Author's Note: The authoress reappears four years later. What the heck. TeniPuri will forever be my bae. Niou Masaharu is one sexy enigma. What kind of name is Ono Sakurako. Ramble. Grumble. I am not making sense. In any case, give this story a chance? I hope you enjoy.

Warning: Excessive use of the em-dash. Un-betaed.

Disclaimer: TeniPuri is the brainchild of Konomi Takeshi.

ONI-SENPAI

Trap 1
Hair to the Throne

Ono Sakurako, with hands neatly clasped on top of her desk, appeared to be completely absorbed with the finer points of the committee's current project proposal, when in reality, her mind had long since wandered off to la-la land.

It wasn't because the current Student Council President had a penchant for incoherent speech—highfalutin words lacking in substance—whenever he was subject to criticism. Nor did it have anything to do with her sentiments towards his shortcomings. The reality that he, and here she quotes the words of the female population, "had the face and charms that could put even Helen of Troy to shame", but was not the most reliable when it came to running an elite group created to put an end to the student body's lackluster life. She usually had half a mind to pay attention because she cared enough to clean up after the mess he was about to throw the entire council into, but at the moment, his voice was just a mere buzz in the background.

It also had nothing to do with the lack of interest on council work. If anything, she was more pumped to prove herself capable this year, what with all the hype over the incoming freshmen primed to solidify Rikkai Dai's reign in the tournaments. Even if it has been a full year since she had resolved and succeeded in entering Kanto's top-ranking high school, it still never failed to astonish her how excessively popular the athletes were. The athletic teams had created an entirely different culture within the high school realm. Apart from the scouts who have already blended well with the Rikkai Dai tapestry since time immemorial, the flocks of students that would always be found in the vicinity of afternoon practices—sneering, ogling, or screeching their heads off, as if they had nothing better to do with their lives—would always be an amazing sight to her. And over the course of the school year, she had deduced that the team that reigned supreme above all was the Tennis Club.

Which brought her back to her current state of preoccupation.

As much as she wished it had something to do with the coveted cure for cancer, world peace, or anything noble like that, alas, it all boiled down to the innocuous invitation she received from The Traitor. She was not delighted at the prospect of seeing him again after he cheated on her for that tennis b****. Her heart remained guarded and unwavering. But it was the thought of revenge, a hah-in-your-face! type of rendezvous, that drove her to indecision. Although she took pride in her levelheadedness, she was not foolish to claim that she was impervious to bouts of immaturity every once in a while.

"—no-san?"

She was in the Student Council lounge again, with the rest of the members gazing at her expectantly. Right, what were they talking about?

Beach?

Batch party?

Oh, yeah. The Bachelor.

"Sonoda-senpai's idea is a surefire crowd magnet. It would appeal to the female population as it did in the previous contests." A pleased smile from the Student Council President. "But as tempting as it is to have all the girls vie for one guy's attention, I don't think that will be enough to get us out of the red." She noticed the downward twitch of Sonoda's lips, but expertly glossed the moment over with her own smile. "The idea's good, but if we want to meet our quota, we'll have to expand outside of Rikkai and get other schools to participate."

Sonoda looked bummed. "What are you proposing, Ono-kun?"

"The obvious route is to organize a school-wide fair." She saw several nods of approval. "But, personally, I believe it is impractical. To spearhead such an event, we will only lose more than we can gain, time and resource-wise. There's no guarantee that we will reel in a big audience, not to mention get willing schools to participate, since individual schools can go about their annual school fair and gain the same amount of profit."

She received an appraising nod from Furuki, the Treasurer, then continued.

"We need to bring something fresh to the table. Something that will benefit all parties and, in turn, attract a mammoth crowd."

She paused for emphasis, fully aware of everyone's bated breath.

"I say we tap the athletic teams."

The rest of the meeting passed like a blur as they spent the entire afternoon improving the proposal. She figured she has done sufficiently, but remained receptive to the questions thrown her way. During the times Sonoda would take the floor and jabber for the next half hour or so, she would run through all the possible outcomes of meeting up with The Traitor. What were the pros and cons? What were the chances of successfully humiliating him? At the end of the day, what mattered most was if she was going to benefit from it all.

