Part X
“I heard that Rikkai's captain Yukimura was hospitalised last week,” Oshitari said, during late winter. The school year was drawing to a close, and the usual flurry of extracurricular activities had died down, replaced by the ubiquitous presence of exam revision notes and yawning, sleep-deprived students.

As usual, it took something a little more substantial than weather to stop Sakaki's club practices.

The air was sharp and chilly. Ootori, who did not tolerate the cold well, looked distinctly unhappy as he sat on the steps, hunched into an uncomfortable ball. Jirou was snoring as he lay on his side, legs curled to his chest. Kabaji sat behind Jirou, protecting the sleeping blonde boy from the gale that was sweeping across the courts.

The post-Nationals flurry of challenge matches had long since died down, and it was clear to everyone who the regulars for the coming year were going to be.

Oshitari and Gakuto were indisputably the best doubles pair in Hyoutei, winning regularly against Ootori and Haginosuke, who in turn held the pre-regulars at bay. Shishido, too, kept his position with scrappy tenacity – as the least confident of the singles players, he came in for the lion's share of challengers. Gakuto would be under the same pressure but for Oshitari, who refused to partner with anyone else.

“Uh huh. He collapsed in the middle of the courts, nobody's sure why. It sounds pretty serious, though.”

Gakuto said, “Maybe he'll be ill for the entire year, and then we won't have to worry about Rikkai at the Kantou finals!”

“Don't be stupid.” Atobe looked down at Gakuto. “As if they were that weak. You wouldn't last fifteen minutes against Marui Bunta, let alone that other pair of theirs. ”

The sudden tightening of Oshitari's mouth didn't escape him. Worried about your partner? Give it up. I'm the captain now. Oshitari's ability to cover for Gakuto was what made them a formidable doubles pair, but off the court it was just annoying.

Particularly when Gakuto didn't need, or care for, that kind of protection.

“Well then, what about those two – ahh, the ones that Seigaku call their Golden Pair? Think we'd beat them?”

“All too easily,” Oshitari assured him. “It wouldn't even be an interesting game.”

Gakuto snickered, and Atobe lost interest. Atobe didn't concern himself with the inner workings of Hyoutei's Doubles 1 pair, as long as they continued to deliver results.

Of the regulars, the ones that did draw his attention were --

“Wakashi!” Shishido was standing at the edge of the central court, holding a crate of tennis balls. “Can you help us put away the nets?”

“Shishido-san's looks like he's in a good mood,” Ootori said. He was still shivering intermittently. Atobe contemplated asking Kabaji to cover the silver-haired boy with a rug.

“Hard to believe anyone could be in a good mood, with weather like this - Shishido-san?” Gakuto turned to look at Ootori. “What's with that?”

Oshitari thwacked him on the shoulder. “Don't pick on Ootori like that,” he said, casting an apologetic look at Ootori, who apparently had enough blood circulation left in his face to blush, even with the cold.

Would Ootori be captain of the club next year? Kabaji was the stronger player, but even Atobe couldn't imagine Kabaji leading Hyoutei. At a smaller, less materialistic school perhaps, Ohtori's abilities would have shone through. At this club, it wasn't a matter of who was qualified to lead, but who was left standing when the tussle was over. Although there's only one obvious choice this year.

He glanced at Hiyoshi Wakashi, who was packing up the nets, dressed in a T-shirt and track pants.

In the end, it didn't matter. Whoever his successor was, Atobe was going to create a reputation that person would never be able to live up to.

April. He was looking forward to it.

#

“...a gathering place for the weak.” He caught the girl's wrist as she lunged at him. “You know, you're cute when you're angry.”

The girl – An, was that her name? - yanked her hand away. She was pretty; it was a pity their first meeting was progressing so badly. But it would hardly have been amusing if she hadn't put up a fight.

Of course, it was more interesting when someone capable of a real fight – one with tennis, that is - came along. Even if he hadn't intended to force the girl to begin with.

“We'll take the loss,” he said. “What's your name?”

The spiky-haired player was still breathless from returning Kabaji's ball, but he grinned as he spoke: “I'm a second-year at Seigaku, Momoshiro Takeshi.”

One of yours, Tezuka? Strength and strategy; not a bad combination. Atobe smiled.

“Wait, I'm Fudoumine's Kamio Akira!”

He turned. “I didn't ask for your name.”

Later, Atobe watched Shishido lose 6-1 and wondered what Tachibana was getting revenge for: harassing his sister, belittling his vice-captain, or underestimating his team?

He suspected that Tachibana cared less about those things than he did about making it to Nationals. Nevertheless, the irony remained.

#

“You lost.” It was half-past five, long after club activities ended for the day. The corridor was silent, abandoned; filled with still shadows and dim light. Atobe would not be here, if he hadn't left his electronic dictionary in his locker.

Shishido and Ootori. They're going to be the strongest doubles pair we've ever had. Stronger than Oshitari and Gakuto. But the way in which it had happened...

