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Rondo to Destruction

mbsilvanayahoo.com

Disclaimer: Very not mine. Someone else's sandbox.

Note: I blame the certain someone who got me thinking on what would happen when the two most egotistical TnO characters met. I play a bit with canon to make it work (someone implies they do play in the consolation game in a throwaway sentence during the Hyotei Arc), but they're both favorites of mine so I had to write it like this.

PART ONE

It was a battle of egos, and there could be no winners, only survivors.

Atobe Keigo couldn't remember the first time he saw the other. In the tennis circuit, they crossed paths many times, and he supposed it would have had to be sometime early in his third year of junior high, when Mizuki Hajime became the coach for St. Rudolph's. But to be honest, Atobe at that time had other things on his mind, and he was single-minded to the point of obsessiveness. That year, he had been determined to defeat Tezuka, and all others had faded into the background. Period. Nothing else mattered.

St. Rudolph's and Hyotei played in the consolation match of districts, but Atobe didn't really pay attention. The other hadn't had a chance to play, since Hyotei had swept the games with two doubles and the third singles match. He had a vague memory of the player-manager swearing, but that had been irrelevant.

Of course, it was inevitable they meet. They went to the same places, moved in the same circles. It was only a question of how they reacted to each other when they finally spoke. Most people, had they thought on it, would have wagered on instant warfare. Both of them were arrogant, vain and amazingly egotistical, but also used to dominating everyone else in their vicinity. Two dominant type A personalities, two alpha males, two predators, two manipulative bastards... all of those descriptions fit.

What did happen, though, surprised everyone, Mizuki and Atobe most of all.

Street tennis was interesting to Atobe for one reason only: it beat staying inside.

The players on the courts were rarely able to challenge him, though there would be an occasional college player wandering by who managed to give him a decent work out. Still, he hadn't lost any match he had played there. It was on one of those slow days, when none of the truly talented players had made an appearance, that Atobe noticed him.

He was wearing his school uniform, sitting thoughtfully on the side of the court, along with all of the other spectators. Atobe was used to gathering a crowd, and loved reveling in their amazement and adoration.

This boy, though, was watching him was different eyes. He recognized the look, one of being dissected and analyzed - it was a particular strength of his, so how could he not?

Atobe glanced over at the other, trying to remember his name. It wasn't coming to him, which wasn't surprising. There were many players on the junior high circuit, many who wanted to challenge and rise about him. Atobe didn't bother remembering many.

It didn't really matter.

He leaned back, tossing the ball into the air, feeling the thrill of the match point for a perfect set. He hadn't dropped a point yet, and he knew that this was going to be an ace. His opponent was too scared of him, too intimidated, to have the will to fight back.

He could see it.

When his racquet struck, he smiled a bit, knowing that the ball would fly to the corner of the court. Sure enough, it landed with perfect accuracy on the white line, and the match was him.

"Game and match, Atobe!" called the make-shift referee. The crowd burst into applause, chanting his name.

He smirked a bit. It was the fourth game he'd won in straight points, showcasing his amazing skills. The players here were all below him, hardly worth bothering with. He nodded at his opponent, going to the side to get a drink. He wasn't really thirsty, but maintaining his body condition was important.

"You're careless," a voice said, jerking him out of his self-satisfied mood.

He turned around, not at all surprised to see the other sitting on the bench beside him, leaning forward a bit. Atobe didn't like being insulted, but the other had a challenging posture, the attitude of one who didn't care who he annoyed - hell, he probably delighted in it.

It takes one to know one, and Atobe recognized a kindred spirit.

Around them, people cleared away, sensing an imminent disaster. Even if they didn't know both players, knowing one was enough to realize that getting him riled was a mistake.

Atobe quirked his eyebrow. "Really."

"There was no need to go to the corner," the other boy said thoughtfully. "You waste your energy needlessly."

"I did it because I could," Atobe said. Which was true, after a fashion. He was surprised, a bit, that anyone would dare question what he did on the court.

The other just tilted his head, finding a strand of long hair to twist between his fingers.

"Really," the other said, echoing Atobe's tone from a moment before. The blue-gray eyes met Atobe's, and seemed highly amused. "See you around, Atobe-kun."

Atobe watched him leave, wondering. He couldn't, for the life of him, remember what the St. Rudolph's player's name was.

He was a bit surprised that he wanted to.

They met again at nationals.

It was Seigaku versus Fudomine. It should have been Seigaku versus Hyotei, but Fudomine had surprised them back in district preliminaries, and luck of the draw had thrown the Seigaku and Hyotei against each other far too early.

