How do I get myself into these things?
Okay, since you people would very obviously know this was from me if I posted it in the 7 replies it would've taken up, here's the 4000-word "drabble" response to the prompt "Tuti/Nagayan - High School AU! I just want them wearing those hot uniforms. And for there to be tons of UST and maybe (hopefully) sex eventually. Maybe Nagayan is a teacher and Tuti is the student? Nagayan's got that whole "looks way too young for his age" thing going which could easily make him look 17/18 when he's really 25 or something."
Yamanashi-ken's Koufu Ichikou was...well, suffice to say, a far, far cry from the elementary school setting Nagayama Takashi had dreamt of finding himself in on finally getting his teacher's certification the previous Spring. It was loud, it was huge, it was filled with kids only a few years younger than he himself, and it was intimidating.
Takashi frowned, setting his briefcase at his feet beside the chair the Principal ("Ueshima Yukio. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.") had indicated was to be his seat for the next two years or so. Two years. One rotation. His contact at the city school board had informed him obsequiously that he was sorry, truly, but it would be at least another three rotations until a spot opened up at the elementary level, and wouldn't Nagayama-san please consider filling in at one of the prefecture's premiere high schools, now down a social studies teacher with one of their faculty members having just moved to Hiroshima?
He needed a job, that was all there was to it. So now, here he was, in the middle of April staring at an austere, empty desk, with only a copy of the morning's schedule and some prerequisite paperwork to welcome him, aside from Ueshima-sensei.
"Make yourself right at home, Nagayama-sensei--" Sensei. Takashi was going to like the sound of that, oh yes. "--If you'd like, I'll have Aoyama-sensei show you around the office during lunch. We've got a small kitchen area near the back, with hot water on tap for your tea and whatnot. Oh--" He didn't give Takashi a moment to respond. "--and the welcome enkai will be this Friday, if that's all right with you? You're our only new addition to the faculty this year, I'm afraid, but that just means you'll be the center of attention!" He patted Takashi on the shoulder, who returned a warm but hesitant smile in response. "And--we'll need to get you set up as tantou of one of the clubs, too! I'm sure you're itching to jump right in."
Clubs. That brightened up Takashi's day quite significantly. Six full years of baseball behind him during his compulsory education, three seasons on and off playing intramural ball for his university--Takashi wouldn't say that the chance to coach a children's baseball team had been his sole reason for becoming a teacher...but he wouldn't lie and say it hadn't been one hell of a perk he was looking forward to.
He had spoken too soon. Far too soon.
It turned out the teacher Takashi was replacing--a "Yamazaki Ichitarou-sensei"--had been in charge of making sure the boys' tennis team didn't kill themselves or just slack off all the time (the girls, it seemed, needed no such overseeing), and since the baseball team was already overstaffed with three tantous, Takashi was relegated to spending two hours after classes every day watching the second- and third-years (thankfully, none of his own students, as he was a first-year teacher) playing glorified ping-pong.
Tennis was boring. It was so...individualized. You didn't get that same rush of being a part of a team, a part of a whole that was more than yourself and that was able to do great things even if you yourself weren't great. If you sucked at tennis, everyone knew it, and there was no one standing behind you to support you if you just couldn't hack it.
Plus, it was a place to show off if you did have the skills. And Takashi hated show-offs.
Principal Ueshima hadn't seem deterred in the least by the fact that Takashi had absolutely no background in tennis, reminding him that he wasn't a coach, he was just there to keep the boys in line and be the "responsible adult"--because if there was anything Koufu Ichikou's boys' tennis team needed, it was a cool, responsible head.
So after the last bell of the day rang, Takashi stuffed his papers into his briefcase, slid it under his desk, and plodded dejectedly to the faculty changing rooms--no sense in dirtying the new suit he'd splurged on last week hoping to make a good impression. A pair of track pants he jogged in on the weekends and a t-shirt from his own high school's old baseball club (Takashi wasn't one to make waves, but it was the little things that counted) completed his after-school ensemble, and he nodded politely to one of the office's secretaries as he made his way out to the tennis courts at the building's rear.
Principal Ueshima had at least provided him with Yamazaki-sensei's old binder, stocked thick with team data going back ten years detailing the strengths and weaknesses of the boys, their win-loss records (they'd never made it out of the prefectural tournament as a team, though a few individuals had made it to Nationals in recent years), block set-ups for establishing Regulars, and a mind-boggling number of techniquies for singles and doubles Takashi couldn't begin to understand. So many arrows and circles and lines pointing all around a photocopied court...how difficult was it to just smack a ball over a net more times than your opponent could?
He squinted when the wind blew through the trees above him, sending a shaft of sunlight into his eyes, and he glanced up with one hand shading his brow to take in the courts. At nearly twenty minutes into after-school club activities, the fenced-off concrete courts were already bustling with activity. The older boys were snapping orders at the younger ones, with a few obviously Regulars engaged in mock matches--one pair of doubles, one singles from what he could see.
Takashi cast a nervous glance around, hoping that some teacher had been installed as a temporary monitor--someone Takashi could shadow at least for today--but it seemed overseeing the tennis team's activities hadn't been high on Ueshima-sensei's list of things to do, and they'd apparently been left to their own devices.
He frowned to himself, wondering how best to go about introducing himself so as to retain the most respect as a newbie teacher coaching (no, not coaching) a sport he had absolutely no interest in, when a sudden pressure at the back of his knees sent him flailing forward, almost falling flat on his rear, only saved by a broad hand at his back and long fingers around one wrist, steadying him and supporting him from thoroughly embarrassing himself. "Sorry sorry! I thought for sure you'd expect that!"
