Chapter Text
~*~
Hiruma had been acting a little bit strangely recently, Kurita reflected as he peered at the folder in the waste paper basket. It must have been the same one he had caught Hiruma staring at the day before. Mind you, Hiruma sometimes stared at things. It wasn’t really that strange. But having spent quite a bit of time with him these last few years, Kurita was fairly confident he could tell when his friend was not his usual self. It was not the stare itself but more like the tension in his shoulders and the twitch of his fingertips that told him something was wrong.
This was only the most recent of a series of strange things about Hiruma. For one, Kurita would have never believed Hiruma would make the second year members of the Devil Bats retire at the end of the year. Of course it was a school rule that third year students did not take part in club activities at Deimon High, but school rules had never meant much to Hiruma before. Guilt punched softly in Kurita’s chest as he remembered how disappointed he had been at the announcement. Without realizing it, he had been counting on Hiruma to coerce the principal and let them play American football together for another year. He knew Hiruma, he believed in him, and he had trusted him to do this, even if it was technically wrong. He couldn’t help feeling a little betrayed, but that feeling didn’t last long.
“I’m counting on you, Fatty, to keep an eye on these fucking brats. They’ve got some big shoes to fill. Literally, in your case.”
The tears that had threatened to flood Kurita’s eyes were held back by those words. Of course! Hiruma was so clever. They would still be part of the team, they could still join in and help out, but the younger players needed space to learn how to run things on their own. The gloom that had been gathering in his heart dissolved as he pictured himself watching the Devil Bats’ progress like a proud mother hen. There would be new linemen among the incoming students, and he would be ready to support them. Maybe starting with some cake.
When he thought about it, it must have been because of Musashi. It was the only thing that made sense. Just the week before the three of them had been hanging out on the riverbank after practice, as they had been doing a lot lately now that the tournament was over. They didn’t talk much, but Kurita knew they were thinking about the same thing. Before, when it had been a thing in the future, it was the goal that bound them together, and the past was something he had rarely thought about. Now the Christmas Bowl was a memory—the most incredible, fantastic and wonderfullest memory. It filled his dreams and most of his waking thoughts too, as nearly everything in his life reminded him of their long journey toward the tournament finale. Now that the Christmas Bowl belonged to the past, the future stretched out before him, gapingly wide and open. Thinking about the future made him dizzy, but repeating those memories made him feel better. As long as the three of them were together, any future would be a good one.
They sat staring into the sky across the water. The plumes of their breath matched the river of stars that gleamed brightly as their reward for sitting outside on such a cold night.
“Spring break soon,” Musashi muttered. The silence that followed was uneasy. In the grave tone of his words, Kurita knew there was something unsaid and that made him afraid. He waited for Hiruma to make some snide remark or awful joke to goad him into a proper confession, but he only heard the distant rumble of a jet somewhere out of sight. He glanced anxiously between the two. Neither spoke. Kurita fidgeted.
“It’ll be warm soon, too! There will be cherry blossoms! And we’ll have no classes, so we can practice all day!” He tried to lighten the mood and delay the truth. “Hey—we could have a mini-tournament! With scrimmage teams, and… well…”
“Cherry blossoms, eh…” Musashi repeated, sad and rough.
“Old man.” Hiruma’s voice cut through the nonsense. “Waxing melancholy like some broken-hearted maiden doesn’t suit you. Just tell us.”
“Ah…” Musashi half smiled at the taunt. “Well, I won’t be able to play over spring break.”
“Oh!” Kurita wished he could take back his silly attempt to cheer him. “Of course, you have to help your father. I should have thought of that.”
“It’s not just that.” Musashi went on. “I’ll be helping him as much as I can next year, too. He’s insisting I graduate, otherwise—”
“—you’d drop out now and take over the company. Surprise, surprise.”
Kurita looked alarmed. “Wait! So you can’t play football with us…at all?”
Musashi gave him an apologetic smile. “Well, never say never, but I’ll be seeing you guys more in the lunchroom than on the field, is all. I can’t commit to the team, and I don’t want you guys waiting for me. I already made you wait enough.”
