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They must have known it was coming. It was not as though St. Rudolph had a high school division and there were only so many reputable private schools that had dorms, an excellent tennis team and were located in the Tokyo area. And, well, Mizuki would not have fit in at Yamabuki.
“What is he doing here?” Mukahi grumbled under his breath. His hair was at least a couple centimeters shorter than when Mizuki last saw him at the World Cup… and his roots were showing.
“Oh god, that guy,” Shishido muttered. By contrast, he seemed to be attempting to grow his hair back out after the well-documented post-Fudomine meltdown. Mizuki also made note of the number of bandages on his face and hands. Clumsy, he thought to himself to be noted in his data. Admittedly he had not paid as much attention to Hyoutei in junior high as schools he saw to be… more competitive.
Though he said nothing, Taki rolled his eyes and turned away, not acknowledging Mizuki’s presence at all.
Well you all look terrible in plaid, Mizuki thought to himself, moving past them to enter the tennis club room.
It was…
...Excessive. Even by his tastes. Fit for a…
“So you actually showed up, ah~n?”
For that. For a king.
Atobe was seated at the end of what looked to be a conference table (wouldn’t a normal club room have just a regular folding table), leaned back in his chair. He was holding an iPad with a custom case (with a picture of… a dog?) in one hand at a slight angle. Puberty continued to be kind to him and privately Mizuki wondered if this guy could just go through an awkward phase like the rest of them to give everyone else a goddamn chance.
“You know him?” Some guy with white hair and red highlights seated beside Atobe asked. Mizuki was fairly certain he wasn’t anyone important or he would have definitely seen him before. His data simply didn’t have those kinds of holes.
“Our strategist,” Atobe explained, standing from the table and leaving the iPad behind. He approached Mizuki with one hand in his pocket, the other dismissively motioning over his shoulder. “Since Oshitari is constantly reinventing himself.”
When they stood face-to-face, Mizuki had to tilt his chin up slightly to face Atobe. He had also grown a bit. Two centimeters? Maybe three? Somehow making these precise measurements was a bit harder when Atobe was so close. “Don’t expect to be welcomed unless you prove yourself,” he said.
That’s ridiculous. “Hmph. That shouldn’t be a problem, then.” Mizuki smirked, turning his head away. “We’ll see how you feel after our first practice.”
“Yes, indeed.” Atobe regarded him for at least a moment longer than necessary, if a moment could really be considered a measure of time. Then, abruptly. “Jirou. Practice.” With that, he was gone.
“I hate that guy,” the man with the red streaks in his hair muttered. Mizuki chose to ignore him because he was already certain he wasn’t important.
“Practice…?” A sleepy voice from under the table asked. In his new Hyoutei jersey that was definitely not the right size for him and his… boxers? Yes, those were boxers. Akutagawa made his way out the door following Atobe.
If they couldn’t even show up to practice in pants, Mizuki really had his work cut out for him.
Once changed into the Hyoutei uniform (the pale blue was nice, but really did nothing for Mizuki’s complexion), Mizuki made his way to the bright purple courts of Hyoutei’s high school amid more whispers.
“How’d he even get in?” Shishido was grumbling, stuffing his shaggy hair into his hat.
“I recommended him to the admissions office.” Atobe explained flippantly, immediately ending the whispers. “And if you’re so certain he doesn’t belong here, prove me wrong.”
The challenge silenced the courts. All but Mizuki - it was his queue.
“Atobe-kun,” he said with a thin smile spreading across his lips. “Shall we have a match?”