Atobe was still a bit bitter about it. He should have been playing Tezuka today, in front of this crowd, which was four times the size of what the crowd had been at the first match.

As he watched the singles one match, Echizen versus Tachibana, he felt a twinge of guilt for what had happened to Tezuka. Tezuka hadn't played since his match against him. He had gone to Germany, and now he was being replaced by the freshman brat.

Though the brat was impressive - maybe even worthy of all the attention he was getting.

Twist spin serve, a super rising return by Tachibana, then Echizen using Tezuka's zeroshiki... Echizen was an all-rounder, all right. It made his fingers itch for his own racquet. In the boy's play he could see the future of tennis, and it thrilled him. Tezuka had shaped a superior player.

If only he was playing today.

"Tachibana isn't going to win," a thoughtful voice said, and Atobe turned to see a boy leaning forward, dangerously close to the rail's edge.

It was him again - and Atobe still couldn't remember his name.

"No. Echizen will surpass him, and use him as a stepping stone to the next level," Atobe replied.

"He's annoying like that," the other stated.

"Have you played him?" Atobe asked.

"No," the other said, falling back into his seat neatly. His hand rose, and the index finger and thumb again began to dance around a lock of inky hair.

Atobe's eyes, the ones that saw through so much, found the gesture fascinating.

"Deuce!" came the call from the court. "Game Echizen, five games to four!"

"He'll break the game now," the other said. "He's learned everything Tachibana can throw at him. Now he'll want to finish."

Atobe had to agree. Echizen learned by watching others, then figuring out counters that made their heads spin from sheer disbelief. Prodigy didn't even begin to cover what he was.

Well, Atobe intended on thoroughly beating him down, once they inevitably played.

But right now, he had someone else to worry about. The boy was STILL twirling his hair in that maddening fashion, watching the game with a bit of smug satisfaction.

"Who are you?" Atobe asked.

The other's eyebrow twitched in irritation, apparently annoyed that Atobe didn't recognize him. "Mizuki. Mizuki Hajime."

"St. Rudolph's manager," Atobe said in recognition, snapping his fingers.

"Yes," Mizuki said. "But since I'm graduating soon, I'm going to retire to work on my grades next month."

"40-30, Echizen lead!"

"Game point. This should be interesting," Mizuki said, leaning forward.

Atobe turned his eyes back to the game, watching as Echizen switched the ball to his right hand so he could perform a left-handed serve. "No twist serve?" he wondered.

"He's going to pull some stunning move out of his hat," Mizuki said. "He always does, to totally destroy his opponent's rhythm."

The ball dropped, and Echizen served it underhanded. "The disappearing serve!" Atobe whispered. He hadn't seen it since Jiro's match with Fuji, but it was unmistakable. "Did Fuji teach it to him?"

"Probably not," Mizuki replied. "Fuji doesn't share his secrets."

If Atobe had been paying attention, he would have heard Mizuki's bitterness, but he was too interested in the game.

Maybe it would have been easier later if he had notice.

Tachibana was better prepared than Jiro had been. He stepped forward and slightly to the side, managing to hit the ball perfectly, sending it racing towards the left side of the court.

"Leave it to Tachibana-senpai!" Atobe heard the Fudomine students cheer, but he knew better. Tachibana had just sealed his doom.

"He fell right in," Mizuki said, voicing his thoughts. "NOW."

And Echizen moved, his feet barely touching the ground as he slid under the ball...

Drive B? Atobe wondered, then realized something was wrong.

The crack of the ball against the gut of the racket silenced the entire crowd as the ball cleared the net with incredible power. Its spin, though, was strange... Striking the ground, the ball came to a perfect stop where it landed.

The crowd cheered, but Atobe merely smiled. It looked like Seigaku's amazing first year had picked up another trick... maybe he would be worth playing.

Mizuki watch, scratching his chin. "Interesting. In a year, I don't think anyone will be able to beat him."

Atobe looked at the other, seriously affronted. "I'm here."

"His rate of growth far exceeds yours. It's exponential," Mizuki replied. "You're good, but you've gotten complacent without Tezuka around."

Atobe glared at him, ready to say exactly what he thought of that, but Mizuki was already walking away.

They didn't see each other again until their first year of high school, which was probably a good thing. Atobe didn't think his temper could handle it.

There were few people who could well and truly get under his skin, but Mizuki had managed to after two meetings. Each time he had slyly insulted him, never quite crossing the line. Atobe was used to head games, but he hated it when people started playing them with him.

Well, turnabout was fair play.

