Chapter 2.
The Rikkaidai Tennis Club
Kirihara shows up five minutes late to his first morning practice as captain. Last year, morning practice was regulars only, and Kirihara plans to keep it that way. Marui would show up with food, which he would share with Niou and Kirihara under the bleachers where Sanada couldn't see; sometimes Yukimura joined them. Jackal and Yanagi would come to practice together with caffeinated tea. When Sanada was unable to attend, Yukimura would let Kirihara take short naps on the benches without punishment if he was extra tired and there wasn't a tournament right around the corner.
He passes the locker room and heads around the fenced courts. To the side is a shed with all of the equipment. The inside is covered in at least an inch of dust and spiders make their homes in the corners, the light from the broken, dirty windows illuminating their webs. Kirihara cracks open the decrepit storage shed, grabs the heaviest box off the shelf in the back, and manages to get to the locker room without stopping for rest or dropping the box on his feet. He doesn't know how he'd explain a broken foot to Urayama anyways, so he counts himself lucky.
He knocks on the door by kicking. He adjusts the box in his hands. Seconds later Urayama is opening the door and looking at him.
"G-Good morning, Buchou." Urayama sounds as horrified as he looks. Kirihara hasn't talked to him since his outburst on the court last week and he left before clean up had finished. He wonders if Urayama was able to handle something as simple as getting the courts cleaned up. Kirihara should apologize. There's a lot of things he should do but doesn't.
"Move," Kirihara orders. He shifts the box in his hands. There's a label on the side in Sanada's handwriting from when he was a first year—weights. Even as a first year, Sanada's kanji was perfect.
Urayama moves aside and Kirihara comes in, dropping the box on the bench where Matsui and another boy are sitting. The second boy smiles kindly and says, "Good morning, Kirihara-buchou. How are you?"
Kirihara ignores him; he has no idea who the boy is.
The locker room looks completely different than the image in Kirihara's memory. The smell is just as awful, the lockers are just as broken and hard to open, but there are seven figures missing from the back. Now, there are only unfamiliar faces—four to be exact. Oyama is sitting on the floor against his locker and Urayama moves to sit next to him. Matsui and the boy sit on the backless bench, one of several that run the length of the room.
Kirihara looks around, counting again because there should be two more people. "Where are the other two?" he asks.
"Do you even know our names?" Matsui grumbles.
Urayama mouths something at him. Kirihara can't read lips. Urayama smiles meekly. "Hirai- and Azuma-senpai are missing," the vice-captain says.
Oyama looks at Kirihara, as if challenging him to snap at Urayama for talking. What is up with those two?
"Does anyone know if they're coming?" Kirihara asks. Hirai and Azuma were the other doubles pair; they're both third years but Kirihara has no idea who they are or what they look like. Hell, he only knows Matsui because they're in the same class.
"Doubt it," Matsui says. "I wouldn't have if my brother didn't wake me up this morning."
Kirihara ignores Matsui. If Oyama and Urayama are here, and Matsui is here, and Hirai and Azuma are missing, then that means the other boy on the bench is Yamauchi. It sounds like a bad math problem.
Kirihara vaguely remembers Yamauchi from last year. Towards the end of last year, one of the third year pre-regulars broke their leg at a training camp and Yamauchi took his spot. He was the only second year pre-regular, even if it was only for a few weeks. His tennis is average, the kind of tennis you get from hard work, not from natural talent. Kirihara doesn't know anything else about him.
Yamauchi looks like a jock. He's got the muscle build of a swimmer, the long arms of a center in basketball, and the height of a volleyball player, though his height doesn't even begin to compare to Oyama. Other than that, he's kind of average, with light brown eyes and straight, styled brown hair. His skin is tanned but not outrageously dark like Kirihara's gets during summer training camps. Yamauchi is probably the type of guy that girls would talk about quietly in the hallway and confess to behind the gym.
Yamauchi is still smiling kindly at Kirihara, like they're best friends or something, and a small part of Kirihara is inclined to believe it's a real smile. Kirihara can tell after two years with Niou around.
