Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. This is the last chapter and marks this story as complete. This story turned out more plot-heavy than I had intended. Actually, I had really wanted to write a story where Yukimura just stalks Kari out of…well, an obsession developed out of his dark desires for her. However, when I'm done with all the important stories that are plot-heavy, I will write that piece of guilty pleasure.
The Trial of Second Chances
Chapter 3:
The Game Ends
Yukimura was smoking a cigarette.
First in his own room until staring at his trophies, his past glory, became too much for him – they became ghosts that harassed him; he decided to pay Kari a visit instead.
He walked to her room to find her curled up on the bed, her ruby eyes widening when he saw his lit cigarette and ashtray in his hands.
Kari stiffened when he entered her room with a cigarette and ash-tray, suddenly reminded of the yesterday when he had done so. However, he apparently didn't come with harass her because he pulled a chair to her bed and smoked his cigarette for quite a while without saying or doing something.
She nevertheless watched him with the awareness of a hawk while her body was as rigid as a steel pole.
He, however, still did nothing but to smoke.
"Relax, will you?" He said, amused. "I was just joking last time. As if I would really burn your hand with my cigarette."
"It didn't look like a joke to me last time," she shot back him angrily, hugging her legs. "You seemed quite serious."
He grinned like a clown for provocation. "Oh, was I? Sorry to have you fooled."
She glared at him but realized that she would draw the shorter straw if she allowed him to provoke her and pull her into his mind games; he was too good at them. Much better than her. She decided to change the topic instead. "When are you going to let me wear some proper clothes? It's October, you know?"
Yesterday after the "joke" with the cigarette, he had forced her to strip out of her tank-top, leaving her only in her underwear. However, since she had been his captive, he had never allowed her to wear any clothes with long sleeves, forcing her to parade her half-naked body around.
He ground his cigarette into his glass-ashtray and moved down onto her bed, which alarmed her. His dark blue eyes roved the line of her half-naked body, taking in every inch of exposed skin they could get to Kari's dismay. "It's your punishment for trying to strangle me with those handcuffs."
She wrapped her arms protectively around herself. "You're just a sick bastard. You just want to..."
See me naked.
She finished in her head, gritting her teeth.
"Careful, Kari. Don't plant ideas in my head," he warned her.
"How deeply have you fallen, Yukimura? Forcing a girl to strip to her underwear? What would your fans think? Your teammates?"
His hand snapped to her throat, and closed around it – a collar of firm, warm fingers. Kari inhaled sharply.
"Careful, Kari. I thought I told you that. I might be well known for my patience, even among my rivals but even I have my limits. Cross them, and you'll be sorry."
He was still holding her neck, even as she flushed hot and cold, her lips began to tingle from the mere yet intimate skin-to-skin contact of his hand around her neck.
"It would do you good to stop crawling under my skin," was his final advice before he let her go.
Her hands flew to her neck and massaged the crawling skin. Her lips were still tingling.
"Besides who do you think is responsible for my current situation?" He questioned her darkly.
"The one who shot you?" She answered.
"Yes, and you."
She only had one moment to be stunned before his hands grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down on her back as he loomed over her like those ominous shadows that appeared during sleep paralysis.
"The one who shot me was your ex-boyfriend. And, you're the reason why he was able to shoot me," he told her. Kari's eyes widened.
"One year ago before he shot me, you saved him. He had gotten into a terrible fight and almost died but you saved him, remember?"
His hands tightened on her dainty shoulders to a brusing degree but she was too shocked to register.
Kari remembered that incident too well because of its terribleness. They had gone to watch a soccer match and afterward Satoshi had gotten into a fight with another fan who had come with his friends. He had harassed them first but ended up being beaten bloody by them in spite of her failed interference, losing a lot of blood as result. If she hadn't immediately called the ambulance and gotten him into the hospital, he would've died.
Kari had always known that Satoshi had mental problems but she would've never guessed that he would shoot someone.
"Why didn't you just let him die? Because you saved him, you a put a curse on me! My career is ruined! I can't play tennis anymore!" He yelled into her face, losing his composure but then again did he ever have any with her?
"I won't forgive you for this," he said menacingly, rage and vengeance burning in his eyes. "I just want to strangle you."
Kari was paralyzed under him, unable to do anything but stare at him. His hands closed and opened. Closed and opened. She was waiting for him to make his threat come true. She waited and waited but it never happened.
She never felt his hands grip her neck, let alone the crushing pressure that came with it – he was staring through her as if she didn't even exist.
He got off her. Then, he sent her back to her room.
When he was alone, he took a hot shower.
The hot water ran down the hard, muscular planes of his body, washing off the unwelcome incident from before. Yukimura's drenched midnight-blue, locks clung to his forehead, losing a bit of their wavy texture because of the water.
Lifting his right wrist, he stared at the ugly scar marring it. The same scar was on his left shoulder. Years ago, he had lost everything after a crazy psycho has shot him in the wrist out of poisoned jealously.
