[smith]
BEAUTY IN ASHES
by axtar
He's in the hospital, leaning against the wall closest to the window, muscles still aching when Oshitari comes in, lazy smile lingering like a stain across his face, emotions shielded behind his eyes.
Someone says, "It's over, isn't it?"
Oshitari doesn't flinch, merely shuts the door quietly behind him. "Ah…I suppose. If you want to put it that way."
"Hyotei's out of the Nationals."
The smile remains unflickering, the reply abrupt. "Yes."
Two, three, five heartbeats pass as he waits for the person to answer before he realizes it was him all along. His mouth feels dry, his head throbs and all he really, really wants to do is walk over to Oshitari and slap that infuriating smirk off his face.
Unreasonable thoughts, but this is an unreasonable time and his head feels like breaking, exploding, pounding against his cranium in a desperate attempt to deny what he already knows.
In the end, his eyes betray him first and he turns savagely to look out the window, furiously refusing to allow the tears to escape his lashes.
"Gakuto and the others are outside." The low voice remains near the door, grave and tired and at odds with the expression draped across his face. "We all did our best, Atobe."
Our best. The words have never sounded so pretentious before. 'Our best' is not enough; he is supposed to be better than that. Better than the best.
The best of the best of the best.
The silence is almost absolute, crawling across the smudged surface of the floor, polluting the air like a perfume, a stench that suffocates him with its nothingness. Oshitari sighs, breaking it just before it reigns supreme.
"It's not your fault."
"I know."
"Do you?"
I do, he wants to say, but his lips are too dry, too cracked to part. Somewhere inside, something uncoils itself and whispers liar like an unending mantra, gleeful and taunting. His hand sticks to the windowsill, too heavy to lift from the chill of the metal biting into his palm.
"That's an interesting hairstyle, by the way."
He snaps then, whirls around, his eyes hard and angry - Oshitari, that thoughtless, insignificant moron-
The scathing retort dies in his mouth before his lips even part.
Oshitari pats Atobe's shoulder awkwardly as his captain sways uncertainly on his feet, hand heavy, a lead weight by his side. "Look, it's been a long day - you'd better get some rest."
He nods mutely and allows himself to be led to the bed. "Tell the others they can go back. I…I'll talk to them tomorrow."
"If you say so. There's the semi-finals tomorrow - you can meet them there."
He does not want to go to the semi-finals; he doesn't need to be reminded of something no longer within his grasp. He turns to tell Oshitari that and for the briefest of seconds, catches sight of Oshitari's eyes. He's not alone, he realizes then, with a start. He's not the only one regretting.
"…You won your match."
Oshitari pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Ah."
Then he leaves, shutting the door behind him with a firm click, and Atobe sits, thinking of what Hyotei could've been, ashes under his fingers.
A world ends when Hyotei drops out of the running in the Nationals.
There should be earthquakes, he thinks absent-mindedly, bouncing lightly from foot to foot. Thunder, lightning, Armageddon, the works. But no, all they get is a shuddering, silent impact, the rending of a dream denied.
He's never dealt well with losses - he still doesn't, and doesn't intend to change that. But this heavy-heartedness he feels now is a sensation foreign to him, a weight he's only acknowledged at the back of his mind in passing, never carried.
"I doubt students should be up here, especially with break almost over."
"Shut up, Yuushi," he answers automatically without turning around. "Take your own advice and go away."
Oshitari chuckles, a lazy sound infused with too much amusement for Gakuto's liking; seriously, was it not enough to have lost during the Nationals? Did he have to miss the memo that they LOST too?
He doesn't hear footsteps retreating though, and groans when Oshitari comes to stand beside him.
"I thought I told you to go away, dammit."
"Too beautiful a day to stay indoors."
They stand in silence for awhile, watching the rest of Hyotei below from the dizzying height of the roof. Then Gakuto sighs in irritation, pushes himself away from the wall. "We should have won our match."
"You did your best."
"Well," Gakuto snaps, "It obviously wasn't enough, was it???"
"That phrase," Oshitari says, "is getting old." The amusement has bled out of his voice, tempered it with a flat note. "Do you all honestly think there was anything we could have done differently?"
He could have jumped higher, Gakuto thinks heatedly as he whirls around to give Oshitari a piece of his mind. Could have done more Moon Assaults, realized earlier what it was Inui and Kaidoh were up to, lasted longer, press the assault harder, more furious, more, more, more.
"No," he answers finally, small, defeated. "No."
Oshitari shifts position. "So."
The silence this time isn't so charged with frustration as it is with the thoughtfulness that comes creeping over them after all the pent-up feelings had been let loose. It is a change from the tensed feeling of inadequacy, one which Gakuto rather welcomed after feeling awful all last night over how he could have been so much better.
"Maybe I'll really go into gymnastics when we enter high school." Gakuto grimaces, does an impromptu back-flip, balances dexterously as the grit on the tiles bite into his palms. "Less messy. And at least I won't have to deal with annoying doubles partners and bossy captains."
He hears, rather than sees the smile that slowly creeps back unto Oshitari's face. "You don't mean that."
When he bounces back onto his feet and the sky and floor reswap places, his grin mirrors that of Oshitari's. "No," he admits grudgingly, "I don't."
Tennis may be over for this season. But there are always the seasons after, and each year brings new ones after all.
Besides, someone needs to remind that Kikumaru that there are far better acrobatic players than him anyway.
It's sleeping weather again. Then again, it's always sleeping weather, come rain or shine or hail for that matter.
But, Jirou thinks with a frown, he doesn't really feel like sleeping. In fact, he hasn't felt like sleeping since yesterday. Which is strange and vaguely unsettling because sleep is the most important thing in the world.
Well, besides tennis anyway.
He yawns and considers. Thinking about tennis, the next Nationals match should be taking place sometime this afternoon; he had heard Oshitari mention it in the hallway earlier. Something about Seigaku and some other school called Shiten-something.
Eevryone's probably going to be there later; he'd better not be late or Atobe might scold him again for dozing off at all the wrong times. (But it's really not his fault that the benches are so comfortable.)
Besides, Fuji-kun should be super amazing to watch!
With that happy thought in mind, Jirou rolls over and promptly falls aslee-
Nope, still not sleepy. Darn.
Oshitari has always been a dark horse. A careless, graceless, occasionally brainless dark horse, but nevertheless.
"Is there any particular reason why you're currently occupying my chair? In my classroom?"
Oshitari lifts up his head, grins at Atobe as if the frigidness of his tone were merely a welcomed breeze in the stifling weather. "Hello to you too, Atobe."
