Author's Note: I apologize for the delay. Real-life shit got in the way. Just realized that rhymed, yay? Hopefully, this chapter will clear out whatever confusion you had in the first chapter. Read on!

Trap 2
Bitch in the Mud

Had it been any other day, Niou would have managed to wheedle himself out of running laps under such sweltering heat. But when Yukimura explicitly tells you he will persuade the captain to remove you from the roster of players in the upcoming tournaments if ever word gets to him that you skipped out just because you injured your hand, which was your fault in the first place. Well. There really was nothing else to be done.

Nonetheless, despite the unfavorable conditions he had to endure, he was amused. Very, very amused.

First day of classes has always been a tumultuous affair, especially for first years of a topnotch High School, such as Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku. Throw in good-looking, clean-cut individuals who believe they're God's gift to man, not-so-airheaded jocks who wear their personal brand of grandstanding by recounting all the tournaments they have won in Middle School at any given moment, and the silent "geniuses" who think everyone else with a runny mouth is beneath them, and you'll find yourself a human version of a pigsty.

It was a battle of pigheadedness, really.

Being the crème de la crème of High Schools in the Kantou region would undoubtedly reel in aspirants of notable caliber from all over the area. Not to mention, going through the arduous paperwork, allotting time to attend night review classes, plus taking and passing an entrance exam that can displace the diamond in Moh's Scale of Hardness were themselves such great feats that those who have surpassed thousands of other applicants from all over Japan were already branded impressive by others. But therein lies the paradox within the Rikkai culture, and he quotes, "In a place where everyone is super, no one is."

Nonetheless, the pool of achievers—either academically, athletically, musically-inclined, or all three—does not discount the fact that an assortment of characters have congregated together for his expediency. Which is also tantamount to pure entertainment, in his case.

Although he had to admit that, sometimes, it was all so very cliché.

And first day was no different.

He was conveniently seated at the very back of his class, particularly at the rightmost corner nearest the doors, so he had the perfect view of everything and the perfect escape route in case of an "emergency". He was well aware of the keen interest he had elicited from his female classmates over homeroom, characterized by the few shy glances thrown his way, whereas the more bold and verbose ones would try to engage him in small talk, and he would so eloquently respond with, "Puri." The variety of reactions would range from downright mystified to entertained, and when introductions commenced before morning roll call, he had introduced himself as Miyawaki Motoharu.

Sanada glared at him from his seat, but said nothing.

By the end of homeroom, Niou Masaharu was fondly branded The Trickster, which he approved of.

That's how the human world worked, you see, how society responded to labels, either self-claimed or imposed upon them. If you are pegged as an Achiever, there would always be that expectation of excellence, all things bright and beautiful. The same goes for every other label that existed.

It was only a matter of whether the stereotyped would break or go along with it.

Which led him to the subject of his amusement—an entire day of observation was enough to give him an overview of what was apparently the Council's full reign over the student body. And it was more than interesting to note how the entire Rikkai Dai viewed Ono Sakurako.

If Yukimura was labelled the Child of God—and up to this day, Niou had yet to find something, anything to refute that statement—Ono was the undisputed Queen of Hearts. It was hilarious how the populace was very willing to eat that all up, and in its own right, it was impressive how despite being a junior, her claws extended right into the heart of the seniors and the faculty. He was thinking that perhaps that Student Council President, whose affection for the girl was as obvious as a beam of flashlight in the dark, had a hand in her overbearing popularity. After all, Rikkai Dai's student population bordering on thirty hundred was no joke, and in order to make yourself visible, you either had to be a titan or related to the said titan.

But after watching her flit from one area of the courtyard to another, where both small cliques and lost freshmen loitered—the rooftop had the perfect view of the grounds—he figured that tagging along Sonoda was an unneeded boost to her pursuit of recognition. Unlike Yukimura whose natural charm preceded his prowess and captaincy in tennis, Ono's charm was cleverly enforced, albeit subtly.