Kurita’s shoulders sagged. It was selfish to feel sad about this. After all, he had gotten everything he ever wanted: they had gone to the Christmas Bowl together. He wished he could be stronger, both in his heart and behind his eyes where the tears always gathered so quickly. He stole a glance at Hiruma, who had probably never produced a tear in his life. He couldn’t tell if he was sad inside, or surprised, or angry. Hiruma was just sitting, looking at the stars as though he had never seen them before, as though the future was soaking in through those eyes that missed never missed a thing.
The next day he had announced the retirement party.
That wasn’t all. There was also the way he… this was starting to sound crazy, but it was the way he looked at his computer. Even though he couldn’t explain why it was different from usual, Kurita was confident it was strange. Hiruma looked the way he did when he was planning some grand strategy, gathering pieces and fitting them together behind his eyes. Whatever he was doing, he seemed consumed by it. The next season would only begin after the new school year and every team would have new members. It would be next to impossible to strategize now. No one would try to track the incoming cohort from their middle schools into high school teams–no one except maybe Hiruma, of course, but this is the type of thing he would normally assign to Mamori, and both of them were supposed to be retired.
Inside that folder there could be a clue. Maybe… maybe he should take a closer look. He crouched and fished it of the basket. H-I-R-U-M-A. It took him a minute to sound out the neat romanji lettering on the label, but he recognized the class and student number instantly. Hiruma! It seemed especially strange for Hiruma to keep a file on himself. Kurita glanced around the club office, too conscious this might be a trap. He really should not open this folder. No matter what important information might be inside. No matter how much he might be able to help Hiruma get back to normal. No matter what, he shouldn’t.
Kurita opened the folder.
~*~
Hiruma savored the view from the front of the class, leaning back in the chair with his heels on the desk and a very special, freshly polished weapon resting against his shoulder. His gum bubble popped and he blew another, waiting.
The American university entrance exams were known as the SATs. Of the Deimon High students who hoped to study abroad, a dozen were aiming to attend an American university for their entire degree rather than merely doing a semester on exchange from a Japanese university. Consequently, the members of the American entrance exam preparation committee were the most studious of the entire school, and as far as nerds go, the most ambitious. And Hiruma had decided to become their manager.
For the moment the room was empty. Each student who had entered had promptly, and with good sense, turned on their heels to lurk outside the doorway. There they exchanged panicked outrage in hushed tones; one girl was already crying. The dark glare that radiated from Mamori was especially delicious. Soon Yukimitsu appeared beside her in the hall and followed her gaze, his jaw dropping before he burst into a nervous laugh. Hiruma smirked. Maybe this would be fun after all. He had been worried he would live to regret that promise he had made.
Their whispers and the shape of the crowd changed as a string of English words chimed through the air. “Alright, come on everyone. What are you all doing out here? Let’s get started.”
“Ms. Green-sensei! It’s terrible!”
“Wait! Ms. Green, don’t go in there.”
Ms. Green laughed at their protests. “What’s wrong? Is there a bug? It’s only March, it’s not warm enough for bugs yet…”
When she reached the doorway her smile went dim. Hiruma’s burned brighter. She took in the scene with arms crossed. A weaponized Hiruma lorded over the empty room while the honors students cowered in the hall. After all their bubbly encounters in the past, he barely recognized the teacher before him now. This time there was no routine greeting, no phony chatter. Even her voice was different; its usual lilt had ceded to quiet, unyielding tone.
“So, Hiruma, have you reconsidered?”
“I’m running this show now.” Hiruma informed her. “The Devil Bats members are going to their dream schools, and I won’t let you ruin that for them.”
He watched the twitch of her eyebrow and the corner of her mouth at the suggestion she was ruining the futures of any of her students, but she smoothly suppressed them both. “For them. Not for you?”
“Everything I do is for me.”
“Are you aware of what you are getting yourself into? This is not football.”