"If you have nothing better to do than annoy me, I would suggest you-"
"Have you seen the sports submission someone handed in for this year's yearbook already?"
"I assume you have, by means of some underhanded method I do not care to know of. Now if you would-"
"Someone found it amusing enough to do a report on our match against Seigaku yesterday. Only a half-page spread, but pretty impressive nevertheless."
"I see." Atobe doesn't see, and someone in the editorial board is going to be visited by the student president very, very soon.
But not before he chews out a certain tennis genius with a drawl patented to grate on his nerves and had the gumption to interrupt him not once, but twice within five minutes.
"Ironic," Oshitari went on thoughtfully, "that they didn't give much coverage to the matches we played before that. You know, the ones we actually won. Gakuto's not going to be particularly happy about that."
"And this is supposed to matter to me?"
"Perhaps. I'll see you at the tennis courts later then."
Oshitari gets up then and his eyes brush against Atobe's gaze, serious behind lenses he doesn't need. He moves over to the door, past the group of girls who look at him with something like adoration in their eyes and moves out into the corridor.
He doesn't look back, and Atobe's sarcastic message burns within his own subconscious, his eyes quickly shuttered before others see the resentment they harbor. There are other things that demand his priority, he wants to shout. There were important entrance examinations to think about, other pursuits long neglected in favor of the hours of training that had yielded them nothing but broken hopes. Anything rather than watch other teams play out the dream that should have been their reality but isn't.
Instead he sits down slowly, his lips thinning as the warmth of the seat assaults him. Damn Oshitari. Damn him and his damn insidious ideas.
And damn himself for allowing it to even consider them despite everything.
"Eh, Shishido-san! I hadn't expected you-"
The older boy fidgets uncomfortably as he tugs his cap lower over his face. "Yeah, I know, but it's weird not turning up." He turns to look out at the courts, still empty in anticipation of the match to come. "It's still the Nationals after all, even if we're not, well, playing."
Ohtori chuckles at Shishido's scowl. "It'd be good to see how the other teams do, I guess, especially for next year." He blinks once, twice. "Next year. Next year."
"Yes next year, and if you repeat that one more time, I'm going to kick you." Shishido grins suddenly then and leans in confidentially. "There's a rumor that Atobe's gonna make you captain, so don't slack off."
"What, next year?"
Shishido rolls his eyes in exasperation. "No, next century. Use your brains, Choutarou. You better bring Hyotei all the way next year, okay? Y'know, since we couldn't and all. Trounce Seigaku good. And Rikkai and all those other schools. Show them who Hyotei really is."
"Yeah, I guess…"
"Whaddya mean 'you guess'??? Maybe I should tell Atobe to go reconsider Hiyoshi after all."
"I really wanted us to win this year." Ohtori's tone is quiet, his knuckles white where his fingers grip the railing. "All of us."
Shishido glances sideway at his doubles partner. "…Yeah. Guess we weren't expecting that loss. That really sucked big time."
"I'm sorry."
"What are you apologizing for?" Staring at Ohtori, Shishido snorted incredulously. "We did our best, didn't we? Seigaku just got lucky. Sometimes, it all just comes down to that: luck. And so happens those lucky bastards were well, luckier that day. Besides, we won our match, didn't we?"
"I don't know, Shishido-san, I still feel-"
"Guilty, huh?"
"Kind of. Like I've somehow let everyone down."
"Heh, guess we all feel that way. Nothing we can do about it now though - we lost, Seigaku won, end of story. Still feel like beating myself up inside, but I guess we just have to well, live and learn." Shishido laughs awkwardly. "That came out weird."
Ohtori's lips quirk then and he smiles back at the one person in Hyotei who had probably 'lived and learnt' the most on their tennis team. "I thought that sounded really cool, Shishido-san."
Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Shishido mutters, "Overheard someone say it in class and it sounded decent. Kinda makes sense and all. How long does it take to start a damn tennis match around here?"
"Oi, Hiyoshi, over here!"
Hiyoshi starts slightly and turns to look over at an impatient Gakuto, tapping his foot. "Mukahi-sempai."
"You sure took your time; I've been waiting for ages. Am I the only one who still believes in punctuality these days?"
"Stop giving yourself so much credit, idiot - we were here much earlier than you. Right, Choutarou?"
"Ah, well…"
As Shishido and Ohtori approach them from the other side of the stadium. Hiyoshi nods at them briefly in acknowledgement, annoyance flitting briefly over his features. Had he, he wonders, missed something about meeting the rest of the team here today?
"That just leaves Jirou-sempai," Ohtori says, "Oshitari-sempai, and Atobe-sempai and Kabaji."
"Yuushi said he might be late." Gakuto grins, a quick flash of even, white teeth. "That idiot's probably going to show up just before the match starts or something."
As Shishido says something sarcastic which has even Ohtori chuckling, Hiyoshi thinks that perhaps this is gekokujou after all. They've fallen this year, but here they are, still standing, still watching for the chinks in the techniques of others, still waiting for their turn to rise above the others, trampling them beneath their feet.
That will be the sweetest gekokujou of all.
Then Gakuto stumbles into him, grumbles about juniors who can't tell their right feet from their left and Hiyoshi is half inclined to rethink that stand.
He does not know if Atobe will show up, whether he will turn up to watch the semi-finals going to be held at the courts soon.
Still he waits anyway, patiently and steadily. Waits for Atobe as the sunlight dances curiously over a newly-shorn head. Atobe might not be too pleased with what he had done, but it is the least he could do.
Thoughts of his match against Tezuka yesterday tickle his mind and he brushes them away placidly. Atobe hadn't been happy with the loss. It had been a fairly interesting match, but not one of note if it annoyed Atobe.
Time drifts by and he waits, watching the cottony swirl of clouds above form and reform into different shapes as they pass idly by. Waits and waits and waits.
Waits until he remembers that Atobe might want to change into the tennis Regulars' uniform before he heads over to the matches. Classes in school require the students to wear the school uniform, so unless Atobe heads over to the clubroom first before coming to meet him…
Without a second thought, Kabaji begins moving over to where the clubroom is.
He's halfway there when he notices a familiar tennis player, sitting on the bench close to the clubroom, uncharacteristically wide awake as he squints at Kabaji.
"Ah, Kabaji!" Jirou grins before yawning hugely. "Could you wake me later if I fall asleep? Don't wanna get Atobe all mad at me if I miss watching the matches 'fter all."
Kabaji nods once and Jirou beams at him happily. "Awesome~ Thanks, Kabaji!"
