Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. This is also very much Eyeshield 21-inspired, which means I took out a LOT of ideas from that brilliant manga. It then follows that originality is NOWHERE to be seen on this shit. I repeat, this is highly unoriginal.

A/N: Well, what do you know. Here I go again writing whatever crap that comes to mind. I am aware that other people have come up with GrimmIchi step/half-brother plot before. I, however, haven't read any of them. Perhaps I will, one of these days, should time permit. Thus said, I will try to make this as original as I can manage, as far as other fics are concerned. Anyway, this happens to be one of those random, unconcluded fics I started writing two or more years ago, out of boredom. It's been in my PC for that long now. I figured I might as well upload it before the GrimmIchi fandom dies. And it's dying, really. To move on, I intend this to be the LAST GrimmIchi multi-chapter fanfic I'll ever write. After this, I'm done, promise :D Lastly, this will contain MATURE themes later on. Yep, this is to entreat minors to NOT bother with this piece of crap.

...

Chapter One: The Stepbrother

…

My athletic capabilities, notable as they were, were constantly subject to one evaluation or another. Earlier tonight, a pamphlet had arrived on the mailbox from Coach Kensei Muruguma. Securing myself at the far end of the room, I read through its contents. What I processed was merely a summary of my and the rest of the team's statistics as per evaluation results of the National Federation of Pre-collegiate Athletic Association. Contents went as:

Grimmjow Jaggerjack Azuma (Team captain), Nagano Gakuen Panthers, Senior, Jersey #6, Quarterback

Power / Tackle: B+

Agility / Speed: A

Endurance : B+

Technique: A+

Leadership: A+

As shown here, I was a top-class and versatile athlete by high school standards. My position, QB, carried a certain prestige which meant that, among my teammates, I was the one who stood out the most. Except for my regrettable reliability as a pep-talker for my team, my stats pretty much spoke of what my superiority was imposing. My eyes then went on to skim the rest of my teammates' stats, but only two of them were worth my remembrance.

Omaeda Marechiyo (Vice captain), Nagano Gakuen Panthers, Senior, Jersey #2, Center

Power / Tackle: A+

Agility / Speed: D

Endurance : A+

Technique: C

Leadership: D

Hisagi Shuhei, Nagano Gakuen Panthers, Sophomore, Jersey #69, Running Back / Safety

Power / Tackle: B

Agility / Speed: S

Endurance : A

Technique: A+

Leadership: B+

I was called the 'Jaguar King', as an allusion to my team's mascot and my post as team captain. Hisagi was known as the 'Cheetah' because of his speed, while Marechiyo was nicknamed 'Liger' due to his size. Now, having more than one A-ranked skill or higher on your record would, in most cases, render you worth recruiting, as far as college scouts were concerned. However, no college talent manager on the sports department had rung my freaking doorbell. Why? Because they were too busy breaking their necks dialing Hisagi Shuhei's landline. Should one take a closer look at the bastard's skills table, his speed was ranked 'S', which more or less meant he could outrun even the fucking captain of the track team on any given day. And, by the way, 'S' stood for 'Special level of skill', therefore all other letters had nothing on it. Although my and Hisagi's overall skills were quite on par with one another, he was a fucking sophomore while I was a senior.

Somewhat dejected, I focused my attention instead on my mother's recent life-altering decision. She probably had enough determination in her to scale a mountain. Pointedly, I had warned her, as what my so-called friend, Ulquiorra, had advised, if only to prevent an impending fiasco,

"Mother, for fuck's sake, you do not need another husband."

"Son, that's not the proper way to talk to me."

And the discussion had ended right then and there. If her decisions didn't affect me in the least, I would, say, be more than willing to shove her down the aisle myself, to ultimately give her away to whoever. But her fucking decisions lately had been dismantling my life. In her life, she had obliged many well-intended pieces of advice, but turning down an untimely marriage proposal wasn't going to be one of them. Indeed, six years ago, she had got on with this seldom-sober bag of douche whose one great offense had resulted to the conception of my little half-brother. Moving on, I could not have helped but mumble,

"Mistakes, mistakes, fucking mistakes. Repeat the process and welcome to your life."

