Overview:

In which Akashi clearly sees what she's getting herself into, but doesn't notice he's getting there himself.

Story:

"Ne, Yanagi-san, look. Akashi-sama is here again."

A certain chime resonates in Sakura's ears at the mention of his name. She adjusts her glasses and feigns a lazy peek at the door. She pointedly avoids direct eye contact, but she sees a redhead speaking with the class representative. She averts the instant she feels him twitch his neck.

Her seatmate sinks dramatically against the window, dipping her hair out to the gush of warm wind. Summer break is just around the corner and perhaps on another life, it would have animated Sakura.

Not in this lifetime.

For the next six or so weeks, she will be stuck in campus to fulfill her duties as the newly appointed associate editor-in-chief of Rakuzan High's official school paper. Not that she wants to shun the responsibility, but she's been looking forward to her family's long-awaited vacation. It will only be for a week and she can always ask for permission from her seniors – except, she isn't one to place leisure above obligation, especially not in her first term as an officer.

Sakura's seatmate cuts through her trance. "Do you think he likes someone in class? Do you think he's going to ask her out soon?"

The question catches her off-guard and it takes an enormous amount of her willpower to maintain nonchalance. Despite her suddenly racing heart, she manages to resume reading her textbook. She hasn't progressed to the next sentence since hearing his name.

Akashi Seijuro is a campus 'untouchable', or so the ladies coin him. Sakura agrees, but in an entirely different sense. To them, he is the hot basketball captain who perfects his tests as smoothly as he lands goals for his team. He is the filthy rich heir to a highly esteemed family. He is the soulful violinist who only refuses to compete in music competitions because they usually coincide with basketball games. And he is Rakuzan High's charismatic student council president whom everyone unconditionally obeys.

To her, however, he is simply the guy who volunteered to hold her umbrella when she – her arms baggage-laden – exited the convenience store to a drizzly evening days before the first term of high school started.

"I'm sorry for the hassle," she had said to him as they walked the rest of the way to her house. "I'm warning you, though, our place is still quite a distance away."

"No, it's a pleasure to be able to lend a hand." She noted the rehearsed courtesy in his voice, but also the sincerity. "And distance is irrelevant at the moment." It felt as though two opposing forces were battling for dominance inside the boy.

It wasn't until they reached her doorstep when she finally remembered him.

As if on cue, the boy with the damp red hair and tantalizing eyes smiled knowingly at her. "The Cultural Meet. Nationals. The first and only opponent who doubled Teiko's score in the finals for Japanese History and Calligraphy." His eyes gleamed. It was strange. She was certain she'd met him before, but also that he only had one color for both eyes. Or he used to at least. Or was the fog clouding her vision? "A victorious challenger," he said. "Yanagi Sakura."

Eyes dilated, she strived to remember his name. Yes, they had met before. More than once. And she was pretty sure it was way before he'd become captain of Teiko Middle School's legendary Generation of Miracles. She had gone to watch a number of important games with her cousins from Tokyo. She distinctly remembered a purple-haired, lazy-looking giant whose ridiculous size made the distance between the ground and the basket unfair in every way. Murasaki – something. And the green-haired four eyes who could probably shoot from outside the court with his eyes closed. Midorima Shintaro. She wouldn't forget, because she almost fancied him, if not for his queer habit of mummifying his fingers and bringing all kinds of random stuff to sit on the bench like a regular. Then there was the ace whose tan was as glorious as his formless plays (and who's got a pinkhead always worrying after him). Dai-chan, she would often refer to him in a chiding tone. Then the mischievous model – her favorite in terms of technique and emotional disposition – who contributed to half the stadium's noise with the squeals of what she believed was his harem of fangirls. Even if she couldn't remember his name on the court, she would recognize him from the magazines. Kise Ryota.

And of course, this redhead of a captain. He wasn't as flashy as the rest of his teammates, and he most certainly didn't stand out height-wise, but the flow of the game depended hugely on the accuracy of his judgment. Whenever she watched them play, she always had this eerie feeling that she was actually watching a fastidiously planned shogi game.

