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the first thing akashi notices is that riko moriyama looks as handsome in real life as he does in all his photographs, albeit, shorter. much like akashi himself, clearly, his height is in his personality.
he is sitting at the table, his legs crossed, leaning back in his chair with all his weight, pale hands settled in his lap loosely. there’s an ease and confidence in his manner, that akashi knows from his own experience is the privilege of kings. and riko moriyama is every inch the king. his dark eyes settle on akashi. he smiles. it makes his mouth look vulgar and attractive all at once.
“i’m pleased you came to see me,” riko says. his Japanese is fluent, unaccented. akashi had expected him to speak in english.
“i could hardly refuse such an attractive invitation,” akashi says smoothly. truth be told, he could have never refused it, not with knowing who riko was, and what the moriyama name meant. true, they might have moved the bulk of their operations into the united states, but they had many friends in japan. it just so happened, akashi’s family was among them.
and damn, he’d really just wanted his semester abroad to be one devoted to academics, sight-seeing, self-improvement and immersing himself in a foreign culture.
still, riko was not unreasonable. he’d sweetened the deal by offering akashi a personal tour of the edgar allan stadium, anda chance to engage him in a one-to-one. akashi hadn’t really played since high school. exy hadn’t in and of itself been an end goal to him, and with the workload and responsibilities of university, there was no point in nurturing something that was, above all else, a hobby. certainly, a hobby he excelled at – enough to be held in regard as one of the three kings in Japanese exy during his higschool career. enough to stake his eyes on, at a time. that time was past, for him.
he took a seat. the room he’d been lead to is done in tasteful sleek black and red, the wide glass wall looking directly down at the stadium, where the raven team is drilling under their master’s watchful eye.
“i can’t help but feel flattered that you’re skipping practice to have this conversation with me,” akashi says carefully.
riko pours them tea. on closer inspection, akashi can see his pale hands are covered in scars. some of them still pinkish fresh. the observation room fills up with the scent of fresh darjeeling.
riko’s smile bares teeth. “i’m not cleared for practice for another week, technically speaking,” he says. “cracked ribs and all that.” he waves his hand dismissively.
“from the skiing accident?” akashi asks, “i do hope your recovery is going well.”
riko hides his face behind his teacup. akashi is not sure he trusts the half-mad look in his eyes. he knows it well. that look, from the other side of the silver-plated mirror in his bathroom… that is the look that meant the end of his exy career.
“i think you and i both know that there was no accident,” riko says.
- akashi clenches his fists under the table.
“i summoned you here, as someone who has been… in my shoes, after a fashion. you are a former king, are you not?”
“in a manner of speaking,” akashi says lightly. “but between the two of us, i do believe you are the one with natural talent to boast of. so to speak.”
riko’s lips tremble, the barest upward curve. “talent is just hard work that others are incapable of perceiving,” he says modestly, but akashi can tell he is glowing with the compliment. he can’t imagine why. he must hear it all the time.
“in any case. you will certainly go down in history. i was merely a high school prodigy who grew out of his miraculous generation.”
riko’s cup hits the saucer audibly.
“forgive me if i don’t believe that’s quite true,” he says quietly. akashi grits his teeth. he does not abide being questioned.
if this was anyone else, he’d bring them to their knees with his gaze. with riko moriyama though… he’s not even sure it will work. and if it works … he’s not sure he wants to know the price of such terrible submission. bite the hand that feeds indeed.
“i’m flattered,” he says, lowers his lashes, and looks at riko through them, the image distorted, glitching. it occurs to him, that riko is like kuroko. that he can, at will, simply make his presence disappear. but he is choosing to let akashi see him, every inch of him. the slant of his inked cheekbone, the mocking curve of his mouth, the arches of his eyebrows, the inch of creamy skin his collar reveals. he’s a picture of victory in black and white. “i hope you aren’t trying to recruit me,” he adds, puts the steel in his voice.
riko invited him here as an equal. and akashi has every intention to keep the playing field level.
“of course not,” riko says. “you haven’t actively played in a few years now. well, i suppose for a genius of your level, it would be nothing to bring you up to speed on our summer regimen, but your playing style is too deeply ingrained in you now, and you rely on that curious, infamous emperor eye of yours. no, no… it’s true i’m shopping for a new starting line striker. someone to replace kevin by my side… but i think you’d take your eyes off the prize.”
“oh?” akashi studies him, genuinely curious. riko’s voice is soft and hypnotic, measured, polite, and full of a tantalizing promise of something … incredible. akashi can easily see why men and women alike would break themselves to follow his orders. it’s strange, seeing it from the outside. is that how he looks?
“yes,” riko says, almost cheerfully. “we’re too similar, you and i. i think you’d rather try to crush me, than our opponents. and then of course i’d have to retaliate and subdue you. i’m almost positive you won’t take a leash, so i’ll have to teach you to heel. it would get messy very quickly. that’s really not what i’m after. though of course, i’d welcome any strategic input you care to offer on our games. you’re still a fan of the sport, correct?”
“quite,” akashi says, both as an answer to the question, and a confirmation to all his previous statements. the truth is, he would try to break riko. “i can’t help but wonder though… you didn’t summon me here just to talk gameplay, did you?”
riko’s eyes shine beautifully with something sinister. a promise, a violence. akashi still remembers the feel of the scissors in his hand, the metal cool against his palm. something makes him think riko’s a lot more keen on collateral damage than personal responsibility.