"Does anyone know their max?" Kirihara asks.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Matsui replies.
"Bench press, squatting—any weight lifting max?" Kirihara looks around at the boys, who are shaking their heads. "What the hell did you guys do during weight lifting last year?"
"Upperclassmen played practice matches against each other and underclassmen watched," Urayama says, shrinking the more he talks. "Only regulars and pre-regulars did weight training."
Kirihara looks at Yamauchi. "Then you—?"
"I was only a pre-regular for two weeks," Yamauchi says. "I didn't get the chance to check my maxes."
Kirihara grumbles as he opens the box of weights. Yanagi left a table lying around that would help him determine who got how much weight. It involves running speeds, weight lifting maxes, and some type of freaky math equation that Kirihara can't make heads or tails of. There's a simpler equation in Yukimura's handwriting on the other side that Kirihara plans to use.
"Then everyone will start on a low weight until we get to the weight room," Kirihara says, thinking out loud. He begins to toss black wristbands to everyone. They're special order and have holes for weights, which sit in the bottom of the box. Right now, the bands are empty, and Urayama doesn't catch his. "You will wear this at all times of the day, even when you sleep."
"How do you know if we take them off?" Matsui asks.
Kirihara glares, unable to come up with an answer. Yukimura just knew. Kirihara has no idea how he did it.
"You were able to carry this box?" Yamauchi asks, changing the subject. Kirihara looks at him and nods, confused. "That's impressive, Buchou. What are your maxes?"
"Bench is around 180 pounds, dead lift is 200, and squats 190."
"Is that good?"
"Yanagi-senpai said they were for my age, but mine are low compared to the regulars. The regulars can do up to one hundred and fifty percent of their weight on bench. I think Jackal-senpai's is higher, and so is Sanada-fukubuchou's. Their dead lifts are twice their benches, and their squats are usually twenty or thirty pounds more than mine."
"Shiita is vice-captain, not Sanada," Oyama says. His arms are crossed and he looks irritated (more so than usual). "And we're the regulars now."
"Kenta," Urayama says, looking horrified that Oyama just said that.
"You know what I meant," Kirihara mutters.
"Well, that sounds impressive to me, Kirihara-buchou," Yamauchi says, easing the mood. Matsui glares at him and says something that sounds like kiss ass.
Kirihara shifts through the weight bars at the bottom of the box for the proper weights. Last year, in the weight room, Marui dropped a ten-pound weight on Jackal's foot and had to run until he threw up. Sanada would get a big smile on his face whenever he reached a new max. Niou liked to "accidentally" drop the powder container into Marui's bag to make him mad, ruining all of his hidden treats. Sometimes, on hot days, they'd make bets to see who could keep their clothes on the longest (the weight room doesn't have A/C for some godforsaken reason). Kirihara usually lost, stripping out of his shirt and paying for ice-cream afterwards.
Kirihara stops smiling and reminds himself to focus.
"What weight are we going to carry?" Urayama asks.
"One pound on each wrist until I can figure out your maxes," Kirihara answers. He begins tossing little half pound bars to everyone. "Put one on each side of your wrist or you'll pull muscles and crap."
Matsui gets his bars, but doesn't move to put them in. "What's the point of this?"
"How much weight do you have?" Urayama asks before Kirihara can snap.
"Four pounds on each wrist," Kirihara says. I should increase. He grabs two quarter-pound bars and slips them into his band. "Four and a quarter pounds," he corrects.
"I could do five pounds, easy," Matsui says.
"You'd die."
"Just because you can't do it doesn't mean I can't."
Kirihara doesn't even try to fight him. He hands him ten one-pound bars and takes back the half-pound bars. "There. But if you take them off, or try to switch out the weight, you're running until your legs fall off."
"Whatever. It's not even that heavy."
Just wait, Kirihara thinks maliciously.
