[FIC] Fallen Bear
Sep. 1st, 2009 01:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pergamondA sequel to the fic that was never supposed to have a sequel; 'Fallen Bear' is set a year after 'The Swallow' and is split into two posts because LiveJournal demanded design input.
Synopsis: Some secrets are too big to remain hidden.
Fuji fought the weeds that tied him down, preventing him from reaching the dappled dots of light that flashed far above him. The more he struggled, the tighter they knotted around his limbs and his movements became weaker, making pathetic currents in the lake’s sodden depths. He threw his head back, straining against the vine twisting over his chest, and caught sight of another figure also caught in the plant life’s sinewy embrace. Fuji wrenched an arm free and reached out, trying to catch hold of the other person, to at least help him escape towards the surface. His hand knocked the baseball cap off the boy’s head, revealing purple bloated features. Shocked, Fuji drew back from the corpse just as its eyes shot open.
“It’s too late, Fuji-senpai,” the voice emanated from the grotesque creature’s swollen lips. “Too late for that now...”
“ECHIZEN!”
“ANIKI!”
Fuji’s eyes snapped open. He was lying on his bed, pinned on his back by his sheets that had become a twisted mass of sweat soaked cotton entwined about his wrists and ankles. Yuuta was standing over him looking horrified and his sister stood in the open doorway, a familiar shadow in the warm hallway light that was spilling into the room.
“Aniki?” Yuuta repeated in a quiet voice, the sort of voice used at hospitals in wards reserved for the very ill or mentally unstable. “Are you ... ?” he did not know how to finish the sentence. His brother was plainly a long way from “all right”.
“Just ... just a nightmare,” Fuji tried to reassure him but he could not stop shivering. “Probably something I ate disagreed with me.” He tried to disentangle himself, but could not seem to find the sheets’ ends, they were so closely wound about him.
Yuuta continued to stare. “Aniki, it wasn’t something you ate,” he said. “You have these dreams every night.”
Fuji looked up at him, wondering when his little brother had become so observant. “Not every night,” he said with a weak smile.
“Oh no, I forgot,” Yuuta’s laugh was hollow. “Most nights you don’t sleep at all.”
Fuji gave up trying to figure out the sheets and lay still, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. He was tired, exhausted even and he could not produce answers to Yuuta’s accusations. He could not produce answers to anyone anymore.
“Come on,” Yuuta’s voice was gruff. “Let’s ... let’s just get you out of these.” He started to pull at the sheets binding Fuji and Yumiko stepped in to help. In no time, they had liberated their brother and Yumiko gathered up the sodden sheets, taking them out to the hall and bringing in fresh ones.
“Thank you, Ane,” Fuji said as his sister shook the new sheets onto the bed.
“Shuusuke,” she said, sitting on the bed’s end and pulling Fuji down next to her. “I want you to take the tablets the doctor prescribed.”
Fuji turned to look at the small, untouched bottle on his bedside table. “They’re just dreams, Ane,” he said. “I don’t need drugs.”
Yumiko turned her brother’s head towards her and ran a finger under the dark shadows that circled both eyes. “You need rest,” she told him. “Once you’re rested I’m sure you’ll be able to deal with .... whatever it is that’s troubling you.” Her eyes were worried. “Please, Shuusuke.”
Fuji looked at his sister and then at his brother, standing a foot or two away, his brow creased into a frown. “If it pleases you,” he said, smiling.
He waited until the door was closed and the hallway light had been turned off before spitting out the tablets. He did not want to go back to sleep tonight. He did not want to ever risk sleep again.
“Katsuo Mizuno,” a voice above Oishi head stated.
Oishi looked up, smiling, at the freshman standing in front of the tennis club enrollment table he was manning. “Katsuo,” he said warmly. “You finally made it to High School!”
The boy nodded his closely cropped head. “Horio and Kachiro too,” he said. “Kachiro went to collect class schedules and Horio ...,” he looked around briefly. “Well, I don’t know where he got to.”
Oishi laughed. “It is pleasure to have you back in the club.” He passed across a registration form, motioning for Katsuo to take a seat and fill it in. “You were captain at Seigaku, I believe?”
Katsuo’s pen stopped on the sheet of paper. He stared down at the partially completed boxes in front of him. “Acting captain,” he corrected quietly. “I ... that is to say, we ... always hoped Echizen...,” his voice trailed away.
Oishi opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The large sports hall felt suddenly hot and airless. It had been one year, almost to the day, since Echizen left Seigaku and never returned. For weeks, months even, people had discussed how this was just like Echizen, how he would certainly stride back in any moment returning from the French Open or Wimbledon that he had just forgotten to mention he was participating in.
Except there were no international tennis tournaments in early April.
The joking stopped. People gazed sadly at the missing person posters plastered around Tokyo and held their breath every time a body was discovered. Was it Echizen? It never was. Oishi tried hard to keep his mind away from his old team mate, to tell himself, when it invariably drifted towards the small white capped boy, that they did not know anything and Echizen might still be found. He knew it was a vain hope. No one really expected to see Echizen alive again.
He looked across at the younger boy opposite him and forced himself to unstick his throat. “You did a great job,” he said. “Acting captain is no easy post. I should know!”
He waved Katsuo off with a list of club practice sessions and began sorting the completed forms in front of him into alphabetical order. One year. Echizen’s disappearance was a cold case now. Oishi sighed. Whoever was responsible was undoubtedly walking around scot-free.
“Game, set and match, Arai,” call the referee. “Six games to four.”
The whoop echoed around the silent court as, sweating heavily, Arai lifted his racket triumphantly and swung it towards the stunned spectators.
“I knew I would do it!” he declared. “He was good, I’ll admit, but I knew I was ... “
On the opposite side of the court, Fuji approached the net. His face wore its usual smile but his pace was slow. He waited patiently as Arai started detailing each of the six games he had won to his soundless audience.
“... and then, with that last shot, Fuji looked like he was going left, but I just knew he was fainting. Complete instinct, that’s what I have!”
“Arai,” Inui’s voice broke through the monologue. “It is traditional to thank your opponent for the game.”
Internally, Fuji gave a heartfelt thank you for Inui’s intervention. Standing in the centre of the court with all eyes on him was almost worse than the tennis he had just played. Almost.
Arai spun around to face him. “Ah, yes, the gallant loser!” he strode up in a mock somber gait and took Fuji’s proffered hand. “Don’t feel bad,” he told him in a patronizing tone that carried around the court. “There was always going to be someone better.”
Fuji’s expression did not change, although his vision was blurring with the effort. “You played well,” he said calmly. “Good luck, Arai.”
The distance from the net to the bench on the court edge had never seemed so long. One step, then two. It had to be no more than five. Then he could leave. Fuji collected his water bottle and rackets and moved towards the gate. Ten more steps now, tops. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eiji move forward to intercept him, but he was prevented by Oishi and Inui. Fuji was relieved. He did not want questions or sympathy. He just wanted to get away. He pushed open the gate and came face to face with Tezuka, who had been standing watching the match a few feet behind it. Their eyes met.