Takashi's attention whirled up as he struggled against the help, straining to right himself without any aid, and he pulled away from his savior with a start. "I--what?"
The boy--for it was a student, had to be one given the phys-ed uniform he was sporting, though his build and demeanor had Takashi doing a double-take--lifted his brows hopefully. "Sorry--I said. For, you know. Tripping you up." He reached down to retrieve the tennis racket he'd dropped in his haste to help Takashi, giving it a little wave. "Just a joke."
"Oh," Takashi replied smartly, then glanced back over to the courts, just knowing someone had to have seen the spectacular display, and smoothed down his shirt. "I--who are you?" Even as he asked the question, his eyes flickered down to the student's nametag stitched over his left breast.
"Tsuchiya," he responded, tapping the tag for show. "Third year, singles. My favorite subject is phys-ed, my least favorite is English. I like curry. A lot." He rattled off a self-introduction with such familiarity that Takashi had to blink up at him stupidly--up, because of course the guy was a good head taller, even if he had to be at least five years younger. Rare were the times now when Takashi took offense at being so slight in build, but this was definitely one of them. Tsuchiya watched with unguarded interest as Takashi readjusted himself and picked up the binder from where it had fallen to the ground.
"...Right. Right. I'm--"
"Nagayama Takashi-sensei. Recent graduate from...some school in Kanagawa Prefecture. Now living in Koufu because you couldn't find a job in your home prefecture. You like...sweet things, probably. And you hate tennis." The confused glare Takashi favored him with only seemed to amuse Tsuchiya all the more, and he made no effort to stifle a loud, grating horse-like laugh. "The first years talk. A lot."
"...I never said I hated tennis. I don't hate tennis." He abandoned the conversation bodily, stalking towards the court, and the crunch of gravel behind him told him Tsuchiya wasn't about to be rebuffed so easily.
"So that's why you're wearing a baseball jersey from your old high school?"
"It's all I had with me," Takashi grumbled self-consciously, hand instinctively going to his chest to disguise the insignia. Tsuchiya fell into step beside him, freakishly long legs forcing Takashi to double-time it to keep ahead of him; it just wouldn't do to look like he was being escorted to the courts by a student. "Who's the captain anyways?"
"I am," Tsuchiya announced confidently, slinging his racket over his shoulder, and Takashi gave him a dubious look. "What? I am."
"Why aren't you out there on the courts, then?"
"Took a break."
"Twenty minutes into practice?" He snorted and shook his head. "Some captain."
"Hey--" But they were interrupted by another third year rushing up to greet them as soon as they stepped onto the concrete courts.
"Oi, Tsuchiya--where're the practice rackets? They're not in the club room like they're supposed to be." One of the newcomers--Moriyama read the tag--directed his question at Tsuchiya, only registering Takashi's presence a moment later. "Ah..." He could almost hear the wary warning bells going off in his mind, probably mentally berating himself at speaking so informally in front of a teacher, no doubt. "...New member?"
Takashi's eyes widened in disbelief, but Tsuchiya jumped in. "No way, no way--this is Coach Yamazaki's replacement. Coach Nagayama." Coach? Oh hell no.
Takashi opened his mouth to refute the designation--he was not only not fit to coach the team, he was most certainly not willing to try and coach them either--but Moriyama seemed to have taken the words out of his mouth. "Coach? This guy?"
This guy? "Excuse you--that's no way to talk to a teacher." He puffed out his chest and crossed his arms, skin vibrating with offense. He'd expected to not be given much respect, no matter how prestigious a school this was. Kids were kids no matter where you went, and 17- and 18-year-old boys he well knew to be particularly testy with doling out respect to adults. If he was going to be stuck looking after this team for the next rotation, he was going to have to put his foot down. He was going to have to--
"Oi, give him a break. It's his first day." Tsuchiya reached over and shoved Moriyama by the shoulder, jerking his head back towards the club room. "The rackets are in there, like I said. On top of the shelves against the back wall. Look behind the extra nets." Moriyama at least had the good graces to duck his head in apology, before jogging back over to the clubhouse.
Takashi certainly didn't like having his students fighting his battles for him--but...maybe just for today, he'd let Tsuchiya keep the other students in line for him, since he did have their respect already more or less, it seemed.
"You're not used to this are you?" Tsuchiya glanced down at him, annoyingly tall and confident and looking like he belonged out here among his peers. He was probably really good, too, to be captain. Figured.
Ignoring him, Takashi cleared his throat and opened up the binder, flipping through idly and hoping something that needed to be done would just jump out at him. "I'm not your 'coach', you know."
"Sure you are."
"I'm not," Takashi ground out, relieved to see that there was a section clearly marked off for the previous school year; Tsuchiya would've been a second-year, then. "I'm just the tantou, that's all."
"So you're the coach." Tsuchiya shrugged. "Every team needs a coach. And now we have you."
Takashi rolled his eyes, wandering along the fence towards a group of first years--he needed to figure out how to get their attention... It'd be embarassing if he just yelled out for them to gather around and got ignored--
"OI, GATHER UP!" Ah. Tsuchiya. Yet again one step ahead of him. Almost instantly every eye on the court was turned their way, and Takashi mustered up a half-hearted smile, beckoning them over--though he suspected the mass of students only headed towards the shady area of the court thanks to Tsuchiya's huge, swooping arm-waving. God but the guy was hard to ignore even when you wanted to. "Last one over does 20 laps after practice!" This got the group double-timing it over, and within only a few moments Takashi found himself backed against the fencing and staring down some 20 pairs of eyes. Glancing off to his side, he found Tsuchiya staring at him as well, brows raised in a, "Well?" look, and he squared his shoulders.