Then she remembered he boasted about being accepted into the tennis team the previous year.

Well, that sealed the deal.

Niou was not so much a fan of introspection as studying the pertinent points of the human psyche, which was imperative in order to perfectly execute his schemes. But as he positioned his arm, all-ready to throw the dart towards the red target with an expert flick of his wrist, he knew he had to get himself out of the vortex, this downward spiral towards boredom. He wasn't entirely certain how it started, given he rarely gave himself time to think about such trivial matters when there were schoolwork and tennis to preoccupy himself with. But the feeling was there, like an unidentifiable itch, or a sense of foreboding whenever a storm was on its way. A few more futile throws, then it dawned on him.

It was the routine.

He hit the bulls-eye.

After claiming his prize—a disguise set—and slinging his tennis bag atop his shoulder, he stepped out of the game corner and into the bustling streets of Tokyo. The whole block was blaring party music, and rainbow-colored fluorescent lights flickered in sync with the beat. A glance at his wristwatch told him he only had an hour and a half left to catch the last train, but instead of heading straight for the station, he trudged the opposite way, squeezed himself through the horde of nightwalkers, and eventually ended up in a coffee shop in the corner.

A few minutes later, he had a steaming cup of cappuccino beside his newly-purchased book entitled, "Knock, knock. Who's There? Craftsmanship" propped open in front of him. There was silence, with occasional glances at the drunk passersby frolicking on the streets. After poring over one last page, he shut the book with finality and enjoyed what remained of his drink. Lucky for him, his window seat was a good vantage point, permitting him to view everything occurring on the street.

It was an uninspiring crowd that night. A couple of employees rushed past to get to their business, possibly hoping to catch the last train. A group of painted females with their designer bags strolled along the boardwalk with a distinct sashay of their hips. He wasn't surprised when a few rugged onlookers got on their feet and followed suit, and he could only imagine what sort of havoc was about to take place in one of the dark alleys somewhere. He could also make out two silhouettes in front of a motel. He zeroed in on the pair and figured it was a couple in a heated argument. The boy had the girl pinned to the wall, but the girl calmly looked on and muttered something to his face.

A flurry of movements.

Then they were both out of the alley and on the boardwalk, his firm grip on her arm keeping her from escaping.

He felt the vibration in his pocket, and brought out his cellphone.

From: Akuma-nee
Subject: Cow's piss

Buy two cartons of low-fat milk on your way home, will you? Front door's locked and all windows are already shut. Get yourself in somehow.

He stepped out of the shop—just in time to see the girl throw her handbag towards her oblivious boyfriend—and made a beeline for the convenience store.

"Car Crash Caused By Long Hair Getting Caught in the Steering Wheel" (1)

Ono has read about that nineteen-year-old girl in Italy who, upon opening her car window and letting in a gust of wind, got her long hair tangled up in the steering wheel. As the title implied, it led to her untimely death. It was so abrupt, so unexpected that it made her think how fleeting life really is. But that wasn't the point she was driving at. It was more mundane, really.

There was another one, a physics major from Yale, who got her hair stuck inside the rotating axis of a rudimentary machine as she worked on her project in her school garage. She died, of course. Personally, she thought it was careless of her not to tie her hair while working around dangerous machinery. Laboratory protocols, anyone?

In any case, her argument was simple: that accidents do happen, even to the most well-guarded people. To err is human. So others shouldn't be so quick to judge.

Because as she leaned down to scoop up the belongings she haphazardly (and successfully) hurled towards the pathetic excuse of a man she cajoled to aid her in her ploy against the Traitor, the night breeze suddenly swept past her, sending her skirt fluttering and leaving her hair in a tangled mess. She also just so happened to have the misfortune of standing beside an overgrown shrub, one with several annoyingly pointy branches—why were there such huge-ass ornamental plants blocking the pathway, anyway?!—and go figure.