All the detailed reminiscing and she still couldn't recall where and when and how she met him.

In the end, she couldn't put a name to his face. He was prepping to leave, bowing a little as he stepped back from the porch.

But Sakura had been provoked. Perhaps it was the way he recited her triumph against his previous school as if she'd done it out of sheer luck, or the way he smirked at her as though he knew everything about her, or simply the way he mouthed her name like she were a subject he lorded over. Whatever it was, it made her tongue itch for a comeback.

"Thank you," she said when he was still within earshot. He paused in his tracks, met her gaze sideways, attentive. It was now or never. "I don't think it was ever announced, but I doubled the score for Chinese Literature as well." It was her turn to beam a shrewd smile. "And tripled Geography."

"…san? Yanagi-san. Oi, Yanagi-san."

"Uh, sorry, what?"

"Geez, are you all right?" Her seatmate throws a hand to her forehead. "Do you have a fever? You look like an angry tomato about to explode or something."

Sakura brushes her hand off. "I'm fine, thank you." She flattens her palms on her cheeks, breathing deep. It's still a few minutes before her next class begins. She abandons her seat and exits the room. She's too focused pressing the hollows on either side of her forehead that she misses the lip of uneven tile and stumbles.

Her hand finds the door jamb in time, keeping her upright, but her glasses have already dismounted from the bridge of her nose. She braces herself for the impact – she just bought the pair! If they shatter now, or if its frame misaligns, she might be forced to contend with blurred vision until she can save up enough money to buy a new pair.

But there is no impact. Her glasses seem to have lingered mid-air. She tries to focus her gaze, but she is distracted. Her sense of sight may be defective, but not her sense of touch. She grips the jamb tighter, and it's not supposed to sink under her fingers. Unless – she squeals as she lets go and backs away.

"Your reading glasses are new," someone says. The next thing she knows, her specs are replaced on the bridge of her nose. "It would be a waste to get them destroyed now."

As her vision clears, she sees Akashi Seijuro standing before her, his hair bright against the sunlight, his lips in a fond smile, and his eyes a pair of contrasting tales. Something clicks within the folds of her brain, and she knows. Her memory is still crappy, but she's certain now.

She met him in fifth grade, in the Akashi ancestral home in the outskirts of Kyoto. For whatever occasion, she still can't recall, but she knows it has become a practice of her family to visit the Akashis each year for that same occasion. That was until eighth grade when her father changed jobs and her mother's workstation relocated; and for two consecutive years, she hasn't been to the Akashi ancestral home. And from then on, she, drowned in a cheering sea of faces, only saw him from the bleachers.

But if they had met in elementary, and had perhaps been acquainted with each other a couple more times after, why did he only remember her as someone who had defeated his middle school? Or is his memory crappy as well?

More than that, how does he even know about her glasses? It's as if he's reading her mind. She frowns, not able to contain her curiosity. "How do you know?"

"I know everything."

She groans internally. Again with this. Her gaze suddenly drops to his forearm, where her grip earlier has pressed a pattern of her fingers onto his skin. The warmth in her cheeks return, along with another memory.

She was padding along the corridors of the old students building, her arms jam-packed with old issues of the school paper, when a shadow against the window of an empty room caught her peripheral. She froze, terror poking her insides and making her sweat. She was halfway through the classroom, and she feared having to pass by the other door. She swallowed a few times. She suddenly regretted staying around so late in the afternoon when all the other students had already finished club activities. Still frightened, she decided she would have to face the other way completely until –

"Hello –"

She screamed, dropping everything she was holding on to, including the last thread of her sanity.

"I'm sorry for… shocking you like that. Do you need help?"

Help, my face! Sakura, spine flattened against the wall and lids shut, clutched her heart. It took her a minute to even her breath and finally open her eyes – and wish she hadn't.

A redhead with – holy crap – heterochromatic eyes was towering before her, his hand stretched out to offer help. Ah, it was the same familiar guy who shielded her from the rain and walked her home a few weeks ago. She didn't just imagine the peculiarity in the color of his eyes then. But what was he doing here, lurking in the shadows like the friggin bogeyman? Shouldn't he be in practice? Wasn't he the almighty Akashi Seijuro, captain of Rakuzan High's unbeatable basketball team?

