“Sorry for imposing on you, Atobe.”

Atobe couldn’t resist chuckling softly to himself at the recollection. Really, what was that fool even saying? Was he still choosing to regard their relationship as completely impersonal, as strictly business? Tezuka should have known by now that they had passed that point long ago, even with all his ridiculously stubborn coldness. That man had all the warmth and charm of a rock, Atobe momentarily reflected.

But the self-determined star of Hyoutei’s two-hundred member tennis club shrugged the thought off quickly, with very little concern. It wasn’t his job to get that obstinate brick wall to open up to him, nor did he particularly care for the notion.

The affair had not, after all, been anything resembling “imposing.” No, that had not been the purpose of his appointed task to train Tezuka’s new prodigy in a practice match. It was a deal, a deal between two men who stood on the top of their respective tennis clubs. A deal between equals, alike in station and in purpose. And if Tezuka wasn’t going to admit that he was a player in this rather unusual game of chess, than Atobe wasn’t going to nag him about the way he chose to handle his pawns. He had enough concerns regarding his own teammates.

And no matter what Tezuka decided their relationship had to be, Atobe was sure it already had crossed the fragile line of “matters of business.” It was no longer so much a matter of business as it was a sealing of fate.

And the fate that had been sealed… That remained only in Atobe’s mind, something he would not express to any living soul for some time.

“That’s odd…” Atobe remarked to himself after a moment. He had been intending to replace the white bathrobe he was wearing with his nightshirt as soon as the butler left the room. However, the shirt wasn’t lying on his bed where it should have been. He walked over to his doorway, intending to glance down the hall in order to call the servant back and order him to locate the shirt.

Instead of the servant, who was nowhere in sight, Atobe found himself staring straight at the craftiest member of his tennis team, Oshitari Yuushi, who was leaning against the opposite wall and meeting his gaze with an unreadable expression.

“Do you have something to say to me, Oshitari?” Atobe demanded, feeling that familiar prick of curiosity at what could be hidden beneath his teammate’s outward calm.

There was a heavy pause, weighed down with something like suspense. After a moment, that thick velvet voice of Oshitari’s responded evenly, but darkly, “It seems to me that our captain is playing with fire. Or should I say a golden flame, to be more precise?”

Atobe understood the enigmatic reference to Tezuka’s charismatic aura on the court, but he veiled his comprehension and feigned the appropriate level of ignorance.

“To what exactly are you referring, Oshitari?”

But the tall, blue-haired senior only smirked. “I’m not in the mood to dance with you tonight, Atobe. You were on the phone with Kunimitsu Tezuka.”

“And it appears you were tapping ore-sama’s phone,” Atobe shot back coolly, but just as bluntly. “Or else I fail to see how you could have obtained that information.”

“I’m not so petty, beloved buchou. I only happened to hear certain things as I passed by your conveniently open door.” Atobe was sure that a gleam of something like triumph glinted in Oshitari’s eyes for a moment. In any case, he could feel himself getting annoyed with the all-too-perceptive tennis prodigy of Hyoutei.

“And if I was?” he snapped irritably, turning around to go back inside his room.

But this sarcastic question was met only with silence. In that moment, Atobe felt his body freeze in the doorway. What was that smart aleck going to say? Wasn’t he going to respond? It wasn’t like that trickster to…

“Atobe, I…”

His teammate had responded with a strange amount of hesitance, and Atobe was surprised. He turned his head slowly, allowing his eyes to again brush over Oshitari’s countenance in another attempt to read him.

The attempt decidedly failed. What was that look?

“I don’t understand it.”

Didn’t understand it? That Oshitari Yuushi, of all people, had just admitted aloud to his captain that he didn’t understand something… That alone was worthy of the history books. But Atobe didn’t have time to ponder any bizarre phenomena that night.

“Don’t understand it, Oshitari? That’s unexpected. Or it would be… Except that it’s not for you to understand. For once, something just might be far enough beyond your grasp that it isn’t your concern.”

Again, Atobe turned to leave, and heard only one last sentence before closing the door behind him. He did not bother to respond.

“This isn’t a good idea, Atobe.”