Author's Notes: Well, I guess it's about time that I haul all the chapters that have been sitting in my computer for quite sometime now and not keep you guys hanging as to how this story ends. Even though I don't really like how this fic has turned out - compared to my other more recent works, I mean - I'm still proud because this is the first CGT fic I've ever written. Yah-huh, I was so daring to pull off something like this. Anyway, here you go... the final six chapters. Enjoy (and review) please!

Chapter Sixteen: Flourishing Friendship

The sound that dominated the Marumes' apartment that day was silence. In fact, it was the sound that had been lurking in their temporary home ever since Kuroudo returned home from his first surgery --- which, unfortunately, turned out to be a failure, for the most part. The doctors couldn't explain how it could've happened, but the blonde young man remained unable to hear anything, despite the fact that the buzzing sound had considerably lessened. Not giving up on the situation, they proposed that he undergo a series of check-ups at another hospital, then perhaps undergo a second surgery. Hopefully, they would succeed by then.

What struck the family most was that the doctors made clear that it would take a miracle for the second operation to actually succeed. Kuroudo didn't hear them say that, of course, as he was still unconscious during the time they broke the news, but his mother's unusual silence and more-than-frequent sobbing sprees were enough to let him know that his condition was severe. Although he tried not to let his illness take the best of him, he found himself sinking into the ocean of depression once more. The negative emotions he had managed to keep away at a considerable distance were beginning to latch themselves back into his heart: anger, resentment, frustration, hostility, sadness, hopelessness, and so much more.

It was definitely not good. All he had left was his fighting spirit, but even that was beginning to disintegrate. If he wouldn't have the willpower to keep on fighting, how, then, could a miracle possibly occur?

He wanted to shed tears, but he was well aware that it would do him no good. Besides, there was no need for another emotional wreck in the family. It was already hard having to put up with two women whose emotional levels were soaring above maximum. And that left him one last option; that is, to put on a mask. A mask to hide his true feelings. A mask for him to be what he isn't. A mask for him to appear brave and strong. A mask for him to appear hopeful and optimistic. Even if, deep inside, he wasn't.

The door of his room opened, and Natsuuko slid in, carefully balancing a package the size of a shoebox in her hands. He normally would send any intruder away, but she had been of so much help to him that he couldn't possibly treat her as a stranger. So instead of scowling at her, whatsoever, he pulled further back into his bed, clearing up a space for her to take, and motioned that she take her seat. He didn't smile, but the gesture was more than enough to let her know that she was already welcome to crash into his room.

"The mailman just dropped this off. It's for you," she said slowly, handing him the package gingerly. She then sat down on the space he offered, allowing the softness of the mattresses to comfort her as well. "It's from your best friend."

Wondering what it could possibly be, he quickly but carefully opened the parcel. It contained three things --- a letter, hurriedly written on a one-fourth piece of bond paper; a neatly and securely folded tracing paper; and another box, which seemed to contain a combination of plastic and metal things. He first took the letter, and to his surprise, what was scribbled on it was very short, definitely written in a rush.

It read: For my best friend, the next World Cup Champion.

Kuroudo immediately knew what else was there. The tracing paper was the blueprint of his new Gear, and the box contained all the parts he would ever need. His best friend made it all, just for him. He felt tears coming to his eyes at the thought that, once again, the great Gear Master Kyousuke Jin sacrificed himself for his best friend's sake, yet with that came the harsh reality that it wasn't going to be of any use. No matter how hard he'd try, he would only bring defeat to the Tobita Club. He became a Gear Fighting prodigy because of his hearing, but that gift of his had been taken away from him. He was no champion; he was a sitting duck just waiting to be crushed.

"You're not thinking of not assembling that, are you?"

As if in response to her inquiry, which he most probably was unable to decode correctly as he had looked down at the package mid-sentence, he put the things he had been sent back together in the shoebox just like how they had been placed when he first opened it. Then, he took the parcel, shoved it under his bed to join the dust and debris, and looked back at his friend to inquire, "You were asking?"

Her surprise at what he did took quite a while to wear off. She never expected him to go around bouncing happily at what he received, of course, as it was, in a way, a painful reminder of a past he may not be able to cherish again, but to put it away just like that? She expected better from him, he who managed to recover from his bouts of depression when everyone else was still at it. "Your Gear," she answered, carefully choosing the words to use as she asked him about it yet again. "Aren't you going to assemble it?"

"There's no need. I'm not competing World Cup. I'm sending back to someone can use it," he told her nonchalantly with a wave of his hand in apparent dismissal. He then grabbed a book from the nearby table, turned on the desk lamp and leaned back against the comfortable pillows to read, ignoring --- trying to ignore, that is --- his interpreter who only observed him in silence. Feeling her gaze upon him, he lifted the book higher to cover his face and therefore block his view of her. He couldn't kick her out of his room even if he wanted to, but he could make her do it by herself.

But she didn't want to leave without knocking some sense into his depression-infested mind. Not caring what he'd say or even do to her, she went up to him and abruptly grabbed the book he was reading. Blue eyes met black, and just when he was about to say something to rebuke her for what she did, she asked in an accusing tone, "Are you running away again?"

He glared in reply. "What if I am? I'm only trying be brave."

"By running away?"

"By running away so I won't be cause of defeat," the blonde stated with much firmness in his voice, before he seized the book from her grasp and resumed reading. He didn't know whether she would understand him or not, but it no longer mattered. He had made his side clear and explained his actions; it was up to her to empathize, if she had the heart to.

She was about to protest once more, but she couldn't find the words to rebuke him. It was because she understood what he meant. It wasn't the best decision, but for a perfectionist who cared so much about dignity and victory, the move made perfect sense. There was only one flaw. "But you can't run away forever," she continued, pulling the book away from his flaxen face as she stared into his expressive eyes of Mediterranean blue. "You know that. You'll have to face your demons one day."

He looked defeated, though he'd never admit it, of course. "What you want me to do?"

At that, she jumped out of his bed and fumbled for the package that he had hidden underneath it. When she finally pulled the parcel his best friend sent him and placed it back in front of him, she sat back down and advised with a soft smile, "Be prepared."