It's got to happen sometime. You can't just sleep with every pretty girl you see and never have any consequences. Frankly I'm surprised Agon's not a mess of embarrassing sexually transmitted diseases by now, but this is the other option.

Warning: OCs of a 'next generation' flavor, swearing (some of it censored, some not).

Notes: The name Ryunen translates as 'flexible, unbreakable (like a willow tree, specifically). The name (nickname in this case) Shinshi means 'deep or profound stillness'.

The boy is tall and broad-shouldered for a high-school freshman, and his face is a forbidding composition of angles and edges. He stares unwaveringly at the interviewer from under low, stern eyebrows, and gives her a smooth, precise bow. The bag over his arm shifts slightly with the motion and for a second the neat creases of a new school uniform are visible; the blue-green of a Deimon high jacket. The jacket he's actually wearing, however, is considerably less neat and new—it's black and gold, with a worn, faded 'SN' fixed to the shoulder. It hangs loose even on his muscular frame, and combined with the black shirt, pants, and stocking cap the whole thing creates an extremely imposing picture.

"…you called me here for an interview," he says. "I'm sorry I was late, I had personal business to take care of."

"That's okay," says the woman, and smiles sweetly. Ms. Kumabukuro looks slightly less sure; her eyes dart across the boy's face once before she smiles uncertainly at him and gets a polite nod in return. "If you'll just come in and sit down, we can get started."

The boy nods and follows her into the restaurant, pulling off his stocking cap as he holds open the door for Ms. Kumabukuro with the other hand; the customers who are already there turn to look with idle curiosity and then stare and murmur to each other. The boy ignores them, his face set, and his tight-cropped hair gleams rich, pure gold as he raises his chin and straightens his back proudly. He lets the door swing shut behind the two women and settles in a stall near the door across from them, his arms crossed across his chest.

"…well?"

"Um…okay," says the interviewer, and she roots around in her purse and brings out a notepad and a stub of pencil, looking flustered. "…uh…my name is Kirikawa Mariko—"

"Yes," says the boy, polite but deadpan, and pulls off his coat, draping it over the seat next to him. "—you said so over the phone."

"—and I'm Kumabukuro Riko," says Mr. Kumabukuro, a little more loudly, over top of her intern's sputtering. "I don't think we've met."

.

It's a woman.

He stares at her; at her thin, tan face, the sweat-straggled blonde hair, the blue eyes that seem huge with exhaustion. He's soaked from the rain, breathing hard from the run up the stairs—he's out of practice.

"She was asking for you," says the doctor, and before he can ask, the door is shut and they're alone.

The woman stares at him, and there's a moment—a terrible, shared moment—when they both know, clear and painful, exactly what happened.

"…you're…" the woman croaks. Her Japanese is accented—English, maybe—but her voice is roughened and faint and it's hard to tell. "…you're…not him…"

"He wouldn't have come," he says, because it's never right to lie to someone, and she knows it's the truth even without him saying it. Wrong name. Wouldn't have made a difference. It's happened before. And, rising up from somewhere he thought he suppressed a long time ago, standing on the sidelines of the Enma University football field… "I'm sorry. He would never have come."

He walks forward and stands there by the bedside, and as though reacting to his presence the blankets in her arms shift gently—

"hello, sweetheart," the girl coos—English, she's American, dammit—and she looks up at him with tears in her huge, feverish blue eyes as a tiny, tiny hand waves in the air, bumping into her fingers, innocent and clumsy. "…I'm…sorry," she says, and the entreaty in her eyes burns into him with its weight—it scares him, he realizes; it scares him what she's asking him, silently, to do. "My passport—and my family, they say…I'm sorry, I-I can't…"

And he steps forward and holds out his arms.

.

"No, we haven't met," says the boy, "…but I've read your articles. My father was mentioned in several of them." He leans out of their booth as a waitress goes past, and after a few moments of polite conversation, gives her a smile that's barely there and sits back again. "—if you want something to eat or drink while we're here, I'll pay for you both, of course," he says, as though this is the most natural thing in the world. And then he blinks, and seems to remember something. "…Sorry. Kongo Ryunen."

There's a moment of silence, and then Mariko says, timidly, "…who?"

