Chapter 13

Watching from the sidelines, Ryoma felt his eyes start to throb. He knew he shouldn't be pleased that buchou and the monkey king lost, but that meant that they would definitely have to enter the second singles match... presuming they didn't lose in straight matches.

He was starting to wonder.

Akazawa hit the ball again, and Kikumaru went after it, and though his racquet made contact, he missed the sweet spot — hell, Ryoma noticed, he missed most of it. The ball went out, and Kikumaru growled in frustration.

It was rare to see Kikumaru so serious. Usually he had fun while playing, clowning around and teasing his opponents in such a playful fashion that it was hard to take offense, but today his focus seemed off.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to follow the blurring ball, but he counted five before having to shut them.

"You okay?" a soft voice asked.

It was all he could do to not jump out of his skin. Someone had managed to surprise him and he didn't appreciate it. Turning his head slightly, he met Fuji's smiling face.

"I'm fine."

Fuji glanced over at the match, frowning a bit. "Is something wrong?"

"The tennis ball blurs, whenever the big one's hitting," Ryoma said. "It's like seeing five or six at once."

Inui, standing nearby, tapped his pen thoughtfully as he watched. "It's Akazawa. His backhand is executed using the top of the gut instead of the sweet spot..."

"Which makes the lines on the ball blur," Fuji said. "Most people wouldn't notice but for someone with extraordinary sight like Kikumaru, he'll end up chasing all of the balls." He glanced over at Ryoma a little curiously as the first year finally turned away.

"I'm going to go get a drink." Ryoma announced, marching off.

"Interesting, isn't it, that he noticed that?" Fuji mused.

Inui saw Fuji's eyes follow Ryoma, and felt a twinge of sympathy for the first year. First he had managed to attract the attention of both Tezuka and Atobe — now he seemed to have just earned himself a place on Fuji's radar.

"He's playing your brother later," Inui said. "You're not going to..." he trailed off, knowing that Fuji had a tendency to be overprotective of his younger brother.

Fuji's benign smile was hardly reassuring. "It's a game, and Ryoma is my teammate," he said. "Of course I'm going to hope he plays his best."

"But not beat your brother?"

Fuji just gave him another smile. "I'd like to be able to play today. It's weird, being Singles 1."

"You'll get to play," Inui said grimly. He turned his head, just in time to watch Kikumaru and Oishi enter a tiebreak. "The Golden Pair just lost."

"Kikumaru is amazing to make it this far," Fuji said softly in agreement. "It's too bad, really."

Kikumaru tried, and Oishi did his best, but the St. Rudolph's pair was frantic in their defense.

Game set, won by Akazawa-Kaneda pair, 7-6.

Kaidou's match was coming up next, and his opponent was a small, mousy-looking boy called Nomura. The boy appeared to be a little nervous over his match against Kaidou, and Fuji could see him shrinking visibly when the viper hissed at him in his habitual manner.

Even before the match began, Fuji could already predict the outcome.

"He's not going to last for the match," the prodigy's soft voice raised Atobe's attention. He abandoned the rather comfortable perch he had taken beside Tezuka (much to the bewilderment of the rest of the team,) and approached where Fuji was standing with a contemplative look. "Look at Kaidou's opponent."

"He looks like he's going to lose the control of his bladder anytime." Atobe's amused reply was something Fuji had been expecting. "Pathetic. And he's playing Singles 3? I wonder why."

As it turned out, the boy did have some tricks up his sleeves, and he did know a number of Kaidou's weak spots, an uncanny foresight that the whole team appeared to be equipped with today. But Nomura didn't have the skill to pull off what was needed to really make Kaidou lose the match, and he was being used to wipe the courts by the time Kaidou was through all his tricks.

Atobe and Fuji had both noticed the pattern the other team had. Whenever there were breaks and prior to matches, the smirking boy sitting on the coach's bench would speak to the team members with careful looks directed at their opponents. It felt as if he was carefully orchestrating his team members, and whenever he stopped twirling his hair, it usually meant that something was wrong with the team member playing on the courts.

"I think it's him." Atobe frowned, staring hard at St. Rudolph's manager. "The manager. The one who keeps twirling his hair in a girly manner."

Fuji agreed. "He appears to be the brain behind the team."

"Mizuki Hajime, third year student in St. Rudolph." Inui offered helpfully, flipping through his data book. "The team has no coach and they are managed by him alone. He appears to practice the use of data tennis as well, and he has a tendency to make use of the other teams playing against St. Rudolph's rival schools to test the accuracy of his predictions and data. It is said that his predicted score for matches have never gone wrong."

