[Fic-Repost] Gentleman (Yagyuu/gen)
Title : "Gentleman"
Character : Yagyuu Hiroshi (Rikkai)
Rating : G [gen/mild expletives]
Disclaimer : A non-profit fanfic venture, no copyright infringement intended. PoT belongs to Konomi Takeshi.
Notes : Posted at crack_pot - Sprouted out of the blue, miraculously done in one night for something kinda dark and weird. No matter how it looks, it's, um, really gen :). None of the details are canon, I think. Unbeta'd and not edited at all, so please pardon the grammar, typos and err, cliches and inconsistencies (sheepish). Set after the Kantou Finals.
"It's your son's decision. At his age, I believe it's best that he makes his own."
"But, dear, the children who go to that school are violent! I thought he was going to Hyotei."
"There's trouble in every school. He will have to face it sooner or later."
"But that school, its reputation...what will become of our dear Hiroshi?"
"If he says he'll be fine, he'll be fine."
Sanada's hands are heavy. Solid and severe. He can swallow up an entire tennis ball with a palm, that span of space wider than your average guy's. Couple that with the glint in his eye, and it gives you that feeling of something crawling up your skin like a dizzy insect. Like staring at the sun too long. The intensity of his stare could blind the most resolute.
When he raises a hand, it almost always means that he's angry. And when he's angry, he lashes out without hesitation or repentance. When his fist comes in contact with any part of your body, it bounces back with a precision you only see in martial arts movies. It should be funny, seeing something like it before your eyes, but when it's your face on the line, you don't feel like laughing at all.
Everyone on the team has tasted that fist at least once this year. Each and every one of us. And each time, the Captain had simply stood there, unflinching, unmoved. He cares, after all. He knows, more than anyone, that it is the Rikkai Dai Fuzoku way. To be stronger, quicker, better than everyone else. There is a law, and if you break the law, you shall be punished.
Others call it abuse. They call it discipline. I simply call it...training.
"What the fuck is that?!"
Sanada boomed crisply amid the late afternoon air. Only Jackal's "huh" was audible as everyone stopped, taken aback.
"Renji dragged me out here to check your new formation and you give me shit," the vice captain finally said after resting his gaze on us for a few seconds.
Despite the punk that he is, Marui-kun is quite sensible. He knows when to start and when to stop, to his advantage. "It went in far too long. I should've held back," he said blandly.
Kirihara, on the other hand, lets his mouth run its course. "If you signaled me, I'd have lobbed to the rear," he blurted out.
Marui's brow knotted. "I don't have to. You can see what they're doing, can't you?" He raised his racket and pointed it defiantly at our direction on the other side of the court.
A hand on hip, Sanada called out. "Are you two arguing in front of me?"
"No, Sanada-san. Both-back now, Akaya," Marui yelled, instantly reacting like a good soldier and resumed his position. Kirihara grumbled to himself but said nothing out loud as he bounced the ball on concrete harder than usual.
The Fukubuchou has peculiar habits that can ensure safe passage once you are aware of them. It was Yanagi-kun who taught me that. For instance, he says, if Sanada speaks slow and low in his throat, it means he's patronizing you and whatever it is you were doing is not worth shit. If he says, "Not good enough," it actually means it was a good attempt and you should do it over and over until he's satisfied. If he stares into space, he isn't bored but is watching you more closely than ever. If he lets out a swear word, he wants you to pay attention. If he hurls that swear word at you, pay more attention.
Sanada sat down beside Yanagi on the hard court, legs bent and arms resting lazily on his knees. It meant he was tired.
"You're doing this on purpose."
"Yes, I am."
Niou's hand was a blur as it pushed roughly. I gasped, my back colliding against the metal fence. It shook, a crass shimmer of sound assailing my ears. Deafening. Roaring. As if the pigtailed boy wasn't content enough, he pressed harder against my shoulder.
"You tryin' to tell me something?"
"Does everything have to mean something, Niou?"
"You tell me."
What to tell an obstinate teammate. That I told the Fukubuchou he was screwing around with a sophomore who can't keep her mouth to herself, instead of attending practice? But he already knew that. What he didn't know was that I am screwed many times over, more than his slut, for telling on him.
"It's called keeping the team in line."
"Don't take your frustrations out on me...Yagyuu."
Staring back evenly at Niou Masaharu takes a lot of practice, I discovered not so long ago. Like fine-grade glass, they can gaze at you for as long as he wills them. I, on the other hand, have to rely on my glasses.
