In retrospect, Yuusuke hardly knew what he had expected.
The derisive laughter that filled his ears the very day he joined lingered for a long time, its echoes revived four weeks later by an unexpected encore at the first-year welcome race. Overwhelmed by anxiety and the urge to prove himself, all hints of an accompanying recovery vehicle had eluded Yuusuke completely… and so the moment he broke into his spider climb, a wave of rancid snickering streaming from the van struck him like thunder.
"Oh my god! I never expected it to be this bad!"
"Told you!"
"I can't look! He's gonna crash any moment.."
"Stop fooling around, Makishima!"
"We can't take our eyes off you for a second, can we?"
Yuusuke's hands trembled on the handlebars as he sank onto his saddle, his chest unbearably tight. The van soon passed him in pursuit of Kinjou and Yasutomo, but left Yuusuke crippled by fear that more seniors would appear if he danced, and add their voices to the hellish cacophony in his head. As the mountains dragged on, all Yuusuke allowed himself was a scream from the bottom of his broken heart, alone and unheard by anyone.
He placed third, having never caught sight of the other two on his way to the parking lot by the Kameshi Dam, while Tadokoro finished half an hour after, pulled by a third-year and his face caked with tears and sweat.
At least Yuusuke had been spared that humiliation… for a while. As soon as he dismounted, he petrified as he almost had back at the first incline. He valiantly endured the second-years' teasing, and swallowed his tongue as they compared him needlessly to future captain Kinjou Shingo, and Arakita the Amateur… or was it Immature? Yuusuke could have sworn he had caught some "clever" inside joke between them. (Tadokoro later confirmed that he had received the same comments, with minor variations to keep things from being repetitive.) And yet, endless though it seemed, Yuusuke weathered the storm with little more than quivering features and clammy hands clenched by his thighs. He nearly survived.
But the moment Yasutomo pulled him over to the vending machine, shoved a Pocari Sweat into his hands, and whispered,
"They got to you, didn't they," like he just knew, Yuusuke screwed his eyes shut, his cheeks burning as Yasutomo smacked his back hard enough to draw tears.
"Hang in there, Makishima.." murmured Yasutomo. "If you're short on courage, you gotta suck it up until you're ready." He took a swig of his Bepsi, then nodded to the bottle in Yuusuke's hands. "Drink up. Feel better."
"I can't," breathed Yuusuke. "I.. I need a straw, sho."
Yasutomo stared for ten dreadful seconds, then punched the vending machine for a small carton of fruit juice, ripped off its tiny complimentary straw, and stuck it between Yuusuke's fingers, his head turned as Yuusuke nursed his drink, sniffling.
He should have realized it was all an omen, for terrible things to come.
Two more weeks, and their seniors announced that a four-day training camp was imminent, and compulsory for all first-years. Apparently, beyond a means of self-improvement, and an opportunity to bond with their teammates, it was also a test, where the first six cyclists to complete the menu would form the Inter-high roster that year. Only Kinjou was encouraged to ride with this in mind, though, while the other three were simply told to do their best, and Yasutomo to behave for his own sake, because any punishment he might incur at camp would have to be completed after their return. ("Hah! You're no fun, Senpai.")
And so, come the first week of June, Yuusuke found himself huddling in a single seat on the rental midibus, while Arakita Yasutomo sprawled over the double seat to his right, shoes kicked onto the floor and one naked foot propped on the empty seat beside him. Occasionally, their eyes crossed and Yasutomo clamped his teeth down on the neck of his bottle of Bepsi, drawing obscenely long draughts as Yuusuke sipped his Pocari Sweat through a straw, cheeks flushed.
Never mind him, Yuusuke, he told himself, head pointedly turned. Things will be fine! They said it was individual training, so no one will care what you do as long as you ride!
Those words proved prophetic, with a horrible twist. Upon their arrival, the menu turned out to be a total of one thousand kilometers over four days, at whatever pace they deemed fit, but that wasn't all. While Arakita the Amateur was let loose unrestrained, the others found themselves forcefully handicapped as an added challenge. Kinjou's gear shifters were removed to refine his pacing. Tadokoro received flat handlebars to curb his sprinting… and Yuusuke was given training wheels.
"We won't have time to supervise you, so this will have to do instead," Shiraiwa tapped his shoulder with a grin, ignoring the way all color drained from Yuusuke's face.
Within one lap, he fell twice as he took turns much too sharp for training wheels to handle. Most riders passed him too fast for notice, but some stared anyway… until Yuusuke crumbled to a stand in the slopes, an agitated howl tearing from his throat unbidden.
He froze as it was answered by a screech of tyres - Yasutomo coming to a halt right behind him. Their eyes met. Yuusuke whipped his head down.
