Author Notes: After almost a year-and-half completely forgetting this fic exist, I finally come with an update. No, just joking. I'm not forgetting it. It's just that now I have a very different conception about the story in this fic and that made me not update it for a quite long time. I make changes here and there, so some may my fic different somehow. The previous chapters I cannot change of course (and I'm too lazy to rewrite them), so I'll just let them be and try to stay on the track. Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews. Hope you still enjoy this new chapter.
DISCLAIMER: Still not mine.
WARNING:
For the entire story: (read in the first chapter)
For this particular chapter: Between PG and PG-13
Unattainable
Author: SIB
Chapter Ten : The Last Blow
Seigaku High School; Tennis Courts
October 20 – 17:27 p.m.
Words spoke many, but eyes did more so. Standing with some metres spared between him and the court's sideline, Tezuka fell in agreement with the given theory for this once. It wasn't that he saw eyes literally staring at him with apparent loathing in them; he felt them, quite clearly somehow, but of course mind would always be the finest trickster the world ever had.
Regardless of what could possibly rouse his uneasiness, he felt another wave of emotion as he swept his gaze across the lively courts in their evening practice. Lighter yet more bitter, a stinging wonder, close to admiration of a little boy to an adroit magician.
It was a fact that one of the quickest and most effective ways to train a good actor was by letting him to join I2. Currently he was looking at a group of actors, each had an acting quality more than average, living up their roles as members of a high school's tennis club, laughing, doing their regular exercises, and showing a decent amount of sympathy for two of their teammates who were more unfortunate and unable to join today's practice. Of course perfection wasn't achievable in this case – Kikumaru jabbered less than usual, Echizen became slightly more vicious, and Oishi was actually letting others to mother-hen Arai who was a victim to Echizen's newly-acquired viciousness – but it still could pass a mere outsider's eyes as a normal afternoon training.
But there was one among them, the finest and the most irreproachable of actors that he wouldn't dream of meeting even in Broadway. Everything about him was impeccable – the serene rather pitiless character of his role, the imperturbable smile of one who knew his place well, the carefree way of playing tennis without the slightest concern for this world. No one would see him and say Fuji wasn't behaving as himself.
The former heir of the Fuji clan sure was exceptional.
Tezuka, of all people, would know how hard it was these few days for the tennis tensai. Unconcealed hostility was all he got from most of his fellow workers in I2 and every so often it would lead to a brawl if any of the Seigaku members were in the vicinity. Some of them even went as far as calling him a slut, obviously referring to his relationship with the First Vice. But Fuji, carrying out his role as carefree as usual, chose to give them a small reply in return with a smile that might seem harmless on someone other's lips. It would still end with a brawl all the same.
If Fuji had taken offense to what they said, he had never said a word about it. Sometimes even Tezuka found himself wondering how someone's level of self-control could be so untouchably high, despite his own advanced one.
From the corner of his eyes, the captain glanced at his watch. Practice should be over five minutes ago but Ryuzaki-sensei didn't seem to realize, her eyes fixed to the court. She undoubtedly realized what her boys were going up against and her gaze strayed often to her tennis tensai. Oddly, none of the boys seemed to be aware of the time as well, all too absorbed in what they were engaging. Tezuka cleared his throat and had just taken a step forward to remind their coach when something seemed to snap her from her pensive state. Ryuzaki-sensei sent him an apologizing look then signaled her team that practice had ended.
As if the curtain had been closed after a play, heavy tension vanished from the air as soon as the whistle echoed in the court. There was a look of utter relief on Kikumaru's face as he shouldered his racket and left the court, for once not waiting for his double partner. Echizen had long since vanishing into the changing room and a moment later reappeared in his school uniform, dashing to the school gate. Tezuka could practically see worry on the face under the brim of a white cap when the youngest regular ran past him, mumbling something unintelligible.
Leaving his vice-captain to manage the court, Tezuka headed to the changing room. Inside, a low buzz of talking was maintained mostly by the second-years. It was nice to be oblivious, the captain heard his mind told him as he crossed the room to his own locker, next to Fuji's. It slightly surprised him how sour his mood was – to even provoke such notion – and he forced himself to concentrate on the conversation the prodigy was having with Kikumaru about turtles.
It was when a small envelope fell to the floor.
"Eh? What is this?" Tezuka heard Kikumaru's voice as the acrobatic player leaned down to pick the envelope up. The name written on its front part made him exclaim loudly, voice amused and ecstatic at the same time. "Fuji gets a love letter! Again!"