“Ne, Tezuka,” Fuji forced his voice to be light. “Don’t you have better things to do than watch my games?”
Tezuka stared at him in silence for a long moment and then turned and walked away. Arai pushed past Fuji, knocking him against the open gate’s netting.
“Buchou!” he called. “I’ll be needing a regular jersey!”
Tezuka stopped but he did not turn around, his eyes remained fixed on the wall ahead. “Regulars’ practice is at 7.” He continued walking.
“Well, of course you didn’t make the regulars,” Horio told Katsuo contemptuously. “Tezuka-buchou is putting together a National standard team this year!”
Oishi smiled at the three freshmen as he walked a pace or two behind them, carrying a crate filled with tennis balls back to the club house. Their enthusiasm had always been infectious and after today’s games he enjoyed listening to their bright chatter.
“I didn’t expect to make the team,” Katsuo said mildly. “First years hardly ever do.” He and Kachiro were carrying the brooms they had used to sweep the courts with before practice. Horio, Oishi noted with amusement, had seemed to have avoided collecting any equipment.
“Echizen would have,” Kachiro said wistfully, gazing out across the courts as they walked around the outside.
True enough, Oishi thought. His game would have been worth watching too. Tezuka would have been pleased. The truth be told, Oishi could have left the ball crates for the freshmen to haul back to the club house. His main reason for not doing so was to avoid changing alongside Tezuka after Fuji’s game. Oishi knew Fuji’s loss to the team came as a hard blow to Tezuka. He wanted to take the team to Nationals this year. Maybe even needed to, in order to launch his own professional career. Now was a bad time for the team’s tensai to fall to pieces. Yet despite the sympathy he felt for his friend, Oishi’s primary concern was for Fuji. Steadily over the last twelve months, Fuji’s stamina and performance had trickled down hill. Not just on the tennis courts, but in the classroom too. At one stage, Oishi had wondered whether Echizen’s disappearance was affecting Fuji more than he was admitting, but when he tried to raise the issue with his brown haired team mate, Fuji had brushed him off.
“Echizen might not have made a regular!” Horio was now saying. “If I didn’t make the team with five years experience, then it’s impossible!”
Katsuo and Kachiro rolled their eyes at each other behind Horio’s back.
“You didn’t make the regulars at Seigaku, Horio,” Kachiro pointed out.
Horio spluttered indignantly, jerking an accusing thumb at Katsuo. “That was because he didn’t honour Echizen’s wishes,” he declared. “I was the last to see Echizen and he definitely told me...”
Katsuo put a hand to his forehead in a gesture that said this was a well trodden conversation path. Kachiro, however, gave Horio a little push.
“Even that part isn’t true,” he said. “Tomoka reckons she saw Echizen last.”
“Tomoka!” Horio’s spluttering became worse still. Then he folded his arms in a pose suggesting he was distributing unequivocal facts. “No one believes her!”
Oishi frowned. There was confusion over who saw Echizen last before he disappeared? That did not sound right. Surely the police would have clarified all these facts months ago. Oishi took a couple of brisk steps forward to draw alongside the first years. “Why does no one believe Tomoka-chan?” he asked as all three spun about in surprise.
“Oishi-senpai!” they chorused.
Oishi smiled briefly and waited. Katsuo rubbed his neck, looking awkward. “Well,” he began uncomfortably. “Tomoka reckons she saw Echizen talking to someone outside the school gates the day he disappeared,” he glanced over at Horio. “But she was on the school roof so couldn’t see all that clearly...”
“And I was with Echizen until he got to the gates,” said Horio firmly. “and there was no one there at all. Tomoka sees Echizen everywhere.”
That was probably true, thought Oishi, although it did not sit well with him that there was a disagreement over something potentially so important. He looked at the three distressed faces in front of him and decided to change the subject. This was not a good topic for your first week at school. “Are you were all coming to Kawamura Sushi tonight?” he asked. “Free sushi to celebrate our new club this year!“
Three heads nodded enthusiastically. Oishi took the opportunity to pass his crate of balls over to Horio.
Fuji was the last to leave Kawamura Sushi that night. In part, this was due to him not wanting to disappoint Eiji who had been determined that Fuji would have a good time. In part, it had been because Tezuka was sitting by the door all evening and Fuji knew he could not meet his eyes. Fuji joined Eiji and Momo in thanking Taka before following them out into the street. Stopping by the first lamp light in the pretense of fastening his coat, he let his friends draw ahead, sighing with relief when they turned the corner without realising he had gone. His hands stopped fumbling with the coat buttons and he closed his eyes, letting the cool night air breeze against his hot face. It had been such a long day.
“Fuji?”
Fuji looked up to see Taka standing by the open restaurant door, holding a small bamboo box in one hand. He walked towards him, letting the door swing shut with a gentle tinkle of bells.
“I thought you might like to take home some rolls,” he said, opening the box slightly so Fuji could see the neat stack of sushi. “You didn’t eat much tonight. Perhaps you’d enjoy them later?”
Fuji stared at the box and felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude toward Taka. He had seen past Fuji’s determinedly fixed smile, the forced laugh and the casual shrug with which Fuji claimed he’d have more time for photography now he was not on the regulars. Yet Taka had not bombarded Fuji with questions that he had no answers for or stared at him with accusation and disbelief. Instead he had prepared something he thought might cheer Fuji up, something to show he had a friend. As Fuji took the box, he felt his carefully prepared barriers slide and to his embarrassment a tear fell down his face to land on the box’s pale surface.
“Fuji!” Taka’s arms closed around him in one swift moment. Pressed against Taka’s chest with the bamboo box digging into his sternum, the last vestiges of control seeped away and sobs racked Fuji’s thin frame.
Taka rocked him gently, letting Fuji cry himself out. After what seemed to Fuji like many hours, the tears stopped and he pulled back from Taka’s embrace, hunting in his pockets for a handkerchief that was unlikely to be there. A towel, previously hanging from Taka’s apron, appeared under his nose and Fuji took and dried his face, looking up at Taka in gratitude.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what’s happened to me.” He pressed the towel briefly to his forehead, wiping away the sweat that clung there.
“Shuusuke,” Taka’s voice was rough as his fingers gently touched Fuji’s cheek.
Fuji looked down at the hand and then up into Taka’s face. His gaze was full of warmth, intensity and .... Very slowly and deliberately, Taka leaned forward and pressed his lips against Fuji’s own.
Fuji went very still as his emotions boiled below the surface. This ... this was not a good idea, could not be a good idea. Taka did not know how close Fuji was to a nervous collapse, did not know what he had done.
Taka drew back, a blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. “Fuji, I’m ... I’m s-sorry,” he stammered. He took two steps back and then turned to go back into the restaurant.
“Taka, wait!” This time it was Fuji who closed the gap between them, who lifted up his chin to press his mouth against Taka’s lips.
