"Are you alright?" Matsumoto asks Aihara, concern bleeding into her voice despite her best efforts. "A hit to the face with a solid metal racket is painful," she adds, gauging Irie's reaction. He's oddly calm, voice steady and still, but his eyes betray him, wide and darting around rapidly.
Irie pulls Kotoko's hands away from her face, holding them in his own. "Are you hurt? Kotoko? Are you alright?"
She yanks her hands away from his grasp, straightening herself up. "I'm fine," she says, but they can all see the tears on her reddened face. "It's my fault for not paying attention," she continues, and she swipes at her face, haphazardly. "I should be more careful!" Aihara laughs, weakly, and then she turns to leave.
"I'll go find a partner," she says to no one in particular, running off. Irie watches her leave, staring after her for a moment or two.
Matsumoto sighs. "We should probably go after her," she says, tightening her ponytail. "She doesn't seem badly injured, but an icepack never hurt." Matsumoto walks over to Irie, puts a hand on his shoulder.
"It's not your fault," she tells him, and when Irie doesn't reply she sighs out loud. "I'm sure she knows that too."
Matsumoto walks, and Irie trails behind her, his hands in his pockets. Both their rackets lay on the ground behind them, forgotten about.
As they walk, Matsumoto looks around for Sudo. He's nowhere to be seen. She shuts her eyes in frustration. Practice began twenty minutes ago. Shouldn't they start playing already? This kind of negligence is absurd and uncalled for. Really. Where is he?
She can't find Kotoko either, and after asking three people about her, they both give up. "She probably went home," Matsumoto tries, but Irie shakes his head.
"I doubt that," he says, walking ahead of her. Even with his back to her, Matsumoto can detect the slight amusement in his voice. "She's the ball girl and she still shows up to practice."
Matsumoto frowns. "Hmm. Then why didn't she show up yesterday?"
Irie pauses, turning around to glance at her. "She didn't come yesterday?"
"Don't act like this, Irie," Matsumoto says, irritated. "She was with you, all yesterday. I saw you both together," she adds, frowning at the memory.
"I didn't know she skipped," Irie replies. "She didn't say anything about practice to me."
He's being so dense, Matsumoto thinks, so close-minded and so, so dense. "Well, she skipped, and I'm telling you right now myself. Aihara went home."
Irie sighs, giving in. "Maybe she did. I don't care. Let's find Sudo," he says, walking again.
This time, Matsumoto's the one trailing after him. He walks pretty fast. They ask almost everyone on the court, receiving the same answer each time. Some even ask them about Sudo's whereabouts.
Just what is going on?
She finally makes it back to the courts, after making a full circle around the premises.
Matsumoto looks up at the still darkening sky, and she sighs. "What a waste of time," she says, holding her hand up. "It'll start raining any minute now."
Irie's run off to someplace that she doesn't know. She won't even try to track him down. The rest of the club's members walk around aimlessly, throwing tennis balls in the air and catching them. The entire place is uncoordinated, lost without a leader. She never knew Sudo's absence would be so impactful, but alas. Matsumoto doesn't know what to do.
She stretches a little bit more, surveying the area around her before she does so, not wanting another repeat of earlier. Her back aches as she bends to touch her toes, but it's a pleasant ache. Deep breathes come easy to her, and she even jogs in place for a few minutes.
She decides to take things in her own hands. It's clear no one else will step in to help.
"Everyone," she calls out, walking over to her huddled teammates. They pause their idle conversations, glancing at her. "Let's just play on our own. It doesn't look like Sudo will be coming back, and he didn't leave us with any instructions, so let's just do our own thing."
Someone groans. "We're going to do the same thing we did yesterday?"
Murmurs of dissent run through the group, and Matsumoto finds herself agreeing with them.
"I don't want to play singles either," she starts, but after one look at her teammates, she gives up.
"Never mind then," Matsumoto says. "Let's do doubles, like we've wanted."
Upon hearing the news, a few people come back from the fence's exit, having changed their mind about leaving. Matsumoto stares at them, incredulous. "Welcome back," she manages, keeping the frustration out of her voice. They really were going to skip?
It takes some time to decide who will be playing with who, and after a small squabble, it's decided that Matsumoto will be the official stand in for Sudo. She numbers everyone off, and points to their appropriate location.
Her brain swarms with the influx of numbers, but she manages to remember most of them.
Matsumoto is a little disappointed that she won't be playing, a little angry that Irie left so abruptly, and she is a little worried about Sudo. Regardless, it's clear that this responsibility has been dumped on her, so she decides that she will prevail. Even if it's not that serious, just a tennis practice.
She claps her hands once, twice, getting the attention of the groups.
"Alright. We'll make this quick and easy," Matsumoto calls out, looking squarely at each group. "We don't have a lot of time, and the weather's not the best, but I know everyone will put in their best effort. Let's make it a good game!"
They cheer and raise their rackets, and for the first time that day, Matsumoto feels appreciated. She smiles back at them, and the smile stays on her face long after the first round.
She's thankful to have a group of cooperative people. They play hard, and they play well.
After a while of surveying, Matsumoto excuses herself. "I'll be back," she tells the Team Captain. "Take over for me while I'm gone."
He nods, gives her a thumbs-up. Matsumoto quickly walks indoors, heading for the restroom. The restrooms on this side of the building are much cleaner, much more modern than the ones in the science department, for some odd reason.
In these bathrooms, there's not a line either, like there always is in the science toilets during the morning. That's another thing she dislikes about having morning classes; virtually everyone's got to pee out their coffee.