Tezuka couldn't help but to take a small glance at said letter. The soft violet colour and a calligraphically neat handwriting that was rare to find in girls nowadays caught his attention at once. Oddly, rather than a surge of discomfort, he felt an unfamiliar feeling of sympathy to Fuji. The prodigy's smile, he noticed, also had a touch of melancholy in it, unperturbed by Kikumaru's enthusiastic guessing. Stanch in his respect of personal space, Tezuka diverted his eyes and continued his own undressing, while Fuji was persuading the acrobatic player to do the same.
He had just finished buttoning up his uniform when Oishi came in to the room and was immediately assailed by fusillade of protests from Kikumaru about how cruel Fuji was for refusing to let him see the love letter. Half- listening to the rambling, Tezuka cast a glance to gauge Fuji's reaction and to his astonishment, the prodigy had vanished from his side. The sound of hurried footsteps turned his attention just in time for him to catch a glimpse of Fuji running past the bewildered Oishi and disappeared behind the clubroom door.
"What's that about?" the vice-captain asked, first to his double partner, then settling Tezuka with a questioning gaze. The latter gave no response as he quickly shuffled forward and stepped outside, glancing around to find that the prodigy was nowhere in sight. His heart tightened in his chest, now recalling when Fuji had acted similarly and the bombing report he had received afterward. Paying no heed of the questions delivered at him, he trotted back inside and searched for the letter – no doubt it was the trigger – but discovered that not even the envelope had been discarded. Fuji, even with all his rush, had perfectly left no vestige to trace, as expected from one with his kind of bringing up.
"Something happened, Tezuka?"
It was Kikumaru. His face clearly spelled anxiety and a hint of anticipation he rarely showed but during missions. Finally noticing that all pair of eyes seemed to be directed at him, he answered in a low voice, "We must search for Fuji now. Divide all of you in pairs; no one should go alone. Inform Echizen about this and have someone to watch over Kawamura."
Accustomed to the captain's few words, the remaining regulars asked no further explanation and hurried to finish what they were doing. Grabbing for his bag, Tezuka rushed to the door, momentarily blind to the astonished looks the underclassmen were shooting him. He gave Oishi a fleeting look, to which the vice-captain nodded in acknowledgment. Before the door closed behind him, he could catch a few instructions Oishi was giving out to the others; it would be well with him in charge.
Unsure of where to start, he ran to his house to take a car, all the way making calls to everywhere he suspected Fuji would be at. His mother said the prodigy had not come home yet, the headquarter declared that the special agent had yet to appear there today, and Yuuta hadn't have a sight of him since this morning. No news, no incongruity. None at all.
It was when he tossed his cell phone to the passenger seat, hands busily igniting his car, when the phone rang its typical monotonous ringing. The name that appeared on the screen froze him momentarily. Of course, this was bound to happen. After all, this incident was similar to the last.
"Yes?" His tone was tentative but weary, knowing that it was not good news he was about to hear. Then again, Atsushi rarely conveyed to him anything which didn't demand his grave, immediate attention.
"Sir, there is a fire at Shinjuku. It is a mansion of twenty-four-floors high. The source is unknown but we assume that it is deliberate since five minutes ago, the headquarter received a phone call hinting about this incident."
His blood chilled
"Shinjuku? Where is it actually?"
Atsushi mentioned a sequence of a well-known address which Tezuka immediately recognized; a grand, luxurious mansion, the haven of the affluent, and if his memory served him right, also one of many dwellings in the possession of the wealthy, powerful families.
Abandoning his cell phone, he gripped the steering wheel and had the car running in its maximum speed as drops of cold sweat broke on his forehead.
The Mansion at Shinjuku; Parking Lot
October 20 – 18:06 p.m.
It was a nightmare.
Fuji stared, breath coming as short ragged gasps after the long run, feet trembling yet still stubbornly holding up his body erect and hands clenching into a pair of angry fists. The sight before his eyes was appalling; tongues of flame soaring high into the sky, coloring the twilight with blazing crimson shades and converting pristine white wall into a nauseating blend of grey and scarlet, as people hurried themselves to escape or merely stood nearby, stupefied in front of the catastrophe. Panic shouting, frightened screaming, and loud sobbing heightened the moment of havoc, but Fuji only stared.
How could his family do this to him– no, to all of the people – only to take their revenge on him?