"Me," says the boy, and accepts a drink from the waitress, not seeming to notice the way she lingers for a few seconds, smiling almost hopefully at him, before sighing inaudibly and backing away again as another table calls for her attention. "Kongo Ryunen. I assumed you knew that when you asked me for an interview."

"But that's not the name you went under throughout middle school," says Ms. Kumabukuro, and her fingers are almost visibly itching for a pencil and a notepad as her intern scrambles to grab a stack of notes and flicks through them. "You were entered into classes under a different name then. I don't mean to pry, but why the sudden change? And to a name like—"

"This is my real name," says the boy, with dignity, and perhaps only a veteran interviewer with eight years in the business under her belt would notice the almost pained look in his eyes. "…I asked my father to enter me under a different name. He didn't want to, but—" and then he stops, looking at her with eyes that are suddenly sharp through his blank expression. "—this isn't going into your article, is it? It isn't exactly a private story, but I would rather not share it with the entirety of Japan."

"If you don't want it to," says Ms. Kumabukuro, although she sounds a little dejected at the idea—the rapt look to her face is that of a reporter who knows they're on the edge of discovering a big story. "This has nothing to do with your football career anyway, so I suppose it wouldn't have fit…"

"Thank you." Ryunen takes a sip of water, looking almost imperceptibly relieved, then clears his throat and continues, "…My father raised me under…odd circumstances. I realized early on in life that there were a lot of people who looked down on him because of me, so I tried to make sure no one connected my name with his. That's all there is to it. We discussed it before my first day of high school and we decided that it would be better if I started playing under my own name."

.

They both know where he came from.

Agon stares out the window at the boy; he's playing in the water at the edge of the tiny, ornamental pond, his face alight with completely focused interest, tracking every movement the fish make with absolute precision. He can't catch them yet, but he will get faster. Unsui knows. (Unsui has seen.)

"Like anyone'll believe he's yours," Agon says—but under the sneer there's just the slightest trace of some kind of anger that can't be explained away by the seemingly normal, biting words. "What, does smart, upstanding, good-boy Unko-chan not care what the old grandpas and hags think of him anymore? 'Cause the rumors'll spread, you know they will."

"Yes," says Unsui calmly, and decides that the tea has steeped enough now; he pours himself a cup. Agon, when he turns back, has a muscle working in his jaw and a look on his face rather like the one he gets when a girl doesn't immediately fall for one of his favorite pick-up lines. Agon has never taken frustration well, especially not the frustration of being around people who are better at staying calm than he is. "But some things are more important to me than my reputation, Agon. And he's one of them. Ryunen! Tea."

The boy is on his feet almost before the first syllable of his name has split the air, and Unsui sees his brother's eyes narrow—sees the recognition of one talent to another, and sees the growing anger in his face; the wordless rage.

"Control yourself," he says under his breath, as the boy comes to the door and carefully shucks off his dirty shoes, setting them with fastidious neatness inside the alcove. "—he doesn't need to see you go off on one of your rages."

"One of my—" Agon starts indignantly, but Unsui has already turned and laid out a few cups, the tea, a plate of crackers and somehow acquired a wet rag all in the space of one sweeping movement; with the same kind of motion, he somehow manages to set the table, close all the cupboards, and start wiping off the dirt smudged on Ryunen's nose all in the same second, and Agon glares at him.

He doesn't notice. He's too busy fawning over a brat that isn't even his. No brat of his could ever have that kind of reaction time—that kind of speed. Like the damn monk can raise a kid…

"Dad," starts the boy, pensively, "…I think I shouldn't catch the fish. Won't they die?"

Agon can't comprehend why the hell anyone would just walk in and say that kind of random shit, but Unsui continues wiping and replies, not missing a beat, "…if you left them out of the water for more than a few seconds, yes."

"Mm." The kid contemplates this answer for a while as his adoptive father finishes cleaning his face and hands, and then looks up at Agon and cocks his big, shaved-bald head to one side. "…Dad…"

(A boy with a shaved head and wide, solemn eyes, his face tight with frustration, every move clumsy and slow—easily dodged. He shouldn't get angry if he can't even fight his own little brother, stupid Unko-chan…)

"Yes," says Unsui, and settles down at the table to pour the tea.

"…who's this?"

