Author's Note: It's been a year, shoot. Didn't intend to let you guys wait this long. Anyway, so we're finally going to get a taste of some long overdue Niou/Ono! Nothing too hot (yet) *winks* and a wee bit of crack from our favorite Rikkai regulars.

Recap: Ono got Yukimura to join the Student Council as the Tennis Club faces "issues". Meanwhile, apart from the strange encounter with Ono in the train, Niou has been eerily tame for the past week (yes, that's Niou disguised as Yukimura). It makes us all wonder whether he has yielded to his senpai's pigheadedness, or is concocting something larger in retaliation… meh, who are we kidding. He's definitely got something up his sleeve.

Trap 5
Roses are Red, Unlike Marui's Head

Saturdays were allotted for cram school, scheduled from seven in the morning to five in the afternoon. After being promoted to the junior level last March, Ono tried to convince Kobayashi to sign up with her, but her friend stated as a matter-of-factly that they had more than a year before university exams and what good was youth if their only recollection of weekends was the hollow walls of review institutes in urban Tokyo. Kobayashi was adamant to spend her remaining months of freedom living frivolously, to be a girl whose greatest worries would be missing out on the latest fashion trends and facing rejections from the hottest guys in school. She believed they would have all the time in the world to study their hearts out come senior year, so there really was no need for them, especially the Ono Sakurako, to rush things.

Despite the convincing arguments, Ono thought that Kobayashi was being careless.

But she let it slide because she could not fault her friend's line of thinking. Kobayashi's only goal was to graduate from Rikkai and get into a university with a good fashion design program. Considering the rigorous curriculum adopted by Rikkai, improved and tempered over the years, 95% of the student population got into their choice universities. Added the fact that most of them aimed to get into Tokyo University and succeeded. So as long as Kobayashi maintained her current academic standing and graduated without a hitch, getting into a good college was not a worry.

Ono's goals were of a different tier, however, which was why in spite of Kobayashi's valid reasoning, she was not deterred from enrolling herself in a review institute.

There was no harm in getting that extra edge.

More importantly, it was a valid excuse not to go home.

"…once said, 'The mark of an immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one…'" (1)

It was Literature class. She normally would have been mulling over the instructors' words and tediously writing her notes, but her eyes had been glued to the minute hand of the wall clock for the past hour as it ticked closer to twelve. When the dismissal bell rang, the students shuffled out of their seats and swarmed into the review institute's rundown lobby, with her at the forefront. The classrooms were fraught with the tension of upcoming exams, and the greying walls created the perfect atmosphere of gloom that the sight of an enormous, festive pink-striped box waiting atop the front desk easily caught attention.

The faint scent of strawberries, chocolate, and cream filled her senses as she approached it. Suddenly, the footsteps of the students all rushing to spend their Saturday elsewhere was muted and replaced by her father's booming laughter as he wiped a dollop of icing on her mother's nose. The institute's grey walls morphed into the lemon yellow wallpaper of the homey kitchen of their old home. Ten-year-old Sakurako was steadfastly sneaking the tub of strawberry ice cream from the freezer, up the staircase, and into her bedroom. Meanwhile, her father was appeasing the wrath of her mother with a cheesy love song. Her mother had always been a willing victim to her father's crooning voice, which was why she never stayed mad at him for too long.

He was Sakurako's perfect partner-in-crime.

The vibration in her pocket snapped her from her reverie—she was back at the lacklustre review institute.

With a sigh, she typed in her passcode. Her screen flashed twenty-one unread messages in her inbox, not to mention the plethora of notifications in all her social media accounts. Lengthy posts. Succinct ones. Emails with pictures and stickers, which read:

Happy birthday, Ako-chan!

.

.

.

Kobayashi and the rest of the crew were swift to respond to her invitation to one of the hipper restaurants in the metro. An hour later, Ono was burying her face against Kobayashi's arm in pseudo-embarrassment as the rest of her friends sang a tone-deaf "Happy Birthday" at the top of their lungs in one of the private booths of the restaurant, with the elaborately-decorated cake her mother baked her as the centerpiece to their little feast. After a round of obligatory well-wishes and tomfoolery, the conversation finally veered towards everyone's favorite: gossip.