Stirred by anger, he broke out of the numbness into a slow walk, which quickly ascended into a rapid sprint. There were alien voices calling out to him, hands trying to prevent his run, but the prodigy could hardly spare his attention. It was locked to the topmost floor of the burning-down mansion. A room he had so frequently visited until a year ago. A bed he had – if chances had allowed him – slept upon until a precious memory was taken away from him.
Atobe.
The first wave of smoke hit him hard once he entered the mansion, filling his lungs, suffocating him. Repressing a tingling sensation in the back of his throat, he reached the emergency stairways and started to make his long way up. Climbing twenty-three flights of stairs sounded rather discouraging and there was no guarantee that his feet would be able to match the rate of the mansion crumbling, but he didn't really see any other choice. Of course there was a slight chance that Atobe wasn't here but Fuji seriously doubted that his family would commit such grave mistake.
With feet almost collapsing beneath him, he pushed open the last door at the end of the stairs. Up here, the temperature was becoming unbearable and still he pressed forward. Following a corridor he only dimly remembered amidst heat and smoke, he arrived on a wide lounge – or so it had been before the flames had begun to demolish the better part of it. He almost couldn't find his way in the middle of the blazing fire which was rapidly claiming their supremacy, but stubbornness proved to be the strongest ally. Aided by his long-trained skills, he eventually managed to reach the other side of the room and a door that would lead to – if his memory served him right – Atobe's bedroom.
It might be just his luck or the world was turning against him, but when he tried the brass-gilded handle and flinched a little from the heat it emitted, the door appeared to be locked.
Almost desperate, he tried and tried, and yet the door would not budge. With gritted teeth and curses scurrying to and fro inside his mind, he rammed forward, ignoring the pain the impact sent to his shoulder and arm. If the training he had endured for the most part of his life was not a waste of time and childhood, now certainly was the moment to show it.
Fuji almost cheered when the door finally gave way and fell, with him crashing on top of it. Inside the bedroom, the smoke was so thick that his instant conclusion was that the fire had started from here. It was obvious who the target of the conflagration was.
Lack of oxygen had begun to take an effect on him, but Fuji forced himself to stand up, hands waving wildly to find a way in the blanket of smoke. His eyes, blurred by smoke-induced tears, looked around frantically for the owner of the room. He seriously wished that Atobe was not there and yet his instinct was telling him otherwise as his feet kept tumbling forward.
It was then when a figure, lying immobile at the half-burnt carpet, caught his eyes, the maroon bathrobe stark against its surroundings.
And for a moment he stood there in cold, fearing for the worst.
It took almost three seconds for Fuji to react and rush forward, paying no heed to the licking tongues of fire all around him. Atobe was not moving, not even when he shook him hard and chanted his name in panic cries before his ear. Fuji felt his hope dwindling and yet still convinced himself that the worst had not come. With the remaining of his strength, he tried to raise the Hyoutei captain and to his horror, found dark stain of blood smeared on his palm. A further observation showed him that it came from the back of Atobe's head, the usually soft ashen tresses now covered in sticky red fluid.
Unsure of the severity of the wound, Fuji hauled one arm over his shoulders and lifted the unconscious guy to his arm, and began to proceed quickly to the staircase. The burden was not one he wasn't used to, but it was an entirely different matter to take care of one in perfect health and to plough forward with one in smoke and fire. But he listened closely, for a moment forgetting the agonizing heat, and heard the short, faint breath which kindled the slightest hope in him that he didn't let another to die because of him.
To descend was supposed to be easier than to ascend, and yet Fuji found his feet struggling to keep himself straight as he rushed down unsteadily. He no longer bothered to count, only hoping to see the last door standing in front of him and freeing him from the suffocating heat.
A second later, he stopped on his track, eyes staring unbelievably at the sea of flames that had ravaged the rest of the stairs, completely blocking his way down. Perhaps it was his luck again. Fuji held back the curses that were ready to flow from his mouth, aware that they would change nothing, and hurried to the last door he had just passed. Behind it was a corridor with doors lining its sides, fire breaking out everywhere. He reached for the closest door which was left opened and came into a neat apartment, flames already running rampant there. He made haste to find a window or any kind of opening that had not yet been touched by the fire and was overwhelmed with relief when he found that the door leading to the balcony was fairly unharmed.
Still with Atobe clinging onto his shoulders, Fuji went out to the small balcony and took a look down, tumbling several pots of shrubberies in process. Few people were gathering at this side, but at least it was not that far from the ground – perhaps three-floor high. If he was careful and could find a sure footing, he might be able to go down without inflicting more damages to the unconscious captain.