All in all, very effective.

Moreover, things were easy for her because she was essentially easy on the eyes, with a pleasing smile that balanced her sharp, cat-like gaze. She was not oblivious to her good looks, and did not hesitate to use it to her advantage. After their encounter in the corridor during lunchtime, he had seen with his own two eyes how the freshmen literally scrambled on their feet to greet her with a bow that was as stiff as a ramrod when she had glanced towards their general direction and smiled.

He would have snorted, but the sad reality was Ono Sakurako's acting was very convincing.

If it wasn't for Shibuya, he would have passed her off as just another popular upperclassman who he would have avoided for reasons of becoming victim to a ray of unwanted spotlight. And if that was the case, as much as he acknowledged that there was depth to most people, he simply would have not cared to know much about her.

But reality begged to differ.

Ono was the Queen in this game, and to bring down someone on top of the so-called "social hierarchy" would be an impressive feat. Plus, he would address his recurrent problem of boredom, so he would have hit two birds with one stone. And that suited him superbly.

Niou slumped down on one of the benches, arching his back against the seat and stretching out his legs in front of him as he tried to catch his breath. The wide expanse of courts resounded with heavy grunts as the rest of the regular aspirants swung their rackets in one unified motion, whereas a couple of juniors preoccupied themselves with preparations for the ranking tournaments—blackboards, orange cones, and ball machines made ready. He then reached for his water bottle and chugged its contents in one gulp before zeroing in on the rest of his teammates.

"Dear God, I didn't think it was possible," Marui said in between pants, slowing down and ultimately falling on his knees as he reached for his water jug. "Buchou's an even bigger monster that Sanada—"

The rest had to stifle their laughter when Sanada glared Marui to silence. "Show some respect, Marui!"

"So what really happened to your hand?" Yagyuu took the space beside him, eyeing his partner's neatly-wrapped bandages.

Niou finished his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of the same hand which Yagyuu had shamelessly stared at, as if to prove to him that it was just fine. "I remember telling you I got stabbed by a pickpocket in Shibuya."

"It didn't look like a knife wound to me." Yagyuu concluded thoughtfully as he wiped his glasses with the end of his shirt, distinctly remembering the almost ellipsoid shape of the wound he tended to last night. "Anyway, I left the milk in the refrigerator."

"I'll drop by your house after practice." Niou sighed, throwing his face towel over his shoulder, and expertly side-stepping his comment about the wound. He would have to brace himself when he got home that night—his sister would undoubtedly bitch at him for failing to deliver.

Yagyuu hummed, replacing his glasses atop the bridge of his nose. "It's a pity you won't be able to join the ranking tournaments."

The corner of Niou's lips twitching imperceptibly did not escape him.

"Eh. I have plenty of other things to preoccupy myself with."

If it was Yagyuu's nature to roll his eyes, he would have, but instead he settled with a soft sigh. He would have told his doubles partner to keep out of trouble, but with Niou, it would simply be like talking to a brick wall.

While Sanada fussed over Yukimura's whereabouts, Niou took the time to slip beside Yanagi, who was currently in the middle of writing in his data notebook.

"Oi, Yanagi."

"Hm?" He did not look up.

"Do you have data on the Student Council?"

There was a long pause before he got a response. "Interesting."

Niou assessed his teammate silently, wondering what that one word reply meant.

Yanagi shut his notebook with finality and looked up. "Why do you want to know?"

"Why do you think I want to know?" Niou retorted.

There was a knowing glint in the Professor's eye, though how Niou was able to see that when Yanagi's eyes were in slits was beyond anybody. "A whopping seventy-nine point fifty-four percent chance it's because of Ono-senpai."

"What of the remaining twenty point forty-six?"

"Know thy enemy. The Council can prove to be a formidable force when it comes to your… future endeavors."

Niou expected nothing less from one of the three demons. "So do you have it, or do you have it?"

