"I never really understood it," Yukimura remarked idly. He volleyed the ball back to Tezuka, who was waiting expectantly on the other side of the net.
"What?" Tezuka lobbed the ball back.
"Why Genichirou was so obsessed with you. Well, I suppose he still is or he wouldn't be here." The ball flew to Yukimura's racket and was shot back across the net. Yukimura's point. 30-love. Neither said the score out loud.
"What do you mean?" Yukimura waited as Tezuka served.
"Gen's been after you for years. Whether or not he was aware of it." Yukimura dashed to the net, paused, then returned the heavy ball deep in the back left corner. He really wasn't all that surprised when the ball gravitated towards Tezuka.
"And you understand now?" Tezuka was sweating. But he was also shining. The Tezuka Zone made glitter and sparkles dance around the legendary Buchou of Seigaku. But Yukimura Seiichi was infamous in his own right. So then, Yukimura wondered again and again, why did he feel the impulse to fight Tezuka?
"I'm beginning to," Yukimura said, barely audible. Tezuka was strong. Worthy. He showed it by not rising to Yukimura bait as others would have. Tezuka was supposed to hate him. He'd taken Fuji away.
Ah, Fuji. Fuji had been a means to an end, rather than a beginning. Fuji had been to alleviate some of Yukimura's perpetual boredom. It'd been fun, the chemistry had been there, but the timing had been all wrong. Fuji clearly had a thing for Tezuka. And Yukimura played second fiddle to no one. Certainly not-
Tezuka's powerful backhand dipped at the last moment and Yukimura's racket missed. Tezuka scored his first point.
Yukimura wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Say 'don't be careless' and I'll aim for your glasses." He waved his racket in a quasi threatening manner.
Tezuka looked like he was fighting a smile. Yukimura cursed him in three different languages. Japanese, English and Pig Latin. Yukimura stalked back to the baseline and served fast and hard. And resumed thinking.
It wasn't that Yukimura wanted Sanada for himself or was even romantically interested in Sanada. It was just that Sanada had always been his. To challenge, to tease, to order. Sanada was Yukimura's as long as Sanada considered himself as such. But Sanada didn't anymore. Finding that Sanada was no longer his sent Yukimura into a tempestuous rage.
But his anger had abated. The match had helped. Sanada had seen Yukimura's shadowed gaze or perhaps had felt the impending doom in the air. He'd suggested to his ex-crush, best friend and captain that Yukimura express himself in a way that wouldn't kill the team. And Yukimura had agreed and had chosen to express himself through his tennis.
Tezuka didn't need to prove himself to anyone, had proved himself countless times to Yukimura. But wasn't it the other way around? Yukimura paused in his thoughts, though his arms and legs carried him effortlessly around the court. Wasn't he, Yukimura, the one who felt the need to prove himself to Tezuka? But why? Tennis wasn't just about fun, Yukimura knew that. Tezuka knew that. But then what was it about? Winning, of course. But also a fight. Yukimura knew that winning, while a high in its own right, wasn't as good if it hadn't been through hard work.
And if Tezuka could instill the honor of Tennis into that brat, then he was truly worthy. But even so, appearances could be deceiving; Yukimura was living proof of that. Tezuka needed to know what would happen if he crossed Seiichi Yukimura.
"Just so you know, if you screw Genichirou over, I'll make what Atobe did to your shoulder look like a paper cut."
Executing Tezuka's zero shiki drop shot, Yukimura neatly tucked away another win. Bowing slightly, Yukimura Seiichi left a slightly stunned audience and an amused Tezuka in his wake. Tezuka didn't doubt a word Yukimura said. And then Tezuka threw his head back and laughed. Because Seigaku's Atobe Keigo had nothing on Yukimura when the Rikkai player wanted to leave a lasting impression.
I win, Yukimura thought somewhat viciously as he left the court, the gate creaking merrily shut behind him. He thought he saw Renji's old doubles partner scribbling in a notebook. Which reminded him. Usually he'd celebrate with Renji and Sanada, but they were otherwise engaged. Renji had taken a liking to that first year with a mop, and it really was a mop, of curly black hair, oddly flashing red eyes and a bucket full of determination.
It couldn't hurt, then, that Atobe Keigo's number was in his cell phone's address book. Not on speed-dial, of course. Yukimura wasn't a girl; he didn't need anything but tennis to gratify him.
Yukimura allowed himself a brief moment to feel pain as he left Seigaku's school grounds, but it passed quickly enough. Yukimura had seen the look Sanada had given Tezuka. The look he'd used to give to Yukimura, even though Yukimura had won. But then the moment was over and Yukimura shrugged it off. His cell rang. Yukimura glanced down at the caller id and smiled. Atobe's timing was impeccable as always.