Arms caught him up, pulling him close as Taka returned his kiss. He poured into it all the love, passion and desire he had felt for Fuji all these years, adding to it the promise he would protect Fuji from what was wrong; whatever and wherever it was was, forever. And Fuji forgot his doubts, he forgot he was no longer on the tennis team, forgot that he was supposed to be taking medication for lack of sleep, forgot the guilt that had been throttling him this last year. He was with Taka and nothing else mattered.
That night, curled in Taka’s arms, Fuji slept without dreaming.
The reverberating sounds of the lunch bell caused the usual clamour of activity throughout the classrooms. Chatter filled the hallways as doors burst open and students ran to jostle for position in the canteen queue. Oishi stuffed his books into his bag and threw it over his shoulder before looking around the room for Tezuka. He found him still seated at his desk, the only person not to have moved as the class piled out past him. Oishi saw he had taken out the line-up sheet for the upcoming match in two weeks time and was staring intently at the unfilled ‘singles 2’ section. He hesitated, feeling it was uncomradely to walk away; but then, this was not a decision with which he could offer more assistance. Tezuka’s options were limited to either using Arai (bad option number one) or splitting up the Kaidoh-Inui doubles pair (bad option number two). It really depended on how Tezuka wanted his team to go down. For morale reasons, Oishi was against using Arai. The second year was a loud, obnoxious thorn in the tennis team’s side. Momo had already threatened to take him down some dark alleyway, while Taka had privately volunteered Akutsu Jin’s services at Kawamura Sushi the previous night. Oishi would have found it more funny if he were not seriously contemplating how to arm them with baseball bats.
Deciding such suggestions would not assist his captain, Oishi followed the last of the students from the classroom and walked slowly down the corridor. He did not feel like sitting in the crowded canteen and instead searched for a place he could eat the lunch he had brought in peace. His path took him upwards to the school’s roof and he pushed open the heavy outer door to be momentarily blinded by the noon sun. He blinked to clear his vision and saw the roof was unoccupied apart from a girl standing in the far corner, looking out over the school grounds. Not wishing to disturb her, he moved to walk to the opposite side of the roof but stopped when he realised he recognised her. “Tomoka-chan,” he said in surprise.
The girl turned, pigtails flapping around her cheeks and gave him a wide smile. “Senpai!” she greeted him cheerfully.
“You’re alone?” Oishi asked. It seemed very unlike the vivacious freshman he had known back at Seigaku.
“Not anymore,” she beamed at him and Oishi took the invitation to join her, looking over the side of the school to see the expanse of car park and gravel leading up to the main gates.
“Besides, Sakuno has a cold,” Tomoka wrinkled her nose with distaste. “She’s actually quite disgusting. It is better for everyone that she stays in bed.”
Oishi laughed. “I can imagine. You get a good view from here,” he added with approval. Below him, he could clearly make out Momo and Eiji who were covertly making their way towards the school gates, ducking down behind parked cars every time someone came out of the building.
“You can see way more than on the ground,” Tomoka agreed. Then she scowled. “No matter what some people think.”
Oishi looked down at her sympathetically, “Trouble?” he asked.
Tomoka shook her head in vexation, her pigtails swinging wildly from side to side. “It’s Horio!” she exclaimed. “He always has to be right! No matter that it’s something more important than his poxy self at stake!
Oishi’s brow furrowed. “This is about Echizen?” he asked.
“Yes!” Tomoka turned to glare up at him. “I saw him! I watched him after Horio had gone and I saw him talking to someone!”
“Horio said he saw no one,” Oishi said slowly. “He said the grounds were empty.”
Tomoka stamped her foot. “He got it wrong! The person was standing behind the gates. There is no way the stupid little twerp could have seen them from ground level!”
Oishi turned to look out over the grounds. The High School buildings were two floors higher than those at Seigaku, yet he had no trouble identifying the two people now skulking along the school wall. He watched as Momo reached the gates first and started to slide the heavy bolt across. “Did you tell the police what you saw?” he asked his companion, his eyes still fixed on Momo.
“I did,” came the sulky reply from beside him. “but Horio just kept going on and on about how I was obsessive and how you couldn’t see anything from so high up.”
“Ah,” Oishi said thoughtfully. Behind Momo, Eiji had become fed up with waiting and with a leap, he jumped on the gate’s railings, scaling up to the top and vaulting over to land on the street. Sniggering at Momo’s curses, he ducked behind the school wall. Oishi stared at him. There was no doubt about it, Eiji was hidden from most of the school but from the roof Oishi could see him clearly. “What did the person look like who was talking to Echizen?” he asked Tomoka. When she did not answer, he turned around to look at her. She was scuffing the toe of her shoe against the floor. “Tomoka-chan?”
“Well, although I could clearly see someone was there,” she began, sounding awkward. “I could only see them from above. Normally, I see people from below. I’m short, see!” she looked up at him and jumped, trying to see over his head. “It’s not easy to recognise people from a high angle.”
Oishi’s eyes widened as he realised what she was saying. He looked back down at Eiji and Momo who had finally opened the gate and slipped through it. The two of them sprinted off down the street. Unusual vantage point or not, Oishi knew he would never mistake them. “Who did you see, Tomoka?” he asked quietly.
There was a pause then a soft but determined voice answered “I saw Fuji-senpai, Oishi-senpai.”
Fuji.
If Taka were honest he had been picturing this moment for a long time. Safe in the darkness of his room, he had allowed himself to imagine what it would feel like to tell Fuji how much he cared for him and hear it in return. Although he had turned red thinking about it, he had often wondered how their physical relationship would be: who would dominate. He was certainly the stronger of the two but on the courts Fuji was liquid steel, conquering the most powerful opponents with cat-like grace. That was the old Fuji though. The Fuji that lay curled next to him as the morning sun peaked under his blinds was wounded and vulnerable. Taka did not know what was hurting his friend, only that he was determined to protect him from it.
He tilted his head to see the electronic face of his alarm clock. It was 06:50, ten minutes before it rang and he and Fuji must get ready for school. He looked back at the sleeping face beside him, at the dark circles that still marked the porcelain skin. Reaching out, Taka turned off the alarm. Somethings were more important.
Oishi chewed at the pen lid clasped in his hand. It was an uncharacteristic gesture, more suited to the red headed boy sprawled on the floor by his chair. The said red head was frowning down at the maths text book open in front of him, his pen suspended over a pad of paper. With a deft flick, the pen twirled in his hand, dancing around his fingers.
“Say Oishi, what did you get for question two?” Eiji looked up hopefully, bringing the pen to an abrupt stop.
Oishi blinked, looking away from his doubles partner to the blank sheet of paper before him. “What do you have so far?” he asked, turning over his pad.
“Mou,” Eiji looked down and then held up his work for Oishi to see. “I drew the number two... and a cat.” Sure enough, a cat with pen blue paws and ears looked up at Oishi from the page. “What do you have?” Eiji made a grab and swiped Oishi’s note pad away from him. He turned it over and viewed the empty page in confusion. “Oishi ... I’m ahead of you.” He sat up on his knees and frowned at his friend. “Are you okay? Do you have a headache?”