She finishes up quickly, wincing at how loud the flusher sounds. It's ear deafening, especially in such a small enclosed place. She steps out of the stall and walks over to the mirror, checking her makeup. It's minimal; anything heavy she'll end up sweating off. Her makeup isn't waterproof, she doesn't trust those kinds.
Thankfully, her lip tint is still vibrant, and her eyebrows are smoothed. She smiles at her reflection. Even the slight flush on her cheeks are natural, giving her that glowy, gently sun-kissed look.
Matsumoto hears a shuffling noise. So there is someone else here, she thinks warily, washing her hands slowly. She's less relaxed and more on edge. Matsumoto keeps her head down as the other person unlocks the stall, tearing her gaze away from the mirror quickly.
The person sniffles, loudly. Matsumoto glances to the side, slightly disgusted. She'd rather not catch a mysterious illness.
Another sniff, and Matsumoto frowns, deciding to leave. She takes one last glance up at the mirror, sees Aihara.
Matsumoto feels like screaming.
"What are you doing here?" She asks, turning from the sink. Her wet hands drip onto the floor and onto her shoes. Matsumoto moves her hands away from her shoes. They get soaked easily; she can't have that. "Have you been here, sitting in the bathroom this whole time?"
Aihara glances up at her, as if she's just now registering Matsumoto's presence. She nods, walking over to the vacant sink.
"You weren't going to home?"
Still silent, Aihara shakes her head, peering into the mirror. Her eyes are rimmed red, and some hair strands stick out of her once neat buns.
Matsumoto shuts her eyes in frustration.
"Listen," she huffs. "Stop crying and come back to the court. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Go to the nurse's office and grab an icepack on your way back."
Matsumoto glances at Aihara once, not even knowing if she's paying attention at all. She brushes past Aihara, moving over to the tissue dispenser to tear off a paper napkin. "I really don't have time for this," she mutters, drying her hands.
"I'm sorry," Aihara says, her voice small, even smaller in the almost empty bathroom. Her words reach Matsumoto's ears, but Matsumoto ignores her.
Like she did me, Matsumoto thinks, bitterly.
"Where's Sudo?" She asks, refusing to acknowledge Aihara's meek apology.
Aihara pauses. Her confusion is obvious. "Sudo…?"
"Yes," Matsumoto says, her anger finally peaking. She's had it up to here with dense people.
Aihara stares at Matsumoto. Her face is blank. She sniffs.
"You both left around the same time," Matsumoto explains, stiffly. She furrows her eyebrows. "You both left at the same time," she repeats, taking a step away from the garbage can. Only her napkin is in the garbage, a crumbled white speck against grey. "Where is he?"
"How would I know where he is? I was here the whole time," Kotoko says, crossing her arms. "Isn't he supposed to be with you guys?"
Matsumoto stares at her. "You couldn't have been here the whole time. We played multiple games. What else were you doing?"
"I told you, I was here the whole — "
"Well, I don't believe that! It doesn't make any sense. You leaving, Sudo leaving, Irie leaving, none of it makes sense! I need a straightforward answer," Matsumoto demands, glaring at Aihara. "Stop lying to me."
"Irie left?"
Matsumoto stares at her. She is silent for a moment, before she swallows, hard. "Forget it," she tells Aihara. "Just forget it. I'll do everything myself."
She storms out of the bathroom, pushing open the heavy door. Her sneakers slap against the concrete, and when Matsumoto looks up at the booming sky, she sees that it's raining. Hard.
As she runs, she's saved for a little bit, ducking underneath booths with overhead ceilings.
Once she approaches the court, green grass and a long fence coming into view, she's soaked.
Her hair clings to her face, and her uniform clings to her body. She runs, feeling her shoes fill up with water, squelching disgustingly. They're as good as ruined, Matsumoto thinks, dreading the idea of going back to the department store to purchase new ones.
She curses herself, chides herself, beats herself up for not being prepared.
Even so. She didn't know she'd be staying after this long, and she definitely didn't expect everyone to leave her. Abandon her.
The court is empty. No one is there. Even the team captain, whom she'd been relying on, fled.
She thinks of Aihara, randomly, wondering if she'll be expecting Irie to come save her from the rain (even in the girls' restroom!) and again, when she spots her own racket, still left on the ground from earlier, she's reminded of Aihara.
It is that moment when Matsumoto decides to banish all thoughts of Aihara from her mind, for good.
She glances around the dark courts, aided only by the flickering, tall, mounted light. Matsumoto turns around, once, twice, squinting as far as she can see, searching for his racket. Her head spins as she turns all the way around, searching frantically behind her now, her long hair, tangled and dripping now, clinging to her back.
The thought can't be true. It can't be, she doesn't want it to be true, it isn't true, but it's true.
He's come back to pick up his racket, she thinks, Irie's come back. He came back to the court to retrieve his racket, and he left me!
The memory of both their rackets lying on the court, a ways apart from each other, burns in her mind. Just the thought of Aihara makes her vision blur. The imagined thought of Irie coming back, spotting her racket and simply leaving makes her body still. The memory of Irie holding Aihara's hands tightly while she watches makes drops of water drip down her cheeks.
It's just the rain, she tells herself, wiping her wet sleeve against her wet cheek. It's just the rain, she tells herself as she straightens, still towering over her racket.
She picks it up, pulling on the string. It's weak. When she lets go, there's barely any resistance.
She thinks of nothing at all as she walks back to the science building, in the opposite direction of the sports bathrooms. She doesn't dare think of Irie, or Aihara, or Sudo, or her teacher, or her homework.
They're nothing to her.