Ono was not at all surprised that her friends had steered the first topic of conversation towards the sports teams. The general consensus, sans Ono (but, of course, she kept it to herself), was there was just something about boys in sweat-drenched jerseys, screaming testosterone, that made them gaga. So it was inevitable that they eventually talked about the Tennis Club. As a proud representative of the Student Council, Kobayashi had been initially vocal about the failure of leadership within that current thorn of a club, and after speaking flak about the delusional tennis captain, shifted gears and gushed about how especially prince-like Yukimura was. The rest of her friends had no problem adding fuel to the hot topic that was Rikkai's current most eligible bachelor (after Sonoda, they all insisted).

Ono could only mentally shake her head in disbelief.

It's been about two weeks since school started, and Ono has had enough time to gather whatever information she could procure about their new Honorary Member. Based on school records, Yukimura was an exemplary student and a highly competent leader. Among the students and staff, he was well-respected and loved. Majority of the female population in her batch had known the enigmatic freshman since Junior High, and had been more than willing to recount their accounts, not to mention delusions, involving the proclaimed Child of God. Thorough information-gathering has made her aware of the story surrounding his recovery from Guillain-Barre Syndrome, the dozen tennis scouts at his disposal (and counting), and his being single—the latter being the most important detail in the current discourse dominated by her friends, whose judgment was currently clouded with their out-of-control pheromones.

Simply put, Yukimura was extremely likable, and there was no denying Ono liked Yukimura.

Specifically, liked the idea of Yukimura.

He was the epitome of intelligence, grace, and power. Add in a dash of ambition and charm to the mix, and he was perfection himself.

Recruiting him has been one of her most noteworthy victories to date, given that student apathy for council projects, from a staggering 50 percent took a dramatic nosedive to a measly 10 percent once Yukimura was officially inducted in office. Suddenly, their activities were teeming with participants and the committees flourished with members, who would exhibit exemplary performance as to not disappoint the object of their affection.

It was win-win for everyone, really.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she drank generous gulps of her milkshake.

"There's this other freshman that caught my attention. Platinum hair."

Ono almost choked on her straw.

"He's been really popular lately. Has that bad boy image going on."

"Oh, him! Yeah, he's pretty cool, isn't he? Not too friendly with the girls, but it's part of his charm."

"Even my team's got their eyes on him," Kobayashi admitted. "Remember when we announced the amendments in the dress code last week, Ako-chan? Rumor has it that Masafumi-sensei scolded the guy for his hair color, what with it being shockingly silver and all. You know what the freshman said? Said he had a rare case of albinism." (2)

"Noooo!"

"It was bullshit obviously, and Masafumi-sensei knew it. So the freshman invited him to the bathroom, and a few minutes later, Masafumi-sensei looked like he saw a ghost when he stepped out. The freshman was free to go. Just like that."

"Did he bribe him? Or… oh. My god. You don't think—?"

"He flashed him—"

"—his silver curls down under!"

"That's what the other cheerleaders intend to find out," Kobayashi smoothed out the pleats of her skirt, as if she was just talking about the socks in her dryer.

The other girls burst into a fit of giggles.

Ono felt like bashing her head against the table.

For someone who liked to bask in the company of his own thoughts—which if someone as poetic as Yanagi were to describe it, was a constellation of both insightful and dangerous mental conceptions—it was something of a feat to function in an environment that was bursting with movement and chatter. Café Bon was packed. The hustle and bustle of both customers and servers moving about should have at least put a dent on the metal barrier that was his concentration, but his working pace was unscathed as he unceasingly scribbled walls of equations on his notebook. His iPad was propped on his table, the screen flashing the image of a particular seaweed head who took it upon himself to inform his beloved senpai-tachi of his endeavors as Rikkai Junior's esteemed Tennis Captain.

Niou proceeded with his schoolwork, and did not bother to show any sign of interest as Akaya proceeded with his chatter in a heated fashion. It was amusing how graduating from Junior High did not stop the Three Demons from doting on him, as if he was still that whiny little brat who first appeared in their courts three years ago, the Junior Ace that warranted their full attention. The future pillar of Rikkai Dai. It was a heavy burden to bear, but Akaya had proven, rather claimed, to be handling his captaincy well so far. After Akaya consulted Yanagi with his team's current tennis regimen, the topic of conversation shifted to the campus clean-up that took place over Spring Break.

