Archive of Our Own ^beta

To be disgustingly honest, he’s had his eye on her since their first year.

At first, it was just out of pure necessity. She, and the rest of the disciplinarian sheep, would constantly butt their heads into his fucking business. But one by one, the rest of her spineless coworkers were picked off, until it was just her fighting a one woman war against the devil himself.

It was equal parts impressive and fucking annoying. 

He had to admit, he respected her for it. Not that he'd ever show it - just because he respected her the tiniest fuckin’ bit, didn't mean he was gonna treat her any better. He couldn't manipulate her and she was still a thorn in his fucking side.

But then it happened.

And everything came crashing down.

-

She didn't report him. 

Despite the old man squatting in front of her, blatantly breaking school rules - she still didn't report him. She even seemed horrified by the idea.

With the help of his little black book, Hiruma made sure anyone who saw that little incident kept their fucking mouths shut. Not a single word got out. And any that tried, were swiftly, and mercilessly, silenced. 

But that wouldn't work on her. Which meant that she was their biggest threat.

And clearly, Musashi had similar thoughts, which is why he chose her of all people to pull that little fucking stunt in front of.

But she defied all expectation. Even convincing the old man to go on temporary leave instead. Meaning that Musashi could possibly return one day, and the American Football club would be safe.

It was a shockingly legal route to salvation, as opposed to all of his blackmail and threats. And it was something she really didn't have to butt her head into and help with, but she did anyway.

After that, Hiruma wasn't entirely sure how to categorize her in his mind. She was too confusing a variable.

But he had more important things to focus on. 

Like their kicker leaving school, abandoning him and the fatass, and the feeling of their Christmas Bowl dreams slipping right through his fingers like little grains of sand.

-

After Musashi left, very little changed between them. Which was, and he was fucking loath to say it, somewhat comforting in its normalcy. At least she didn't act like they owed her.

She continued her little campaigns against him like nothing happened.

On some level, it did bother him how little she seemed to hold the incident over him - he knew more than anyone how everything came with a price - but he ignored it. He couldn't focus on unnecessary things right now. They had too much to do, and so little time.

They only had a year and a half left, and furious desperation was starting to sink in.

—

It was a goddamn fucking miracle.

He found himself a brat with golden legs. Someone that could bring their dreams back into the realm of reality. He could hardly believe it. 

For the first time since Musashi left, he felt like they actually had a chance. Like he was finally crashing above the water, greedily breathing in all the air he could.

But before he could ride that high any further, a fucking auburn haired roadblock made herself known.

The shrimp just had to be under her personal protection.

She stood between them like some kinda knight in shining armor, eyes bright and burning with righteous fury. Despite all the bullshit he's pulled, he'd never seen her this angry.

She demanded, without question, that he keep himself away from the brat.

He reached for his threat book. Sure, he didn't have any dirt on her, but he could improvise. And from the fire burning in her eyes, he genuinely pissed her off this time. There's no telling what she might do to protect her little charge.

But she surprised him. Again.

She refused to cross that line and disqualify him from playing.

She said it like she hadn't even considered it. Like it was insulting for him to even think that she would stoop so low. 

It made Hiruma pause.

And then, without a word, he slipped the threat book back into his bag.

Despite her brave face and bluster, it was obvious that she had no way of stopping him. She was floundering, and he had the upper hand here. He could easily control the situation if he really wanted to.

But he didn't.

He simply turned away, letting her drag the brat off with her.

Why didn't he do anything?

Was it because - not once, but twice - she refused to step on their dreams? First Musashi, and now this.

He couldn't understand why she was being so damn considerate.

He was almost - almost - thankful that the shrimp had decided to grow a spine that very moment, defying his little protector and dragging Hiruma out of his own thoughts.

And then, even better. Sena Kobayakawa joined the Football Club all on his own, no threats necessary.

The cherry on top - they even got free labor out of it.

Even if it was her.

His delighted cackles filled the air.

—

Hiruma knew she was smart.

He found that out when he hacked the school computers last year, looking for easy blackmail and potential club members. He saw her grades and knew she did well in school. But academic success didn't always translate to actual intelligence.

But, and he would never fucking admit this, he underestimated her.

