PoT fic: Stop Me If You've Heard This One Bef- oh. (Hyotei gen, Atobe/Oshitari friendship fic)

[hermiones]

Title: Stop Me If You've Heard This One Bef- oh
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Friendship fic, Oshitari/Atobe. Hyotei focus.
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Written for axtar for tenifriends.



Careers advice is up there with homework, sharing a room and having a weekend curfew of 11pm. This is Shishido Ryou's opinion on the matter, and like all of Shishido Ryou's opinions, it is final. Unless the careers adviser in question is tall and leggy with breasts, that is, -- then he's got no problem with authority --, he just isn't into the idea. It's unfortunate because in the penultimate year of senior high, the Hyotei students do very little else but talk about their lives, ten years from now.

He stares over the form in his bedroom, over the sound of his brother playing Wipeout on Shishido's PSP, over the sound of his parents faintly talking in the living room. Outside, there are cars, driven by people with real jobs. Shishido can't even imagine having a job. His brother is no help: he wants to be a racing driver. The idea sort of appeals to Shishido, too, only you have to start that at age three or something and he's fourteen years behind. The only sport he's any good at is tennis and he's not sure he wants that to be his job.

As if cued, Ootori 'phones him. He isn't filling in the form for another year, but of course, he has a list prepared anyway. Ootori had always known which ambitions suited him and which he could afford to pass over. It isn't an open mind that helps, but a closed one – Shishido's problem isn't a lack of ideas, but the inability to choose between them.

“How did you know you wanted to teach music?” Shishido says. His brother plugs his headphones in, rolling his eyes. Shishido sticks out his tongue at him. “How do you know that you won't change your mind?”

“I might,” Ootori jovially agrees. “I've got a list of other choices. At the moment, teaching is just top. That's all.”

Shishido frowns. That doesn't help at all. “My top choice changes all the time. What am I supposed to do?”

Ootori considers that for a moment. “Have you made a list of pros and cons?”

Shishido wants to make a sarcastic remark but he thinks better of it. If Ootori hangs up on him, he'll have to 'phone Atobe or something and Atobe's the worst person to talk about your ambitions with. Either he's bragging about his father's business or he's lamenting his lack of choice and either way, you end up with no answers and a sore ear. “No,” he says. “Should I?”

“It might help,” Ootori affirms. “It helps to be realistic.” As if a piece slots into place in his head, he adds, somewhat suspiciously, “Your choices are realistic, Ryou?”

“Define 'realistic'.” Shishido smirks.

“You know what realistic means!”

“Atobe says that realistic depends only on the confines of your individual reality. God, he's such a-”

“Yes, well, he means that you have to be aware of your limitations. In Atobe's case, he'd say he doesn't have any.”

“Lack of self-awareness is pretty limiting.”

“Well...yes. But you have to make a list of attainable career choices or the careers advisor won't be able to help you.”

“Okay,” Shishido says. “So I just need to list the pros and cons of each career and it'll look like I've done something?”

Ootori sighs. “It might help you narrow down your list.”

“And look like I've tried?”

“Yes, like you've tried.”

“Choutarou?”

“Yeah?”

“What's your second choice?”

Ootori smiles to himself. “Concert violinist.”

“Oh,” Shishido says. He erases the line he's made through 'Spiderman' and smirks. “Cool.”



a) Spiderman:
Pros: Hot girls. Ability to climb buildings. Controlling a city. Having celebrations thrown in my honour. Fame, fortune. Hot girls. Power.
Cons: Having to do the right thing. No holidays. Needy girls. Not being able to kill people who really deserve it (perhaps Batman instead?)

b) Lawyer:
Pros: Looking really damn clever.
Cons: Having to be really damn clever.

c) Astronaut:
Pros: Seeing the universe. Cool outfit. Power. Looking really damn clever. Knowing enough about astrophysics to scare the crap out of my brother.
Cons: Having to be really damn clever. Having to know about astrophysics.

d) Journalist
Pros: Getting to write shit about stuff and not get into trouble.
Cons: Nerdy. Having to write about boring stuff. Being sued. Not much potential for hot girls.

e) Writer
Pros: Looking sensitive to hot girls. Getting to write A LOT of shit about stuff and not get into trouble.
Cons: Needy girls. Being sued. Possibility of drug addiction.

f) Wizard
Pros: Magical powers.
Cons: Having to be responsible.

g) VOLDEMORT
Pros: KICKASS MAGICAL POWERS.
Cons: NONE.


Name: Shishido Ryou
Age: 17
Sex: Male
Date of birth: 29/09
Class: 2B.

What have been the main motivating factors in your education/career choices so far?
Ease of course content. Ability to play tennis outside schoolwork. Balancing report cards: being good enough that my father doesn't want to kick me out of the house but not so good that I wish he would so that I can become a homeless bum. Taking over the world. This is stupid.

What ideas do you have about what you would or wouldn't like to do in the future? Please explain why.
Would like: powerful person with kickass salary and ability to score with hot girls. Also ability to perform magic and destroy people at random without punishment. Wouldn't like: anything gross, underpaid or boring. I need to explain why?

What have you been most satisfied and least satisfied with in the path you have followed?
Satisfied: have found that I have power over younger people and can convince them to give me stuff. Dissatisfied: am not tall enough to really frighten people. Satisfied: have worked hard to improve intimidation techniques. Dissatisfied: test subjects are bastards. Satisfied: have lots of money in family for attracting hot girls. Dissatisfied: am not tall enough to attract really hot girls. Dissatisfied: cannot yet perform magic.

What skills do you feel you have to achieve your goals?
Determination to take over the world, and father's money.

What do you still need to work on?
Height. Chat-up techniques. Intimidation strategies. Magic skills.

Was filling in this form:
Thought-provoking: No Yes.
Useful: No Yes.
Challenging: Yes.
Annoying: Yes No.