So her hair, a whole chunk of it to be exact, was entangled with the branches of the damn shrub. To the onlookers, she was in a pretty awkward pose, with her backside proudly jutted upward like the Japanese flag during morning ceremony.

She didn't know how or why it was even possible for hair to get so tangled up because of a waft of air—even she could blow harder than that!—but,

Shit happens.

She finally got on her knees and reached out to work on untying one of the locks. The items scattered on the concrete was forgotten. She ignored the leers she received from passersby as her micro-mini skirt inched up past her thighs and dangerously closed in on her hips until there was almost nothing left for the imagination. Her focus was on the knot that was her hair. All cares thrown out the window, and zero shit given.

It was a shitty night, and it couldn't possibly get any shittier.

Perverts be damned.

"Do you need help?"

Wasn't that bloody obvious enough, she thought, but instead, looked up and pouted. To the ill-fated stranger, she closely resembled a kicked puppy. "Yes, I'm kind of in a pinch, actually."

The gentleman was kind enough to collect her belongings that were all over the street, and then settled down beside her to work on another knot in her hair. A light conversation ensued, and she had been gracious to humor him, lest he decided to leave her on her own. Then she became well aware of the accidental touches to her leg and the gazes that lingered far too long. But she played her charade, played it so excellently that it wasn't long before the young man's boldness had taken over, and he splayed his palm on the expanse of her thigh.

A distinct shudder, which he passed off to the coldness of the night.

She propped her leg up, to his disgusting delight, and allowed his hand to slither along her thigh and down to the ground before she dug the heel of her stiletto on his open palm. After threatening him with a non-existent black belt in Karate and a call to the police—identifying him as Makoto Shuya which she could read out from the tag partially covered by his coat—she was once again left to her own devices.

"It must be so comfortable."

She instantly perked up, composing herself.

"Oh, definitely," she said flippantly. "I can sit here all night and just enjoy the view."

"Such an amazing display of optimism in the face of distress. I'm moved," he remarked just as flippantly and dropped his jacket on her lap.

She finally looked up, noting with alarm that her would-be savior had shocking silver hair. She was even more alarmed when he knelt down beside her, and produced a pair of scissors from his pocket.

"W—what are you doing?"

Although it was pretty obvious to her what he was planning on doing.

He smiled.

"The plant looks like it needs a trim."

.

.

.

.

.

.

Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku was in high spirits that morning as hundreds of students filled the gymnasium for the Opening Ceremony. Ono, alongside the rest of the Council, was positioned at the entrance, pleasantly greeting the new students while brandishing the Student Council armband in blazing red and gold. The stream of students passing near Sonoda were completely enamored by his charms that she had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at the way the girls crooned at whatever gibberish he was spouting. But it really wasn't her place to put him down, not when she herself was facing a "crisis".

Apparently, Rikkai students were now experts on hairdressing.

Because the moment she stepped foot on school grounds that morning, her bob (2) had warranted unwanted criticism and attention from her peers, which she skillfully dealt with using discomfited giggles and a ghost of a smile, as if she was uncomfortable with the attention, when in fact, she secretly reveled in it. Oh, she wasn't particularly a fan of her new hairdo, per se, but the spotlight was most welcome.

When bombarded with questions such as, "Why'd you cut your hair, Ono-san? I thought your long hair suited you just fine."

In response, she would merely tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, flash a soft smile and redirect her gaze towards her feet, as if the reason behind her haircut was too tender to broach. "I guess I just wanted to start fresh," she would state with such diffidence that would warrant even more interest, but deep down, she was raging at the remembrance of the incident at Shibuya.

"Was it a bad break up that you had to go chop it all off?"

"I—it really has nothing to do with that," she stuttered and averted her eyes elsewhere for full effect.

Does that nameless prick even know how difficult it is to grow hair and make sure it stayed healthy?! More importantly, it pissed her off that her popularity among the male population was already doomed to plummet even before the new school year began. The latest fashion trend favored long-haired brunettes, and of course, teenagers went batshit crazy over those things. It was all about the hair.

