Replacements
Summary: Misaki Saito, Kabaji's seatmate and Hyotei's resident nerdy scholar, realizes that she literally has some big shoes to fill in when Atobe assigns her to be his new personal assistant.
Pairing(s): AtobeOC, other pairings still on the works
Warning(s): A very hot and steamy Oshitari. There will be OC's in the fic, so haters gonna hate, potatoes gonna potate. Also, there might be minor inconsistencies with the characterization, as it has been a while since I last saw or read any PoT stuff. This fangirl begs your pardon.
Disclaimer: Anything recognizable is not mine.
For Lourdes, who is a great fan of Atobe.
The impossible happened.
It happened one particularly fine-weathered day, in the midst of the usual morning practice that took place in the vast sacred grounds of the Hyotei Boys' Tennis Club. All was going well, and for once, their captain didn't wake up on the wrong side of the bed and belted out his frustration on making them run too many laps, and there wasn't an angry outbreak from either Mukahi Gakuto or Ryou Shishido (they usually disrupted tennis activities by arguing in the most graceless and scandalous manner possible), which made the others feel like a piece of heaven had just fallen from the cloudless blue sky above.
The alignment of the stars must be good today, Yuushi Oshitari thought with some degree of bemusement. When Gakuto accidentally stepped on Shishido's bag on his way to get refreshments, the whole club had stopped to suck in their breath, waiting for the inevitable outcry for bloodshed to happen. However, much to their astonishment, the resident acrobatic player just mumbled a rushed apology, and the baseball-capped boy only shrugged and grunted his forgiveness.
Today is a quiet day.
Meanwhile, sitting on one of the shaded benches along the sidelines was the current captain of the two-hundred-man club, none other than the majestic Keigo Atobe himself. Sipping from a tall, expensive-looking glass of juice, the gray-haired boy's sharp, dark eyes observed the on-going match between Wakashi Hiyoshi and Jirou Akutagawa, his ("Oh so perfect, oh so puckered! Kyaa!") lips curling in distaste as he spotted several blind spots in his two teammates' respective playing styles. Hiyoshi was too rigid as usual, and Jiroh simply looked like he was going to doze off on the spot – a sign that he was severely disinterested in the game at hand. Nevertheless, the King didn't stop the below-standard performance, contrary to what happened as usual, and continued watching in silence and saving his comments for later.
With all of that said, Oshitari began feeling bothered. He felt that something about this morning was just too good to be actually true – and that was saying something, considering that it came from the Yuushi Oshitari, Kansai genius of a thousand skills. He was used to being in situations that seemed to have directly come out of a comic book (like his teammates' physics-defying special moves) or a fairytale (take the five-star restaurant inside the Hyotei building that they called the cafeteria as a classic example – come on, seriously?), but this day was just turning out to be even more extraordinary than Atobe's nineteenth-century-English-style private room in the Student Council Office.
Today is a quiet day, which is not normal.
And then the impossible happened.
With a loud snap of his fingers, Atobe gained the attention of the whole club. All stopped from what they were doing and quietly gathered in a semi-circle around the captain, with the Regulars forming a straight horizontal line right at the very front.
"Ore-sama graciously asks for all of your attention," he started needlessly, seeing that everyone's eyes were on him now. "As you all know, tennis season will be ending next week, but Ore-sama does not see this as a reason for you to stop training." He flicked his shiny hair with the back of his hand with so much flamboyance that Gakuto couldn't help disguising a snort with a fake cough. "The Regulars, as mandatory, will still have the morning and afternoon practices in the exclusive covered courts. For the top twenty-five non-regulars, Sakaki-sensei had prepared a training regimen that you will follow until the club resumes daily activities. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Buchou!" two hundred male voices chorused in perfect unison.
"As your great captain, Ore-sama had also prepared an evaluation sheet for each member, complete with your performance level charts in all of your recorded matches since the beginning of the year and points of improvement that are humbly recommended to you by my ever-perfect Insight. Ore-sama hopes it will be of vital help in honing your skills. Be awed by Ore-sama's prowess!"
