…a very tiny helicopter.
"How are we all supposed to fit in that?" Momo whined. "It's like, the size of my foot!"
And it was. It was a three by four foot helicopter. Which made it slightly bigger than Momo's foot, but still too small to fit in.
But it was okay! Because this is crack-fiction!
Ryoma boarded the helicopter while his seniors argued, and the laws of physics screamed in agony. "This is a nice helicopter," he said appreciatively—or, as appreciatively as he could, for someone who generally had no emotions.
Kirihara bounded inside and the rest of RikkaiDai followed. "It is!" he exclaimed. "Wow, Atobe-san!"
Atobe flipped his hair with (scarily) practiced ease. "Of course. Be awed by my wealth and prowess."
The remaining tennis players began to board, while Momo alone stood outside and gawked. Forty-something tennis players, spread out over a vast expanse of grass and land, had just fit inside a tiny three by four foot helicopter. "Are you sure there's room?" he asked doubtfully.
"And room to spare," Fuji assured.
Momo stuck one foot inside the aircraft tentatively, and entered.
And woke up, and looked around, and fainted again.
It was huge.
It must have been the size of Atobe's mansion. There were stairs. There was a second floor. There were a minibar and bedrooms. There was a tennis court.
There was a tennis court.
"How is this even possible?" Momo said in disbelief, while Kikumaru and Kenya began a speed-clone-tennis duel.
"Their cloning?" Fuji inquired. "I'm not too sure. Oshitari and Eiji do move quickly, but…" He watched in something like awe and amusement while Kenya and Kikumaru cloned themselves and filled the tennis courts.
"No! How does all of this stuff fit in a tiny helicopter?"
Atobe glided past them, holding two expensive-looking champagne flutes. "I'm rich," he explained.
"Momoshiro." Oshitari Yuushi said it condescendingly. "He has a blimp with his face on it."
"Well, yeah," Momo conceded, "but—"
The rest of Hyotei gathered around him, with pitying, sympathetic expressions. Poor kid, their faces said. Never been rich before. Choutaro, the sweetest of the group, said in a sugary, sincere voice, that had Shishido tearing up from emotion and pride and manly friendship, "Have you ever heard of 'screw the rules, I have money'?"
"Hey, there's an ice-skating rink!" Niou exclaimed, a few meters away. "Next to a fake-desert!"
"It's real ice," Marui noted, touching the ice. "I wonder if it's edible."
"It's a real desert, too," Atobe said firmly.
"The change in temperature is astonishing," Yagyuu observed. "Very well done, Atobe-kun."
"Hey, look! Half of me is freezing and half of me is burning!" Kirihara stood squarely between the ice-skating rink and the desert.
"Let's practice our Caramelldansen skit!" Jiroh exclaimed.
"There's no skit," Marui said flatly. "It's us making bunny ears or something and shaking our hips. That's it."
"There's nothing to practice!"
"We need a skit, Marui-kun." Jiroh sighed with fond exasperation, and looked at him with adoring eyes. Marui shivered. "It's okay though! I wrote one! In the two seconds I've had between this chapter and the previous!"
"Really?" Marui looked dubious, but read the sheet of paper that Jiroh handed him. There wasn't much written on it—just a bunch of scribbles, but… "Hey, wait!" Marui grinned. "This isn't such a bad idea! The captains never said we couldn't do this…" Marui blew a bubble, and clasped a hand on Jiroh's shoulder solemnly. "Akutagawa-kun," he said, "I am very pleased. Let's get to work."
Jiroh died of happiness.
"Say, what do you propose we do for our performance?" Fuji inquired.
Chitose frowned. "Well, let's see. It's the scene where the black swan pretends to be the white swan, dances with the prince, has him foolishly proclaim his love for her and thus cause him to inadvertently ruin the white swan forever."
"We could do ballet," Fuji offered. "I look like a girl and you're tall."
"But there are three characters in that scene. What will we do about that?"
"I guess we could borrow one of Eiji's clones," Fuji contemplated. "But anyway, it's a skit, so we can get kind of creative with it."
"What are the rules?" Chitose wondered. "We can't insult the captains."
Fuji nodded. "So harming Tezuka is out of the picture," he said with a sigh. What a shame, it clearly said.
"What if… what if we don't insult Tezuka?" Chitose offered. "We can just insult someone tall with blondish hair who doesn't talk much and is perpetually grouchy and wears glasses and refuses to congratulate my little sister for winning her junior tennis tournament?"
Fuji's eyes lit up. "That's a great idea! Poisons and daggers?"
"Poisons and daggers," Chitose reaffirmed.
"The Tennis Song."
"THIS IS GOING TO BE SO MUCH FUN I CAN'T BELIEVE WE GOT THE TENNIS SONG WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO FOR OUR PERFORMANCE LET'S PLAY TENNIS LET'S PLAY TENNIS NOW—"
Echizen scowled. "You're really loud. I've never even heard it before."
"It's full of sexual innuendo," Fuji called from the other side of the room.
"It's really dirty," Shiraishi confirmed, from where he was watching the non-captains plan out their skits.
"REALLY?" Kintarou shouted excitedly.
Fuji and Shiraishi shared a scary grin. "I bet you like to play rough," Shiraishi sang.
Fuji sang back, in scary falsetto, "I like to work up a sweat."
"And you just can't get enough!" Shiraishi wagged his eyebrows.
"I'm good for more than one set," Fuji sang slyly. "Darling, let's not dilly-dally." He sidled up to Shiraishi and moved his face dangerously close to Shiraishi's.
Shiraishi was unfazed, and sang into Fuji's face, "Ready for a-rousing rally?"
Together, they belted out, "Shall we say the ball is in your court?" and grinned at Echizen with equally scary expressions.