Oishi rubbed his face with one hand. He looked back down at Eiji’s work pad. The cat looked a little like Karupin. “Eiji,” he began hesitantly. “How do you think Fuji is nowadays?”
Eiji’s shoulders slumped and he tossed Oishi’s empty note pad to one side. “I think something is terribly wrong and he won’t tell me what it is,” he said, his voice quavering.
Oishi tried to straighten the pen lid he’d chewed with his fingers, wondering how to phrase his next question. “Did he and Echizen get along?” he asked, carefully.
“Fujiko and Ochibi?” Eiji asked in surprise. “Of course they did!” He looked up at Oishi, his forehead wrinkled in a frown. “D’you think Fujiko misses Ochibi and that’s why he’s so sad?”
Oishi looked into the innocent blue eyes staring up at him and then back to the crumpled pen lid in his fingers. “Actually, I wondered if Fuji might have been jealous of Echizen,” he said delicately.
“Jealous?” Eiji straightened, sitting back on his heels as he considered this new possibility. “Why would he be jealous?”
“Well,” said Oishi slowly. “Echizen started playing singles two, sometimes even singles one. That used to be Fuji’s spot.”
Eiji grinned reminiscently. “Yeah, Fuji was even on reserve during Nationals. I never thought I’d see that!” Then he shook his head. “But Ochibi was Ochibi though! Everyone knew he was special, nya. Even Buchou.”
Even Tezuka. Oishi’s eyes glazed as the full picture of the betrayal Fuji must have felt came into focus. Seigaku’s tensai, cast aside for the boy Tezuka wanted to make his successor.
Eiji was still thinking this over. “Do you think Fujiko misses having a rival?” he asked. “And that’s making him sick?”
Oishi snapped out of his reverie to stare at Eiji in bewilderment. Same facts, different conclusion, he thought. Then his eyes softened. Eiji’s desire to see only the best in people made him the brightest point in Oishi’s life.
“I should try and improve my tennis,” Eiji said sadly. “Then I could help Fujiko.”
Oishi swallowed and found he had a lump in his throat. Dropping to his knees, he place a hand on Eiji’s shoulder. “You forget you’re not alone,” he told him. “We’ll play Fuji together. That’ll give him something to think about.”
Eiji threw his arms around Oishi’s middle. “Hoi, that’d be good!” he declared. pushing his nose against the base of Oishi’s neck.
To Oishi, the room became suddenly airless.
“Practice matches,” Tezuka told the club members lined up before him. “Does anyone wish to challenge one of the regulars?”
This drill was held once a week during the club training sessions. It kept the regulars mindful that their position was not impeachable while giving the junior members a goal to aim for. It also helped in the identification of promising players, although with the ranking tournament so recently completed, Tezuka was not expecting any surprises. Surprises. Tezuka looked down, his glasses flashing opaque in the gloomy afternoon light. He needed a miracle.
“I would like to play Momo-chan-senpai,” Katsu piped up. “If he doesn’t mind?”
Momoshiro grinned. “You’re a glutton for punishment!” he told the younger boy cheerfully.
Katsu pulled down on the front of his tee-shirt in determination. “This week I’m going to return your dunk smash!” he declared. “I’ve been practicing everyday so that I can!”
“As have I to ensure you never will!” Momoshiro retorted.
Tezuka inclined his head to indicate his approval of the pairing. This was an example of the effectiveness of the exercise. Both Momoshiro and Katsu would improve from their game. “Other matches?” he asked.
Arai strode forward, his arms folded with his new regular’s jacket swung nonchalantly around his shoulders. “I wish to challenge Fuji Shuusuke,” he declared.
There was a hiss in the direction of Kikumaru, who was glaring daggers at Arai with his shoulders uncharacteristically hunched. Beside him, Oishi placed a gently placating hand on his doubles partner’s shoulder, discouraging him from a spring loaded attack.
“Only non-regulars can challenge, Arai,” Tezuka informed him impassively.
“I don’t mind,” Fuji’s voice came from the back of the group. “Let’s have a good game, Arai.”
Kikumaru’s bright blue eyes swung first to Oishi and then to Tezuka, demanding that they stop this match. Tezuka was tempted; their last game was still ingrained across the inside of his eyelids. He never wanted to see tennis like that again. On the other hand, if Fuji was happy humiliating himself for a second time, then it was not worth his trouble to object. He turned away from Kikumaru’s accusing stare. “Next pair?” he asked the remaining club members.
After further whispered discussions in which the first years tested their courage, the players divided and spread out amongst the courts. Tezuka listened to the gentle clatter of rackets hitting the clay as first serving rights were determined, followed by the thonk of balls on taught strings. He started a slow walk around the edge of the matches, making a mental list of attributes that each of the players needed to work on. When he reached Katsu and Momoshiro’s court, he paused to watch Katsu’s service game. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. Momoshiro for once was focussed on giving Katsu advice rather than concocting a sarcastic remark to throw at Arai. Tezuka suspected such barbs were the provocation for Arai’s challenge to Fuji that day. It hardly mattered. Arai had won the match against Fuji and would probably win again because Fuji had lost all sense focus in his tennis. He was a disgrace to himself, his team and to the captain who put him on the regulars. Tezuka’s hand clenched into a fist. Fuji had made his dream of going to the Nationals laughable.
“Don,” Momoshiro’s voice brought Tezuka back to the game as Katsu’s racket swung at empty air.
Katsu sighed. “Next time!” he insisted, taking his place on the baseline for Momoshiro’s serve.
Tezuka moved on, stopping to watch a handful of passes as he walked by each of the games. At Horio and Kaidoh’s match this proved impossible as Kaidoh scored a series of service aces on the frozen Horio. Concluding there was no obvious piece of advice to impart here, Tezuka turned reluctantly to the last match on his route. Through the gaps in the people watching, he could see Fuji moving swiftly to return shots hit to opposite reaches of the court. He seemed stretched, struggling to position himself fast enough for the next pass. Tezuka turned away. There was no point in him seeing more. This debacle would be a waste of his time. As he took a step towards the club house, Inui caught up to him.
“You missed the game too, Tezuka?” he inquired.
Tezuka turned to look at him.
“Fuji and Arai,” Inui supplemented. “I also came too late.”
Tezuka’s eyes flicked back to the court. “Fuji is still playing,” he stated.
Inui adjusted his glasses. “He’s playing Eiji and Oishi,” he said.
Tezuka looked at the court for a long moment. From his position, he could see that Fuji was standing on his side of the net alone. “The game against Arai?” he asked Inui blandly, his eyes still on Fuji.
“Six games to zero,” Inui said. “Completed in nine minutes forty six seconds, judging from when I arrived.”
Tezuka continued to watch Fuji. In a sharp blur of motion, the ball soared from his racket, high into the air. It was not possible to see where it came down, but the crowd’s intake of breath told him it was inside the court lines. It was not returned.
“It’s good to have him back, isn’t it Tezuka?” Inui remarked as he walked away.
The sun’s rays finally broke through the afternoon’s clouds, bathing the courts in light.
