POT – Kirihara Style
A/N: I like Aka-chan. I also like Ryoma, Eiji, Kaido, Yuuta…but since Aka-chan doesn't seem to have a lotta stories. (poor Aka-chan, he's so unloved TT)
Disclaimers: Don't own anything, not even this computer.
I give you POT – Kirihara style (the brat prince no. 2)!! From freshman to…well….CC haven't quite decided how far yet…
Chapter 1 – Who's the bakemone?
Kirihara's POV
I have my life all planned out.
First, winning the Nationals, then Japan, then the world, then retire and buy off Hawaii and play tennis and have chocolate ice-cream sundaes with caramel sauce with the paper umbrella on the side ALL day.
It's simple really, since I'm so good in tennis there's no possible way Rikkaidai could not place me as their number one ace. Rikkaidai is just a stepping-stone I have to cross before I conquer the world (and buy off Hawaii and a life-time supply of sundaes). Rikkaidai should feel honored I applied to their school and not some unknown, upstart school like Fudomine or Rokkaku.
I entered like a prince and ended up as a peasant.
All because the baka-buchou is completely blind and treated me the same as other first-years, which meant ball-picking all day, all year, all weathers. It completely sucked since Rikkaidai's tennis club had over 100 seniors and juniors and that meant a lot of balls.
I mean a LOT of balls.
Someone as talented (and cool) as me shouldn't be stuck ball-picking. Are they so blind to my obvious brilliance or do they just lack neurons in their brain matter?
Either way, I'm NOT going to be stuck as some stupid, moronic, ball-picking first-year.
I glared at the ball that I had just picked up. It was lime-green, still fuzzy, still rather new…and it was mocking me. It had that 'Baka-Aka can't hit me! Buhahaha!' look on the fuzz.
Nobody (and no-thing) gets away with laughing at me!
Picking up a random abandoned racket, I whacked the ball hard and felt much better as it killed itself by conveniently smashing into some wannabe punk guy's head, said head plunged into some cream-filled cake, then rocketed off into the court, confusing a second-year who now had two balls instead of one. (He missed them both. What a slow idiot.) Then bounced and knocked over a crate of tennis balls.
I pouted cutely, which is the pout perfected so nobody could resist. I had been aiming to kill all three crates of balls.
"YOU!! FRESHMAN!!"
It sounded like that useless Nakayama-buchou.
I turned. It was. I still don't get why he's the buchou of all people. All I've seen him do is shout, wave, and rant. That seemed to be all he was able to do with a tennis racket.
"50 laps around the court!!" He shouted, whirling his arms excitedly.
I turned and pouted cutely at him. I think he fried too many brain cells with his ultra-sound, ultra-loud voice because my Akaya-patented pout didn't work! Maybe I should give him my Akaya-puppy-eyes TM as well…
I humphed, threw away the low-class racket I was holding. (It was low-class because it made me miss my target.) Since it was the buchou who ordered and on the first day no less, I decided to do as he said for now.
I'll take laps over ball-picking any day. It wasn't backbreaking or demeaning because pros do laps all the time (but not ball-picking). Someone as great as me shouldn't have to do such undignified work as ball-picking.
I took my time, because even though it's what pros do, laps are boring. To keep me from sleep-walking, I tried to trip every other runner I came across (five of them had really good reflexes but others landed on their face or butt) and kicked every tennis ball I found into the bushes (I think I broke something on my twenty-fifth ball because I heard a lovely crash).
When I finished my laps, (baka-buchou gave me 30 more because I 'accidentally' tripped his precious regular player over, then another 30 more because I tripped him over) practice was over and I have yet to play a single game of tennis.
To say I was upset was an understatement.
I grabbed my tennis bag, shoved a couple of first-years out of my way (and felt much better since they were standing so close together it caused a domino effect) and headed to the street courts.
Normally, I go there at night after dinner and after my ice-cream sundae but since I haven't touched my racquet yet, I wasn't hungry enough.
By the time I got there I was in high spirits drinking free soda from a vending machine after a perfectly placed kick, and figured out a point system:
Face – 80 points (I always like facial decorations.)
Chest – 20 points (Because nothing shows even if they bruise)
Ankle and wrists – 30 points (They stop playing to whine about it being broken. That's not fun.)
Butt – 100 points (Simply because it is very difficult to hit someone on the behind when they are facing you the entire time.)
Groin – 100 points (Just because it's funny to watch them howl)
I stepped into the court, glad to find four other players already there. I looked at one of them in the eye and smirked. He got pissed. It was almost too easy.
"What you want, you chibi?!" The bald guy shrieked. For such a huge guy he sure had a high-pitched, 5-year-old's voice. I laughed. Can't help it really, he provoked me. He shouldn't have screamed.