As if on cue, the members of the club clapped their hands for the King's efforts, which, his incessant self-praising tendencies aside, were actually quite commendable. It was true that the Hyotei Boys' Tennis Club had not seen a captain as fastidious (and flashy) as Keigo Atobe, but the boy had all the skills to back up his over-the-top personality. Underneath all the 'Ore-sama's' and "Be awed by Ore-sama's prowess!" was hard work and dedication that had earned the respect of not just the club members, but the whole school as well, and even Shishido compelled himself to mentally give Atobe a pat on the back. The fact that he was an awe-inspiring team captain was undeniable, no matter how often he got on the dash specialist's nerves for possessing an ego the size of North America.
Another snap of Atobe's tapered fingers silenced the crowd of sweat-drenched teenage boys. "Ore-sama will now distribute the evaluation sheets," the Captain said with the air of importance of a Prime Minister. "Kabaji!"
The members expectantly turned their heads to the quiet, towering figure that stood a little ways behind Atobe, who pretty much acted around as the captain's assistant on and off the courts. Munehiro Kabaji only responded to Keigo Atobe, no matter how the Regulars had previously attempted to make him react to anything that didn't involve a snap of the King's fingers. Yielding no positive result at all, they thought it wise to just leave the huge boy alone with his only existing passion of being the Captain's loyal servant.
But today was clearly not a normal day, as Oshitari had claimed, and so the impossible happened.
Kabaji didn't respond.
Blinking twice (though the fan girls would describe it as "fluttering his beautiful long lashes gracefully"), Atobe tilted his head to the side, giving his best friend and right-hand man a confused look. "Kabaji?"
Said boy remained standing still, his beetle-black eyes staring ahead at nothingness.
A delicate (and well-trained) eyebrow rose a few inches. "Kabaji, did you not hear Ore-sama?" More concerned and puzzled than anything else, Atobe observed the tall boy closely. "Oi, what's wrong, Kaba—?"
He never finished his question, however, as at that very moment, Munehiro Kabaji fell facedown on the ground with a deafening thud, sending dust and dirt billowing up around his lifeless form.
There was a collective yelp of surprise, the loudest one coming from the Captain himself.
"KABAJI!"
"…Huh?"
A brown-haired head shot up from its previous comfortable position on the desk, round glasses slipping a few inches down a small nose in the sudden movement. A pair of half-lidded blue-gray eyes blinked blearily as it roved around the air-conditioned classroom, which was filled with gaudily dressed students currently heaving themselves up from their chairs with loud sighs of relief. Pale, chapped lips formed a small 'o' of confusion, as the mind feebly tried to grasp what was happening.
Suddenly, a hand entered the line of vision, wildly waving up and down in annoyance.
"Did you fall asleep again, Misaki?" a loud voice said disapprovingly from somewhere near.
Misaki Saito continued gaping rather ungracefully as a pretty girl with short, raven-black hair and startling blue eyes positioned herself in front of her desk, tapping a foot impatiently.
"Where's everyone going?" Misaki asked, referring to their already departing classmates.
"Class just ended, you silly girl," Ai Nakamura said with a grave sigh. "You slept all throughout History. You're lucky that Ito-sensei doesn't really care."
"I-I did?" Frantically, Misaki looked down on her blank notebook, which had served as her pillow when she went on an unexpected trip to Dreamland during class. "I didn't take down any notes at all!" She glared at the other girl. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
Ai rolled her eyes and observed her own manicured nails. "Whatever, Misaki. It's not like you'll flunk the subject or anything, being the smartass you are. I bet you've already read the whole book." She then looked up, mildly amused, as her friend got onto her feet with so much force that she had upturned the chair, looking somewhat close to deranged.
"But sensei might have mentioned things not in the book," said friend hissed dangerously. "What if he asks them in the exam? It's in three days' time. I have to get an above ninety-five in all of my subjects this year, or else—"
"Or else what?" Ai said testily, resting her hands on the smaller girl's shoulders in an attempt to calm her down. "You'll get one less plus sign off your grade?" She huffed derisively as she let go of Misaki. "Sometimes, I wonder why you're my best friend. You're disgustingly grade-conscious."
Misaki grunted, pushing her glasses up her nose and fixing her book bag with needless force. "Yes, I'm just the unpopular bookworm and you're the shining star of the drama club. Yes, yes, I know my position, Your Highness."
