Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Konomi Takeshi does. I'm merely playing with them for the moment.

A/N: Between the 1st and 25th of December, I kept posting one fic/update a day over at my LJ, lumelle. These updates were in series of five fics sharing a theme.

The fourth series of five started five AUs. This one is was sparked by Konomi comparing Atobe to Date Masamune, a samurai who was famous for, among other things, gouging out one of his own eyes.

Insight

Chapter 1

Shame

As far as logic served, a practice match shouldn't have been all that hard to arrange. After all, they were both high-profile tennis clubs, within a reasonable distance from each other, both certainly aware of the other's existence. Considering they'd even managed a practice match with Rokkaku, it certainly wasn't unreasonable to think of one with Rikkai.

Even then, though, it had taken an almost ridiculous amount of time to arrange the matches. Atobe suspected it had to do with Yukimura. It wasn't that he had anything against the other buchou, aside from the fact he considered Yukimura a prissy little princess with a craving for attention; they just simply didn't get along very well. As such, he finally let Sakaki handle the negotiations. After that, everything went much more smoothly.

It had been a lot of work, certainly; however, it was all well worth it just for this one moment. He couldn't keep the almost happy smirk off his face as he finally walked onto the court, shaking hands with Sanada over the net. This was the one match he'd been waiting for. It seemed that whenever they tried to play against each other, someone or something would interfere; this time, though, there was no reason for either Yukimura or Sakaki to step in.

The smirk was still on his face as he served.

For as long as they rallied back and forth, the match seemed to pass by incredibly fast. On one level of his consciousness, he knew they kept fighting for each and every point until the very last, yet it seemed he'd barely blinked and they were already at four all. It was like none of the endless shots and serves meant anything the moment they'd finally been solved into a point for one or the other. And that was it, wasn't it. The match didn't matter beyond the pleasure he drew from it; only the outcome of it was important.

Tannhauser Serve. Wind. Rondo towards Destruction. Fire. World of Ice. Lightning. Had he stopped to think of it, Atobe might have smirked at the awed expressions on the faces of their audience; as it was, he merely concentrating on returning each shot as it came towards him, whatever it took to accomplish that task.

Until one of the shots hit him directly in the face, sending him flying on his back. There was an unpleasant sound as his head hit the ground.

It was shameful, really. He certainly should have seen it coming. Then, he doubted Sanada had exactly planned for that exact route for his shot, either, judging by his rather startled shout of, "Atobe!" that Atobe could just barely tell apart from the rest of the voices.

It hurt. It really hurt. Then again, he probably shouldn't have expected anything else. Sanada wasn't known for being gentle in his shots, so to get his head rattled first by a ball in the face and then a nice strong hit on the court wasn't exactly enjoyable.

Though it took him a second to recover, he was already pushing himself up as the first worriers rushed close. "Stop fussing," he hissed, waving his concerned teammates away. "I'm perfectly all right."

"You hit your head pretty badly, though," Oshitari pointed out even as the others did step back. "Might want to have that checked. No need to play a hero for a practice match, y'know."

Atobe gave him a dry chuckle, shaking his head. He immediately regretted it; it hurt an awful lot, not that he was going to admit that. "You were just looking for an excuse to tell me to get my head checked, weren't you?"

"That too… but I'm actually concerned." Oshitari raised his eyebrows even as he picked up Atobe's racquet, reaching it out for his captain to take. "That did look pretty bad."

"The worst there'll be is a bruised eye," Atobe sighed. "Not that I'm exactly enthusiastic about that, but it's hardly worth panicking. My head's taken worse hits."

"But Atobe," Jirou whined, standing at the edge of the court. He looked rather distressed; Atobe hadn't often seen such an expression on his face. "What if you got a concussion or something? You should rest and get it fixed!"

"I told you, I'm fine." Atobe finally reached his hand towards the offered racquet, grasping on it.

His hand met nothing.

Atobe frowned. So did Oshitari. As he tried to grasp on the racquet again, the tensai instead drew it back, raising his other hand. "…Atobe." Oshitari looked at him seriously. "How many fingers?"

Atobe rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, Oshitari. Three. Now give me my racquet."

Oshitari was still frowning, but he did hand the racquet back. Atobe stepped forward, taking it from him. This time, he got a good grasp on the racquet.

"I apologize," he said smoothly, turning back to the court. "Shall we continue?"

Even Sanada, he noted, was looking at him with the most peculiar expression. Atobe ignored this. It had been Sanada's point, hadn't it? And now it was his serve. Most excellent.

For some time, they continued playing. There was something funny with his Insight, much though he hated to admit it, but he made up for it with his instincts. Even then, though, he kept slipping, Sanada gaining advantage slowly but surely. He hadn't hit his head that badly, though… had he?

As he finally made his way to the bench, Oshitari was there already, pushing him down before he could say a word. He wasn't the only one, however. Sakaki himself stood up from his seat, leaning closer to Atobe.

Atobe was almost startled as a hand was suddenly held over his right eye. "Atobe." Sakaki's voice was extremely serious, now. "Do you see me?"

"Of course I do," Atobe huffed incredulously, taking his water bottle as Kabaji offered it to him, taking a big, almost undignified gulp. He had certainly had to work, yet his points were slipping… It was just unforgivable. As was this strange behavior from everyone else. What were they thinking, honestly? "Why would I not see you?"

Instead of answering, his coach merely nodded grimly, removing his hand. Then, however, he set his hand over Atobe's left eye instead, this time moving it much slower.

Atobe saw the approaching shadow of the teacher's hand. However, as it got closer, he started to panic, much though he worked to hide the fact. Instead of simply seeing the hand approach, he found his field of sight entirely covered by the fine hand. As it closed over his eye, he found complete darkness in front of himself. His both eyes were wide open, he knew they were, yet he couldn't see anything.

"…And now?" Sakaki asked, sounding uncharacteristically quiet. Even without seeing Atobe could tell the entire team was staring at him, waiting for his response.

It might have been easy to lie, of course, to hide the problem. However, it would have been just as easy for the coach to simply do something similar to what Oshitari had done – ask for the number of fingers, if he could find nothing less cliché. And there was no way he was going to make it through that test by anything but the luck of his guess.

"…I can't." His voice sounded hoarse even in his own ears.

Then the hand was away and he was looking at Sakaki again, Sakaki who looked more serious than ever before, and then the coach stood up, turned towards Yukimura, and said the words Atobe hadn't thought he would ever hear. Certainly not during this one match. Certainly not against Sanada.

"Hyoutei's Atobe forfeits."

He stood up, meaning to protest, to tell that he would not forfeit, he was perfectly capable of playing damn it and if Seigaku's Fuji had done it completely blind then he shouldn't have had any problem whatsoever. However, as soon as he was on his feet, he found himself swaying somewhat ominously as a dizzy feeling took over him. His hand shot out, reaching for the back of the bench for support. However, he got the distance wrong, his hand just barely missing the bench.

He was almost grateful for the blackness that swallowed him as he started to fall, at least saving him from having to witness the embarrassment of his failure.