"Fuji!"
His ears were hearing things, was his first thought, but then he noticed a figure he would not dream of seeing there. Fuji almost smirked to himself despite his condition; who was he to underestimate the First Vice?
"I have an injured person here!" he shouted back and immediately was overcome by extreme coughing. Below, Tezuka was giving a signal to a number of people who had just arrived, some Fuji recognized as I2 members. They assembled around the First Vice and for while there seemed to be a discussion which he couldn't follow. Then some of them moved and gathered right beneath the balcony he was at and Fuji knew exactly what his captain was thinking.
It was rather too rough a way to descend and something worse could happen to Atobe if he fell the wrong way. However, the rumbling sound the building made on the other side told him that he might not have the time to search for another means. Fuji inhaled a deep breath and was about to move to the other side of the railing when he noticed that both sides of the fence had been cut, not deep enough to sever them but close enough.
If he hadn't been brought up in the Fuji family, he might not believe that this was another of Mizuki's doings. So neat.
No other choice, he supposed. Fuji lifted Atobe to his arms and warned to the agents waiting under, "I will drop him now!" And the burden left his hands and his heart sank at a sudden emotion that overwhelmed him. Murmurs rose, a few words comprehensible to his ears, and Fuji felt as if he was about to cry. Concussion and lack of oxygen. No more than that. Atobe was still alive.
Suddenly he felt unaccountably tired. He looked back and stared at the blazing fire, for some reasons oddly entranced by the dancing flames, and thought about Taka-san and Momoshiro and Atobe, and he smiled, a quiet, little smile. It would be so easy. He only had to stay there and waited for the inevitable to come and fetch him. There would be no more pain, no more tears and hopeless love; only blissful nothingness.
"Fuji!"
There was something in that voice which forced him to look down. He couldn't see Tezuka's countenance clearly, but he recognized the tenseness his captain was suppressing in his rigid posture. A small but sharp realization caught him and Fuji winced, fully knowing what it meant, that he might take another life if he were to depart now. Tezuka would rush in and try to be the knight who saved him. The First Vice would never deliberately and foolishly search for death and yet he knew that Tezuka would not let death take him just yet.
"Don't be stupid! Come down here!"
He stared for a moment longer, and then smiled, acknowledging defeat. If this was the weight of the sins he should carry, then so be it. Fuji closed his eyes and leapt forward, welcoming the embrace of the wind.
The world had gone black before he touched the ground.
Central Hospital
October 21 – 05:01 a.m.
"...it seemed that the fire broke out first at the topmost floor and a few minutes later, at the ground floor. Until now, there has been no official release from the authorized..."
It was headline news. No wonder, Tezuka thought silently, eyes still firmly locked to the television in the half-full hospital's waiting room. There had been no fire outbreak of such scale for years and now this happened, which in accordance to the love letter Fuji had received the previous afternoon, was only a revenge intended to one person. He had found said letter tucked carelessly in the tensai's pocket and now was fingering the lavender paper with his still gloved hand, debating whether to submit it as relevant evidence or not. It read:
Dear Fuji Shuusuke-kun,
Aren't your friends lucky? I start to feel impatient to go at a slow pace.
Let's see...
I'm sure you still remember the time when you were but a six year-old boy and you almost burned your brother to death. Poor Yuuta-kun to have a brother like you... But it will be rather monotonous to repeat after the same incident on the same victim, won't it? And if I recall right, the first one slipping out of my grasp is a fine-looking young man; he sure was lucky that ignoring old lovers isn't one of your traits.
Well then, what should I do? I don't like him and that should settle it.
P.S.: Summer is no longer here and I hate autumn's lack of festivals. I always love fireworks. Don't you think 6:30 is the perfect time to set a firework? Wish I could have a grand blazing red one...
Revenge to one person. He almost shuddered when he thought about it and the inexplicable power of the Fuji clan to plan for something this big, something that bereft many of their precious. No one should have that much control over others only to abuse it so mercilessly. Averting his gaze from the television, he saw Atsushi amidst the small crowd that might seem odd at five in the morning on another day, walking toward him quietly, a map and a brown envelope held tightly by his fingers.