"Shut up," Ai quipped, trudging back to her seat (which was right behind Misaki's) and grabbing her own things. "You can be so much more popular if you aren't such a sucker for grades."
"Easy for you to say," Misaki snapped back, her glasses suddenly becoming opaque from the light's refection overhead. "You have girls and boys who will happily do all your schoolwork for you, while I have to do all the hard work myself."
"It's called having friends. You should try it sometimes."
"No, thanks."
As she moodily stuffed a notebook in her bag, Misaki threw a casual glance at the seat to her left, which had a decent view of the insanely gigantic Hyotei grounds through the window. The desk had been empty for three days now, but strangely, no one aside from her seemed to wonder why. Even their homeroom teacher didn't voice out his concern during headcounts, just passing by the name of its occupant without even a second's thought. Misaki, however, felt considerably concerned about her missing-in-action seatmate, although they never really shared any kind of friendship – let alone a conversation – to begin with.
"Hey Ai," she called out.
"What is it now?" her best friend grumbled, ready for another sarcastic blow. "You know, I'm planning to let you meet some of the people from the drama club. That way, you can get a life and—"
"Do you know what happened to Kabaji-san?" Misaki asked, not listening to a thing the other girl had been saying.
Ai blinked. "Who?"
"Munehiro Kabaji-san. My seatmate."
"You have a seatmate?"
Misaki rolled her eyes. "Very funny."
"That guy's always with Atobe-sama, isn't he? I don't know." Ai shrugged and slung her bag around her shoulder. "Anyway, I've got a meeting with the playwright. I think he's choosing me for the lead role!" She clapped her hands together, a dreamy look washing over her face. "And then, Oshitari-sama will finally notice me, and I'll be the happiest girl in the world! Oh, Oshitari-sama…" She practically glided her way out of the classroom, her hair flying from some inexistent wind. "I'll call you later, Misakiiiiii!"
"That girl," Misaki muttered darkly as she made her own, less flashy exit. "How come I've associated myself with an airhead like her?"
Not that she still minded, though. A huge percentage of Hyotei Gakuen's population comprised of rich, gaudy, loud and shallow kids who had not a single care in the world aside from being popular, but in all honesty, it wasn't hard to come by at all. All one had to do was shut up and mind their own business, and Misaki had long mastered the art, ever since she entered the school one year ago because of a scholarship grant.
In effect, she might as well have been part of the wall (or the floor, or anything that was blatantly ignored). At first, one or two had tried to pick on her, but they got bored too easily and decided it was better to pretend that she didn't exist at all. There was one time during the first few weeks of freshman year when Misaki had been bullied by upperclassmen, which had been effectively stopped by a huge, robust boy who she later on found out was Munehiro Kabaji, a fellow freshman belonging to the same class as hers. He didn't exactly do anything aside from just stand in front of her like a rock (in fact, she wasn't even sure if he noticed what was really happening at all), but his sheer height had been enough to scare the bullies away – and to gain a new silent admirer.
Misaki had respected and looked up to quiet Kabaji since then, and the fact that he also got good grades and was part of the prestigious Hyotei Boys' Tennis Club did nothing but make him all the more amazing in her eyes.
However, to everybody else, he was just that dumb-looking brawn that Atobe only kept because of his blind and undying dedication to serving Hyotei's King.
Misaki thought it was all Keigo Atobe's fault.
People of Hyotei were fools for worshipping the ground that he stepped on. Sure he was the richest kid in school, sure he was good-looking, sure he was the President of the Student Council, sure he ranked first in his year, sure he was the Captain of the boys' tennis club – but how did anyone think he could perform all those things at the same time? No matter how he made it seem that he had god-like abilities, Atobe was human, and therefore had his weaknesses. Misaki fully knew that the King was well aware of that, and so, what was more narcissistic and arrogant than to cover up for his shortcomings with a silent, ever-loyal and ever-efficient "best friend" like Kabaji and then take credit for everything?
I'm sure Kabaji-san does all the work while gets himself some foot spa and back massage, the girl thought with an indignant scowl, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose for the nth time that day. Poor Kabaji-san.