Ootori checks out his form before Shishido submits it, over lunch. Atobe is crowing over his sparsely filled form and Shishido shuts up him by telling him that it's easy for the village idiot to know his career path. Ootori winces and tugs his attention away by drawing thick, red lines through most of his pros/cons list. Shishido is somewhat dismayed at the loss of Spiderman and Wizard, but he really pitches a fit when Voldemort goes too.

“Might as well cross lawyer and astronaut off,” Atobe adds haughtily. “Spiderman is far more realistic than astrophysicist, for fuck's sake.”

Shishido stands up to hit him, and Ootori yanks him back down. “Look,” he says. “This is meant to help you. You should make the most of it, and not be stupid. Right?”

Shishido sniffs, still glaring at Atobe. “Right,” he says, distractedly.

“It's like tennis,” Ootori shrugs. “You don't like working with Atobe, but when you let him help you, you felt the benefit, didn't you?”

“Is benefit a euphemism for giant pain in the ass?”

“Ooh,” Gakuto pipes up. “Kinky.”

Atobe and Shishido turn on him simultaneously and Ootori puts his head in his hands. As much as he loves Hyotei, next year is going to be so much more peaceful.


When Shishido hands in his final form, the one that meets Ootori's approval, he has to admit that he feels less conflicted. Not that he'd ever say it. He lets Ootori catch a glimpse of it before he hands it in, and he smiles to himself when Ootori smiles.

“I still don't think it's gonna benefit me,” He says, to hide the smile.

Ootori shrugs, says innocently. “Really? But I thought benefit was a euphemism for-”

“Choutarou-”


Name: Shishido Ryou
Age: 17
Sex: Male
Date of birth: 29/09
Class: 2B.

What have been the main motivating factors in your education/career choices so far?
Avoiding subjects where it's impossible to be wrong. I like maths, science, geography. I don't like subjects with too much debate, like law, philosophy, literature. What's the point? History is okay. I enjoy history.

What ideas do you have about what you would or wouldn't like to do in the future? Please explain why.
I'd like to do something that pays well. I don't have a good memory and I'm not good at applying myself so I don't think astrophysics or law is for me. Maybe I'd like to write stuff. I have loads of opinions and they can't sue you for an opinion, right?

What have you been most satisfied and least satisfied with in the path you have followed?
I'm seventeen years old. I don't have a path. I've just done what I've liked and I was planning to continue doing that for a bit. I guess I'm satisfied that I've not done what my dad wanted me to do, just because he insisted. That was pretty cool. I'm not satisfied that I'm flunking English, I guess. I hate English but they fail you if you can't do it.

What skills do you feel you have to achieve your goals?
I'm very materialistic and I like being controversial. For a writer, that's pretty good, right?

What do you still need to work on?
Everything else. I need to work harder, period. I'm really not very academic.

Was filling in this form:
Thought-provoking: Yes.
Useful: Yes.
Challenging: Yes.
Annoying: No.



Gakuto secretly thinks that the idea of making a pros and cons list is a good one, not that he'd ever tell Shishido that, so he fills one out in his room the day before the forms have to be handed in. Truth being told, he's not sure what the hell he wants to do with his life and he resents having to decide before his life has really begun. He's gone through the typical teenage boy aspirations and rejected them all: he doesn't want to be a racing driver, a baseball player or a porn star. He doesn't want to take photographs of naked women (at least not professionally) and he hasn't any interest in the theatre, politics or cooking. In a way, he sort of wishes that he could choose from the range of careers open to women: he sometimes thinks he could be a hairdresser, an exotic dancer, an ice-skater or a gymnast. He keeps this to himself and considers that all he really has is tennis.

Unfortunately, after a particularly grueling training session against Oshitari (which he loses 6-2), he ends up spilling all in a fit of frustrated pique. What he means to say is that he has no potential careers and how some old woman smelling of cats is going to help him with that is beyond him, he'd much rather be out on a date or something. What he actually says is:

“Does everyone else have ideas? Is it just me who has no fucking idea? Why can't I be a girl and do something girly without everyone continuing to think I'm gay? I'm not gay, I just want to do gymnastics, for God's sake!”

Oshitari blinks at him. “If you want to do gymnastics,” he says. “You should just do gymnastics. Who cares what other people think.”

Gakuto is flaming red and he crossly snaps, “Says you, Mr Lawyer. It's just. Gymnastics. It'd be like coming out. My father would go insane. I wish there was something academic I liked, but I just...”

“At least it isn't ballet,” Oshitari reasons. “If it's what you're good at and it's what you enjoy, you'll never make it into an office without hating every day of your life. What's the point in that?”

“Maybe I'd learn to like it.”

“You never learn to like anything. You just make your mind up and that's it, bam. Like when you decided that I was cool and made Atobe start liking me. When you got me onto the tennis team.” Oshitari shrugs his bag onto his shoulder, not even sweating, the bastard. “All I'm saying is that you won't settle. You're not a settling type.”

Gakuto isn't sure whether this is a compliment or not, but as he's inclined to see the best in Oshitari, he takes it as one and he doesn't complain too much about Oshitari's love-life drama as they walk home together. Minako-san has replaced him in her affections, and he isn't sure that Keiko-san is the one for him. Same old, same old.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing Oshitari's attention away from Keiko-san in her gym outfit. “I'd make a pretty good relationship counsellor, right?”


Name: Mukahi Gakuto
Age: 17
Sex: Male
Date of birth: 12/09
Class: 2A.

What have been the main motivating factors in your education/career choices so far?
Not being expelled for bad behaviour or bad grades. I think I've done pretty well, too. I do a lot of sports and that takes me away from my schoolwork, but I still get good marks. Which is more than can be said for some people in my class.