"I'd appreciate it if you treated me nicely."

Without heeding her, I had risen to my feet, thereby marking the elevation of my spot on the assholes' general rankings. But walk that aisle she would, come hell or high water.

"Whatfuckingever."

"Well, be sure to wear your best suit tonight. Dinner with the Kurosaki family at eight at Red Crab."

The asshole that I was had barely made a gesture of assent to his mother's biddings. Because I was skipping football practice for tonight's shitty arrangements, I was pissed to hell as it was. As a matter of fact, my ears had nearly bled when Coach Kensei had screamed at me upon learning I had had to leave early. And to think I was fucking quarterback and team captain, the humiliation had been tremendous.

It wasn't an easy step to start taking risks in that direction, that was, pissing my mother off deliberately, but then I had more right than anyone else to demand answers from this woman who called herself my mother. While the reality of my being her flesh and blood could be repeatedly ascertained by pitting us together side by side, there also was no contesting her inability to raise children. For starters, I was eighteen, and she was thirty-five. Do the math, and seventeen was barely an appropriate age to get yourself knocked up by some shameless son of a gun. To top this off, no one knew who my father was, with the possible exception of herself. And, out of all the dirty secrets she chose to refuse to tell me, one of them was the identity of my father—as chance would have it. So forgive me if I believed I was given all the reason in the world to hate her to a certain extent.

And now I shut myself in my room, feeling impelled to rummage my wardrobe or drop Ulquiorra a call. I opted for the former, since the bastard never answered phone calls unless Starrk's name was the one that registered itself on the fucking screen. At that, I was left to contemplate things further. To be quite honest, the comfort we were living in had always been a puzzle to me. My mother had never stayed long enough in any given job to secure more than two paychecks, and not once had we ever gone broke. I was sure she would no longer pass as a viable prostitute—not that I had ever entertained that type of thoughts.

To move on, I hauled one of my gorgeous suits out the closet. It was a grey Armani. Coupled by a matching pair of trousers and a red tie, the ensemble could very well produce a dashing prick out of me. And yet looking at it only compounded my frustration.

…

Tap, tap, tap.

The clumsy series of knocks issuing from my door pretty much spoke of the identity of the person who wished to bug me in the middle of my game. Well, this fucking boss fight was only good for slaughtering my witless squad anyway.

"Szayel, what the hell is it this time?"

"Lemme in!" My five-year old little brother was almost screaming. That brat sure had to know what required urgency and its opposite. I bet you a million yen he simply meant to ask me to grab the cookie jar on top of the fridge. If he was to demand a task more complex than that, I'd slit my fucking throat.

So I unlocked my door to find a sight that could've sent a battalion of girls squealing. As for me, none of it was out of line with the usual showcase of good looks helplessly prevailing in this house. Szayel, the little brat, was a sight to behold. With what cuteness bespectacled five-year olds were equipped with, he could soon be seen skirting roadside billboard advertisements. All the same, the very neat miniature coat and tie suit he was wearing now imparted an annoying, unnecessary restriction to hug the little runt and ruffle his hair here and now.

"Well, your hair looks stupid." I teased.

His combed-back pink locks appeared to me a perplexing choice. If it had been up to me, I'd have tied his hair back in a neat pony tail to complete a heavy-metal rock star look.

"You're the thtupid. You're not yet dressth."

That prompted me to consult my wall clock. It was already half past seven in the evening, which meant I had approximately fifteen minutes to take a shower and put on my evening regalia.

"Oh, shoot." I traipsed over my wardrobe in an uninhibited haste, with the nagging, never-ending sense that I was simply troubling myself to please my mother and her whims. Before I locked myself in the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of my brother nabbing my PS3 controller, and in that action the fate of my Black Ops campaign was sealed. I just wished he wouldn't drool on my controller this time.