Yasutomo soon shot past him in a sprint, sneering. It took him some time, but he caught up, heaving over a mouthful of bile.
"Shiraiwa! You can't be serious, Shiraiwa!"
Up ahead, Shiraiwa heaved an annoyed sigh.
"Is something wrong, Arakita-kun?"
"Why would you guys give Makishima training wheels?! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"It's to correct his form. It's for his own good."
"You're destroying his self-confidence!"
"And what would you have me do, jackass? Encourage that ridiculous dancing? Let Makishima become a laughing stock?"
"Not everyone laughs at him. Just you guys," hissed Yasutomo.
Shiraiwa didn't reply.
Refusing to yield, Shiraiwa proceeded to ignore Yasutomo, who soon pulled ahead of him and kept his position for several hours out of sheer spite. In the process, he passed slow, struggling Yuusuke on every lap thereafter, but keenly conscious as they were of each other, neither gave any signs of it, Yuusuke out of shame, and Yasutomo out of visceral anger that constantly threatened to erupt, with no worthy target to spend it on.
To take his mind off Yuusuke's predicament, Yasutomo occasionally caught up to and exchanged a few words with Kinjou, who eventually forgot to feign a smile as his efforts to counterbalance his handicap drained him like a punctured canister. As for Tadokoro, he soon looked more harrowed than anyone else: worse for wear with every slope, and sinking deeper into depression each time he entered the flats, his hands shaking over his ill-matched handlebars.
"Sprinting.. is the only thing.. I've got," he heaved, eyes large. "Why.. did they have to.. take it.. from me…"
"Because they're assholes," muttered Yasutomo as he whapped Tadokoro on the back, then broke past him, half wishing he had a handicap himself to match the others, but infinitely relieved nobody had laid a finger on Bian, else Yasutomo would have had to avenge her in kind.
In this manner, the day gradually petered out, and Determination, Ambition, Hope, and Passion had lost much of their luster by the end of it. In the upper echelons, congratulatory banter crowned the seniors' (over)achievements, while the first-years huddled around the scoreboard on trembling legs, shoulders hunched and faces pale.
Arakita: 235 km
Kinjou: 200 km
Makishima: 150 km
Tadokoro: 140 km
"We're finished, Kinjou. We've been outdone on the first day, by beginners," Tadokoro hung his head. Yuusuke's mouth twisted. Yasutomo scoffed.
"Makishima ain't a beginner, and I wasn't handicapped. Don't make a big deal out of it. Sheesh.. Now you've made me feel worse, dumbass."
"Is there even a point in riding tomorrow? Look at us!" Tadokoro flailed at the bottom rows. "There's no way we can complete one thousand kilometers like this!"
"Arakita-kun stands a decent chance, at least," said Kinjou, his smile pained yet genuine. "I will never give up, but if any of us might ride in a Sohoku jersey, it could be you, Arakita..kun…?"
Yasutomo bloomed crimson.
"Shuddup!" he slapped his hands to the sides of his face to hide his burning ears.
"I'm serious!" pressed Kinjou. "At this rate, you might make it to the Inter-high!"
"We leave it to you, Arakita," Tadokoro smacked his shoulder. Yasutomo growled.
"That hurt, you moron! Argh, I'm sick of this! I'm gonna eat and take a bath."
"Good idea! Wait for me!" Tadokoro shuffled after him. Kinjou shook his head fondly.
"I suppose we should go, too. …Makishima-kun?"
Yuusuke winced, then broke into nervous laughter.
"Y-Yeah, I'm coming, sho.." he joined Kinjou's side, heart thrashing.
Dinner's gonna be bad enough.. but bathing with them? I'd rather die, sho!
"First-years, hit the bath!" Shiraiwa turned around. "You too, Makishima!"
So close to slipping away, Yuusuke froze in the hall, dread spilling inside his chest.
"N-No, thanks, I'm fine.. I'll go later, sho…" he mumbled, visibly shrinking away.
"Now don't get all shy or fussy, Makishima," Shiraiwa chided with a grin, louder and louder as Yuusuke's hands started trembling. "Look! Kinjou and Tadokoro are coming! Even Arakita's doing what he's told for a change, so don't be the odd one out..! Now hurry up and—"
"SHI-RAI-WA."
Yuusuke's heart stopped. Yasutomo cocked his head, expression livid.
"Because of you guys, Makishima's been riding around on training wheels all day long. He didn't ask to..! He didn't want to..! You madehim the odd one out, and it's even ruining his chances of completing this camp. So maybe, he's just a little tired of this shit, and doesn't want to be around you right now. Be a pal for once in your life and LET IT FUCKING GO."
Silence blared. Yuusuke gritted his teeth.