“This might come as a surprise to you, but I’m not an idiot.”
She studied him carefully. He looked back with all his sly confidence. The students in the hall watched in perfect silence. This was a standoff they had never dreamed they would witness, even if Hiruma was technically sitting. He had already revealed a crack in their beloved teacher’s armor. As she approached him, they held their breath, awaiting the fury that rumors suggested might lurk below her impossibly constant cheerfulness. She stopped in front of the desk with a loaded stare that almost spoke. Defiance? No. A challenge. A dare. His fangs flashed in anticipation.
Finally, she held out the small stack of folders she carried.
“Thank you for volunteering to help with this Hiruma.” A careful smile touched her face as she reverted to English. “I appreciate it.”
Hiruma stared at the offering before him. He should have snatched them from her hands and fired a victory round, but he was uneasy. Even if the outcome was the same as if he used the book of threats, the game was different now. If he refused the files he forfeited, yet taking them would mean accepting her challenge, on her terms. That wasn’t the plan.
Tch. He chided himself. When did things like that ever matter? He reached out to take what he wanted, pulling the files from her fingers. Her grip was light, but strong enough he could feel the resistance, as if to remind him they were not being given away easily.
“It is nice that you want to help your teammates,” Ms. Green added in a voice too low to carry to the door, “but if a single one of these students doesn’t make it through the exams, you are the one who will have failed.”
She checked his face again to be sure he understood. He returned her gaze, unflinching. Satisfied, she turned to the hall and clapped her hands to call the attention of the students: “Alright, everyone! Please come in and take a seat. Mr. Hiruma will be leading the American entrance exam preparation committee from now on.”
The students who weren’t paralyzed with disbelief yelped in dismay. Ms. Green’s joyful delivery of the news couldn’t distract them from the content of the message. There must have been some mistake. Yet did they really expect a flaky foreign language instructor to win against the already notorious student who controlled the school and half the district? They saw their futures reducing to ash before their eyes. Ms. Green took her leave with a beaming smile. “Let me know if you have any questions. I’ll be marking papers in the staff room.”
Yukimitsu Manabu was the first to enter. He looked more concerned about the wrath of the other students than the man who had commandeered their exam committee. The whispers were fierce. It had been quite the sensation when one of their own kind became a member of that American football club. They had been dumbfounded and proud and a little jealous when he distinguished himself on the field. Yet now there could be no other explanation for the demonic quarterback to take control of their study group. Yukimitsu must be to blame for this curse.
At the front of the class, Hiruma’s voice boomed. “YA HA! Roll call! Anyone not in their seats will get…. ten laps around campus!!” He read the name on the top folder. “Aihara Marika.”
In the hall, a small girl squeaked in alarm, pushing through the other students and landing in her desk in record time. She buried her face in her books. “H-h-HERE!”
The other students regained control of their wits and hurried to their desks.
“Ane- fuckin’ -zaki.”
Mamori stood alone in the doorway. Her deadly stare had not lifted. All faces turned toward her as she entered the class with slow, deliberate steps. They pitied this girl, obviously traumatized by her year of forced labor as manager of the football club, but they had to admire her audacity. She stopped and stood in the middle of the room. Despite the clear skies, the air rumbled with an electric charge that set their hair on end. At the front, their new leader only seemed to gain strength.
“Kehkehkeh, you’re not in your desk, fuckin’ genius.”
There was a collective intake of breath. Mamori’s glare was an icy blaze. She held her ground a full second before she turned, dropped her books on the desk beside her and sat without a word. The air still crackled as Hiruma laughed again and continued.
“Ishimaru fuckin’ track star Tetsuo.”
The students exchanged glances. No one had noticed him until his name was called. They were almost certain he hadn’t been at previous meetings. Only then did they think to count the students in attendance and found there was one extra person. Something about this sudden appearance made them suspect he was also somehow involved with the infamous football team.