He remembered it as if it had been just yesterday.
The man shot him.
Yukimura dodged, avoiding the first shot, which would have killed him, more due a miracle than his fast reflexes considering the proximity of his assailant and him. However, he couldn't avoid the second shot that pierced wrist, shattering some of his bones. The agony was unbearable.
Yukimura went down to his knees, clutching his wrist, howling like a wounded wolf. Then, he was shot again, this time in the shoulder.
The security men finally had the assailant wrestled down but it was already too late.
The injuries he had sustained that day would always be the reason why his wrist and shoulder could never be effective in a professional tennis match again.
The bastard who had shot him was not an amateur; it was obvious that he had practiced his shots and managed to injure his joints so severely. He had targeted them on purpose.
It had been all over the news back then, and the reporters had swarmed him like bloodhounds, their camera lights flashing with the intention to blind him.
He had fallen into a deep depression back then and nobody could get him out of the abyss that was consuming all of him. Years passed. He had grown dangerously thin but on contrary everyone's belief he was not suicidal; he had no intention to die, so began to eat properly again afterward. His body had recovered and he had started to do some light exercise again because why not the implants had been a success after all but his spirit was still broken. His family and teammates thought that he had regained his will and was ready to start a new life again but that was not the case, which he made clear to them by suddenly moving out of Kanagawa into the small city he was currently living right now.
He had disappeared from their life without a word, without a sign, having cut all connections, all strings.
To avoid becoming a completely useless individual, he chose the path of a University-student, who majored in economics, because it was something that would secure his future and definitely something useful for Japan. Over the years, he had accumulated enough money through his beginning career as a professional tennis player to pay the entrance fee and a dorm for the first few months. That wasn't enough, of course, so he had been doing online gigs, odd jobs and whatever he could do get his hands on until he managed to score a really good home office job that paid well, the one he was still doing today. Everything had turned out well for him.
However, this kind of life was an eternal hell of boredom and pain: getting up, going to University, doing homework when classes were over and he was back home, sleeping. There was no stimulation at all without tennis, and he had been terrified to pick up a tennis-racket again, because it reminded him too much of his loss.
He had not been able to find joy, let alone happiness in his life, he had not been able to feel anymore - until he had seen her on the campus.
He turned off the shower, his blue eyes hard and cold as he glared at the tile walls in front of him. Another tide of memories swamped him.
The first time he had seen her was on that bastard's facebook page.
That bastard had posted about his violent incident and about how his girlfriend had saved his sorry ass from dying of internal injuries by getting him in the hospital in time. Yukimura felt no pity for him; he had shot him and ruined his career. Even though the bastard had been sentenced to prison for a long time for ruining a rising tennis-star, it hadn't been enough for Yukimura. He had wanted him to die, to beat him to death with his own fists but he couldn't do that anymore because that bastard was now out of his reach now. At the same time, Yukimura had become obsessed with him and started stalking him on social media where he had stumbled on a photo on her for the first time.
He had clicked on that photo, which was linked to her facebook profile. The profile was private but it contained a few, very few pictures of her that he could look at, even without being her friend.
The photos had been too boring, not satisfying his curiosity at all, showing her mostly in her garden with a pink shirt and beige shorts, or on a swing when she had been younger, or when she was just smiling into the camera. They were not quenching his thirst at all; he had wanted to see more of her and started searching for her on google, finding her Instagram account where she was less careful.
She had posted of photos of herself on the street, in a coffee shop, and in a bookshop with a magazine, but there were also more private shots of her. They showed her in her bedroom, and even in a bikini on the beach, the photo for which she had gotten the most likes from, especially from men (they're so simple-minded, such skeletons). But the two pictures he liked the most was the one where she was wearing fake-glasses, thick ugly black things, so huge they ate up half of her face but on her they just looked cute, and another one where she was hugging an over-sized teddy bear on her bed. Those two pictures were so lovely because they captivated a homey feeling and tugged at his heart-strings, making her seem human and down to earth.
He had shut his Macbook in that moment.
He was suddenly flustered, he had to forget about her.
The next day, he had University. He went to his lectures, ate in the cafeteria, answered the questions of his fellow students who could not keep up with their studies, and then returned home. Every day was monotonous, hopeless. Weeks passed.
One day, he spotted her on the University campus, walking into his direction with her friends but paying him no attention. She was talking to her friends with a book that made the impression as if it was freshly borrowed from the University's library, not even seeming to realize that he was staring at her wide-eyed. She didn't recognize him, but he had recognized her.
Yukimura couldn't believe it - she was attending the same University as he did.
In retrospect, it had been pure luck that she looked exactly the same in real life as she did so in the photos. Many people didn't look the same in real life and it had nothing to do with photoshop; it was as the camera captured their faces wrong, faces that were different from reality as if there was a glitch in a simulation. Even he looked slightly different in photos than in real life. He was photogenic, no doubt, attractive on photos, even more attractive than in real life because the camera made his features look sharper and more defined as result. In real life, his features were softer and duller.