"My brother, Agon," says Unsui calmly, and doesn't say '…who knocked up your mother and then didn't care enough to try taking care of a snot-nosed brat'. "He came to visit for a while."

"Huh." The boy stares at him, and Agon stares back, blank-faced. He wonders, sneer? Or smile? Or just stand here and wait for the kid to do something?

… like give an ambivalent little shrug and a bow and turn around to settle down at the table to pour himself a steady-handed cup of steaming tea.

"The grass tastes good," says the kid, and Agon, who is still stuck on the f-ing 'fish' question, has to resist the urge to grab the kid and smack him around the head until he learns to stay on one thought like a normal person.

…what the hell?

"…you let the kid eat grass?" Agon says, skeptical and disgusted, and both bald heads turn—both solemn pairs of eyes stare at him.

"Only a little bit," says Ryunen, like this makes perfect sense to him. "…the animals were eating it, so I tried it too. There weren't any side effects or I would have told dad. It didn't taste bad."

"Bullshit," says Agon.

"…Agon…" says Unsui.

"…swearing is what only little kids do," says Ryunen firmly, with all the wisdom of an enlightened sage quoting some ancient master, and he pours himself a little more tea. "…can I have another cracker, dad?"

"Yes," says Unsui, and if he thinks Agon doesn't catch the little smirk on his face, he's dead wrong. "…you can have another cracker."

.

"So you entered under a different name to protect your father's identity. Kongo is a very famous name in the high school football community, of course," says Ms. Kumabukuro encouragingly, and her intern jumps a little and nods hastily. "And the combination of your name and choice of team are creating quite a stir."

"Why did you choose your high school the way you did?" Mariko asks, and Ryunen turns to look at her, his low eyebrows rising a fraction of an inch. "Considering the distance of the commute involved and your…family legacy—"

"I chose my high school because I wanted to go somewhere that inspired me," says Ryunen. "My teammates and I take our training very seriously. We are all aiming to live up to our parents' generation, of course."

"That's a very daring claim!" Mariko exclaims, scribbling furiously, and Ryunen inclines his head calmly, acknowledging her. "Now, on the subject of your parent's generation…"

Ryunen looks slightly wary, but he nods again as Mariko digs through her papers, pulling out a few battered magazines and papers and peering at one of them.

"Recent sources have led us to suspect that you are, in fact, the son of famous football player…Kongo Agon," she says, and then she yelps and jumps as Ryunen stands abruptly, his chair scraping back. He opens his mouth—takes a deep breath—closes it again and bows his head, visibly getting control of himself. Then he swings his jacket over his shoulder and looks up again, almost calm except for the narrowness of his brilliantly green eyes and muscle tensed in the corner of his jaw.

"…I exist because of Kongo Agon's depravity," he says coolly, "…but I'm never going to accept that bastard as my father." And then he bows politely to Ms. Kumabukuro, and without a word of goodbye, stalks straight out of the restaurant.

.

"I want to change my name on the register this year," says Ryunen, and his father looks up from the mess of papers and plays that are lying out around him; his tax forms on one side of the table, play codes in another, and school paperwork in front of him. He looks extremely distracted.

"Mm?"

"I want to go to school under my real name," says Ryunen again, and this time his father's eyes sharpen.

"…Ryunen," he starts, but his son cuts him off—a sure sign that whatever he has to say, he's serious.

"I know why you entered me under a different name," he says, and catches the little nod—well, it says, resigned and rueful, I guessed as much. "…Don't think I'm not grateful. I really am—I know how some people have treated you, just because I don't have…just because you're not…" He trails off, then starts again. "…but you don't have to try and protect me from that anymore. Besides, the kids don't care as much as the adults do. Most of them don't even ask or they think you're divorced or something. But that's not…what I need to ask…"

There's a moment of silence, and when his son looks up, his eyes are burning.

"—I want to go to Deimon high school, dad."

.

Agon doesn't see them again for the next five years, and when he does, everything is even worse than it was before. He was already pissed because he had to come back to this place in the first place, let alone the fact that he needed somewhere to hang out for a few days since a gang fight trashed the apartment he was living in—either that or wring some cash out of his brother, which would also work. Hell, whatever job his loser brother has by now, it's almost certainly solid and pays well, because that's the kind of guy Unko-chan is; he wouldn't take anything less when he's got a brat to raise. But the universe is a bitch and as such has no respect for when he's not in a mood to take any of its shit—the first thing that happens happens before he can even open the door, because someone else opens it before he can get there.

