Lmao it's been four years. Whoops?

Y'ALL I MADE ART FOR THIS CHAPTER~~

(Yeah okay I promised the second team but I didn't get around to it, so you get Tsurugi and Tenma being unnecessarily dramatic instead.)

Anyway, enjoy!

~'0'~

Parallels, by Yara Meijer.

~'0'~

Tsurugi Kyousuke stares at his phone with unseeing eyes.

He's not sure he's even breathing. It's not audible in the silence of the park, at the very least. The rustling leaves seem terrifyingly loud.

Of all the things...

He clutches the device in his hand tightly, knuckles turning white, and slowly lifts his gaze to the skyline. He swallows against his dry throat, then, breathes in gradually.

Of all the things.

He slumps against the tree behind him, his hand lowering without his consent. He has just enough sense to stuff his phone in his pocket before he drops it, but that's as far as he gets. His mind is reeling; from what, exactly, he can't be sure. Or rather, there are too many reasons to just pick one.

When Kyousuke went out for a walk before dinner, of all the things he could've expected, this was not it.

How could he? It has been three years, after all. Three years of complete silence – he never dared to think, dared to hope, that after such a long time his best friend would reach out to them. To him.

Not that he has any right to call Tenma that anymore. After everything he's dared to pull on him, he would never believe himself worthy of his friendship again.

And that thought has him gritting his teeth, because it hurts. And yet he knows – has always known – that it couldn't possibly compare to Tenma's pain.

Kyousuke might have regrets that swallow him whole, even after so long, but at least he wasn't alone.

''I bet it was such a goddamn blessing when I was gone!''

No. Never.

They made him believe that. Kyousuke made him believe that.

Before he even knows it, he has turned away from the tree he was leaning on. With a frustrated shout, he punches the wood, not caring for the pain that shoots through his knuckles a second later. It feels good, a way to get rid of his pent-up frustration, and so he does it a few more times.

Even that doesn't last though, and he's left with his forehead resting against the tree trunk, breathing heavily.

''Damn it. Damn it!''

He's never heard Tenma like that before, so... so miserable. So lost. And the things he'd said, Kyousuke doubts he was even fully aware of it with how quickly he was talking – how long had he been having those thoughts, that they came rushing out without even the slightest break at the first opportunity?

And then Kyousuke himself – how stupid could he be? There were so many things he could've, should've said, and instead he allowed the brunet to hang up still believing they were... they were, what, utterly disgusted by him?

It makes him want to cry, but he wipes at his eyes when he feels the tears well up. He doesn't have the right.

''Don't call me,'' he'd said, and Kyousuke won't. He won't, even if he wants nothing more, because Tenma- Tenma deserves an explanation.

A humorless laugh escapes him as he twists around so his back is against the tree instead. As if he can even give an explanation – as if anyone can explain the goddamn mess Raimon was, after their beloved captain's accident. Most of that time is a haze in his memory, one of desperation and horror, and some days he still feels like he hasn't pulled himself out of that half-conscious fog.

All he remembers is the explicit thought of don't let Tenma know.

Don't let Tenma know how his team fell in shambles without him. That was something they'd all agreed upon – to not give their captain even more stress during his recovery.

''And look how that fucking turned out,'' whispers Kyousuke, wiping at his eyes again as he blinks up at the sky.

Yeah. Just look how that turned out.

~'0'~

Tenma doesn't know how long he's been sitting here.

It's all he can do to try and breathe, in, out, forehead resting on his arms as if he can block out the world. Now that he's out of tears, all that's left is the echoes of his own words in his mind, in the silence of his room. What he said was horrible.

That's the simple truth of it, and he knows it. It doesn't matter how much he's hurting, he has no right to talk to another person that way. To act like his own troubles are more valuable than those of others.

It doesn't help that it's Tsurugi.

Tsurugi, who'd opened up to him about his brother and parents, about Fifth Sector and being a Seed, about his doubts on his place in Raimon. Tsurugi, who'd once been his best friend.

His only saving grace, Tenma thinks, is that he didn't say anything about those things. That he didn't break Tsurugi's trust like that.

Everything else he said was horrible enough on its own already anyway.

''Oh, so now you're going to defend yourself? Because I'm the one in the wrong, is that it?''