His heart was beating so hard in his ribcage it hurt. His body flushed with heat, with a feeling he couldn't comprehend. A second chance. Finally, a second chance to unleash all his torment on someone else, someone who was indirectly responsible for his misery.
He had wanted to reach out for her, to grab her. To downright assault her on the open campus. Of course, he didn't. His iron self-control prevented him from doing so. He wasn't going to make a scene and draw unnecessary attention to himself. He wasn't going to give up on himself.
He would just forget about her and call it a day.
He was suddenly plain exhausted.
He went to his next lecture, passing the dull blue walls of the corridors that did nothing but to rob his mind of peace. He wanted something different from this monotonous hell.
He had wanted her.
He couldn't forget about her.
He hadn't been able to sleep for nights, always tossing and turning in his sheets, sweating unnaturally much because of the raging fire inside him. He couldn't stop thinking about her; he wanted, needed to know more about her.
He started following her to her lectures. Lectures were accessible to the public, so it was an easy game for him. He made sure that he sat far away from her but always had a good view at her from his seat.
They were in a lecture about the history of media. She was studying media science, he concluded.
And, she was a popular girl, always flanked by her female friends and approached by the opposite sex.
If it hadn't been for his intimidating attitude and the ghost of his past haunting him, he would've been the same. He would've had as many friends as he had in the past, and maybe he would've attracted better girls.
When the lecture was over, she chose to have lunch at the cafeteria right outside the lecture hall. Yukimura followed her and did the same, ordering himself only a coffee while he watched her eat cafeteria food. They had dumplings today.
He followed her to her other two lectures, and before he knew it, the day was over. She had to go home. She bid and waved goodbye to her friends; she was alone now and went to the train-station, but this was where he drew the line.
He wasn't going to follow a girl home. He hadn't sunken that low, yet.
He was going to forget what had happened today, what he had done today and go home as well.
Inside his four walls at home, however, he couldn't forget.
It didn't help that she was as pretty as in the pictures. Her ruby eyes, so big and long-lashed, her best features had made his mind go numb with violent fantasies he didn't even know existed inside him.
He had wanted to strip her senses and make her scream his name for mercy.
He might've been well known for being a gentleman outside the court, even by his rivals and especially by girls but he was still a man. Everyone seemed to forget, though, and sometimes even he did. He was so well-known for his tennis that it seemed to have become the only thing people knew him for. Girls courted him but never seriously because they had all assumed that they would never be his first priority - which was true but that didn't mean he was incapable of being in a romantic relationship or didn't desire one. They all made their own assumptions about him without ever confirming them.
He had become unapproachable, untouchable, on the tennis court but also when he wasn't standing on it. Beauty was as inviting as it was repelling and in a world of fake people it sometimes didn't do you any good.
However, she was different. So tangible, so real. Not a dream or the sky he couldn't touch anymore. He had to have her, possess her.
He dried himself off with a towel, then put on a powder blue button up and a pair of black pants, watching his reflection in the tile walls.
"Breakfast," he said cheerfully as if nothing had happened yesterday.
It morning and he had brought her egg on toast.
She, however, was huddled in the corner of the bed, hugging her legs and staring at him warily, noting that he had tied his hair into a low ponytail for once.
"What's the matter? Why are you looking at me like this?" He asked, amused, and touched her cheek with his fingertips, the contact like an electric chill for her. She smacked his hand away as yesterday rushed back to her like a violent torrent.
"Don't touch me," she hissed.
"Or what?" He taunted her sinisterly, grabbing her by the arm, his fingers like a hot, tight band, making her wince and yanking her up to his level. "What will you do if I touch you?"
Her heart was racing, her pulse had sped up.
She knew that there was nothing she could do if he wanted to touch her but like hell she was just going to submit.
She was breathing hard. He was staring down at her with a menacing grin.
"Let me go," she demanded.
His long fingers released her arm, and he stepped away from her, holding up his hands. "There, I did. No need to make such a big deal out of it, right?"
Then, he left the room.
In the afternoon, she was waiting and expecting her lunch but when he came in, he only said, "Come down with me, Kari."
"Why?" She asked suspiciously.
"You will see when you do."
With that he left the door and beckoned her with his hand. Kari complied, albeit hesistantly, walking slowly towards him until she stood before him and he put smilingly a hand on her shoulder, steering her downstairs.
He guided her to the kitchen, much to her surprise.
"Can you cook?" He inquired.
"Very badly. I inherited my cooking skills from my mother," she answered.
"Is that so? You'll still have to cook if you want to eat lunch, however. I'm sick of it," he told her.
She looked unhappily at him.
"What? Do you think I'm your butler? I don't want to cook all the time for you, and today I don't even want to cook for myself. So, please take some work off my shoulders. I've even prepared the ingredients for you."
