(no subject)

[fishie]

Kawamura took the first game without Haruhi scoring a point. She walked back to the bench, shaking her head at herself. It was the first time in her admittedly short tennis career that she'd lost a game so quickly.

"It's a tactical maneuver," Kyouya said from behind her. She lowered her water bottle to look at him, unsurprised to find that he hadn't looked away from his laptop.

"Kawamura Takashi is most certainly not the best player to face you with, taking into account your play styles, strengths and weaknesses. They obviously know that you're new, and are looking to take advantage of that." Only then did Kyouya look up, adjusting his glasses with a deceptively sunny smile.

After a moment, Haruhi nodded, setting her water bottle down on the bench. Kyouya was right, after all (notoriously, but specifically this time); it was probably just a diversion tactic of some sort. And she'd fallen right into their trap.

"Haruhi," her captain's voice rang out from his place higher up in the bleachers. She looked up, frowning and shielding her eyes from the bright afternoon sun. Tamaki was standing, arms folded, sunglasses in one hand and smiling. "Don't let them tangle you up. Just do what you've always done, okay? Play tennis." He slid his sunglasses back on and blew her a kiss. "You'll do fine!"

Despite herself, Haruhi smiled a little. Tamaki was right, too, for once. If she could just ignore all the ridiculous distractions, she could at least play well, if not win. She stepped onto the other side of the court.



Having carefully pried the racket from Kawamura's hand, Fuji placed it on the bench and replaced it with a water bottle, beaming up at his teammate. "You're doing great, Taka-san."

"Yeah!" Eiji agreed, slinging an arm around Fuji's shoulders and grinning along with him. "At this rate, Tezuka won't get to play!"

"Inui-sempai wouldn't even be playing," Momoshiro said from where he lie on the bleachers, "if Mamushi could hit a ball."

Kaidoh hissed. "You weren't any better, moron."

"That's enough," Tezuka interrupted, finally tearing his eyes from the information Inui was showing him. "Neither of you were prepared for the match today."

"We didn't know we'd be playing doubles!" Momoshiro protested, sitting up. "That's not fair, Tezuka-buchou; it's just not fair!"

"Enough. You won't always get advance warning. In the future, be more prepared to play wherever you're placed." The second-year sighed and slumped back onto the bleacher, and Tezuka turned back to Inui's laptop.

"Here it is," Inui was saying, pointing to an article he'd pulled up while Tezuka was distracted. "Their captain, Suoh Tamaki, is the sole heir to his family's considerable fortune, as well as the multiple businesses that go with it. He was born in France, and is half-Japanese on his father's side."

Tezuka nodded. "That's fine. What about his tennis?"

Inui adjusted his glasses. "About that...."



Kyouya smiled and shut his laptop with a click as Tamaki settled beside him. "You're worried."

"Not really," Tamaki mused, fiddling with his sunglasses. "She can do this, I'm sure of it."

"And what about you?"

"M-me?" Tamaki laughed, straightening. "I'll be absolutely fine, Kyouya! After all, God has graced no other man with tennis skills to match my own." He spread his arms, grinning at his friend.

Kyouya just adjusted his glasses and smiled that indecipherable smile. "If you say so." After a moment, he said, "Tezuka Kunimitsu has been watched by the professional tennis circuit since he was thirteen. He's an intimidating player."

"And what about you?" Tamaki repeated Kyouya's question.

"Me?" Kyouya echoed Tamaki's answer in calmer tones. "I'll be absolutely fine, Tamaki."



"Game set, won by Kawamura! Six games to four!"

The twins and Honey greeted Haruhi as she made her way back to the bench to collapse.

"Good game, Haruhi!" Hikaru and Kaoru chorused, materializing on either side of her. One of them handed her a water bottle — not hers, but she was too tired to care — and she drank gratefully.

"You're going to have to run laps for losing, though," Hikaru chided, only half-jokingly.

Kaoru added smugly, "Fukubuchou said we could wait until after the match."

"Which probably means he'll try to make us run alongside the limo," Hikaru chimed in. "It was seven to six, anyway. We only barely lost."

"The three of you can make the trip together," Kyouya called from a few feet away. He was standing now, racket tucked under one arm, adjusting his wristband.

Haruhi slumped low on the bench in time to the twins' groaning.



"Ootori Kyouya," Inui said aloud, turning his racket in his hands. "Third son of the world-renowned Ootori Group. I'm led to believe that he's left-handed, and an aggressive baseliner, but I don't think I do."

"Why not?" Eiji asked, coming to stand beside Inui with his hands laced behind his head.

"Because every online video of their team's matches has been taken down. I believe he's attempting to mislead me." Inui watched closely as Kyouya took his racket from beneath his right arm, using his left hand. "An admirable attempt, at that." Smiling now, Inui strode onto the court.

Eiji looked on as the two players shook hands at the net, then suddenly shivered and dashed to Oishi's side, squeezing between him and Fuji. "Look at them smiling!" he said. "How creepy."

"It's too bad Inui requested Singles Two," Fuji said ruefully. "It could have been me out there."

Eiji quietly slipped around to the other side of Oishi. Fuji chuckled.



As it turned out, Kyouya was right-handed, which he showed quickly enough. He lost the first game on his left hand, and took the next three with his right, much to Inui's dismay. He was also a defensive baseliner, and spent the entire match being everywhere at once.

After the fifth game (Inui's), the two of them passed close to the net on their way off the court, and stopped.

"You play a good defensive right-handed game, for a left-handed aggressive baseliner," was all Inui said.

Kyouya just smiled.



"Game set, won by Ootori! Seven games to six!"



Kyouya met Tamaki courtside, where the older boy was setting his sunglasses on the bench and raking a hand through his hair.

"He's ambidextrous, and no easy opponent, Tamaki. He's leagues above the rest of his team, save perhaps Fuji."

Tamaki aimed a brilliant smile Kyouya's way, picking up his racket. "I'll just have to blind him with my stunning beauty, then."

"It'll probably reflect off his glasses."



"Can I keep score for your match, Tezuka?" Fuji asked, sliding up beside his captain.

Tezuka glanced at him once, then nodded. "I don't see why not, if Morinozuka-kun has no problem with it."

Smile growing, Fuji turned to slide away.

"Fuji."

"... Yes?"

"Intimidation tactics are better used on the court than to obtain a referee's position."

"... Yes, Tezuka." Fuji headed for the referee's chair.

"Morinozuka-kun?" he asked as he approached. The tall boy looked down at him. "May I?"

After a moment, Mori nodded and stepped down, bowing slightly before beginning to walk away. Fuji climbed up into the chair with ill-concealed glee.

The view was much better from here.



Tamaki beamed at Tezuka as he took his hand. "You know, I've heard much about you, Tezuka-kun," he said, and Tezuka was struck with the strange, exotic sound of a French accent. "They say you'll go pro someday."

"It's my hope to do so," Tezuka admitted, releasing Tamaki's hand. He stepped back first. He'd gotten the feeling that if he didn't, Tamaki would be inclined to stay at the net and talk Singles One out.

Tamaki did look disappointed at the short answer, but he touched his racket head to the ground, fingertips on the handle, and asked, "Which?"

"Smooth," Tezuka answered.

The racket landed rough, to which Tamaki remarked happily in French as he picked it up and backed away to the service line.



Even with the minor distractions that Tamaki's foreign exclamations provided, Tezuka had no problems taking Seigaku's third match of the day. The final score was six games to four, much to the surprise of Ouran's other players (even Kyouya, who had expected Tamaki to take no more than two games, and that was if he was lucky). And much to the surprise of Seigaku's, Tamaki seemed unruffled.

He met Tezuka at the net again, still wearing the same bright smile as before, and shook his hand with renewed vigor.

"Your tennis is truly a gift!" he declared, gesturing extravagantly with his racket. "I am honoured to have played on the same court with you, Tezuka-kun," he informed the other captain. When Tezuka let his hand go, it went right to his face, where his fingers splayed elegantly against his cheek and his eyes closed. "Please, do me the honour again soon. We would love to play your team again."

It struck Tezuka, then, what was so incredibly disconcerting about Suoh Tamaki.



"Who on Earth could have reminded you of me?"

Tezuka sighed. "He's the captain of one of Chuubu's tennis teams, Ouran. His name is —"

"Suoh Tamaki?" Tezuka had never seen his boyfriend move so fast off of a tennis court. Atobe had stood up so sharply, he'd nearly upset his chair.

"Yes, that's his name. Do you —"

"Reminds you of me?!" Atobe looked sincerely horrified.

Tezuka looked annoyed. "That's what I said."

"I can't believe you see some bizarre resemblance. He's an imbecile." Atobe resumed his seat carefully.

Raising his eyebrows, Tezuka picked up his tea. "I can't believe you don't see the resemblance. You both think you're God's gift to the world, for starters."

"I'm my gift to the world," Atobe clarified, folding his hands beneath his chin and looking at Tezuka. "More importantly than that —"

"There's something more important than that?"

Atobe ignored the dry-humoured interruption. "— there are plenty of people who think they're God's gift to the world. Suoh is just one among many." After a pause, he asked, "When did you have occasion to play a school from Chuubu?"

"Last weekend. I'm not sure what they were doing in Kantou, but it seemed like they'd come specifically to play us."

"Odd," Atobe remarked, arching a brow and picking up his latte carefully to study the rosetta on the surface. "You'd think that if they'd come to Kantou, it would be to play us."



"Ah, so you do practice on Saturdays!"

Heads turned. Suoh Tamaki was making his way around the fence surrounding the only currently-used courts on Hyoutei's campus. He laughed airily. "I thought as much; Keigo-kun couldn't let you rest for a second, could he? You must all be so overworked."