Hell, he didn't even let him get in a word edgewise. When he tried, Tenma cut him off with more accusations, more spiteful things meant to hurt. And hurt they did; Tsurugi had gone quiet, had apologized, and if Tenma thought that would make him feel better, he was wrong.

(A part of him can't help but wonder just when he became so good at lying.)

He chokes on his breath and for a moment he thinks he might start crying again. But he's too tired for that, far too tired for any of this, the skin around his eyes raw and just shy of painful. All he wants to do is sleep for a long, long time.

Not for the first time, he finds himself wondering if it was a good idea to come back here.

Roughly, Tenma shakes his head. There's no use wondering such things and he knows it.

He doesn't want to think about this anymore.

So, without giving himself the chance to change his mind, Tenma pushes himself to his feet. He's ready to head downstairs and start on dinner, have it ready before his father comes home. Forget about everything that happened during this horrid day.

The brunet grimaces when his muscles protest when he stands up – had he really stayed in the same position for so long? – and tries to ignore how awfully much this feels like running away.

(But isn't that what he's been doing all along, anyway?)

~'0'~

It's already late. Almost dinner time, no doubt, the setting sun painting the world outside in a golden glow.

Seated at his desk, Gouenji Shuuya runs a tired hand through his hair – loose, like his Holy Emperor days – and adjusts his no doubt ruffled tie. How he wished he could be in his apartment right now, or better yet, sharing dinner with his sister or one of his friends. Even Natsumi's food sounds appetizing if it comes with his best friend's company.

Instead, he's still at the JYSA, working overtime.

Become chairman, they said.

It'll be fun, they said.

The man chuckles at his own thoughts and leans back in his seat, gazing out of the window at the busy streets of Tokyo below. He'll head home soon, he decides, maybe stop for ramen at Tobitaka's shop – he's in no mood for cooking, anyway, and it'll be nice to spend some time with a friend.

''But first,'' he hums, startingly loud in the silence of his office, ''work.''

With newfound motivation, Gouenji turns back to the report before him, resting his fingers against his chin as he reads. A frown pulls at his features as he skims through the pages, feeling the beginnings of a headache starting to build behind his temples. After a moment of consideration, he rolls his chair back far enough so he can open one of the drawers in the side of his desk, leafing through the papers until he finds what he's looking for.

Pulling the older report out and throwing it next to the more recent one, he readies himself for a long night.

The possibility of going home seems farther out of reach with every passing minute, as yet more things call for his attention. Engrossed in his work as he is, he barely notices the ringing of his cellphone who knows how long later.

Fumbling blindly for his phone, hidden somewhere between the messy papers, he picks up without bothering to check who's calling. ''Gouenji Shuuya,'' he says into the receiver, eyes still trained on the notes he's been taken the past... half hour? Hour? He honestly doesn't know.

''Hello to you too.''

The soft, amused voice is what finally gets Gouenji out of his focus and he blinks, surprised to find his office now dark, save for the light coming from his desk lamp.

He must've been silent for too long, because there's a tinny ''Earth to Gouenji?'' in his ear that startles him once again.

''Oh,'' he says, a little awkwardly. ''Sorry. Fubuki, hey.'' Leaning back in his chair, he finally notices that the sun has long since set, the sky now dark. He could've sworn it was still light out only a few minutes ago.

''What's got you so distracted?'' comes the inevitable question, filled with quiet laughter.

The chairman can't help but roll his eyes, although he does settle back in his chair, rolling his shoulders to get rid of the stiffness that's settling in them. ''Work,'' he admits, already knowing what comes next.

Fubuki does not disappoint. ''You're still at work? Dinner time was over an hour ago!'' he scolds and Gouenji can perfectly imagine the disappointed scowl he no doubt wears. It's the same look he's been subjected to several times over, by several different people no less, in the last couple of years since he took this job. ''Tell me you've at least eaten since lunch.''

''I was planning to stop by Tobitaka...'' even to his own ears, it sounds weak.

His former teammate seems to think so as well, giving an unrefined snort. ''Tough luck, flame boy, Rairaiken will already be closed even if you leave now.''

Gouenji winces, throwing a glance at his desk. Now that the conversation has turned to food, he realizes how hungry he is; suddenly his work doesn't seem as important as it did ten minutes ago.

From the phone comes an exasperated sigh. ''Alright, get your things and go home. This isn't doing you any good.'' At any other moment, Gouenji might've refused, but he can't find the energy to do so now. It's been a long week.