"This is the draft you asked for, Sir," he extended the map to Tezuka once they were face to face. "A new team for investigation has been dispatched, placed under your authority for the moment. They are at the crime scene right now, led by Sengoku Kiyosumi. He said that the first report would be ready at your desk at three this afternoon. As for the victims, for now they have been evacuated and some of them have gone to their relatives's house. The list of their names is also in the map, Sir."
Tezuka listened to Atsushi's flat voice, occasionally nodding, and then said, "Very well. Continue to supervise the investigation, I'll get down there as soon as possible. And do not forget to maintain a contact with the police force. Make sure we do not breach their line of authority and they do not ours."
"Yes, Sir," Atsushi replied neatly before turning his attention to the remaining large, thick envelope. "And these are the brief reports of several new cases, Sir, from the Solff. He said that there would be a meeting at eight in the morning – three hours from now – regarding the new cases. The Solff asked you to look through them beforehand, Sir."
"Thank you, Atsushi," the First Vice nodded, accepting the new files. "You may go now."
His subordinate saluted and retreated swiftly, vanishing into the crowd. Still standing where he was, Tezuka skimmed the draft of the conflagration report briefly, frowning at some points, before inspecting the stack of new cases. The thickness of the flies was quite astonishing – the 'several' cases Atsushi had mentioned were many in fact – and his frown deepened even more when he discovered the similarity all of the new cases had.
They had taken place yesterday. All of them.
For some unexplainable reasons, his mind abruptly drifted to Fuji who had been still unconscious when he had left the tensai's room. A sudden wave of panic swept through him and quickly he made his way through hospital's corridors and stairs, no longer bothering to wait in the small queue in front of the elevator. Probably he was just being paranoid – after all, who would be foolish enough to try to break through the heavily-guarded hospital in the morning after a terribly immense incident had just taken place – but then a certain occasion involving the disappearance of twenty-three victims from the same hospital rose from the depth of his memory and Tezuka quickened his pace, dreading the impossible to happen again.
Room 414 was, as he feared, empty. The bed where Fuji had been sleeping just a half an hour ago bore obvious signs that it had been slept upon, but its previous occupant was nowhere in sight. Falling into the usual formal procedure, Tezuka rushed to the window and upon finding it tightly shut and locked from the inside, resorted his attention to the bed. The blanket was tossed aside hastily and the mattress was actually still somewhat warm. For a moment he only eyed the door, running a series of possibilities inside his head. He knew for sure that a stranger carrying an unconscious person would never be allowed to step out from the hospital – not to mention, the matter of slipping into the secured establishment in the first place – and Fuji would never, ever willingly leave with anyone but those he truly put trust on.
There were a lot of other possibilities – some of them including the art of disguise which Tezuka rather didn't think about, at least for now – and so he started with the simplest one. With long and fast strides, his feet headed to the ICU section at the ground floor.
It appeared that he was just being paranoid. Fuji was there, standing behind the window of the ICU room, eyes fixed to a very pale Atobe who lay unconscious still on the only bed in the room. He didn't acknowledge Tezuka's presence while the First Vice himself, overwhelmed by relief and at a complete loss of words, did not attempt a conversation. He stood silently by the door, watching the prodigy, questioning himself
And suddenly Fuji spoke up, his voice quiet. "How many victims?"
"Major injuries, thirty-two. Minor, fifty-eight. The system installed in the building was excellent, so the number of casualties could be minimized," the details poured out easily from his mouth. Tezuka had been always more at ease with facts and logic, not emotions and whims. Unfortunately, what he was about to disclose involve more of the latter. He suppressed a wince and continued, voice more careful, "We don't know about this for sure yet, but a mother claimed that her five year old son was sleeping in his bedroom when the fire broke out. He hasn't been found until now."
Fuji didn't turn back, but Tezuka noticed his whole body tensing and inwardly he scolded himself for divulging the truth too rashly. But it would still hurt all the same now or later, he found himself arguing and yet couldn't find comfort in it as the other's voice rose again, too flat to his own liking.
"Do you think she will forgive me?"
"Fuji–"
"Don't start," the tensai cut him and slowly turned around, regarding him with a pair of wearied eyes. "Please."
They both stared at each other in silence, as if waiting for someone to shake them and wake them up, declaring that everything was nothing but nightmare. But no such thing happened and suddenly Fuji smiled. "I had a dream," he said, his voice once again calm and trouble-free, "when I was unconscious, about me when I had been younger. It was a beautiful dream with flowers and meadows and butterflies. There were Yuuta and Yumino-neesan too, and they both looked so happy. I also felt so free and for some reasons, glad to be alive."