Fallen Bear, Part II
Synopsis: Some secrets are too big to remain hidden.
| Fuji |
Fuji fought the weeds that tied him down, preventing him from reaching the dappled dots of light that flashed far above him. The more he struggled, the tighter they knotted around his limbs and his movements became weaker, making pathetic currents in the lake’s sodden depths. He threw his head back, straining against the vine twisting over his chest, and caught sight of another figure also caught in the plant life’s sinewy embrace. Fuji wrenched an arm free and reached out, trying to catch hold of the other person, to at least help him escape towards the surface. His hand knocked the baseball cap off the boy’s head, revealing purple bloated features. Shocked, Fuji drew back from the corpse just as its eyes shot open.
“It’s too late, Fuji-senpai,” the voice emanated from the grotesque creature’s swollen lips. “Too late for that now...”
“ECHIZEN!”
“ANIKI!”
Fuji’s eyes snapped open. He was lying on his bed, pinned on his back by his sheets that had become a twisted mass of sweat soaked cotton entwined about his wrists and ankles. Yuuta was standing over him looking horrified and his sister stood in the open doorway, a familiar shadow in the warm hallway light that was spilling into the room.
“Aniki?” Yuuta repeated in a quiet voice, the sort of voice used at hospitals in wards reserved for the very ill or mentally unstable. “Are you ... ?” he did not know how to finish the sentence. His brother was plainly a long way from “all right”.
“Just ... just a nightmare,” Fuji tried to reassure him but he could not stop shivering. “Probably something I ate disagreed with me.” He tried to disentangle himself, but could not seem to find the sheets’ ends, they were so closely wound about him.
Yuuta continued to stare. “Aniki, it wasn’t something you ate,” he said. “You have these dreams every night.”
Fuji looked up at him, wondering when his little brother had become so observant. “Not every night,” he said with a weak smile.
“Oh no, I forgot,” Yuuta’s laugh was hollow. “Most nights you don’t sleep at all.”
Fuji gave up trying to figure out the sheets and lay still, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. He was tired, exhausted even and he could not produce answers to Yuuta’s accusations. He could not produce answers to anyone anymore.
“Come on,” Yuuta’s voice was gruff. “Let’s ... let’s just get you out of these.” He started to pull at the sheets binding Fuji and Yumiko stepped in to help. In no time, they had liberated their brother and Yumiko gathered up the sodden sheets, taking them out to the hall and bringing in fresh ones.
“Thank you, Ane,” Fuji said as his sister shook the new sheets onto the bed.
“Shuusuke,” she said, sitting on the bed’s end and pulling Fuji down next to her. “I want you to take the tablets the doctor prescribed.”
Fuji turned to look at the small, untouched bottle on his bedside table. “They’re just dreams, Ane,” he said. “I don’t need drugs.”
Yumiko turned her brother’s head towards her and ran a finger under the dark shadows that circled both eyes. “You need rest,” she told him. “Once you’re rested I’m sure you’ll be able to deal with .... whatever it is that’s troubling you.” Her eyes were worried. “Please, Shuusuke.”
Fuji looked at his sister and then at his brother, standing a foot or two away, his brow creased into a frown. “If it pleases you,” he said, smiling.
He waited until the door was closed and the hallway light had been turned off before spitting out the tablets. He did not want to go back to sleep tonight. He did not want to ever risk sleep again.
| Oishi |
“Katsuo Mizuno,” a voice above Oishi head stated.
Oishi looked up, smiling, at the freshman standing in front of the tennis club enrollment table he was manning. “Katsuo,” he said warmly. “You finally made it to High School!”
The boy nodded his closely cropped head. “Horio and Kachiro too,” he said. “Kachiro went to collect class schedules and Horio ...,” he looked around briefly. “Well, I don’t know where he got to.”
Oishi laughed. “It is pleasure to have you back in the club.” He passed across a registration form, motioning for Katsuo to take a seat and fill it in. “You were captain at Seigaku, I believe?”
Katsuo’s pen stopped on the sheet of paper. He stared down at the partially completed boxes in front of him. “Acting captain,” he corrected quietly. “I ... that is to say, we ... always hoped Echizen...,” his voice trailed away.
Oishi opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The large sports hall felt suddenly hot and airless. It had been one year, almost to the day, since Echizen left Seigaku and never returned. For weeks, months even, people had discussed how this was just like Echizen, how he would certainly stride back in any moment returning from the French Open or Wimbledon that he had just forgotten to mention he was participating in.
Except there were no international tennis tournaments in early April.
The joking stopped. People gazed sadly at the missing person posters plastered around Tokyo and held their breath every time a body was discovered. Was it Echizen? It never was. Oishi tried hard to keep his mind away from his old team mate, to tell himself, when it invariably drifted towards the small white capped boy, that they did not know anything and Echizen might still be found. He knew it was a vain hope. No one really expected to see Echizen alive again.
He looked across at the younger boy opposite him and forced himself to unstick his throat. “You did a great job,” he said. “Acting captain is no easy post. I should know!”
He waved Katsuo off with a list of club practice sessions and began sorting the completed forms in front of him into alphabetical order. One year. Echizen’s disappearance was a cold case now. Oishi sighed. Whoever was responsible was undoubtedly walking around scot-free.
| Fuji |
“Game, set and match, Arai,” call the referee. “Six games to four.”
The whoop echoed around the silent court as, sweating heavily, Arai lifted his racket triumphantly and swung it towards the stunned spectators.
“I knew I would do it!” he declared. “He was good, I’ll admit, but I knew I was ... “
On the opposite side of the court, Fuji approached the net. His face wore its usual smile but his pace was slow. He waited patiently as Arai started detailing each of the six games he had won to his soundless audience.
“... and then, with that last shot, Fuji looked like he was going left, but I just knew he was fainting. Complete instinct, that’s what I have!”
“Arai,” Inui’s voice broke through the monologue. “It is traditional to thank your opponent for the game.”
Internally, Fuji gave a heartfelt thank you for Inui’s intervention. Standing in the centre of the court with all eyes on him was almost worse than the tennis he had just played. Almost.
Arai spun around to face him. “Ah, yes, the gallant loser!” he strode up in a mock somber gait and took Fuji’s proffered hand. “Don’t feel bad,” he told him in a patronizing tone that carried around the court. “There was always going to be someone better.”
Fuji’s expression did not change, although his vision was blurring with the effort. “You played well,” he said calmly. “Good luck, Arai.”
The distance from the net to the bench on the court edge had never seemed so long. One step, then two. It had to be no more than five. Then he could leave. Fuji collected his water bottle and rackets and moved towards the gate. Ten more steps now, tops. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eiji move forward to intercept him, but he was prevented by Oishi and Inui. Fuji was relieved. He did not want questions or sympathy. He just wanted to get away. He pushed open the gate and came face to face with Tezuka, who had been standing watching the match a few feet behind it. Their eyes met.
“Ne, Tezuka,” Fuji forced his voice to be light. “Don’t you have better things to do than watch my games?”