The clubroom is cool compared to the heat of the day outside and dark without the lights on. Locating Atobe's locker isn't hard though, and Kabaji opens it easily enough, large fingers dexterously shifting the stuff inside around the small space until they land on fabric.
Jirou is asleep by the time Kabaji exits the clubroom and relocks it behind him, pocketing the spare keys Atobe had entrusted to him. The older boy had asked to be wakened if he fell asleep, so Kabaji prods him once, twice before shaking him gently with his free hand.
When Jirou doesn't stir, Kabaji pauses and thinks. He has to get back to waiting for Atobe. But from past experiences, Jirou will not be awakened easily, leaving him with a small, minute dilemma.
He solves it after a bit of consideration - hoisting the sleeping tennis player carefully over his shoulder, Kabaji walks back to where he had been waiting. Atobe can wake him later if he really wants Jirou to watch the matches and this way, Kabaji can resume what he had been doing without any fuss.
And so Kabaji continues to wait, patiently and steadily.
Shutting the classroom door, Atobe's fingers pause on the handle, his expression cool as he regards the approaching figure, the blue and white of the Regulars jacket clashing with the warm brown color scheme of the walls.
"I take it you're going in the direction of the courts as well." Oshitari ambles up to him. "Mind if I join you?"
"Would it make any difference if I said yes?"
"Well," Oshitari affects the semblance of giving the question his utmost consideration. "I suppose if you look at it that way…"
Abruptly, Atobe turns and walks down the corridor, his footsteps staccato and crisp with exasperation, echoing in the enclosed space. Oshitari falls into step with him quickly though, his long, leisurely strides keeping up easily with Atobe's terse ones.
"I'll be meeting with Kabaji before we reach the tennis courts."
"Should I be surprised?"
"You should perhaps take the hint and go on ahead," Atobe says dryly.
"Ah." Oshitari nods but makes no move to increase his pace. "Did I ever tell you I have a cousin in Shitenhouji?"
"Likely that small unimportant fact slipped your mind."
"Likely," Oshitari agrees amiably as they turn a corner. "Not quite that unimportant though - he happens to be a particularly good tennis player. We used to play against each other when we were younger."
"I see."
"Not really, since I hadn't gotten to the part where I explain why he isn't as unimportant as you assume he is."
"You seem to be particularly vocal today."
"He's a Regular on the Shitenhouji team," Oshitari continues, ignoring Atobe's raised eyebrow. "I always thought I'd be able to meet him in an official match someday. Hyotei against Shitenhouji. And we'd win and I'd get bragging rights for a year."
The silence that suddenly envelops the corridors are stifling, a buzz that fills Atobe's ears as he stares numbly at nothing, feet protesting the unexpected halt. Beside him, the banter dies on Oshitari's lips and he stops, somber, watching Atobe as his captain's fist curls into a fist by his side.
"We should have won."
Looking up with a start, Atobe stares at Oshitari as the bespectacled tennis player chuckles humorlessly. "That's what you're thinking, aren't you? That it's your fault Hyotei's out of the running. You've been thinking that since yesterday."
"Don't be ridiculous," Atobe replies automatically. "It's not any single player's fault when a match is lost. Assuming responsibility for a loss when everyone played their best is…"
"Stupid? Probably. Shame though, I'd always pegged you as intelligent."
"As captain-"
"As captain," Oshitari interrupts coolly, "You organized the team. Decided who plays which slots. Played against Echizen. Unless I missed something in the job details..."
"You don't understand it, do you?" Atobe's voice begins to rise, too loud, almost shrill as it bounces off the silent walls. "I'm the captain of the Hyotei team. I'm the one who played that last match. I-"
"You. You, you, you." Something unreadable flashes across Oshitari's face, hovers around his features behind inscrutable eyes. "It's all about you, isn't it, Atobe? How you lost, how you let Hyotei down, how it's all your fault, your responsibility. How about thinking about something else for a change?"
"Like what?" Atobe snaps, too irate to attempt at even a mediocre grasp on his frustration.
"Like us." Oshitari's tone doesn't rise like Atobe's but drops instead, anger churning suppressed waves beneath the low inflections. "Like the rest of the team. Tennis isn't just a singles match, in case you forgot. There's a reason why we're called a tennis team."
"My match was the deciding factor-"
"So you're asking us to shovel the blame on you? Then what about Gakuto and Hiyoshi? Kabaji? They lost too, didn't they?"
"That's beside the point!"
"Then what is the point? Because no, you're right, I don't get it. See, this is what I understand - we went up against Seigaku. We lost, by an irritatingly narrow margin but still a loss. That's where you lost me because, you see, here's the part where we get stronger and Hyotei grows and plans to hand Seigaku's ass back to them next year."
"And where exactly will we be next year?"
Oshitari shrugs. "In the stands, probably - we'd have other tournaments to look forward to. We all move on, Atobe - it's called life last time I checked. Who knows where we'll go on to from Hyotei?"
It's strange, Atobe thinks as he stares at Oshitari, thinking of what comes after Hyotei. Almost as if looking on a life that isn't his own, merely a spectator. He's planned it all out like a carefully orchestrated masterpiece his parents would have approved of - a symphony of academic excellence with the counterpoint of a brilliant future woven in between the bright certificates and honors.
He doesn't recall factoring in tennis though. Tennis is only a form of curriculum, a sport, the court beneath his feet, the rush of adrenaline, the heady joys of victory, the present. Nothing more than that and everything else at the same time.
Oshitari is studying him, leaning against the closest wall. "Just saying, but the semi-finals started half an hour ago."
"Just for clarity's sake," He hears himself say, and his voice is calm, collected once more, "I still hold the opinion that we should have advanced."
"We should have, shouldn't we?"
Atobe manages a wry chuckle. "Damn that Seigaku brat. And damn you."
"What, so now it's my fault?"
"I'll let you know that Ore-sama has never been interrupted while talking."
"Ah, I suppose I broke that cardinal rule, didn't I?"
"At least four times today. Fifty laps after the Nationals are done."
They are walking again, quickly down the hallway before the bell rings and they are trapped in the mass of students that will swarm the narrow corridors and keep them a moment longer from the Nationals. Because so much could happen in a moment; a match won, a pinnacle gained, or a dream destroyed.
"Atobe," Oshitari's voice is infused with amusement once more as they stepped through the double doors of Hyotei's side entrance. "This isn't the way to the courts."
"I have no intention of turning up without being dressed appropriately." The clubroom is not too far from the tennis courts and while he isn't keen on being any later than he already is, there should be a spare Regulars jacket and uniform in his locker. Hyotei will be represented adequately, never mind that they're only onlookers.