The door to the locker room opens. Kirihara turns, expecting Hirai and Azuma to come in late, but it's the first year with the dead eyes that's at the door. Nishimura comes in with his school bag; a light blue racket handle sticks out of the top.
"Only regulars have morning practice," Urayama says kindly.
"I wanted to use the courts," Nishimura says. He shifts the bag on his shoulder. "I bought my own racket this weekend. I want to learn to serve. All the senpai can do it already."
Kirihara remembers coming to the regulars-only morning practices and running around the track, or sneaking in to the tennis courts to serve when the regulars went off to run. It makes him uselessly nostalgic.
"Do you mind if I use the courts, Buchou?" Nishimura asks.
"Just clean up when you're done. If I see one ball out of place this afternoon, you're doing double the training."
Nishimura nods in agreement and comes in to change.
Kirihara has an entire list of things he needs to do—get the first years uniforms (and get himself a new pair of shorts), get the regulars their lockers and tell them they can use the good showers, reserve the weight room, and a few other things he wrote in the column of his math notes instead of taking math notes. Also, he needs to borrow someone's math notes.
Kirihara watches Matsui during class. Matsui sits in the front row so Kirihara can only see the back of his head most of the time, but occasionally Kirihara can see Matsui reach up and rub his wrists. Kirihara grins then remembers his own wrists are feeling the strain of the increase in weight. He turns the weights to make them more comfortable. He can feel the new bars and it bothers him.
He leaves the classroom during lunch, ignoring the calls of his friends who are wondering where he's going.
"Not again, dude!" Hajime groans.
"I'm stealing your lunch," Jun says.
"Akaya, what the hell man? It's just tennis!" Shin adds.
Kirihara shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to look cool while also trying to remember where the history office is because that's where he'll find Takeda-sensei. He's been at the school for three years now, but he still doesn't know the layout. It's not like he ever needed to go to teachers for extra help. The senpai always helped by tutoring him in their best subjects.
Besides, who can blame him for getting lost in this place? With over two thousand students and three separate, four-floor academic buildings, it's practically a labyrinth. It would make sense that each building would belong to a grade level, but that would be too simple. The layout makes no sense. Then there's the sports areas, plus there's the pool and the greenhouses, and at least a dozen quads where students gather for lunch. Niou claims he found a hidden courtyard somewhere, but he refused to take anyone there so no one knows if he was telling the truth.
Kirihara spends the first half of lunch looking for Takeda-sensei's office. He's outside of the history office when he sees a cute girl with short hair held back with red barrettes walking towards him. Her hair is dark but not quite black like his own and is completely straight instead of curly. She smiles and waves at him. He freezes.
Girls don't talk to him. They talk to Niou, and Marui, and Yukimura, but not him. More girls talk to Sanada than they do him. To the rest of the school, he's still the goofy kid with anger issues that is obsessed with tennis.
Kirihara wonders if there's someone behind him that the girl is heading towards. He turns and sees no one. She stops in front of him. She is just barely taller than Urayama.
"Kirihara-kun, right?" Her voice is high like Nishimura's and Urayama's, and she has freckles over her entire face like an overgrown ladybug without any red.
"Do I know you?" Kirihara asks.
Smooth, Akaya, real smooth, Marui says sarcastically in his head.
Don't be mean, Jackal replies.
The girl smiles, un-offended. "I'm Yamada Yui, from class E. I'm captain of the girls' tennis team. Last year you yelled at me for being on the courts even though the girls' team had them reserved."
Kirihara remembers last year in spring, a week before Nationals, when the girls' team had used their courts. He'd snapped. Yagyuu reminded him that the courts belong to the school and that they have the indoor gym for the day and the girls have the outdoor courts. Kirihara turned red when Marui laughed at him. Kirihara doesn't remember this Yamada girl being the one he yelled at, though.
"Don't even lie and say you remember me," Yamada says, literally waving it off. She has freckles on her arms, too.
Does she have them on her legs? Marui wonders in his head.
Don't look, that's rude, Jackal says.
Kirihara looks.