"I'm not going to cook in my underwear!" She protested.
Yukimura rolled his eyes and headed to the couch where her white top with straps was, tossing it to her. She wondered why it was laying there.
"Here. Satisfied?" He said, irritated.
Kari hurried to put on her top, pulling it over her body, relieved to finally hide some skin. Then, she headed to the electric kitchen-stove and saw bowls filled with eggs, meat, rice, and a variety of vegetables. A few bottles of sauce stood in the background.
A dull butterknife, spatula and a pair of chopsticks laid on the stove as well, ready to be used. Kari eyed everything grimly.
"What would you like to eat?" She asked him.
"Just make whatever you want or whatever you can with the ingredients," he told her, then dropped to the white couch in the living room, waiting for her to cook.
She began.
He eyed the yellow mass on his plate with suspicion and distaste. "What's...this?"
"...Omelet rice," she answered quietly.
He scooped up a bite into his spoon and shoved it into his mouth before his eyes widened and he started to cough violently, drowning everything quickly with several gulps of water.
"What's this? The eggs are burned on the outside and raw on the inside, Kari. The carrots are completely raw on the other hand. And, vinegar has no business in omelet rice!" He listed down a series of things she had done wrong, and she pouted.
She had warned him beforehand, didn't she?
"I told you to not let me cook but you wouldn't listen!"
He tilted his head, resting it against his hand. "Oh, did you? And when exactly did you tell me that? I might be wrong but all you did seemed to be sulking at me."
"Well...I implied it, didn't I?"
He sighed, poking the sorry excuse of food on his plate. "Just what do you eat at home?"
"...Cheap takeaways. There's a snack bar near my home that sells good food for fantastic prices. I eat their food every single day."
"What about your wallet?"
"I told you already, they sell at fantastic prices."
"I see."
He rose from the couch and took the plates, his and hers, heading to the kitchen, causing Kari to feel a pang of hurt. He was probably going to throw the food away. He didn't have to, even if the food was this bad...
"Are you going to throw them away?" The question slipped from her tongue without her consent.
He stopped to glance over his shoulder at her. "Why would I do that? It would be a waste of food. I'm going to redo it instead."
He could do that? Even with what she had made?
He hadn't been lying when he said that he could salvage the "dish" she had made. He had only thrown the entire egg topping of the omelet-rice away but not the fried rice she had made, redoing the former completely and simply spicing up the latter to cover the awful taste she had produced.
The result had been a mind-numbing. But then again, she shouldn't have been surprised – there were always second chances.
Kari's eyes lit up when she stuck the spoon with the dish into her mouth. "Mmh, it's good!"
"I'm glad you think so," he replied, lighting up a cigarette. Kari frowned. She hated it when he smoked.
"I can't believe you managed to save it."
He smirked lop-sidedly. "I can't believe it neither."
She glowered.
"And, in the end I had to cook again," he complained, more interested in smoking than eating.
"I'm sorry about that," she mumbled.
He just smoked some more before he ate his own portion as well.
When they were both done with eating, leaving the plates empty, Yukimura put the dirty dishes into the sink. He didn't wash them at once and instead approached Kari, making her stand up with a gentle hand on her arm. "It's time for you to go back to your room."
Kari complied.
They went upstairs and already reached her room to her dismay. Yukimura had already opened the door to her room when she grabbed his hand to his surprise, interlacing her fingers with his, noticing that they were quite much longer and bigger than hers.
"Please...I don't want to go to my room, yet. I want to go to yours," she requested with a needy voice with loneliness but there was something more important than it; there was something she had to confirm and see with her own eyes.
Silence stretched between them and for a moment Kari was afraid he would deny her but to her astonishment he agreed, "Alright."
They went to his room.
To her surprise, his room was located right opposite hers.
He opened the door for her and let her in first; she would've thought of him as a gentleman if he hadn't abducted her forcefully. The room was just as she had imagined: it was full of trophies and medals which were the testament to his former glory, and there was even a red Yonex tennis racket laying abandoned in the corner.
Her assumptions had been confirmed.
He either hadn't given up on tennis and he was still clinging to it.
Opposite the wall of trophies was his bed, plain with blue and white sheets, and his desk with his Macbook. It had been ages since she had touched a computer or surfed on the net.
Yukimura just dropped on his bed and crossed his arms behind his head unexpectedly. She thought he would be much more wary of her in his room but he just looked comfortable.
"Can I look at them?" Kari asked him carefully, expecting a backlash. However, he hardly evr fulfilled her expectations of him, didn't he?
"Go ahead. They won't bite."
Taking his permission, she approached his trophies. They had been polished so well that she could see her own face in them - he was still taking care of them.
National Tournament 20xx - 1st place
Junior Tennis Tournament - 1st place
LondonTennis Tournament - 1st place
However, then she spotted something truly of value- a picture of Yukimura with his team but when they were younger, probably thirteen or so. He was smiling into the camera, brightly, happy and triumphant. Kari smiled as well, happy for him, too.