Tezuka stared at him in silence for a long moment and then turned and walked away. Arai pushed past Fuji, knocking him against the open gate’s netting.
“Buchou!” he called. “I’ll be needing a regular jersey!”
Tezuka stopped but he did not turn around, his eyes remained fixed on the wall ahead. “Regulars’ practice is at 7.” He continued walking.
| Oishi |
“Well, of course you didn’t make the regulars,” Horio told Katsuo contemptuously. “Tezuka-buchou is putting together a National standard team this year!”
Oishi smiled at the three freshmen as he walked a pace or two behind them, carrying a crate filled with tennis balls back to the club house. Their enthusiasm had always been infectious and after today’s games he enjoyed listening to their bright chatter.
“I didn’t expect to make the team,” Katsuo said mildly. “First years hardly ever do.” He and Kachiro were carrying the brooms they had used to sweep the courts with before practice. Horio, Oishi noted with amusement, had seemed to have avoided collecting any equipment.
“Echizen would have,” Kachiro said wistfully, gazing out across the courts as they walked around the outside.
True enough, Oishi thought. His game would have been worth watching too. Tezuka would have been pleased. The truth be told, Oishi could have left the ball crates for the freshmen to haul back to the club house. His main reason for not doing so was to avoid changing alongside Tezuka after Fuji’s game. Oishi knew Fuji’s loss to the team came as a hard blow to Tezuka. He wanted to take the team to Nationals this year. Maybe even needed to, in order to launch his own professional career. Now was a bad time for the team’s tensai to fall to pieces. Yet despite the sympathy he felt for his friend, Oishi’s primary concern was for Fuji. Steadily over the last twelve months, Fuji’s stamina and performance had trickled down hill. Not just on the tennis courts, but in the classroom too. At one stage, Oishi had wondered whether Echizen’s disappearance was affecting Fuji more than he was admitting, but when he tried to raise the issue with his brown haired team mate, Fuji had brushed him off.
“Echizen might not have made a regular!” Horio was now saying. “If I didn’t make the team with five years experience, then it’s impossible!”
Katsuo and Kachiro rolled their eyes at each other behind Horio’s back.
“You didn’t make the regulars at Seigaku, Horio,” Kachiro pointed out.
Horio spluttered indignantly, jerking an accusing thumb at Katsuo. “That was because he didn’t honour Echizen’s wishes,” he declared. “I was the last to see Echizen and he definitely told me...”
Katsuo put a hand to his forehead in a gesture that said this was a well trodden conversation path. Kachiro, however, gave Horio a little push.
“Even that part isn’t true,” he said. “Tomoka reckons she saw Echizen last.”
“Tomoka!” Horio’s spluttering became worse still. Then he folded his arms in a pose suggesting he was distributing unequivocal facts. “No one believes her!”
Oishi frowned. There was confusion over who saw Echizen last before he disappeared? That did not sound right. Surely the police would have clarified all these facts months ago. Oishi took a couple of brisk steps forward to draw alongside the first years. “Why does no one believe Tomoka-chan?” he asked as all three spun about in surprise.
“Oishi-senpai!” they chorused.
Oishi smiled briefly and waited. Katsuo rubbed his neck, looking awkward. “Well,” he began uncomfortably. “Tomoka reckons she saw Echizen talking to someone outside the school gates the day he disappeared,” he glanced over at Horio. “But she was on the school roof so couldn’t see all that clearly...”
“And I was with Echizen until he got to the gates,” said Horio firmly. “and there was no one there at all. Tomoka sees Echizen everywhere.”
That was probably true, thought Oishi, although it did not sit well with him that there was a disagreement over something potentially so important. He looked at the three distressed faces in front of him and decided to change the subject. This was not a good topic for your first week at school. “Are you were all coming to Kawamura Sushi tonight?” he asked. “Free sushi to celebrate our new club this year!“
Three heads nodded enthusiastically. Oishi took the opportunity to pass his crate of balls over to Horio.
| Fuji |
Fuji was the last to leave Kawamura Sushi that night. In part, this was due to him not wanting to disappoint Eiji who had been determined that Fuji would have a good time. In part, it had been because Tezuka was sitting by the door all evening and Fuji knew he could not meet his eyes. Fuji joined Eiji and Momo in thanking Taka before following them out into the street. Stopping by the first lamp light in the pretense of fastening his coat, he let his friends draw ahead, sighing with relief when they turned the corner without realising he had gone. His hands stopped fumbling with the coat buttons and he closed his eyes, letting the cool night air breeze against his hot face. It had been such a long day.
“Fuji?”
Fuji looked up to see Taka standing by the open restaurant door, holding a small bamboo box in one hand. He walked towards him, letting the door swing shut with a gentle tinkle of bells.
“I thought you might like to take home some rolls,” he said, opening the box slightly so Fuji could see the neat stack of sushi. “You didn’t eat much tonight. Perhaps you’d enjoy them later?”
Fuji stared at the box and felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude toward Taka. He had seen past Fuji’s determinedly fixed smile, the forced laugh and the casual shrug with which Fuji claimed he’d have more time for photography now he was not on the regulars. Yet Taka had not bombarded Fuji with questions that he had no answers for or stared at him with accusation and disbelief. Instead he had prepared something he thought might cheer Fuji up, something to show he had a friend. As Fuji took the box, he felt his carefully prepared barriers slide and to his embarrassment a tear fell down his face to land on the box’s pale surface.
“Fuji!” Taka’s arms closed around him in one swift moment. Pressed against Taka’s chest with the bamboo box digging into his sternum, the last vestiges of control seeped away and sobs racked Fuji’s thin frame.
Taka rocked him gently, letting Fuji cry himself out. After what seemed to Fuji like many hours, the tears stopped and he pulled back from Taka’s embrace, hunting in his pockets for a handkerchief that was unlikely to be there. A towel, previously hanging from Taka’s apron, appeared under his nose and Fuji took and dried his face, looking up at Taka in gratitude.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what’s happened to me.” He pressed the towel briefly to his forehead, wiping away the sweat that clung there.
“Shuusuke,” Taka’s voice was rough as his fingers gently touched Fuji’s cheek.
Fuji looked down at the hand and then up into Taka’s face. His gaze was full of warmth, intensity and .... Very slowly and deliberately, Taka leaned forward and pressed his lips against Fuji’s own.
Fuji went very still as his emotions boiled below the surface. This ... this was not a good idea, could not be a good idea. Taka did not know how close Fuji was to a nervous collapse, did not know what he had done.
Taka drew back, a blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. “Fuji, I’m ... I’m s-sorry,” he stammered. He took two steps back and then turned to go back into the restaurant.
“Taka, wait!” This time it was Fuji who closed the gap between them, who lifted up his chin to press his mouth against Taka’s lips.
Arms caught him up, pulling him close as Taka returned his kiss. He poured into it all the love, passion and desire he had felt for Fuji all these years, adding to it the promise he would protect Fuji from what was wrong; whatever and wherever it was was, forever. And Fuji forgot his doubts, he forgot he was no longer on the tennis team, forgot that he was supposed to be taking medication for lack of sleep, forgot the guilt that had been throttling him this last year. He was with Taka and nothing else mattered.