"You sure there's something between those legs of yours?" I hiccupped. "You sound like a girl."
Baldie suggested a match to 'teach me a lesson', which was what I wanted. All four of them against me…at the same time. That was fine with me. Half of my brain is worth more than their four combined brains.
I quickly amended my point system.
Arguments – 50 points (watching them insult each other in lame ways is funny.)
Fighting – 80 points (I like it when it turns bloody, especially since I don't have to do the dirty work)
They let me serve and tried to act gentlemanly while doing it, which doesn't make sense because 4 against 1 is not at all chivalrous.
So I did.
I served my Knuckle Serve and scored 80 points off the bat. One of them went down, bawling like a stuck pig and clutching his nose. It was a vast improvement to his less-than-manly looks.
The other three started a gobbling turkey routine – each trying to cram as much expletives and curses before my next serve.
Another knuckle serve, my specialty. The ball bounced and crushed someone's ribcage. 20 points. I frowned.
"Are you sure you can play tennis? You're supposed to hit the ball with the racquet you know?"
I won two straight games before the stupid quartet decided to quit tennis and play 'beat-up-on-chibi' which is not tennis at all.
And not a game that I'm especially good at.
I grabbed two more tennis balls, rapidly launching a straight volley at them. Two idiots went down immediately clutching their faces and other body parts.
"That's how you use a racquet." I told at them, basking in their pain.
Two remaining idiots charged at me like an enraged rhinoceros, vaulting over the net and holding their racquets as their only weapon. Being as smart as I was, which was much smarter than those baka-tachi, I picked the only wise option -
Stuck out my tongue, turned and dashed for cover.
Of course, I could outrun those elephants any time of the day.
…just not on a bad day.
And today seems to be one of those ultra-bad days where everything that should go right somehow comes out all crooked and deformed.
I, the ever graceful Rikkaidai ace, tripped.
Tripped over nothing. Wasted precious few seconds of get-away time, scrapped my knee and pulled upright by the back of my shirt.
"Not so smart now, are you chibi?" The bald one sneered, one hand fisting my shirt leaving my legs dangling inches off the ground. I peddled my legs, tried to kick him in the shins. His arm was gorilla-sized, extra-long, extra-strong and extra-hairy. My foot fell short of my target by several inches…as did my fist from his face.
It was only logical that I started panicking now, and I did - because humans possess logic and animals didn't. That proves I'm human and the one holding me isn't, because he didn't run away or panic when I scored 80 points off his forehead.
"My chibi-brains are worth more than your saru-brains." I muttered. (A/N: saru - monkey) That was probably not very smart of me to say that to their faces. But it was true!
I guess baldie's friend must like lies more since he obviously couldn't handle the truth and took it out by punching me hard in the stomach. I didn't mean to say it outloud, the devil made me say it!
I stopped yanking out arm hair and cradled my stomach instead. It hurts. You just don't realize how much until a few seconds of panic had passed and reality steps in again.
The fists clenched again. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the oncoming hit that's never going to miss even if the guy suddenly strike blind by God. Like how the freight train never misses the random dumb deer.
He hit me in the stomach again, bastard.
Then I was dropped onto the concrete and got my hair ruffled. Like I was their personal pet Chihuahua.
"Fuku-buchou!" The two bowed their heads in respect. So did I. Because the two hoodlums both had a hand on my head and pressing down with enough force to dislocate my neck. I twisted and squirmed under their steel grip. "We're just welcoming the freshman!"
"Hanase!" I growled between my teeth. (A/N: Let go!)
Since Rikkaidai didn't have a coach for any school teams. (Either the teachers are just lazy or they really hate our guts.) Buchou and fuku-buchou are given the power above other students. Power that is on par with the student council. (Although that is not the reason why I want to be a regular. I deserve to be a regular simply because I am an ace.)
It was a given that everyone gave respect to people above your power station.
It was also a given that I would try to go around the rules and use them to my advantage.
Not that I needed to cheat that often. I am the Rikkaidai ace afterall.
Yukimura fuku-buchou didn't look very happy. That was an understatement. Yukimura-senpai was always smiling, so when his mouth twisted downwards, it meant the sky is falling and everyone else is still building bomb shelters. Even Nakayama-buchou is defeated by the 'frown' TM.
That was what the rumor mill whispered. I never quite took them seriously, but the two idiots definitely did.
Yukimura's smile turned another degree downwards and the two started sweating buckets. It didn't feel nice being the bucket.
"Yamero!" (A/N: Stop!) I spoke again, a little louder and tried to yank their sweating hands off my arms and head. They gripped harder, bruise-inducing hard. I winced.
Yukimura fuku-buchou's frowned deepened. "Let him go and fifty laps around the court tomorrow."