"Fuck!This killed my mood," Yasutomo kicked at the ground. "I'm gonna get a drink. Makishima.. you want— one..?"
"Can't you just shut up?!" screeched Yuusuke, shaking. "I don't need this! I never asked you to do this, so mind your own business and stop making me feel worse, JACKASS!"
Yasutomo stared back thunderstruck. His courage spent, Yuusuke whirled around and fled.
After a moment of awkward silence, everyone filed into the locker room except Shiraiwa, who sighed and shook his head.
"You don't know when to quit either, do you? Maybe you're the problem, jackass."
He then followed after the others, leaving a seething Yasutomo behind.
A slight detour later, Yasutomo finally managed to track down Yuusuke, who cowered behind the building, his arms wrapped around his knees. Yasutomo stopped by his side and held out a plastic bag, but when Yuusuke turned his head away, Yasutomo set it on the ground and straightened, a Bepsi dangling from his hand.
"I don't mind you taking your anger out on me, Makishima," he began, his tone lifeless. "I know it's easier than confronting Shiraiwa, and I'm a heartless jerk, so you can't hurt me.. but I'm getting real sick and tired of you calling me jackass. You know who calls me that? Shiraiwa, but only when we're alone, or behind my back. I'd bet anything you heard it from him, and whenever you're feeling spiteful, when you're itching to put me in my place, you reach for it instinctively because it cuts the deepest. Am I wrong, Makishima? Huh?"
Yuusuke pursed his lips in defiance, but the way his neck sank between his bowed shoulders gave him away. Yasutomo sighed.
"Don't be like him, Makishima. You can do better than.. whatever this is."
With that, Yasutomo turned around and left, but only when his footsteps ebbed away did Yuusuke check the plastic bag.
His heart clenched. Inside was a cold Pocari Sweat, and a single, paper-wrapped drinking straw.
Once he finished his Bepsi, Yasutomo entered the bath, where everyone present soon learned that his shoulders and arms were absolutely covered in bruises. For all the astonished looks and careful questions he received, however, Yasutomo failed to comment in the scant five minutes he had spent in the water, leaving everyone to come up with their own gruesome theories.
None came even close to the truth. Hah! And why would they? Until he was allowed to race, Yasutomo would keep his slowly developing, rough but efficient riding style a secret from them.
By the time Kinjou and Tadokoro returned to the first-years' bedroom, Yasutomo was sitting on his futon in a shirt and shorts, his blanket in his lap.
"Oi," he nodded to them. They hummed, curious.
"I'm gonna lie down now," began Yasutomo, his tone painstakingly even. "If anyone asks, I'm asleep, so no one has to put up with my lousy ass anymore, and I'm a deep sleeper, so nobody has to worry about waking me up. You got that?"
Tadokoro stared back confused, but Kinjou smothered a smile and cleared his throat.
"This isn't about Makishima-kun, is it..?" he asked, not unkindly.
"Haaah?!" huffed Yasutomo. "I'm just telling you, if anyone asks, I'm fucking asleep, so nobody has to deal with me for a while! Got that?"
Kinjou rolled his eyes, but Tadokoro grinned and flashed a thumbs-up. Yasutomo squinted at him, then flopped down and bunched the blanket around his head and shoulders, resigned to playing possum for the rest of the evening.
True to his word, Yasutomo lay perfectly still until Yuusuke's reappearance an hour later, who had since finished the Pocari Sweat, and could no longer justify not facing Yasutomo. He crept inside the room like a mouse, breath held and fingers fiddling with the drinking straw, then yelped as Tadokoro bounded over with an eager look on his face.
"THERE YOU ARE, MAKISHIMA!" he threw a grin and an arm around Yuusuke's shoulders. "Don't you worry, that JERKArakita is FAST ASLEEP, so you don't have to worry about him!"
Yuusuke took one look at Yasutomo's subtly writhing form and quirked his brow. A few feet away, Kinjou pressed a hand to his mouth, shoulders quaking.
"SEE?" Tadokoro stepped over to Yasutomo, to nudge him in the backside repeatedly with his foot. "He's sleeping so soundly,if I sat on him right now, he wouldn't even—"
"DON'T YOU DARE,YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!" Yasutomo jerked upward and threw his blanket off, hair bristled and his face contorted into a rabid mess. "I can't believe this!The one time I try to consider Makishima's feelings and ask you to play along, and you ham it up like it's a fucking meat sale! I QUIT! I'll never be nice again, NEVEEERRR!"
"Pfft..!"
Yuusuke whirled around just in time to hide a truly hideous grin, then grabbed his bag and hurried out the door, promptly missing the way Yasutomo scorched to the tips of his ears.