"They said the principal was ready to explode when he gave his speech. Said whoever attempts to pull another mo-monsterity—"

"Monstrosity, Akaya."

"—monstrosity against the faculty would be blacklisted from the Rikkai Dai system. There's a bunch of new teachers because apparently there was mass resignation right after graduation. I'm not really sad to see those teachers go though, I mean five suicide attempts in one year? Jesus."

"And what were you doing during opening ceremony that you had to rely on your classmates' anecdotes, pray tell, Akaya-kun?"

"Sleeping, I'm one hundred percent sure."

"Tarundoru!" (3)

Akaya wisely ignored them. "But Niou-senpai, you sure gave them hell, huh?"

Niou's scribbling slowed as his focus zeroed in on their group chat, having been addressed for the first time.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Aww, come on! Who else could have set those—whoa!"

Marui had appeared beside Akaya and Jackal, who had been silently perusing a tennis pamphlet behind Akaya the entire time. Marui's arrival had prompted an exaggerated show of "make-faces" from their junior, which only seemed to dampen the Volley Specialist's mood even more. The previously bubblegum red head was now jet black.

"What the fuck, Niou! Your hair's still bleached!"

The twitch in Niou's mouth was the only indication that he had acknowledged Marui's protest at all.

"Niou-senpai said it's a genetic disorder," Akaya offered, smug for volunteering the information. "What was the term? Alb… Albus…?"

"Dumbledore," Niou offered.

"That doesn't sound right," Akaya muttered.

"It's albinism, you egghead," Marui sighed, exasperated. "Which is a load of crap. You're fucking captain of the tennis team and you still fall for his tricks?"

Akaya's face was beet as he mumbled a string of incomprehensible words. Curses, most probably.

"Oh, but it's true," Niou responded, folding his arms on the table and finally turning his full attention towards his iPad to join in on the conversation. "I even got a medical certificate from Yagyuu's brother to prove it."

"Which I haven't agreed to," Yagyuu's face popped up at the corner of the screen.

"Niou. You already received your first warning this week," It was Sanada. "We can't have you suspended from club activities just because of your nonsensical whims."

"They are not 'nonsensical whims'. The Student Council are assholes, that's what… no offense, Yukimura."

"None taken," Yukimura replied. "But it's important to understand that WASC accreditors (4) will be visiting the school next week. The Council officers are doing their very best to make sure that everything is set before they arrive. Including the strict implementation of the dress code."

"Blue looks very good on you, Yukimura." Niou smiled sweetly.

"You know very well that this is my natural hair color, Niou-kun, and that I am not the type of person to resort to immature acts such as dying my pubic hair just to make a fool out of everybody." Yukimura mirrored the gesture, but the threat behind it was evident.

"Speaking of," Marui piped in before Niou could dig himself a bigger hole. A huge pink-striped box came into view. He brightened when he took off the lid and saw what was inside. "Chocolate decadence! Nice."

"Marui, don't forget your blood sugar's pre-diabetic, and you still have to lose 1.5 lbs before the start of the Prefecturals."

"It's a slice, Renji!" Marui begged. "Besides it would be such a waste when Ono-senpai gave it to me!"

Sanada's eyebrows rose. "Vice-President Ono?"

"I ran into her from the salon earlier. She was buying a bouquet of flowers for her mother, who apparently, baked this cake for her birthday. Had some left." Another spoonful of cake. "It's really good."

"Why would Ono-fukutaichou give you cakes out of the blue?"

"Because she's nice," was Marui's earnest response after swallowing a spoonful of cake.

It was a Saturday night, so of course there was a crowd. Albeit a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, the place has been getting a lot of buzz lately due to its homey interiors and its excellent espresso-based beverages. Ono traversed the small aisles in search of a vacant table, careful not to hit anyone with the huge bouquet of red roses cradled in her right arm. Heads turned as she walked past, but she seemingly paid no heed to them.

Then she saw it: a vacant table by the corner.

She made a beeline for the table, dropped her belongings as if to save the spot, and was in turn severely disappointed. A stack of notebooks and a huge sketchpad lay unceremoniously beside a half-filled mug of coffee. Her eyes were immediately drawn towards the sketches of what looked like… legs. There were a couple of them on the page, legs with knobs and screws, legs with plasters of metal, and legs with other funny contraptions. (5)

The artist clearly had some sort of leg fetish.