"Right, umm. I'm Nagayama, and...I guess I'm going to take over as your tantou here in Yamazaki-sensei's absence--"
"YAAAY COACH NAGAYAMA~!" Tsuchiya crowed loudly, clapping his hands and eliciting more than a few smiles and giggles from his teammates at the display. A group of third years in the back--Moriyama one of them--gave a whistle and clapped along before letting the moment die away. Tsuchiya gave one last, "Woohoo!" to crown his moment in the spotlight before turning back to glance down at Takashi, as if expecting praise.
Well, he could keep expecting it. Takashi cleared his throat again. "Right. I...guess I'm Coach Nagayama. I teach first year social studies at the moment, so--" He gestured vaguely to the few first years cowering in front, terrified at being called out. "--I guess a few of you have met me already today. Umm--" He waved the binder around. "I'm gonna do some reading this evening to get up to speed on things, but I guess... Umm." He glanced over at Tsuchiya, smiling nervously and lifting his eyebrows to indicate that if the guy wanted to jump in and save him, anytime would be just great. "Yoroshiku onegaishimasu." He closed with a short, stiff bow and a hesitant nod of his head around the group. When he dared a look back to Tsuchiya at his side, he flushed in annoyance at the way the guy was just smiling and shaking his head at the display.
"All right--back to practice. Daiki-chan, you and Moriyama-san take the doubles newbies over to Court 3 and run some drills with them--" A groan of protest came from a skinny third year in the back, but Tsuchiya ignored it. "Aah--umm, oh! Naoya--" A long-limbed second year gave a nod that he'd heard. "Take the first years over to hit against the wall. Get Eiki to help you if you need it."
So many names, Takashi was never going to learn them all. The team was probably better off without him--no wonder Ueshima-sensei had let the position lie vacant in Yamazaki-sensei's absence. Tsuchiya seemed to have everything in hand; hell, he even looked the part of coach better than Takashi did.
"We've got the city tournament in 2 weeks," Tsuchiya interrupted his thoughts, pointing across the courts to one of the groups he'd sent off to practice. "Moriyama Eiji and Sano Daiki will probably be our D1 pair--"
"'D1'?"
"Doubles one. For the team roster at the tournament." He glanced Takashi over again, anew. "...You really don't know anything about tennis, do you?"
Takashi bristled; he appreciated the guy's help, but most certainly did not appreciate being called out on his ignorance. "If I'd had my way, I'd be helping your baseball team to Nationals--"
"You're pretty good then, at baseball?"
"I--" Takashi shut his mouth, slipping down to the hot concrete against the fence. Tsuchiya followed suit, and he idly wondered didn't the guy need to go practice himself? "I was, yeah. I am. I like baseball."
Tsuchiya cocked his head. "...Kinda small, aren't you?"
Takashi wasn't sure whether he should snap at Tsuchiya for speaking so frankly to a teacher or correct the misconception he seemed to have that people had to be long-limbed lanky giants like him in order to be good at sports. He opted for the latter, as he strongly anticipated that the more time he spent around these tennis idiots, the more he was just going to yell himself hoarse trying to get them to use proper keigo with him. At least with the upperclassmen. "Size matters a lot less in baseball."
Tsuchiya made an, "Ah," of understanding, nodding his assent, and stared off across the courts. After a moment, Takashi found himself unable to restrain his curiosity. "...Shouldn't you be out practicing, buchou?"
"Don't you want me to tell you more about the club?"
Takashi waved the binder. "I can read."
Tsuchiya reached forward, long fingers wrapping around the spine, and easily yanked it from Takashi's grasp. "This stuff's old. It doesn't even have the results of our training camp over Spring Break." He flipped it open for evidence, paging through until he got to the back, where the most recent entry detailed the schedule for the final practice session before the break. "See?"
Takashi reached forward, grabbing the binder back for himself, and frowned. "How'd you get to be captain anyways?"
Tsuchiya shrugged. "By being the best?" Takashi made a mental note never to praise this guy; he obviously hadn't inherited a modesty gene. At Takashi's skeptical look, though, Tsuchiya pressed again, "I am! Can't help it. Watch--" He jumped up in one swift move, long legs launching him into a standing position, and he jogged over to a court where a shorter third year he hadn't noticed before was practicing serves by himself. The pair shared a short conversation, after which it seemed Tsuchiya had bullied the other boy into going along with whatever plan he had.
Takashi watched, admittedly curious as to the guy's level of play, and crossed his legs, binder in his lap, as he leaned back against the fence to take in the game. Tsuchiya took the court nearest to Takashi's vantage point, while the other boy took his time wandering to the other side. Tsuchiya griped at him something that sounded like, "Hurry your ass up," and was returned only a simple rude gesture, which sent him into fits, barking out orders like the team captain he professed to be. It didn't appear to have much effect on his opponent, but the other boy did at least put a bit more pep in his step, and Takashi chuckled to himself, amused.
Tsuchiya had given the other boy serving permission, sinking down into a ready stance while he waited for the ball to meet him over the net, and something in Takashi's bones told him he'd better pay close attention because it was all going to be over in only a--
"15-love!" came a voice from the sidelines, and Takashi blinked, certain he must have zoned out, but all the evidence there was to indicate that anything had just transpired was Tsuchiya wiping his brow and traipsing back to his starting position, casting a glance over to Takashi that said, "How about that?"