As Tamaki stepped through the gate, his teammates behind him, Gakuto leaned toward his doubles partner with a frown. "Who the hell are they?" he asked, not bothering to lower his voice much.

"I... have no idea," Yuushi answered helplessly.

"You mean Keigo-kun doesn't talk about me?" Tamaki exclaimed, sounding despairing. He looked around then, the first hint of an unhappy expression flitting across his face. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He's not at practice today," Shishido answered, shouldering his racket with a scowl. "So if you're looking for him, you can get lost."

Tamaki paused, counting the players on the court. "I think I'll stay, actually. There are seven of you, after all; we can have a game without Keigo-kun, can't we?"



"Tamaki," Kyouya said once they'd regrouped, his eyes on the other team. "We should try a different lineup."

Tamaki nearly choked on his water. "Why? There's nothing wrong with our lineup, is there? Am I not playing well enough? — This is about the match with Tezuka-kun, isn't it? Kyouya, I promise, I'll play better!"

Kyouya shook his head. "That's not it. I just think a little change might be in order."

Hesitantly, Tamaki asked, "What sort of change?"

"I want you to play Singles Three."

"But then Haruhi would be in Singles One! They're bound to put her up against their best!"

"No," Kyouya replied, smiling to himself, "they expect you to be our best, so to be on the safe side, they assume they can't beat you, Tamaki. They're counting on three of the other four matches. They'll put their weakest in Singles One. Haruhi will be fine, and you'll be up against whoever would have beaten her, otherwise."

Glancing over, he saw that his friend still looked uneasy, so he transformed his smile into something a little more reassuring. "Trust me, Tamaki. It's just a preemptive strike."



"This might not be a good idea," Choutarou was saying, glancing surreptitiously over his shoulder at the Ouran players.

"We can take them," Shishido argued, elbowing Choutarou lightly. "Look, if we can't win without Atobe, we're lame."

"No kidding," Gakuto agreed. "We have to kick their asses. What's our singles lineup?"

"I want Singles One."

It was Hiyoshi, a bit unexpectedly. Shishido was about to agree when Choutarou shook his head.

"You'll have to play with Mukahi-sempai this time, Hiyoshi-kun."

"What?" Gakuto straightened from the huddle, irate. "No way!"

"It's the only way," Choutarou insisted, bowing slightly in apology. "Oshitari-sempai has to play Singles Two if we want to take even three matches."

The group paused collectively. Finally, Shishido asked, "All right, Choutarou, spill. What do you know?"

Choutarou sighed, rocking back on his heels. "Their lineup is pretty static, and their Singles Two player would take apart anyone but Oshitari-sempai. If Jirou-sempai plays Singles Three, we're almost guaranteed that game. Their Singles Three player is good, but he's new. Shishido-san and I in Doubles One and Oshitari-sempai in Singles Two gives us two toss-up matches. Mukahi-sempai and Hiyoshi-kun might stand a chance against their Doubles Two, but we probably can't touch their Singles One."

"How do you know so much about their team?" Yuushi asked, looking baffled.

Choutarou took a deep breath, then smiled. "Oh, that doesn't matter, does it? We have our lineup now, so let's get started."



At the net, Gakuto stared down at the bouncing blond boy, who held his hand out with a cheerful, oblivious smile. "You've gotta be kidding."

All at once, a much larger hand was being offered to him, and Gakuto looked up — way up. The tall boy grunted and gestured with the proffered hand, prompting Gakuto to take it, glaring balefully up at him.

Hiyoshi reached carefully across to shake the blond's hand in the interim.

As the two pairs backed away, Gakuto looked over at Hiyoshi. "There's no way. That kid's gotta be, like... twelve. He's no highschooler."

"As long as he plays tennis well, I don't care," Hiyoshi answered.



"Game set, won by Morinozuka-Haninozuka pair! Six games to three!"

Hiyoshi bowed at the net when he reached it. He and Gakuto had clearly underestimated their opponents, particularly Haninozuka Mitsukuni. It was very clear to Hiyoshi now.

"Thank you for the game, Haninozuka-san."

Honey's grin stretched from ear to ear. "Good game, Waka-chan!"

Hiyoshi felt his cheeks heating up as he hurried off the court.

Gakuto followed. "Hey! Where d'you think you're going?! Someone needs to teach you how to play tennis, kid!"



Shishido nudged Choutarou as they walked to the net. "Can you tell them apart?"

"No," Choutarou confessed. "I've never actually met them. I know they can mimic each other's play styles perfectly, though. This'll be a lot like Doubles One with Rikkai, only a little more confusing." He laughed a little, but it wasn't the borderline-nervous laugh Shishido was expecting. It was something relaxed and cool, and Shishido stole a glance at his younger partner in the moment that followed.

Choutarou's eyes were calm and his expression confident. When they came to the net, Shishido looked on in mild wonder as Choutarou's head tipped back at a slight, disdainful angle, the corner of his mouth catching on a smirk. It was so characteristically Hyoutei, but so uncharacteristic for Choutarou.

They each shook hands with one of the twins, who grinned maddeningly, and retreated to their side of the court.



The first three games flew by. Shishido was distracted, sneaking looks at his partner throughout the match, and Choutarou owned the court. The twins were good, and damn confusing, but Choutarou won the first three games for Hyoutei with little help from Shishido.

At the bench, Shishido watched Choutarou take a long drink, still wearing the same look of amazement that he'd been wearing the whole match so far.

"What the hell's gotten into you, Choutarou?"

Choutarou lowered the bottle suddenly, nearly spilling it on himself. "W-what?"

Shishido gestured by way of explanation. "You're tearing it apart out there. You're practically playing singles, and you've been getting these... Atobe looks." He tried to insert as much contempt in his voice as he could, though if he was being honest, it looked ten times better on Choutarou than it ever had on Atobe.

With a slight, almost embarrassed laugh, Choutarou set down his water bottle. "I'm sorry, Shishido-san. It's just — I really want to win this match."

Shishido grinned a little. Choutarou was a dedicated player, but it was rare to see him this fired up. He sure as hell wasn't going to discourage it. "Nothin' to be sorry about. Just remember you're not the only one on the court, okay? We'll win this together." He gave the second-year a gentle punch to the shoulder before heading out onto the opposite court.



"Game set, won by Shishido-Ootori pair! Seven games to five!"

Now Shishido and Choutarou grinned madly as the four shook hands at the net. The twins looked a little dejected.

As they walked away, Shishido faintly heard, "It's a lot further back from Hyoutei's courts than it was from Seigaku's. D'you think he'll make us run the whole way?"

Choutarou laughed sharply beside him, startling him. "Count on it!" he called back to the twins.



On the bleachers, Kabaji sat gently shaking Jirou awake. Tamaki was already making his way onto the court.

Jirou blinked sleepy eyes. "Mmn? Hey, Atobe's not even here today... don' make me practice...."

Before he could lie his head back down, Kabaji said, "You have a match."

The older boy sat up. "Really?" he asked, his voice still cracking with grogginess. "With who?"

Kabaji pointed out on the court. Jirou widened his eyes to look more closely, then stumbled to his feet. "Whoa! He looks so cool! Who is he?" Before Kabaji could answer — not that he was planning to — Jirou was down the bleachers and on the court. Just before he would have reached Tamaki, he realized something.

"Oh!" He turned back toward Kabaji just in time to catch his racket. He blinked, then waved it and grinned. "Thank you!" Racket in hand, he dashed up to Tamaki.

"Hi!" he announced, bright-eyed. "Who're you?"

Tamaki beamed. "I," he said, with all the self-importance of any Hyoutei boy, "am Suoh Tamaki." He placed an elegant hand to his chest indicatively.

Jirou's eyes, if it were possible, got even wider. "Wow! Really?! Suoh Tamaki? That's great! Let's have a great match, Suoh-kun!" He grabbed Tamaki's hand from his chest and shook it vigorously, then leapt over the net to his side of the court while Tamaki was recovering.

"Which?" he asked, managing to make it sound like an urgent question.

"Ah... rough," answered Tamaki faintly.

It landed rough.



"Wait, what is their Singles One player doing out there?" Choutarou asked suddenly, sitting up. Shishido blinked and sat up as well.

"Playing Singles Three, it looks like."

Choutarou muttered a word that Shishido hadn't even been aware he knew. "I should've guessed."

Frowning, Shishido reached over and rubbed Choutarou's shoulder. "Hey, relax. I'm sure Jirou's got it covered."

"Doubtful," Choutarou sighed, settling back. "I just hope Oshitari-sempai and Kabaji-kun can pull through for us."

"Hey, we'll be fine. Don't sweat it." Shishido smiled at Choutarou.



"Game set, won by —"

"That was so cool!"

Tamaki threw his arms out demonstratively, then spun his racket to take a backhand grip and wrapped his arms around himself. "Wasn't it just?" Somehow, he sounded just as enraptured as Jirou.

"Could you two let me announce the score?" Yuushi asked irritably. "Game set, won by Suoh, six games to two." With that, he climbed down from the referee's stand and grabbed his racket.



"Be careful, Oshitari-sempai," Choutarou said, shifting from foot to foot next to the bench. "It'll be a tough match."

"No problem," Yuushi replied confidently. "I've had plenty of tough matches."



He wasn't lying, but he had to admit, he'd never had a match quite like this.

Kyouya's technique was remarkable, and he was almost without exception three steps ahead of Yuushi the whole way. He covered the entire court apparently effortlessly.

This would, indeed, be a tough match.