Aside from some quivering voices and the liberal use of profanity, it might have been an ordinary roll call. To be sure, they had become honors students by recognizing the advantages that respecting rules could afford them, and they had developed a tendency for obedience. Roll call was not the moment they would mount their resistance, but that did not mean they would remain passive forever.
Most of the names had been called when suddenly Hiruma paused. He looked at the folder with an open scowl, then put it to the side without saying the name.
He called the last student. “Fuckin’ baldy.”
“Here, sir!”
Hiruma stood half on the chair, half on the desk, brandishing his weapon. “Listen up nerds. I’m in charge here now. My job is to make your fucking dreams come true. I will use every method at my disposal. And I guarantee you will win if you obey this one rule: no quitting!”
~*~
There was much inside the folder that Kurita could not understand. Many sheets covered in dense, typed English and as many half-completed forms. One thing he did understand was the kanji of class subjects on what was obviously some kind of report card. Kurita averted his eyes, but his already compromised respect for Hiruma’s privacy was completely overwhelmed by his curiosity. These were all Hiruma’s marks for his first two years of high school. As far as Kurita was concerned, Hiruma was a genius. His marks, however, were on the low end of average. If he was disappointed, he was not surprised. Hiruma probably put in the bare minimum effort necessary to pass his classes, and in that sense these marks could be considered impressive.
A small paper clipped to the report card caught his attention. It was handwritten in a fine pen, covered in lines of numbers and letters in various combinations. One combination was circled: a long line of numbers in the high 90s that ended with an A-. Kurita puzzled at the meaning. It was impossible to understand. It was almost like calculations for a future report card. A dream report card?
He returned the past and future report cards back to the folder and looked again at those strange English pages. Most of the forms had logos, like an official document, and some of them looked vaguely familiar. Wait. He remembered where he knew them from: American college football. Not the team logos, but the schools they played for. Slowly the pieces started to fit together… Hiruma wanted to study in America!
“He never told me…” Kurita wondered aloud. They hadn’t talk about the future or their dreams. Until recently, dreams had only ever meant one thing, and other dreams could not easily take its place. Other than that single clear goal, he had trusted in some vague future that involved football, but in it they were always together. On some college team, maybe, but somewhere in Japan, not America. No one said anything about that. Except Musashi wouldn’t be going to college…
Kurita’s throat knotted and his eyes grew huge and round. Alone again. He would be more alone than ever before. America was so far away, Hiruma might as well go live on the moon. They could never sit on riverbanks or compare the stats of rival teams or run laps or plan strategies together… and no matter how hard he practiced, he could never, never ever snap a football all the way to America. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. He had to throw that horrible folder away, back in the trashcan, where it came from!
His hand stopped just above the rim of the basket. For some reason he couldn’t let go. Hiruma had already thrown this folder away, Kurita remembered. He had thrown away his dream. This realization hit him harder than the thought of being left behind. No, Hiruma wasn’t going to America. The tears in his eyes were no longer for himself. Hiruma probably needed someone to cry for him right now. Carefully, as though he were cradling his friend’s heart, Kurita tucked the folder into his bag.
~*~
The American exam prep committee met the next morning at dawn at the school’s main athletic grounds. Despite the indignation that they traded in whispers among themselves, every member was present and punctual. Every member, that was, except one. They cast nervous glances as they waited for their new manager to make his appearance.
Mamori had not spoken to Hiruma since he had taken over the committee. Not when he appeared beside her as she walked home. Not in the morning when he was waiting at her gate. Her silence was not for lack of things to say. It would be different if he alone were to blame for the fire that burned behind her eyes—and he remained first and foremost the guilty party—but she had asked for this curse and she knew it. Even in stories there was always a price for your heart’s desire, especially when obtained through dark magic, whether by trading with witches or making deals with the devil. Isn’t that precisely what she had done? Mermaids had given their voices for legs, only for every step to feel like knives. Mamori had lost her voice by choking on her own foolishness. She had only wanted to walk together, side by side. She had never asked for this, specifically, not this. She only hoped he could feel the daggers in her glare. He must have felt them, because every time he caught her eye his laugh rose a little louder.