Takashi licked his lips and leaned forward, not wanting to miss it again--and he didn't. This time he saw the other boy lean back, brace his legs, jump up and arc his arm forward with a powerful serve; he barely caught the faint green blur as the ball whizzed forward just over the top of the net, bouncing in one of the bounding boxes and springing on straight for--
Tsuchiya, who was not where he was supposed to be anymore. Who had slid back and to the side a good meter, who was hunched forward, one arm out for balance, the other stretched out behind him and coiled for a snapped release--which came like lightning as his racket connected square in the sweet spot and sent the ball zipping back over the net where it bounced smoothly in the back right corner, well out of the reach of his opponent.
"30-love!" came the call again, and Tsuchiya settled his racket on his shoulder again in that cocky manner Takashi was starting to get less annoyed with and more used to. When he caught Takashi's eye, he lifted a brow in a repeated, "Well?" manner, and Takashi just waved him over, quite through with watching the captain show off and confident the rest of the team felt much the same way. The guy may have been an effective leader, but he couldn't be that good for overall morale with his attitude.
"We were just getting started~" Tsuchiya whined good naturedly, reaching for a towel out of a bag that Takashi strongly suspected was not even his own. He mopped his forehead--god, it had only been a few minutes, and the guy was already sweating buckets--then tossed the towel back into the open bag (poor "Katou Manabu"-kun). "Guess that means you've acknowledged my talents, then, Coach Nagayama?"
"Stop calling me that."
"But you're our coach now."
"I'm your teacher."
"Not my teacher," Tsuchiya reminded him, and Takashi wondered if it might be possible to tape the guy's eyebrows down so they'd stop doing that annoying wiggling thing whenever he thought himself particularly clever. Which was about every five minutes, it seemed. "We need to set up another ranking tournament."
"A what?" He glanced down at the binder, just now noticing a section marked, "Ranking Blocks".
Tsuchiya squatted in front of him, tapping the tab. "Ranking matches. To establish a team for the city tournament. Which is in--"
"Two weeks, yeah. I got it." He frowned, reviewing the order apparently defined by the previous ranking matches--Singles 1, "Tuti" (in English letters, no less!)? Doubles 1, "Daiki-chan and Moriyama-san"? Singles 2, "Kime-chan"? What the hell? If his confusion showed evident on his face, though, Tsuchiya made no move to clarify the meaning of the scribblings, so he brushed it off. "So...I guess I should..."
Tsuchiya rolled into a seated position, scooting over until his back was flush against the fence beside Takashi, and he leaned over to take the pencil from Takashi's grasp. "We need to draft new blocks--" We? "--There's nine regulars right now, but we usually let all of the second and third years take part, try for a spot on the final team. The first years are all newbies, so they'll just be training until summer break at least, no tournaments." Takashi nodded, taking in the information. Final team, nine regulars--second and third years. Tsuchiya-buchou. "It usually takes a week or so of after-school practices to get all of the matches done, assuming we don't get rained out or anything." He glanced up at Takashi, lips quirking up at the side. "...You getting all this, Coach Nagayama?"
Takashi straightened up, not realizing he'd been staring, and shrugged. "Yeah, no problem."
"'Tuti' is me, by the way."
"I figured."
"It's a nickname."
"Not that hard to grasp, really."
"You can call me that, if you want."
"Think I'll just stick with 'Tsuchiya-kun' if it's all the same to you."
Tsuchiya frowned, cocking his head to one side like he was trying to figure out Takashi. "...You can leave everything to me, if you want. We really only need a tantou for the records, you know."
Takashi blinked, confused. "Wha--no. Why?"
Tsuchiya glanced away back over the courts; his opponent from before (maybe this "Kime-chan"?) was back hitting one ball after another squarely into a small basket. It suddenly occured to Takashi that Tsuchiya really was good to have scored two straight times on the other boy. Or had convinced him to let the guy score. "Just, I can handle all the club stuff."
Takashi now twigged. "Oi, you're not getting rid of me that easily--just because I don't want to call you some stupid nickname--"
Tsuchiya's frown deepened, and Takashi realized with a bit of glee that he'd hit a nerve. "It's not stupid--"
"I'm going to buy a new binder. A pink one, which you will not make any comments on. And then I will be back tomorrow at 3:45 PM--"
Tsuchiya perked up now, resting his chin in one hand and lifting one brow. "We get out 30 minutes early on Tuesdays."
"...I will be back at 3:15 PM and we will discuss ranking matches." He tucked the binder under one arm and pushed himself up, sweeping the dirt from his butt self-consciously. He glanced up at Tsuchiya, who was now standing tall beside him, suppressing a smile. "...Don't look so damn smug."
"Not."
"Are, too."
"'Are, too'? Are you five, Coach Nagayama?"
"Stop calling me that."
"You can call me 'Tuti'. Then we'll be even."
"No we won't--you like being called that, I don't." Tsuchiya nodded solmenly, but Takashi suspected there was very little contrition in the gesture. "...You guys don't have morning practices, do you?"
To his credit, Tsuchiya looked genuinely surprised at the question. "I...well, the Regulars do, but you don't have to--"
"What time?"
"Seriously," Tsuchiya laughed, "I've got a key, and Ueshima-sensei's given us permission to--" Takashi's glare grew more pointed, and Tsuchiya swallowed hard. "Uh. 7. Just--for an hour or so."
"Every day?"
"Unless it's raining."
A sigh. "All right, then. I guess I'll see you tomorrow." He waved the binder as a farewell before ducking out of the court area, making a beeline back for the main office building.