"How did you team react when they heard about your...incident," Kari began.
"They were devastated, of course. At some point, I began to think they were the ones whose career was ruined by that incident. Sanada had always asked me if there was really no way if I could play tennis on the professional ground again until I threw him out of my life."
Kari bit her lip. "Well...can you?"
"I can play tennis for fun but seriously. The implants aren't good enough to keep up with the strain of a professional match or the many hours of training a pro is required to do."
"I'm sorry about that."
"Is there any point if you're sorry for me?"
She approached him and sat down on his bed, getting his attention, making him slowly to gaze up at her.
"Yukimura," she began. "There are second chances for you."
He smiled sardonically at her. "You're too naïve, Kari. Tennis is for me like one's own face for other people. What would you do if someone suddenly poured acid into your face and disfigured you with that? Would you still be able to say that there are second chances? And, what about the perpetrator?"
"If someone poured acid into my face and I ended up being disfigured, I would do skin transplantation. There are always second chances, Yukimura. And, I fully believe that the perpetrator will get what they deserve. The world is fair after all."
He shook his head with cynical amusement. "You're too pragmatic. Too unjaded."
"And, you are not pragmatic enough and too jaded! Even if the implants aren't good enough now, they will be so in the future. Technology will keep advancing and -"
"If I am still alive until then," he cut her off, cynical and jaded. She hated seeing him like that; she wanted to help him to restore his past glory.
"Don't say that."
She took his hand into both of hers, tightening her grip on it. "I don't believe that Satoshi was able to ruin you. You're so much better than that. So much better than...him. You mustn't give up."
He was astonished, her words were like hot rays of light, piercing him and it hurt.
He hated her so much for it.
If she was light, then he was nothingness. He couldn't allow her to fill his blank, white canvas but in that moment he was too weak to stop her.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him.
In spite of her attempt to breathe hope into him, Yukimura's mood didn't brighten significantly afterward. He kept on cooking but only breakfast and made cup-noodles for lunch and dinner for the next few days. It was as if letting out the truth, had drained him of his strength. He had slipped into a depression, even though it was a mild one.
Yet, he showed no signs of wanting to let her go. She had asked him carefully if he would let her go and he had given her the most venomous glare in response. She hadn't dared to ask again.
Kari was worried. She couldn't remain his prisoner forever. It wouldn't be fair to both of them; she couldn't let both of them waste away.
She offered to cook for both of them. Surprisingly, he had agreed in spite of last time's disaster.
This time, however, Kari intentionally ruined the meal, making it unsalvageable. Everything was a mass burnt colors and the texture of puke. Yukimura hadn't noticed, yet, as he was still lounging on the couch, thinking about something.
She inhaled, then exhaled sharply, clenching her fists, mentally preparing herself. She hated using her body like this but drastic situations required drastic measures. She knew that every guy liked her for her looks; Yukimura would be no different.
Without hesitation, she pulled her white tank top over her shoulders and tossed it to the floor carelessly. She walked over to him. He was still lost in his thoughts, not having noticed her half-naked state, yet.
"Honey," she cooed and climbed on his torso, pressing herself against him like a kitten in heat, greedily roving her hand over his chest. Her heart was pounding. "I have ruined the food."
Yukimura looked up at her with a frown of surprise and amusement. "What are you doing, Kari?"
Her heart pounded even harder. Was she laying on too thick? "Just as I thought I really can't cook." That not being able to cook would one day save her was absurd irony; she thanked her mom for her lack of cooking skills. She dipped her head to the side so that her honey locks fell across her sun-kissed, smooth neck. "And, I'm sick of cup-noodles, so please order some pizza."
It was dirty of her but she was banking on his on settling depression. She hoped that it would befuddle his mind enough to make him let his guard down if she added some teasing to it. It only helped that she had been especially docile in the last days, too.
Against all odds, it seemed to work, though.
He smiled wryly. "Are you putting on a strip-show just for some pizza?"
"It's not just some pizza. It's pizza I hadn't in months," she corrected him coyly. If he had a neck-tie, she would've been pulling on it for added effect.
"Okay. You win." He shut his book and got up. "I will order us one. I want one, too."
It had worked. He hadn't even realized what she was up to. Depression was a dangerous thing, she guessed. Under normal circumstances, his mind was razor sharp and he would've definitely caught upon her plan but not now.
She smiled sweetly. "Thank you, sweetie."
He winked.
Her smile slipped off instantly but she kept her mask on.
In the meanwhile, Yukimura was ordering pizza. He was using his own phone which he had unlocked from a cupboard. Kari's eyes zoomed in on it. So that was where he had hid it.
Just what should she do now? It was only a half-baked plan.
Make him call for pizza, so she could get help from outside because alone she wouldn't make it far. From what she saw through the window in her bedroom, she concluded that they were in the middle of nowhere, without a car she wouldn't get far. She would just end up getting caught by him again. She also needed to know where he hid a phone.
