Disclaimer: I do not own Eyeshield 21.

--

Fucking Manager, he called her, and it might have been another profanation among a million other things Hiruma Youichi liked to pair with the word, 'fucking'. Fact was, he wasn't making any effort to soften his address to her, not in whatever degree. Strangely enough, with his evil intent protruding ten miles ahead of his face, he managed to draw her into him, like naked metal around a magnet.

"What is it, Hiruma-kun?"

“You’re gonna take a picture of a fucking chicken and a few monkeys…”

It was as much of an order as Hiruma was a saint, much less a request. Pronouncing the words as though the material fulfillment of which was as inevitable as the dawning of day, he succeeded once again to wrap her around his fingers, no sweat and all.

To tally, she clearly had another thing coming, or so she’d been told. Whether this was true or was nothing more than an empty suspicion, she wouldn’t dare ponder it thoroughly, maybe for fear of a more unlovely truth. Come to think of it, there were more than a couple of testimonies to it.

“What do you think you’re doing, fucking manager?”

He knew exactly what she was doing--and what she wanted. So when she knelt down to get better access to his knee, which was openly bleeding, it occurred to him that testing her was his one ticket to full assurance.

“Don’t move so much, Hiruma-kun, and let me finish the job.”

She was painstakingly trying to steady his injured leg for whatever it was worth, such as her pride. As this was taking place, she was unknowingly, witlessly laying bare what she had for so long then been trying to suppress. And in the exact same time, his eyes were glued on the monitor, as if never realizing what her actions were evincing, as if the case was that either he knew nothing or he didn’t care if he did.

In the end, unwilling, or maybe unable, to grant herself the dignity she might have deserved all the while, she told him,

“Please be more careful next time, Hiruma-kun, seeing as we haven’t familiarized ourselves with the American terrain yet.”

She fancied she heard a grunt of acquiescence issue from his mouth, never realizing that what he said in fact was, “If you have time to worry about me, go watch over the fucking brats instead.”

Maybe it had to do with the fact that her skin was against his, though the portion she made contact with wasn’t anything one might describe as conducive to feeling affection. It was his knee, for crying out loud.

In the days to follow, occasions of less note, but not less memorable in her mind, would further intensify all the suspicions surrounding her and what she held for the Commander.

“You laugh so much, Hiruma-kun.”

It was a grave understatement, if anything. From whatever point of view, Hiruma Youichi was a hair’s breadth from plunging into a fit of convulsions which would be dangerous should it continue for three more minutes. For a minute there, she was being ravaged by a maddening, inexplicable, groundless urge to stuff something in his mouth to cut him from laughing. Only a few seconds later did she realize that she was worrying--about him.

“I must be out of my mind.” She mutters to herself.

His slender built, his sharp fangs, the pair of slits he had for eyes, all of him, as a matter of fact, were received by her system as the height of masculinity. All this time, she fancied that Hiruma wasn’t a being who would yield beauty if you’d concentrate on him long enough. In her heart she thought, or knew, that Hiruma had been unnaturally attractive from the start.

In the meantime, anyone besides her saw him as he truly was; a beast, a genius, a devil, an enigma all rolled into one. Thus, all things considered, they could never have imagined him as someone capable of arousing affection from anyone, not even remotely. And never in their most farfetched dreams could they have guessed what the truth was, for Mamori was the embodiment of all things beautiful.

And then it hit her that none of these would have done anything to change so concrete a truth and that what she was feeling would continue to tread down a slope-- to just go further afield, where she would eventually be capable of controlling them NO longer. Thus with no other option left in sight, she told him,

“I don’t know what you’ll think of me after this, but…”

“What, fucking manager, did you say something?”

He was honest, as far as she could measure, and therefore disregarding of her—as always.

“You heard me.”

“I heard you jabbering away about something stupid. I’m off. Clean this place up—”

“—you never listen, do you?”

He flicked a lazy eye at her, making her realize how impossible it was to put him to test, genius as he was, or she was.

“Ciao.”

At this point she really had to ask herself why he never stared at her for more than a second or two. This was suffering, she knew too well, and yet she also knew that suffering deepened people. On account of this thought, or belief, she watched his back slink away from her until finally her voice gathered from pieces,

“Of all fucking pricks, why does it have to be you?”

He pulled to a halt, a wicked fascination comprising every square inch of him, savoring the rich resonance in her language. For the first time in her 16 years of existence, she cursed. One word was all it took to collect him back to where she was standing.

“Kekeke, ‘fucking’, you say? The fucking shrimp and the monkey would crap their pants if they heard. Wait, lemme grab my recorder while you put on a replay—”

“—geez, Hiruma! You could’ve been my enemy, my friend, my mentor, my admirer, even a stranger, a mere nobody! But instead, you have to be someone I’m—I’m—”

“Yeah, you can tell me later, but say ‘fucking’ one more time.”

This was never gonna work. This meaningless venture, this pointless struggle, this inconsequential effort was nothing, even granted he would listen, which he would not do, by the way.

So she stepped away, making only a slight difference as far as he was concerned, trying to reconcile herself with the same esteem she had always held for herself.

“Good day, Hiruma-kun.”

“Okay, here’s the deal; don’t dwell on it too much because there ain’t anything you can do about it.”

“Huh?”

“You’re in love with this prick, of all fucking pricks, and there’s nothing in the world that can alter that at a time like this.”

“You knew?”

“They don’t call me fucking genius for nothing.”

“Agreed. Thanks, Hiruma-kun, and good day.”

She walked away, and nothing else seemed to matter. After all, his awareness was all she sought to gain, nothing more, nothing less, for he wouldn’t look at her for more than two seconds anyway; not even under the biggest confession of her life.

Far behind, Hiruma Youcihi was snickering the lights out of the heavens, his eyes locked on the path where she would disappear into the horizon any second now.

“Kekekeke, fucking, she said.”

END