Shishido watched Choutarou hang on every swing and rally, holding his breath until each point was made. What he couldn't figure out was why this particular match mattered so much to Choutarou. The younger boy had been relaxed enough through Mukahi and Hiyoshi's match, perfectly confident in their own match, and rueful but resigned during Tamaki and Jirou's. Now, though, he was on the edge of his seat.

"Game set, won by Oshitari! Seven games to six!"

Choutarou breathed, then laughed. "Yes," he exalted, leaning back against Shishido and grinning up at him.

"We just need one more game," said Shishido, ignoring the little flutter in his chest. "One more game, and then we can toss it in Atobe's face when he gets back."

But damned if Choutarou didn't look like they'd already won.



When Kyouya came off the court, he wasn't smiling. He'd smiled through the score call, the handshake, and smiled until Yuushi was at his back. Now he gently tossed his racket on the bench, eyes dark.

"Haruhi."

Haruhi, some feet away, was testing her racket strings. She looked up. "Huh?"

"Come here."

She obediently came to her vice-captain's side, looking curious. "What is it?"

Kyouya ran a finger beneath his wristband, staring off into the distance. "Kabaji Munehiro. He's fast and agile for his size, so don't let him fool you. He's a lot smarter than he looks. His play style involves copying his opponents' play styles. Essentially, you will be playing yourself."

Haruhi's eyes were wide. It didn't sound like something she was ready for. Then Kyouya's hand landed on her shoulder. She focused on his face.

"You will win this match."

Somehow, Haruhi thought, staring into Kyouya's darkened eyes.



Haruhi's hand disappeared into Kabaji's when they shook. She tried hard not to stare up at him. She would win this match.

She just had to beat herself, right? She wasn't such a tough opponent.

Somehow, it wasn't a comforting thought. After all, if she could beat herself, then couldn't herself beat her? That kind of circular logic couldn't possibly get her through.



But it did. Barely.

"Game set, won by Fujioka! Seven games to six!"

The tiebreak had been even closer than Kyouya's had been with Yuushi, and Haruhi's exhaustion certainly showed more than Kyouya's had. She collapsed onto the bench, gasping for breath.

Then she screamed.

Laughter rang out on either side of her as she sat bolt upright, now soaking wet with water as well as sweat. "Hikaru! Kaoru!" she exclaimed.

"Way to go, Haruhi!" they sing-songed, draping their arms around her. "Good job!"

Tamaki leapt from the bleachers into the court, laughing gaily. "I knew you could do it, Haruhi!" He rescued her promptly from the twins' arms, attempting to set her on her feet. Her legs wouldn't cooperate, and neither would her arms when she tried to push him away.

"Tamaki-buchou!"

"Oh, you're all sweaty," Tamaki nearly crooned. He pressed his cheek to Haruhi's and hugged her close. "I'm so proud of you."



Across the court, Jirou and Choutarou helped Kabaji onto the bench and thrust water and a towel at him, patting him on the back.

"Damn," Gakuto was muttering, leaning against the front wall of the bleachers. "One game's difference. If Hiyoshi could play doubles, they wouldn't be dancing and laughing like idiots."

Hiyoshi, looking affronted, opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by a cheerful Jirou.

"No, they'd still be dancing and laughing." He grinned Gakuto's way. "They're no sore losers."

"Well, most of them, anyway," Choutarou added, with a brief, wolfish grin that sent shivers down Shishido's spine.



The two teams met at the net, and Choutarou made it a point to rearrange their order when they did. He stepped up directly across from Kyouya, reaching out to take his hand with an amiable smile.

"Good game," he said innocuously.

Kyouya's smile was piercing. "Quite."

The rest of Hyoutei looked a little nervous when they turned to walk away.



"Do you know if Keigo-kun will be back anytime today?" Tamaki was asking Jirou brightly.

"Well... he said he had a few business meetings, so we might not see him at all until Monday," Jirou answered, looking regretful.

Tamaki looked just as crestfallen. "Oh... that's too bad. I was hoping I'd at least get to say hello."

"How precious," a voice called from off-court. "You've missed me."




Fourteen heads turned his way, and Atobe smirked.

"Keigo-kun!"

The smirk froze in place. He had to be hearing things. The whole afternoon spent talking about the idiot was clearly causing him to become paranoid — he jerked his head to look up at the top of the bleachers, where the call had come from, just in time to be violently embraced.

"Keigo-kun!" Tamaki purred, placing a kiss on each of Atobe's cheeks. "I'm so glad you came back before we left! It would have been a shame to have to leave without having seen you, after all."

"Yes, wouldn't it?" Atobe agreed automatically. He was trying to remove himself from the younger captain's grasp without looking too much like a cat grabbed by a two-year-old. "Let go of me, Suoh."

Tamaki paid the order no mind. "It's too bad you missed the match, too. It was wonderful! Your doubles teams are really something, and that Oshitari-kun! How amazing!"

Atobe stopped struggling for a moment. "You had a match without me?" he asked, sounding a little more disgruntled than he'd meant to. He aimed an incensed look at his teammates cross-court on the other bleachers and watched them scuff their feet.

"Oh! We can surely have another match soon! After all, I think neither of us were using our best possible lineup," Tamaki assured him, finally releasing him only to smooth down his shirt. "Did you wear this to your meetings? It's a little Milan-casual, don't you think?"

"What? No." Atobe brushed Tamaki's hands away. "I changed before I came here. How did the match go?" He was fully expecting to hear that Tamaki had gone cheerfully to the slaughter — or at least that his team had.



"Atobe doesn't look happy," Jirou observed from his place in the bleachers with Ouran. "I hope he's not too mad at us for losing."

Honey sat back and looked at the small, curly pigtails he'd fixed in the other blond's hair. "It should be okay. You didn't lose badly, after all. Takashi and I had a hard time with your Gaku-chan and Waka-chan."

A grin cracked over Jirou's previously-solemn face. "Gaku-chan. Have you called him that to his face yet?"

"I didn't really talk to him," Honey laughed. "But Waka-chan heard me say his name, I think."

Jirou tore his eyes from the two captains and looked back at Honey. "You should make sure Gakuto hears you call him 'Gaku-chan' before you leave."



Yuushi reclined on the bleachers and watched his captain approach. Atobe looked acutely irritated, and Yuushi thought of it as a nice thing to see. Tamaki, for his part, was tagging along behind Atobe, talking him up for a rematch.

"We'll be in the area for a little while yet," he was saying, oblivious (or heedless) to the older boy's annoyance. "As fun as this match was, I hardly think it was fair, you know? And we wouldn't dream of leaving Kantou without having graced you, personally, with the privilege of seeing our amazing tennis skills." Tamaki's smile reflected sunlight.

"Next weekend, then," Atobe asserted, without turning to face Tamaki. "Some of us find matters such as attending school to be quite the pressing issue."

"All the tennis club regulars were given leave," Tamaki said in response to the jab. "It's for educational purposes, after all."

Atobe finally turned around, expression a little incredulous. "You mean to tell me that the superintendent actually — oh, no." He cut himself off, as if he'd realized something. "Of course he actually bought that. He is your father."

The other captain seemed to bristle slightly at the implication. "Keigo-kun! I would never use my position as the superintendent's son to commit acts of delinquency!"

"Not knowingly, no. But that's not what I meant." Atobe had returned his attention to his team, and Yuushi could see the beginnings of a frown creasing his brow. "I meant that he'd have bought it because he's your father, and stupidity begets stupidity." Before Tamaki could launch into further protests, he went on, "Where is Jirou?"

Lazily, Yuushi lifted a hand toward Ouran's adopted side of the bleachers. Atobe sighed.

"Jirou! Stop fraternizing with the enemy and get over here!"

"Keigo-kun, we are not your enemies!" Tamaki objected, looking shocked. "I can't imagine what I might have done to make you feel that way! Are you threatened by my tennis skills? My beauty? My charm? You know that I would never use them against you, don't you, Keigo-kun?"

Atobe closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "Suoh. I think your rookie's calling you."

As if drawn by some force of magic, Tamaki spun on his heel and bounded cross-court. "Haruhi~!" he singsonged on his way.

"You know," Yuushi drawled as soon as Tamaki was halfway gone, "I don't think I've ever seen any one person piss you off quite so much in such short order."

"Shut up, Oshitari."



Jirou bid Honey goodbye with a quick hug before descending the bleachers to jog across the courts to his captain. He grinned at Tamaki as they passed each other, but the other boy paid him little mind. He made a beeline for the boy who'd beaten Kabaji earlier. "Haruhi~!" he crooned, sweeping the boy up.

When Jirou stepped up into the bleachers past Atobe, he asked mock-casually, "Atobe, why don't you show us affection like that?"

Gakuto repressed a laugh, then said loudly, "I, for one, am glad he doesn't."

"He's right, Atobe," Yuushi chimed. "We'd be a tighter-knit team if our captain was more loving."

Atobe stopped short of making an undignified growling noise. "I'll buy all of you new cars on your next birthday if you just stop talking."

"Money isn't love, Atobe," Jirou answered sadly as he fell into place and sprawled sideways, head in Gakuto's lap. "Neither are cars. Can't you just give us hugs for our birthday?"

"Shut up, Jirou. I need a new car," Shishido cut in. "Don't ruin this for the rest of us."

"Walk me through the match," Atobe demanded, successfully cutting off Choutarou's impending scolding. "Doubles Two to Singles One, play-by-play."

"Mukahi-sempai and I played Doubles Two," Hiyoshi offered, "because Ootori-kun said that Oshitari-sempai had to play Singles Two."

Atobe cast Choutarou a strange look, but gestured for Hiyoshi to go on. Before the second-year could continue, however, an upbeat hip-hop melody rang through the air, and Jirou sat bolt upright.