Oshitari chuckles behind him. "If you say so. I think Kabaji may have already taken care of that though."
"Usu."
Flicking his eyes to the right, a smirk flickers across his lips, solidifies as Atobe acknowledges the large second-year. "Ah, Kabaji."
Wordlessly, Kabaji holds out his hand and the Regulars uniform within its grasp. Taking the clothing, Atobe moves towards the closest enclosed area and efficiently shrugs out of his school wear. He steps out in time to hear Oshitari remark casually, "Nice haircut, Kabaji."
"Usu."
Glaring briefly at Oshitari who grins back in reply, Atobe pulls on the jacket and it's not like coming home, but something close to it. As he pulls the zip up, a breeze ruffles his newly-shorn hair and he grimaces discreetly. Yet another reason to dislike that insufferable brat from Seigaku.
"Well," he says, and all the old arrogance is back, smug and confident. "Let's not keep them waiting for us anymore. Na, Kabaji?"
"Usu."
"Well, you guys certainly took your time,' are the first words out of Gakuto's mouth as he taps his feet impatiently, his arms crossed."Singles Three's already begun and Fuji's losing pretty badly."
"Ehhhh???" Jirou blinks awake from over Kabaji's shoulder. "Really?"
"Four to zero so far, it's not looking too good," Ohtori reports, jogging back from where he had been observing the match. "Fuji-kun's triple counters apparently don't work well against Shiraishi-san's technique. Ah, Atobe-sempai, Oshitari-sempai, Jirou-sempai and Kabaji-kun."
"It will be gekokujou..."
Shishido groans in exasperation. "Look, can we go watch the game properly now? Seriously Atobe, after how you harp about punctuality during practices and all those laps, you could've had the decency to show up on time. Y'know, like before the matches started."
"If you're all done airing your petty frustrations," Atobe says with thinly stretched patience, "I believe there's a Nationals match to watch. Na, Kabaji?"
"Usu."
"Typical,' Gakuto mutters as they all move towards the stands."Do we even get as much as an apology for waiting for our captain who doesn't know how to tell the time? Nooooo…"
But he's grinning; all of them are as the roar of the crowd rolls over them and down on the courts, Shiraishi scores another point against Fuji, the simultaneous cheers and groans a cacophony of mounting excitement. This is tennis and anything that falls short of full-blown exhilaration is forbidden here, here in the stands watching as the game unfolds, as records are broken and limits pushed. Here on the courts, playing where each volley is a lifetime and each point is a step closer to the peak.
This is tennis.
"I," Shishido yells over all the noise, "Am going to kill Seigaku if they even think about losing to Shitenhouji. Seriously, after beating us, they'd better have the decency to make it all the way."
And Atobe couldn't help but agree.
Seigaku wrests the win from Shitenhouji today.
Oshitari takes the leisurely way home on a whim, the more memorable of day's events replaying themselves in his mind as he acknowledges the many different, remarkable techniques he had seen. It's been a good day, he reflects. Not an amazing day or even an exceptionally great one, but a good one nevertheless.
His handphone rings just as he reaches home and he slips his hand into his pocket, neatly flips it open and lifts it to his ear. "I told you there was an amazing player in Kantou. Shame your team didn't get to play him properly."
Kenya's voice is crackly with static as it comes through the receiver. "We saw him play alright - he's, well, pretty good, being able to hold his own against Kintarou like that."
Frowning slightly, Oshitari's free hand fiddles with the gate, trying to get it open. "Kintarou?"
"You probably didn't see it; it was after the official matches and all. But…wow."
"Yeah, Echizen tends to do that to people."
"Just a one-point match and those two pulled out more stops than I've seen in any tennis match." Kenya laughs ruefully. "We hadn't expected any less from Kintarou of course, but Echizen…I think Echizen pushed him all-out. Made him bring out techniques even I haven't seen before."
"Sounds like Echizen to me. He gave our captain a royal headache in our matches."
"You gave me the impression that he was in Hyotei when I called you some time back."
"Ah, I don't recall ever saying he was a Hyotei Regular. I thought you had learnt to stop jumping to conclusions." The gate slides open at last and he steps unto the small pathway, his smirk evident even through the phone's tiny speaker. A crackly laugh echoes in his ear.
"In any case, Hyotei's team was pretty strong this year - caught a few of your matches against Seigaku earlier. Missed yours though, sorry. They'll likely air it on TV though, so I'll watch it then."
"Is."
"Huh?"
A smile settles on the edges of Oshitari's lips as he looks up at the darkening evening sky, dropping his bag at his feet as he admires it. "Hyotei is strong, not was strong. You'd better watch out next year; Hyotei just might trample all over you."
Kenya snorts. "Yeah, as if. We'll still have Kintarou on our team."
"And Seigaku will still have Echizen. And," Oshitari chuckles, "Hyotei will still be Hyotei." Hyotei with all its prideful arrogance, Hyotei that hates to lose, Hyotei that does not buckle under pressure, but rather, thrives on it. This is the Hyotei Oshitari had signed up for in his first year, this is the Hyotei he will leave behind after he graduates.
And this will be the Hyotei who just might sweep the Championship back next year.
Kenya's voice is a drone in his ear as he goes on about how the Finals might turn out and how his whole team is looking forward to watching it. Oshitari ignores it as he slips his shoes off, his mind wandering to other more interesting things.
"Hey…"
"Yeah?"
"Before you guys go back to Osaka, how about us having a one-on-one match?"
There is a brief pause before Kenya speaks again, good-naturedly teasing. "Awww, I didn't know you missed being beaten that badly."
"If I recall correctly, you have the facts inversed."
"Oh, really? Maybe it's high time for me to refresh your memory."
"Or me yours." They toss around possible dates and locations before Kenya's phone battery starts to die and he hurriedly hangs up before it gives out altogether. Snapping his handphone shut, Oshitari could only shake his head and pick up his bag again.
"Yuushi?" His mother's voice floats from the direction of the kitchen along with the aroma of dinner as he enters the house. "Is that you?"
"Ah," he calls out in reply. "I'm back."
And as he pads up to his room, a yawn catches him unaware and he stretches leisurely. It's been a long day, he muses. A good day with the prospect of tennis practice tomorrow and those fifty laps Atobe gave him.
He laughs unexpectedly and shakes his head in resigned amusement. So life goes on after the Nationals, after the world seems to have fallen, after losing. And, as one by one, the others realize this too, he knows there's still such a long way to go. Still so much more to achieve and aim for. Still so many matches waiting.
After all, there's always tennis to look forward to.
