Kurita hated leaving Hiruma alone at the house with Musashi. He knew that it was hard for Hiruma, no matter what he said, because Hiruma was the kind of person who took the responsibility for everything on himself, even if he couldn't have possibly have done anything about Musashi's dad, or the hospital bills, or, or how it all turned out. Besides, it wasn't safe to leave Musashi locked up alone for too long, even if he did sleep most of the day, these days, so it was good for them to both be around, so they could take turns being there for him.
That's why Kurita had planned on being on time that morning, he really did. The whole team was doing great here, from Komusubi, who was taking to the training well, even if he still hadn't found his voice yet, to Juumonji and his brothers (or weren't they really brothers? Kurita couldn't keep it straight), who all seemed to have something to prove. Even Monta, who got riled up in Hiruma's presence sometimes, really did seem to like football now, if it wasn't just Kurita's wishful thinking. Everyone else in the camp was doing lineman training, so he would have thought Monta would feel left out, but Monta actually seemed to enjoy showing off his unique abilities, especially when it came to Hiruma's super fast passes that no one else could follow, much less catch.
Training in the high altitudes was really strengthening them up, and he could already see a huge improvement since the last time he was here! It hadn't been so long ago that Deimon hadn't existed as a team, and Musashi seemed lost to them forever, but now they were all together and had a great team and a real fighting shot at the Christmas Bowl. Kurita had packed his bags that morning with a spring in his step and was definitely planning to get to the bus stop on time.
Except as he began to walk, he had felt someone watching him. He had felt it a couple times that weekend, and brushed it off as just being tired from the training, and he'd never seen anyone, because the watcher had been really clever, setting up a camouflage of branches and leaves to conceal himself. But that morning, as he made his way to the bus stop—
"All right, enough already," Hiruma cut him off, and Kurita realized he'd been rambling. They were standing in the lobby of the abandoned inn that served as their base camp when they needed a rest at low altitude, or when it was raining. They'd left Monta and the new runner around back, so that Hiruma could meet their other new teammate, and hopefully get along.
"Obviously you found him by the beacon shining off his bald dome, brought him back here, and put him in a jersey to pretend he has even a chance of playing football. No point saying the rest."
In said jersey, which did swamp him rather badly, Yukimitsu flinched, but held his head up high—with clear effort—as Hiruma began to inspect him with a predatory air. Kurita wanted to interrupt: he knew Hiruma didn't mean anything bad by circling around like a vulture, but he was clearly scaring the poor man.
"Nice to meet you," said Yukimitsu, to the space above Hiruma's head, "I'm Yukimitsu Manabu. I will put my all into this team!"
"Yes, Yukimitsu is really smart!" Kurita jumped in enthusiastically. "I showed him the rule book this morning, and he already has it all memorized! The pass routes too! I know you've been waiting so long for a receiver, and I thought, well, just in case... other ones... don't work out..." Kurita tried very hard not to think of Monta, in case Monta could sense it somehow, and feel bad. "Yukimitsu already knows them all!"
"Knowing is different from doing," Hiruma sighed, and stopped circling, which was somehow worse, like he'd seen enough and already discounted him. "Been a slave for ten minutes and already decided it wasn't for you, huh, baldy?"
"Is it that obvious?" Yukimitsu was visibly struggling not to deflate like a pricked balloon.
"Slaves don't have family names. Or chins." Hiruma put a finger on the chin that Yukimitsu was still holding high, and pushed it down into his chest, deflating him the rest of the way.
"It, it's just still such a shock, honestly. I was an accountant at... well, I really shouldn't say. But I knew what they were doing was wrong, I knew it and said nothing for so many years, and I thought I should take a stand for once in my life. I just didn't expect it could get me into this kind of trouble."
Kurita thought that was sad and brave, but Hiruma ignored him. "We can't keep him, fatty. He's clearly a runaway. This kind of slave, with," he waved a hand dismissively, "accountant skills, we don't have the budget for that. And if we did, we wouldn't spend it on a fucking calculator."
"They didn't chip me," said Yukimitsu quickly, "I got away before they could, they left the... Anyway, I got away. They have no way to track me."
"So why the hell are you here?" Hiruma marched over to what once must have been the check-in desk, and now held basket after basket of footballs. "Go somewhere else, start a new accountant shop or whatever. You've been behind a fucking desk your whole life, and now you suddenly expect to be an athlete?"
Hiruma picked up a football and made as if to throw it, but the ball never left his hand. When Yukimitsu stopped flinching long enough to notice he was reaching out for empty air, he seemed to get angry. "I can't go back to that life! I won't keep pushing numbers around for corrupt billionaires! I finally stood up for what I believe in, and I won't let it be for nothing. When I saw your team practicing in the mountains, day after day, working so hard to improve themselves, I knew. I knew that's what I wanted—"
Mindless of the impassioned speech, Hiruma finally threw the ball. As Yukimitsu reached for it, he barely grazed the surface with his fingertips, sending it flying in another direction. Several times on its way down, he tried to lunge for it, and missed. When it finally landed, he just stopped.
"I'll practice," he said resolutely, staring down at the ball as it bounced around to a stop. "I know I'm starting behind everyone else, so I'll practice more than everyone else, to make up for it. I'll get up before everyone, and stay up after everyone has gone to bed. I'll get better."
Seeing that Yukimitsu wasn't going to do it, Hiruma walked over and picked the ball up himself. Then he gave Yukimitsu a shove, right on the chest. ""Fine, you want a role on the team?"
"Hiruma," Kurita protested.
"Thank your lucky stars! We've been looking for a new punching bag." Hiruma shoved him again, hard enough to make him stumble backwards, then again. Through it all, Yukimitsu let himself get pushed, keeping his eyes down. "You can let us tackle you, and charge you, and slam you into the ground. Over, and over." One final shove, pushing him up against the wall, sending a shower of dust and old paint down on them—and this time, Hiruma didn't let go. Keeping his hand on Yukimitsu's thin chest, Hiruma leaned in close with his full, intent scrutiny. "And maybe fuck you too. That what you were running away from? Because we have no shortage of cocks here to keep you busy."
"Hiruma!" Kurita trusted his friend implicitly, but this was too much!
But Yukimitsu didn't look over, or ask him to intervene, only quietly coughed up dust. He seemed to have a very specific idea of how to deal with being pushed around. When he finally looked up at Hiruma, his eyes were watering, but hadn't lost a speck of determination. "And if I keep training through all that? If I get stronger while I'm serving whatever function the team needs? Will you consider letting me play then?"
There was a long, dusty silence. Then Hiruma broke off with a surprised chuckle. He brushed some dust off Yukimitsu's shoulder, and then his face. Then he turned away and dissolved into into a full-blown cackle. "What a set of receivers we're going to have. One dumb-ass monkey that can catch but won't train, and one baldy genius that wants to train but can't catch for shit."
Kurita let out a happy cry, even as Hiruma continued, "I'm not playing you in a game until I know you're good for it. And if you stop training even for a second, I'll fucking turn you in." It didn't seem to scare Yukimitsu though, because he only sagged slightly against the wall, a small, relieved smile on his face.
As Hiruma walked by, he gave Kurita one of his pleased kicks. "Now where's that fucking drunk? I have to show him mine. Not that he looks any better than yours, but I swear he can run sometimes, when you can fucking motivate him."