Gakuto reached out to grab both of his friend's hands as Jirou started going through his bag beneath the bleacher. "No! Do not answer that."

"Why not?" Jirou's eyes were wide.

"We're at practice!"

"You answer your phone all the time at practice!"

"Do not answer that." Atobe repeated Gakuto's words. He neither knew nor cared why Gakuto was so concerned with stopping Jirou, but he didn't want Jirou on the phone while they were going over the matches.

Jirou looked devastated. "Atobe! You're on the phone during practice all the time, too!" When Atobe opened his mouth, undoubtedly to say 'That's a different story,' Jirou rushed to add, "At least let me tell him I'll call him back later!"

With a sigh, Atobe waved a dismissive hand. Jirou scrambled to answer his phone.



"Yeah, I'm still at practice," Marui replied, laughing. "Actually, we haven't started yet. We have our practices late, because Seiichi's a monster in the mornings. Renji says it's safer this way." He could hear Atobe speaking in the background, so he asked, "Are you still at practice?"

"Yeah!" Jirou answered enthusiastically — Marui swore he knew very few other people who would be so excited about being at practice on a Saturday. "It ran late, kind of, because another team showed up asking for a match."

"Another team?" Marui popped a bubble, carefully shouldering the phone so that he could tie his shoes. Jirou hadn't specified which, so Marui had to wonder if it was a lesser-known team, or one Jirou had never played before.

"Ouran Academy. I guess their captain is a friend of Atobe's."

Laughing again, Marui straightened. "Atobe has friends?"

"Marui-kun."

"Sorry, sorry." The redhead hit the speakerphone button and placed the phone on top of the lockers. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Yukimura shaking his head. Yukimura was the only one on the team who seemed to disagree with Marui's 'relationship' with Jirou — that is, the fact that there really wasn't one.

Marui went on 'dates' with Akutagawa Jirou on a regular basis. They hung out on- and off-court, at one another's houses, and spent plenty of time talking on the phone. Anyone who didn't know better — anyone outside of Rikkai's regulars — would have thought that they were engaged in a happy, healthy, loving relationship, as so many teens their age were.

What the Rikkai regulars knew, however, was that Marui's 'relationship' with Jirou was more like a competition. He and Seigaku's Fuji Syuusuke had both spent the better part of the last six months 'courting' Jirou. It was a horrible game, sure — Marui knew how much Jirou looked up to the both of them — but he, at least, wasn't out to hurt Jirou. He'd kept things as platonic as he could. He couldn't speak for Fuji Syuusuke, though.

"Well, hey, when my practice lets out, d'you want me to come pick you up? We could go out for lunch."

"Sure! H-hold on." Jirou's voice became further from the phone, and he seemed to be calling out to someone in the background. "I played Suoh-kun! That was the last match Oshitari refereed," he shouted before he put the phone back to his ear. "Atobe's really mad about this whole match, for some reason. I think it's just because he wasn't here, which he probably thinks is the reason we lost."

Yukimura leaned suddenly on the locker bank beside the phone. "Who were you playing?"

There was a pause from the phone before Jirou seemed to recognize the new voice. "Oh! Hi, Yukimura-kun. Ah, we played a school from Chuubu — Ouran Academy. Their captain is a friend of Atobe's."

"What's a school from Chuubu doing all the way out here?" the younger captain asked, moving away slightly to pull on a shirt.

"Playing Kantou's better schools, I think. They played Seigaku before they came here."

"And they haven't been here yet?" It would have sounded arrogant from anyone else; Yukimura managed to make it sound sincerely hurt.

Jirou made a startled sort of noise. "Haven't they? I'll have to remind them, then."

"You shouldn't have to remind them," Sanada interjected from the other side of Yukimura. Yukimura waved a hand at him.

"Do so, please? We'd love to play them. And give their captain my number — Atobe has it."

"Sure!" Jirou was cheerful. "I'll do that. His name's Suoh Tamaki."

"Thank you!" Yukimura matched Jirou's tone, inflection for inflection. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to drag Bunta to practice."

"Oh, sure thing! Sorry for keeping him, Yukimura-kun."



"Yukimura Seiichi's number?" Atobe raised an eyebrow, but had pulled out the cellphone he had on him. "Couldn't you have gotten that from Marui?"

"Yukimura-kun himself said you had it; he wanted you to give it to Suoh-kun." Jirou was settling back into Gakuto's lap. "They want to play Ouran."

Atobe's eyes glinted briefly. "I see. Very well, then. I suppose I have no choice." He turned, putting a congenial half-smirk on his face as he started across the courts. "Suoh!"



Haruhi took a deep, almost gasping breath when her captain released her in favour of the approaching boy. "Thank you, Tamaki-buchou."

Tamaki leaned over the front wall of the bleachers, alarmingly close to Atobe's face. "Yes, Keigo-kun?"

Admirably, Atobe didn't flinch. Instead, he handed his cellphone to Tamaki with a charming smile.

"A friend of mine mentioned wanting to play your team," he said. "He's the captain of one of the teams in the Kanagawa prefecture; maybe you've heard of him?"

Tamaki cocked his head, looking up from the numbers on the cellphone display.

"Yukimura Seiichi."



"You set them up to play Rikkai?"

"I set no one up," Atobe objected, readjusting his headset as he settled down at his desk. "Yukimura asked, and I delivered. I'm only doing what I do best — making people happy."

There was a brief, humourous silence on the other end of the line. "I see. When will they be playing?"

"Well, Suoh and I settled on a proper rematch next Saturday. I believe Yukimura will consent to Sunday. I'd like you to be at both matches."

"Just me?" Tezuka sounded neither pleased nor displeased, but Atobe liked to think he was the former.

"You can bring the team if you like," he conceded, setting aside a stack of papers. "They might be able to learn a thing or two from watching me play." He didn't need to be sitting across from Tezuka to know that the younger boy was rolling his eyes. "Really, I think it would be a good experience for all teams involved."

"You're probably right."

"I'm always right."



Akaya looked up. "Niou-sempai, stop," he said, moving to sit up straight. Niou pushed down harder on his back, nearly flattening Akaya's body along his legs. "Niou-sempai!"

"Grab that phone, Yagyuu," Niou said calmly, resting most of his weight on his underclassman's back.

Yagyuu glanced from his ankle weights to the phone on the bench, then back to his ankle weights.

"Yagyuu," Niou warned. Akaya opened his mouth again, and Niou reached down to cover it before he could yell to Yukimura that his phone was ringing. Yukimura was a court away; he couldn't hear his phone from there, but he'd definitely hear Akaya's big mouth. "Give me the damn phone; don't be a priss."

Yagyuu waited until the sixth ring before leaning over to pick up the phone and tossing it offhandedly to his partner.

Grinning, Niou flipped it open and put on his best Yukimura voice, deliberately a little out of breath.

"Hello?"

"Yukimura-kun!" a cheerful, unfamiliar and heavily-accented voice greeted him.

Niou let a moment pass by, in which he breathed loudly. "Y-yes?"

"This is Suoh Tamaki, Ouran Academy's tennis club captain," the voice said. "Keigo-kun tells me you're interested in playing us?"

Keigo-kun? It took Niou several moments to even decipher who that was meant to be. Atobe Keigo? He shook his head and wiped the grin off his face to say, unsteadily, "Oh... r-right. Ah, well, I —"

Tamaki cut him off, not so much in a rude way as in the way that a dog leaps into your lap before you've even finished calling it. "We have a rematch scheduled with Hyoutei on Saturday — Keigo-kun wasn't present for the last one — but we'd like to see you the same weekend. Is your team free on Sunday?"

"Sunday?" Niou tilted his head back, affecting a clearly sexual expression, as much for his own entertainment as Yagyuu's distaste. Akaya made a convenient grunting noise as he tried to push Niou away. "Nnn... S-Sanada, stop..." Niou whispered as he tightened his hold on Akaya's mouth.

"Excuse me?" Tamaki asked after a priceless beat of silence.

"Ah, nothing," Niou said hurriedly. He watched Yagyuu walk away. "I, ah... let me check; I'm not sure — a-aah...."

Akaya squirmed, opening his mouth behind Niou's hand in an attempt to bite his fingers. Niou put a bit more of his weight on the boy, earning a pained groan. "Nnn... n-no, Sanada, I-I'm on the phone," he hissed, putting on a little bit of 'captain tone' for effect. His eyes were fixed on Yagyuu, now a court away, talking to Yukimura.

"Is... everything all right, Yukimura-kun?" Tamaki ventured.

"Yes, just fine. Hold on one second —" Yagyuu turned to glance over his shoulder at Niou and jerked a nod in his direction. "Sunday will be — aah — fine, yes."

Cautiously, Tamaki offered, "Ten o'clock?"

"Y-yes, that's fine. We'll see you then." Niou flipped the phone shut at the same time that he let out a loud moan. He grinned and gave a thumbs-up to Yukimura, who was watching him warily.

"Ten o'clock on Sunday!" he called.

Akaya whined.



When Atobe met Seigaku's regulars at the front gates of Hyoutei Academy, Tezuka waited for the older boy to irritate him before telling his teammates to go on ahead. Likewise, Atobe made sure that the others heard his exasperated 'Honestly, Tezuka' loud and clear as they walked away.

Once they were out of sight, however, Tezuka let his shoulders fall an inch or so, relaxing. "Is Ouran here already?"

"As of half an hour ago," Atobe answered, almost before Tezuka finished the question. He unfolded one of his arms to press his fingers to his temple, eyes fluttering closed. "The match isn't scheduled to start for another half-hour." There was a sigh in his voice.

Tezuka took a moment to study the other captain. "Are they that stressful?"