She could have dealt with the consequences if they had only been for her, but innocent bystanders had been dragged into it. This was the line he had crossed that could not be forgiven. If this was her curse, then she should bear it alone. Targeting her classmates had lit the cold blue fire in her heart. She would protect them—with her dying breath, she would protect them—but he could only be doing this to get to her, and she would not rise to the bait. From experience she knew she could rail against him in protest with all her fury, with righteousness and reason on her side, but it would change nothing. She would find a way to put a stop to this. In the meantime, her loathing smoldered and her eyes burned.
“What are you doing in your uniforms, fucking nerds!?” Hiruma greeted the group. He himself was wearing a uniform: a red jersey with the number ‘1’. An astute onlooker might have notice Mamori’s eyes flash THIS IS NOT FOOTBALL in Morse code. “Apparently I have a lot of fucking work to do before these exams because I am dealing with a bunch of fucking idiots who don’t even know how to dress themselves properly!”
The students cowered at his verbal attack and glanced at one another. They had dressed in their winter uniforms, as they would for any normal study group in mid-March. The two boys who had trained with the football team, however, had shown up in their gym clothes. A sinking feeling descended on the group.
“What are you standing around for? Go change!” Hiruma shrieked, but it was the rounds of rubber bullets that spoke the loudest. Mamori expertly deflected with her bag to buy them time to escape. When they were out of range he put up his gun and grinned at her. She ignored him and joined the others to change.
The first order of business of the American exam prep committee was ten laps around the main athletic field. The news was sufficient cause for open rebellion. They had suspected that their manager did not have much experience with academic pursuits and would destroy them with pointless activities more suited for sports-types, and this command confirmed it.
“H-Hi-Hiruma-a…sama!” One of the boldest students faced him defiantly, hoping against hope that his honorific choice would shield him somehow. “We agreed to morning meetings t-t-to prepare for the entrance exams! Not to run laps! We have a lot of material to cover. We shouldn’t waste time like this.”
His courage was tested as Hiruma turned toward him, his face half in shadow revealing his most demonic expression. The boy trembled but somehow stood his ground. Hiruma laughed as though he had been waiting for someone to doubt him.
“KEHKEHKEH!! Perhaps I didn’t make this clear: the only thing I am interested in is winning. If you recall, I am the one who set this schedule and I am the one who is preparing you for the entrance exams.” He directed his next words to the entire group. “There are three reasons why you are going to run laps this morning and every morning from now until those test scores are in your hand, and you fucking brainiacs had better figure out the answers before you finish those ten laps, or I will make you do ten more!”
He readied his gun, which was enough to set them running down around the track. Mamori noticed Yukimitsu linger behind, watching the others with a childish grin before jogging after them. Joining the Devil Bats had changed him, she knew, but seeing him in this context reminded her how far he had come. He had been lopsided before thanks to those years focused solely on his studies, but balance had been struck through sacrifice most people never experienced. Physically, he had barely survived the brutal training of the Death March. Psychologically, he had endured cruel treatment from Hiruma not unlike what he was delivering to the exam prep committee now. No, that wasn’t quite right. She had to admit Hiruma was being much kinder to them than he had been with Yukimitsu. She tried to stop thinking and concentrate on putting one foot ahead of the other.
After a few minutes the racing start induced by fear had lost its effect and the abilities of the group emerged on the track. Some were struggling against the limits of their bodies, others were fit enough but their hearts were writhing against the situation. Former track captain Ishimaru was not showing off, but even at his relaxed speed he had already lapped little Aihara, who was breathing hard and on the brink of tears. Yukimitsu was gaining on her too, but hung back when he reached her. “Hang in there, Aihara-san. You don’t have to go fast. Just keep moving forward. You’ll make it.”
The girl wiped her eyes and the sweat from her brow and nodded. “N-no… no qu-quitting!”
From the other side of the field Hiruma jeered, “Still no answers? Fucking dumbasses!”