Moreover, the table was clearly occupied.

In the corner of her eye, a figure neared the booth. She looked up, and saw the last person she expected to see.

Niou was still in his full tennis outfit, the Rikkai yellow immaculately blinding under the fluorescent lighting of the booth. She caught the flicker of surprise on his face, but he was as adept as she was in smoothing out unwanted expressions. When he seemed to have gathered his wits, his form became more relaxed, and his characteristic slouch took over as he jammed a fist in his shorts' pocket. He was fixed on the spot. Waiting. Waiting for what exactly, she wasn't sure.

Then it hit her.

Oh.

She was blocking the way to his table. The table with that huge sketchpad. The sketchpad with the funny leg sketches.

He smirked as he watched realization dawning on her and god knows what other thoughts flitted across her head as she looked at him with a mixture of repugnance and curiosity. To prevent giving him the satisfaction of gaining an inkling of what it was she was thinking about, she backtracked and walked out on him without saying a word, her vanilla-scented perfume the only indication that she had been standing right in front of him moments before.

Ono stood out among the other female patrons in the café that night. The bouquet of red roses in her arms seemed to have boosted her charms ten-fold—it made her look desirable. He watched her cross the hall before returning back to his seat, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. A few moments into his sketching, his thoughts wandered. Eventually, he flipped the pad close.

She was currently talking to one of the waiters. Her expression was expectant as she gesticulated with her free hand. The waiter looked apologetic, bowed his head a few times, and then headed on his merry way behind the counter. Scowling, she brought out her cellphone and began jabbing angrily at the keypad as she stepped out of the café.

He leaned forward and poked the pink umbrella left forgotten beside his coffee mug.

When it rained, it poured.

And there literally was a downpour waiting for her.

Ono had eventually come to peace that Café Bon had long ways to go when it came to their customer rotation rate. After mentally going through all her options, she had convinced herself that the best solution was to change the meeting place. She could easily get a cab, but because the café had a large lawn right outside the patio where the umbrellas were, it was quite a distance from the main road. It was theoretically possible to get to the other side if she used her umbrella or made a run for it. Realistically speaking, however, it was unlikely, considering she had left her umbrella and would rather dance Macarena naked than go back and face the freshman, or charge forward, and in turn ruin her bouquet.

But she knew her options were limited, and the best ones pointed to her going back to the damn café.

Sakurako, you big idiot.

When she turned around, Niou was sitting on one of the chairs in the patio. She didn't know how long he had been sitting there, watching her squirm. But presently he was studying the water cascading from the edge of the roof, and tucked under his arm was her pink umbrella.

By the quirk of his mouth, she could tell he was clearly enjoying this.

Again, waiting. Waiting for her to beg.

What an insufferable prick.

Ono watched Niou from the rim of her coffee mug.

They were back inside the cafe, safe and warm from the torrential downpour. She had taken the seat across his, and after the waiter had taken her order, she was left to endure the awkwardness of the prevailing silence and being left alone with him. It was discomfiting to be hanging out with the guy who made her first two weeks of school hell, as well as someone who gave off the impression he would stick his leg out and trip you just for the heck of it. Maybe she was too quick to judge, but her anxiety was justified because she knew nothing—or rather, could not get ahold of any pertinent intel about Niou apart from his full name, his section, and his notorious image of a troublemaker. And wasn't that a justifiable source of fear? The fear of an enigma?

She took a quick sip, and burned her tongue.

From her vantage point, Niou was preoccupied with scribbling on his notebook. His pale hair was luminescent against the dark wooden walls of the booth, and she allowed her gaze to travel from the crown of his head down to his collar where his rat-tail was snugly tucked in. How tempting it was to reach for the scissors in her backpack and snip it off the back of his head. Thoughts of vengeance aside, it made her wonder why he would go to such extremes with his appearance. To catch attention? To pay tribute to the wonders of nonconformity?

"Oni-senpai."

She blew the steam off her cup.

"Have you ever heard of subtlety?"

She took another sip—the heat was tolerable this time—unperturbed with being caught staring. "Have you finally renounced your devilish ways and decided to become a good student?"