"You spoke to him, then?" Atobe's gave Inui a look.

"Ahh, I met him briefly outside the courts just now. He was giving information away to Akiyama Third Junior High."

The diva sighed, and almost rolled his eyes. "I knew it. The bastard. No wonder everyone suddenly appeared to be smarter today."

"He predicted a loss for Singles 3, then?" Fuji turned to regard Inui with a faint, curious look.

"6-2. That's all Nomura was going to get out of Kaidou." As Inui spoke, Fuji glanced to the scoreboard. "He is aware of his own team's strengths and weaknesses."

"Game and set, Kaidou Kaoru! 6 set to 2!"

"He's smart," Atobe began, staring hard at the other boy. "But you should know the limitations of data tennis, don't you Inui?"

"Ahh."

"Where is Echizen?" Fuji glanced around their resting area, noting that the younger boy was nowhere in sight.

"Probably warming up," Atobe answered, shrugging off his friend's concern. "Someone should let him know the match is about to start, though."

Fuji rose to his feet, smiling. "I'll go. Sumire-chan, I'm going to go get Echizen," he called as he started away.

"Don't call me Sumire-chan!" was the reply, but Fuji had already left.

Fuji told Atobe that he wanted his team to win, but he felt decidedly more divided now that the moment was upon him. He hated to see Yuuta suffer, and he knew that Ryoma was in the mood to cause a ruckus. One of them was going to go down quite badly, and Fuji was going to be the one caught in the middle.

He didn't want to lose, damn it. But if they won, his brother would get hurt.

He had hurt his brother too often before, Fuji knew. Often in trying to protect him, he had caused more damage. People only saw the light that shone from the first born son, the entrancing shine of the moon and stars, not realizing the second born was just as special, with the passion and fire of a small sun that made the moon live. But people loved the unknown, and that was what Fuji was.

It was unfair, Yuuta had accused him more than once, and Fuji was forced to agree. However Yuuta didn't seem to understand that the world was inherently unfair. Fuji would have done almost anything to change that, but he couldn't. The world didn't work like that.

A familiar face wearing St. Rudolph's jersey was moving towards him, and he paused. His brother froze as well, and for the first time since Yuuta left months ago, they were alone.

"You look great, Yuuta. Are you used to dorm life yet?" he asked, trying to find somewhere to begin.

Yuuta didn't answer, so Fuji pressed on. "I thought you might end up playing against me, and I was looking forward to the match, but I got bumped to Singles ones. It's too bad," he said, even though he didn't feel it. Let Yuuta play Echizen, and decide it through tennis, instead of feelings.

"Don't lie to me!" Yuuta growled, clenching his fist. He snapped about Ryoma, before declaring he was going to crush the first year student. "I'll win the game for St. Rudolph," he promised icily, brushing past his brother.

"Yuuta, our rookie won't be that easy to beat," Fuji said, trying to warn his brother to salve his conscience somewhat.

"I won't know until I try," Yuuta called back, then disappeared to the court.

Fuji knew he still need to retrieve Echizen, but his eyes wandered over to where Yuuta had been practicing.

The ball was lodged between metal, high, high above.

He knew, instantly, using the skill that elevated him to the level of prodigy, exactly what had happened. And he had a good idea who must have taught his brother that move.

"Mizuki," he growled.

The sound of a steady "thud, thud, thud" broke his concentration. He forced himself to relax as Seigaku's first year started to wander by, bouncing a ball on the rim of his racquet carelessly.

"Echizen," Fuji began, turning to regard the younger boy. "Your match should be starting soon."

The boy only turned to glance at him briefly, his footsteps coming to a stop. "I know."

"Don't underestimate your opponent."

"He's your younger brother, isn't he?" The nonchalant question made Fuji tense. "Is he as good as you?"

Fuji knew losing his cool would do nothing for his reputation, and Ryoma probably didn't know the implications behind what he was asking. There were so many hidden meanings and double sides to the questions and situations Ryoma unwittingly threw him into, it made Fuji unsettled inside. He could answer him honestly, or he could brush the issue off like it didn't matter.

"He might be as good as me."

The younger boy 'humph'ed and started walking back to the courts again, bouncing his tennis ball. Fuji watched him for a moment longer, eyes opened and something unfamiliar struggled within the bright blue irises.