Her skirt goes as high as the other girls' and her socks come to her knees. He thinks he sees freckles on her thighs, which are slightly bigger than most girls', toned and built with hard earned muscle. At least the girls' team is doing something right if their third years have muscle like that.
"So have you picked your team yet?" Yamada asks. Kirihara nods dumbly. "Awesome. How are they?"
Horrible.
"Okay."
"Also awesome. We should have our teams run together sometime, or get the weight room. The soccer and wrestling teams have it booked solid until May and any time slot they didn't take, the basketball team took. If we get our advisors to work together, we may be able to get it." Yamada sighs, like this captain thing is annoying (Kirihara agrees), then she frowns. Her small lips make it look more like a pout. It's sort of cute. "Why are you here, Kirihara-kun? Math help?"
"I'm here to talk to Takeda-sensei. I need to get uniforms."
"Takeda-sensei? From the history department?" Kirihara nods. Yamada laughs at him, not even bothering to hide it. "This is the math department's office. How long have you been a student here, Kirihara-kun?"
Kirihara looks at the sign above the door. Marui is laughing at him in his head. Or maybe Yamada is still laughing. Yeah, Yamada is still laughing at him.
"Oh. Then where's the history office?"
"Down the stairs to the left in the east wing."
"Okay... So why are you in the math office? Are you bad at math?"
You suck at flirting, Marui tells him.
He's learning, Jackal responds.
I'm not flirting, Kirihara thinks.
Marui blows a bubble, obviously not convinced.
"I'm here to see our club advisor about using the indoor gym; she's the advanced mathematics teacher," Yamada answers, changing her voice when she says advanced mathematics in such a way that Kirihara grins. He hates math almost as much as English. He remembers to focus on the words coming out of the girl's mouth instead of just staring at her. "Since we don't have courts like the boys' team, we need to schedule practice in the gym, but a lot of the other sports teams use it. If we don't get any practice in before the Prefectural Tournament, there's no way we're making it past the first round."
"Isn't the girls' team really bad?" Yamada blinks, surprised at his accidental bluntness. He rubs the back of his head nervously. "Sorry. I mean—"
"You said it so you obviously meant it. And I wouldn't say we're bad… We just don't have access to the gym or courts on a regular basis. If we got to practice every day like your team, we may have a chance. But we won't get access to the gym or tennis courts until we do well at a tournament, which can't do without the gym or courts. It's a vicious cycle that's hard to break out of. We made it to the third round of Regionals last year, but I guess that's not enough to take away the courts from the boys' team."
"Oh. Well. Um..."
"Oh. Yeah. Totally." Yamada grins, obviously mocking him, but it's not spiteful. It reminds him of Niou.
"I guess I should let you talk to your person then"—Yamada grins, Kirihara fumbles awkwardly—"and I should go to the place."
"Right, the place," Yamada says, still grinning. She waves good-bye and enters the math office, and Kirihara has the urge to bang his head against the wall until it breaks or he breaks. He has never been good with girls. Apparently that won't change any time in the future.
On his way to the history office, he gets turned around and ends up near the vending machines, getting caught in lunchtime rush. He swears and pushes his way through the crowd of people, only to end up in a part of the school that he doesn't recognize at all. The warning bell rings. He swears and follows the crowd up, hoping he ends up in the right room.
He's ten minutes late to class and he didn't get to see Takeda-sensei. Kirihara bangs his head against his desk. At least he didn't get detention.
Hirai and Azuma don't show up to afternoon practice either, and Matsui is still wearing the damn weights. As far as Kirihara knows, he's kept them on all day, and it bugs Kirihara as much as it worries him. That much weight on a weak wrist will seriously screw up Matsui's tendons. Maybe his masturbating arm can take it—Kirihara figures a jack off like Matsui uses a lot—but it will still do some damage.
Matsui will cave. He has to because Kirihara won't. His pride can't take another blow. He already yelled at his team, something he swore he wouldn't do, and now they hate him more than ever. He can't get into a dick-sizing contest. He tells himself it already isn't a dick-sizing contest, though he knows deep down that it is.