"Borderline leaning towards positive." Yanagi rummaged for one of the smaller notebooks in his duffel and handed it over to Niou. "Considering it's only the first day, I have had limited opportunities to conduct a thorough observation of the four members, all of which are upperclassmen, of course. So what I have at the moment is based purely on hearsay and the limited investigation I was able to manage."

"That's fine."

Niou flipped through the pages of the notebook, and noted with dissatisfaction that the contents did not yield anything he didn't already know. It was interesting, however, that Yanagi's notes on Ono was severely averse to his own deductions—which either meant that Yanagi's fact-finding prowess was dwindling, or Ono was truly a force to be reckoned with. But it would be hasty to make assumptions at this point in time; he would have to give the Data Master a few days or weeks, tops, unless uncovering her mask would prove to be such an impossible task.

He didn't really mind extending an helping hand, if this was the case.

Niou returned the filler to Yanagi, who all this time, had been wordlessly scrutinizing him.

"What are you up to, Niou?"

"Just wanted to know if the Council are fans of Bagel Head," (1) was Niou's smooth reply, which was basically his way of punctuating the conversation. "One last question."

Yanagi quirked an eyebrow.

"Do you know if there are any gang leaders here in Rikkai?"

Ono wasn't usually the type to wallow.

First, because it was pointless. And she was anything but profligate, always conscious of the time and effort she invests in all her activities. Secondly, for mundane reasons which she seemed to have a penchant for as of late, wallowing always reminded her of pigs, and she didn't really want to be associated with them.

So today proved to be out of the ordinary because she found herself thinking, worrying, and generally, wallowing in her own puddle of paranoia.

The dismissal bell rang a quarter of an hour ago, and after hastily but pleasantly excusing herself from her peers with pretexts of piled up council work, she had traversed the halls of the junior floor even before the throng of students could clog the stairways to either head home or attend to their own club activities. She wanted to avoid the crowd, lest she was held up by unwanted company, but really, it was because she didn't think she was in the right state of mind to expend much energy on pretenses right now.

After purchasing two bottles of green tea from the nearby vending machine, she was finally, safely within the four corners of the Student Council room. And as expected, it was empty, what with the rest of the members busy with their own club activities—Sonoda in drama, Kobayashi in cheerleading, and Furuki in calligraphy—she has yet to join one, but that really wasn't her main concern at the moment.

That cocky, silver-haired bastard was.

She usually was very careful when it came to her predilection for late-night meanderings, often if not always several train stations away from where the usual Rikkai Dai hangouts were. Although she has had several close encounters with schoolmates in random clubs and bars in Tokyo and even as far as Shinjuku, her get-ups always abutted on the extremes—heavy make-up, skimpy outfit and a resting bitch face which was a far cry from the image she portrayed in school—that to anyone who might have a sliver of recognition of who she was, would think twice, and eventually accept that she was just another face in the crowd.

One whole year, and someone has yet to peg her for Ono Sakurako, the paragon of excellence and good moral character in Rikkai.

Enter, the jerk.

To be honest, her haircut was the least of her problems—she could always devise ways to rock the bob cut and, perhaps, if it was not too ambitious, make it the trend in school. But the reality that someone had an idea of what she was doing after school hours, and was, most importantly, privy to the person behind the mask she had so conscientiously crafted over the year was enough to send her knees shaking.

And she had made quite an strong impression last night because after he had so kindly given the shrub a "trim"—her long, gorgeous locks which had lain in an unceremonious heap on the concrete—she was generous enough to return the favor. Despite her usual cool countenance, she actually had a really bad temper. It was only a matter of discipline and willpower that she was always able to keep herself from combusting.

Stilettos and the hand that did it all. Go figure.

"Ono-senpai, are you alright?"

Yukimura was standing by the doorway.

"Yes." It was a knee-jerk reaction—smoothed out expression and her best smile. "Just a bit tired from reading through all the club proposals. The start of the school year usually means bloody meetings on budget allocation. It's even bloodier at this point since the member in-charge filed a leave of absence because of family matters."