Tsuchiya watched him leave, biting back a small smile, and shook his head. He hadn't really had the heart to remind Coach Nagayama (whine as he might, the man would never be Nagayama-sensei around here) that tantous were supposed to stay all the way through practice.
Yamanashi-ken's Koufu Ichikou was...well, suffice to say, a far, far cry from the elementary school setting Nagayama Takashi had dreamt of finding himself in on finally getting his teacher's certification the previous Spring. It was loud, it was huge, it was filled with kids only a few years younger than he himself, and it was intimidating.
Takashi frowned, setting his briefcase at his feet beside the chair the Principal ("Ueshima Yukio. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.") had indicated was to be his seat for the next two years or so. Two years. One rotation. His contact at the city school board had informed him obsequiously that he was sorry, truly, but it would be at least another three rotations until a spot opened up at the elementary level, and wouldn't Nagayama-san please consider filling in at one of the prefecture's premiere high schools, now down a social studies teacher with one of their faculty members having just moved to Hiroshima?
He needed a job, that was all there was to it. So now, here he was, in the middle of April staring at an austere, empty desk, with only a copy of the morning's schedule and some prerequisite paperwork to welcome him, aside from Ueshima-sensei.
"Make yourself right at home, Nagayama-sensei--" Sensei. Takashi was going to like the sound of that, oh yes. "--If you'd like, I'll have Aoyama-sensei show you around the office during lunch. We've got a small kitchen area near the back, with hot water on tap for your tea and whatnot. Oh--" He didn't give Takashi a moment to respond. "--and the welcome enkai will be this Friday, if that's all right with you? You're our only new addition to the faculty this year, I'm afraid, but that just means you'll be the center of attention!" He patted Takashi on the shoulder, who returned a warm but hesitant smile in response. "And--we'll need to get you set up as tantou of one of the clubs, too! I'm sure you're itching to jump right in."
Clubs. That brightened up Takashi's day quite significantly. Six full years of baseball behind him during his compulsory education, three seasons on and off playing intramural ball for his university--Takashi wouldn't say that the chance to coach a children's baseball team had been his sole reason for becoming a teacher...but he wouldn't lie and say it hadn't been one hell of a perk he was looking forward to.
He had spoken too soon. Far too soon.
It turned out the teacher Takashi was replacing--a "Yamazaki Ichitarou-sensei"--had been in charge of making sure the boys' tennis team didn't kill themselves or just slack off all the time (the girls, it seemed, needed no such overseeing), and since the baseball team was already overstaffed with three tantous, Takashi was relegated to spending two hours after classes every day watching the second- and third-years (thankfully, none of his own students, as he was a first-year teacher) playing glorified ping-pong.
Tennis was boring. It was so...individualized. You didn't get that same rush of being a part of a team, a part of a whole that was more than yourself and that was able to do great things even if you yourself weren't great. If you sucked at tennis, everyone knew it, and there was no one standing behind you to support you if you just couldn't hack it.
Plus, it was a place to show off if you did have the skills. And Takashi hated show-offs.
Principal Ueshima hadn't seem deterred in the least by the fact that Takashi had absolutely no background in tennis, reminding him that he wasn't a coach, he was just there to keep the boys in line and be the "responsible adult"--because if there was anything Koufu Ichikou's boys' tennis team needed, it was a cool, responsible head.
So after the last bell of the day rang, Takashi stuffed his papers into his briefcase, slid it under his desk, and plodded dejectedly to the faculty changing rooms--no sense in dirtying the new suit he'd splurged on last week hoping to make a good impression. A pair of track pants he jogged in on the weekends and a t-shirt from his own high school's old baseball club (Takashi wasn't one to make waves, but it was the little things that counted) completed his after-school ensemble, and he nodded politely to one of the office's secretaries as he made his way out to the tennis courts at the building's rear.
Principal Ueshima had at least provided him with Yamazaki-sensei's old binder, stocked thick with team data going back ten years detailing the strengths and weaknesses of the boys, their win-loss records (they'd never made it out of the prefectural tournament as a team, though a few individuals had made it to Nationals in recent years), block set-ups for establishing Regulars, and a mind-boggling number of techniquies for singles and doubles Takashi couldn't begin to understand. So many arrows and circles and lines pointing all around a photocopied court...how difficult was it to just smack a ball over a net more times than your opponent could?
He squinted when the wind blew through the trees above him, sending a shaft of sunlight into his eyes, and he glanced up with one hand shading his brow to take in the courts. At nearly twenty minutes into after-school club activities, the fenced-off concrete courts were already bustling with activity. The older boys were snapping orders at the younger ones, with a few obviously Regulars engaged in mock matches--one pair of doubles, one singles from what he could see.
Takashi cast a nervous glance around, hoping that some teacher had been installed as a temporary monitor--someone Takashi could shadow at least for today--but it seemed overseeing the tennis team's activities hadn't been high on Ueshima-sensei's list of things to do, and they'd apparently been left to their own devices.
He frowned to himself, wondering how best to go about introducing himself so as to retain the most respect as a newbie teacher coaching (no, not coaching) a sport he had absolutely no interest in, when a sudden pressure at the back of his knees sent him flailing forward, almost falling flat on his rear, only saved by a broad hand at his back and long fingers around one wrist, steadying him and supporting him from thoroughly embarrassing himself. "Sorry sorry! I thought for sure you'd expect that!"
Takashi's attention whirled up as he struggled against the help, straining to right himself without any aid, and he pulled away from his savior with a start. "I--what?"