…

By the time we arrived at the venue, the digits on the dashboard were flashing thirty minutes past eight. If anyone was willing to comment on my family's lack of regard to punctuality, I'd probably chip in a few incriminating additions for explanation. But, as it was, Dr. Kurosaki wasn't the type who'd do his nuts upon something like this. In any case, he was waiting on the portico of the restaurant when mother caught sight of him, and, at that, she delegated Szayel into my arms as if the runt had no means of getting on the frickin' ground with both feet. Naturally, I heaved him down, whereby he toddled after mother.

"Doctor, I want you to meet my babies. Grimmjow, if you please." Mother was exercising the garish, extravagant charm she was known for, leaving Dr. Kurosaki smiling at her. Well, I could admit she was looking exceptionally beautiful tonight, if I might be permitted a compliment. Moving on, this prompted me to take a hand out my pocket and to hold it out to the man. While it happened, I evinced neither a smile nor a gesture of affability.

"Good to meet you, young man."

"And this here is my youngest, Szayel." My mother prodded the kid by the shoulder and pushed him gently toward the doctor. So here a few matters got clear on the onset, all for easy understanding; where you found a hard-to-please teen like me, you'd find a complete incongruence of characters in his little brother. And so Szayel was beaming like a fucking cherub, all to displace any such praise which might have been originally reserved for me. Not that I gave one damned hoot.

"What a dazzling boy you are. How old are you, little buddy?"

"I jutht turned five, sthir."

"Ho ho. You may call me uncle." Dr. Kurosaki placed a palm over Szayel's head and turned to my mother, "Shall we?"

Within seconds, the doctor found himself ushering us to the table where two individuals were awaiting us. I believed mother had mentioned Dr. Kurosaki also had a son besides a couple of young girls. But now there were only two girls to be seen. They both looked ordinary. It made me feel better, alright, though not nearly better enough to warrant giving a damn. At the sight of little Szayel, however, both gave the little boy a look of approval.

"You didn't mention your girls are this pretty." Mother told the doctor. "But where is Ichigo-kun?"

Yeah. I remembered. The teen was called Ichigo. Strawfuckingberry. Well, it wasn't like my name wasn't stupid-sounding to warrant me an insulting remark or two. Anyway, the bloke was nowhere to be seen.

"He went to the wash room." One of the girls explained.

Just then, a voice was heard behind me.

"Hello."

Mother and the doctor turned their heads toward that someone who was none other than this Ichigo.

"There you are, son. This is the lovely lady I've been talking about. Ms. Azuma. And these are her two sons."

Still rooted to my spot, not turning around to avail myself a glimpse of this Ichigo, I deduced mother was hugging the boy, after which she introduced the lad to my bro. And all this was happening while, what, I was standing there, fists stuffed in pockets like a bored devil who knew not how to make himself useful? In time, I heard my mother,

"This is my eldest. I believe you are in high school now."

"I'm in my freshman year, ma'am."

"Oh, that makes you two years younger than my Grimmjow." She then turned to me. "Grimmjow, Ichigo-kun wants to say 'hi'."

When I finally swiveled my pompous ass, I learned I towered over him by a considerable difference. He was a little less than half a head shorter, which wasn't bad for a sixteen-year old, considering I was six feet and one inch in height. His posture was a fine piece of work and, to complement that, his built was rather slender, his legs long. Like mine, the suit he was wearing was remindful of some celebrity awards event. But, unlike me, he managed to force himself a cordial smile.

"Hi."

"Yoh."

He extended an arm, which I took out of courtesy, other than my desire to steer clear of my mother's nagging. Well, it did help that his general appearance wasn't shrinking in comparison to mine. As a matter of fact, I would even venture to say he wasn't bad-looking and that his brown eyes were somewhat pleasant to look at. Of course, there was no possibility a model scouting agency would pick him over me, not even on his best days. Still…

"Er, we can let go now." He muttered, indicating something below us, to which I looked down.