That night, curled in Taka’s arms, Fuji slept without dreaming.
| Oishi |
The reverberating sounds of the lunch bell caused the usual clamour of activity throughout the classrooms. Chatter filled the hallways as doors burst open and students ran to jostle for position in the canteen queue. Oishi stuffed his books into his bag and threw it over his shoulder before looking around the room for Tezuka. He found him still seated at his desk, the only person not to have moved as the class piled out past him. Oishi saw he had taken out the line-up sheet for the upcoming match in two weeks time and was staring intently at the unfilled ‘singles 2’ section. He hesitated, feeling it was uncomradely to walk away; but then, this was not a decision with which he could offer more assistance. Tezuka’s options were limited to either using Arai (bad option number one) or splitting up the Kaidoh-Inui doubles pair (bad option number two). It really depended on how Tezuka wanted his team to go down. For morale reasons, Oishi was against using Arai. The second year was a loud, obnoxious thorn in the tennis team’s side. Momo had already threatened to take him down some dark alleyway, while Taka had privately volunteered Akutsu Jin’s services at Kawamura Sushi the previous night. Oishi would have found it more funny if he were not seriously contemplating how to arm them with baseball bats.
Deciding such suggestions would not assist his captain, Oishi followed the last of the students from the classroom and walked slowly down the corridor. He did not feel like sitting in the crowded canteen and instead searched for a place he could eat the lunch he had brought in peace. His path took him upwards to the school’s roof and he pushed open the heavy outer door to be momentarily blinded by the noon sun. He blinked to clear his vision and saw the roof was unoccupied apart from a girl standing in the far corner, looking out over the school grounds. Not wishing to disturb her, he moved to walk to the opposite side of the roof but stopped when he realised he recognised her. “Tomoka-chan,” he said in surprise.
The girl turned, pigtails flapping around her cheeks and gave him a wide smile. “Senpai!” she greeted him cheerfully.
“You’re alone?” Oishi asked. It seemed very unlike the vivacious freshman he had known back at Seigaku.
“Not anymore,” she beamed at him and Oishi took the invitation to join her, looking over the side of the school to see the expanse of car park and gravel leading up to the main gates.
“Besides, Sakuno has a cold,” Tomoka wrinkled her nose with distaste. “She’s actually quite disgusting. It is better for everyone that she stays in bed.”
Oishi laughed. “I can imagine. You get a good view from here,” he added with approval. Below him, he could clearly make out Momo and Eiji who were covertly making their way towards the school gates, ducking down behind parked cars every time someone came out of the building.
“You can see way more than on the ground,” Tomoka agreed. Then she scowled. “No matter what some people think.”
Oishi looked down at her sympathetically, “Trouble?” he asked.
Tomoka shook her head in vexation, her pigtails swinging wildly from side to side. “It’s Horio!” she exclaimed. “He always has to be right! No matter that it’s something more important than his poxy self at stake!
Oishi’s brow furrowed. “This is about Echizen?” he asked.
“Yes!” Tomoka turned to glare up at him. “I saw him! I watched him after Horio had gone and I saw him talking to someone!”
“Horio said he saw no one,” Oishi said slowly. “He said the grounds were empty.”
Tomoka stamped her foot. “He got it wrong! The person was standing behind the gates. There is no way the stupid little twerp could have seen them from ground level!”
Oishi turned to look out over the grounds. The High School buildings were two floors higher than those at Seigaku, yet he had no trouble identifying the two people now skulking along the school wall. He watched as Momo reached the gates first and started to slide the heavy bolt across. “Did you tell the police what you saw?” he asked his companion, his eyes still fixed on Momo.
“I did,” came the sulky reply from beside him. “but Horio just kept going on and on about how I was obsessive and how you couldn’t see anything from so high up.”
“Ah,” Oishi said thoughtfully. Behind Momo, Eiji had become fed up with waiting and with a leap, he jumped on the gate’s railings, scaling up to the top and vaulting over to land on the street. Sniggering at Momo’s curses, he ducked behind the school wall. Oishi stared at him. There was no doubt about it, Eiji was hidden from most of the school but from the roof Oishi could see him clearly. “What did the person look like who was talking to Echizen?” he asked Tomoka. When she did not answer, he turned around to look at her. She was scuffing the toe of her shoe against the floor. “Tomoka-chan?”
“Well, although I could clearly see someone was there,” she began, sounding awkward. “I could only see them from above. Normally, I see people from below. I’m short, see!” she looked up at him and jumped, trying to see over his head. “It’s not easy to recognise people from a high angle.”
Oishi’s eyes widened as he realised what she was saying. He looked back down at Eiji and Momo who had finally opened the gate and slipped through it. The two of them sprinted off down the street. Unusual vantage point or not, Oishi knew he would never mistake them. “Who did you see, Tomoka?” he asked quietly.
There was a pause then a soft but determined voice answered “I saw Fuji-senpai, Oishi-senpai.”
Fuji.
| Taka |
If Taka were honest he had been picturing this moment for a long time. Safe in the darkness of his room, he had allowed himself to imagine what it would feel like to tell Fuji how much he cared for him and hear it in return. Although he had turned red thinking about it, he had often wondered how their physical relationship would be: who would dominate. He was certainly the stronger of the two but on the courts Fuji was liquid steel, conquering the most powerful opponents with cat-like grace. That was the old Fuji though. The Fuji that lay curled next to him as the morning sun peaked under his blinds was wounded and vulnerable. Taka did not know what was hurting his friend, only that he was determined to protect him from it.
He tilted his head to see the electronic face of his alarm clock. It was 06:50, ten minutes before it rang and he and Fuji must get ready for school. He looked back at the sleeping face beside him, at the dark circles that still marked the porcelain skin. Reaching out, Taka turned off the alarm. Somethings were more important.
| Oishi |
Oishi chewed at the pen lid clasped in his hand. It was an uncharacteristic gesture, more suited to the red headed boy sprawled on the floor by his chair. The said red head was frowning down at the maths text book open in front of him, his pen suspended over a pad of paper. With a deft flick, the pen twirled in his hand, dancing around his fingers.
“Say Oishi, what did you get for question two?” Eiji looked up hopefully, bringing the pen to an abrupt stop.
Oishi blinked, looking away from his doubles partner to the blank sheet of paper before him. “What do you have so far?” he asked, turning over his pad.
“Mou,” Eiji looked down and then held up his work for Oishi to see. “I drew the number two... and a cat.” Sure enough, a cat with pen blue paws and ears looked up at Oishi from the page. “What do you have?” Eiji made a grab and swiped Oishi’s note pad away from him. He turned it over and viewed the empty page in confusion. “Oishi ... I’m ahead of you.” He sat up on his knees and frowned at his friend. “Are you okay? Do you have a headache?”