It made her go back to the root of all her ramblings. Where was Kabaji-san? Was he sick? Was he out on some mid-year family trip? Did he transfer schools? Misaki didn't think that the last one was feasible, seeing as how Kabaji was attached to the great "Ore-sama" as if he was wearing a collared leash. She was quite familiar with that kind of loyalty, as she herself was one to dedicate her time and effort to someone she deemed worthy of.
Ironically – at this, the look on her face considerably darkened – the likes of her and Kabaji were the ones most easily manipulated and taken advantage of, and although she hated it, she opted to just go with that kind of reality.
"How's Kabaji-san, by the way?"
Misaki stopped and snapped her head up at the source of the voice, surprised that someone other than her actually wanted to know the answer to that question. Her eyes fell on a very tall junior with pale hair and a kind-looking face, standing in the doorway to Class 2-C with a shorter upperclassman by his side.
She recognized him vaguely. His name was Choutarou Ohtori, a popular Regular from the tennis club. She had only talked to him once, and that was during freshman year when they were still in the same class. He was nice and polite, very much unlike the majority of his teammates.
Curious, Misaki decided to linger a little longer, eavesdropping on the conversation he was having.
"…Who knows?" his unfamiliar companion was replying with a shrug. "But I heard he's still confined in the general hospital."
"I hope he's okay," Ohtori said worriedly. "He's missing a lot of lessons and practice."
"Don't worry about him, Choutarou. I'm sure Atobe's doing something about it. Let's go, or we'll be assigned to run laps for being late."
"Yes, Shishido-san."
As the two tennis players walked away and out of sight, Misaki was stricken with the most wonderful idea. Thoughtfully, she checked the time on her wristwatch and realized that she still had a lot of time in her hands, considering that she didn't join any extra-curricular club to devote more of her time on academics.
Perfect.
With a small smile painted on her usually blank face, she left the school and went up a road that was opposite from where her house was, her elbow-length brown hair swinging slightly behind her back.
Keigo Atobe was at a loss.
He stared at Munehiro Kabaji, who was sleeping soundly on the hospital bed, oblivious to the world and of his watcher's predicament. Unlike the huge boy, Atobe had been sleepless and bombarded with stress these past three days, all from his club duties, student council paperwork, upcoming exams and increasing pile of unanswered fan mail. It was proving to be really difficult to operate without Kabaji by his side, obviously because he had to do everything by himself. But he had already lasted for three days, didn't he? And he could bet all of his worldly possessions that he could do so for another week or so.
Ore-sama's prowess goes beyond the limits, after all.
Though of course, there was still an existing leeway from his problems. He could easily get a temporary assistant if he wanted to (many would clamor for the opportunity to stand close to him all the time), but he didn't trust anyone else enough to do important tasks for him like how Kabaji did. Moreover, he worked better when alone, and only his best friend could perform the feat of being there and not being there at the same time, or be whichever was more convenient for him at the moment. Practically speaking, Kabaji and only Kabaji would meet his qualifications if ever he'd set himself out to find an assistant – and seeing that said boy was, at the moment, knocked out cold on a hospital bed, the possibility was out of the question.
However, he had to consider the fact that his workload was already rivaling the size of his ego, and last time he checked, he only had one brain and two hands. To put a temporary solution to this problem, he had no choice but to at least leave Oshitari in-charge of the tennis club. Atobe was sure that the Kansai genius would perform his duties well, but being the perfectionist and proud person he was, he would rather if he didn't have to resort to passing his workload onto others. The club was his responsibility after all.
Ore-sama is tired.
He then averted his gaze from the huge sleeping figure to focus instead on the laptop before him, which showed an empty MS Word document that was impatiently waiting to be filled in with the Student Council's project plan for the Annual Winter Fest. He felt another headache in the works, making him gently rub a knuckle against his right temple. He badly needed some coffee to keep himself alert for the next few hours.
As he made to turn around in his chair and call for the two maids stationed just outside Kabaji's private hospital room, however, the door suddenly swung open.
"Kabaji-san…?"