"Yes," came the vehement response. "Suoh is far too noisy and excitable — he reminds me of a very awake Jirou with my vocabulary." That alone nearly earned a smile from Tezuka, which Atobe nearly returned, letting his hand fall. "Those twins are malicious and conceited, and that small... blond... child...." He paused. "... Really likes Kabaji."

"Ah," Tezuka replied insightfully, once he was sure he wasn't going to laugh. "Does this bother you?"

"Not as much as it bothers the boy's doubles partner."

Tezuka bared the slightest smile. After another moment, he reached out to clap a hand on Atobe's shoulder, giving it a squeeze, and gestured in the direction the rest of their teammates had gone, the hand sliding casually down toward Atobe's wrist. "Let's go."

They made sure to be at least a foot apart by the time they were back within visual range of their respective teams.



It was amazing, really, how easily a practice match with Hyoutei could be turned into a party. Ouran had played teams before who were all business and professionalism, but Tamaki couldn't recall the last team they played that had descended so easily into casual, pseudo-friendly inter-team banter.

He thought it was nice.

"Oh, no, no, we've known each other for quite some time. His father and my father are business partners, you see."

"Weird," Shishido interrupted. "A lot of our dads do business with his dad, and I've never met you before."

"We most often rendezvoused in France," Tamaki clarified, waving an airy hand. "Before my mother passed away, and my father and I moved here, which was really very recently — just a few years ago."

"Do you have any stories about stupid things he did in France?" Gakuto inquired. He didn't bother to feign innocence. The Hyoutei regulars had assorted anecdotes regarding Atobe's childhood stupidity, but Gakuto figured there was always room for more.

"Oh, goodness," Tamaki said, managing an air of both embarrassment and mischief. "Beaucoup." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "The second time we met — he must have been twelve or so — we hadn't seen one another in at least two years, so our fathers re-introduced us. Keigo-kun said quite clearly to me, and I quote, 'Un plaisir de vous faire autre fois.'"

There was a collective pause, in which those few who understood what was just said willfully restrained a shocked sort of laughter. Tamaki looked mock-scandalized, but smug.

"What he meant to say, naturellement, was 'Un plaisir de vous revoir,' which means, quite innocently, 'It's a pleasure to see you again.'"

"So what'd he say?" Shishido demanded, lightly shoving at his partner, who spoke too much French for Shishido's tastes.

Tamaki coughed lightly and looked away, and Oshitari gladly leapt to his rescue.

"'It's a pleasure to do you again.'"



Over the raucous laughter, Tezuka glanced sidelong at his sulking boyfriend. "You never greet me that way."

"Oh, shut up," Atobe snapped, stalking forward to the mess of hysterical boys. "All of you, on your feet! We have a match to conduct!"

The Hyoutei players scattered like dandelion fluff, and Tamaki stood much more slowly, still chuckling. "Oh, Keigo-kun. You really shouldn't take these things so personally."

"You really should find better things to do with your time."

"At least I didn't reference your 'baise-moi' slip-up."

Atobe's eyes widened. "And you will not," he said firmly, taking Tamaki by the shoulder and turning him toward his team. "Go prepare your team for their devastating loss."

Tamaki's laughter trailed behind him.

Then Atobe felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, eyes narrowing into Tezuka's.

"Peut-être nous pouvons baiser après la pratique?" Tezuka offered quietly. Atobe slapped his hand away.

"Your team is watching."

"And laughing, no doubt. You look furious." Releasing Atobe's shoulder, Tezuka left to rejoin his team.



"Will we be using our usual lineup?"

Kyouya was studying Hyoutei's assembly absently. He couldn't be sure of Choutarou's next move, but then, that was the point, wasn't it? He had to make the best move possible without any warning signs. Even tennis was some large-scale chess game now.

The temptation to change up their doubles lineup was there, and strong. Hikaru played a good singles game, and he and Kaoru played well off of each other — but was it enough? Hyoutei's doubles pairs were a force to be reckoned with; Hikaru and Kaoru had already been beaten. On top of that, if they put that Kansai boy of theirs back in his doubles slot, Honey and Mori might lose, as well.

Hikaru and Kaoru could take on Oshitari and Mukahi, he mused, or really, any doubles pair that wasn't Shishido and Choutarou. But then they'd absolutely lose Doubles One. Could they take Singles Two and Three? Maybe, but 'maybe' wasn't enough. Atobe would own Singles One, so Singles Two and Three had to be 'absolutely.'

Unless they could take Doubles One, too. Kyouya shot a glance at Tamaki, who had him fixed with a curious, concerned look. He and Tamaki against Shishido and Choutarou? It might just work. Then, of course, they still had to win one singles match, and it would be up to Honey, Mori or Haruhi.

That was it, then. Their best chance was to dominate the doubles matches, improbable as it seemed. Ouran's doubles pairs were a force to be reckoned with, as well — moreso the weaker their singles got.

"No," he answered firmly, already anticipating the mildly panicked response. To his slight surprise, Tamaki only made a worried sound.

"What, then?"

Kyouya glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the team, prompting Tamaki to call them over. When they were gathered, he turned his attention to Hikaru and Kaoru.

"You two are playing Doubles Two." Cutting off the complaints mid-whine, he added, "That's one of the matches we're absolutely counting on, so don't disappoint me." The twins' bitching died down to a mutter.

Glancing up at Tamaki, Kyouya went on, "Tamaki and I are playing Doubles One." This time, there was a beat of silence. Then Tamaki registered what had been said.

"Doubles?! But Kyouya, I can't! Keigo-kun will kill me! I have to play Singles One!"

"This is the only way we have a chance of winning, to be honest."

Tamaki fell unrestfully silent, a whimper in his throat. It wasn't often that Kyouya was honest, though, so he only asked, "Then Singles One?"

"I'm getting there. Mori-sempai will play Singles Three, and Honey-sempai will play Singles Two."

All eyes turned to Haruhi. She blinked mildly. "So I'm playing Singles One?"

"Against Atobe Keigo?!" Tamaki demanded, frantic. "Kyouya, that's cruel! He'll take her apart!"

"Quietly, Tamaki." That was all it took for Tamaki to drop to a whisper.

"You have to be kidding!"

Kyouya shook his head. "I'm counting on the doubles matches, and if we can take just one singles match, we'll win again."

The team was collectively restless. Finally, Hikaru said, "Let's get started, then," and stood, Kaoru at his side.



As soon as the twins appeared on the court, Choutarou's eyes narrowed. "What's he doing?"

Shishido followed his partner's gaze to one of the redheads on-court. "Testing his racket's grip?"

"Not him," came the absent response. "Kyouya-kun."

Weird, Shishido thought. Choutarou said he'd never met the twins, but he never did mention how he knew so much about the team — now he was calling one of them 'Kyouya-kun?' It was then that he realized they'd never gotten names from the Ouran team beyond Suoh Tamaki.

"Who, now?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Choutarou paused astutely. "Their vice-captain."

"Oh." Shishido decided that there was something Choutarou wasn't telling him. "What was his name?"

The very deliberate Look that the second-year turned on him was nothing but confirmation. "I just said it."

"I mean his whole name. I don't think they ever really introduced themselves."

After a long, uncomfortable moment for Shishido, Choutarou pronounced carefully, "O-o-to-ri Kyo-u-ya."

Shishido sat forward like the bench had springs. "Wait, are you related to him?"

Looking just the slightest bit off-put, Choutarou folded his arms and glanced back toward the court. "He's my cousin." He stood up and made his way over to Atobe.



Atobe was standing beside a seated Fuji and a napping Jirou, whose head was in Fuji's lap. Choutarou stepped carefully over his teammate and offered his captain a smile.

"Atobe-buchou, can I talk to you about the lineup?"

Atobe's eyebrow arched. He recalled Hiyoshi's comment from the weekend before regarding Choutarou's judgement call on that lineup — the match that they'd lost. He wasn't so ready to trust the second-year's word again, especially without a valid reason.

"I suppose you can."

Choutarou shifted for a second, glancing out at the courts, and said, "I think we might lose our doubles matches."

"Why would you say that?" Atobe asked, studying his nails. Until Choutarou let him in on what he knew, Atobe wasn't believing a word out of his mouth.

"Because Kyouya-kun put his Doubles One pair in Doubles Two. I doubt they're counting on Singles One, but they probably intend to take both doubles matches and a singles match."

"Well, Doubles One is yours," Atobe answered calmly. "Are you telling me I can't trust you to take care of it?"

"I'm telling you that we'll try our best, as always, but the match probably rests on our singles players," Choutarou replied evenly. He met Atobe's eyes when the captain looked at him.

"... What do you know, Ootori?"

"I know my cousin." Choutarou's hand waved in the general direction of the Ouran boys. "Kyouya-kun is playing to win; he always does. Those twins played us last time, but if he's got them in Doubles Two, he's got a better pair for Doubles One."

Atobe's gaze cut to the other team and his eyes locked onto the dark-haired boy with the laptop beside him. Ootori Kyouya — of course. He supposed he'd known, but it hadn't occurred to him that Choutarou might know something — or nearly everything — about Ouran's tennis team.

He was silent for a long moment. "What do you think their plan is, then?" He felt more comfortable deferring to Choutarou's opinion than he expected. At the very least, Choutarou wasn't the type to lord it over him; Shishido, Oshitari or Mukahi most certainly would. Choutarou's hesitation, however, made him a little less comfortable.

"I... to be honest... I think we should put Shishido-san in singles."

Atobe didn't manage to look entirely unruffled. "What?"