Oishi rubbed his face with one hand. He looked back down at Eiji’s work pad. The cat looked a little like Karupin. “Eiji,” he began hesitantly. “How do you think Fuji is nowadays?”
Eiji’s shoulders slumped and he tossed Oishi’s empty note pad to one side. “I think something is terribly wrong and he won’t tell me what it is,” he said, his voice quavering.
Oishi tried to straighten the pen lid he’d chewed with his fingers, wondering how to phrase his next question. “Did he and Echizen get along?” he asked, carefully.
“Fujiko and Ochibi?” Eiji asked in surprise. “Of course they did!” He looked up at Oishi, his forehead wrinkled in a frown. “D’you think Fujiko misses Ochibi and that’s why he’s so sad?”
Oishi looked into the innocent blue eyes staring up at him and then back to the crumpled pen lid in his fingers. “Actually, I wondered if Fuji might have been jealous of Echizen,” he said delicately.
“Jealous?” Eiji straightened, sitting back on his heels as he considered this new possibility. “Why would he be jealous?”
“Well,” said Oishi slowly. “Echizen started playing singles two, sometimes even singles one. That used to be Fuji’s spot.”
Eiji grinned reminiscently. “Yeah, Fuji was even on reserve during Nationals. I never thought I’d see that!” Then he shook his head. “But Ochibi was Ochibi though! Everyone knew he was special, nya. Even Buchou.”
Even Tezuka. Oishi’s eyes glazed as the full picture of the betrayal Fuji must have felt came into focus. Seigaku’s tensai, cast aside for the boy Tezuka wanted to make his successor.
Eiji was still thinking this over. “Do you think Fujiko misses having a rival?” he asked. “And that’s making him sick?”
Oishi snapped out of his reverie to stare at Eiji in bewilderment. Same facts, different conclusion, he thought. Then his eyes softened. Eiji’s desire to see only the best in people made him the brightest point in Oishi’s life.
“I should try and improve my tennis,” Eiji said sadly. “Then I could help Fujiko.”
Oishi swallowed and found he had a lump in his throat. Dropping to his knees, he place a hand on Eiji’s shoulder. “You forget you’re not alone,” he told him. “We’ll play Fuji together. That’ll give him something to think about.”
Eiji threw his arms around Oishi’s middle. “Hoi, that’d be good!” he declared. pushing his nose against the base of Oishi’s neck.
To Oishi, the room became suddenly airless.
| Tezuka |
“Practice matches,” Tezuka told the club members lined up before him. “Does anyone wish to challenge one of the regulars?”
This drill was held once a week during the club training sessions. It kept the regulars mindful that their position was not impeachable while giving the junior members a goal to aim for. It also helped in the identification of promising players, although with the ranking tournament so recently completed, Tezuka was not expecting any surprises. Surprises. Tezuka looked down, his glasses flashing opaque in the gloomy afternoon light. He needed a miracle.
“I would like to play Momo-chan-senpai,” Katsu piped up. “If he doesn’t mind?”
Momoshiro grinned. “You’re a glutton for punishment!” he told the younger boy cheerfully.
Katsu pulled down on the front of his tee-shirt in determination. “This week I’m going to return your dunk smash!” he declared. “I’ve been practicing everyday so that I can!”
“As have I to ensure you never will!” Momoshiro retorted.
Tezuka inclined his head to indicate his approval of the pairing. This was an example of the effectiveness of the exercise. Both Momoshiro and Katsu would improve from their game. “Other matches?” he asked.
Arai strode forward, his arms folded with his new regular’s jacket swung nonchalantly around his shoulders. “I wish to challenge Fuji Shuusuke,” he declared.
There was a hiss in the direction of Kikumaru, who was glaring daggers at Arai with his shoulders uncharacteristically hunched. Beside him, Oishi placed a gently placating hand on his doubles partner’s shoulder, discouraging him from a spring loaded attack.
“Only non-regulars can challenge, Arai,” Tezuka informed him impassively.
“I don’t mind,” Fuji’s voice came from the back of the group. “Let’s have a good game, Arai.”
Kikumaru’s bright blue eyes swung first to Oishi and then to Tezuka, demanding that they stop this match. Tezuka was tempted; their last game was still ingrained across the inside of his eyelids. He never wanted to see tennis like that again. On the other hand, if Fuji was happy humiliating himself for a second time, then it was not worth his trouble to object. He turned away from Kikumaru’s accusing stare. “Next pair?” he asked the remaining club members.
After further whispered discussions in which the first years tested their courage, the players divided and spread out amongst the courts. Tezuka listened to the gentle clatter of rackets hitting the clay as first serving rights were determined, followed by the thonk of balls on taught strings. He started a slow walk around the edge of the matches, making a mental list of attributes that each of the players needed to work on. When he reached Katsu and Momoshiro’s court, he paused to watch Katsu’s service game. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. Momoshiro for once was focussed on giving Katsu advice rather than concocting a sarcastic remark to throw at Arai. Tezuka suspected such barbs were the provocation for Arai’s challenge to Fuji that day. It hardly mattered. Arai had won the match against Fuji and would probably win again because Fuji had lost all sense focus in his tennis. He was a disgrace to himself, his team and to the captain who put him on the regulars. Tezuka’s hand clenched into a fist. Fuji had made his dream of going to the Nationals laughable.
“Don,” Momoshiro’s voice brought Tezuka back to the game as Katsu’s racket swung at empty air.
Katsu sighed. “Next time!” he insisted, taking his place on the baseline for Momoshiro’s serve.
Tezuka moved on, stopping to watch a handful of passes as he walked by each of the games. At Horio and Kaidoh’s match this proved impossible as Kaidoh scored a series of service aces on the frozen Horio. Concluding there was no obvious piece of advice to impart here, Tezuka turned reluctantly to the last match on his route. Through the gaps in the people watching, he could see Fuji moving swiftly to return shots hit to opposite reaches of the court. He seemed stretched, struggling to position himself fast enough for the next pass. Tezuka turned away. There was no point in him seeing more. This debacle would be a waste of his time. As he took a step towards the club house, Inui caught up to him.
“You missed the game too, Tezuka?” he inquired.
Tezuka turned to look at him.
“Fuji and Arai,” Inui supplemented. “I also came too late.”
Tezuka’s eyes flicked back to the court. “Fuji is still playing,” he stated.
Inui adjusted his glasses. “He’s playing Eiji and Oishi,” he said.
Tezuka looked at the court for a long moment. From his position, he could see that Fuji was standing on his side of the net alone. “The game against Arai?” he asked Inui blandly, his eyes still on Fuji.
“Six games to zero,” Inui said. “Completed in nine minutes forty six seconds, judging from when I arrived.”
Tezuka continued to watch Fuji. In a sharp blur of motion, the ball soared from his racket, high into the air. It was not possible to see where it came down, but the crowd’s intake of breath told him it was inside the court lines. It was not returned.
“It’s good to have him back, isn’t it Tezuka?” Inui remarked as he walked away.
The sun’s rays finally broke through the afternoon’s clouds, bathing the courts in light.
Fallen Bear, Part II