He figures he'll start simple the first legitimate day of practice and focus on racket grip. Kirihara makes sure everyone has a racket, ordering Urayama to help him get the extras from the supply shed and distribute them. Kirihara and Urayama go around fixing the grip of almost everyone in the club, even the third years who somehow got past Sanada's harsh scrutiny. (Kirihara only trusts Urayama to do this because he checked out the kid's grip in the locker room and it's perfect. Kirihara doesn't attribute this to skill, but to his senpai who graduated and taught Urayama in the first place.)
Kirihara gets to the first year with the dead eyes and pauses. He takes extra time adjusting Nishimura's fingers, telling him how to hold his racket comfortably.
"Is this the right way?" Nishimura asks.
"It's the basic way," Kirihara says. "Until you know what the hell you're doing, you should do this. Pros use different grips. Some of our opponents have guys on their teams who change them half way through a match for moves."
Kirihara takes Nishimura's racket away from him then hands it back. Nishimura grips it like Kirihara showed him.
"Is this alright?"
Kirihara can't suppress his smile. "It doesn't completely suck."
Nishimura doesn't return his smile, but his eyes seem a little less dead.
Working on basic forms is hard, especially when none of the third years will listen to Urayama. Hell, half the club still isn't listening to Kirihara and he's captain. People show up late and don't run their extra laps as punishment, and people half ass their push-ups and do sit-ups instead of crunches. By the end of practice, people's forms are still off, but Kirihara and the rest of the regulars don't have time to sit around and practice their form. The regulars need to start playing real matches or the tournament is going to be living hell. Before that, Kirihara has to see them play so he can figure out how to make them better. That's what a captain does, right? It's what Yukimura did.
As the week progress, Kirihara is run ragged as he tries to teach first years to serve while helping the regulars with advanced serves. It's hot and he forces people to drink water even if he has to stare at them until they're so uncomfortable that they give in and steal their friend's water bottle right out of their hands. Sometimes being silent with eyes that scream murder is just as productive as actually screaming murder.
Urayama has a fast serve with horrible accuracy. Oyama's serve is standard, but its power wavers by the end of practice. Yamauchi's serve is below average and Kirihara has him aim for the corners of the court to improve his accuracy and consistency. Matsui won't even listen to Kirihara's advice and continues doing his (regrettably) decent serve, though the toil of his wrist from the weights is obvious. Then there's Nishimura who can't even toss a ball properly and Kirihara thinks he's going to pop a blood vessel.
Overall, second years lack accuracy, third years are trying new serves, and first years are—well, Kirihara doesn't like to think about them because Nishimura isn't even the worst first year there.
It doesn't help that Azuma and Hirai still haven't shown up for a single practice by Thursday morning, or that Kirihara doesn't get to eat because he spends his lunch periods trying to find the history department. It's too damn embarrassing to ask and when he bumps into Yamauchi in the hall, he makes up an excuse for why he's running around like a chicken without a head.
The first time Kirihara actually manages to find Takeda-sensei's office, the devil isn't even there. The other teachers in the department say he is out buying lunch. Kirihara goes to the cafeteria, but he gets turned around twice in east wing, and again in west wing, then somehow ends up in the wrong building without ever leaving. By the time he gets back into the right building, the warning bell is going off. He books it back to class, sliding into the room as the bell rings. His friends laugh and clap as he sits down.
Class isn't easy either. He always thought the regulars were kidding when they complained about how hard the work got during third year. He isn't even in the advanced classes like they all were. He's in the basic academic track with the easiest electives. He takes notes instead of planning warm up routines for the regulars, and he stresses over homework assignments at three in the morning after planning tennis practice, and he copies Hajime's history homework during lunch. He still doesn't have math notes from Monday.
Kirihara heads to afternoon practice, following Matsui in the hall. Worst still, Matsui still has his weights on. Kirihara has no doubt the boy has taken them off at home, but the fact that he keeps them on during school sends off red signals in Kirihara's head. He needs to do something today, or something bad is going to happen. He can feel it in his gut.