"Shishido-san and Jirou-sempai should take the other two singles matches. I'll play Doubles One with Hiyoshi-kun." Choutarou's eyes were earnest, but worried. "If Ouran wins both doubles matches, we only have to make one mistake for them to win again. If we can give them those two matches and guarantee ourselves the other three, though... I think it'll work."

Atobe took into account the other options — the original lineup, or any other direction they could go, for that matter — but no better choice presented itself. "You're sure about this?" he confirmed, looking up at Choutarou again.

"It's what I'd do."

"... All right." Atobe glanced in the vague direction of the rest of the team, where Shishido and Hiyoshi both were. "You'll tell them yourself, then?"

"Of course." Choutarou dipped his head gratefully and disappeared again, heading back to his partner.

Jirou's eyes opened. "Are you worried, Atobe?"

Slightly startled, the captain looked down at Fuji, smiling, and Jirou, sleepy eyes trained on him through long lashes. A heartbeat passed before he answered confidently, "Of course not. This should be simple, really. We only lost before because we weren't prepared."

"Because you weren't here?" Fuji asked innocuously.

"Precisely."

The blond's eyes fluttered closed again, a smile drifting over his face. "Okay," he sighed contentedly. Atobe got the feeling that 'I don't believe you' was left unsaid.



"Game set, Hitachiin-Hitachiin pair! Seven games to five!"

A low string of curses escaped Gakuto's mouth as Hyoutei's D2 walked away from the net. He was sore at the loss, but less angry at his partner this time, and much more angry at himself. "Longest fucking rallies ever," he informed Oshitari, falling hard on the bench when he got to it.

"More or less," Oshitari mumbled into his water bottle. The twins were malicious, all right. They'd targeted Gakuto during the entirety of the last two games; Oshitari could hardly remember returning a single ball. The rallies had been long and exhausting for his partner, as the twins had been very selective in their shots — Gakuto always had to run for it, but they made damn sure those shots were returnable, and the longest rallies were always on the deuces.

An extra towel, cool and damp with water, was passed over Gakuto's shoulder just then, and both players looked up.

Eiji offered a wan smile, to which Gakuto snarled and snatched the towel away. "What the hell do you want, Kikumaru?"

"You were great out there," Eiji responded genuinely, ignoring the hostility with surprising ease. "They were being pricks about it, too."

Draping the towel over the back of his neck, Gakuto looked away again. "Yeah, well..." he began, uneasy. "Whatever." It was a weak ending, but he wasn't sure how to take Eiji's geniality. By the time he had a proper retort ready, the other redhead had vanished, back into the bleachers to settle beside his doubles partner, near Shishido and Choutarou.

Gakuto frowned and glanced up at Oshitari. "What was that about?"

"Not a clue."



"I think he still hates me," Eiji said conversationally as he sat, right in the middle of one of Oishi's sentences, "but I didn't tell him he sucked."

"He didn't suck, Eiji," Oishi sighed. "And with that attitude, I'm not surprised he hates you."

Eiji either feigned offense or took it, it was hard to say. He amended, "Anyway, he just needs to work on his stamina. It's not as bad as mine used to be, but it's nothing like what mine is now."

"Yeah, well...." Shishido's remark had no ending, but the meaning was clear: There's not much like your stamina now. It wrung a broad grin from Eiji, and a rueful sort of amusement from Oishi.

In the brief silence that followed, Choutarou stood up, racket in hand.

Shishido didn't move.

Eight steps away, Choutarou hesitated.

"Hey," Shishido said, neither raising his voice nor turning his eyes from the court.

"Yeah?" Choutarou turned quickly, looking achingly hopeful.

Shishido's eyes dropped to his feet. "Good luck."

Something in Choutarou's body visibly relaxed, previously unnoticed tension flowing out of him as if a dam had broken. A smile spread over his face. "Thank you, Shishido-san."

Once Choutarou was on the court and a suitable amount of hushed silence had passed, Oishi leaned slightly into Shishido with his shoulder.

"Don't you hate it when they're out there without you?"

Shishido glanced over without really meeting Oishi's eyes, but Eiji's answer came before his.

"Not as much as they do."



"'Baise-moi' was right up there with 'Merci, beau cul,'" Tamaki reflected as he and Kyouya strode side-by-side onto the courts.

Kyouya smiled. "You might mention it to Seigaku's captain before we leave."

"Oh?"

"After you walked away from Atobe back there, he approached him and said something — I can't be sure what — that quite clearly hit a nerve with Atobe."

Tamaki sparkled faintly. "You think he'll find it amusing?"

"I think he'll find it useful."

At the net, Kyouya and Choutarou shook hands again, each of their smiles nearly rivaling Tamaki's.

"Go easy on me, Kyouya-kun," Choutarou said with a darling tilt of his head.

Kyouya's smile became a few shades brighter. "I wouldn't dream of insulting you so, Choutarou-kun."

Choutarou beamed. "Which?"

"Smooth."



"One-set match, Ouran's Ootori to serve!"

"Suoh's an excellent player, but he'll falter against someone with a swing like Sanada's." Inui was leaning against the fence at the top of the bleachers, watching the match with a keen eye whilst taking notes. He also had his cell phone to his ear.

"Yes. And Ootori will likely be Singles Two. —No, don't play him. You might be able to beat him, but he can think on our level, Renji. Give him something he can't think his way out of. ... Yes, I imagine Yukimura Seiichi would do nicely. It'll be an interesting battle of technique."



Yanagi returned Niou's shot with a smooth backhand. "Will you be watching it?"

"It seems so," Inui responded sedately. "Atobe has invited us."

"That's interesting." Yanagi watched the ball touch down just inside the fault line and leap away from Niou's outstretched racket. "I didn't think Atobe was invited."

"Perhaps someone should inform him, then."

"Perhaps." Walking off the court, Yanagi set his racket on the bench with his water bottle and made his way to watch Marui and Sanada, locked in a long rally.

"Singles Three?" he inquired after a few shots.

"Fujioka. He's their newest player, and supposedly new to the scene, but he's defeated Hyoutei's Kabaji."

"I'll play reserve, then."

"That's inadvisable."

Yanagi frowned. That was the third 'inadvisable' thing he'd suggested in this conversation so far, and they'd only covered three matches. He didn't much like it when Sadaharu had all the information. "Oh?"

"As I said, Fujioka defeated Hyoutei's Kabaji. He also played our Kawamura. We only put Kawamura in Singles Three because we thought we could unsettle Fujioka and force him into losing points. As it turns out, he's quite difficult to rattle, and, incidentally, holds his own well against power players."

"Akaya's much more than unsettling," Yanagi said, but he knew it sounded defensive. "And he'll hate playing reserve," he added to break his fall. Inui's chuckle tweaked a nerve or two.

"The doubles matches should be interesting. Their Doubles One pair can play one another's tennis, and they're identical twins. Their Doubles Two pair relies on a defense-offense strategy."

Yanagi looked thoughtful. Entertaining though it would be, pitting Niou and Yagyuu against Ouran's D1 and Marui and Jackal against their D2 would be tiresome, as well. He could easily imagine the matches ending in long tiebreaks.

They'd just have to switch it up a little, then.

"Talk to me about those twins, Sadaharu."



Shishido held his breath for the last game. Choutarou and Kyouya were keeping up the rallies, their partners at the baseline, watching and waiting. It was a tense, mounting rivalry.

Right before the match was called (five games to three, forty-fifteen, Ouran), Shishido saw what Choutarou saw: Kyouya's grip on the racket faltered, his hand weakened from returning one too many Scud Serves with unerring accuracy. Choutarou smashed the ball home, almost a direct hit to Kyouya's right.

A gentle lob returned the ball to the back of the court, well away from Hiyoshi's reach.

"Game set, Suoh-Ootori pair! Six games to three!"

Choutarou and Kyouya shook hands again, and Choutarou wasn't as pleased as he thought he should be upon realizing that Kyouya's grip was, indeed, shaky — he hadn't been decieved; his cousin had just been lucky. He offered him a tired sort of smile, and Kyouya closed his eyes in acknowledgement.

Shishido was there when Choutarou returned to the bench, towel and water bottle and his own racket in hand. Their fists bumped before Choutarou accepted the towel and bottle, and Shishido worked his hands over his racket's grip.

"Don't mind, Choutarou."

The second-year flashed that weary smile again, taking a long draught from the bottle. "I don't," he answered, wiping sweat from his brow. "So long as you win, Shishido-san. We need this."

Shishido grinned. "Of course I'll win."

After all, it wasn't, he thought as he stepped onto the court, as if he hadn't learned his lesson the last time he'd lost in Singles Three.



"Remember when he ran circles like that around us?" Oishi asked Eiji, laughing as he watched Shishido touch every corner of the court.

Eiji made a face. "I don't like to."

"Doubles players are nightmares when they play singles," Fuji said as he sat down beside Eiji, in Choutarou's previously-occupied spot — Atobe had relented to Choutarou being bench coach for this match.

"Hey," Eiji protested, then, "Did Akutagawa wake up, or was it some other natural disaster that brought you back here?"

"Atobe woke him for warm-ups," Fuji responded idly. "Since they let the doubles matches go, they have to sweep singles."

Laughing, Eiji argued, "I wouldn't say Oshitari and Mukahi really 'let it go.'"

"No, but Atobe did." Fuji turned a smile on his friend and vice-captain. "I was there with Jirou-kun when Atobe decided the final lineup — or, rather, Ootori-kun did."

"Atobe let Ootori decide the lineup?" Oishi asked, a little incredulous.

"It would seem," Fuji said, smile widening fractionally, "that Ootori-kun knows best, after all."



"Game set, Shishido! Six games to four!"

It hadn't been an easy win, that much was clear. It was never simple to cover a court on your own after more than three years of having someone at your back — Shishido really hadn't played but a few serious singles matches since his third year of junior high.