Heck, it's been a long month.

''And because I,'' here, Fubuki sounds smug in a way he rarely is, but that they're all familiar with because on those rare occasions that he does allow himself to be smug, he lets everyone know, ''am such a good friend, I'm already messaging Tobitaka to expect you. He says he'll leave the backdoor open for you and make you some ramen.''

Gouenji laughs, half-relieved he will not have to go without dinner for another hour, half-amused by Fubuki's actions. Mostly, he's just grateful, and he says as much.

''Thank me by learning some self-care,'' the Hakuren coach returns dryly.

''I will, I will,'' Gouenji gives in easily, not wanting to get on his friend's bad side. ''I'm putting the phone down to grab my things, hold on a second.'' He gets an agreement and does as promised, taking a moment to stack the reports he didn't get around to and checking his bag to ensure he won't forget anything. A few minutes later, he's picking up the phone again and slinging his bag over his shoulder. ''Done.''

He gives his office one last look and then turns the light off, stepping out into the hallway and locking the door with practiced movement. ''No stops on the way! Hop hop, to Tobitaka's shop!'' Fubuki says cheerfully and the Chairman can't help but roll his eyes.

''So inspiring. You should become a poet instead of a soccer coach.''

''I know, I'm an absolute delight.'' Either Fubuki doesn't notice the dry sarcasm, or he's ignoring it. Probably the latter.

They make some more small talk as Gouenji waits on the elevator, and it doesn't take long for him to be making his way out of the building and onto the dark street. His suit jacket is his only cover against the night's chill and he sets a brisk pace to his car.

He says goodbye to Fubuki at this point, deciding to take the risk of stroking his ego by thanking him for the interference, to which the coach laughs quietly and simply says, ''you'd do the same for any of us.'' Which, well. It's not wrong.

By the time Gouenji parks his car near Rairaiken, he's more than grateful that his friend called him when he did. He's absolutely starving, and the bright lights coming from inside the restaurant are irresistible.

As promised, the backdoor is open and he steps into the familiar establishment, a smile instantly gracing his lips as he smells the warm scents of homemade food. He's been coming here for years and it never fails to ease something in him.

''I'm here!'' he calls, rounding the corner and stepping into the main room.

Tobitaka is behind the bar and looks up as he comes inside, grinning brightly. ''Welcome! Gouenji, how've you been?'' he gestures him forward and as the Chairman takes a seat at the bar, the chef places two bowls of ramen and fried rice in front of him. ''Eat up. I bet Fubuki chewed you out, didn't he?''

''Yeah,'' he says, chuckling sheepishly and then turning to his food. The first bite is absolutely heaven, warm and full of flavor, and Gouenji takes a moment to enjoy it. Then the hunger wins out and he begins cleaning his bowl at an impressive speed.

When Tobitaka offers him a fresh cup of tea while sipping from his own, he pauses between bites of his food to mumble a satisfied thank you. ''The food is delicious as always.''

''Glad to hear it.'' The chef comes around the bar and takes a seat next to him, watching in satisfaction as the other attacks his food. ''So, why were you out so late?''

Hunger now slightly placated, Gouenji sits up a bit more and slows his eating pace. ''If Fubuki hadn't called me, I'd still be at the office,'' he admits. ''Work has been taxing, with the new schoolyear starting up.''

''I can imagine.''

Gouenji sighs, lazily swirling the tea in his cup. ''I never realized how much work organizing tournaments take. I miss simply participating.''

He grins when Tobitaka throws his head back and laughs. This. This is what he needed – a wonderful meal, the company of a good friend, and an evening free from work. He really should take some time for himself, call up Endou for some one-on-one practice, maybe try and schedule a video call with Someoka. Take Yuuka to the park.

Tobitaka has recovered from his bout of laughter and asks, not fully able to hide his excitement, ''any interesting matches coming up?''

''And with that you mean, is Raimon playing.''

The chef ducks his head but doesn't bother hiding his grin. ''Guilty as charged.''

Well, it's not as if Gouenji can blame him – they all have a soft spot for Raimon, after all; both from their own memories, and their involvement in a certain Raimon generation in recent years. Even Kidou, partial to Teikoku as he claims to be, can't quite hide his high expectations for that school.