She started lecturing the pipsqueak on American Football rules, and then claimed that she learned all about the sport in one night. From one little book. Really? 

He decided to call her bluff and test her, grinning sharply and leering close. Finally, a way to make her stop interfering and become his obedient little slave. 

But she answered his first question correctly. 

What?

And then she answered his second question correctly.

The fuck?

He walked out before asking the third one.

He wasn't backing down. It was a strategic retreat.

For one, she actually learned about the whole sport in one fucking night.

Not many people could do that. That was a level of intelligence that rivaled his own. And that meant that she was more useful than he realized.

And secondly... Hiruma knew he was backed into a corner. She would have gotten that last question right, no matter what he asked, and he would have lost his one potential advantage over her.

He couldn't afford that right now. It was too risky.

So he stashed that last question away for later. There was going to be a better time to utilize it. And Hiruma could be extremely patient when he felt like it.

Using it right now would be a waste.

—

He initially just had her recording video and organizing basic data. Standard manager activities.

It served two purposes. One, observing how competent she was at it, and two, learning what she was willing to do.

Occasionally he'd bring her into his plans to mess with opposing teams during games, but that's it.

He didn't know her abilities well enough yet to have her do anything more complicated. 

Not that it fuckin’ stopped her.

She took on extra responsibilities like they were candy or something. 

He never asked her to clean the clubhouse (he was a naturally messy person to begin with, and failed to see the problem with it). And she started taking care of the team's injuries like she was their self-appointed nurse. 

These were useful skills and abilities, so he wasn't gonna complain about it. He'd make use of anything if it was advantageous, and that included her aggressively mothering personality.

But he didn't ask for her to join them on a cross country Death March from Huston to Las Vegas with the rest of their idiot teammates. She chose to do that just like the rest of them.

And he certainly didn't ask for her to take care of his injuries. He didn't even know how she spotted them in the first place, when he was actively going out of his way to hide any pain and exhaustion.

He made himself as unhelpful as possible as she bandaged his knee. Maybe if he annoyed her enough, she'd take a hint and leave.

But she didn't.

-

She never mentioned his knee after that. Or any other scrapes and bruises.

She would just quietly come by when he was alone - usually at night - take care of whatever she deemed necessary, and leave.

He later heard that she stopped the fucking cheerleader from knocking on his door, the night he collapsed onto that bed in Las Vegas. 

He had been so fucking exhausted at the time, he didn't even hear the exchange happen right outside his door.

Hiruma gripped the handle of his AK-47, as the sound of bubblegum popping filled the air.

He wasn't going to thank her.

—

He honestly found it hilarious that the old drunkard actually thought that she was his fucking girlfriend.

Please. The drunk bastard should have known him better by now. He had no time to focus on something as frivolous and wasteful as dating. What braindead nonsense.

He found it deeply entertaining how much the idea seemed to bother her, however.

Little miss disciplinarian, earnestly mistaken for the devil’s own girlfriend. A man she spent an entire year fighting a moral war against. 

He cackled at the thought, not bothering to correct anyone who had similar ideas. 

—

She continued surprising him. It was a fuckin' talent of hers, it seemed.

During the game against the Kyoshin Poseidons, when they were falling way too fucking behind, she was the one to realize Deimon's advantage.

She used a stupid little dance to try and convey it to the team without the others noticing.

The dance didn't communicate shit, but her urgency and secrecy pulled Hiruma's focus into overdrive. What would she notice from her point of view that players on the field couldn't?

It was the first time she had helped from the bench, and it was that moment that allowed Deimon to push past the hurdle they were stuck on.

It was what made him realize that she was just as much a part of the team as everyone else. She wasn't there to look pretty, hold a camcorder, and make shitty little picture books. 

She was taking detailed notes, thinking up strategies on the fly, and working just as hard as the players out there on the field.

She was contributing. And he didn't even have to ask.

Was this pride? Did that fucking manager actually make him feel proud of her?

And - fuck it, not just her, but the twirling idiot as well, for snatching that touchdown. Deimon was becoming a real, cohesive team, where everyone worked together and pulled their own weight. He didn't have to do everything himself.

It was becoming a team that he could actually rely on.