What ideas do you have about what you would or wouldn't like to do in the future? Please explain why.
I don't want to have a boring life, so anything academic is pretty much out. I know you'll think that's limited but I really can't work in an office. My dad did and I just – no. I want to do something sporty. Maybe gymnastics or tennis. If that fails, I could be a sex therapist. That'd be seriously cool.

What have you been most satisfied and least satisfied with in the path you have followed?
I've not had enough time to practice, because of this school being so academic, so I'm really behind on gymnastics. My tennis is better. Academically, I've done too much of everything. I don't see when I'm going to use trigonometry, or when I'll ever need to know the exact amount of times the Rokujo Lady kills some girl in The Tale of Genji. It's just useless knowledge.

What skills do you feel you have to achieve your goals?
I'm pretty flexible if you know what I mean.

What do you still need to work on?
Telling my father that I don't want to work in an office. This is the hardest part. Give me careers advice on that.

Was filling in this form:
Thought-provoking: I guess.
Useful: Sort of.
Challenging: Yes.
Annoying: Yeah. Sorry.


When Oshitari is dumped by Minako-san and Keiko-san in one week, Gakuto realises just how good a relationship counselor he might be. He's never seen Oshitari so worked up; usually, he falls in love quickly and when it ends, he takes on the role of the jilted romantic, determined to fall in love again as soon as possible. This time around, he gets depressed and decides to give up on women altogether. Where Ootori gently tries to coax him into eating and going to the street courts, Gakuto sorts things out with much more efficiency.

He slaps Oshitari across the face, a gesture marred only slightly by how much he has to stand on his tiptoes to do it. It makes Oshitari reel slightly, in part because nobody expects a slap from Gakuto, and then bursts out laughing. “That's ridiculous,” he says, palming his cheek. “That you had to go on tiptoes to slap some sense into me. It's like being hit by my sister.”

Gakuto glares at him. “I wanted to punch you in the face, but-”

“You'd have to take a run-up.”

“Yeah,” Gakuto says mournfully. “I am going to have a growth spurt.”

“Of course,” Oshitari says silkily. “You, Atobe and Shishido, you're all going to hit the five-foot mark sometime this year.”

“I think I preferred you depressed and anorexic,” Gakuto retorts. “You piss me off when you've got your brain switched on.”

“Jealously is a difficult emotion to cope with,” Oshitari nods. “But you'll survive.”


PS, Gakuto adds to his form. I really think I'd be a great relationship counselor. My best friend has more love dramas than Paris Hilton. And because of my help, he's never been in jail. I think this is my best career idea yet.



Name: Atobe Keigo
Age: 17
Sex: Male
Date of birth: 04/10
Class: 2A.

What have been the main motivating factors in your education/career choices so far?
Academically, I have followed a path suitable for my progression into the field of economics. This isn't a question of motivation as much as necessity. After university, I am to take over my father's business. Therefore, I am currently concentrating on mathematics and further mathematics, both of which are required for higher level financial study, as well as an extra-curricular course in statistics. Last summer, I completed a junior internship in personal financial management.

What ideas do you have about what you would or wouldn't like to do in the future? Please explain why.
Not living in fantasy land, I've not given it much thought. My career path was set for me and being that I'm talented at it, answering this question would be pointless. If pushed, I'd be a tennis player. Unfortunately, tennis players aren't brilliant at doling out financial advice, in my experience.

What have you been most satisfied and least satisfied with in the path you have followed?
My marks have always satisfied me, but I suppose that my extra-curricular activies have brought me the most personal pride. As for dissatisfaction, you might as well ask my father. I'm sure he could give you a nice list.

What skills do you feel you have to achieve your goals?
I've been told that my prowess is really something.

What do you still need to work on?
Not falling asleep on my textbooks.

Was filling in this form:
Thought-provoking: Not especially.
Useful: Not especially.
Challenging: No.
Annoying: ...


Atobe doesn't check his form with anybody before handing it in. He doesn't make a list of pros and cons. He has no particular ideas for his future career. The Emperor's newborn son probably won't spend his teenage years wondering whether he'd rather be an actor or a football player. Atobe would be lying to himself if he didn't admit to one or two dreams, but he learnt to grow out of them at six years old. At seven years old, he thought that inheriting a business was the greatest thing that could ever happen to him. It sounded adult and it would make him more money than anyone else he knew. His father was an idol, when Atobe was growing up. Always in a suit, always graceful and dignified and powerful. He commanded adulation and he wasn't satisfied with anything less, even from his son.

When Atobe was thirteen years old, it got him dates with prettier girls than his friends could get their grubby hands on. It didn't occur to him to be upset about it, because the look on Shishido's face was victory enough. At fourteen, it got him a blow job, somewhat lacklustre in hindsight, but the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him thus far. It happened in the changing rooms after tennis practice, when one of the netball girls he was seeing wanted to seal another date. At fourteen and a half, it lost him his virginity, with the same girl. That too was lacklustre but induced such envy in Shishido that Atobe crowed about it for a week, leaving out the unsightly details. At fifteen, Atobe realised that the blow jobs and the sex only came at a price and it wasn't dignified to sell up. He stopped accepting offers and waited for a girl with substance and class to come along.

At seventeen, Atobe was still single. At least he had a career guaranteed him. It was still more than Shishido had.

His father, naturally, doesn't see the point in careers advice. As far as he's concerned, he's given Atobe all the careers advice he could possibly need. When Atobe opens his mouth to argue the point, he is met with a firm look, so tangible he has to swallow it whole before he can speak.

“It's just paperwork,” he says. “The school need to do it to check everyone is on the right track.”

“Of course you're on the right track,” his father says, dismissively. He's finished with the business section of the paper and it's only eight in the morning. Saturdays are another weekday. He hands the paper over to Atobe, who obligingly flips it open. “I've made sure of that. I sent you to a good school. They shouldn't be wasting your valuable study time.”

Somewhat exasperated, Atobe chooses his words carefully. “They just want to make sure I'm sure.”