“Shishido deserved to win.” Haginosuke stood in front of Atobe's locker, his fingers tracing the cracks between the door and the metal frame. “After all those years of losing, it's small recompense.”

“Haginosuke, I --” The other boy lifted a hand, cutting off his words before he could continue speaking.

“There's no need to apologise. I belong to Hyoutei too, remember?”

Atobe frowned. “You belong to Hyoutei, and you can still talk like that?”

“What's wrong with that?” Haginosuke's voice was soft. Amidst the emptiness, it was almost eerie. “Say Atobe, have you ever planned out what you want to do with your life?”

“We're going to win Nationals,” he said, and he believed it as he spoke.

“Then, what are you going to do once we win Nationals?”

“I'll win the National Under-18 Open, of course. Then I'll keep playing international tournaments.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I won't stop until I'm satisfied that tennis has nothing more to offer.”

“And after that?”

Atobe looked down again. The floor seemed like a sheet of distant, murky grey. At the far end of the corridor, orang patches of sunlight came in through the windows. “Well, I always thought I'd like to study in England. I hear that Oxford's Classics department is excellent.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Haginosuke straightened himself, and stepped aside, allowing Atobe to reach his locker. “Here.” He held out a sheaf of papers. “You missed German class today because of student council, right? The teacher asked me to pass these to you.”

Atobe took the notes. “Thanks. You could have given them to me some other time, you know.”

“I like this time.” He was already turning to leave. “Is it okay if I skip club practice for a few days? I promise I'll be there to cheer you on, this Sunday.”

“It'll be all right. Take as much time as you need,” Atobe said, watching Taki's retreating back.

#

The day that Hyoutei lost to Seigaku at the Kantou regionals, Atobe found Sanada Genichirou standing alone in the carpark. The Rikkai vice-captain was holding a mobile phone in his hand, and scowling – at least, scowling more than he usually did.

“It's been a difficult year for you, hasn't it?”

Sanada looked up, a flash of surprise in his eyes. It was indicative of how distracted he was that he hadn't noticed Atobe's presence. But he was belligerent as ever.

“Speak for yourself,” he said. “Unlike you, we plan on winning the Nationals.”

Sanada was not in the mood to talk. But Atobe had never before felt the way he was feeling right now: the beauty, the glory of the game still running through him, and the unreal, heartsick feeling of loss.

He didn't think anyone could understand what he was going through, short of Tezuka himself. But this person came close.

“I beat him first,” he said. “Tezuka Kunimitsu.”

Sanada placed the mobile back in his pocket. “Yes; I was watching.”

“You ought to play him some day,” Atobe said. “Tezuka is the real thing.” Like standing in a thunderstorm, he thought, and being drenched in its rains. Like never wanting to be dry again.

Sanada didn't reply.

“How is Yukimura?” he asked, and was unsurprised to note the tension in Sanada's face.

“He'll be admitted to hospital again this Thursday.” Sanada picked up the racquet bag lying at his feet. “Excuse me, but I need to be getting back home.”

“Sanada!” he called. The boy stopped, turned. “Don't lose to anyone before I've broken the Zan.”

Sanada raised his brows. “What a pointless request.”

Some things would never change, Atobe decided, watching Sanada's long black shadow as it retreated across the carpark, eventually disappearing into a bus filled with whoops of glee and raucous teenage boy laughter.

Other things changed too quickly.

#

“There. It's all yours.” The locker door clanged as he slammed it shut. Atobe looked up to see Hiyoshi staring at him. “I said, it's all yours. Don't gape like that, it looks stupid.”

Hiyoshi stepped forward tentatively, looking at the oversized locker that traditionally belonged to the tennis club captain. “...thank you.”

Atobe shook his head as he gathered his things into his satchel. “It's Sakaki who chose you for the position, so you can thank him instead. If you really want to thank me, do it by winning Nationals next year.”

Hiyoshi, to his credit, remained silent as Atobe left the locker room.

Sakaki was standing outside, wearing slacks and a polo-shirt. He inclined his head in greeting when he saw Atobe.

“You were looking for me?” Atobe said.

They fell into step as they walked towards the tennis courts. When they arrived there, Sakaki turned to him and said: “Tell me, Atobe, were you satisfied with your time as captain this year?”

Atobe looked at the tennis courts, stared past them to the trees and office buildings that surrounded Hyoutei Gakuen, and beyond that, to the fog-obscured clouds beyond. “I'll never be satisfied.”

“Is that so?” Sakaki followed Atobe's gaze and looked outwards; for several moments they stood silently, alone amidst the tennis courts. Then he said: “Would you prefer a one-set or a three-set match? I believe I made a promise to you that still has to be honoured.”

Atobe's eyes widened, and he turned to Sakaki. Then he smirked. “I'll get the racquets.”

#

That evening he stood outside the school gates, and gazed at the horizon where the sun was dipping, sinking beneath the sky in anticipation of a future dawn. “Come on, Kabaji, let's go.”

“Yes.”

He was Atobe Keigo.