"Go screw yourself."
"I don't have to," Niou replied softly, almost too gently. "And it's 'fuck,' not screw." He smiled.
I didn't. This conversation is over.
Gasoline, you think?
Dunno, maybe a bomb of some sort...
Idiot, we'd all be dead if it was...
No one was here last night, moron...
"The gym was razed last night," Sanada Fukubuchou said over lunch, as though merely commenting on the weather.
"Arson. Again," Yanagi added.
"It's happened before?" Kirihara asked, surprised.
Marui faced the curly-haired boy, equally surprised. "You've never heard of last year's incident?"
"No, because I was too busy trying out for the tennis club."
"You don't have to be sarcastic."
Jackal mused. "Makes you wonder what they teach in physics class these days."
Yanagi smiled, stretching the lines of his eyes further. "What do they teach you in physics class, Jackal-kun?"
"I don't know, I'm usually asleep," he grinned.
"It's like they enrolled all the crazies in here," Kirihara snorted.
"Beginning with you," Sanada replied plainly. They erupted into mirth-filled laughter, Marui's louder than the rest.
And I. Where was I in the middle of all this coffee table talk?
Back swing, down swing, don't look at the ball, through swing. Swish went the nine iron.
"Good," my father called out, pleased. I nodded at him as he adjusted his cap. His turn.
My father's hands are gentle. Pale and elegant. For a man his age, he can cut open three ER patients in one day and still have time to play a round of golf at his favorite country club. Blessed with an aura of kindness and compassion, it is hard to believe that he once smashed a windshield furiously with his golf club, the unfortunate car belonging to one of his staunchest detractors.
It boggles the mind why anyone would want him off the surgeon general's seat, because he is not one to act without reason. There were moments when he would stubbornly refuse to let someone go on the operating table, prompting one to think he was playing God. Next moment, he would politely refuse money for favors. He never needed it, after all. Neither did we.
He raised a hand only once in his life. That was when his brother had cheated him out of an old business venture. But I, too, tasted that fist. Once. After I set him straight about my priorities, he never bothered me about it again. It was the first time the tennis team had won the Nationals.
That can hardly be called abuse. I called it...tolerance.
"I hope you're not allergic."
"No." Chuckle. "Actually, you're the only one who brought me flowers."
I smiled, a small one. "Tulips suit you."
Yukimura-buchou's smile is the sweetest I have ever seen in a while, despite the drab hospital gown. It used to creep me out, but the more he spent time with us, the more I feared it would disappear. It was one of my greatest fears. It would mean Sanada's fist would be uncontrollable.
"Yagyuu-kun, Renji tells me you haven't been your usual self lately."
It is a wonder, it seems. Maybe Yanagi does know my usual self, maybe he can unearth it for me. He can do that.
"Just tired, that's all, Buchou," I heard myself say as I rearranged my glasses with a finger. "How much longer will you be here?"
"A day or two, not long." The smile stayed pasted on his lips. No matter how I tried, I couldn't never get past the tender look he always threw my way. Patient, enduring, unyielding.
"You did a good job out there."
"Not good enough..." A little too late. The Fukubuchou tends to rub off on us all. The Captain didn't miss it and laughed softly.
"Our noble king," he began as his eyes flickered, a tiny fire in their depths. "What else would you like to tear asunder?"
I regarded him for a long second as I steepled my fingers. The Captain wore that very same expression when he had watched me stagger under Sanada's hand not so long ago. It delighted me secretly. Nostalgia holds a very special place in my heart.
"Wouldn't you like to know, Yukimura-buchou?"
Rikkai Dai Fuzoku was founded in Year 11 of the Meiji Era, the time when the Bakumatsu was deadly serious about ridding Japan of the old ways. Lethally serious. Their main objective was to destroy the old and pave the path for the new. Rikkai Dai Fuzoku has seen it all.
I cannot even begin to imagine how this very building resisted devastation. Battle, chaos, calamity. It should have been burned to the ground by now. A pile of rubble for all of Kanagawa to see.
I didn't need to turn my head to know he was there.
"Yagyuu."
Words are empty and meaningless in this school. Tears, a coward's way out. Order, control and obedience towards excellence. It is the only language we understand. Some people just don't get it. They must live dull dreary lives.
"Hey, Niou, didn't you hear what I said?"
"Don't glare at me like that. I'll decide when I want to take them off."
That was me, Fukubuchou...That was me.