Shit, says Agon's brain, momentarily shocked into silence as his mind races at impossible speeds, cataloguing changes, analyzing threats, making informed guesses and predictions and telling him—

It's like looking in a mirror. It's like looking at himself.

…but it's not him, that's the worst part, the part that makes him the angriest. It's Unko-chan. His hair isn't quite as short, fine, okay, so his eyes are a little rounder and lighter—greener—his hair is a severely cropped sheen of gold, but this kid is exactly like him and nothing like him, both at the same time.

The kid's grown up just like his 'father'.

"Hello," says the brat—maybe eleven, twelve—and he meets Agon's eyes with eyes that are just like Unsui's. He looks…

…tired. Unko-chan has always looked tired. Agon has never understood it, because he's never ever been tired—how can you be alive and still be tired? But the kid looks old.

"My father isn't home right now," says the kid, and there's a weight to the way he uses the word too, the nasty little f-ker. It's not like Agon's jealous or any shit like that, but the kid is grinding it in his face anyway. "What do you want…uncle?"

Well hell. The kid knows.

"I wanted to see my big brother," he says, playing for time, sizing the kid up. He's still half-grown—skinny, next to Agon, for all that he'd be built by the standards of the rest of his age group. Agon wonders if he's got the girls at school coming onto him yet and squashes the question with all his strength. Like hell he's going to…talk to the brat, like he wants to make things right—and he didn't do anything wrong anyway, the stupid bitch should've known her pills were expired and like hell he was going to take some kid— "—where's he at?"

"School," says the kid, and there's something almost defensive about the way he says it, like if Agon goes any further he's not going to take it lying down. Let the brat growl at him; Agon could probably break his neck with one punch.

…why is Unko-chan at school? He got his degree, right? Can't imagine he didn't, even though…

…Agon stops thinking about that at that point, because Unsui's last year of college was the precursor to a few solid months of pure, unadulterated rage on his little brother's part, and he still can't think about it without little prickles of fury going across the back of his neck. ONE F—CKING POINT. BULLSHIT.

"Where," he says, and even if he can't bring even a modicum of civility to the question, he does get out a word rather than an incoherent string of curses.

"It doesn't matter," says the kid, and there's a sudden flash of temper that Unko-chan never had at his age—maybe he got more than just looks and…skills…from his old man.

Agon considers that last thought and bad-temperedly deletes that last part. He's not anyone's 'old man'. What kind of bullshit is this?

"I wanna talk to my brother," he says, a little lower and little harsher; he drops the nice smile, lets the kid see he's serious by the change in his stance and the way his lip curls. If he's really got any of Agon's blood in him he'll—

—instantly, a reaction. The kid takes a step back and settles his stance a little lower, like he's ready to fight or run, his eyes fixed on Agon's face, warier now, and the worst part is that Agon can tell just by looking at his face that he doesn't even know he's doing it.

F—k.

And Unko-chan has been raising this kid? Unko-chan doesn't deserve a kid like this to raise any more than he deserved a brother like Agon. The two should never have been associated in the first place, but at least in that case they didn't have a choice—taking in this kid was Unsui's choice, and now he's going to take a kid who's practically his brother all over again and ruin him.

Agon wonders if this is Unko-chan's screwed-up, passive-aggressive, really long-term version of revenge, but dismisses that thought in favor of letting the hostile set of his shoulders settle and his snarling face smooth out. They're on the same page now; the kid—

"What'd he call you, anyway," he says abruptly, and then doesn't let it show on his face when his brain suddenly becomes a mess of profanity. He didn't mean to ask that, f—k—

The kid looks taken aback for a second—the ball goes low and Unsui jerks in place and turns on his heel, yelling out orders, working on the fly, his eyes still wide with surprise—and then his eyes narrow in anger and abruptly his real parentage shows through the blank mask.