Is that a captain thing? Gut feelings?
He hopes so, but he doubts other captains have gut feelings that sound like Marui and Jackal. He wonders if he's taken one too many stray serves to the head.
He's going to hurt himself, Marui says, using his serious tone. Yukimura never would have let it go this far, Akaya. You need to suck up your pride and make him take those things off.
He may not be able to play tennis if you don't, Jackal quips.
You can't lose in the first tournament, Akaya, Marui says. Losing is not permitted.
I know, Kirihara thinks miserably. The phrase weighs heavily above his head.
When Kirihara goes into the locker room, Urayama approaches him. Oyama stands at his locker, watching like an overprotective, giant hawk. Kirihara still has no idea what's going on with them. He doesn't really care as long as they can play together.
"Hirai- and Azuma-senpai still aren't here," Urayama says softly so the other members don't hear. "I asked Yamauchi-senpai and he said he saw them in the hallway so they're coming to school…"
"Just not to practice," Kirihara says.
Urayama nods.
If people skipped out last year, Kirihara never heard about it. None of the regulars ever skipped out, not even Niou. They respected Yukimura, even though he wasn't there half the year, and they wanted to win. Kirihara knows that no one respects him, but have all the third years lost their will to win? What happened to their drive? Did that disappear along with Yukimura?
Hirai and Azuma are really starting to piss him off, but he has someone else to deal with right now: Matsui.
"If they don't show up next week, we're going idiot hunting," Kirihara says. Urayama nods again, then jumps away to go warm up. Kirihara grabs a hold of the back of Matsui's collar, tugging. "Hey."
"What the hell, bastard?" Matsui snaps.
"Stay until everyone else is out of the locker room. We need to talk."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
Even Matsui can't find room in his voice to argue.
"Whatever," Matsui mutters. "Let me go so I can change, pervert."
Kirihara changes in his back; he really needs to give the regulars their lockers. In the back of the room, there is a row of lockers which are slightly larger than all of the others in the school. They're located near the good showers, the ones reserved for the regulars, the only ones that actually get hot water and have places to hang towels so they don't get wet.
He changes and lingers in the back, passing time by fiddling with his phone and his wrist weights. Soon enough, everyone but Matsui is gone. The boy stands by the exit, not moving.
"Well?" Matsui says.
Kirihara comes over and leans near the door, trapping it shut with his foot. He doesn't need someone walking in and seeing him like this.
"Take them off," Kirihara grumbles, crossing his arms and not looking at Matsui because that bastard will be smirking any second now. "It's been four days. You'll actually hurt yourself at this point and I'm screwed if I don't have a half decent team for the tournament."
"Are you calling me half decent?"
"It's not a compliment, jerk."
"Sounds like one coming from a jackass like you." Matsui plays with the weights on his wrists. His hands are shaking, but Kirihara doesn't say anything even though he wants to more than anything. Matsui says, "This counts as my win."
"No, it doesn't."
"Yeah, it does."
Kirihara grits his teeth. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever."
Matsui grins. "Say it."
"What?"
"Say I beat you."
"No."
"Then I'll keep the weights on. Say it."
Kirihara turns red. He barely whispers, "You beat me."
Matsui's grin grows. "So does this mean you're running until your legs fall off?"
"That wasn't the deal. I only said you would run."
"Well, then maybe I should keep them on," Matsui says. He rotates his weights, locking his jaw to hide the obvious pain it causes him. "I feel perfectly fine. But what was it you said about the tournament? Hmm, Buchou?"
"I will snap your neck."
"I think I could take even more weight."
"Okay. I'll run until my legs fall off. Just take the damn things off."
Matsui walks closer to him and Kirihara grudgingly looks at him. The bastard is the same height as him with dark hair cut like that red head's from Hyotei only Matsui's hair is significantly shorter. He still has that stupid widow's peak, though, and his gray eyes are challenging him. Kirihara hates his guts. Just looking at him twists his stomach into knots and ulcers.