They met at the newcomers tournament the high schools were holding, designed to showcase the talent of the freshman. What had happened in junior high was irrelevant; now they were preparing for the pros, or for failure.

Atobe knew where he was going.

He had entered Hyotei's affiliated high school, like most of his team. The program was designed to train from elementary to college, producing some of the best tennis players in the country - and Atobe was one of the best to come through in a long time. Training, combine with raw talent, had produced an athlete many were looking toward to reignite Japan's tennis on the world-wide field.

When they weren't looking at Tezuka Kunimitsu.

Tezuka had finally returned, and people were anticipating a rematch of the two at this tournament. Atobe and the Seigaku student - Tezuka had entered his school's associated high school as well - had been placed in opposite brackets, and Atobe wondered who would win this time.

Was Tezuka out of practice?

Or had his time off helped him gain new perspective?

Either could be true.

The cheering from B Court caught his attention, and he allowed himself to be distracted. Sometimes watching other players relaxed him. Without thinking about it, he went to the fence to take a look. There were only eight players left in the tournament, so it should be a good match.

He was a bit startled to see Mizuki actually wearing a tennis uniform, holding onto a racquet. He had never realized the other was that good, to make it this far.

But he was totally outclassed by his opponent, Fuji Syuusuke.

Fuji was smiling predatorily, and Atobe had to repress a shiver. He wasn't scared of anyone, but Fuji made him uneasy. No one should smile that blasted often.

Mizuki's face, in contrast, wore a look of extreme frustration. His scowl was plain ferocious as he served the ball, aiming for the left corner. Atobe noted that his accuracy was excellent - but Fuji anticipated it, managing to be in place at the right time.

He almost heard the bird's shriek as Fuji performed a flawless swallow return. Another serve, a strong backhand in response... Mizuki going to the net... and the bear drop.

Atobe almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

He watched, evaluating both, and decided that Mizuki was a very good technical player, but lacked imagination. Fuji, though... well, there was a reason he was called a genius.

The match lasted another five minutes. Fuji was playing seriously, apparently determined to thoroughly crush Mizuki.

When Fuji was declared the inevitable winner, Atobe thought Mizuki was going to explode... but the look Fuji gave Mizuki turned Atobe's blood to ice.

Atobe was relieved that Fuji would have to play Tezuka in the quarterfinals before coming up against him. He was confidant in his skills, but no sane person wanted to deal with Fuji when he was in a mood. Everyone knew it wasn't a good idea to piss Fuji off.

It seemed like Mizuki had.

Mizuki stormed off the court, not even bothering to store his racquet.

Atobe would have let the incident go, but something about the dynamics between Fuji and Mizuki had roused his curiosity. Besides, he had another match to wait through before he was up for his quarter-final match.

He made his way over to the fuming Mizuki, amused to note that everyone else was giving the St. Rudolph's player a wide berth.

"That was a spectacular game," Atobe said. "Very educational."

Mizuki just leveled a glare on him that would have made him keel over dead, if looks could kill. "I don't appreciate being mocked."

"Who said I was mocking you?" Atobe asked innocently. "It was. It confirmed my opinion that pissing Fuji Syuusuke off is as good as slitting your own throat."

Mizuki's look turned even more poisonous. "If you're done telling me what I already know, I'm going to go hit some balls to vent."

Atobe shouldered his bag. "I'll go with you. I need to warm up for my next match."

Mizuki's eyes narrowed. "If you insist."

The two walked together in silence, casting wary looks at each other. It was like having riding a tiger... thrilling, but not daring to get off for fear of being eaten alive.

"Here looks good," Atobe said. "Can you handle two balls at once?"

Mizuki looked insulted. "It's not that hard." He drew a ball out of his pocket and held it up challengingly. "I'm ready when you are."

Atobe smirked at him, and countered by drawing out his own racquet and producing another ball. Without warning, he hit it firmly, bouncing it in the center. The exercise was about speed and timing, and after playing a game with Fuji, Mizuki should have been a little off. But he managed to his ball to Atobe at the right time, and soon the two balls were whizzing back in forth in an almost hypnotic rhythm.

Atobe was impressed despite himself. Mizuki was a good player, just a few steps below him. His racquet never failed to hit the ball's sweet spot. Still, he had been thoroughly trounced by Fuji, who Atobe was convinced he could defeat, so...

He saw it.

A player who had mastered the basics, but didn't have the sheer natural talents to become a professional. Mizuki played with his head, but skill and wit only carried a person so far. There needed to be a certain something, that special gift, to raise a player to the heights Atobe was climbing, and Mizuki didn't have it, and never would.