''You're in luck. There's a match against Kaiou next week.'' That one's promising to be good. ''Oh, and Yuuichi-kun mentioned a match for his team this weekend.''

''Yuuichi?'' Tobitaka hums. ''Isn't he the new assistant coach at Raimon?''

Gouenji nod. ''Yes, he's in charge of the second team.'' He places his chopsticks down, having emptied both bowls by now. ''They were quite promising last year. I know their captain has been scouted by several teams already.'' It's true – Raimon's second team is not one to be underestimated, and although he isn't as invested as he is in the first team, he tries to watch their matches if he's free.

He sighs at the thought. Free time. God, he really needs a break.

Apparently, he must look as weary as he feels, because Tobitaka is frowning when Gouenji looks at him again.

''You look tired.'' There it is.

The Chairman chuckles, but it dies off quickly. ''I am,'' he admits, and runs a hand through his hair – left down as it usually is when he's working, and probably a right mess. ''The tournament's taking up a lot of time, and there's the regular things. I'm still trying to clean up the records off God Eden, but they covered their tracks. And then there's the whole Murata incident, which I'm not seeing the end of anytime soon.''

''Still?'' his friend winces. ''I thought that got sorted months ago.''

Gouenji snorts humorlessly and shakes his head, resting an elbow on the table and leaning his head on his fist. He can feel his earlier headache returning at the mere thought of all the work stacked up in his office. ''I wish. They're hammering for compensation, which I understand, they have the right to it, but I can't magic the right documents out of nothing. It's...'' he trails off, reaching for his mug.

''Challenging,'' Tobitaka finishes for him.

''Yes.'' The Chairman sighs and drains the last of his tea, which is starting to go lukewarm by now. ''I think Kageyama Reiji was involved.''

Tobitaka's head whips up, his eyes wide, and Gouenji grimaces. He knows exactly what the other is thinking right now – he thought it himself, once he had to acknowledge that Kageyama's fingerprints were all over it.

Every time they think they got rid of the bastard, he comes crawling back.

''Don't mention it yet,'' he asks quietly, to which he receives an easy agreement – if Kidou or Fudou catches wind of this, they won't be happy, and without any real information to give them, it's best to wait until more is known. ''I don't yet know the details. I just know that at some point, Murata's shares were his property. I lost the track somewhere around there, and, well... they're getting impatient.''

At that, the chef snorts. ''No kidding. It's been, what, ten years?''

''Eight.''

''Close enough. You mentioned God Eden?''

Gouenji smiles at that, recognizing the silent offer for what it is. To just share his worries for a bit, knowing he can trust the man next to him to lend a listening ear and not repeat the sensitive information he talks about; the Chairman doesn't know what he did to have friends like Tobitaka, but whatever it is, he can't possibly express his gratitude for it.

''Kibayama tried to wipe all information on what was going on there in the days after Fifth Sector was taken down, and he partially succeeded. Sorting out the leftover records is a pain and since it's such sensitive information, I can't just delegate it to someone.''

His friend winces. ''Yeah, I can imagine you don't want this leaking to the media.''

At that, Gouenji leans back in his chair and drags a hand down his face. He feels older than his years.

''What those kids went through... it was abuse,'' he mumbles, trying to ignore how his mind automatically goes to Tsurugi and the other Seeds he knows on a more personal level.

Tobitaka doesn't answer.

None of them like to think of it; how far Fifth Sector's influence got, how deep their grip still goes. What they did. Who they hurt.

The kids they hurt.

If only they'd realized the truth of it sooner... if only they'd interfered sooner. By the time any of them saw beyond Fifth Sector's glorious image, they'd grown too powerful to stop. They'd had to resort to underhand tactics and, eventually, infiltration by Gouenji himself.

And still, no matter how much he tried, for every kid he managed to keep from Fifth's clutches, another slipped through his fingers.

They all know; they've seen the records, went through it together after the organization's downfall. Hibiki had called, no, demanded all of them to be there, to see the evil that had evaded them for so long.

''This cannot happen again,'' he'd said, gravelly and silently angry like none of his old players had ever seen before. ''We must be prepared for these dangers. Soccer needs us to. Too many people have recognized its use in their schemes – and children are the ones who pay the price.''

Children like Fudou. Like Mac Roniejo. Like those countless Seeds.

They'd all seen the proof, but Gouenji had been the one to face it every day, as it was happening. He'd been the one to wake up every day and go to work and see the evils being committed right in front of him.