Or was it?
"Yagyuu...It's time."
Character : Yagyuu Hiroshi (Rikkai)
Rating : G [gen/mild expletives]
Disclaimer : A non-profit fanfic venture, no copyright infringement intended. PoT belongs to Konomi Takeshi.
Notes : Posted at crack_pot - Sprouted out of the blue, miraculously done in one night for something kinda dark and weird. No matter how it looks, it's, um, really gen :). None of the details are canon, I think. Unbeta'd and not edited at all, so please pardon the grammar, typos and err, cliches and inconsistencies (sheepish). Set after the Kantou Finals.
"It's your son's decision. At his age, I believe it's best that he makes his own."
"But, dear, the children who go to that school are violent! I thought he was going to Hyotei."
"There's trouble in every school. He will have to face it sooner or later."
"But that school, its reputation...what will become of our dear Hiroshi?"
"If he says he'll be fine, he'll be fine."
Sanada's hands are heavy. Solid and severe. He can swallow up an entire tennis ball with a palm, that span of space wider than your average guy's. Couple that with the glint in his eye, and it gives you that feeling of something crawling up your skin like a dizzy insect. Like staring at the sun too long. The intensity of his stare could blind the most resolute.
When he raises a hand, it almost always means that he's angry. And when he's angry, he lashes out without hesitation or repentance. When his fist comes in contact with any part of your body, it bounces back with a precision you only see in martial arts movies. It should be funny, seeing something like it before your eyes, but when it's your face on the line, you don't feel like laughing at all.
Everyone on the team has tasted that fist at least once this year. Each and every one of us. And each time, the Captain had simply stood there, unflinching, unmoved. He cares, after all. He knows, more than anyone, that it is the Rikkai Dai Fuzoku way. To be stronger, quicker, better than everyone else. There is a law, and if you break the law, you shall be punished.
Others call it abuse. They call it discipline. I simply call it...training.
"What the fuck is that?!"
Sanada boomed crisply amid the late afternoon air. Only Jackal's "huh" was audible as everyone stopped, taken aback.
"Renji dragged me out here to check your new formation and you give me shit," the vice captain finally said after resting his gaze on us for a few seconds.
Despite the punk that he is, Marui-kun is quite sensible. He knows when to start and when to stop, to his advantage. "It went in far too long. I should've held back," he said blandly.
Kirihara, on the other hand, lets his mouth run its course. "If you signaled me, I'd have lobbed to the rear," he blurted out.
Marui's brow knotted. "I don't have to. You can see what they're doing, can't you?" He raised his racket and pointed it defiantly at our direction on the other side of the court.
A hand on hip, Sanada called out. "Are you two arguing in front of me?"
"No, Sanada-san. Both-back now, Akaya," Marui yelled, instantly reacting like a good soldier and resumed his position. Kirihara grumbled to himself but said nothing out loud as he bounced the ball on concrete harder than usual.
The Fukubuchou has peculiar habits that can ensure safe passage once you are aware of them. It was Yanagi-kun who taught me that. For instance, he says, if Sanada speaks slow and low in his throat, it means he's patronizing you and whatever it is you were doing is not worth shit. If he says, "Not good enough," it actually means it was a good attempt and you should do it over and over until he's satisfied. If he stares into space, he isn't bored but is watching you more closely than ever. If he lets out a swear word, he wants you to pay attention. If he hurls that swear word at you, pay more attention.
Sanada sat down beside Yanagi on the hard court, legs bent and arms resting lazily on his knees. It meant he was tired.
"You're doing this on purpose."
"Yes, I am."
Niou's hand was a blur as it pushed roughly. I gasped, my back colliding against the metal fence. It shook, a crass shimmer of sound assailing my ears. Deafening. Roaring. As if the pigtailed boy wasn't content enough, he pressed harder against my shoulder.
"You tryin' to tell me something?"
"Does everything have to mean something, Niou?"
"You tell me."
What to tell an obstinate teammate. That I told the Fukubuchou he was screwing around with a sophomore who can't keep her mouth to herself, instead of attending practice? But he already knew that. What he didn't know was that I am screwed many times over, more than his slut, for telling on him.
"It's called keeping the team in line."
"Don't take your frustrations out on me...Yagyuu."
Staring back evenly at Niou Masaharu takes a lot of practice, I discovered not so long ago. Like fine-grade glass, they can gaze at you for as long as he wills them. I, on the other hand, have to rely on my glasses.