Despite disliking the turn their conversation had taken, Tezuka didn't respond and so Fuji continued, his eyes now staring into distance. "Have you heard what people say when they are about to die? Sometimes their childhood comes back haunting them, the good and the bad, pieces of them. That dream wasn't my childhood, but I often imagined about it when I was little."
"You cannot die now, Fuji," Tezuka deadpanned, his expression stern. "There are things you can do to help more people, to save more lives. Do not ever think of killing yourself."
"Don't you think you're being a little selfish, Tezuka?" the tensai said softly, on his lips a wistful, little smile. "You have your own reason as to why you want me to stay, don't you? You cannot let me go."
A throbbing headache began to invade the better part of his head. "What do you want to do then? Hiding in a mountain somewhere remote so they cannot find you?"
"It occurred to me once," Fuji's answer was thoughtful, which made the captain's headache worsen, "and now I'm seriously considering that option."
"Running away?" Tezuka felt his eyes narrowing, fingers tightening around the envelope and file in his hand.
Fuji smiled at the accusation, even his voice holding a hint of amusement. "It won't work, Tezuka. I don't think I have pride left to feel ashamed if I really choose to run away."
The tensai might seem amused, but there was a trace of bitterness whether in his smile or in his voice that didn't escape Tezuka. But he remained at the threshold, sharp eyes not shifting their gaze from the other young man even for an instant, and only uttered emotionlessly, "Like I said, you always have the choice to stay and help us."
"You should talk to The Solff first before you say something like that, you know," Fuji informed him. "It isn't in your authority to decide whether I still can stay or not now that everything has happened. I'm a murderer once again."
Displeased and yet not surprised, the First Vice refused to respond to the last statement and silence descended upon them once again, only tinted with the steady sound of the cardiogram. No matter how small, there was truth in it because after all, the conflagration was merely another reward from the Fuji clan for their former heir, and he didn't think that to contradict the fact was going to help in this situation. But Fuji was very aware of his own position and now he was looking at the captain with intense eyes, as if etching every bit of him into the inmost depth of his mind, and said firmly, "They will get to you soon, Tezuka. It's just a matter of time before they set their eyes on you and I'm not waiting around until that moment arrives."
"Then declare a war against them," Tezuka suddenly replied and strode forward, ignoring the slight tensing of Fuji's posture. He reached inside his envelope and pulled out the bundle of paper, holding it out to his friend who was watching him with wary eyes. "We have a surge of new cases suddenly. If you want to atone what you've done, sit down and look through the paper. Give us hints and throw off their plans." He paused and glanced at Atobe. "That's what he will do, isn't it?"
Fuji looked at him strangely, hand not moving from his side, but the captain paid no heed to it, aware that what he did was indeed unusual. Offering second – or probably fourth or fifth in this case – chances was not a habit he used to practice. The prodigy seemed to hold a debate with himself for one long minute, lips repeatedly moving as if he was about to answer and yet no word came. Tezuka remained silent, aware that the reply would decide the turn of the tide.
"I have to consider a lot more than his mere opinion," at last Fuji said stiffly, his voice stern.
"Take it."
Another silence took place while the tensai regarded him with defiant eyes, at which he stared back impassively, completely unruffled. He could see stubbornness battling anger in the other man's eyes, and in the end it was Fuji who looked away first, averting his gaze to the bundle of paper, and asked quietly, "Do you think I can pay them back?"
"You know yourself better than I do," Tezuka shot back, trying not to lessen the severity of his voice. "The question is whether you're ready for the road ahead or not."
Fuji seemed thoughtful for a moment, and then a look passed across his face, a look which reminded Tezuka to the assassin he had met that night five months ago. He suppressed a shiver, watching wordlessly as the pair of ablaze blue eyes returned to him and their owner stated, "You will be sorry, Tezuka, for offering me to do this."
There was little doubt in it, the First Vice admitted grimly, and yet he voiced none of it out loud. Instead, he stared at the prodigy with what might be called gentleness in other man's eyes, his voice falling to a quieter note, and murmured, "I'm prepared."
A hand removed the paper from his and a smile curved Fuji's smile, one that was torn between warm and cold.
"So am I."
To Be Continued
Ramblings: Yup, no romance. I just don't think it's appropriate to include romance in this situation. There will be in the future, which means I seriously think to finish this. Thank you for reading until this far. Do review if you have a comment or a question.