And he'd been powerless.

It's his greatest motivation for taking his job so seriously; this way, he can personally see to it that nothing like Fifth Sector is ever created again.

But it isn't easy. Especially not with the mess they left behind – and the mess that was left from the system before that.

''It's getting late.'' Tobitaka pulls him from his thoughts and Gouenji throws a look at the clock – he's right, it is late. If he wants to have any time with Yuuka before she heads to bed, he shouldn't linger for much longer. ''You should go home and get some rest.''

''I should,'' Gouenji admits, rising from his chair and watching Tobitaka collect his dishes. ''Do you need help with those?''

The chef waves his worries away easily enough, prepared for the offer because all his friends ask the same thing whenever he cooks for them. Except for Fudou, but everyone is used to Fudou being a jerk. ''Nah, I've got it. Go home. Say hi to your sister for me.''

The Chairman can't help but smile, and starts collecting his bag, digging around in his pocket until he finds his car keys. ''I will. Thank you for the meal, Tobitaka. And thank you for the company.''

''Don't mention it.'' The man opens the tap, beginning to rinse the dishes, but he pauses to give Gouenji a long look, looking thoughtful for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. ''Hey... you're doing good work, I hope you know that.'' When Gouenji pauses, Tobitaka gives an awkward shrug. ''It's hard now, but it'll pay off. It already has.''

It lightens something in the Chairman's chest to hear that. ''Thank you, Tobitaka,'' he mumbles quietly. It's for much more than just the words.

The chef grins, message received.

''Anytime.''

~'0'~

Thursday morning finds Tenma the last to arrive at morning practice.

He'd stalled as long as he could before leaving home, nearly considering not getting out of bed at all – but the knowledge of the match on Sunday in the back of his mind eventually pushed him into getting up and ready as slowly as he could.

(There's probably some sort of irony in the fact that, even three years later, he can't bring himself to let down a team.)

After everything, he feels both better and worse.

Crying helped, screaming helped. Part of him feels a little lighter, now that he's spoken the words aloud that have been twisting themselves around him for weeks. They'd been heavy on his tongue for so long, dark in his mind, and now there's a short, blessed moment of respite.

Mostly he just feels awful.

That hasn't let up in the slightest by the time he finally does reach Raimon High, and when his feet automatically pause at the gate, he has to force himself to continue on towards the soccer building.

When he finally does arrive at the second team's clubroom, it's to see most of his teammates already gathered there. Some call out greetings, which he returns politely, until his eyes land on Yuuichi. The coach is sitting behind his desk, discussing the upcoming match with Teruya.

Tenma pauses, something cold gripping at his heart as yesterday's events come rushing back, their conversation being one, and later, the... the call.

Will Tsurugi have told his brother...?

That's what rushes through his head during the short second it takes Yuuichi to notice the new arrival and look up, a smile freezing on his face when he catches sight of the brunet.

Tenma swallows heavily and tears his gaze away, twisting on his heel and making his escape into the changing room. The second he's out of sight, he breathes out in relief.

Seeing Yuuichi – it suddenly all just crashes into him. The realization of what exactly he'd done yesterday.

Years of separating himself from everything and it all turned into dust in a single moment.

''Kaze-san, good morning!''

Tenma's head whips up at the sudden greeting. He hadn't even realized someone else was in the changing room with him.

His tension melts away when he recognizes ashen blond curls, and he finds himself smiling without conscious thought. ''Maeyama-san! Good morning.'' He almost grimaces when he notices his voice sounds a bit faint, hoping his fellow first-year won't pick up on it.

His worries seem to be in vain, though; the defender moves closer, looking worried. ''Are you alright? You left so suddenly yesterday...'' he trails off, tilting his head. His raspberry red eyes look him up and down, as if that'll suddenly show him some hidden sign of illness or injury.

''I'm alright,'' he reassures his friend, and he can't help but smile when Maeyama looks doubtful, touched by the obvious concern. ''I promise. Yesterday was just a bad day for me.''

The defender holds on to his frown for a few more seconds, but then gives in, nodding unhappily. ''Alright... just take care of yourself! Please.''

Tenma nods, letting his bag drop down on the bench next to him. ''I will.'' He wasn't exactly expecting his new friend to be so direct in his concern, but it's... nice. Nice to know someone cares.