"How do I know you will?" Matsui asks. "Because I don't think you will, Buchou."
Kirihara rolls his eyes. "I'll be here Saturday morning at sunrise. If you want to come check, feel free."
"I think I will."
"Fine."
"Fine."
They lock gazes for several seconds before Matsui grins triumphantly, drops the weights to the floor, and leaves, forcing Kirihara's foot out of the way with his own. Kirihara waits all of ten seconds before turning and kicking the closed door.
Urayama squeaks.
"Are you eavesdropping?" Kirihara asks. He violently yanks the door open and sees Urayama standing on the other side. Urayama goes as white as a sheet. "Don't do something if you don't have the balls to admit it."
"I-I forgot my racket," Urayama says. "I can't do my racket swings. I'm sorry, Buchou."
"Stop apologizing all the damn time," Kirihara says like a broken record. Urayama nods and looks at the ground. "But you heard so at least I don't have to explain. Keep an eye on that ass and make sure his wrists are okay. I won't lose my first tournament because he's an idiot."
"Yes, Buchou."
It takes Kirihara a few minutes to realize something: Urayama finished his laps in record time.
By the end of the week, Kirihara has given up his search for Takeda-sensei, who has disappeared off the face of the earth as far as he is concerned. His friends are happy that he's staying for lunch, and even though he's only been gone a week, it feels like forever. He doesn't get a joke about grapes that has Hajime crying in laughter and he didn't know they were getting together at Shin's to study for their English quiz on Sunday. He didn't even know they had an English quiz.
He's halfway through his first lunch all week when Yamada comes in to his classroom. Her short hair is still covered in barrettes and she still has freckles all over her cheeks. Kirihara doesn't know why she wouldn't anymore. He nearly chokes on his juice when she approaches him; meanwhile, Jun actually spits his juice out all over Shin.
"Gross," Shin mutters, reaching for his napkin.
Jun turns bright red and stutters, "H-Hi."
"Hey." Yamada quickly looks at Kirihara. "So I talked to my advisor and your advisor—"
"Takeda-sensei? How could you find him? I tripped down the stairs twice looking for that devil."
"I don't know if you're expecting me to be nice and not laugh, but I'm going to laugh," Yamada says, smiling and laughing softly. Kirihara turns red.
Dweeb, Marui says.
Yamada goes on, "Like I was saying, I talked to our advisors and we booked the weight room for Tuesday and Thursday afternoon next week."
"How did you manage that?"
"You have extra clean up duty for a month and I have to clean all of the paint brushes in the art department." Kirihara groans and she nods. "Yup. Totally not awesome. But we got the room. We can either split it so I get it one day and you get it the other, or we could do combined practices and get more use from it. It's up to you."
He has no freaking clue what to do.
"What do you want to do?" he asks.
"My team needs all the time in that room that we can get. If you're up for combined practice, then so am I."
"Then let's do that."
Yamada takes the pen off of Kirihara's desk, grabs his wrist, and writes something on the back of his hand. "Here's my number if you want to plan anything special. I gotta go and grab something at the cafeteria or I'll starve to death. See you later, Kirihara-kun."
Yamada smiles and waves as she leaves, bouncing out of the room, her skirt short enough to show the spandex she has on underneath. Kirihara takes his phone out to add her number to his contacts.
"She's really cute," Jun says. He slams his hands onto Kirihara's desk with enough force to make the captain jump. Kirihara stares at his friend, bewildered. Jun looks determined to do something, that's for sure. "Can you give me my number? Wait. What was her name again?"
Kirihara frowns. "Do you really want to be slapped by another girl?"
"How do you know her?" Hajime asks. "I thought every girl in the school was scared of you."
Kirihara rolls his eyes. "Shut up. Not every girl is scared of me."
"No, seriously," Hajime says, sounding doubtful. "How do you know a girl that cute?"