I smelt a stinky sigh of relief and the gripped loosened a fraction. I shot off, picking up my racket where it fell on the ground and took three steps around fuku-buchou to pick up my bag.
"Daijoubu ka?" (A/N: Are you alright?) A soft melodic voice echoed from behind me. I shrugged. Fuku-buchou sounded really nice and pleasant, not at all like the harsh, mocking tone that I usually got from seniors.
It was different. I blinked then muttered a soft, "Daijoubu." (A/N: I'm fine.) I'm as fine as anyone could be after a little roughhousing with people twice your size. This is turning out to be a really bad day.
Any day without a real tennis match is bad. I think my skills just went down a notch.
Wait. This is my fuku-buchou standing next to me right? My tennis club's fuku-buchou? I slapped myself mentally at my stupidity, mentally because my head still hurts from being squeezed.
"Ne. Yukimura fuku-buchou?"
Yukimura's face lit up with a friendly smile. Well, at least that look is normal.
"Let's play a match." I declared with confidence. Since he's just the fuku-buchou of the four idiots and I'm the Rikkaidai ace, the outcome has already been decided. I'm going to win with a love match and take over the position of fuku-buchou, then knuckle-serve to buchou until he looks like one of the four idiots, then I'm going to be buchou and I don't have to do anymore horrible ballpicking! (And then I'm going to sweep all tennis titles, become a millionaire and retire to Hawaii with a life-time supply of chocolate sundaes.)
I smiled broadly at the thought. Yukimura fuku-buchou smiled back at me. What a sucker.
"Sure Kirihara-kun." Yukimura's eyes sparkled. It made me feel almost guilty to take his spot on the team.
ooOOOoo
30 minutes later found a half-dead and completely humiliated me panting on the court.
The girly guy just completely massacred me on the court, 6-0. I didn't even score a single game from him.
I guess those rumors were true. Yukimura is scary. Face of an angel; ruthless as a Nazi. A bakemone (A/N: monster) in the world of living innocents.
But…Kirihara Akaya won't give up that easily!
This is a bakemone that I will conquer. Then I'll be the hero (and ace) of the tennis world!
"Fuku-buchou..." I got up unsteadily on my feet using my racket for support. The teen smiled at me, dark eyes showing their concern. I bristled a little at the fact that he looked perfectly unruffled and unwinded. Just how much was he holding back? "I'm going to beat you one day!"
Yukimura fuku-buchou's smile grew bigger and his eyes glinted with amusement. I pouted. Damn him. Why couldn't he take me seriously? I'm definitely going to be training much harder just to wipe that stupid smile off his face.
"Hai, I'm sure you'll be able to one day, Akaya-kun."
Why does that sound more like an insult than a compliment? And since when did I give him permission to call me by my first name? I pouted some more and zipped up my belongings and racket. What a horrible day. I finally got my tennis match and was completely slaughtered, humiliated by a girly guy.
"Akaya-kun," Yukimura's voice floated from behind me. Even his voice was girly. "It's late. Let's go get dinner together."
That wasn't what I expected. I thought I was going to get more laps since I challenged fuku-buchou without permission. Maybe I could take advantage in this and get some blackmail material on him. I chuckled at the thought of fuku-buchou on his knees begging me take over his position on the team.
"Okay! But you're paying!" Yukimura fuku-buchou nodded in compliance, eyes still sparkling in friendliness, hands twitching around his tennis bag.
I grinned back at him, my mind already planning to treat myself to the most expensive restaurant and have five of their famous chocolate caramel sundae somewhere downtown. Well, he's paying right? So what if it costs 10,000 yen? My grin widened.
I smiled brightly at him - the smile that saved me from detention all the time. "Arigato Yukimura-senpai! Let's go!" I turned my back to him, which is something a regretted moments later.
Something jumped from behind and landed on my back, held my arms down and squeezed my lungs into water. I choked back a cry and wheezed out, "Hanase!"
Arms tightened around me. "Demo...Aka-chan wa kawaii!" (A/N: but...Aka-chan is cute) I didn't know fuku-buchou could squeal but he did. I'm not lying! It was an high-pitched squeal you'd expect from your 7-year old sister with barbie dolls.
"F-fuku-buchou! Y-yamero!"
"Wa--h! Kawaii!"
Deep wheeze.
"C-can't breath..."
To be continued…
A/N: Beh…stupid ending. But I didn't want to leave a cliffhanger.
Aka-chan looks like a chocolate sundae person. Yukimura looks like a love-of-all-things-cute-and-fluffy person…and chibi Aka-chan would look cute with fluffy, curly hair…heh.
I didn't mean to make Yukimura so girly!! It's all in Aka-chan's mind and...his mind works in...peculiar ways.