At that, Maeyama is suddenly all smiles again. ''Alright!'' he chirps brightly. ''Ah, I can't wait until practice... do you think we can do some more hissatsu practice? Maybe we can get Sawaki-san to join us? We should ask coach, do you think he'll agree?''

As the blond continues his word storm, Tenma can't help but laugh as he unzips his bag to grab his soccer uniform. He lets himself be drawn into a conversation while he changes, and they settle into more lighthearted conversation by the time they step back into the clubroom. Shinji joins them there, immediately on board when Maeyama suggests his hissatsu plan and Tenma-

Tenma's happy.

Sure, he suspects that Maeyama might've let Shinji know that the brunet wasn't feeling well while he wasn't looking, or maybe the redhead is just more observant than he gives him credit for, because during the entire training session, at least one of them is by his side. They joke around a lot, and Shinji fights him to a draw in a one-on-one, and it's fun.

Tenma's not... alright, not yet.

Talking with Tsurugi brought things to the forefront of his mind that he hasn't acknowledged in years, but... maybe for a little while...

He can let himself forget.

~'0'~

Tenma is... weirdly absent, after that.

If anyone were to ask him what he did, he'd be able to answer flawlessly; go to school, go to practice, do his homework, but it all seems strangely detached.

He drifts through most of Thursday and Friday, with the only notable moment being the practice match with the fourth team. The second team wins, unsurprisingly.

The brunet is distinctly happy about it, but he can't quite bring himself to share his team's outgoing excitement, even as they chatter excitedly around him. It's a bit of a blessing that no one notices his silence, but then again, they've only just become a team.

By the time he enters the library on Friday, all he wants is to sit down and maybe stare out of the window for a few hours. Just to turn his mind off.

Because of course he's been overthinking every little thing the past two days.

He greets the students who are just finishing their shift and heads to the committee's backroom, a bit surprised to find a familiardark head of hair on one of the couches. He hadn't checked who he'd been working with today. ''Good afternoon, Komuro-senpai.''

''Ah, Matsukaze!'' the president looks up, cheerful smile fixed on his face that seems to falter for just a moment at the sight of the brunet. He doesn't beat around the bush when he says, ''Kid, you look exhausted.''

Tenma drops down on the opposite couch, noticing a cookie plate on the coffee table that Komuro seems to have been snacking from, and he steals a cookie from under the president's nose. ''I am,'' he says. He isn't sure what causes him to be so honest. ''There's a match on Sunday. I've had an emotional breakdown and I'm probably being really whiny about it, sorry about that, and I screamed at my old best friend and acted like an awful human being. And now I think I might cry at any second.''

The word storm leaves him before he can even think of stopping it. The silence that follows if painfully awkward. They're both surprised at this sudden turn.

Tenma blinks, staring at Komuro, and then he lifts a hand to run through his hair and squeezes his eyes shut for a minute. ''Damn. Sorry. I'm so sorry senpai, I shouldn't have unloaded like that.''

He tries to laugh it off, but it sounds sharp. He's all too aware that Komuro hasn't said anything yet.

For lack of anything better to do, he sniffles and takes a bite of his cookie.

''You,'' is the hummed answer, ''look as miserable as a drowned cat.''

Tenma is so surprised by that that he can't help his startled laugh, nearly choking on his cookie but swallowing just in time. Then he leans back against the couch, lets his head drop to rest on the backrest, and stares at the ceiling with a wry grin still on his face. ''You're probably right about that,'' he says a moment later.

He doesn't really know why he's suddenly opening up so much, when he had such a good grip on himself until now.

Maybe because, out of everyone, Komuro knows the most about... everything, right now.

There's a snort, and the sound pulls the brunet from his thoughts again. ''Of course I am. I'm always right.'' That has Tenma giggling again. He's not sure where the sudden appreciation at Komuro's sardonic humor comes from, but he can't deny that it's making him feel... not better, but more stable, than anything else these past days. ''So. Wanna talk or just vent?''

Tenma thinks about the offer for a moment. It's... nice, actually, to get the option. To not be immediately questioned.

''I'm done venting,'' he decides. ''Just ask something I guess? I don't know.'' It's surprising how easily he drops formalities, but Komuro doesn't seem to mind at all, and that reassures him.

''Well then,'' the president hums, and Tenma can see him grab a cookie in his peripheral vision. ''You screamed at your former best friend?''