“like i said, i’m shopping for a new striker. and this time, i’m thinking of outsourcing. you were the best of the best, during your time. you know them all.”
“tired of being the only asian on a team of white boys?” akashi asks, genuinely.
“well, our diversity ratio has dropped significantly, since thea and kevin both left.” riko says with an elegant shrug. it takes akashi a few momens to realize the other king had just executed a joke. “but no. i’m looking in other places too, think nothing of it. i just figured… if i have the opportunity to get some insight… why not use it. i’ll make it worth your friend’s while, whoever you recommend, if any.”
akashi furrows his brow. a striker, huh… “well. maybe it would help if you told me what you’re looking for,” he says. “i can tell you off the bat though, you don’t want any of mine.”
“no?”
“i haven’t marked them,” akashi says, the unspoken unlike you still hanging in the air, “but i think you of all people will appreciate that no one enjoys it when others touch their things.”
“noted. and taiga? do you consider him one of yours?”
“taiga is best utilized on starting line with kuroko. you’ll need to have them both, and that means they will have to swith out you and a second striker. besides… something tells me taiga’s personality won’t be a good fit on your team.”
“believe me. any personality has no place on this team,” riko says. “kevin’s problem was precisely that he was getting a little too individualistic for my liking.”
“the question is,” akashi says, “are you looking for a partner on the court… or a pet?”
“i have a pet already,” riko says thoughtfully. he leans forward in his seat, chin in hand, his eyes momentarily leaving akashi to focus on the court below. akashi can follow his gaze, zeroing in on number three, backliner and all around monster jean moreau.
“then i suppose my second question would be… do you want kevin back? or do you want to break him for good?”
“i have no use for broken toys. but no one likes it when their pet scratches up the furniture.”
“you tried to declaw him, and look where it got you,” akashi says. “those fractured ribs of yours will heal, and kevin’s hand will too. what are you going to do then? i’m asking… one king to another.”
riko leans his head in his hand more heavily, looks away for a few moments.
“kevin can’t come back,” he says, finally. “but i want him shut down. for good.”
“you could have just killed him,” akashi says coldly. he knows all about the king of exy, and his bloody crown. even a family like the moriyama was subject to gossip. one son kept slashing up his own wrists, the other – everyone else, oh, deary, whatever will happen with kengo-sama passes away.
“hmm?” riko’s dark eyes flutter closed for a moment, and he tips back in his chair. “i suppose that will always be an option. for now, i just need to fill the gap he’s left on our lineup. to answer your earlier question: i’d need someone adaptable, quick on their feet. a follower, not a leader,” he pauses. his eyes open slowly. for a moment it seems as though they are swallowing all the light in the room. when he smiles, his teeth are blinding. and to think there had been a single moment where akashi contemplated joining the Olympic exy team of japan… facing off the perfect court… riko moriyama alone would make a meal out of every single member of the generation of miracles individually. and then … he’d want more. “and of course,” riko says. “someone keen on collateral damage.”
akashi answers his smile with an ugly grin of his own.
“oh. i definitely have someone in mind. he’s unambitious as all that, in the sense that he won’t try to upstage you… unless you show him any weakness. he may try to slash your throat if he thinks he could get away with it though. literally or metaphorically. but point him to your enemies, and promise to make it worth his while and… well. you could really have some fun.”
he walks out of the edgar allan stadium and into the pale spring sun, covered in goosebumps, his palms damp with cold sweat. he’d missed the adrenaline rush of a true battle of wills, trying to force his gaze on an equal, and finding himself matched…
“keep in touch while you’re in america,” riko moriyama had said cheerfully, sending him off to the bottom of the stairs. “if there’s anything you need – well. i’d hate to come across as a bad host.”
akashi would keep it in mind. more than anything though… he couldn’t wait to see how the new exy season would pan out.
--
everything about makoto is obnoxious this early in the morning. the heat of his body, the laundry detergent his bedsheets smell like, and especially the blaring ring of his cell phone. it feels like they only went to bed minutes ago. shoichi jabs him sharply in the ribs, and receives a gracious elbow to the gut in return as makoto grapples in the blankets ot retrieve his ringing phone. he squints at the screen for a moment, and in the blue light, shoichi can make his lips moving, mouthing the words “blocked number”.
he presses the button to put the phone on speaker.
“hello?”
“hanamiya makoto?” the voice is polite. cultured.
“speaking. what is it? it’s three am?” makoto, much like him, isn’t one for rude awakenings.
“oh? it’s that early? pardon me, i took no account of the time difference.” the slick bastard. whoever he is, makoto is willing to bet he took his time choosing the most inconvenient time to call. was someone eager to play? he licked his lips.
“let’s just say i’m a representative of edgar allan university in the united states. i trust you’ve heard of us?”
what a joke. every-fucking-one has heard of edgar allan.
“hanamiya-san… how would you like to have the study abroad experience of a lifetime?” the polite voice asks. hanamiya is gripping shoichi’s knee with his free hand hard enough to bruise, practically drooling. “you see… we’re rather looking for a new starting line strik – “
“i’m in,” he says, before the other man can finish his sentence. “send me the paperwork. i’m in.”
japan was starting to get a little boring and narrow for his preferred game strategy anyway.