Atobe's father looks at him without blinking. There's no emotion in his eyes but the fierceness of the stare roots Atobe to his seat. “You're sure,” he says.

“I know,” Atobe says.

“I've prepared you for this. You are prepared.”

“I know.”


Unsurprisingly, Atobe's meeting with the careers adviser doesn't go well. He isn't in the best of moods, having spent all of Sunday completing university-level economics papers under his mother's watchful eye. Considering his father's insistence on his career path, it strikes Atobe as ironic that he never sits and watches him study. It's always his mother. Atobe loves his mother and being stuck in a room with her, unable to talk, is difficult. He sees precious little of her and whenever he's home, enforced silence seems to follow them both. He wonders whether she understands the hidden messages in his hunched shoulders and the scratching of the pen he uses. Not the fountain his father got him for his sixteenth, but the elegant peacock-blue ballpoint his mother used to use writing letters to his grandparents abroad.

The woman interviewing him (or so it feels) appears to be a person who hasn't her own career sorted, and so meddles in other people's. She has a long nose and she's patronizing to a fault. At first, he's glad. Hyotei never employs female careers advisers and the male ones are often doggedly insulting. The last one insisted that Atobe look into a backup career, just in case, adding that rich kids never consider the possibility that their money might one day disappear.

“At least you're not telling me to get a paper round,” he says.

She looks at him over his form. “Do you want a paper round?”

“What?” He is momentarily startled. “No. Why would I want a paper round?”

She shrugs, smilingly. “Some students long to escape the pressure. Some like to help other people. Some just like to be self-sufficient.”

Atobe bores his eyes into her. “Have you just come from Fudomine?”

“Where?”

“Never mind,” he says.

“Tennis...” she reads. “That's interesting.”

“Not up for discussion.”

“I've read a great many forms that read like this. It's very common for young boys to be pushed into their father's careers.”

Atobe holds back a sneer. “Yes, I'm sure you'd know all about that. Inheriting a fortune is just so common nowadays. Stop me if you've heard this one bef-”

She doesn't blink. “My two sons are stockbrokers.”

“Oh,” he says, continuing to hold her gaze.

She rapidly moves on. “What does your father think about the tennis?”

“It's a hobby.”

“Is it?”

“If you mean 'is it something you do in your spare time?', yes.”

“That's not what I mean.”

“Then, no. We don't talk about tennis. As I said, numerous times, my future is clear-cut. Tennis doesn't factor into it. That's been a done deal since I was a day old. I assumed that the secretary had received my father's letter about-”

“Not wanting the appointment. Yes, she did. Unfortunately, it's a technicality. All students must have a fifteen-minute session to clarify their future goals.”

“My future goals are clarified.”

“You haven't considered what you want?”

“No,” Atobe pauses here, wondering whether the woman is mentally deficient. “What I want doesn't factor into the equation. I don't find economics very exciting, let's be honest, but it's been settled for me. I'm talented at it and that's the satisfaction I'm learning to gain from it.”

“What about tennis? What satisfaction do you gain from that?”

Atobe thinks about stretching for a ball, about lactic acid in his shoulders and his calves, about the trickles of sweat on the nape of his neck when he plays. For a second, it's so real that he can even smell the court, hot under the sun. He snaps out of it. “The same satisfaction any sportsman gains from improving his game.”

“I don't play tennis,” she says, apologetically. “Or any sport, really.”

Atobe can believe that. “It's the same satisfaction you get from anything you're passionate about. Haven't you something you always want to get better at?”

She nods.

“Then, tennis is just the same. It's the thing I'd like to perfect. You're always chasing a sort of flawlessness. The rush when you master a new shot, when you beat a previously insurmountable opponent. It's just the same as any sort of pursuit. You play to win, at first, but then you play to beat yourself. To better yourself.”

“And economics?”

“You do that to make money,” Atobe shrugs. “You can't beat anyone at economics except the guy across town who has better information, a better head for numbers, a keener sense of stocks. The guy making one hundred thousand Yen a week more than you are. You can beat him, I suppose.”

“But you can't beat yourself?”

Atobe hasn't thought about that before. “You can get sharper, get better at using information. You can improve. But the reward is just money. It isn't as satisfying.”

“The reward in tennis is trophies? Your name on the centre stage?”

“No,” Atobe says. “The reward in tennis is the moment you realise that, through your own hard work, you're a better player than you were two hours ago.”

“Can you be a better person through economics, do you think?”

Atobe looks at her and his expression is so severe that she laughs. “My sons give me that look all the time,” she says. “They hated careers advice, too.”

“Are they happy? Your sons.”

She thinks about this for a moment. “I think so,” she says. “I think so.”



Atobe had always found it easy to make friends. If it wasn't the money that attracted people, it was his looks or his witticisms. He'd discovered a talent for mimicking teachers and other students and that sealed his popularity long before the tennis team came along. The day he was made captain, it seemed that his infamy reached new levels and everyone, the whole school, knew his name. By then, he'd realised that hangers-on were no substitute for people who would support you during the bad moments. Just as he later learnt to reject girls and wait for the real thing, almost overnight he shrouded himself from attention, becoming stingy with trust. His father cottoned on to this behaviour and praised it, marking it as Atobe's first moment of maturity. Prince Genji became a man at twelve years old, with one hell of a ceremony. Atobe sort of wished that if he had to learn that people were shit, he should at least get to have a party to celebrate it.

The tennis team was his saving grace, in the end. Alongside Shishido, Atobe learnt to trust its members for different reasons, recognizing that the only thing they wanted was to go to the Nationals with him. His coldness began to thaw, watching Shishido and Ootori become better players together, watching Jirou wake up to new ambitions, watching Gakuto adapt his singles' strategies to two-player matches. Tennis changed him, from a wary, awkward teenager to someone who didn't need words to express his feelings. However they all interacted away from the courts, however much they complained about schoolwork and the stresses of exams, however much they wished they didn't have to go to school – when they played tennis together, all of that disappeared. Nobody was afraid to be publically in love with tennis. It was the only thing Atobe allowed himself to be publically in love with because nobody could take it away.