"…you never even asked, did you?" He says, coldly. "I can see why dad never talks about you—since you obviously don't care about anything but how many girls you can—"

—oh hell, and then he just cuts off and takes a deep breath, like he's getting control of himself. Like a grown-up dealing with an annoying little brat. Shit. It's like Unko-chan cloned himself or something; the same annoying faces, the same attitude, like Agon's the one in the wrong and he has to be patient with him.

"…Ryunen," he says, eventually "…my uncles call me Shinshi, but that doesn't matter to you and I would prefer you didn't use that name."

Ryunen. Right, that was it. It's not the worst name the loser could have come up with—the first part even sounds like 'dragon'. But…flexible and unbreakable…bullshit. He's such a damn monk.

…wait.

"What uncles," says Agon, "—you don't have any goddamn uncles."

"I have a lot, actually," says Ryunen coolly. "…Uncle Kengo and Uncle Shun stayed here a few days ago, when they were travelling through—they know my name, too." He doesn't even bother to hide the bitterness in his voice. "…they taught me how to use hand techniques if I'm ever in the line. Uncle Sena brought his wife over and showed me how to do his run, even if I couldn't really do it right yet—Uncle Gondayu and Uncle Ryokan are the ones who started using the nickname, but Uncle Hiruma was the one who—"

Agon's hand, which has been resting casually on one of the wooden posts supporting the porch up until now, clenches so hard the wood under his fingers starts to creak and splinter.

"F—king—" he starts, but he has nowhere to go from there and he can't even articulate how amazingly, disgustingly furious he is. "—f—k—that—"

"…but really, he just calls me 'monk junior'," says Ryunen, like he doesn't notice that Agon is about to have a heart attack from sheer rage. Agon is not an unbiased observer. If he were, he might note the combination of Unsui's calm and unshakable, stubborn persistence with Agon's vicious enjoyment in winding up people he doesn't like. "…dad doesn't like him very much, but he did say he would let me learn how to shoot when I start high school."

Agon stares at him and tries to process all the things about this situation that are wrong.

…no, he can't. Never mind.

"Where. Is. My. F—king. Brother."

.

"He seemed…a lot nicer than his…father?" Ms. Kumabukuro stares after Ryunen out the door, a pensive look on her face. "…but he look a lot like him when he's angry." She shivers a little, and pats her intern encouragingly on the shoulder. "It could have been worse. You did alright, just try to get your things in order before the interview starts next time."

.

The kid runs past him as he storms down the walk outside the house, glances at Agon's motorcycle, and then shakes his head and grabs a bicycle that's leaning against the fence; it's too big for him and looks completely unused but he stares at it for a split-second and swings a leg over. He wobbles for a second, then rights himself and he's off, down the hill their house is neatly situated on top of and towards the town below.

…This is the town his shitty high school was in, right?

No way. Unko-chan's not—

Agon has to stop about halfway down the hill because there's a sturdy little fence that runs around the edge of Unko-chan's property and the brat has stopped just long enough to pull the gate shut and bolt it. Agon slides to a halt just in time to avoid slamming his front wheel into the wall, snarls a few obscenities and swings off his bike, wrenches to lock loose with such force the gate slams open and one of the hinges breaks, and takes off again, thinking as he rides, threading his way through the traffic as he gets into the town itself and startled faces flash past him.

He disregards the honking horns and then skids to a halt at a red light as a car cuts him off—he gives them the finger and yells at them but they're already gone and the streets are full of people on their lunch break, in cars and on foot. Shinryuuji is on the other side of town, up in the hills and the forests, and the traffic between those roads and where he is are the thickest with traffic in town, the brat is on a bike so he can take the sidewalk and the back roads…

…he's so pissed he can't even think about this right now. This brat isn't his, no way in hell he's claiming him as his, but he has Agon's blood in him and Unko-chan has been letting him associate with those pieces of trash?!

He's gonna kill him.

.

The baby is tiny, so much tinier than he thought it would be, and it shifts a little in his arms and murmurs in its sleep, settling against his chest.

This is not his son, he knows. This child does not belong to him and he has no concrete obligation to it or its mother …

…but looking down at it now, settled in his arms, breathing slowly in and out, new and weak and defenseless, the urge to protect it is overwhelming. He shifts the blankets a little and his fingers brush its cheek—he can't move for a second at the warm softness against his fingertips.