"I'm not going to lose the match," Ryoma began, his voice sounding loud and clear. "So expect no mercy from me just because he's your younger brother, Fuji-senpai."

"I know," the faint smile barely made its way to his face. "Show him no mercy, then."

"I'm going to make him cry."

The Echizen-Fuji match began after a flurry of conversations started up on the courts, as the spectators wondered about the outcome. Many of them had hoped for a Fuji-Fuji match, but they weren't disappointed when they heard that Echizen was a left-handed player. Everyone wanted to see how Yuuta played against left-handed players.

The two players shook hands and Ryoma regarded the older boy with a nonplussed look. "Ne, you're Fuji-senpai's younger brother, right?"

Yuuta's face tightened in anger.

"I wonder who's stronger. This is going to be fun." The slight sneer in Ryoma's voice made Atobe give him a sharp look.

The match started off with Yuuta serving and keeping his service match. When it came to Ryoma's turn, it appeared that his twist serve wouldn't work on the younger Fuji. He found a way around that, and the spectators were all holding their breaths throughout the game, all the way until something Fuji had been waiting to see appeared.

The twist spin shot.

The moment Yuuta made that shot, a few of the wiser players caught their breaths. Mizuki smirked, pleased that Yuuta was showcasing what he taught him, and proud that the younger boy had finally decided to show the others what made him a 'left-handed killer'. The manager had coached all his teammates and designed to train them using specific techniques meant for making them stronger than before.

That was how St. Rudolph managed to climb as high as where they were at now.

Everyone once again held their breaths and watched Ryoma counter the new shot after adjusting his racket angle while losing a few points. Atobe snorted, amused by the younger boy's ability to adapt and move with the flow. He could see greatness untapped in the younger boy. Now, if he had the correct guidance...

Ryoma regard his racket for a moment before turning to stare at Yuuta. "Ne, you really shouldn't do that twist-something so much."

It was a subtle silence, one which only a few people on the court observed. Tezuka, Atobe, Mizuki, Fuji and Ryuuzaki – all of them waited with hushed breaths to see what the other boy would do. They were the ones who realized exactly the same thing Ryoma had – that the shot Yuuta was using would eventually destroy his shoulder.

Predictably enough, Yuuta snapped back at Ryoma, completely oblivious to the tension from the sidelines, but Atobe's eyes were drawn to Mizuki. The manager looked stunned and a bit afraid.

"He knows," Atobe told Fuji.

Fuji wasn't wearing a smile. "I know," he said, and clear blue eyes regarded Mizuki like a cat eyeing a mouse it wasn't sure which way to pounce on.

Atobe almost felt sorry for him.

At the bench, people were starting to make comments about whether placing Echizen in singles 2 had been such a good idea.

"He should have been in 3, and Kaidou in two," Arai was muttering. "Why did we put a left-handed player up against the left-handed killer?"

"Shut up, Arai!" Momoshiro snapped. "You can't beat Echizen, so have a bit of faith. He'll win!"

"He's three games down," Arai said resentfully.

"Just watch, Arai," Atobe advised. "You're about to see why Echizen is a regular," he said.

"Atobe-senpai?"

Atobe pointed to his eyes, staring at the match with a wide grin on his face. "This is the brat's first official singles match. He's not about to go down without a fight – and I know he's about to show us something interesting. I can see it."

"Insight!" a few of Atobe's devout followers murmured, almost in awe.

Inui, on hearing the word that described one of Atobe's most-vaunted abilities, prepared his pen, waiting to see what the first year would pull.

Meanwhile, on the court, Yuuta fired off another twist spin shot. To everyone's amazement, Ryoma ran head-long for it - and suddenly slid under the ball before managing to return it with a strange shot that arced twice on the court.

"What was that?" someone whispered.

"Drive B," Ryoma's voice proclaimed calmly.

Atobe started to laugh. "He's impertinent, I'll give him that."

The others started to gather around as Inoue, the reporter, gave his explanation of what Ryoma had done and how remarkable a shot it was. Atobe tuned him out, leaning forward a bit to listen to what Ryoma was saying instead.

"Your older brother isn't the only strong player here," Ryoma said to Yuuta, before turning to walk back to his place. "Your goal might be to beat him, but I'm aiming much higher!" The slender finger he pointed into the air made his statement, and Atobe smiled at Fuji.

"You were just insulted."

Fuji didn't seem to be paying attention, and didn't reply. His eyes were fastened on his brother's face, and he seemed to come to a decision. Then they moved over to the player-manager Mizuki, and Atobe suddenly realized that Fuji was in one of those rare moods of his where he felt like totally obliterating a person off the face of the earth.