The boy--for it was a student, had to be one given the phys-ed uniform he was sporting, though his build and demeanor had Takashi doing a double-take--lifted his brows hopefully. "Sorry--I said. For, you know. Tripping you up." He reached down to retrieve the tennis racket he'd dropped in his haste to help Takashi, giving it a little wave. "Just a joke."
"Oh," Takashi replied smartly, then glanced back over to the courts, just knowing someone had to have seen the spectacular display, and smoothed down his shirt. "I--who are you?" Even as he asked the question, his eyes flickered down to the student's nametag stitched over his left breast.
"Tsuchiya," he responded, tapping the tag for show. "Third year, singles. My favorite subject is phys-ed, my least favorite is English. I like curry. A lot." He rattled off a self-introduction with such familiarity that Takashi had to blink up at him stupidly--up, because of course the guy was a good head taller, even if he had to be at least five years younger. Rare were the times now when Takashi took offense at being so slight in build, but this was definitely one of them. Tsuchiya watched with unguarded interest as Takashi readjusted himself and picked up the binder from where it had fallen to the ground.
"...Right. Right. I'm--"
"Nagayama Takashi-sensei. Recent graduate from...some school in Kanagawa Prefecture. Now living in Koufu because you couldn't find a job in your home prefecture. You like...sweet things, probably. And you hate tennis." The confused glare Takashi favored him with only seemed to amuse Tsuchiya all the more, and he made no effort to stifle a loud, grating horse-like laugh. "The first years talk. A lot."
"...I never said I hated tennis. I don't hate tennis." He abandoned the conversation bodily, stalking towards the court, and the crunch of gravel behind him told him Tsuchiya wasn't about to be rebuffed so easily.
"So that's why you're wearing a baseball jersey from your old high school?"
"It's all I had with me," Takashi grumbled self-consciously, hand instinctively going to his chest to disguise the insignia. Tsuchiya fell into step beside him, freakishly long legs forcing Takashi to double-time it to keep ahead of him; it just wouldn't do to look like he was being escorted to the courts by a student. "Who's the captain anyways?"
"I am," Tsuchiya announced confidently, slinging his racket over his shoulder, and Takashi gave him a dubious look. "What? I am."
"Why aren't you out there on the courts, then?"
"Took a break."
"Twenty minutes into practice?" He snorted and shook his head. "Some captain."
"Hey--" But they were interrupted by another third year rushing up to greet them as soon as they stepped onto the concrete courts.
"Oi, Tsuchiya--where're the practice rackets? They're not in the club room like they're supposed to be." One of the newcomers--Moriyama read the tag--directed his question at Tsuchiya, only registering Takashi's presence a moment later. "Ah..." He could almost hear the wary warning bells going off in his mind, probably mentally berating himself at speaking so informally in front of a teacher, no doubt. "...New member?"
Takashi's eyes widened in disbelief, but Tsuchiya jumped in. "No way, no way--this is Coach Yamazaki's replacement. Coach Nagayama." Coach? Oh hell no.
Takashi opened his mouth to refute the designation--he was not only not fit to coach the team, he was most certainly not willing to try and coach them either--but Moriyama seemed to have taken the words out of his mouth. "Coach? This guy?"
This guy? "Excuse you--that's no way to talk to a teacher." He puffed out his chest and crossed his arms, skin vibrating with offense. He'd expected to not be given much respect, no matter how prestigious a school this was. Kids were kids no matter where you went, and 17- and 18-year-old boys he well knew to be particularly testy with doling out respect to adults. If he was going to be stuck looking after this team for the next rotation, he was going to have to put his foot down. He was going to have to--
"Oi, give him a break. It's his first day." Tsuchiya reached over and shoved Moriyama by the shoulder, jerking his head back towards the club room. "The rackets are in there, like I said. On top of the shelves against the back wall. Look behind the extra nets." Moriyama at least had the good graces to duck his head in apology, before jogging back over to the clubhouse.
Takashi certainly didn't like having his students fighting his battles for him--but...maybe just for today, he'd let Tsuchiya keep the other students in line for him, since he did have their respect already more or less, it seemed.
"You're not used to this are you?" Tsuchiya glanced down at him, annoyingly tall and confident and looking like he belonged out here among his peers. He was probably really good, too, to be captain. Figured.
Ignoring him, Takashi cleared his throat and opened up the binder, flipping through idly and hoping something that needed to be done would just jump out at him. "I'm not your 'coach', you know."
"Sure you are."
"I'm not," Takashi ground out, relieved to see that there was a section clearly marked off for the previous school year; Tsuchiya would've been a second-year, then. "I'm just the tantou, that's all."
"So you're the coach." Tsuchiya shrugged. "Every team needs a coach. And now we have you."
Takashi rolled his eyes, wandering along the fence towards a group of first years--he needed to figure out how to get their attention... It'd be embarassing if he just yelled out for them to gather around and got ignored--
"OI, GATHER UP!" Ah. Tsuchiya. Yet again one step ahead of him. Almost instantly every eye on the court was turned their way, and Takashi mustered up a half-hearted smile, beckoning them over--though he suspected the mass of students only headed towards the shady area of the court thanks to Tsuchiya's huge, swooping arm-waving. God but the guy was hard to ignore even when you wanted to. "Last one over does 20 laps after practice!" This got the group double-timing it over, and within only a few moments Takashi found himself backed against the fencing and staring down some 20 pairs of eyes. Glancing off to his side, he found Tsuchiya staring at him as well, brows raised in a, "Well?" look, and he squared his shoulders.