"Fridays are free for the basketball club," he said, like he was answering her unspoken questions. "And since I don't have my former teammate to play with in my free time anymore, I play by myself."

Play by himself? Just what the hell is he talking about? It sounds so… wrong.

"You play shogi, don't you?"

"Ah." She nodded. She almost accused him of being a pervert. She shook her head, then remembered his question, and nodded again quickly. "Yes, I do. I'm playing in the inter-high come second term." She reminded herself how this guy was still inimical of her victory in middle school. "Are you used to playing it? Why don't you join as well?"

He grunted, his demeanor shifting completely. He was doing it again, whatever it was. "Is that a challenge, Sakura?"

Sakura? Wasn't he being too familiar with her? "No, not really…" She meant to call him Seijuro, but his hypnotizing eyes pulled out a different name from her lips. "Akashi-san," she finished instead.

Pleased with himself, he bent down to collect the papers Sakura had dropped. She immediately did the same. "I'll win, naturally," he said, "so I don't see the point of competing."

What an exceedingly bloated ego. "You can't know that."

Seijuro – she might as well harass him in her mind for a start – paused to look into her eyes. He held her captive. "I know everything. I always win. And whatever I say is right."

She wanted to laugh, but something about the glint in his eyes horrified her as much as it mesmerized her. She settled for a friendly chuckle, and averted. "Is that so?" Damn, she could never win in a banter against him. The best she could do was provoke him. And she did. "What's the point of playing basketball then, if you know you'll just win?"

Everything suddenly happened so fast: Sakura's sharp gasp as the pile she had gathered scattered back on the floor; Seijuro's arctic yet fiery glare as he advanced on her until she was cornered between one of his arms and the wall post; Sakura's and Seijuro's faces just inches from each other.

"I play basketball to better myself."

Sakura could hardly breathe. "Doesn't shogi offer you the same… opportunity?" She felt she ought to zip her mouth, but she couldn't help it.

Seijuro smiled. It was menacing. "Shogi I can play with or without an opponent, and the outcome will always be the same. I can't say the same for basketball."

There was her opening. She really shouldn't be challenging him, though. Wasn't their proximity dangerous enough? Wasn't she short of breath yet? "There's uncertainty then," she huffed, "of you winning or not." She was already trembling in fear, but she just couldn't stop. "And that's why you play basketball."

Seijuro looked her square in the eyes. He was absorbing the life out of her, and he wasn't even trying. "No." When he smiled again, he seemed to have softened a little. It was driving Sakura mad, his personality shifts. "As I said, I play to better myself. Unlike shogi, you only win in basketball when you have an opponent. My opponents are therefore necessary to validate my correctness."

God, I swear this guy is legit weird. She'd come to accept that oxygen was more important than her pride at the moment. She sighed, utterly defeated. "Whatever floats your boat, Captain."

"You space out too much, Sakura, it's unhealthy."

Sakura, for the second time this morning, is dragged out of a strange recollection. Seijuro is gawking anxiously at her. And – is that worry etched on his face? The Akashi freakin Seijuro? She averts before she's caught under his spell yet again.

She doesn't fancy crossing paths with this… absolute being, but there's no helping it when he is the student council president and she is the associate editor-in-chief of the school paper. They are bound to cross each other's paths with respect to the positions they hold. And well, even before either of them were put in the ranks, fate seems fond of intertwining them together.

Sakura clears her throat and bows. "It's nice seeing you again… Akashi-san." Damn, she still can't dare it. She turns on her heels and paces for the restroom. She must find a way to control her nerves whenever he's around. She can't keep walking on tiptoes in his presence. And she figures the only way to do that is to be at par with him, but in terms of what? Of course she can never match up to him, ability-wise. She can try academically, and she can always land the highest rank. A topnotch at best. But how exactly will that serve her in his presence? She can't even figure what the deal is with his mind-boggling personality, let alone counter it.