Atobe watched curiously as an unfamiliar girl with the prescribed Hyotei Gakuen uniform came into view, carrying with her a small basket filled with an assortment of fruits. She froze in her tracks once she spotted him by the high-backed chair, her mouth slightly hanging open. She had dull-brown hair that reached her elbows, blue-gray eyes that were magnified by a pair of thick round glasses, and skin in a sickly shade of white. To put it in simpler words, she gave Atobe the impression of someone who hadn't seen the sun for quite a while, and for a female Hyotei student, that was way below the beauty standard. Not to mention that those old, loose socks covering her thin legs weren't doing anything to make her look better.
"Can Ore-sama be of any help to you, guest of Kabaji?" he decided to ask, nevertheless, when it became clear to him that the girl planned on keeping that dumfounded expression fixed for another while. "As you can see, he is currently fast asleep."
She seemed to have finally found the strength to clench her mouth shut. "Oh, I see," she said in a surprisingly steady voice. "I just thought of dropping by with some fruits, and some notes for the lessons Kabaji-san had missed during his sick leave."
"Notes?" Atobe raised an elegant eyebrow. "Ore-sama has not been informed that Kabaji has his own secretary in class." It seemed that his best friend was finally learning a thing or two from him, and for that, he was proud.
"I'm not his secretary," the girl deadpanned, an obvious edge in her voice. "I'm his seatmate."
"Is that so?" the King said, his eyebrow rising higher. "Why are you writing notes for him, then?"
It took him a moment to realize that the girl was looking at him as if he was an idiot. He wittingly responded to this obvious attempt of disparaging him by adding, "And it would be best if you didn't think that Ore-sama is stupid, because you really do look like a secretary. And a…" He purposefully lingered his gaze on her socks. "…tasteless one, at that."
He smirked triumphantly at her affronted reaction.
"Some people actually do nice things like writing notes for another person just because they want to," she said, sounding more like she was hissing venomously. "They do that without asking for anything in return."
"Ore-sama would know, of course," Atobe said coolly, crossing his legs in one fluid motion. "Ore-sama receives cakes and love letters – among other things – on a daily basis, and they were all given unconditionally by those who had been awed by Ore-sama's prowess."
She had a blank look on her face. "…Right."
He continued eyeing her critically as she went over to the table already filled with get-well-soon presents from the tennis club, placing hers in the only remaining space that was left. She then proceeded to inspecting the room with a keen eye, her lips tightening to form a straight line as she spotted the little personal touches that Atobe had requested to be put in order to give the place a homier atmosphere.
He was getting the feeling that she wasn't impressed with his innovations, though, making him dislike her all the more. "What seems to be the matter, guest of Kabaji?"
She threw him a weird look, then adjusted her glasses so that they glinted intimidatingly against the light. "Have you decided to live here or something?" she said, sounding like she really wanted to know.
"What makes you say that?" he huffed, but not without the grace of an Atobe, of course.
"For one, you placed your study desk in this room," she pointed out, referring to the makeshift workplace where Atobe was sitting comfortably with his laptop – which actually was a magnificent mahogany office desk with a matching high-backed chair. "Then you have those maids standing by the door like bodyguards, and these...drapes on the walls. And did you actually have the floor carpeted?"
"Ore-sama also wanted to put bedposts with semi-transparent curtains so that Kabaji won't be too exposed to visitors," the gray-haired boy said, fully convinced that it was a bright idea. "But alas, this was only what the hospital could permit."
"Yeah…" she said, openly rolling her eyes. "Too bad, isn't it?" She paused in shock when she spotted the crystal mini-chandelier hanging from the ceiling. "What the—?"
Atobe smirked lightly at her reaction."In fact, this is still a little too simple for Ore-sama's liking."
She shot him another disbelieving look, but decided not to say anything. When she turned to regard Kabaji, however, Atobe saw her expression soften a little. "What happened to him, anyway?" she asked.
He scrutinized her carefully, before saying, "Ore-sama had Kabaji checked by the best doctor this country has to offer, and he has been diagnosed with a more severe case of influenza. He is to be confined in another week or so."
She nodded absently, sending her glasses askew. "He must have been overworked."
At this,Atobe pointedly kept his silence. His steely gaze also rested on Kabaji, and for a moment, a surge of something overrode his insides, making him feel bad for some reason. Ever since they've met in England way back in their primary school years, Kabaji had always been on his side. The huge boy did everything that he was told to do, even if it was something as ridiculous as dressing up in girl's clothing. He had come to believe that his silent friend was invincible and would be forever ready at his disposal.