Yukimura sat beside her on the couch, and she handed him one of the bottles from the vendo.

"It's not so cold now."

"It's alright. Thank you," Yukimura was quick to assure. "If you're burdened by all this, I can assume you're currently the one in-charge."

Ono sighed delicately, as if breathing out any stronger would extinguish whatever energy she had left. "I'll have to hold out until we find someone who can replace him."

"Aren't any of the current committee chairmen willing to step up?"

Ono just shook her head, looking perfectly despondent, as she took a small sip from her drink. She allowed the silence to stretch out and merely watched Yukimura from the corner of her eye—she noted triumphantly that the freshman boy seemed to be deep in thought. The corner of her lips twitched upward as she drank in silence.

Yukimura looked at her knowingly.

"What did you want to talk with me about, senpai?"

Yukimura was a smart boy—he knew what it was she wanted, but knew he was treading on thin ice. Best to surge on carefully, better not to offend senpai, he thought.

She schooled her face into something more serious.

"I was wondering if you'd fill up the position, Yukimura-kun."

He smiled, not at all surprised, and instead thoroughly amused. "I'm flattered that you handpicked me out of the thousands of students, but I think there are others who are more… qualified for the job."

Ono had to stop herself from scoffing. "Do you really believe that?"

A small smile was all she got as a response, and she was left to believe that, no, he didn't think that, but he'd rather not go through all the trouble.

"It isn't my intention to force anything on you, or pressure you," she started, her expression now taking on a more apologetic hue. "But I didn't just randomly pick you from the crowd." She reached for a thick manila envelope from a neatly stacked pile atop her desk. "This is a list of all the projects approved by the Board Members over the summer. Upon perusal, you'll notice that there are various things that might catch your interest."

She paused, just letting him quickly sift through some of the pages.

"I've heard of your great feats in the junior high tennis circuit, and I understand that you prioritize tennis above anything else. For fifteen years, the tennis club has always had the biggest budget among all the other clubs, and rightly so, if we were to weigh in all the championships you managed to bring home," she continued. "I was recently informed that you are part of the Beautification Committee this year, and was the previous Chairman in Junior High," (2) Another sip from her bottle. "What I… hope to achieve this school year is a stronger, more united Rikkaidai. I want the other clubs to flourish as much as the Tennis Club has, and I wholeheartedly believe you can help us achieve that, Yukimura-kun."

Yukimura was silent all this time, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall. He remained unruffled, however, which Ono took pleasure in. She loved his composure, loved the quiet strength that emanated from him despite the image he projected.

"Before blindly dismissing this opportunity, I want you to really think hard about it. Please."

She brandished the folder in her hands, and simply waited with bated breath—she didn't know how long time elapsed, two, three seconds—before Yukimura eventually plucked the folder from her grasp and said, "Okay."

Ono mentally pumped her fist in the air. "Okay, as in… you accept the position?"

Yukimura's soft laughter gave birth to an inordinate wave of warmth in her gut, as much as she hated to admit it. Jeezus, was there a limit to this kid's charm?

"Okay, as in I'll think about it."

That was more than enough.

"You should get going, then." She stood up, and Yukimura followed suit. "You still have your ranking tournaments?"

He nodded as he got to his feet, and gave her a respectful bow. She did the same, and had to resist the urge to extend her arm and pat him on the head, like she would have done towards a cute puppy. Was it a crime that she wanted to have a miniature-sized Yukimura and keep him in her pocket?

There were only a couple of students lingering in the campus by the time she left the Student Council office. It was nearing five-thirty then, and she took note that the thinning crowd mostly consisted of incumbent officers of the different Culture Clubs, who were in the middle of preparations for member recruitment taking place the entire week.

Exchanging pleasantries with schoolmates and faculty members has become part of her routine, and admittedly, she took the greatest pleasure whenever someone would holler at her from the opposite end of the hallway just to extend his greetings, or purposely walk up to her and help her carry a think wad of worksheets to the faculty room. It was not the attention she savored above all, but the power she held over them.