In the end, once Shishido had buckled down and really focused, Morinozuka hadn't been able to touch half of his returns. Whatever ground Shishido had lost in defense, he'd gained in offense.

"Singles sucks," Shishido said faintly, accepting a water bottle from his partner.

Choutarou just laughed and stood up. "You were fine, Shishido-san. Let's hope Jirou-sempai can follow your performance."

"Of course he can," the third-year grumped, but he had a grin for Jirou when the blond passed them by.

"Tear 'em up, Jirou," he said affectionately.

Jirou winked. "Got it covered," he assured them.



"One-set match, Ouran's Haninozuka to serve!"

Atobe folded his arms, which were still burning slightly from his warm-ups with Jirou. He was fairly confident that he'd be playing; Jirou should be able to win this match — but he had no guarantees.

"Did Shishido request to play Singles Three?"

Atobe didn't know what he did just then, but he most certainly did not jump in surprise. Glancing over his shoulder at Tezuka, he shrugged. "Why do you ask?"

Tezuka's eyebrow lifted a bit higher. "Your Shishido hasn't played singles in years, Atobe. What changed your lineup?"

There was no immediate answer; Atobe wasn't eager to give away what looked to be their 'secret weapon' when it came to Ouran. He looked back at the court.

"Ootori's cousin is the vice-captain of Ouran," he said finally. "Ootori seems to have a good grasp of his cousin's plans; he recommended that we change the lineup because we'd probably lose Doubles One."

"And you believed him?" The note of surprise in Tezuka's voice grated on Atobe's nerves.

"What reason did I have not to? He was vice-captain for a year in middle school, and his judgement has always been generally sound. I thought it better not to take chances."

"That's fine."

Atobe turned to look sharply at his boyfriend. "What's that?"

Glancing away from the match, Tezuka repeated mildly, "That's fine. I didn't mean to question you."

For a moment, they stared at each other, and Tezuka turned his gaze away first, passive in the face of Atobe's accusatory look. He really hadn't meant to question Atobe's decision — he hadn't realized he had until Atobe had given such a defensive response. Of course, it wasn't meant to sound defensive, and Tezuka wasn't supposed to notice that it was defensive, which meant that he wasn't allowed to correct his mistake.

Atobe was very much like a woman sometimes.



Tamaki's arm draped gently over his friend's shoulders, not to be shrugged off, though not for lack of trying.

"Kyouya, stop."

"Stop what?" Kyouya asked, and his voice betrayed absolutely nothing — Tamaki sighed.

"Sitting here, being angry."

Kyouya smiled up at him. "Do I look angry to you?"

"No," Tamaki said simply, and sat beside him. "But you're furious. He called your play, and we didn't play Shishido and Choutarou-kun as expected."

"I refuse to believe," Kyouya interrupted, nearly cutting Tamaki off mid-word, "that their lineup was that way from the beginning."

"You can't prove that it wasn't." Tamaki sounded patient. Kyouya wanted to hit him. "We won the match, Kyouya. What's more, by the end, it was nearly a singles match. You did defeat him."

Kyouya spoke only when he was calm again. "Not if Hyoutei wins."

"Then put your faith in Honey-sempai and Haruhi." Tamaki's smile really was like sunshine — bright and warm and soaking into your skin with a fuzzy sort of feeling, and really, seriously annoying when you were in a bad mood. Kyouya grunted a noncommittal response to Tamaki's optimism, then frowned when Tamaki cupped his cheek to look him in the eyes.

The older boy chuckled. "You look so petulant, Kyouya." That was the only excuse Kyouya needed to jerk free, turning away. "Just calm down and look forward."

Kyouya was no calmer, but he did shift his focus to preparing Haruhi for her match. Atobe Keigo was a formidable opponent, after all, and if Honey-sempai lost, she'd be their last chance.



"Game set, Akutagawa! Seven games to five!"

Despite herself, Haruhi winced slightly. She couldn't truthfully say that her upcoming match didn't make her a little nervous — Atobe Keigo, as Kyouya helpfully reminded her, had been playing at national level since junior high. It wasn't any better that Ouran's win was now resting on her.

But where would stressing out about it get her?

She picked up her racket and idly tested the strings, glancing across the court at Atobe.

Dramatically, the boy tossed his jacket off. She watched as his teammates didn't catch it, and saw the annoyed look that briefly marred his features. Her eyes followed his hand as he flourished in the air, beckoning for his racket. Kabaji handed it to him, and he smirked, flicking strands of hair from his eyes and splaying his fingers over his face. It took her a moment to realize that he was staring between them at her.

He was like Tamaki-buchou, she thought abruptly, in a lot of ways. He seemed a little more intense and a little less emotional, but they were both dramatic and loved the limelight. And they weren't, she realized in something like a miniature epiphany, probably half as good as they thought they were.

Meeting his eyes guilelessly, Haruhi descended the bleachers and headed onto the court.

Stopped mid-sentence, Kyouya blinked after her. "... and don't go into this blindly," he finished, sighing. It was all the better, he supposed, since Haruhi always did her best when left to her own devices. She wasn't their 'natural rookie' for nothing.



"Good luck, Atobe," Tezuka said, his voice carrying despite the fact that he wasn't speaking all that loudly.

Atobe turned almost immediately, trying not to glare directly at his team, all of whom were still chuckling over the fact that he'd expected them to catch his jacket. "I need no luck, Tezuka," he assured the younger boy, arching one imperious brow. Tezuka would swear Atobe's eyebrows had minds of their own. "Save that for yourself the next time we play."

"I could never be so selfish as to ignore someone in greater need than myself."

Looking ruffled and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'how juvenile,' Atobe made his way down to the net.

They shook hands and he smirked, all spark and smoulder in his eyes, and said, ironically, "May the best man win."

Haruhi smiled, just a bit.

"One-set match, Ouran's Fujioka to serve!"



Yanagi was vaguely gratified that his captain didn't actually question him, though he did wear a mildly inquisitive expression.

"All right," Yukimura announced after a pause. "Looks like we have our lineup for tomorrow."

"And an audience," Yanagi added as an afterthought. "It seems Atobe intends to show, and he's taken the liberty of inviting Seigaku, as well."

Sanada grimaced, while Yukimura hid any unfavourable thoughts on the subject of Atobe Keigo rather admirably.

"Well, then, we'll just have to give them one hell of a performance," he said cheerfully. "Our lineup tomorrow — Singles One, Sanada; Singles Two, Yukimura; Singles Three, Niou; Doubles One, Yanagi-Kirihara; Doubles Two, Yagyuu-Kuwahara; Reserve One, Marui."

"Stuck to reserve?" Marui groaned. "Looks like I'll hafta break Akaya's arm again."

Kirihara made a noise that could not quite be properly filed under either 'distressed' or 'fussy,' and Yanagi patted his shoulder as the team broke, sparing Marui a glance. "I didn't know you wanted to play doubles with me so badly, Bunta."

"Yeah, no joke," Jackal called from where he was packing up his equipment. "F'you wanted to switch so bad, y'shoulda told me."

Marui delved his hands into his hair and tugged a little, feigning distress. "Hiroshi's too hard to kill," he whined. "You're still my partner, partner." He received a pat on the head for his quick save, and Yanagi smiled briefly to see the two of them grin at each other. Certainly they weren't Rikkai's best doubles combination, but they were probably the most harmonious.



Lazily, Niou fell into step with his partner en route to the locker room. "Heeey, Yagyuu..." he began.

Yagyuu afforded him a sidelong glance before saying, "No, Niou-kun."

"But Yagyuu...."

"We're not even playing doubles together."

"Exactly," Niou grinned, and his teeth sparkled. "It'll just be some practice, that's all. Since we're gonna be separated this time, we can get some practice in if we play as each other. Don't have to switch back, either. Maybe our technician won't even notice."

"Unlikely," Yagyuu responded, but he'd stopped walking. Niou saw his (deliberately revealed, he was sure) weakness and pounced.

"It's not an official tournament," he coaxed, coming to stand in front of his partner. "And as long as we don't switch back 'til afterward, they can't call us on it, yeah?" He tilted his head to avoid the sun glinting off Yagyuu's glasses and searched the eyes behind them, still grin-smirking challengingly.

After a few beats of silence, Yagyuu said, "We could use the practice for next year, I suppose." Niou's grin widened, and he clapped Yagyuu on the back affectionately, urging him along to start walking again.

"Knew I could count on ya."



"Game, Atobe! Three games to love!"

Haruhi was panting. Hyoutei was something else, that was for sure, and Atobe was a fantastic representation of Hyoutei's most prominent qualities — arrogance, self-interest and ostentatious play styles.

"Don't mind, Haruhi~!" singsonged the twins. That was easy for them to say; they'd won their match. Now that they'd done their part, the whole of the match was resting on Haruhi. She tried not to think too hard about it.

Atobe was brisk at the bench, wiping his face with a towel (as if he needed it, thought Haruhi dryly) and taking a quick drink before returning both towel and bottle to his bag and crossing the court again. He looked unworried. Haruhi frowned as he aimed a smirk that clearly said so in her direction.

A hand on her shoulder made her look up, alarmed. Tamaki smiled at her. "Don't mind, Haruhi. The match isn't over yet. I have faith in you!"

Haruhi sighed, shrugging off her captain's hand. Tamaki was an idiot, but she supposed it was nice that someone had faith in her. She was beginning to run out, herself. The other unfortunate thing that Atobe and Tamaki had in common was that they both really were good tennis players.



"Do you think he'll even take a game?" Jirou asked seriously. He was stretched out on the bench, just shy of placing his head in Tezuka's lap.