When Oshitari had arrived, the dynamic had altered. Like a virus introduced to a healthy body, antibodies rose and tried to defend against a foreign object. Oshitari's persistence was what carried him through, winning Atobe's respect with sheer obstinacy. No stranger to stubborn behaviour, Atobe was intrigued by Oshitari's determination to join the tennis team, then by his determination to master the triple counters. Everything Oshitari did was with an eye to overcoming an obstacle and that was so much Atobe's entire life that he couldn't help but like him. He'd tried not to but failed, miserably, as they'd bonded over Greek mythology one lunchtime. Before Atobe had known what he was saying, he'd agreed to go to the library with Oshitari after school and before he had known what he was doing, he'd actually had fun. Oshitari was an intellectual equal with his heart on his sleeve, and like tennis, there was nothing anyone could have done to keep Atobe away from him. Only for a moment did he worry that Oshitari was fooling him. A mere second. And then, after that second, he wasn't afraid to be publically Oshitari's best friend.


Oshitari's form is lying on Oshitari's desk. It is as sparse as Atobe's – Oshitari made a decision at thirteen that he wanted to be a lawyer. Only, when Atobe reads through it, it lacks the bitter sarcasm that laced his own. That makes sense. Where Atobe is jaded, Oshitari is hopeful. Where Atobe is cautious, Oshitari is gregarious. Where Atobe doesn't allow himself to be hurt, Oshitari gets trampled on. Where Atobe doesn't experience passion, Oshitari surrounds himself with it. They are as different as night and day and only tennis brings them into a kind of symbiosis, where Atobe gets as carefree as Oshitari feels. He puts Oshitari's form back on his desk and waits for him to collect his tennis gear. Sometimes they sneak off to the street courts together. Atobe knows that he shouldn't. As the captain, it's not good to play favourites, but everybody except Hiyoshi accepts that what happens off the court doesn't affect Atobe's decisions on it.

“The woman isn't hot, you know,” Atobe says, as they walk over to the courts. It's dark and he can 't see Oshitari's expression. “The careers' woman.”

“You say that as if it is relevant to me,” Oshitari replies smoothly. “I like girls for their intellect, after all.”

“Sure,” Atobe returns. “You're always saying, 'look at the intellect on her!'”

“I see intellect in the form of colour.”

“That's underwear, Yuushi.”

“The smartest girls always wear red panties.”

“There is something wrong with your brain.”

“Not as much as yours. Spoken to your father, yet?”

Atobe is silenced. His glare is too dim to be seen. Oshitari strides ahead, discontent.


They play until the score is 6-4 to Atobe and Oshitari has had enough. Even with the streetlights on, it's getting too dark to see the ball. They don't talk about Atobe's father anymore. Oshitari has given up telling Atobe about his manipulative father, threatening with a miserable future, a future without tennis. Atobe is prepared to be publically in love with tennis, but he isn't prepared to marry it. His life isn't going to include tennis, after all. Making a firm commitment will only lead to a painful break-up, embarrassment and emotional complexes all around. Oshitari thinks that, if he only stood up to his father, his father might accept the relationship. Oshitari doesn't know Atobe's father very well.

This is the crux of the seventh argument they've had on the subject, and Atobe stands against the fences, his fingers curled around the wires, hard enough to imprint. He stands with his back to Oshitari, frustrated, because it's hard to have his dreams offered to him on a plate, only to reach out and find that his hand moves through the surface, totally transparent. Oshitari doesn't and will never understand. His words are meaningless and his promises are empty, and Oshitari doesn't understand why Atobe isn't moved by them. They are a falsehood. They mean nothing. He cannot have tennis. Entertaining thoughts of tennis is what a romantic would do. What Oshitari would do. When Atobe plays tennis, sometimes he thinks 'what if?'. He becomes what Oshitari is. When he puts down his racket, life interferes once more.

When Oshitari opens his mouth to speak, Atobe cuts him off. “You know, you waste so much energy on this. It can't be changed, and you insist on changing it. You can't. Do something else. Let's do something else. Teach me a triple counter.”

“I've already-”

“Taught me Tsubami Gaeshi, taught me Higuma Otoshi, I know. I know. I believe there's a third, Yuushi. That's why they call them the triple counters.”

“If you're not going to continue with tennis, what's the point?” Oshitari's voice is tired, almost a slur. “It'll take weeks out of your application time. It won't help you analyse the stock market. If you're not going to make tennis your life, why bother?”

Atobe considers this, turns his head around to face Oshitari's words. “I can't make tennis my life. I have a month, two at most, left for tennis to be my life. I have to leave it behind. You could at least give me this.”

“The sense of completion?” Oshitari snorts. Atobe nods.

“You know I don't like to leave something incomplete.”

“That's not like you,” Oshitari says. “You can't be complete. You will never be a complete person. Once you achieve everything, you find something else to conquer. You did it with Fudomine, with Seigaku, with Tezuka. You aren't ever going to be complete.”

“I should just settle, then? Stay like this. Accept being incomplete, having unfulfilled dreams.”

“You seem happy to do that with tennis.”

“For the last time,” Atobe says, with gritted teeth. “That isn't my choice.”

“It could be,” Oshitari says. “If you'd let it.”

“Just teach me the damn counter, Yuushi.”

“Instead of wanting completion,” Oshitari begins, apparently unaffected by Atobe's tone. “Why not learn the counter for the sake of learning the counter. For there being something afterwards. For your career. Tennis could be your career.”

“You are going to make a crap lawyer,” Atobe snarls.