But, then what?
Knock him out with her bare hands? Yeah, sure. She still remembered the scuffle in the bathroom. It had not ended up well for her.
Yukimura didn't look like it; he was slender and his height seemed to make him even thinner than he actually was but he was all hard and corded muscles despite his lean body. His forearms were masculine and big and his hands were big enough close completely around her wrist.
Getting physically violent with him would not do her good.
Her body still remembered what he could do to her.
No, she couldn't confront him directly, she would've to trick him.
She took the pan with her ruined creation with her to the table in front of the couch in the living room and put it down there. He returned to her. Now or never.
"Kari, I've called the pizza service. They will be here in twenty minutes. Why don't you go upstairs and wait-"
"I don't want to go upstairs," she refused sultrily and grabbed him by the lapels of his blazer, throwing him onto the couch - or rather pushing him onto it by making him stumble against its edge.
Then, she straddled him and cupped his face, kissing him ferociously. He was shocked and stuttered against her mouth. When she withdrew, she yanked his shirt open by the first three buttons before she attacked his strong neck with her mouth, drawing several moans and one long breath from him. Then, she leaned back and hurried to open his buttons until Yukimura stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back.
"Kari, what are you doing?" He wanted to know, breathless and aroused. Good.
"Isn't it obvious?" She replied and was about to tear into him again but he kept her at bay with his arm.
"You're not acting like yourself. Are you sure about this?"
"Don't pretend, Yukimura. I have seen the way you're looking at me. You want me, too."
That was a lie actually. She didn't know how he was looking at her or if he was looking at her that way at all but she played the role of the temptress in heat very well. She was a convincing actress.
Yukimura, however, was staring at her with uncertainty and mistrust, not letting go of her shoulder. She made him. She yanked it off her and continued to rip open his shirt until his navel-button was exposed along with the ripples of his hard abs on his flat stomach. His hips bucked underneath her out of surprise. She dove her hand into the abyss between the layer of his shirt and the hot, toned flesh of his side, touching his hip, making him jerk even more violently than before and hiss. Her hand was groping every inch of his flat, hard stomach and chest, and he was losing himself. But she knew that she had to act soon before she had to go farther and even undo the belt of his pants.
Now or never.
Her other hand snapped to the handle of the pan and raised it above her head - a ridiculous scenario but very real one in that very moment.
The blow aimed at his head never landed. He caught her wrist, grinning menacingly up at her. "I knew you were up to something," he revealed.
Kari froze.
He had never trusted her, never let his guard down, only pretended to do so.
She quickly swapped the pan in her hands, trying to hit him again but he had also caught her other one - his tennis-honed reflexes had never dulled, although she suspected him of having kept up with some sort of training all this time.
He reversed their position by forcing her backwards and pinning her down by the wrists, the pan falling out of her hand during the struggle but she managed to jam her feet into his abdomen because hadn't trapped them under his body, yet. Yukimura was forced off her, clutching his abdomen. "You bitch," he hissed, features contorted in pain and rage.
Kari leaped off the couch, attempting to not run but he was faster, managing to catch her arm and yanking her back, his ragged breathing giving away that he must've been suppressing the agony of her blow.
His arm swept around her neck faster than she could blink and tightened, crushing her against his shoulders and chest. Kari clawed at his arm to get rid off the pressure around her neck, belatedly realizing that he had put her into a chokehold this time.
"Stop struggling or I'll choke you out," he hissed the threat in her ear but she didn't stop. She wasn't going to stop. Until she had either broken free or he had made his threat come true and choked her out.
Realizing that too, Yukimura sighed and eased his grip, allowing her to catch her breath, then lowered it to her shoulders instead. "Why are you so god-damn stubborn?"
"Why won't you let me go?" She snapped back.
"Because I won't. You're mine. You've to take his place," he breathed against her neck, wrapping his other arm additionally around her bare waist, even though it wasn't necessary. She wouldn't have gotten out of his hold anyway.
Nevertheless, it didn't stop her from trying.
She wrapped both hands around the arm bracing her shoulders and pulled but he didn't give her a single inch. When that didn't work, she changed her strategy and kept one hand on his arm around her shoulders, and put the other on the wrist around her waist, pushing at it. Nothing again. He made the impression as if he was holding a feather in his arms and she as if she was pushing at a rock - the ridiculous difference in their respective strength.
The bell rang - the pizza man.
Damn it, Yukimura thought. Kari was about to scream but he clamped a strong hand over her mouth, but he knew that he couldn't silence her this way forever, so he dragged her over to the kitchen counter to snatch a dishtowel, shoving it deep into her mouth once his hand left her mouth. Not the best transition but there was no time. His hand returned to her mouth because the gag wasn't secure alone and he dragged her back to the table between the couches, handcuffing her hands to the leg of the table. He tied the dishtowel properly around her mouth afterward, then warned her, "Be quiet."