The girl ahead of Mamori straightened abruptly, as though she had caught a spark on a door handle. She veered off the main course until she drew up before their commander. There she bowed ceremoniously.
Hiruma frowned at the gesture. “What the fuck is this?”
“Moriyama Sachiko, class representative, class 2-1,” she shouted, “Running increases blood flow to the brain and improves mental functions including reasoning and memory! Sir!”
“Ya ha!!” A round of gunfire heralded her correct answer like sound effects on some twisted game show. “Very good! Little Miss fucking Tree Mountain here figured out the first reason! Two more!”
“Excuse me, but…” she hesitated, but seemed obligated to correct his English, “I think you mean Forest Mountain.”
He received the criticism with a wild smile. “Kehkehkeh, eight laps is enough for today, fucking Forest Mountain Girl.”
Moriyama rejoined her sweating peers. With a jut of her chin she submitted her victory as a challenge to a spindly boy with long limbs and no running form to speak of. The gesture filled him with an urgent need to find the next answer, although he was obviously already putting more effort into thinking than running. He pulled at his hair and even covered his eyes before an idea dawned on him, at which point he promptly tripped over his own feet in his excitement.
“The… lymphatic system!” he spat out between heavy breaths. “It needs… mechanical propulsion… It’s twinned… with… the cardiovascular… And it has… important… immune function. So running… Hiruma-sama wants us to run… so we don’t get sick!”
“Tch. This from the guy with perfect marks in science. It took you long enough, fucking spider! Kehkehkeh! What, were you sleepwalking?”
The boy looked devastated until he realized he had actually given the right answer. A half-smile crept under his disbelief, and he pushed ahead with new force to catch up with Moriyama and tally the scores in their ongoing rivalry.
“There is an important lesson to draw from this answer,” Hiruma observed in a menacing tone. “As your fucking hero was so kind to remind me before, there is no time to waste. Starting today there will be no vacations, no ‘off days’ and no sick days. So anyone who dares to catch fucking influenza… I will personally kill them!!! Got it? Kehkehkeh!! One more.”
His threat sent shivers through the joggers. The flame behind Mamori’s eyes burn colder. Hiruma probably wouldn’t actually murder anyone, but any form of punishment would be unfair to someone already suffering from the flu. She checked for signs of illness among her classmates, but at the moment they mostly looked sweaty and tired. She would have to watch them closely to make sure she could treat anyone who showed symptoms before he caught on. And pass by the pharmacy for some immune-boosting supplies.
As the last students dragged themselves through their final lap, the third reason remained unguessed. Those who had already finished, even the ones collapsed on the ground, were still trying to puzzle it out. Mamori positioned herself protectively between them and the armed man like a shield. It seemed as though the atmosphere had changed. Even if fear still propelled their anxious search for the last answer, their hostility at being hijacked had been forgotten—but she was thinking about the time even before the takeover. When the American entrance exam preparation committee had met before, they had been polite but hardly friendly. Now they seemed to have a common cause. United. Almost like a team.
“Oh! What about oxygen?!”
“Yeah, nice idea! The third reason, is it to improve our breathing?”
“That is covered by Reason Number One, circulation to the brain. Sub-points don’t count.” Hiruma watched the last runners approach with a mischievous smirk. “Tch. Still nothing? How disappointing. What did I say if I didn’t have answers before the laps were finished? Ten more? Or was it twenty? Kehkehkeh!”
Her peers scrambled to think of something while Mamori watched. He was going to make them love him, she realized. The fear was just a pretext. It would keep them around long enough to get a taste, to make them yearn for his approval. It would be for love that they would work harder than they ever would alone. They would believe in him believing in them more than they could ever believe in themselves. Who wouldn’t give up everything to make this madman proud? She forgot to fight back the smile that crept onto her lips, and she was practically grinning when their eyes locked. He returned it with a grin of his own. There was no point resisting. He had won.
“So, fuckin’ genius? What’s the answer?”
“The third reason,” she shook her head softly, “is because you told us to, Hiruma-kun.”
~*~