Then, the cracks go deeper.

"Tezuka," Oishi said, sitting on the chair next to Tezuka at the study table in the library. "You have to do something: he's not doing well. Talk to him…"

"And tell him what?"

"Anything!" Oishi replied, desperately. "Tell him anything."

Tezuka looked at Oishi for a few seconds, taking in the intensity in his eyes then turned back to the book in front of him.

Oishi watched Tezuka until he was sure the conversation was over.

Suddenly, Tezuka stood.

"I have to go. I have a commitment. See you, Oishi."

Tezuka left Oishi sitting at the table, looking at his retreating back with a troubled look.

Many streets later, Tezuka found himself walking into the courts under the bridge.

"Buchou."

He turned to his right and nodded. "Echizen. Ready?"

Echizen nodded. He picked up his racquet and stretched.

As always, the rallies were fast and furious. Every hit echoed and marked the ground further.

The sun started setting, but the hitting continued.

"Six games all," Tezuka said after winning the last point. He stood in a more relaxed stance. "We should stop."

"Why?"

"There's no proper lighting here."

Echizen looked up and around. "Che."

"Ah, are you two finished?"

Echizen turned to the entrance of the court. He turned to Tezuka, his eyes narrower and his teeth gritted. "I thought these matches were ours."

Tezuka didn't have time to answer as Fuji spoke first.

"Say, Echizen-kun? Would you like to come with us for dinner?"

"No," Echizen said, going to pack his bag.

"Aw, come on. We'd love to have you," Fuji said, ignoring Tezuka's disapproving head-shake.

"No."

"Aw…"

Tezuka went to pack too.

"I have homework."

"It's Saturday, Echizen-kun. Even Tezuka doesn't study on a Saturday unless it's a final."

Echizen zipped his bag and stood, Tezuka a second behind, and carried his bag.

"There's a good Arabic take-out that sells chicken and meat shawerma sandwiches."

"What's that?"

"It's a very good sandwich with either garlic spread or an Arabic sauce they call tahini."

"Whatever."

"Come on, before it gets crowded."

Fuji took them to the Arabic place called 'Shalaweet'. It was small and busy. Tezuka opened the door, his arm holding it open over Fuji's head. Fuji walked in with a smile. The corners of Tezuka's lips were up.

Echizen's eyes deflected to the store next to it. Ah, a pharmacy and a mobile store. How very interesting. Maybe I should call for help. He laughed mentally. An empty, manic laugh that left him cold and stiff.

"Echizen."

He looked back into the take-out restaurant. Tezuka stood, holding the door from the inside.

"I'm leaving, buchou. Have a pleasant evening you two and en joy your dinner."

Echizen walked off, his foreign aura from the previous day licking at Tezuka like a bullwhip.

Tezuka didn't have a chance to think. He walked back to Fuji in autopilot and stood next to him.

"Where's Echizen-kun?"

"He…left."

Fuji's looked at him. "Left?"

"…Yeah."

"That's too bad. Those shawermas are good!" Fuji said, turning to the man wrapping their order.

Tezuka looked at the door and through it. "That's not all."

Fuji turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"Oishi and I spoke today, before the match with Echizen…"

"Sir?"

Fuji turned to the man. "Ah, thank you." He took the bag. "Go on, Mitsu." They walked out of the restaurant, each holding his shawerma, and kept walking aimlessly together.

"For that reason… it seems like we're losing him."

Fuji stopped and turned to Tezuka, his eyes open.

Tezuka's browns met with Fuji's blues.

"Oh dear."