I was still clasping the hand he had offered me… Just what in bloody fuck was I thinking? Never mind. It was just a fucking lapse in my consciousness, if nothing else. Besides, I was merely showing the kind of awareness to details I had been begging people to demonstrate. If this young Kurosaki couldn't buy that shit then the choice to be a cynical prick was always his.

And so dinner commenced just as planned, with no favorable results nor grave consequences as far as I could tell. This, however, didn't mean I succeeded for the most part in restraining my scowls. At one point, though, the conversation took a better turn, for here was the doctor, saying,

"I heard you've been elected captain of Nagano High School's football team, Grimmjow-kun. Ichigo here, likewise, is varsity member of Karakura High School Football team."

Karakura High School was situated right outside the Kanto region, somewhere at the southern mouth of the Tohoku region. Nagano High School, on the other hand, lay on the northern boundary of Kanto, which meant both academies were well within commuting distance of each other. But I perused the bloke, to allow my mental process to come to its natural conclusion. He did look athletic, though his built was rather light. But I could not have cared less about him because, in Karakura Gakuen Football Team, there existed a player who stood high above his contemporaries. Or so the hype said. In any case, you could say this other quarterback was more skilled than I was, maybe even by a long shot.

"So Ginjo Kugo, my nemesis, is your new captain." I referred to the superb quarterback, looking at Ichigo straight in the eyes. Yes, now that last year's MVP, the quarterback Asuka Katakura, had graduated, the title of the best high school QB in Japan now lay somewhere well within reach of Karakura's new captain.

Mild confusion was the expression he assumed next, as far as my observation went. In the succeeding moment he clarified,

"Oh. There seems to be a misunderstanding. I'm varsity member of the European Football Team, or soccer, as it is more popularly known; not American Football."

Just as I thought. This dude was never cut out for real sports. Having observed that much, I found my mouth preceding me,

"Lame."

"…"

"…"

Doctor Kurosaki was watching us both in obvious fascination, while in front of him mother was looking quite wiped out. She was about to open her mouth, to maybe reprimand the shit out of me, but Ichigo intercepted, his smile misplaced if anything,

"Well, I can't blame you for that notion. American Football is so full of physical contact it makes any other sport look…gay. Whatever the case, Kugo-sempai is, in fact, the new captain of the Karakura Gakuen American Football Team. We—I mean all of us Karakura students—are looking forward to his inevitable MVP award before the American Football Inter-High Tournament season ends." He was almost sneering as he said this. What nerves.

"We'll see about that." was my response. I said it out of pure cheek and nothing else. Ginjo Kugo was now incontestably the best quarterback in the league, no questions about that. In fact, to declare otherwise would be the same as trying to upset a concrete truth.

"We will. So is your Kicker coming back? I heard he had been legendary before he quit."

Seemed like the brat was also a fan of American Football, which suited me just fine. Because he was a soccer dude, he had to be interested in the kicking aspect of gridiron football, right? The subject on which he chose to focus his interest, however, harped me. More than being a handicap, the lack of a kicker and a punter in my team was the sort of deficiency from which it was hard to recover. If only a certain bastard would come back to the team…

I smirked like a devil, for some unholy reason. But from hereon I proceeded to exercise my control over my fucking mouth and refrained from trash-talking the brat. Perhaps it was even safe to say I enjoyed the evening on account of the topic of conversation.

Well…that night, when I laid down to bed, I couldn't sleep a fucking wink, couldn't stop thinking of a pair of brown eyes.

TBC

A/N: Katakura Asuka is a member of Gotei 13's Third Division. I believe he is seated 6th. Well, at first I thought he was a girl because Asuka, from what I recall, is a girl's name. I will not use OC's for the athletes as there are plenty of available characters in Bleach. Anyway, I decided to give Grimmjow his mother's surname to emphasize he has no father.