Over time she had grown to believe that everybody was inclined to like the nice guys, felt uninhibited in the presence of the warm and friendly. So this was the persona she judiciously perfected over the past year, and it had served her well.

If she really thought about it, the appearance of the silver-haired freshman was only a minor setback in the grander scheme of things because she has long established her position on top of the student body. She believed she had enough influence to change the tides. That any sort of problem brought about by her carelessness can be effectively dealt with, and any form of uprising against her reign became negligible.

It was his word against hers.

So, in reality, she really had nothing to worry about.

She had finally reached the end of the hallway when she felt the vibration in her pocket, and at once, the calm she had just claimed for herself was washed out by the words flashing on her cellphone screen.

From: The Traitor
Subject: My apologies

She realized that there was a slight tremor to her hand as she scanned the rest of the email. And it went:

I'm sorry about last night. I didn't think preparations for the tournaments would take up so much time that by the time I left Hyotei, I realized it was too late and you would have gone home. If you're willing, I can pick you up from school today after tennis practice. I'll even treat you dinner since it's my first day as Tennis Captain.

She had to take deep, even breaths to calm herself down.

The gall of him to even suggest meeting up again after he bailed on her last night! After she had gone through all the effort of procuring herself a pseudo-date, with hopes of making him feel the same way she felt when he saw him in his moment of treachery? She donned an uncomfortable micro-mini skirt while walking around Shibuya, escaped a number of harassment in the form of rough pushes against walls of dark alleys, accidental touches from lecherous hands, most notably lost her hair in the process, and was very much at risk of being usurped by—by a hooligan just because he failed to keep track of time?

Who did this guy think he was?!

She exhaled, the fog in her mind clearing.

He was Asao Tatsuya, the heir apparent to one of the biggest conglomerates in all of Japan, which was a shadow of the Mitsui—one of the "Big Three" zaibatsu—whose claws extended into different financial sectors of the country, and whose roots have stemmed way back into the Meiji Era.

And she needed him.

Fuck this life.

She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and then typed furiously on the keypad.

To: The Traitor
Subject: Apology accepted

There's no need for you to pick me up. Just meet me at Café Bon at six… then we're quits.

She didn't expect the reply to come so soon, and unwittingly found herself scoffing upon reading the message:

From: The Traitor
Subject: It's a date

Practice will start soon. Gotta show them the moves. Hopefully, that would keep that brat Atobe in line. Wish me luck.

She didn't.

It was to her utmost annoyance when a piece of grid paper, possibly ripped from the pages of a notebook, danced around in circles like a fallen sakura petal as soon as she opened her locker. She picked it up from the floor and read:

Dear Sakurako-chan,

I've been watching you from afar for quite some time.
And only recently have I realized the depths of my feelings for you.
Meet me at the rooftop after your Student Council meeting.
I'll be waiting.

She crumpled the piece of paper, and swiftly made her way to the rooftop.

Better get this over with.

The rooftop was empty.

There was only one plausible explanation: she was too late that the person had decided she was not worth the wait, contrary to what was mentioned, and decided to go home. That's what she would have done, anyway. So without further thought about the letter, its anonymous sender and the promise of a confession, she was headed right back through the doorway…

"Puri."

She halted.

A look over her shoulder, and she was met with the fiercest blue eyes she has had the encounter of seeing, eyes like daggers which ripped right through her fabricated front, leaving her bare. For a fleeting moment, all she could do was gape profoundly, with a vague resemblance to a fish.

Only when he chuckled, thoroughly amused with watching her struggle to regain composure, was she able to gather her wits, clicking her jaw shut and allowing herself to assume the role she has always played, her expression fashioned into something more mild, bordering on befuddled and overwhelmed.

"Were you the one who sent the letter?" Her voice was meek, but deep down, she was a whirling hurricane picking up speed, growing bigger and bigger as the moments passed.