"Please," its mother whispers, and he looks up at her and opens his mouth, sure he has to refuse, knowing he can't do this—he's not even twenty-five yet, he only finished college a few years ago, he still hasn't found a job he knows he'll be able to keep—

-a tiny hand closes around his fingers.

"Have not…named him yet," the girl says softly, and the baby's tiny, soft hands squeeze his calloused fingers, holding on tight—he can't breathe. "Don't want—he's not…want to make him like you. Not him. A name…like that. Name like that. Don't know the words to name him."

And when he opens his mouth to say no, the word won't come out.

"Ryunen," he says instead, and it's like the warmth of the tiny body against his chest spreads into him and takes a hold, and he knows this is it. This is his answer. "Ryunen. Un…unbreakable."

She smiles at that, and there are tears in her eyes.

"Ryunen," she repeats, and she reaches out; when he comes closer she puts a weak hand on his shoulder and pulls him to her in a one-armed embrace, holding the child between them so he can't see the tears he feels soaking into his shoulder. "Thank—thank you. I'm sorry—I'm so sorry, m-mommy loves you so much sweetheart, I'm sorry…"

They sign the papers there and she's crying as she kisses the little boy's forehead and a man with her golden hair and green eyes pulls her away and grabs her things—he stops in the doorway to give Unsui one long, long look and then he turns and he's gone. Unsui watches out the window—a rental car, her tiny, shaking figure, a shimmer of golden hair in the streetlights, a flash of her pale face as she glances back up to the window where he's standing—

He's alone, and as the rain patters against the window and the car pulls away into the distance, Ryunen starts to cry.

.

He skids to a halt at the foot of the stairs to his old high school, leaves his bike where it is, sees the brat's bike lying on its side, wheels still spinning, and makes a snap decision. Don't see him on the steps. Path on the left. Waterfall.

He takes the steps to the waterfall two at a time and gets to the top just in time to see the brat run up to Unko-chan, pant something in his ear, and then glance up and spot him. Immediately he steps in front of his father, eyes wide and angry, fists clenched and shoulders tense—like he's gonna fight? He wants to fight Agon?

"Unko-chan you have a shit-ton of explaining to do!" He snarls, and his brother folds his arms inside the loose sleeves of his gi and gives him that look, like he's being stupid again why can't he just act like a normal person?

Well he's not f**king normal and neither is this kid. He strides up to his brother, ignoring the students all around them as they clamor 'Kongo-sensei, what's going on?' 'coach, who is this?' 'guys, someone call the police—' 'Ryunen, what's going on?'

"Agon," says Unsui coldly, "We can talk about who I choose to associate with after class. You're disturbing our meditation."

"Yeah it's sure as hell gonna disturb you when I f**king kill you!" Agon roars, and the class yells as he advances on his brother and reaches out to grab him by the front of his gi—

"—hey!"

The brat hits his hand away. Agon freezes for a second in disbelief and fury and Ryunen glares up at him and it's not Unko-chan's cold, furious glare; his lip curls into a sneer of anger, his eyes are wide and threatening, brilliant green. All he needs is a pair of sports goggles and dreads hanging in his face. "Leave my dad alone you asshole! If you wanted to tell me who I could be friends with you should have taken me shouldn't you?! Instead of abandoning my mom like a coward and leaving him to clean up after you like he always has—"

Agon grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him bodily, and the kid is as young and small and light as the Eyeshield kid was so many years ago—he flies sideways and hits the ground hard with a yell of pain and someone roars—

It's the split-second of shock; the moment of disbelief when his brother's face flashes in front of his eyes and Unko-chan could make a noise like that—a face like that what the hell and in that moment something hits him hard and for the second time in his life Agon's on the ground. And he can't hear exactly what Unsui's yelling but he knows he hears the words MY SON and HOW DARE YOU and GONE TOO DAMN FAR, AGON—and even as he lashes out at his brother a fist connects solidly with his face and things go white for a split second as his head slams into the rocky ground. He recovers almost instantly and his knows his punch connected as well; Unsui's lip is split but he doesn't seem to care and he's drawing back a fist for another punch, his teeth bared and bloody, his eyes wide with fury.

