A Gentlemen's Wager, Chapter 9
A/N: Short one first, but I'll have the next chapter up pretty soon. This story has gotten much longer than I ever anticipated, and Fuji only just now told me what his real plan is, so I've had to go back and change some things. Such is the problem with writing a tensai, I guess. Another big thank you to my reviewers. It's such a nice motivation to keep going even when Kaidoh doesn't listen to a word I say and keeps switching his storyline around.
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The next photo essay Tezuka received held several images of a playground: Kikumaru swinging in a blurry circle around a high bar (Too bad they don't build these over tennis courts, ne?), Inui and Kaidoh standing by a fence (They've made up, I think...), Echizen asleep next to a boy in a Rokkaku uniform (Blackmail, a winking happy face drawn next to it). A few more impressionist images had been inserted as well: A sakura tree on the school campus (These petals seem to be falling all the time, have you noticed?), some loose racquet strings that had fallen in an interesting web (Pretty, ne?). The final photo was of a scoreboard displaying Seigaku's victory over Rokkaku. The back read, Rikkaidai is next. Pick out a nice place for your medal.
At least Syusuke is confident, Tezuka thought as he tacked the new artwork around his room. Still, he couldn't help but wonder why the tensai hadn't included any pictures of himself. He still hadn't elaborated on his conversation with Atobe, and Tezuka had a feeling that if he could just see Syusuke's eyes, he'd know the secret instantly.
Rikkaidai was miles ahead of Rokkaku in skill, and Fuji couldn't afford to waste his time with schemes. Now was the time for caution, and he hoped Syusuke understood that.
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"I'm calling the wager off," Fuji said casually.
Jirou permitted one eye to flutter open. Atobe and Jirou had been invited to meet Fuji and Inui in a ...quaint restaurant to discuss the bet. Until that moment, Jirou had been pretty sure Fuji had just been trying to get Atobe-sama in a place he'd be almost guaranteed to have something colorful, greasy, and staining spilled on his expensive wardrobe. Now, Atobe was doing a marvelous impression of a mounted sea bass. Still, he recovered quickly. "Ore-sama would like to remind you that under the contract, that counts as a forfeit. Ore-sama would win."
"The circumstances are beyond my control. According the roster, I'm no longer singles one. I won't be playing Sanada," Fuji shrugged, but the move lacked the tensai's usual grace.
"Tezuka will be back in time, then?" Atobe asked.
"No," Fuji almost growled the word. He clearly was almost as displeased with the wager's cancellation as Atobe, though also doing his best to hide the fact.
After a pause in which Fuji did not seem inclined to elaborate, Inui spoke up. "Echizen will be playing singles one."
Atobe coughed out some of the bottled water he had brought with him (restaurant tap water would not do). He should have known better than to take a drink just then. "The freshman? Were you planning on wrapping the championship medal in a bow and presenting it to Sanada personally?"
"The decision has already been made," Fuji snapped. "The wager is off."
"Then you are forfeiting, and ore-sama wins."
For all their perception and insight, the two of them could be pretty forgetful, Jirou thought. He yawned, "S'not off," from his position slumped next to a bottle of soy sauce. The other three looked at him in surprise.
"Ore-sama didn't hear you, Jirou."
"S'not off," Jirou slurred. "You never said it had to be Fuji-kun who won." Legal talk was boring, and the table was uncomfortable. Atobe'd probably get self-conscious if Jirou borrowed his shoulder, though. He let out another yawn, struggling to keep his eyes half-open.
Fuji looked at Inui, eyes suddenly wide in alarm. The analyst reached into his jacket to remove his copy of the wager. He traced a finger along the words, mumbling them to himself as he did so. "Verbatim, the wager reads, 'If Seigaku defeats Rikkaidai in singles one.' No names are mentioned, so technically speaking, the bet can continue."
Fuji's eyes looked as if they could cut cleanly through a sheet of glass. "Are you saying," he began, voice not betraying his frustration, "that I have just placed a bet on Echizen?"
"Unless either of you wants to forfeit."
"No!" Atobe and Fuji both shouted, then glared at each other. Jirou couldn't help the small giggle that escaped, but neither of the rivals was paying him much attention.
"Then the wager continues. Echizen and Sanada are the contestants. May we leave now?" Inui sighed.
Atobe laughed, though it was a frustrated kind of laugh, Jirou realized. "Echizen..." the buchou managed to say, shaking his head, "If that child beats Sanada, ore-sama will pay for your whole damn team to show up on Tezuka's doorstep."
"It's your money," Fuji almost hissed. "Inui, let's go."
Out of the corner of his eye, Jirou saw Inui scratch something onto the paper. He wondered if anyone else noticed. The Seigaku boys left without ordering anything.
"This place is far too ... middle class, Jirou. We should leave."
Jirou dragged himself to follow Atobe back to the car. Safely within its soundproof walls, Jirou asked, "So that was bad?"
"Very bad."
"Even though you're going to win?"
"Very, very bad."
"Can it be fixed."
"With a miracle. How much does one of those cost?"
"Depends, I think," Jirou yawned, curling up next to Atobe who didn't seem to mind right now. "I can look into it..." He didn't get any further before he was completely asleep.