Chapter Three

Author's Notes: Finally, after over a year, you finally get an update. I'm terribly sorry that after so long all I've brought to you is a short, rather unnecessary filler chapter, but hey, something's better than nothing, right?

The next day, Atobe refused to lose his cool.

He had a plan to get Ryoma to obey him. It was fool-proof. It was deadly. It was known to be a terror all around Tokyo, often mentioned in high school tennis magazines. The very name caused many tennis regulars of Hyotei's rival school Seigaku to buckle to their knees – or, at the very least, run for the nearest bathroom.

Inui Juice.

Atobe walked into the change room with a smug smile on his face. A canteen of disgusting green liquid was trapped in his tennis bag. We'll see how the brat likes his drinks after this, Atobe thought, sliding into one of the empty benches. He was earlier than the rest of the regulars, and took the moment to stew in his plan.

Tezuka had mentioned the deadly drink on an off chance encounter a few weeks ago. Atobe had contemplated the conversation, wondering if it would help his team improve, but had tossed the idea aside. He was an Atobe. He didn't need to steal ideas from Seigaku. However, dire circumstances called for dire measures… and Atobe's new rival wasn't Seigaku, but one cocky Echizen Ryoma. The boy would treat him with respect if it was the last thing Atobe made sure of.

"You look happy." The door opened, and Oshitari walked in. He had his tennis bag in one hand, and his violin case in the other.

Atobe offered a rare smile. "I'm going to put the brat in his place."

Oshitari arched a brow. "Elaborate?"

"Echizen Ryoma. First year. New member." Atobe pulled out his racquet, and plucked at the strings. They were in perfect condition as usual. "He's been a real pain."

Setting aside his tennis bag, Oshitari began unbuttoning his school shirt. "It's unusual for you to be so caught up by a freshman."

Atobe irritably pulled out his lotion. "I'm not caught up."

An amused smile spread across Oshitari's face. "There's 200 members in our club. It's silly for you to be occupied by a single freshman… unless…" He let the sentence trail off ominously. Atobe ignored him, furiously moisturizing his legs. He didn't know why all his teammates considered it "weird" that he wanted to punish the brat.

Echizen Ryoma was a nuisance to the club. It was only natural that Atobe do something about it.

"Anyway," Oshitari continued briskly. "How are you going to set him straight?"

Atobe tugged on his sneakers. He got a new pair about every week, and each one was altered to perfection. This pair was no exception, and he admired their shiny, sleek exterior. He then returned his gaze to Oshitari, and offered a smug smile. "You'll see."

"Interesting," was all Oshitari replied with.

Over the next half hour, their expansive change room filled with tennis players. With over 200 Hyotei students in the club, it was necessary that they had an enlarged version of a clubroom. Unlike most teams, their clubroom was nearly the size of an entire house. On most days, Atobe ignored everyone but the regulars. However, this time, he had rapt attention for the freshmen – in particular, a gold-eyed, bratty one.

"He's still not here," Atobe murmured to himself, observing the steadily emptying change room with disappointment. Practice would start in five minutes, and the brat still hadn't arrived. With a shrug, he locked the club room and exited. If Ryoma came late and wanted access to the change room, he would have to ask Atobe for the key.

This would ensure that he wouldn't be able to sneak in while Atobe was busy.

Just as he was leaving, however, Oshitari gave him a weird look. "You're locking it?"

"I… ah, yes."

"Why?" the blue-haired boy asked coolly. "Someone might need to get something."

Atobe huffed, and looked away. "I have the key. They can ask me."

"But isn't that just a hassle?"

There was something about Oshitari's stare that Atobe didn't like. He didn't like it one bit.

"It doesn't matter," Atobe confirmed. He swiftly brushed past his teammate. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a club to run."

Oshitari just watched him go, before chuckling to himself. "Not caught up, huh?"

"The club room is locked."

It was a quarter into practice, and Atobe had been in the middle of getting a drink of his water. Back still turned, he allowed himself to revel in his victory. That was right. The brat was going to have to respectfully ask for the key. Composing himself, he turned around, and just merely arched a brow. "Ahn?"

Ryoma peered up at him. He was still wearing the school uniform, tennis bag slung over his shoulder. His hands were in his pockets, and his posture was languidly relaxed. "The room is locked." Ryoma gestured to the club room. "I need to change."

"Is that so?" Atobe said in a slow drawl.

Ryoma blinked wearily. "I need the key."

Atobe allowed himself to scowl. "Before I give you the key – you're late. It's already fifteen minutes into practice."

"Che." Ryoma tugged his cap down. "It's too early for this."

Hmph. Damned brat. "You know," Atobe said. "There are consequences for disobeying the basic rules of the club."

Ryoma rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'm sorry."

Did he really think sorry was going to cut it? Atobe straightened up, and dangled the key in front of Ryoma's face. The freshman was going to suffer for his disobedience. "I'll give you the key, but once you're done, I'm going to punish you."

"Punish me?" Ryoma blinked again, tiredly. He rubbed one eye with a fisted hand, and Atobe thought it was too cute before he realized he was thinking the brat was cute, and Ryoma was in no way, shape or form cute. Atobe scoffed. "Did you even comb your hair?" he asked, staring at Ryoma's unruly locks. "It's a mess."

Ryoma ran his hand through his hair, looking disgruntled. "I thought this was a tennis club. Not a fashion show."

"I expect the best in all areas of my team," Atobe said. "We're known for having both the tennis skills and the good looks." He shot him a look of disgust. "We don't accept slobs."

"Good looks? I didn't know having an ape face meant being good looking."

Atobe narrowed his eyes, but took a deep breath, trying to control his internal rage. There was no need to waste precious energy over this brat. Once practice was over, Ryoma would never give him trouble again. The bottle of green liquid in his right hand would make sure of it. He decided to curtly inform Ryoma of this: "Laugh now, but you're going to have an attitude check by the time this practice is done. I'll see to it that all of that unnecessary sass is gone."

Ryoma shifted impatiently. "Whatever." He paused, and held out his hand. "Key."

With a flourish, Atobe finally handed the key to Ryoma. Their hands touched briefly in the minor exchange, and Atobe noticed that Ryoma's hands were very cold.

"You have cold hands," Atobe murmured.

Ryoma arched a brow. "Or maybe you just have sweaty hands."

Little devil. "Take that back," Atobe demanded.

However, Ryoma was already sauntering toward the change room, clearly not planning on apologizing. Atobe let out a frustrated sigh, and dumped his head in the palms of his head. He could already feel a strong headache coming on. How was he so easily able to control 200 team members without batting an eye, yet couldn't control one 5 foot tall freshman?

It was a mystery Atobe had a feeling he would never get an answer to.