When a dream dies
We overlook the beauty in ashes
And turn our faces towards the kindling of a new flame.
by axtar
He's in the hospital, leaning against the wall closest to the window, muscles still aching when Oshitari comes in, lazy smile lingering like a stain across his face, emotions shielded behind his eyes.
Someone says, "It's over, isn't it?"
Oshitari doesn't flinch, merely shuts the door quietly behind him. "Ah…I suppose. If you want to put it that way."
"Hyotei's out of the Nationals."
The smile remains unflickering, the reply abrupt. "Yes."
Two, three, five heartbeats pass as he waits for the person to answer before he realizes it was him all along. His mouth feels dry, his head throbs and all he really, really wants to do is walk over to Oshitari and slap that infuriating smirk off his face.
Unreasonable thoughts, but this is an unreasonable time and his head feels like breaking, exploding, pounding against his cranium in a desperate attempt to deny what he already knows.
In the end, his eyes betray him first and he turns savagely to look out the window, furiously refusing to allow the tears to escape his lashes.
"Gakuto and the others are outside." The low voice remains near the door, grave and tired and at odds with the expression draped across his face. "We all did our best, Atobe."
Our best. The words have never sounded so pretentious before. 'Our best' is not enough; he is supposed to be better than that. Better than the best.
The best of the best of the best.
The silence is almost absolute, crawling across the smudged surface of the floor, polluting the air like a perfume, a stench that suffocates him with its nothingness. Oshitari sighs, breaking it just before it reigns supreme.
"It's not your fault."
"I know."
"Do you?"
I do, he wants to say, but his lips are too dry, too cracked to part. Somewhere inside, something uncoils itself and whispers liar like an unending mantra, gleeful and taunting. His hand sticks to the windowsill, too heavy to lift from the chill of the metal biting into his palm.
"That's an interesting hairstyle, by the way."
He snaps then, whirls around, his eyes hard and angry - Oshitari, that thoughtless, insignificant moron-
The scathing retort dies in his mouth before his lips even part.
Oshitari pats Atobe's shoulder awkwardly as his captain sways uncertainly on his feet, hand heavy, a lead weight by his side. "Look, it's been a long day - you'd better get some rest."
He nods mutely and allows himself to be led to the bed. "Tell the others they can go back. I…I'll talk to them tomorrow."
"If you say so. There's the semi-finals tomorrow - you can meet them there."
He does not want to go to the semi-finals; he doesn't need to be reminded of something no longer within his grasp. He turns to tell Oshitari that and for the briefest of seconds, catches sight of Oshitari's eyes. He's not alone, he realizes then, with a start. He's not the only one regretting.
"…You won your match."
Oshitari pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Ah."
Then he leaves, shutting the door behind him with a firm click, and Atobe sits, thinking of what Hyotei could've been, ashes under his fingers.
A world ends when Hyotei drops out of the running in the Nationals.
There should be earthquakes, he thinks absent-mindedly, bouncing lightly from foot to foot. Thunder, lightning, Armageddon, the works. But no, all they get is a shuddering, silent impact, the rending of a dream denied.
He's never dealt well with losses - he still doesn't, and doesn't intend to change that. But this heavy-heartedness he feels now is a sensation foreign to him, a weight he's only acknowledged at the back of his mind in passing, never carried.
"I doubt students should be up here, especially with break almost over."
"Shut up, Yuushi," he answers automatically without turning around. "Take your own advice and go away."
Oshitari chuckles, a lazy sound infused with too much amusement for Gakuto's liking; seriously, was it not enough to have lost during the Nationals? Did he have to miss the memo that they LOST too?
He doesn't hear footsteps retreating though, and groans when Oshitari comes to stand beside him.
"I thought I told you to go away, dammit."
"Too beautiful a day to stay indoors."
They stand in silence for awhile, watching the rest of Hyotei below from the dizzying height of the roof. Then Gakuto sighs in irritation, pushes himself away from the wall. "We should have won our match."
"You did your best."
"Well," Gakuto snaps, "It obviously wasn't enough, was it???"
"That phrase," Oshitari says, "is getting old." The amusement has bled out of his voice, tempered it with a flat note. "Do you all honestly think there was anything we could have done differently?"
He could have jumped higher, Gakuto thinks heatedly as he whirls around to give Oshitari a piece of his mind. Could have done more Moon Assaults, realized earlier what it was Inui and Kaidoh were up to, lasted longer, press the assault harder, more furious, more, more, more.
"No," he answers finally, small, defeated. "No."
Oshitari shifts position. "So."
The silence this time isn't so charged with frustration as it is with the thoughtfulness that comes creeping over them after all the pent-up feelings had been let loose. It is a change from the tensed feeling of inadequacy, one which Gakuto rather welcomed after feeling awful all last night over how he could have been so much better.
"Maybe I'll really go into gymnastics when we enter high school." Gakuto grimaces, does an impromptu back-flip, balances dexterously as the grit on the tiles bite into his palms. "Less messy. And at least I won't have to deal with annoying doubles partners and bossy captains."
He hears, rather than sees the smile that slowly creeps back unto Oshitari's face. "You don't mean that."
When he bounces back onto his feet and the sky and floor reswap places, his grin mirrors that of Oshitari's. "No," he admits grudgingly, "I don't."
Tennis may be over for this season. But there are always the seasons after, and each year brings new ones after all.
Besides, someone needs to remind that Kikumaru that there are far better acrobatic players than him anyway.
It's sleeping weather again. Then again, it's always sleeping weather, come rain or shine or hail for that matter.
But, Jirou thinks with a frown, he doesn't really feel like sleeping. In fact, he hasn't felt like sleeping since yesterday. Which is strange and vaguely unsettling because sleep is the most important thing in the world.
Well, besides tennis anyway.
He yawns and considers. Thinking about tennis, the next Nationals match should be taking place sometime this afternoon; he had heard Oshitari mention it in the hallway earlier. Something about Seigaku and some other school called Shiten-something.
Eevryone's probably going to be there later; he'd better not be late or Atobe might scold him again for dozing off at all the wrong times. (But it's really not his fault that the benches are so comfortable.)
Besides, Fuji-kun should be super amazing to watch!
With that happy thought in mind, Jirou rolls over and promptly falls aslee-
Nope, still not sleepy. Darn.
Oshitari has always been a dark horse. A careless, graceless, occasionally brainless dark horse, but nevertheless.
"Is there any particular reason why you're currently occupying my chair? In my classroom?"
Oshitari lifts up his head, grins at Atobe as if the frigidness of his tone were merely a welcomed breeze in the stifling weather. "Hello to you too, Atobe."