"Whoever said they were mutually exclusive."

She suddenly thought of herself in that regard, Touche.

But still she could say she was more than surprised to see Niou so focused on his schoolwork. For someone who paraded around school as if he did not give a shit about anything, he sure did give a shit about his homework. Maybe he was flunking, which was why he was exerting the extra effort to catch up with his lessons? He wouldn't be able to play tennis if he failed to maintain a certain weighted average. That would make a lot more sense. Careful to set her mug aside, she leaned over her side of the table and took a peek at what he was working on.

"This isn't freshman Mathematics," she blurted out, wide-eyed.

Her face was a few inches from Niou now, and she could almost see the lighter specks of blue in his eyes. "No. It's awesome Mathematics."

Ono leaned back in her seat and looked at Niou, as if she was truly seeing him for the first time. Niou, on his part, was looking at her with a tinge of amusement and exasperation, as if he was regretting he let her sit with him in the first place.

He was such a strange boy. A strange boy full of contradictions. He dyed his hair platinum and wore it like a crown—it was his identifier, the color that easily stood out among the sea of boring blacks and browns. He ruthlessly pulled tricks on people, did things without regard for their feelings, this coming from first-hand experience. Weren't these all desperate attempts to get attention? Yet he sneaked around in coffee shops late at night to work on high-level mathematics and impressive leg sketches, albeit creepy, as if he refused to let people know about his whereabouts or what he was up to. Pure speculation, of course. It was highly possibly that he was not really hiding his genius, but his notorious reputation which sent both girls and faculty reeling preceded him.

Simply put, she knew next to nothing about Niou Masaharu.

To her credit, she refused to badger him with more questions and brought out her own materials to preoccupy herself with. They worked on their respective homework for the next hour. By the time Ono was finished translating her French assignment, she caught Niou looking at her, and he seemed just as adamant as she was to break the contact first, like it was some sort of game they both suddenly decided to play.

It was 9 o'clock.

She had initially wondered whether it was a stroke of bad luck she stumbled upon Niou that night and whether she ought to bid her goodbye now that the café was less crowded, but after cantering over the pros and cons of her situation, she decided staying put would be the more convincing arrangement.

She yielded, and grabbed for her now cold cup of coffee.

"Listen, Niou-kun."

She took a sip.

"I understand you refuse to abide by the new dress code because it ruins your, err... individuality."

I know you're an insufferable prick and refuse to back down.

"And seeing how adamant you are, I'm a little concerned. The threat of a suspension remains once you receive your fourth warning."

It pisses me off how pigheaded you are.

"Just say what you want to say," he drawled, his eyes piercing.

Her phone was vibrating. I'm here, the message read.

Ono stood up from her chair.

Niou had learned over the weeks that to underestimate Ono would be like subjecting himself to a full-body yips from Yukimura. (6) Which would render him immobile, thus incapable of action, and ultimately absolutely fucking useless. So what would be the best course of action? His usual route when it came to solving problems that did not have anything to do with numbers was to dig deep and pull out the roots—a simple and direct approach.

Alas, that did not work with her.

Because dealing with her was like treading on thin ice: there was no guarantee his next step would not be his last. For someone who reveled in the promise of a good challenge, he felt himself winded with excitement whenever she succeeded in her attempts, or more accurately, when he let her think she had him backed in a corner. It was all thanks to his knack for psychological warfare, which Ono appeared to be rather fond of.

So he was only mildly surprised when she suddenly transferred to the seat beside his and gently held his hand on the table. Her hand was small and smooth against the calloused expanse of his palm. She sidled up beside him, the left side of her body desperately flushed against his, and her perfume intoxicating. She dipped her head towards him, her movements painstakingly slow, moving closer and closer until her lips hovered above the corner of his mouth.

"I'm about to see someone I really hate, so I want you to play along," she breathed, her statement leaving no room for questions. "I'll rally against the dress code after the accreditation."

He said nothing and simply looked at her.

"I'll also have the rooftop unlocked during class hours."

She had looked at the general direction of the figure approaching their table—a tall male donning the distinct Hyotei tennis uniform—and waved, then looked back at him, waiting.

Her eyes were bright and full of possibilities.

.

.

.

Niou intertwined their fingers and brushed his lips against the valleys of her knuckles.