He redid his buttons and swept a hand through his hair on the way to the door from where the delivery man would not be able to see Kari due the position of the table.
The bell rang repeatedly until Yukimura opened the door and flashed a charming smile at the young man in front of him who was surprisingly handsome. Hardly any delivery man was good looking.
The young man smiled back first, then frowned, "Are you okay, sir? You look like you've been through the wringer."
"I'm fine. I always look like this when I roll out of bed."
"Oh, okay. Well, here is your pizza delivery. One large pizza with bacon and extra cheese. That will be 2000 yen, please."
Yukimura shoved his hand into his pocket and fished out the money for the bill and more. When his head angled downwards during the motion, he spot a tennis racket and a yellow tennis ball beside the young man's legs.
"You play tennis?" Yukimura asked coolly.
"Yes! I intend to go pro this year," he declared proudly.
Yukimura only smiled tightly. "I see. Good luck with it."
"Thank you!" The other replied happily, not noticing the grimness in Yukimura's eyes.
"Here. Keep the change."
The young man's face brightened. "Thank you so much, sir. Have a good afternoon."
Yukimura smiled back but it didn't reach his eyes. "You, too."
He took the pizza box that was warm and the pizza inside smelled so good that it made him hungry, returning to the living room.
He should've been still angry at her for her attempt to trick him but the young man's good mood must've rubbed off him and the pizza also put him in a better mood. "Kari, the pizza is there," he called.
When he saw the table from afar however, his heart skipped a beat and his blood boiled.
She was gone. The backdoor was open.
He let out a blood-curdling yell of rage.
Shiraishi Kuranosuke, an attractive medicine student who was working part-time at a pizza-shop, was bringing delivery to a house in the middle of nowhere. He was bouncing the tennis ball up and down on his racket on his way back to his car, a quirk of him to make his boring job less dull. However, today had been good. The charming young man from before had given him a generous tip which he put into his bank account to save up money.
He was shocked when suddenly a girl dressed in nothing but a tank top and panties ran into his arms, throwing herself around his neck, sobbing panicingly.
"Help me!" Kari cried, throwing her arms around the attractive delivery man, causing him to drop his silver tennis-racket.
"I was kidnapped!" She sobbed desperately into his shoulder, clinging to him as if her life depended on it.
Shiraishi was flabbergasted at first but then regained his composure and gripped her shoulders reassuringly. "Okay! Calm down! Everything will be okay now; I have got you."
"You got who?"
Kari froze.
In the next moment, she was yanked back by the forearm, out of the arms of safety while simultaneously a stun gun was jammed against the delivery man's chest, shocking with a wave of electricity him and knocking him out cold. He sagged to the ground - She screamed. Right next to him was the tennis racket. He was unconscious and unable to help her. She was on her own - again.
"You're not going to leave! You'll never leave me! I'll make sure of that!" Yukimura shouted into her face, his usually beautiful face twisted to an ugly grimace.
The stun gun in his hand had been switched on, the blue electricity sizzling dangerously close to her, even as she furiously clenched her hands around his wrist with both hands, gritting her teeth. She knew that under no circumstances she could allow him to touch her with that - it would mean game-over, and this time for real. She would never get away from Yukimura if she let that happen.
However, the struggle appeared pointless. The stun gun neared her face, her jawline inch-by-inch and her arms were beginning to strain under his; her raw strength was no match for his. However, she refused to give up - if she did everything was over.
"Just give up!" He hissed into her face and to her shock he traded the gun to his other hand just as she had done so with the pan.
She raised her leg, however, and slammed it into his groin, causing him to go down like a sack of potatoes. The stun gun dropped the ground harmlessly. She reached for it but Yukimura tripped her and she toppled to the ground. Bastard. However, he was still clutching his groin with at least one hand, gritting his teeth to bear the pain. The agony must've been piercing but there was no time for pity; she had to knock him out before he got the upper hand again.
Kari groped for the stun gun but Yukimura smacked it clumsily out of her reach as she had ended up straddling him during the process. Out of any useable weapons, Kari was out of ideas; she decided to use to her own fists on him instead – who cared about being girly now? She punched Yukimura – or tried to punch him. He jerked his head away in the last second and his hand snapped up to her throat instead, pinning her down and reversing their position instead. His other hand joined her neck.
Kari was choking under him, her throat contracting painfully under the grip of his hands.
"I told you that you wouldn't go anywhere," he taunted from above.
In the heat of the struggle, however, she managed to slam the edge of her palm against his larynx. He choked and clutched his own throat, giving Kari enough time to jam her elbow into his side, effectively getting him off her. She got up and raced towards the unconscious pizza-delivery man but Yukimura grabbed her ankle and yanked her back, making her scream as she fell. He was immediately on her. The tennis-racket was nearby – either a miracle or strike of luck, or both. She didn't care. She grabbed it and smashed the racket with all her strength against Yukimura's temple, hitting the bull's eye. It knocked him out cold; his body hit. She was breathing heavily but kept her iron grip on the racket just in case, not daring to drop her guard as she lowered herself to him carefully.