"If you have nothing better to do than annoy me, I would suggest you-"
"Have you seen the sports submission someone handed in for this year's yearbook already?"
"I assume you have, by means of some underhanded method I do not care to know of. Now if you would-"
"Someone found it amusing enough to do a report on our match against Seigaku yesterday. Only a half-page spread, but pretty impressive nevertheless."
"I see." Atobe doesn't see, and someone in the editorial board is going to be visited by the student president very, very soon.
But not before he chews out a certain tennis genius with a drawl patented to grate on his nerves and had the gumption to interrupt him not once, but twice within five minutes.
"Ironic," Oshitari went on thoughtfully, "that they didn't give much coverage to the matches we played before that. You know, the ones we actually won. Gakuto's not going to be particularly happy about that."
"And this is supposed to matter to me?"
"Perhaps. I'll see you at the tennis courts later then."
Oshitari gets up then and his eyes brush against Atobe's gaze, serious behind lenses he doesn't need. He moves over to the door, past the group of girls who look at him with something like adoration in their eyes and moves out into the corridor.
He doesn't look back, and Atobe's sarcastic message burns within his own subconscious, his eyes quickly shuttered before others see the resentment they harbor. There are other things that demand his priority, he wants to shout. There were important entrance examinations to think about, other pursuits long neglected in favor of the hours of training that had yielded them nothing but broken hopes. Anything rather than watch other teams play out the dream that should have been their reality but isn't.
Instead he sits down slowly, his lips thinning as the warmth of the seat assaults him. Damn Oshitari. Damn him and his damn insidious ideas.
And damn himself for allowing it to even consider them despite everything.
"Eh, Shishido-san! I hadn't expected you-"
The older boy fidgets uncomfortably as he tugs his cap lower over his face. "Yeah, I know, but it's weird not turning up." He turns to look out at the courts, still empty in anticipation of the match to come. "It's still the Nationals after all, even if we're not, well, playing."
Ohtori chuckles at Shishido's scowl. "It'd be good to see how the other teams do, I guess, especially for next year." He blinks once, twice. "Next year. Next year."
"Yes next year, and if you repeat that one more time, I'm going to kick you." Shishido grins suddenly then and leans in confidentially. "There's a rumor that Atobe's gonna make you captain, so don't slack off."
"What, next year?"
Shishido rolls his eyes in exasperation. "No, next century. Use your brains, Choutarou. You better bring Hyotei all the way next year, okay? Y'know, since we couldn't and all. Trounce Seigaku good. And Rikkai and all those other schools. Show them who Hyotei really is."
"Yeah, I guess…"
"Whaddya mean 'you guess'??? Maybe I should tell Atobe to go reconsider Hiyoshi after all."
"I really wanted us to win this year." Ohtori's tone is quiet, his knuckles white where his fingers grip the railing. "All of us."
Shishido glances sideway at his doubles partner. "…Yeah. Guess we weren't expecting that loss. That really sucked big time."
"I'm sorry."
"What are you apologizing for?" Staring at Ohtori, Shishido snorted incredulously. "We did our best, didn't we? Seigaku just got lucky. Sometimes, it all just comes down to that: luck. And so happens those lucky bastards were well, luckier that day. Besides, we won our match, didn't we?"
"I don't know, Shishido-san, I still feel-"
"Guilty, huh?"
"Kind of. Like I've somehow let everyone down."
"Heh, guess we all feel that way. Nothing we can do about it now though - we lost, Seigaku won, end of story. Still feel like beating myself up inside, but I guess we just have to well, live and learn." Shishido laughs awkwardly. "That came out weird."
Ohtori's lips quirk then and he smiles back at the one person in Hyotei who had probably 'lived and learnt' the most on their tennis team. "I thought that sounded really cool, Shishido-san."
Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Shishido mutters, "Overheard someone say it in class and it sounded decent. Kinda makes sense and all. How long does it take to start a damn tennis match around here?"
"Oi, Hiyoshi, over here!"
Hiyoshi starts slightly and turns to look over at an impatient Gakuto, tapping his foot. "Mukahi-sempai."
"You sure took your time; I've been waiting for ages. Am I the only one who still believes in punctuality these days?"
"Stop giving yourself so much credit, idiot - we were here much earlier than you. Right, Choutarou?"
"Ah, well…"
As Shishido and Ohtori approach them from the other side of the stadium. Hiyoshi nods at them briefly in acknowledgement, annoyance flitting briefly over his features. Had he, he wonders, missed something about meeting the rest of the team here today?
"That just leaves Jirou-sempai," Ohtori says, "Oshitari-sempai, and Atobe-sempai and Kabaji."
"Yuushi said he might be late." Gakuto grins, a quick flash of even, white teeth. "That idiot's probably going to show up just before the match starts or something."
As Shishido says something sarcastic which has even Ohtori chuckling, Hiyoshi thinks that perhaps this is gekokujou after all. They've fallen this year, but here they are, still standing, still watching for the chinks in the techniques of others, still waiting for their turn to rise above the others, trampling them beneath their feet.
That will be the sweetest gekokujou of all.
Then Gakuto stumbles into him, grumbles about juniors who can't tell their right feet from their left and Hiyoshi is half inclined to rethink that stand.
He does not know if Atobe will show up, whether he will turn up to watch the semi-finals going to be held at the courts soon.
Still he waits anyway, patiently and steadily. Waits for Atobe as the sunlight dances curiously over a newly-shorn head. Atobe might not be too pleased with what he had done, but it is the least he could do.
Thoughts of his match against Tezuka yesterday tickle his mind and he brushes them away placidly. Atobe hadn't been happy with the loss. It had been a fairly interesting match, but not one of note if it annoyed Atobe.
Time drifts by and he waits, watching the cottony swirl of clouds above form and reform into different shapes as they pass idly by. Waits and waits and waits.
Waits until he remembers that Atobe might want to change into the tennis Regulars' uniform before he heads over to the matches. Classes in school require the students to wear the school uniform, so unless Atobe heads over to the clubroom first before coming to meet him…
Without a second thought, Kabaji begins moving over to where the clubroom is.
He's halfway there when he notices a familiar tennis player, sitting on the bench close to the clubroom, uncharacteristically wide awake as he squints at Kabaji.
"Ah, Kabaji!" Jirou grins before yawning hugely. "Could you wake me later if I fall asleep? Don't wanna get Atobe all mad at me if I miss watching the matches 'fter all."
Kabaji nods once and Jirou beams at him happily. "Awesome~ Thanks, Kabaji!"