It would be fun to watch, Atobe knew, but he still couldn't stop himself from inching away slightly from Fuji, who seemed to be simmering quietly. Atobe wasn't afraid of anything, but he wasn't stupid either. He did have good self-preservation instincts.

The match progressed with the Seigaku supporters crowing in joy when Ryoma appeared to turn the tables and Yuuta started to see where the direction of the match was heading.

"They look like they're having fun." Atobe's careful comment made Fuji regard him with a soft smile. It was the first genuine smile he had seen Fuji sport for the whole of that day.

"Ahh, yes." The prodigy turned back to the game, his face taking on a subtle shade of gentleness when he looked at Yuuta. "He's playing someone at his level now. And Yuuta will only get better if he can get past Ryoma."

"He's going to be much stronger when he faces you again, Syuusuke." Atobe's confident smile made the other boy chuckle.

"Of course. He's my younger brother."

Atobe turned back to the game, glad that the dark mood surrounding his best friend for most of the day had finally cleared. It wouldn't excuse Mizuki from being thrashed on the courts by Fuji, but at least the prodigy wouldn't be grumpy and snappy that evening.

"This Echizen..." Fuji began moments later, staring at Ryoma. "I feel like playing against him."

The diva stared at the younger boy moving rapidly on the courts, then smirked. "You'll be surprised."

"Hm?"

"He's a smarter kid now than when I last played against him, Syuusuke."

Fuji laughed, soft. "Wouldn't that make him more interesting than when you last played against him then, Keigo-chan?"

Inui eyed the two third year students standing beside him slightly nervously. He would fear for Ryoma, except that the younger boy also had no sense of self-preservation when it came to Atobe and Fuji. If he mentioned the issue to Ryoma, instead of waiting for Fuji to toss out the challenge when he felt the time was right, Ryoma would pin the other boy down and force him to have a match. He had an intense urge to play against everyone who was good, and that alone was slightly headache-inducing in its own way.

"Game set and match, Echizen Ryoma! 6-4!"

A roaring response went up around the courts, and Ryoma slowly walked towards the net after picking up his cap, which had fallen off during the last Drive B he performed. He clasped hands with Yuuta at the net, and Fuji smiled when he saw that Yuuta appeared to be glad instead of angry at the loss.

"I lost," the older boy began with a smile. "You're really strong."

Ryoma shrugged, then spoke with an almost condescending tone. "Maybe you're just weak."

"You-!"

"I'm just kidding." The younger boy smirked at Yuuta in return, then started to leave the court.

The younger Fuji stared after Ryoma with a half-angry, half-amazed look. He then broke into a brilliant smile.

"Looks like you've acquired another monster for a kouhai, aniki."

Ryuuzaki, meanwhile, was studying the scoreboard. After the Golden Pair had – against all of her expectations – lost, she had known this was the likely outcome, because she had faith in her singles players. Now, though, she felt a twist of apprehension as she glanced over at Fuji.

Fuji had taken off his warm ups and was stretching slowly, but to her experienced eye, there seemed to be something slightly off about his motions. He was moving a little more jerkily, as though anger, barely restrained, was simmering underneath his skin.

Oh, he fooled almost everyone, but she hadn't coached for thirty years without learning some things. Fuji was on the verge of rage, and she had no clue on how to calm him down and make him focus. Fuji was one of the more unique players who had ever passed through her care, and she always felt like she was riding a tiger when dealing with him – only in control because he let her.

She should never have let Atobe and Tezuka convince her to put them in Doubles 2. She should have gone with her original plan, and tried Fuji there with Momoshiro, then put Ryoma in Singles three, but she wasn't able to deny them the chance to work together. They had improved, throughout the game, but still lost eventually. It left her without her usual singles line up, and she was feeling strangely insecure.

She didn't know if she trusted Fuji as singles one. He didn't play for the team – he always had an agenda of his own, which sometimes didn't match anything most people would think of as logical.

Checking her pockets, she realised she was out of aspirin. Damn it, she thought she had packed enough. Or had she been accidentally overdosing again? she wondered.

Tezuka glanced over at Fuji, his brow furrowed. "Good luck, Fuji," he called, breaking the silence around him.

Atobe blinked a bit, wondering why Tezuka was crossing the unseen lines before recognizing that Tezuka's sense of responsibility had come into play. Seigaku rarely went into first singles after playing the first game of a round.

