Title: The Viral Revolution
date written: 11-01-06
"Jiroh."
"hmm."
Atobe surveyed the courts once more, almost hoping that his senses had failed him the first time. Really, there was no other explanation.
Unfortunately, he saw the same thing.
"Jiroh." He turned back to the boy who was currently stretched out on the bleachers, golden curls nestled in his arms. He tried again, becoming impatient.
"Jiroh!"
"hmm?"
Jiroh opened an eye and looked at him lazily. When Atobe glared at him, he only yawned and sat up.
"What's wrong Atobe?"
Jiroh looked altogether too unconcerned, Atobe decided. He must know something.
"Jiroh, where is everyone?"
"Everyone?"
"The team, Jiroh. No one has come to practice."
It would not be incorrect to say that Atobe looked unsettled. Even the smooth captain of Hyoutei could be ruffled, it seemed. Of course, Jiroh supposed, the fact that almost all of the regulars appeared to be absent would surprise anyone. Hyoutei students didn't skip tennis practice, it just wasn't done. Anyone who skipped practice was just asking to be dragged kicking and screaming off the team by the two hundred ravenous sub-regulars and then be torn apart and replaced.
Jiroh wrinkled his nose at this thought. He knew it was a bad idea to stay up and watch that zombie movie marathon—it was starting to affect his thinking.
"Jiroh, Ore-sama is not going to ask you again, where is everyone?"
"Absent, Buchou," said the sleepy boy, quite unhelpfully. Atobe stared at him, still unwilling to believe that his entire team had apparently decided to revolt against him on the same day. There had to be a reason.
"Oshitari?" he asked after the first person he thought of.
"Sick," Jiroh said, yawning. "He said he wasn't feeling well at the end of practice yesterday, remember?"
Atobe did not remember. He had started ignoring everything the blue-haired tensai said that was not directly related to tennis after having discovered that, nine times out of ten, he didn't want to know what the boy was talking about. The only person who ever seemed to understand him was his doubles partner, anyway.
"Mukahi?"
"Also sick. He called me before school to ask me to pick up his assignments. Probably caught whatever it is Oshitari has. They spend enough time together."
"Shishido?"
"Got it from Gakuto." Jiroh stretched. "They've been hanging out at the arcades every night for a week."
"…Ohtori?"
Jiroh giggled.
"Got it from Shishido."
Atobe was going to have to talk to his team about spending too much time with each other. Clearly the team dynamic was bad for their health.
"Hiyoshi?"
Jiroh blinked.
"Hiyoshi's here," he said, pointing. Atobe followed his gaze to where he saw a swaying Hiyoshi attempt to rally with a sub-regular. Apparently the boy was trying to prove himself better than any illness, and therefore better than his senpai who had succumbed to it, and to do it was prepared to "gekokujou" until his dying breath. It was no surprise Atobe hadn't noticed him—he was playing like he'd never picked up a racket before.
Atobe was at a loss. He himself, of course, was impervious to disease, but an epidemic of unheard of proportions was sweeping through his team. At this rate the entire tennis club would be brought down by the unyielding virus, all two-hundred of them. That was absolutely unacceptable. Atobe needed his club to be intact so they could suitably admire him daily. Also, nationals were coming up fast and he would never live it down if he had to forfeit on the basis of not actually having a team.
His gaze shifted back to Jiroh, who was laying back down on the bleachers for another nap.
"Jiroh, how is it that in the midst of all this disease, you are the only one unaffected?"
Jiroh yawned.
"Maybe they don't get enough sleep," he said, grinning.
Atobe stared at him.
"Jiroh."
"Mm?"
"Go back to sleep."
"Mm."
Jiroh watched through slitted eyes as Atobe stalked off to look for Kabaji. Provided that the second-year had not already fallen to the enemy, the two of them would contrive to work out a battle-plan. The fight against the common cold was by no means lost.
A/N: This whole thing started because of my friend Placidmage, who is sick right now. The title comes from a rather amusing conversation we had the other day about the mutation rate of viruses somehow leading to taking over the world. At any rate, this is not the last we'll hear of the viral revolution. Also, I'd like to say that my workload has suddenly turned into an avalanche. Which is not to say that I'm going to stop writing every day, just that I appologize if the quality of said writing suffers for it. To add to that, I'd like to thank everyone who reviews my little stories--you guys seriously make my day. :)