"It seems that even Kabaji is not immune to stress," Atobe mused, more to himself than to his female companion. "Ore-sama shall give him more than enough time to recuperate. Now, guest of Kabaji, you may go."Dismissing her with a wave of his hand, the King turned back to his laptop, a dainty finger tapping his wooden desk in deep thought.
It had been a whole minute before he looked up again, only to see the girl still standing there, bent on boring a hole right through his skull with her intense gaze. She was still donning on that devil-may-care expression he realized to be her default look, as if she still wanted to say something.
"…Ore-sama believes that your business here is done," he said, extra slowly just in case she was partly deaf. "Ore-sama will inform Kabaji of your visit once he—"
"Do you really think of Kabaji-san as a friend?" she cut in, her eyes unblinking.
He gave her a piercing stare, but she just continued looking back. Pale, skinny, small (and don't forget the socks) – nothing about her was remotely extraordinary, except perhaps from her unnerving composure. For such an ordinary-looking girl, she sure had a lot of guts and sarcasm (not to mention immunity from his universally-accepted gorgeousness), but if she had gone all through the effort of coming here just to give Kabaji lesson notes – and without asking for anything in return, to top it all – Atobe supposed that she couldn't be that bad of a person.
He decided to humor her a little. "The likes of you must think that Ore-sama is just someone who keeps Kabaji around as a lackey," he said smoothly. "What you should know is Ore-sama treats people according to their value. Ore-sama's Insight never fails to see right through a person's real worth."
There was a moment of pregnant silence, where the girl blinked several times, seemingly surprised with his words. Atobe loved getting that kind of reaction, and, as if to emphasize the point, he allowed himself to pull a smile that could only be described as sinfully suave.
"So," he finally said, regaining his confidence over the girl's tendency to belittle him, "is your business done in here?"
She cleared her throat, pushing her round glasses further up the bridge of her small nose. "Yes," she said, somewhat forcibly. In a swift movement, she stepped forward and left a small stack of notebooks on Atobe's desk. "Please tell Kabaji-san that I apologize if I wasn't able to take down notes on today's History class, and that there's no need for him to return the notebooks, since I already have a copy."
Atobe carefully picked one of the notebooks and quickly skimmed through the pages. "This is all manually handwritten," he commented sharply. "Are you telling me that you're giving Kabaji your original notes?"
"No," she replied."I manually did his copy."
It was now the gray-haired boy's turn to blink. "And you're telling me that this includes the lessons for this day?"
"Yes."
"Why go through the effort of writing this if you could have just photocopied your notes?"he seriously wanted to know, finding such display of valiance quite unusual. He doubted that Kabaji and the girl were close friends, because if they were, he would know. He was positive that this was his first encounter with a person like her. After all, those socks and glasses would be particularly hard to forget.
The edges of her lips curved up in a mysterious smile. "It's not a big deal for me. I don't mind." She threw Kabaji one more glance, before announcing, "I'm going now. Good evening."
She bowed at him slightly, then finally left the room as quietly as she came.
Still puzzled, Atobe continued scanning the notebooks, noting the thin, neat handwriting and the unnervingly detailed information written on the smooth pages. He might as well have been reading straight from a textbook.
He paused.
He realized that he didn't even ask for her name.
"Hey, Saito!"
Misaki looked up from fixing her things to see her class president, Shinichi Sakurada, waving at her from the doorway of Class her glasses once more, she slowly wound her way through the desks towards him.
"Yes, Sakurada-san?"
It was only then when Misaki realized that Sakurada was not alone. A very tall and handsome boy stood languidly beside the class president, his soft-looking dark blue hair resting just on shoulder level and his blue eyes regarding her curiously from behind rimless glasses. She knew that this guy was one of the most sought-after boys in Hyotei, since she had seen his face all over the popularity poll posted on every bulletin board inside the school grounds. She'd heard a lot of things about him, too, as her best friend Ai never went on a day without praising his mere existence to anyone within a five-meter radius who would bother to listen.
His name was—
"Good noon, Misaki-han. My name is Yuushi Oshitari."