Oshitari just laughs. “That's fine,” he says. “Tennis players don't need lawyers like businessmen do.”



a) Taking over the business:
Pros: Not being cut off from entire family.
Cons: Hating my job. Every damn second of it. Regret.

b) Tennis player:
Pros: No regrets. Fulfilling the dream. Wimbledon, US Open. Grass court, clay court. Holding a trophy aloft, hearing the crowd, complete.
Cons: Chance of failure (minute, but always possible, even for me).

c) Supermarket checkout person
Pros: Never having to make big decisions, ever.
Cons: Having to work in a supermarket.

NB: I hate you, Oshitari Yuushi.


Atobe's father looks at him as if he is insane. Atobe feels a little bit bad for inviting Oshitari over to dinner on the evening he breaks the news to his father about his appointment, but then it's partly Oshitari's fault.

“What did that woman say to you?” his father says. Atobe would describe his tone as soviet.

“Nothing,” he says, dismissively. “That's not the point. We had to fill in forms-”

“Forms,” Atobe's father echoes.

“About what we could see ourselves doing in the future.”

“This is why I sent that letter. I don't want you getting distracted. You know that.”

“I know, but I...”

“Have suddenly, by chance, decided that you'd rather throw all of my years of hard work to waste. Do you realise how long this business has been in your family? What your grandparents had to do to build their fortune?”

Oshitari winces. Atobe ignores it. “I'm not saying throw it away, I'm not-”

“That's exactly what you're saying,” His father's tone is final. “You were always selfish. It comes with your age. I felt the same way, as a child. What you're going to go into is worth more than this pursuit, this hobby. When you're older, you'll understand about family honour.”

“Why does it have to be me?”

“It's a family business, Keigo. Don't make me explain that word to you. It seems I need to.”

“Yes, but...there are better students. Better people. People who'd enjoy-”

“It isn't about enjoyment. It's about heritage and history. This is the business you'll pass to your son. How do you propose to do that, if you give the business away?”

Atobe is silent. “I might not want-”

His father raps his knuckles on the table, and as if cued, Atobe's mother refills his glass. Her face is impassive but her eyes aren't. “Don't,” his father says. “The subject is closed.”

Gritting his teeth, Atobe sets down his fork. More than anything else, he hates to be ignored, cut-off. “You're not listening to me.”

His father continues eating. “You're saying nothing worth listening to.”


Oshitari is quiet afterwards. He sits in Atobe's study, looking at Atobe. His face is concerned and his eyes are thoughtful. “If you want to do this,” he says. “You'll have to do it without his permission.”

“How do I do it?” Atobe says. He's pacing and his gestures are wild, frustrated by his father's inattention. “You tell me. How do I do this, to my family? How do I do this, without being disowned? He couldn't care less what I want, because it's a whim. Tennis is a whim, Yuushi. It isn't important. He can't conceive that it's anything I'd want to make a career out of.”

“It's not a case of doing it to your family,” Oshitari says. “So much as doing it for yourself.”

“Fantastic. The semantics make all the difference. I feel so much better.”

“Have you stopped to consider what they're doing to you?”

“It's his business. It's his heritage. He's pissed. I don't blame him. He should have had one more son. I don't want to see his money go to someone faceless. I don't. I just...”

Oshitari looks him full in the face. “You can't do it.”

“I could do it,” Atobe corrects. “If I give up...this. Tennis. The passion. If I give up feeling stuff so much. I could do it.”

“And that's your idea of a life,”

“That's his idea of a life.”

“You're agreeing with him.”

“No, just...I can't argue with him.”

“Are the semantics still working for you?”


When the team eat lunch the next day, it's obvious that Atobe is smarting and Oshitari is frustrated, which is why Ootori sits between them. Shishido quirks an eyebrow as he sits down.

“Did they go out with the same girl again?”

“Shut up,” Atobe snaps. “'Least we have good taste.”

Shishido snorts. “What jumped up your ass?”

Atobe shrugs. Oshitari bites into an apple. “Being an adult sucks.”

“We're not adults,” Shishido says. “We're kids who got tall.”

“Speak for yourself,” Atobe says.

“True,” Oshitari says. “Neither of you are tall.”

“Fuck off, Yuushi.”

“What the hell's your deal?” Ootori is smacking him, but Shishido's curiosity knows no bounds. Even smacking.

“Yuushi thinks that I should drop my father in it, and give up the business.”

“That's sensible,” Shishido snorts. “He'd have you shot.”

“Don't be stupid,” Atobe sniffs.

“Yuushi thinks that it's worth considering that, oh shit, you have a choice.”

“Yuushi has a choice. Keigo doesn't.”

“Hang on,” Shishido frowns. “Confused.”

“Everyone has a choice, idiot,” Oshitari snaps. “You just don't want to make it.”

“And you can't understand why?!”

“I can understand why!” They're shouting, now. The cafeteria is staring. Ootori makes a quick getaway, pulling faces at Shishido. “I'm not a complete dick. What I don't understand is why you won't even think about it!”

“There's nothing to think about!”

“No, of course not. Everything's happy happy in Atobe's exciting world of tennis and fun!”

“Oh, come on,” Shishido groans. “That was lame, Yuushi.”

“He has a point,” Atobe points out, smugly. “That was lame.”

Oshitari rolls his eyes. “Stop changing the subject. You know what I mean. You've just resigned yourself to this. You won't even think for yourself for one damn second. You're just thinking like him. And everyone else here is letting you. I'm not going to let you. Someone has to fucking say something.”

Atobe's mouth is set in a thin, hard line. “I think you're made your point.”

Shishido feels he can agree, there. “Actually,” he says. “I was intending to tell him about the scout turning up at Friday's practice. I, er...overheard Sakaki-sensei on the 'phone this morning.”

Both boys turn to him, similarly stunned. Taken-aback, Shishido stares them down. “What?” He says. “I was going to tell him! I just – you gave me a free show with my food, so.”

“Scout,” Atobe says.