"Right, umm. I'm Nagayama, and...I guess I'm going to take over as your tantou here in Yamazaki-sensei's absence--"
"YAAAY COACH NAGAYAMA~!" Tsuchiya crowed loudly, clapping his hands and eliciting more than a few smiles and giggles from his teammates at the display. A group of third years in the back--Moriyama one of them--gave a whistle and clapped along before letting the moment die away. Tsuchiya gave one last, "Woohoo!" to crown his moment in the spotlight before turning back to glance down at Takashi, as if expecting praise.
Well, he could keep expecting it. Takashi cleared his throat again. "Right. I...guess I'm Coach Nagayama. I teach first year social studies at the moment, so--" He gestured vaguely to the few first years cowering in front, terrified at being called out. "--I guess a few of you have met me already today. Umm--" He waved the binder around. "I'm gonna do some reading this evening to get up to speed on things, but I guess... Umm." He glanced over at Tsuchiya, smiling nervously and lifting his eyebrows to indicate that if the guy wanted to jump in and save him, anytime would be just great. "Yoroshiku onegaishimasu." He closed with a short, stiff bow and a hesitant nod of his head around the group. When he dared a look back to Tsuchiya at his side, he flushed in annoyance at the way the guy was just smiling and shaking his head at the display.
"All right--back to practice. Daiki-chan, you and Moriyama-san take the doubles newbies over to Court 3 and run some drills with them--" A groan of protest came from a skinny third year in the back, but Tsuchiya ignored it. "Aah--umm, oh! Naoya--" A long-limbed second year gave a nod that he'd heard. "Take the first years over to hit against the wall. Get Eiki to help you if you need it."
So many names, Takashi was never going to learn them all. The team was probably better off without him--no wonder Ueshima-sensei had let the position lie vacant in Yamazaki-sensei's absence. Tsuchiya seemed to have everything in hand; hell, he even looked the part of coach better than Takashi did.
"We've got the city tournament in 2 weeks," Tsuchiya interrupted his thoughts, pointing across the courts to one of the groups he'd sent off to practice. "Moriyama Eiji and Sano Daiki will probably be our D1 pair--"
"'D1'?"
"Doubles one. For the team roster at the tournament." He glanced Takashi over again, anew. "...You really don't know anything about tennis, do you?"
Takashi bristled; he appreciated the guy's help, but most certainly did not appreciate being called out on his ignorance. "If I'd had my way, I'd be helping your baseball team to Nationals--"
"You're pretty good then, at baseball?"
"I--" Takashi shut his mouth, slipping down to the hot concrete against the fence. Tsuchiya followed suit, and he idly wondered didn't the guy need to go practice himself? "I was, yeah. I am. I like baseball."
Tsuchiya cocked his head. "...Kinda small, aren't you?"
Takashi wasn't sure whether he should snap at Tsuchiya for speaking so frankly to a teacher or correct the misconception he seemed to have that people had to be long-limbed lanky giants like him in order to be good at sports. He opted for the latter, as he strongly anticipated that the more time he spent around these tennis idiots, the more he was just going to yell himself hoarse trying to get them to use proper keigo with him. At least with the upperclassmen. "Size matters a lot less in baseball."
Tsuchiya made an, "Ah," of understanding, nodding his assent, and stared off across the courts. After a moment, Takashi found himself unable to restrain his curiosity. "...Shouldn't you be out practicing, buchou?"
"Don't you want me to tell you more about the club?"
Takashi waved the binder. "I can read."
Tsuchiya reached forward, long fingers wrapping around the spine, and easily yanked it from Takashi's grasp. "This stuff's old. It doesn't even have the results of our training camp over Spring Break." He flipped it open for evidence, paging through until he got to the back, where the most recent entry detailed the schedule for the final practice session before the break. "See?"
Takashi reached forward, grabbing the binder back for himself, and frowned. "How'd you get to be captain anyways?"
Tsuchiya shrugged. "By being the best?" Takashi made a mental note never to praise this guy; he obviously hadn't inherited a modesty gene. At Takashi's skeptical look, though, Tsuchiya pressed again, "I am! Can't help it. Watch--" He jumped up in one swift move, long legs launching him into a standing position, and he jogged over to a court where a shorter third year he hadn't noticed before was practicing serves by himself. The pair shared a short conversation, after which it seemed Tsuchiya had bullied the other boy into going along with whatever plan he had.
Takashi watched, admittedly curious as to the guy's level of play, and crossed his legs, binder in his lap, as he leaned back against the fence to take in the game. Tsuchiya took the court nearest to Takashi's vantage point, while the other boy took his time wandering to the other side. Tsuchiya griped at him something that sounded like, "Hurry your ass up," and was returned only a simple rude gesture, which sent him into fits, barking out orders like the team captain he professed to be. It didn't appear to have much effect on his opponent, but the other boy did at least put a bit more pep in his step, and Takashi chuckled to himself, amused.
Tsuchiya had given the other boy serving permission, sinking down into a ready stance while he waited for the ball to meet him over the net, and something in Takashi's bones told him he'd better pay close attention because it was all going to be over in only a--
"15-love!" came a voice from the sidelines, and Takashi blinked, certain he must have zoned out, but all the evidence there was to indicate that anything had just transpired was Tsuchiya wiping his brow and traipsing back to his starting position, casting a glance over to Takashi that said, "How about that?"