He grinned, and said offhandedly, "What letter?"

She knew right there and then she was tricked.

Without sparing him another word, she was out of the rooftop, lumbered down several flights of stairs, and finally emerged out into the courtyard where only a handful of students roamed about, most of them members of sports clubs whose practices she assumed had just finished. She slowed her pace, catching her breath and wiping whatever vestige of alarm was on her face as she tried to blend in with the crowd for once.

And it was a peculiar crowd that afternoon, she thought, as they flocked and hampered the gates. Anyone with half a brain would easily deduce that something was not right.

"Ako-san! Thank God, you're here!" Her classmate looked panicked.

"What's happening?" she asked, making a beeline for the gates as the rest of her schoolmates made way for her. She could see Yukimura and his teammates in the crowd as well, most of them looking positively animated instead of nonplussed about everything that's happening. The tallest of the bunch even had a video camera with him, taking live footage of—

"Sakurako-san."

She stopped in her tracks, taking in the scene that awaited her by the gates.

It was Kiriyama Madoka, a senior in Rikkaidai.

Who also just so happened to be one of the infamous gang leaders of Shibuya.

Holding a bouquet of flowers.

With his entire gang donning their most intimidating outfits, armed with their arsenals of wooden bats and metal cranes.

For the second time that day, she was completely floored.

"I read your letter," he started, his voice surprisingly smooth for someone so gruff-looking. Holy hera—she didn't think she'd witness the day the feared Kiriyama would be blushing to roots end—but more importantly, what in the nine circles of hell was he prattling about?!

He cleared his throat, and read (3),

Bodies together
Pressed against the cold, harsh night
We hold onto love

There was a chorus of whoops at those words, and Ono just stood there. Genuinely flummoxed. Like she had just received word that in a month's time she would grow another head because of the extra spoonful of sugar she put in her coffee that morning.

In the sweet, soft spring
We lay on the tall, steep hill
And hold on to love

Summer's baking heat
Hiding in the shade of trees
Still holding our love

The leaves are falling
Crunching beneath our footsteps
Forever, our love

We'll last through the seasons
Enjoy our love together
Just you wait, my love

The struggle was most legit this time. She had to keep herself from gaping like a fish again—she was more wary now considering she had an audience—but the redness of her face was unmistakable, which was not so much a gesture reflecting her being flattered as the anger and embarrassment she was trying very hard to keep from surfacing.

A movement from Kiriyama, which brought her back to her senses. He was rummaging for something in his pocket.

"I understand you had a pretty shitty past relationship, but I swear it'll be different this time around..." His hand wielded a lock of hair, which at a closer note, was suspiciously the same shade and gloss—no, she wouldn't even dare think about the possibility of it being—

"...to do this for me..."

Waitwaitwait—

"...I accept your heart, Sakurako-san." (4)

OHMYGODHESNIFFEDIT

Author's Notes: Thoughts, anyone? I have a lot for this particular chapter, actually. And feels, too. Hahahuhu.

Extras:

(1) If you haven't heard of it before, type in "bagel head" on Google and be amazed.
(2) I actually laughed when I chanced upon the Beautification Committee in my research: Yukimura Seichii says, "Dust is the source of all kinds of diseases. That's why this is an important job." Check out the rest in the tenipuri wikia page under "Committees". It's hilarious.
(3) Disclaimer: This beautiful poem is written by Brian Wisecarver from poetrysoup.
(4) A lock of hair has carried symbolic value all through-out history. According to the Encyclopedia of Comparative Iconography, "Hair has often been seen as a symbol of life, strength, and even a surrogate of the self. The significance of hair-cutting has a range of meanings, from a decrease of strength and power to the cherished bestowal of a lock of hair to a lover... the custom of giving of a lock of hair as a love token implied a giving of one's self, the part substituting for the whole."

And there you have it, folks! As usual, reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated. :)