''Yeah.''

A pause. ''Did you tell him to fuck off?''

The brunet snorts, his grin returning even brighter and he lifts his head. ''I'm not sure if I used those words, but essentially yes.''

Komuro nods decisively, ''good,'' and smirks when the younger teen lets out another startled laugh. ''Sometimes the best remedy is to give a big 'f u'to the world, y'know? Have another cookie.''

Doing as he's ordered to, Tenma takes a cookie. This time he can appreciate it a lot more.

There's a knock from the right and both teens look up to see one of the other library students standing in the doorway, fist resting against the wood. ''We're done here,'' she announces. ''Have fun on your shift!''

''And that's our cue.'' Komuro stands up and steals two last cookies, handing one to Tenma as the brunet finishes the one he was eating and the two make their way to the front. ''So, you mentioned a match. What club did you join anyway?''

The brunet blinks. ''I didn't tell you?'' he takes a seat behind the counter, the president mirroring him a few feet away, and logs in on the computer. ''Soccer club.''

Komuro makes a disapproving sound.

A bit surprised, the brunet glances at him just in time to see the distain staining his face. ''Don't like it?''

''Nah, it's not that,'' the president says as he waves the two other committee members goodbye. ''It's the whole industry. They're all a bunch of show ponies if you ask me.''

Maybe a few year ago, Tenma's first reaction would've been offended.

Now he thinks back to the huge soccer building, the luxury in the changing rooms. Hums.

Hopes his face doesn't give his own disdain away.

''I don't mind the sport or anything,'' Komuro continues, seemingly reassured he hasn't offended his kouhai when the brunet doesn't immediately start protesting. ''Some of my classmates are in the first team actually, and they're pretty neat.''

It sends a pang through Tenma to hear that, but before he can decide if he wants to ask more, the older teen is already continuing. ''Shindou Takuto, Kirino Ranmaru and Ibuki Munemasa. It's weird, y'know? In class they're normal students – except Shindou, that guy was in the smartest ten percent of the country on last year's exams – and then on TV they're just... wow. Those supershots? Terrifying. Don't know how you can face that.'' He pauses then, and suddenly chuckles. ''Wow, now I'm unloading.''

A sound of amusement escapes Tenma at the last comment, but he's mostly focusing on the other things Komuro's said.

Having finished reading through the week report, the brunet swivels his chair to face the older student. ''Do you want to return the books or be on desk duty?''

Komuro makes a face. ''I don't mind either way, what do you prefer?''

''Desk duty.'' Usually, Tenma likes to return the books, but he's tired. ''Do you want coffee?'' At the nod he gets, he stands up and moves to the coffee machine.

As he's standing there, he finally responds to the president's earlier words – it's easier when he doesn't have to face him. ''To be honest, I get what you mean. The whole industry is for show.''

He thinks his grimace can be heard through his voice.

There's a hummed agreement, Komuro heading over to the stacks of returned books to the side, starting to load in the empty cart. ''You don't like the fame?''

Tenma scoffs. ''I like that it's such a popular sport. I don't like that it's being used as a money machine,'' he corrects, placing the first mug aside as he starts on the second. ''I love soccer. All the extra stuff... fame, it seems tiring.''

The words leave a sour taste in his mouth.

Public opinion is a double-edged sword. He's learnt that the hard way.

But right here, he's not supposed to be some former well-known soccer captain. He's just some no name kid who doesn't know anything about that, so instead he shrugs and says, ''I just want to play soccer because it's fun.''

The coffee machine beeps twice, indicating the second cup is also done, so he grabs both and turns around again. Komuro hums a thanks when the brunet passes him his mug. ''I get that,'' the president says, smiling warmly at the younger boy. ''Hey, I'm going to put these back where they belong. I'll be back in a bit!''

''Sure!''

Tenma settles in his chair, logging in on the computer to get started on his work.

Somehow, he feels lighter than he has all week.

~'0'~

Do I hate this chapter or what.

I rewrote it six times or so? And now I'm like screw it just upload it. On the bright side! It has a lot of world building that will be relevant later on! Also, next chapter FINALLY that match, yasss!

I'm still injured. Still can't write much, and after this, I definitely need to take a longer break. I have no idea when I will upload any of my stories, please don't bother asking.

Hope y'all enjoyed!

- Yara