Takashi licked his lips and leaned forward, not wanting to miss it again--and he didn't. This time he saw the other boy lean back, brace his legs, jump up and arc his arm forward with a powerful serve; he barely caught the faint green blur as the ball whizzed forward just over the top of the net, bouncing in one of the bounding boxes and springing on straight for--
Tsuchiya, who was not where he was supposed to be anymore. Who had slid back and to the side a good meter, who was hunched forward, one arm out for balance, the other stretched out behind him and coiled for a snapped release--which came like lightning as his racket connected square in the sweet spot and sent the ball zipping back over the net where it bounced smoothly in the back right corner, well out of the reach of his opponent.
"30-love!" came the call again, and Tsuchiya settled his racket on his shoulder again in that cocky manner Takashi was starting to get less annoyed with and more used to. When he caught Takashi's eye, he lifted a brow in a repeated, "Well?" manner, and Takashi just waved him over, quite through with watching the captain show off and confident the rest of the team felt much the same way. The guy may have been an effective leader, but he couldn't be that good for overall morale with his attitude.
"We were just getting started~" Tsuchiya whined good naturedly, reaching for a towel out of a bag that Takashi strongly suspected was not even his own. He mopped his forehead--god, it had only been a few minutes, and the guy was already sweating buckets--then tossed the towel back into the open bag (poor "Katou Manabu"-kun). "Guess that means you've acknowledged my talents, then, Coach Nagayama?"
"Stop calling me that."
"But you're our coach now."
"I'm your teacher."
"Not my teacher," Tsuchiya reminded him, and Takashi wondered if it might be possible to tape the guy's eyebrows down so they'd stop doing that annoying wiggling thing whenever he thought himself particularly clever. Which was about every five minutes, it seemed. "We need to set up another ranking tournament."
"A what?" He glanced down at the binder, just now noticing a section marked, "Ranking Blocks".
Tsuchiya squatted in front of him, tapping the tab. "Ranking matches. To establish a team for the city tournament. Which is in--"
"Two weeks, yeah. I got it." He frowned, reviewing the order apparently defined by the previous ranking matches--Singles 1, "Tuti" (in English letters, no less!)? Doubles 1, "Daiki-chan and Moriyama-san"? Singles 2, "Kime-chan"? What the hell? If his confusion showed evident on his face, though, Tsuchiya made no move to clarify the meaning of the scribblings, so he brushed it off. "So...I guess I should..."
Tsuchiya rolled into a seated position, scooting over until his back was flush against the fence beside Takashi, and he leaned over to take the pencil from Takashi's grasp. "We need to draft new blocks--" We? "--There's nine regulars right now, but we usually let all of the second and third years take part, try for a spot on the final team. The first years are all newbies, so they'll just be training until summer break at least, no tournaments." Takashi nodded, taking in the information. Final team, nine regulars--second and third years. Tsuchiya-buchou. "It usually takes a week or so of after-school practices to get all of the matches done, assuming we don't get rained out or anything." He glanced up at Takashi, lips quirking up at the side. "...You getting all this, Coach Nagayama?"
Takashi straightened up, not realizing he'd been staring, and shrugged. "Yeah, no problem."
"'Tuti' is me, by the way."
"I figured."
"It's a nickname."
"Not that hard to grasp, really."
"You can call me that, if you want."
"Think I'll just stick with 'Tsuchiya-kun' if it's all the same to you."
Tsuchiya frowned, cocking his head to one side like he was trying to figure out Takashi. "...You can leave everything to me, if you want. We really only need a tantou for the records, you know."
Takashi blinked, confused. "Wha--no. Why?"
Tsuchiya glanced away back over the courts; his opponent from before (maybe this "Kime-chan"?) was back hitting one ball after another squarely into a small basket. It suddenly occured to Takashi that Tsuchiya really was good to have scored two straight times on the other boy. Or had convinced him to let the guy score. "Just, I can handle all the club stuff."
Takashi now twigged. "Oi, you're not getting rid of me that easily--just because I don't want to call you some stupid nickname--"
Tsuchiya's frown deepened, and Takashi realized with a bit of glee that he'd hit a nerve. "It's not stupid--"
"I'm going to buy a new binder. A pink one, which you will not make any comments on. And then I will be back tomorrow at 3:45 PM--"
Tsuchiya perked up now, resting his chin in one hand and lifting one brow. "We get out 30 minutes early on Tuesdays."
"...I will be back at 3:15 PM and we will discuss ranking matches." He tucked the binder under one arm and pushed himself up, sweeping the dirt from his butt self-consciously. He glanced up at Tsuchiya, who was now standing tall beside him, suppressing a smile. "...Don't look so damn smug."
"Not."
"Are, too."
"'Are, too'? Are you five, Coach Nagayama?"
"Stop calling me that."
"You can call me 'Tuti'. Then we'll be even."
"No we won't--you like being called that, I don't." Tsuchiya nodded solmenly, but Takashi suspected there was very little contrition in the gesture. "...You guys don't have morning practices, do you?"
To his credit, Tsuchiya looked genuinely surprised at the question. "I...well, the Regulars do, but you don't have to--"
"What time?"
"Seriously," Tsuchiya laughed, "I've got a key, and Ueshima-sensei's given us permission to--" Takashi's glare grew more pointed, and Tsuchiya swallowed hard. "Uh. 7. Just--for an hour or so."
"Every day?"
"Unless it's raining."
A sigh. "All right, then. I guess I'll see you tomorrow." He waved the binder as a farewell before ducking out of the court area, making a beeline back for the main office building.
Tsuchiya watched him leave, biting back a small smile, and shook his head. He hadn't really had the heart to remind Coach Nagayama (whine as he might, the man would never be Nagayama-sensei around here) that tantous were supposed to stay all the way through practice.