And then two of the kids from the class grab him by the arms and pull him off and Ryunen is running forward yelling and they're separate again. Agon jumps up instantly, feeling his cheek throb in time with the back of his head, and the kid is standing in front of Unko-chan, talking fast. "—not hurt—I'm fine, dad! I'm fine, I really am!"

"Sensei, calm down," one of the boys is panting—Unsui's starting to calm now and his struggles are lessening with every second but he was putting up quite a fight when they pulled him back. Both boys look almost as sturdy as Unko-chan ever was, but the two of them together could barely hold him—where the hell did all that strength come from? "We—need you—you can't get your license suspended over—something like this—coach, he's fine, okay?!"

Unsui takes a few deep, deep breaths and the boys let go of him slowly, watching him warily. The others have all come forward a little as well, looking at Agon with hostile, wary eyes, a little bit scared but mostly angry—defensive. Unsui reaches out to his son and Agon can see his hands shaking. Ryunen gives him the arm he landed on; the skin is scraped and bloody all along one of his arms and there's a nasty scratch on the side of his face, but he wiggles his fingers and flexes his arm, proving nothing is broken. Unsui's face is very pale—he can't seem to decide between relief and absolute fury—but his face, when he stands up slowly and looks at his brother again, is cold and stony.

"Get off of this campus," he says, "—don't bother coming back to my house. And never touch my son again."

.

"We're gonna come up against your dad's team," says Hiruma-chan, not looking at him, and flips some papers over, staring down at the formations written on them and scribbling names on them. Kobayakawa, Kobayakawa (II), Kuze, Kurita, Minamoto, Kongo, Yamamoto… "You know that, right?"

"I know," says Ryunen, and slides a folder over. "You forgot to put down Abrahams. He's still uncomfortable with us, but he learned a lot of things in America. He's a good source."

"You're okay with that?" She pops her gum and takes the folder, flipping dark reddish-brown bangs out of her eyes. "Tch. Thinks he's better than us. Don't wanna put him in unless we have to."

"He doesn't think he's better than us, he just moved here from another country," Ryunen reminds her, and sighs, running a hand over his own close-cropped blonde hair. "…I don't know. It'll be hard. But he understands. He knows neither of us is going to play anything but our best. Did we try to recruit that kicker?"

"Kicker?" She raises a sharp eyebrow. "What, the doctor's brat? You don't know anything about their strategies in the tournament, right?"

"Yes, the doctor's brat." Ryunen rolls his eyes. "He's 99% sure to go to Oujo—family pressure—but it can't hurt to try. He's got good, long legs and his accuracy and distance would be helpful. Of course I don't know. We do all our practicing in separate fields at the same time. And I don't tell him anything about our practices."

"Too conservative!" She chides, and smacks him on the back of the head with her clipboard. "Just like your old man, baldy. He'd make solid goals, sure, but the Deimon Devilbats don't play safe, they take the gambles! How about that other guy? Sasaki?"

"Well his dad would certainly have taught him how to kick, but he's…he's not likely to go anywhere," Ryunen glanced up as one of the Kobayakawas pushed the door open. "How are they doing?"

"Okay," the senior mumbled, and grabbed a helmet from the bench by the door. "I mean…Kurita broke a helmet. My little brother doesn't know what he's doing yet and Minamoto is making up half the stuff he does as he goes along, but…not bad."

"You'd better get out there and help out," Hiruma-chan sighed, and rolled her eyes. "Mom's making chicken tonight, she says I can bring anyone over who wants to come—and dad says you haven't finished your f**king lessons yet, so bring your rifle."

"I'll be there." Ryunen stands up and heads to the door. He seems to remember something at the door; he turns back to her. "—how far?"

She smirks and waves him away, like she does every day.

"…Christmas bowl," she says, and he can hear her laugh as he closes the door behind him and jogs out toward the field.

"SET—!"

...I just needed to write some daddy Unsui, okay. And it had occurred to me once that it would be interesting to have a child who had Agon's talent but was raised to be more like Unsui. How scary would that be? And he turned out very odd when I wrote him, too...kind of formal and old-fashioned and weird. But I like him. :D Comments, questions, concerns? Leave a review! I'll respond to comments, answer questions, and consider concerns. Flame me...

...and I'll cry. XD So no flames please.