Tezuka glanced down at him, unsurprised. "At least one. Atobe is underestimating him."

Jirou hummed agreement, sitting up. "He beat Kabaji, you know."

"So I heard. Atobe was distinctly unhappy about it."

"He'll probably be unhappier by the time this is over," Jirou declared. He sounded unhappy, himself.

"He'll get over it," said Tezuka noncommittally. The older boy took him by slight surprise, then, when he leaned over and rested his head on Tezuka's shoulder with a sigh.

"Yeah, but he'll give us hell in the meantime."

Rather than dislodge Jirou as he'd originally intended, Tezuka found himself patting Jirou's hand on the bleacher beside him in an awkward pantomime of comfort. "I imagine you're used to it by now."



On the other side of the courts, Tamaki was biting his thumbnail through the serve. He truly did believe that this wasn't half of what Haruhi had in store, but that didn't make Atobe Keigo any less formidable an opponent.

Sitting down beside Kyouya, he asked, "What do you think?"

"I think she's going to run laps, and she's going to like it," Kyouya answered, not missing a beat. Tamaki shoved at him lightly.

"Kyouya! Have a little faith in our daughter! She's just getting warmed up!"

Kyouya found himself faintly fascinated at Tamaki's tendency to bait negativity out of people in order to reinforce his own positivity. It was something he'd noticed long ago, when he realized that Tamaki was feigning stupidity to get Kyouya to harp on him. Granted, not all of Tamaki's stupidity was feigned, but it was a great relief to know that some of it was.

"I agree that she's not playing her best yet," he said, "but I don't think she can win this match. Atobe will give her time to warm up; he wants to feel her out. Once he does, he'll probably finish it quickly."

Tamaki's brow knit delicately as he looked on. "He won't show her any mercy, I know."



After the fourth game, Atobe had slowed down considerably. Haruhi realized he was going easy on her, but she wasn't stupid enough to complain. Whether it was insulting or not (and, she thought with mild surprise, it was — she knew all of Tamaki's doting wasn't good for her ego), it gave her a great chance to make a comeback.

It was a chance she took greedily. For the next three games, she poured on the steam herself, slamming point after point home into Atobe's court. He didn't let her take a single game uncontested, but she was catching up after the seventh game was won.

"Game, Fujioka! Three games to four!"

She moved to her side of the court, trying to steady her breathing, and pulled a ball from her pocket. Holding it to her racket for a moment, she exhaled purposefully. One more game, she told herself, and she'd be tied with him.

"You're not bad!" Atobe called from his side of the court. Haruhi looked up at him, her concentration broken. "But I'm done playing nice." His smirk was more irritating than unnerving.

She served the ball.



"I think he pissed him off," Shishido said. On the Hyoutei side of the court, conversation still trickled, but quietly, as if they were reluctant to disturb the peace of the match.

"I think he was trying to," answered Hiyoshi.

Shishido glanced up at the younger boy, then back at the court. The two of them were rallying furiously. Atobe seemed to be enjoying himself, at least, which meant that the kid couldn't suck. And even if Atobe hadn't been playing his best, he hadn't handed him three games.

"You think Atobe could lose?" he asked at last.

Hiyoshi snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, Shishido-san."



"Game, Fujioka! Five games to four!"

The court had evened out a bit; Atobe wasn't pushing his limits, but Haruhi was. She had taken another two games by sheer force of will, and he was hanging on more and more easily because she was exhausted. Neither of them was prepared to lose.

Especially Atobe. He bounced the ball on the court and looked across the net. His smirk was gone and his eyes were grave. By all rights, Haruhi figured she should be worried, but all she could feel was determination. The whole team was counting on her. In fact, Tamaki was counting on her.

He hadn't exactly said as much, but she could tell that he really liked Atobe, maybe even looked up to him. If she lost to him, Tamaki would be disappointed.

Haruhi really couldn't take him moping around the clubhouse for an entire week, inanimate.

The serve flew across the net, hit the ground and zipped neatly away across it. For a moment, Haruhi was completely still; she wasn't even sure what happened. Then, from the bleachers, she heard someone say, "There it is. Tannhauser Serve."

"I can't believe he's using it."

"Well, he's one game from losing, guys. Think about it."

Haruhi thought about it. He was one game from losing, so he was breaking out the big guns. If she could figure out how to beat that, she might still have a shot at winning, right? Well, it was simple. That serve didn't bounce, so she had to get to it before it hit the ground.

On his next serve, she dashed forward — only to have the ball hit the ground in front of her and slide back between her feet. Not fast enough, Haruhi, she told herself. She knew she had to keep him from tying them again, because her best chance at winning was to take this game.

"Thirty-love!"

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she returned to her spot and braced her feet. The second his racket hit the ball, she shot forward, like she was racing it to the net.

The ball won.

"Forty-love!"



"He's gonna lose."

Tezuka glanced sideways at Jirou again, who was alert, despite still being slumped against him. After he spoke, however, he sat up.

"Is he?"

Jirou nodded. "We've seen this before, haven't we?" He gestured to the court. "A tiny little rookie with jaws like a bear trap."

Tezuka smiled faintly and fleetingly, and hoped Jirou missed it. "I suppose I can see the comparison."

"He's gotten closer every time so far," Jirou pointed out. "Bit by bit. Atobe can't see it; he's not looking."

It was possible, Tezuka thought. Alarming, but possible, that they might have another Echizen on their hands. He had to admit, though, that without some measure of precociousness, a talented young upstart lost a lot of his charm.

When Haruhi finally returned his serve, Atobe looked surprised, but chipped in a quick lob.

"Higuma Otoshi?" Jirou guessed. "It might surprise him."

"Probably," Tezuka agreed. "He won't win this game just by returning that serve."

Jirou made a noncommittal noise. Haruhi seemed more than a little surprised, as well, but didn't hesitate in leaping up to return the lob. Atobe was beginning to step back as the jump peaked, just as the ball was hit, and that was when tragedy struck.

By some freak accident, Atobe tripped over his own two feet, landing himself right on his ass on the hardcourt. The ball zinged past him, ricocheting off into the fence. A hush fell over the two teams.

"Oh, my God," Jirou murmured.



"What the hell just happened?" Shishido was on his feet, Hiyoshi right behind him. "Hey, Atobe! Get off your ass and play! What the fuck?!"

"Shishido-san," Choutarou said urgently, grabbing his partner's arm. "I think something's wrong."

Eiji's words came out in a rush. "Oh, God, what if it's like what happened to Rikkai's Yukimura and he has to go to the hospital and have surgery or something?"

"No, no," Oishi interrupted. "He just fell down, you guys. He tripped."

"He tripped?" Shishido looked disbelieving. Atobe was climbing to his feet, though, so he shut up.

Oshitari leaned down from the referee's chair. "Atobe?"

Picking up his racket, Atobe waved him off. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Call the score."

There was an uncertain silence before Oshitari said, "Forty-fifteen."



Across the court, Kyouya stared hard at Atobe. It wasn't hard to imagine what he'd seen that had startled him so badly.

"Atobe knows," he announced. As he expected, he received largely blank stares in return.

"Knows what?" Hikaru asked.

"Oh, no," Kaoru said.

Kyouya looked up at the group. "He knows about Haruhi."

Silence reigned for another few seconds, then suddenly, Hikaru and Kaoru and Honey were all talking at once, loud and clamoring.

"Stop."

They did, their noise tapering down, and all eyes turned to Tamaki.

"He could get the entire team disqualified for the season," Hikaru said. "We have to do something, don't we?"

Tamaki shook his head. He was watching the court, not his team. "He won't," he said. "Just watch the game."



Haruhi rolled her shoulders as she waited for Atobe's next serve. Her bandages felt a little loose, but she didn't have time to worry about that now. She was four points from taking this match, and she couldn't count on Atobe to trip every time she returned a ball.

He seemed to have collected himself, and he fired off another of those Tannhauser Serves, sending it blazing across the net. Just like last time, she only barely got there in time, and this time, she was the one to lob the ball.

He didn't meet it with the devastating smash she was expecting, but lofted it back across to her almost awkwardly. Her next return made the point.

"Forty-thirty," Oshitari called. Then, almost hesitantly, "Time!"

Atobe looked his way, then stormed to the referee's chair to meet him as he came down. Haruhi turned to escape into the locker rooms.

She'd been right about her bandages. She draped her shirt over the edge of the sink as she started to unwind them down to the bottom layer, pulling them tight.

Just as she was getting the end of the wrap pinned, the locker room door opened. Haruhi was quick to snatch up her shirt, but relaxed when she saw who it was.

"Tamaki-buchou, you scared me."

He had already turned away, studying a locker dial nearby. His face was red, but Haruhi decided she was in no position to remark on that.

"I, ah," he started, and stopped. "Well, we — Keigo-kun...." He struggled for another moment while she pulled her shirt over her head.

"Atobe? What about him?"

After another moment, Tamaki exhaled visibly, putting on a bright smile. Haruhi cocked her head. She could tell the smile was forced, but she couldn't tell why.

"Nothing, actually," he said. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right; you ran off so fast." The smile was easing into something more genuine now, so Haruhi decided to let it go.



"What the hell are you calling time for?!" Atobe demanded, keeping his voice to a sharp, infuriated hiss.

Oshitari held his hands up defensively as he came down from the chair. "I just wanted to know what happened," he said. "Something threw off your game, Atobe."

"Threw off my game?" Atobe made a violent hand gesture. "I'm going to throw off your game, Oshitari. Get back in that chair."

Oshitari looked reluctant, but did as he was told. Someone would worm it out of Atobe later, he was sure.