“Scout,” Shishido says. He takes his tray and joins Ootori, waggling his eyebrows. Ootori smacks him across the head. Atobe turns to look at Oshitari.

“Scout,” he says, breathless.

Oshitari's grin is just as wide.

Gakuto sullenly throws his tray onto the table, upsetting the people at the nearest table. “Being an adult sucks,” he says. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? You look like you've discovered Jesus.”


“Scout?” Atobe says to Sakaki-sensei after practice. He turns around, looking affronted. Atobe decides that he can't handle a run in with him and his father, not in two days, so he scuttles off with as much dignity as he can muster.

“Yes,” Sakaki-sensei says. Atobe doesn't turn around, just closes his eyes. “Be ready.”


It's hard to keep the secret from his father, for whom a happy son is always a suspicious occasion. He rebuffs questions by talking about a girl at school, something that doesn't interest his father at all, though his mother's eyes light up. It's lucky for Atobe that he is attracted to a girl in his maths class, so he sails through the inquisition with ease. His mother insists that he bring her home, at which point his father makes a point about the distraction, and she's quiet.

After dinner, she stops by his room. “This girl,” she says, her voice low and level. “If you're serious about her, you shouldn't worry about your father. We want you to be happy.”

Atobe is writing an essay, and he doesn't put down his pen as he answers, “One of you, anyway.”

“Your father...” she sighs. “Wants what he thinks is best.”

“He doesn't ask me what's best.”

“No, but he thinks he's doing the right thing for you. He doesn't want you to be unhappy. He thinks that if you don't take the business, you'll end up unhappy.”

“I have other ambitions,” Atobe says, stung.

“I know,” his mother says. “But your father doesn't think that they're financially viable.”

“He's never been without money,” Atobe says.

“No,” she agrees.

“It's why he thinks it's the worst thing in the world. His whole life just...depends on the figures increasing every year. There's nothing worse than a drop in profit, is there.”

“Your father built this business from the ground,” she says. “It became his life.”

“I'm not saying it isn't honorable,” he says. “Just that there's...more out there.”

“All I'm saying,” her tone becomes soft. “Is that you should bring the girl home. If she's as lovely as you think she is, your father will...may...begin to understand. He hasn't known anything else. It's very difficult for him, to have a son as stubborn as he is. He wants you to be happy. It's just that he can't...see that this won't make you happy.”

“You're saying that I have to show him otherwise,”

“Yes,” she says. “You need to show him otherwise.”

“There's going to be a scout at practice on Friday,” he says. He puts down the pen, her pen, and looks at her. The light is dim and his face is shadowed, but his eyes are full, wide and vulnerable. A million thoughts jostle in her mind: Atobe as an inquisitive child, a wayward toddler. A prim and proper eight year old.

“Oh, really,” she says, a small smile on her face. She looks around her, and then she says, “Try your hardest.” Approaching him, she places a kiss on the top of his head. When she turns to leave, he blurts out,

“There isn't a girl.”

She looks at him. “I know,” she says. “It's okay.”


That Friday afternoon, Oshitari doesn't think that he's ever seen Atobe so nervous. Atobe doesn't do nervous. He does terse, and irritated, and occasionally, stressed, but he doesn't do nervous. Atobe reacts after things happen, not before. So when Oshitari sees Atobe's hands shaking as he pulls on his tennis shirt, he doesn't know what to say.

“This isn't the rest of your life,” he says, quietly. “There will be chances. Lots of chances. If you decide that this is what you want.”

Atobe looks at him and nods, but his eyes don't believe him. “It's just one day,” he says.

“Yes,” Oshitari says. “If you want this, there'll be lots of days.”

“Yes,” Atobe says. “Lots of scouts. Right?”

“Sure,” Oshitari says, pulling on his jersey. “If this is what you want.”

Atobe doesn't say anything. He isn't sure what he wants. Or whether what he wants is worth what he'll have to sacrifice to get it. “I don't know,” he says. “That I can.”

“You can try,” Oshitari says. “It's all we want you to do.”

Shishido looks up, then. “Fuck that,” he says. “That's what they call stupid kids who can't read-”

“Hit a nerve, Shishido?” Gakuto says impishly.

“Shut it, gnome. They do that kind of 'try your best' shit with kids who can't read and it's old. They should tell them to get it together and want to fucking read. If they get praised for finding it too difficult then they're never going to want it to get easier.”

Ootori is looking at him as if he's lost the plot. “I think you could have used a more sensitive metaphor, Ryou.”

“I'm right, though, aren't I? We're all pussyfooting around him like he only has to try and that's okay, we won't mind if he decides that he'd rather be miserable forever. I had a word with Sakaki-sensei, about you and the tennis, and he has contacts. He brought this guy here. This guy is here for you-”

“Psh,” Hiyoshi mutters.

“Quiet,” Kabaji intones. He's watching Atobe, the colour draining from his face.

“And you have to do more than try, bastard. This is tennis. This is fucking tennis.”

Atobe looks at Shishido, and for a second, Oshitari either wants to punch Shishido or kiss him. Ootori is looking up through his lashes as if he can't quite bring himself to lift his head. Everything is deadly silent.

“That was really lame,” Atobe says, with a laugh, breaking up the tension.

Shishido looks downcast for a second. “I was going for dramatic and moving.”

“I think there's only room for one dramatist,” Oshitari says, with a sigh. “Fucking hell, this team.”

“It was true, though. Right? Right?”

“Yes,” Atobe says. “This is tennis.”

“Nobody at Hyotei ever just tried.”

“Right.” Atobe slams his locker shut and takes a deep breath. “Well, except-”

Gakuto looks venomous. “Don't you even-”

“This team,” Ootori echoes. “This team.”


When Atobe dreams about his life in tennis, he imagines walking out alone to meet his rival, to meet the Federers, the Hewitts, the Sampras' of his generation. He imagines walking out in front of the crowd, alone and oddly free.