Her long hair full of secrets.

"It's his loss he failed to see how special our Ono-kun really is," Sonoda cut in, grinning at her nosy classmates. "I think it looks great on her."

She mentally gagged, but her smiling face was flawless. "You're too kind, Sonoda-senpai."

She would like to master the art of blushing at will, just to accentuate moments such as this, but you simply can't have everything in life. The way they were looking at her with such sympathy, she decided it would have been overkill, anyway.

And so the ceremony officially started. Sonoda was ushered on stage to give his welcome remarks on behalf of the juniors and seniors, which earned him a boisterous round of applause. Ono had to admit that the guy had his shining moments. The Council followed suit and introduced themselves, and when Ono and the others were back on their seats, the first year representative was called up to give his speech.

"Hey, hey! There's our guy!" Kobayashi tugged on her arm.

When the freshman climbed up, a wave of murmurs erupted from the crowd, and there was no wonder why. The boy had an air of propriety and possessed such incredible charisma, albeit quiet and non-flamboyant, that you simply can't not look at him.

"Yukimura Seiichi," Kobayashi whispered. "In Junior High, people referred to him as the Child of God."

What kind of bullshit, self-righteous nickname was that?

Nonetheless, when third period ended and she was on her way to the cafeteria with her friends, she immediately spotted him in the crowd. He was not alone, which did not surprise her at all, and was currently in deep conversation with two other boys who were probably his classmates.

She put on her best smile—not too soft that she would fail to give off a strong impression, but not too wide either for fear of intimidating them. But soon enough, she didn't think they could be intimidated, given the way they carried themselves, the steady confidence in their gait, plus the wide berth the rest of the freshmen seemed to be all too happy to give them. It was a modern representation of Moses and the red sea, if she were to describe it succinctly.

"…seemed to have injured his hand—"

"Hello," was her general greeting, her eyes zeroing in on Yukimura. "Yukimura-kun?"

Yukimura was not startled to have been specifically addressed, "Hello, Ono-senpai. Can I do anything for you?"

She smiled radiantly, then turned to his companions. "You seem to be occupied at the moment, but I was hoping I can meet with you after class today. It's rather important."

He looked curious now. "Of course."

"The selection matches," the stern-looking boy beside him spoke up, and regarded her neutrally.

Ah, the tennis club.

"It's okay, Genichirou," Yukimura's voice was like velvet. "I'll make it on time."

"I apologize for imposing, but I assure you, it won't take long," she said with calculated sincerity, her smile softening into something more apologetic.

The boy named Genichirou relaxed visibly.

"What's this? Yukimura's already receiving a confession on the first day?" A red-head appeared by their side all of a sudden, eyeing her with mild interest. "Ah! It's the Student Council!"

Then she saw it.

That familiar flash of silver.

He had been observing everything from a short distance, sporting the same brazen look he had on his face before he committed the atrocious crime against her. The tableau was painted in her head: the invaders finally breached the kingdom's walls and made a run for the palace, where the Queen sat on her throne.

She was stripped bare.

Because he knows.

He waved, flaunting his bandaged hand.

"Yo, Oni-senpai." (3)

It took all of her willpower not to bolt right there and then.

Author's Note: I'm distressed because I fear for Niou's characterization. I've done my fair share of research, but I'm still not confident! Sobs. Care to leave a review and tell me what you think? Is the story interesting so far? Boring? How's Ono? Also, NIOU. Dear Lord, I don't want to butcher him.

PS: Any kind soul who's willing to offer their body—err, I mean, beta-services? Just PM me. You will be loved!

Extras:

(1) These are legit, my friends. Try googling.
(2) If you want to see how Ako's hair looks like, chopped, here's the link: prettydesigns dot com / popular-bob-haircuts-short-hairstyles-trends / stylish-short-black-bob-hairstyle /
(3) According to Japanese folkore, "Oni" refers to the demon associated with all kinds of evil and distressful emotions. How witty of you, Haru-kun.