But there were few players of his caliber. Tezuka... and possibly Echizen. Kiruhara, Tachibana and Fuji were following close behind, and he knew some other players were developing toward him, but he doubted that they would ever be caught.

"I'm looking forward to your match against Tezuka today," Mizuki said. "I wonder who will win?"

"I will," Atobe said, ignoring the bait and refusing to get angry.

Mizuki smiled as he continued to his practice. "Will you? Can you defeat a whole Tezuka?"

"I defeated him once," Atobe said, speaking calmly.

"And took him out. But there's no weakness this time."

Atobe just smirked. "You're not one of those people who blames me for injuring him, are you?"

Mizuki shook his head. "Anything to win, Atobe. The game is meaningless if you lose." A sly smile curled on his lips. "Besides, I don't need to blame you for nearly destroying the career of one of the most promising tennis players of the decade before it had a chance to begin. You blame yourself more than anyone else could."

It was only through his rigid discipline that he managed to hit the next ball. He glared fiercely, trying to think of something coherent to say that wouldn't sound like a whining denial.

His reaction satisfied Mizuki, who fielded the ball lightly before shoving it back into his pocket. Atobe grabbed his ball as well, scowling. He opened his mouth to deny he felt anything like regret, but Mizuki spoke first.

"I think I relieved some of my stress. I think I'll go watch the rest of the games," he said, turning his back towards Atobe.

This time, if looks could kill, Mizuki would have been the one to drop dead under the fire of Atobe's eyes.

After that, they began to circle each other like wary hawks.

Atobe was on the fast track to being a pro, while Mizuki was sculpting a strong team, despite only have mediocre players. St. Rudolph's ace would be Fuji Yuuta, but he was still in junior high. So Mizuki was spending the year building, biding his time.

The next time they ran into each other, Atobe was prepared to be taunted. He had a few choice words ready for the manipulative player, and was fully ready to use them.

St. Rudolph's had just defeated Fudomine, which wasn't that much of a triumph. This year's team was weak, since Tachibana and his team were all still in junior high.

"How was your warm up?" he asked, coming up from behind Mizuki.

Mizuki had been in the singles 3 slot, and had taken the win. His skin was barely damp, and he gave Atobe a look. "Pretty good. We've secured a seat in prefectural tournament," he said. "Is Hyotei using its regulars today?"

Atobe nodded. "After last year, both the junior high and high school have learned to use their normal line ups," he said. "Singles 2, before you ask."

"Someone is better than you?" Mizuki asked mockingly. "Aside from Tezuka?"

"I'm not eligible to be captain until second term," Atobe said. "When I am, I'll be Singles 1. And Tezuka isn't better than I am... I was having an off day. We're currently one for one."

It was still bitter, the last game with Tezuka. He should have won. He had one the last time, and Tezuka had been off from not playing for six months.

"I watched your game," Mizuki said. He leaned back against a nearby tree, settling in.

"Nearly everyone did," Atobe said condescendingly. "I am considered to be one of the best hopes for Japanese tennis, after all."

He really should just walk away, he knew, but he was determined to get the better of Mizuki. So far he'd always come off the worse in their exchanges, which didn't make sense to him. Mizuki was very intelligent, but then so was he. There was no reason he shouldn't manage to win one of their verbal battles.

"Have you figured out why you lost yet?"

Atobe had been turning that question over in his head. He remembered the score, 5-5, until Tezuka finally took one of Atobe's service games. He hadn't been tired, and the pace had been brisk. He hadn't drawn it out, but instead had made it hard and fast, unable to keep from being drawn into the intense pace...

Zeroshiki. The blasted dropshot, the ball rolling towards the net... and the unbreakable Tezuka zone.

"I should have gone for a long game," Atobe said. "It's obvious."

Mizuki sighed. "I don't see why you're so vaunted for your perception when you can't even see your own mistakes. Did you want to lose?"

"I-" Atobe began, ready to strangle to other. "You're an idiot! No one plays to lose!"

"Then why didn't you use the Rondo to Destruction?" Mizuki asked. He held up his left hand, mimicking holding the tennis racquet. "Right here...."he said, pointing at his hand. "If you had taken out Tezuka's racquet, you could have won - but you weren't ruthless enough. That's not like you - is there some reason you didn't use it?"

Atobe was at a loss for words - he didn't have an answer. Every time he talked to Mizuki, it was like being forced to drink a bottle of brandy without pausing for breath. "I don't like you," he said.

"The feeling is quite mutual."

END PART ONE