It's not until the final bell for dismissal when she finally arrives at an answer. As soon as the parting bow is done, she scoops up her things and dashes for the shogi club room. She might have been too early, but to her relief, two seniors are already immersed in a game when she enters.

"Senpai." She catches her breath.

"Yes?" One of them looks up. She used to be Sakura's trainer, but Sakura surpassed her when she was only three weeks into the club. Now she's training the other first years, and Sakura is left to hone her skills on her own. But not for long.

She waits until the other one gives her his attention as well. He's the club president after all.

"I have…" She breathes another lungful. "…found someone who might be able to train me."

"Train you?" The girl's brows knit. "Who? Remember we're forbidden to hire outsiders."

Sakura grins. "Oh, he's not an outsider, I promise." Her heart is racing again. "And he claims he's never lost before."

"Heh?" The club president appears in the know. His eyes narrow. "Well then, I'm sure he'll be a perfect trainer – that is," he hurries on when he sees Sakura's face glow in victory, "if he even has spare time."

Darn, she hasn't thought about that. Regardless, her mind is already made up. And she intends to do it today, when her tail isn't between her legs just yet. Strike while the iron is hot, or so they say. "I'll give it a shot," she tells her seniors, "for the sake of the team."

It does her the trick every time. Her seniors won't question her further – or anyone else for that matter – so long as it's aimed to help the team. Sakura truly intends to do it for them, though, but she won't deny she has something else up her sleeve.

Now that she's got the permission of her seniors, she proceeds to the main, more grueling ordeal.

Apart from her PE classes, Sakura has never gone to the basketball court. She enjoys watching games; they put her in an astounding state of bliss no other sports can manage to achieve. But they're all she has witnessed, the actual games. She's never tried to peek beyond the glorious stage and observe what happens in the backstage; the countless practice matches where the Rakuzan players are able to gauge their abilities.

And now, standing before the double doors, and hearing a game in progress, she finds herself getting excited again. She can tell, just by the sharp squeak of rubber shoes, the holler of coordinating teammates, the echo of the ball bouncing against polished floor and between palms, and the smooth swish of the net every time a team sinks a goal, that Rakuzan High must really flaunt a formidable basketball team. And right in the middle of it stands their captain, whom she is determined to bother for the sake of the shogi club and her pride.

She hears a whistle then. A time-out most likely. She's about to slip inside when the door swings fully open, and out marches two towers who bump into her. She is instantly catapulted away, like a bug flicked by the finger.

"Hoh? Sakura-chan?"

"Itai…" She winces, rubbing her ankle. Too close. On a different angle, it would have meant a sprain. But more than that… Geez, why is everyone being so familiar with me today. She looks up at the two guys, one of them now offering a hand.

His dark hair sweeps his shoulders, and despite twilight starting to blanket the skies in darkness, his long, thick eyelashes don't fail to charm her. "I'm sorry we didn't see you, Sakura-chan. Are you all right?"

"Heh?" The other guy closes in. He isn't as towering, but the air around him screams like the wild, with his peeping incisor adding up to the effect. "Who's the stunner, Big Sis Reo?"

"Ah, Sakura-chan." This Big Sis Reo takes her hand and gently lifts her up to her feet. "Sei-chan said earlier we might have a visitor. He failed to mention she would be a beauty to challenge my own." With a flip of his hair, he trudges on.

"I'm Hayama Kotaro. Nice to meet you."

It isn't until the inter-high this summer when Rakuzan High first plays for this school year, and although these two are already second years, Sakura hasn't witnessed them play yet. Even then, she feels they're a beast only waiting to be unleashed.

"Yanagi Sakura," she finally says. "My apologies for intruding."

"Ah, no, no. Don't apologize." He jogs up after Big Sis Reo. "Seat yourself on the benches. Akashi has only been observing 'til now, but I'm sure he's coming in at any moment."

Sakura steps inside the court behind two girls, one carrying a heap of face towels and the other hugging a box of water bottles. She spots Seijuro instantly, across the court, a ball clipped between his forearm and his side, and his eyes scanning each player before they zero in on her.