She held her own breathing as she knelt down and checked his pulse. It was faint but it was still there - thank god, thank god. She exhaled, collapsing onto the ground. It was over, finally over.
However, she had not failed to notice the twisted irony of fate – out of all things, it had been a tennis-racket with which she had knocked him out.
Kari was wrapped in a brown, woolen blanket, which gave her warmth and comfort as she sat in the police car. Outside the vehicle, the police officers were talking with the pizza delivery man, who turned out to be Shiraishi Kuranosuke, a P.E student who aimed to be a professional tennis player. The irony of it was not lost on her, and she even found it a bit amusing. And, even more amusing was that it had been a tennis-racket that had become her weapon and with which she had knocked him unconscious. She secretly made a vow to be forever grateful to Shiraishi's racket.
However, to Yukimura it was probably not amusing at all. If anything, then he probably found it very bitter, which made her feel sorry for him. Sorry for the loss of his career, for the loss of his dream. She could not blame him for wanting to to take out his pain on her after finding out that she had contributed to his misfortune, albeit without realization and intention.
Just as she thought about him, two other police officers were taking Yukimura, whose hands were handcuffed behind his back, to another police car. Their eyes briefly met but there was no resentment towards her in his, only anger towards himself and his unfair destiny.
Two months later the trial was held.
Yukimura would not be jailed and he would be on probation for one year instead. His circumstances made his crime reasonable, although not excusable, he would still be pardoned. His wrongdoings never crossed a line that would make him inhuman after all.
He was still too valuable for Japan after all because he be could still be used as a figure to animate aspiring tennis players.
Of course, Kari's statement had helped a lot, too. She had told the jury that he had never mistreated her during her confinement, which of course had been a stretch because some of the things he had done to her were plainly inexcusable but he was just a victim, too. She had not wanted him to be jailed, either.
She understood. It had never been about her but about himself and tennis.
And, he deserved a second chance after this trial. It had been a trial of second chances for him.
Five months later, she stood in front of his dormitory. His single apartment was small and cozy, different from the large, cold house he had confined her in.
If he was surprised, he never showed it. He only smiled humorlessly and left the door open to let her in, retreating into his apartment.
"Tea?" He asked her.
She simply nodded, even though he wasn't looking at her and already making it in the kitchen. She walked to the kitchen as well.
"Why are you here?" He asked as she was still approaching, standing quite a distance away from her.
"I wanted to talk to you."
"Talk?" He echoed, sounding bewildered. "Not afraid that I'm going to kidnap you again?"
"You're on probation."
"So what? Many criminals are and they still commit another crime."
"You're not a criminal. I wouldn't be here if you were."
He shook his head with a chuckle, and sat down at the quaint wooden table with a plate of fruit in the center. "You never change, Kari."
"I believe that you never changed for the worse either, Seiichi."
His eyes narrowed. It wasn't lost on him that it was the first time she had used his first name. "What do you mean?"
"Do you regret what you did to me?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Just answer me."
He raised a delicate eyebrow and smirked wryly. "If I said that I didn't, then what would you do?"
Her expression turned grim.
His smirk softened into a smile, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms outstretched. "Do you still not know me after the time you spent with me?"
The regret was so crushing he couldn't sleep at night.
"Good, that's all I wanted to hear."
She fished out something from her handbag – a business card of someone, he frowned.
"Here, I want you to have this."
He took it, still frowning. "What's this?"
"It's the contact address of a friend of mine. He specializes in bone implants. I've told him about your situation and he said that he was conducting studies in America about re-growing bones for cases like yours. If they succeed, you'll no longer need the artificial implants for your wrist and shoulder. It will be liked like new. Like they've never been injured in first place."
He was shocked at the news. That would mean a clean re-start. A completely clean one without any dirty reminders of that incident or the years he had wasted.
"However, I'm actually not supposed to talk about this study since it's still supposed to be secret but I've convinced him to take you as a test subject."
He stared at the card, then back at her. "Why are you doing this for me?"
She was just as pretty as before, her hair was longer and there was an air of maturity about her now that made her look older.
"I told you already, didn't I? In this world, there are second chances but before there is a trial. And, you have passed it. The rest is up to you, however."
Then, she turned around and walked out of his apartment, closing the door with an air of finality.
Yukimura stared at the card in his hand and made his decision.
Three years later…
"The second match of the Wimbledon Championship will commence now! America will be represented by Rhoul Federer and Japan by Yukimura Seiichi, the tennis prodigy who had suffered a great tragedy. It had forced him to give up his career for eight, long years. But now he's back! Finally! Please give him a big applause!"
The stadium shook under the applause of the audience.
'I'm back on the court now,' Yukimura Seiichi thought, grabbing the handle of his racket, rose from the bench and walked to the court.
Where he belonged.
The trial was over.