The clubroom is cool compared to the heat of the day outside and dark without the lights on. Locating Atobe's locker isn't hard though, and Kabaji opens it easily enough, large fingers dexterously shifting the stuff inside around the small space until they land on fabric.
Jirou is asleep by the time Kabaji exits the clubroom and relocks it behind him, pocketing the spare keys Atobe had entrusted to him. The older boy had asked to be wakened if he fell asleep, so Kabaji prods him once, twice before shaking him gently with his free hand.
When Jirou doesn't stir, Kabaji pauses and thinks. He has to get back to waiting for Atobe. But from past experiences, Jirou will not be awakened easily, leaving him with a small, minute dilemma.
He solves it after a bit of consideration - hoisting the sleeping tennis player carefully over his shoulder, Kabaji walks back to where he had been waiting. Atobe can wake him later if he really wants Jirou to watch the matches and this way, Kabaji can resume what he had been doing without any fuss.
And so Kabaji continues to wait, patiently and steadily.
Shutting the classroom door, Atobe's fingers pause on the handle, his expression cool as he regards the approaching figure, the blue and white of the Regulars jacket clashing with the warm brown color scheme of the walls.
"I take it you're going in the direction of the courts as well." Oshitari ambles up to him. "Mind if I join you?"
"Would it make any difference if I said yes?"
"Well," Oshitari affects the semblance of giving the question his utmost consideration. "I suppose if you look at it that way…"
Abruptly, Atobe turns and walks down the corridor, his footsteps staccato and crisp with exasperation, echoing in the enclosed space. Oshitari falls into step with him quickly though, his long, leisurely strides keeping up easily with Atobe's terse ones.
"I'll be meeting with Kabaji before we reach the tennis courts."
"Should I be surprised?"
"You should perhaps take the hint and go on ahead," Atobe says dryly.
"Ah." Oshitari nods but makes no move to increase his pace. "Did I ever tell you I have a cousin in Shitenhouji?"
"Likely that small unimportant fact slipped your mind."
"Likely," Oshitari agrees amiably as they turn a corner. "Not quite that unimportant though - he happens to be a particularly good tennis player. We used to play against each other when we were younger."
"I see."
"Not really, since I hadn't gotten to the part where I explain why he isn't as unimportant as you assume he is."
"You seem to be particularly vocal today."
"He's a Regular on the Shitenhouji team," Oshitari continues, ignoring Atobe's raised eyebrow. "I always thought I'd be able to meet him in an official match someday. Hyotei against Shitenhouji. And we'd win and I'd get bragging rights for a year."
The silence that suddenly envelops the corridors are stifling, a buzz that fills Atobe's ears as he stares numbly at nothing, feet protesting the unexpected halt. Beside him, the banter dies on Oshitari's lips and he stops, somber, watching Atobe as his captain's fist curls into a fist by his side.
"We should have won."
Looking up with a start, Atobe stares at Oshitari as the bespectacled tennis player chuckles humorlessly. "That's what you're thinking, aren't you? That it's your fault Hyotei's out of the running. You've been thinking that since yesterday."
"Don't be ridiculous," Atobe replies automatically. "It's not any single player's fault when a match is lost. Assuming responsibility for a loss when everyone played their best is…"
"Stupid? Probably. Shame though, I'd always pegged you as intelligent."
"As captain-"
"As captain," Oshitari interrupts coolly, "You organized the team. Decided who plays which slots. Played against Echizen. Unless I missed something in the job details..."
"You don't understand it, do you?" Atobe's voice begins to rise, too loud, almost shrill as it bounces off the silent walls. "I'm the captain of the Hyotei team. I'm the one who played that last match. I-"
"You. You, you, you." Something unreadable flashes across Oshitari's face, hovers around his features behind inscrutable eyes. "It's all about you, isn't it, Atobe? How you lost, how you let Hyotei down, how it's all your fault, your responsibility. How about thinking about something else for a change?"
"Like what?" Atobe snaps, too irate to attempt at even a mediocre grasp on his frustration.
"Like us." Oshitari's tone doesn't rise like Atobe's but drops instead, anger churning suppressed waves beneath the low inflections. "Like the rest of the team. Tennis isn't just a singles match, in case you forgot. There's a reason why we're called a tennis team."
"My match was the deciding factor-"
"So you're asking us to shovel the blame on you? Then what about Gakuto and Hiyoshi? Kabaji? They lost too, didn't they?"
"That's beside the point!"
"Then what is the point? Because no, you're right, I don't get it. See, this is what I understand - we went up against Seigaku. We lost, by an irritatingly narrow margin but still a loss. That's where you lost me because, you see, here's the part where we get stronger and Hyotei grows and plans to hand Seigaku's ass back to them next year."
"And where exactly will we be next year?"
Oshitari shrugs. "In the stands, probably - we'd have other tournaments to look forward to. We all move on, Atobe - it's called life last time I checked. Who knows where we'll go on to from Hyotei?"
It's strange, Atobe thinks as he stares at Oshitari, thinking of what comes after Hyotei. Almost as if looking on a life that isn't his own, merely a spectator. He's planned it all out like a carefully orchestrated masterpiece his parents would have approved of - a symphony of academic excellence with the counterpoint of a brilliant future woven in between the bright certificates and honors.
He doesn't recall factoring in tennis though. Tennis is only a form of curriculum, a sport, the court beneath his feet, the rush of adrenaline, the heady joys of victory, the present. Nothing more than that and everything else at the same time.
Oshitari is studying him, leaning against the closest wall. "Just saying, but the semi-finals started half an hour ago."
"Just for clarity's sake," He hears himself say, and his voice is calm, collected once more, "I still hold the opinion that we should have advanced."
"We should have, shouldn't we?"
Atobe manages a wry chuckle. "Damn that Seigaku brat. And damn you."
"What, so now it's my fault?"
"I'll let you know that Ore-sama has never been interrupted while talking."
"Ah, I suppose I broke that cardinal rule, didn't I?"
"At least four times today. Fifty laps after the Nationals are done."
They are walking again, quickly down the hallway before the bell rings and they are trapped in the mass of students that will swarm the narrow corridors and keep them a moment longer from the Nationals. Because so much could happen in a moment; a match won, a pinnacle gained, or a dream destroyed.
"Atobe," Oshitari's voice is infused with amusement once more as they stepped through the double doors of Hyotei's side entrance. "This isn't the way to the courts."
"I have no intention of turning up without being dressed appropriately." The clubroom is not too far from the tennis courts and while he isn't keen on being any later than he already is, there should be a spare Regulars jacket and uniform in his locker. Hyotei will be represented adequately, never mind that they're only onlookers.
Oshitari chuckles behind him. "If you say so. I think Kabaji may have already taken care of that though."