"Go screw yourself."
"I don't have to," Niou replied softly, almost too gently. "And it's 'fuck,' not screw." He smiled.
I didn't. This conversation is over.
Gasoline, you think?
Dunno, maybe a bomb of some sort...
Idiot, we'd all be dead if it was...
No one was here last night, moron...
"The gym was razed last night," Sanada Fukubuchou said over lunch, as though merely commenting on the weather.
"Arson. Again," Yanagi added.
"It's happened before?" Kirihara asked, surprised.
Marui faced the curly-haired boy, equally surprised. "You've never heard of last year's incident?"
"No, because I was too busy trying out for the tennis club."
"You don't have to be sarcastic."
Jackal mused. "Makes you wonder what they teach in physics class these days."
Yanagi smiled, stretching the lines of his eyes further. "What do they teach you in physics class, Jackal-kun?"
"I don't know, I'm usually asleep," he grinned.
"It's like they enrolled all the crazies in here," Kirihara snorted.
"Beginning with you," Sanada replied plainly. They erupted into mirth-filled laughter, Marui's louder than the rest.
And I. Where was I in the middle of all this coffee table talk?
Back swing, down swing, don't look at the ball, through swing. Swish went the nine iron.
"Good," my father called out, pleased. I nodded at him as he adjusted his cap. His turn.
My father's hands are gentle. Pale and elegant. For a man his age, he can cut open three ER patients in one day and still have time to play a round of golf at his favorite country club. Blessed with an aura of kindness and compassion, it is hard to believe that he once smashed a windshield furiously with his golf club, the unfortunate car belonging to one of his staunchest detractors.
It boggles the mind why anyone would want him off the surgeon general's seat, because he is not one to act without reason. There were moments when he would stubbornly refuse to let someone go on the operating table, prompting one to think he was playing God. Next moment, he would politely refuse money for favors. He never needed it, after all. Neither did we.
He raised a hand only once in his life. That was when his brother had cheated him out of an old business venture. But I, too, tasted that fist. Once. After I set him straight about my priorities, he never bothered me about it again. It was the first time the tennis team had won the Nationals.
That can hardly be called abuse. I called it...tolerance.
"I hope you're not allergic."
"No." Chuckle. "Actually, you're the only one who brought me flowers."
I smiled, a small one. "Tulips suit you."
Yukimura-buchou's smile is the sweetest I have ever seen in a while, despite the drab hospital gown. It used to creep me out, but the more he spent time with us, the more I feared it would disappear. It was one of my greatest fears. It would mean Sanada's fist would be uncontrollable.
"Yagyuu-kun, Renji tells me you haven't been your usual self lately."
It is a wonder, it seems. Maybe Yanagi does know my usual self, maybe he can unearth it for me. He can do that.
"Just tired, that's all, Buchou," I heard myself say as I rearranged my glasses with a finger. "How much longer will you be here?"
"A day or two, not long." The smile stayed pasted on his lips. No matter how I tried, I couldn't never get past the tender look he always threw my way. Patient, enduring, unyielding.
"You did a good job out there."
"Not good enough..." A little too late. The Fukubuchou tends to rub off on us all. The Captain didn't miss it and laughed softly.
"Our noble king," he began as his eyes flickered, a tiny fire in their depths. "What else would you like to tear asunder?"
I regarded him for a long second as I steepled my fingers. The Captain wore that very same expression when he had watched me stagger under Sanada's hand not so long ago. It delighted me secretly. Nostalgia holds a very special place in my heart.
"Wouldn't you like to know, Yukimura-buchou?"
Rikkai Dai Fuzoku was founded in Year 11 of the Meiji Era, the time when the Bakumatsu was deadly serious about ridding Japan of the old ways. Lethally serious. Their main objective was to destroy the old and pave the path for the new. Rikkai Dai Fuzoku has seen it all.
I cannot even begin to imagine how this very building resisted devastation. Battle, chaos, calamity. It should have been burned to the ground by now. A pile of rubble for all of Kanagawa to see.
I didn't need to turn my head to know he was there.
"Yagyuu."
Words are empty and meaningless in this school. Tears, a coward's way out. Order, control and obedience towards excellence. It is the only language we understand. Some people just don't get it. They must live dull dreary lives.
"Hey, Niou, didn't you hear what I said?"
"Don't glare at me like that. I'll decide when I want to take them off."
That was me, Fukubuchou...That was me.
Or was it?
"Yagyuu...It's time."