She smiled at him, as if he was the light and salt of the world.

Well, fuck.

"Sakurako, it's nice to see you again."

"Asao, this is Niou. Niou, Asao."

Niou saw the way Asao's expression darkened when his eyes landed upon his uniform. Asao radiated the familiar flair of arrogance of someone born from luxury, and beneath the mitigated countenance of a golden boy, his eyes were hooded with something even darker, almost savage.

"I can't say I'm delighted that you've developed queer preferences."

Ono deliberately removed her hand from his and accidentally touched the bouquet on the table. Asao's eyes which had been previously glued to their hands were now on the red roses. It was only then Niou noticed the small card peeking from the bouquet's pink wrapper, where Ono Sakurako was written in big cursive. (7)

Ono had sauntered off alone on the sidewalk while Niou ambled on the pavement barred with metal railings overlooking Tokyo Bay. Suburban houses loomed over the deserted street between them. A few cars sped past, shielding their view of each other. His bright yellow uniform and platinum hair glinted against the black canvass of the scenery dotted with blinking city lights from the distance. She had worn a darker ensemble, and easily blended with the somber walls of the residences.

When they broke into the livelier portion of suburban Tokyo, Ono had disappeared into one of the convenience stores, leaving Niou to watch her retreating form from the other side of the road.

.

.

.

"What'd you get?"

Niou was leaning against one of the walls of the store, and pushed himself off to evaluate the package in her hand when she got out.

"Stuff," she answered curtly, recovering from the initial surprise of his appearance. Although they were headed towards the same train station, she wasn't expecting him to stick around. They had mutually agreed to punctuate their unexpected rendezvous as soon as they stepped out of Café Bon. But here he was, looking at her as if he expected to be let in on the secret. She handed him a plastic bag. "A little bonus."

He gasped comically when he saw the bottles of beer in the paper bag.

Ono smiled, flashing him her fake ID.

.

.

.

Niou was a good two meters away from Ono who was hunched over one of the electric posts on the pavement. They walked a short distance from the convenience store and arrived in an abandoned playground adjacent the main road. A comfortable silence reigned as Niou watched Ono down the contents of a bottle, walk over to the junction of the main road and the playground, and position the empty bottle beside the post. She plucked three red roses from her bouquet and placed it in the bottle.

From where he sat, he could barely make out the expression on Ono's face.

It was only when she lit one of the sparklers she got from the store that he was able to see her.

Ono Sakurako's mask was gone, and all that was left to see was bare melancholy.

He took a sip from his own bottle and looked up at the night sky, feeling he had just witnessed something surreptitious.

Author's Note: Damn. That was a lot of stuff for a "filler" chapter. Emphasis on both Ono and Niou's character. Hope they were a bit more solid. I dropped hints regarding Ono's past, so I'll leave you guys to figure out what the heck she was doing in the abandoned playground. Moping around. Also! I'd love to hear your thoughts re Niou's character in general! Not my interpretation, but yours. Why do you think he'd always go out of his way to create trouble?

(Also, poor Marui.)

Extras:

(1) A quote from one of my favorite classics, Catcher in the Rye. May or may not be relevant to this story, teehee. Just keep on reading, I guess.
(2) Albinism is a rare group of genetic disorder that causes skin, hair, or eyes to have little or no color. A defect in one of the several genes that produce/distribute melanin (which is responsible for skin/hair color) causes this condition. This usually occurs with vision problems. As far as I know, Niou has excellent vision, so.
(3) Don't slack off!
(4) WASC (or the Western Association of Schools and Colleges) Accreditation will make Rikkai Dai's already pretty reputation look even prettier, to put it bluntly.
(5) Nope, Niou does not have a leg fetish. It's a hint though.
(6) Yips? Yikes! Medically, it's referred to as focal dystonia, a neurological dysfunction affecting certain muscles. The most common symptoms associated with this are involuntary muscle jerks, tremors, twitches, or freezing. (Mayo Clinic) If you watched the POT OVA, you'll know what I'm talking about, anyway?
(7) Ono lied about buying the flowers for her mother. She bought them for herself, which was all part of her plan to get back at our detestable side character, Asao Tatsuya (who will remain as a side character… for now).

Up Next: Niou's counterattack begins.