"Usu."
Flicking his eyes to the right, a smirk flickers across his lips, solidifies as Atobe acknowledges the large second-year. "Ah, Kabaji."
Wordlessly, Kabaji holds out his hand and the Regulars uniform within its grasp. Taking the clothing, Atobe moves towards the closest enclosed area and efficiently shrugs out of his school wear. He steps out in time to hear Oshitari remark casually, "Nice haircut, Kabaji."
"Usu."
Glaring briefly at Oshitari who grins back in reply, Atobe pulls on the jacket and it's not like coming home, but something close to it. As he pulls the zip up, a breeze ruffles his newly-shorn hair and he grimaces discreetly. Yet another reason to dislike that insufferable brat from Seigaku.
"Well," he says, and all the old arrogance is back, smug and confident. "Let's not keep them waiting for us anymore. Na, Kabaji?"
"Usu."
"Well, you guys certainly took your time,' are the first words out of Gakuto's mouth as he taps his feet impatiently, his arms crossed."Singles Three's already begun and Fuji's losing pretty badly."
"Ehhhh???" Jirou blinks awake from over Kabaji's shoulder. "Really?"
"Four to zero so far, it's not looking too good," Ohtori reports, jogging back from where he had been observing the match. "Fuji-kun's triple counters apparently don't work well against Shiraishi-san's technique. Ah, Atobe-sempai, Oshitari-sempai, Jirou-sempai and Kabaji-kun."
"It will be gekokujou..."
Shishido groans in exasperation. "Look, can we go watch the game properly now? Seriously Atobe, after how you harp about punctuality during practices and all those laps, you could've had the decency to show up on time. Y'know, like before the matches started."
"If you're all done airing your petty frustrations," Atobe says with thinly stretched patience, "I believe there's a Nationals match to watch. Na, Kabaji?"
"Usu."
"Typical,' Gakuto mutters as they all move towards the stands."Do we even get as much as an apology for waiting for our captain who doesn't know how to tell the time? Nooooo…"
But he's grinning; all of them are as the roar of the crowd rolls over them and down on the courts, Shiraishi scores another point against Fuji, the simultaneous cheers and groans a cacophony of mounting excitement. This is tennis and anything that falls short of full-blown exhilaration is forbidden here, here in the stands watching as the game unfolds, as records are broken and limits pushed. Here on the courts, playing where each volley is a lifetime and each point is a step closer to the peak.
This is tennis.
"I," Shishido yells over all the noise, "Am going to kill Seigaku if they even think about losing to Shitenhouji. Seriously, after beating us, they'd better have the decency to make it all the way."
And Atobe couldn't help but agree.
Seigaku wrests the win from Shitenhouji today.
Oshitari takes the leisurely way home on a whim, the more memorable of day's events replaying themselves in his mind as he acknowledges the many different, remarkable techniques he had seen. It's been a good day, he reflects. Not an amazing day or even an exceptionally great one, but a good one nevertheless.
His handphone rings just as he reaches home and he slips his hand into his pocket, neatly flips it open and lifts it to his ear. "I told you there was an amazing player in Kantou. Shame your team didn't get to play him properly."
Kenya's voice is crackly with static as it comes through the receiver. "We saw him play alright - he's, well, pretty good, being able to hold his own against Kintarou like that."
Frowning slightly, Oshitari's free hand fiddles with the gate, trying to get it open. "Kintarou?"
"You probably didn't see it; it was after the official matches and all. But…wow."
"Yeah, Echizen tends to do that to people."
"Just a one-point match and those two pulled out more stops than I've seen in any tennis match." Kenya laughs ruefully. "We hadn't expected any less from Kintarou of course, but Echizen…I think Echizen pushed him all-out. Made him bring out techniques even I haven't seen before."
"Sounds like Echizen to me. He gave our captain a royal headache in our matches."
"You gave me the impression that he was in Hyotei when I called you some time back."
"Ah, I don't recall ever saying he was a Hyotei Regular. I thought you had learnt to stop jumping to conclusions." The gate slides open at last and he steps unto the small pathway, his smirk evident even through the phone's tiny speaker. A crackly laugh echoes in his ear.
"In any case, Hyotei's team was pretty strong this year - caught a few of your matches against Seigaku earlier. Missed yours though, sorry. They'll likely air it on TV though, so I'll watch it then."
"Is."
"Huh?"
A smile settles on the edges of Oshitari's lips as he looks up at the darkening evening sky, dropping his bag at his feet as he admires it. "Hyotei is strong, not was strong. You'd better watch out next year; Hyotei just might trample all over you."
Kenya snorts. "Yeah, as if. We'll still have Kintarou on our team."
"And Seigaku will still have Echizen. And," Oshitari chuckles, "Hyotei will still be Hyotei." Hyotei with all its prideful arrogance, Hyotei that hates to lose, Hyotei that does not buckle under pressure, but rather, thrives on it. This is the Hyotei Oshitari had signed up for in his first year, this is the Hyotei he will leave behind after he graduates.
And this will be the Hyotei who just might sweep the Championship back next year.
Kenya's voice is a drone in his ear as he goes on about how the Finals might turn out and how his whole team is looking forward to watching it. Oshitari ignores it as he slips his shoes off, his mind wandering to other more interesting things.
"Hey…"
"Yeah?"
"Before you guys go back to Osaka, how about us having a one-on-one match?"
There is a brief pause before Kenya speaks again, good-naturedly teasing. "Awww, I didn't know you missed being beaten that badly."
"If I recall correctly, you have the facts inversed."
"Oh, really? Maybe it's high time for me to refresh your memory."
"Or me yours." They toss around possible dates and locations before Kenya's phone battery starts to die and he hurriedly hangs up before it gives out altogether. Snapping his handphone shut, Oshitari could only shake his head and pick up his bag again.
"Yuushi?" His mother's voice floats from the direction of the kitchen along with the aroma of dinner as he enters the house. "Is that you?"
"Ah," he calls out in reply. "I'm back."
And as he pads up to his room, a yawn catches him unaware and he stretches leisurely. It's been a long day, he muses. A good day with the prospect of tennis practice tomorrow and those fifty laps Atobe gave him.
He laughs unexpectedly and shakes his head in resigned amusement. So life goes on after the Nationals, after the world seems to have fallen, after losing. And, as one by one, the others realize this too, he knows there's still such a long way to go. Still so much more to achieve and aim for. Still so many matches waiting.
After all, there's always tennis to look forward to.
When a dream dies
We overlook the beauty in ashes
And turn our faces towards the kindling of a new flame.