"Show us how a singles one player performs," Atobe challenged.

"I'll win," Fuji promised, pulling the racket from his bag.

Atobe didn't trust that reply at all. "Syuusuke, no playing with your food," he warned. "Sometimes the mouse gets lucky and manages to escape." Fuji just smiled, but the blue of his eyes stood out in warning to Atobe, who merely tossed his hands up. "Fine. It's on your head."

"Isn't it always?"

As Fuji walked onto the court, a murmur arose, announcing him. Inui, though, was looking at Atobe. "What's wrong?"

"Syuusuke's mad," Atobe said. "Bad things happen when Syuusuke is mad. He makes my temper look mild."

Kawamura nodded in agreement despite himself. "I can never tell when he is mad, but you can sure tell after."

Inui started to scribble the data down, and Atobe smiled. "Can you make photocopies of that? It might make a good public service announcement."

At the net, Mizuki Hajime was waiting with a smirk on his face.

The manager from St. Rudolph extended a hand graciously in anticipation for a handshake, but was shocked into stillness when Fuji withdrew his hand in a manner that suggested he was having second thoughts about touching Mizuki. The prodigy opened his eyes to stare at Mizuki, the blueness sharp and disturbingly cold.

"He's in for it." Atobe announced with a sigh. "I hope Syuusuke won't mess up the courts too badly. Blood is difficult to get out of synthetic courts, you know."

Next to him, Kawamura paled. Inui's pen had scratched to a stop, and the data tennis player appeared to think about adding that onto his notebook. Tezuka only shot the nonplussed looking player a sharp look.

"Let's have a good game." Mizuki's voice, which was slick and nasal, made Atobe roll his eyes, unable to resist the urge.

"This," the diva gestured vaguely towards Mizuki. "Is what you'll call 'an idiot asking for death'."

It was like looking at the remnants of a car accident. Unbearably ugly and yet one couldn't resist staring. Fuji was what one could call the epitome of vindication. He was a master at toying with his opponents. Therefore, if he was feeling kind, you might get away after feeling as if you had lost a limb or two. If he was feeling bored, you might want to reconsider meeting him on the courts again. And if he was angry, well, Atobe would usually tell those people to run when they had the chance to. There wouldn't be much of them left to go around by the time Fuji was done with those opponents he disliked strongly.

Watching the Fuji-Mizuki match was an exact example. He hoped that Inui had taken careful notes on the match, and would distribute it among the club. It would save him so much pain when the occasion rose and he had to explain to Ryuuzaki why their kouhai were smeared all over the courts.

The more ferocious an animal was, the more humans would be tempted to poke at it. That was mistake number one.

Fuji liked making those opponents he disliked think they had the upper hand, and that was exactly what happened to Mizuki. He gave him five games, and Ryuuzaki watched with progressive twitchiness as Fuji lost game after game while sporting a confused expression, like how he never expected Mizuki to predict his moves and know his weak spots.

The grin on Mizuki's face only got wider and wider, to the point where Atobe felt like wiping it off with his foot as well. Nobody should be allowed to smirk like that.

After Mizuki won the fifth game, and when everyone looked as if the world had just dropped out of the sky, since the prodigy Fuji Syuusuke was losing his match-- Fuji stopped Mizuki just as they walked past each other and while they were within the earshot of Yuuta.

"Mizuki." Both boys came to a stop. "I'm going to ask you this, just in case. Did you teach Yuuta the Twist Spin Shot even though you knew about the damage it would do to his body?"

Yuuta's eyes widened, and Mizuki appeared to go deathly still.

"Winning's the most important thing. To me, there are always casualties to victory."

That was when the wind changed.

Mistake number two, Atobe thought as he gazed at Mizuki with a pitying look. Never provoke Fuji using Yuuta. Not if one still wanted to live to see tomorrow. "Someone's going to get crunched," Atobe stated simply.

The next seven games flew by, and Atobe smirked as Fuji casually ground Mizuki into a whimpering wreck. He couldn't stop himself from laughing as Mizuki crumpled to his knees and started to yell at the end of the match about how Fuji had deliberately deceived him. Of course Fuji had, Atobe wanted to tell him. Mizuki had obviously missed the first lesson in dealing with Fuji while collecting his data: appearances were deceiving.

"Thank you for looking after my brother," Fuji told what remains of St. Rudolph's manager coldly.

Atobe had to admit that Fuji had style.

End: Chapter 13