Kirihara sinks into his seat and he mumbles, "She's captain of the girls' team."
"Why is everything with you about tennis?" Shin asks.
Kirihara steals Jun's juice box and doesn't answer.
Jun kicks him then asks, "So wanna hang out this weekend?"
Kirihara remembers his deal with Matsui. "I can't Saturday."
"Why?"
Kirihara sighs. "Long story."
Azuma yawns into his hand as he lags behind Hirai and Matsui. He doesn't understand why Matsui insisted they come with him to school so early on a Saturday. Azuma doesn't even know why he went along. He doesn't even like Matsui.
Oh, right, something about Kirihara making a fool of himself. That's why he came.
Not that he doesn't do that already, Azuma thinks as they turn into the front gate. And Matsui promised to buy lunch, he remembers moments later.
"I doubt he's here," Matsui says smugly. "That idiot probably lied and skipped out on his bet. If he did, I'm going to have so much fun on Monday."
"Don't have too much fun, you may die," Azuma says sarcastically.
Hirai whirls around. "Huh? He's not really gonna die if he has too much fun, is he?" Hirai asks. He turns to Matsui. "Don't die! I know Mondays are the best day of the week—"
"I agree," Azuma lies, just to humor his partner.
Hirai practically beams at his partner. "I know, right? Mondays are the best! But you can't die just because of that, Matsui. Do you really think he'll die, Azuma?"
"I was joking again," Azuma says.
"Oh. Thank goodness! I thought you were serious this time. I was freaking out."
Matsui rolls his eyes, muttering, "Stupid doubles players."
"I heard that," Azuma says, more bored and tired than angry.
"Heard what?" Hirai asks. "Azuma, what'd you hear? Don't pretend not to hear me! Listen to meee."
"I heard a unicorn shitting rainbows," Azuma replies, face straight and voice bored, perhaps a little teasing but Hirai is not subtle enough to catch the playful mirth.
"That doesn't make sense. Don't lie to me," Hirai whines.
They head to the side of school to the tennis courts, but they don't see anything and Azuma is once against left to wonder why the hell he let a freak like Matsui drag him here in the first place. The courts are empty and the chain link fence is locked tight. Matsui grins victoriously and begins saying something about how he was right, this or that, blah-blah-blah. Azuma tunes him out.
Azuma wonders what the hell they're even supposed to be looking for when he spots something moving on the tracks in the distance.
Azuma yawns, covering his mouth with one hand and pointing to the tracks with his other. "Is someone running?" he asks.
Matsui shuts up.
Thank the gods, Azuma thinks.
Matsui walks around to the back of the school where the track field is. Someone is very clearly running along the track, but they are too far away to make out any distinct features. Matsui goes closer and Hirai follows him, so Azuma goes too.
They go down the slope of the hill and stop at the grass surrounding the track where Kirihara is running. Not only is he there like he promised he would, he's jogging at a good, constant pace that Matsui could barely keep up for a few minutes. Is that freak superhuman or something?
"What time was sunrise?" Matsui asks.
"Like, six?" Hirai says. "That's when I wake up."
"It's ten now. You're telling me that idiot has been running like that for four hours?"
Kirihara runs past, stopping only to pick up a water bottle and take several long sips. He crushes the empty plastic in his hand. He tosses the bottle to the side, holding onto his knees as he gasps for air. Kirihara clutches at his shirt as his body heaves, his cheeks enlarging like he wants to throw up, but he keeps it down. He takes in a deep breath and keeps running.
So maybe he isn't superhuman, but it's still enough to piss off Matsui, who balls his hands into fists at the sight.
"Let's go," he says, turning and going back up the hill.
"Already?" Hirai asks. "Didn't you come here for something? Are you running with Kirihara? I didn't think you liked him."
"They're best friends," Azuma says.
"Really?"
"No."
"You're so mean, Azuma!" Hirai says, close to tears.
Matsui ignores the idiots and pretends he didn't see anything.
Screw Kirihara, he thinks, the cocky bastard.