Walking out of the changing room, flanked by his team, somehow it's better. He'll never get to do it again, no matter what the future holds. There's Shishido to his right, Jirou and Gakuto to his left, Kabaji and Hiyoshi and Ootori walking behind. And then, right beside him, there's Oshitari.

He'll never walk onto a court with Oshitari, not again after this day. When he throws the ball into the air, he doesn't think about his life in tennis. For the first time, he doesn't think about aiming that ball at Sampras, at Federer. He thinks about aiming that ball at Tachibana, at Sanada, at Oshitari.

In Atobe's life in tennis, Hyotei no longer exist. He plays for that, for the moments that have built up his dreams and allowed him to hope. He dissolves inside the memories and he plays without thought, without restriction, without regret.

He beats Oshitari in straight sets.

Then, a strange man is shaking his hand and talking about his interest, his Interest, capitalized, because this interest is a whole other person to Atobe, a whole other life, a whole other dream. Atobe only has to give him a call and they can discuss his future, his Future. This, too, is a whole other person.

He finds himself nodding, taking his card, not even speaking. He's dazed, as if he's just woken up. He knows that he's smiling, and that's about it.


“You let him win,” Shishido mutters. “He's never beaten you like that.”

“Oddly, no,” Oshitari says. He's frowning. “I tried harder than ever to stop him.”

“That's Atobe for you,” Jirou says. “He's like the kid with the big, shiny red button. 'Don't press the button, Atobe.' 'Okay, I won't. Promise.' Kaboom!”

“Jirou,” Gakuto begins. “That made no sense.”

“In a weird way,” Oshitari muses. “It kinda did. I made him fight to win. I couldn't make him fight his father, but I could make him fight the ball.”

Shishido pulls a face. “That doesn't make sense, either.”

“You can only fight some battles,” Ootori says. “Atobe doesn't work when you're telling him what to do. He works best when you're telling him what not to do.”

Shishido ponders over that. His conclusion is simple: “Atobe is really stupid.”


“You didn't let me win,” Atobe says, later. “I thought you'd let me win.”

“Why would I do that?” Oshitari says. “You'd only have thrown a tantrum in front of the scout.”

“I don't throw tantrums,” Atobe says, huffily.

“Given them up for Lent?”

“Yuushi,”

“I didn't let you win.”

“I'm scared of moving on, Yuushi,”

“Since when?” Oshitari challenges.

“Since the beginning of the year. What if Hyotei is tennis? What if there's nothing more?”

“You're scared of failing.”

“Yes.”

“Tennis came along before Hyotei did. As long as you can strike a ball over a net, there's always going to be something more. More Tezukas to defeat. More opponents to awe with your prowess. Things change, that's life. It doesn't mean that they stop being good.”

“You're not going to let me take over the business, are you?”

“No,” Oshitari says, cheerfully. “Businessmen don't wear short-shorts.”

“There's something wrong with your brain.”

“I'm not the one leaving the scout hanging, am I? Give him a fucking call, you pussy.”

“I don't like his short-shorts.”

“Tough. He's your scout. Got to accept his short-shorts.”

“I can't think of anymore excuses.”

“Then call him.”

“And my father?”

“Wouldn't ever look good in short-shorts. Don't even think about it.”

“Yuushi.”

“What?”

“I don't want to lose Hyotei.”

“I know you don't. You won't. Even if you're a big, famous asshole who blanks us in public.”

“I won't-”

“Atobe?”

“What?”

“Tell your damn father. Alright? Tell him tonight. I can't take any more of your fucking drama.”

Atobe laughs, full and thick. “You're one to talk. I heard you've turned Gakuto into a sex therapist.”

“That sounds deliciously terrible, doesn't it?”

“What do I say?”

“I'm not sure. Here's an opening sentence: 'Gakuto, I think I've a fetish for short-shorts. It began when-'”

“That's not what I meant.”

“You just have to tell him the truth.”

“I just have to try, right?”

“No,” Oshitari grins. “You have to win. Or we'll blank you in public.”

“You wouldn't blank me in public,” Atobe sniffs. “You couldn't blank me. Nobody can blank me.”

“So go. Make your father listen to you.”

“I have to win.”

“You have to win.”


Atobe sits outside his father's study for half an hour, feeling sick. When he walks in, he's not in the shape he hoped he'd be. His hands are shaking, his face is pale and his voice is small. His father pays him no attention. Not when Atobe describes the scout, not when Atobe describes the match he played. His pen continues to scratch and his eyes continue to move forwards and backwards across the paper. He utters 'hmm' whenever he realises that Atobe has finished a sentence.

Atobe balls up his courage like dough, squashing down the nausea and the fear and the big, terrible drop beneath his feet that widens with every word. His father doesn't look up, when Atobe has finished speaking. He's waiting for him to leave. Atobe realises the key: that he finally has something worth listening to.

“I've made a decision,” he says. He makes his voice louder, but he can't keep the fear out of it. He stands up straight. He pulls his gut in. He remembers all the tips his father gave to him, telling an eight year old how to be a man, how not to embarrass him. Then he says, with all the steadiness and the courage and the voice that he can muster: “I'm not going to take over the business.”


“You know what,” Shishido says, later that evening. He's camping at Ootori's place, eating potato chips and dripping salsa on his carpet. “With all this inspiration in the air, I've decided to go for my dreams, too.”

Ootori looks up from his homework. He's sick of careers advising. He's looking forward to the summer, to the long, peaceful, ambition-free summer. “I'm glad,” he says, nonetheless. “You should make the most of your education, not waste it. I'm glad you're going to knuckle down.”

“No,” Shishido says, firmly. He looks at Ootori with a fierce expression. With a smirk. “I've decided that, I too, am going to reach for the unattainable goal. Damnit, Choutarou, I'm going to be Voldemort, whatever it takes.”