Misaki, after another second of gaping, awkwardly nodded her head in greeting. "Kansai?" she said, noticing his odd accent.
"Why, yes," he said, still in that velvety voice. She wondered if he spoke like that on purpose.
"Oshitari-senpai wants to see you," Sakurada said to her, giving off an encouraging smile. "Well, I'll leave you two on your own, then."
"Thank you, Sakurada," Oshitari drawled (for there was no better fitting term) as the other boy went back inside the classroom. He then turned his head to observe the girl before him more closely. "So, you are Misaki Saito."
Misaki regarded the upperclassman quizzically. "I believe so." She pushed her glasses up her nose. "Is there anything I can help you with, Oshitari-senpai?"
A sly smile appeared on Oshitari's flawless face. "Yes. May I ask you to spare some of your lunchtime for a trip to the Student Council Office with me, hmm?"
"The Student Council Office?" Misaki repreated, frowning slightly. "Did I get in trouble?"
But the boy had already grabbed her left hand and rested it around his arm. "No, you didn't," he said simply, pressing his offered arm closer to his body when she attempted to untangle hers from it. "Atobe requests your presence in his office."
"What?" Misaki said in surprise, but was distracted as the boy began walking, dragging her along with him. "Okay, fine!" she quickly amended, once more trying – and failing – to free her hand from his arm. "But can we please walk properly? "
"But we are indeed walking properly," the handsome boy said, clearly amused at her scandalized expression. "I make it a point that every girl I ask to walk with me is treated very warmly."
First a pompous and vain king, and now a Casanova-wannabe? Misaki was beginning to think that the tennis club had some bizarre species as members. Sighing in defeat, she let the older boy drag her like a rag doll to the direction of the Student Council Office, which was located on an entirely separate building across the track and field oval. That meant ten, painful minutes of walking with Oshitari, whose seductive smile never wavered, even for once.
Halfway into the journey, Misaki decided it was only reasonable to strike a conversation.
"Does this have anything to do with what happened yesterday?" she asked hesitantly.
Oshitari regarded her as if she was a specimen under a microscope. "Well, what did happen yesterday, Misaki-han?" he asked smoothly. "I'm curious myself."
She was silent for a moment. "Nothing, really." Why was she suddenly feeling nervous, then?
"Nothing, hmm?" He tipped his head to the right, knowing full well that he looked better on that side of his face. "What could have happened that would involve you and my dear Captain?"
She felt herself stiffen a bit. "I just came across him while I was paying Kabaji-san a visit in the hospital," she said.
"I see," he pondered out loud. "That is very touching of you, to visit our Kabaji."
"It's not that big of a deal, really."
He decided not to say anything further, and she was thankful for that. She had to say that the unexpected encounter with KeigoAtobe yesterday had certainly thrown her previous perception of him out the nearest window. The sight of the Hyotei King's worn-out form huddled up in a chair to watch over Kabaji for the night had been something she thought to be actually…sweet, and very out of character for someone who always paid attention on how he looked like and how a blessing he was to the human race.
Maybe, she thought reluctantly, she had been too judgmental of Atobe.
Misaki was finally able to pull her hand back when they arrived on the front steps of the building. She followed quietly as Oshitari led the way inside, their footsteps echoing in the spacious lobby. It was her first time to set foot in this officers-only place, and she had to wonder if this was really a part of the school. It seemed to have belonged to the European Renaissance period instead.
After riding the elevator and traversing a marble hallway, the two of them came into an abrupt halt before a pairof double oak doors accentuated with the Hyotei emblem. Oshitari knocked twice.
"It's me," he announced.
"Come in," replied an awfully familiar voice from the other side.
As her upperclassman opened the doors with a flourish, Misaki was greeted with bright light. She had to squint hard to adjust to the sudden attack of brightness on her face.
"Welcome to the President's Office," Keigo Atobe greeted from behind an antique office desk, the trademark smirk fixed on his face."Ore-sama's new personal assistant."
There was a moment of silence, where Misaki's mouth fell, and Oshitari let out an amused snort.
"…What?"
It's my first time to focus on a school that's not Seigaku, so I hope I got the characterization down to pat. What do you think? Reviews will be really lovely. :) Thank you for reading!