His gaze doesn't linger, but the split-second eye contact renders her knees weak nonetheless. She settles by the edge of the bleachers before she loses her balance.

Big Sis Reo – or Mibuchi, as some girls excitedly whisper beside her – and Hayama are back after half a minute. They rejoin their team on one side to discuss their succeeding strategies. Seijuro joins the opposing team, and with a word or two, he seals their resolve.

Sakura glances at the scoreboard. They are already on the last two minutes of the final quarter. She would have attributed the higher score to Seijuro's team, which, she notices, comprises of only first years. But Seijuro slipping in a colored jersey on top of his white shirt and entering the court tell her otherwise. Of course it's only a practice game between Rakuzan High's own players, and it won't be so surprising if the upperclassmen win over the first years, but she can't imagine Seijuro giving in so easily. Besides, doesn't he always claim his victory to be absolute? Now would be the perfect time to substantiate his shameless claims.

The referee finally blows his whistle. Two minutes, and an eleven-point difference.

And it is in these two minutes that Sakura finally gets a glimpse of Seijuro's limitless abilities. High-speed passes are expected with such a huge gap and only two minutes left, but the accuracy of those passes is just inhuman. Seijuro succeeds in assisting two of his teammates score three consecutive goals in a matter of seconds. But as much as it's incredible, it's still not enough. And the gap is widened again when Mibuchi sinks in an annoying three.

Seijuro suddenly goes all out. From one end of the court, he dribbles his way through not one, not two, but three defenders! He shuffles his way into the two-point circle. He doesn't even flinch before the dark-skinned, muscled giant who jumps to block the attack. As if he's foreseen the center's move, Seijuro only smirks.

Sakura can barely keep up with Seijuro's actions, but the next thing she knows, he's dribbled back outside the three-point line – he must have an incredibly wide vision to pull off such a play. It's as if he doesn't even have blind spots. With no one nearby to stop him, Seijuro pitches in a smooth three.

Now the game is back to a five-point gap. Hayama is quick on the counter-attack. Sakura's feeling earlier was right, because damn, this kid is on the loose. And what the hell is it with his dribbling? She isn't particularly an expert on the sport but she knows he's dribbling too fast and too hard. And yet he doesn't falter.

He's about to plunge in for a shot when Seijuro appears out of nowhere and makes a steal.

But Sakura has finally given up on the extreme high. She closes her eyes and smiles. Of course he's the absolute. She knows now. She knows her place, and she's satisfied. So it's all right to admire him. She doesn't have to try meeting him on eye level. She doesn't have to surpass him. She only has to respect him, and tonight, he's earned himself that.

Her heart fully content, she rises from the bleachers and ambles for the exit.

She thinks of going back to the shogi club room, but what will she tell her seniors? So she retreats to the newspaper club instead. She ascends the old students building and enters the room to an announcement posted by the editor-in-chief. A free day. And then a postscript addressed to the associate editor-in-chief. Extra work. Of course.

She sighs, snatching a stack of papers from her desk. She'll have to do an outline of the major activities for the upcoming summer. It makes her laugh dryly. What major activities is the chief talking about? Everyone knows there's only the basketball inter-high to look forward to for the summer, which means an issue of the school paper dedicated entirely to Rakuzan High's inter-high journey. Just when she finally decides to steer away from Seijuro's path and cement her feelings within the confines of deep respect, she's fed straight into his claws instead. Truly, her life is beyond astonishing.

She hangs around the deserted corridors awhile longer, enjoying the waft of cool evening air and soothing herself with silence. Despite uncanny circumstances, this day has been entertaining; a pleasant memory to seal the first term of her first year in high school. When her watch beeps at six, she finally exits the old students building and proceeds to the shoe lockers. She remembers suddenly the warning of her seniors in the newspaper club. Being associate editor-in-chief is one hell of a tough job, more so since she's still in her first year. As if having to spend nearly two months in campus isn't cruel enough, she's going to have to keep an eye on the basketball club, too.

"Well, I guess it's time I get to know you better, huh." She veers left for the entrance gates. "Akashi Seijuro."

"Yes?"

(c) shigesho