The sharp grin on his face spoke volumes.

—

No, he didn't have to record video of her over the top, evil acting, which - yes, she did do under his orders. And no, he didn't have to capture film of her in that cheerleading outfit and hold it just out of her reach, either.

Neither were even that worthy of blackmail.

But he realized - after spending so much time in close proximity for these past several months - too many people put her on this goddamn fucking pedestal, acting like she was perfect and incapable of any fault. As if perfection even existed, and she was somehow the pinnacle. 

It was incredibly fucking annoying.

They ignored how she wasn't elegant and poised at all - she was awkward and clumsy, and just as ready to train with them as any other member. Or how she barely gave a fuck about her appearance - not out of arrogance, she was just too damn practical for anything more time consuming.

They had no idea how she was simultaneously sharply observant and yet oblivious as a rock. She couldn't see who the fuck Eyeshield 21 was despite billboard signs flashing the answer right in her face in bold lettering, and yet she's the only one who noticed Hiruma hiding a limp.

They don't know she used everyday cleaning utensils to, somehow, block his very fucking real bullets. He still had no idea how she accomplished that.

And, despite being such a fucking goodie-two-shoes, she liked to sneak all kinds of sugary, tooth rotting snacks when no one was looking. And even then, she often failed to wipe away the evidence.

It was like they couldn't even see how obsessive she was about her goddamn creampuffs - she beat the fuckin’ fatass in an eating contest, for fuck’s sake!

They didn't know how goddamn dorky she was, humming silly little tunes to herself while she happily made journals and picture books, all filled with her godawful art.

None of those lovestruck idiots even realized how uncomfortable they made her when they started fawning over her with hearts in their eyes - it was plainly obvious she just wasn't interested. They just saw a pretty face and started tripping over themselves like fuckin’ newborns racing towards the nearest shiny object. 

He doubted most of them even had object permanence. 

And the most egregious thing - in his opinion - was how none of them had any idea how goddamn capable she was.

She could run circles around all of them, with both hands tied behind her back and blindfolded, and the only reason she didn't was because she was too damn polite to show up anyone that blatantly.

Really, he was doing her a favor, messing with her like he did. At least he treated her like a goddamn person, and not like some kinda prettily picture perfect golden idol too good for this fucking sinful earth.

Please. She worked with devils. She knew what she signed up for.

And besides, Hiruma had to admit - with a far, far too pleased look on his face - he took great satisfaction in cataloging all the different ways he could make her flustered.

She was the only one at Deimon to defy him unflinchingly. It was only fair that he was the only one who could get those reactions out of her.

—

Hindsight was 20/20, and now that he understood how useful she could be, he was going to damn well make the most of her potential instead of letting her go to waste on the sidelines as a makeshift nurse and moral support.

Especially since their chances of winning the next game were nearly non-existent.

So when she suggested creating a secret code so they could communicate from the bench to the field, he was intrigued. It would be a language that only they knew.

And then she actually went and fucking made it. Within a day.

Hiruma has never been in love - quite frankly, the idea of it was laughable to him - but he was pretty sure that the intensity of emotion he felt in that moment was probably similar.

Not that he was in love with her. Absolutely the fuck not.

No, it was her mind, her usefulness, and her dedication that had his attention. Things like that couldn't be replaced, and no amount of money, threats, or bribery could inspire the same effort in those less willing.

But he had it. All to himself. Without any force necessary.

She was honestly one of the reasons their chances weren't absolute fucking zero right now. He needed her support for this upcoming match. She was vital to their success.

Without a kicker…

Well. They'd just have to deal with that later.

Of course, the first thing he did after learning her coded language (besides burn it to hide all evidence) was insult her with it. 

Despite his growing concerns with the upcoming match against the Wild Gunmens, it was still satisfying to hear her angry little noises as he slunk out of the room.

Call it stress relief.

—

It was different relying on her than relying on players on the field. 

For one, they all specialized in areas he didn't. This was a team sport, and he moved chess pieces into place with every play, including himself. And that meant utilizing everyone's unique abilities.

But with her, she had roughly the same skillset as him. She didn't bring anything new to the table that he didn't already have.

But she was able to divide his workload. Produce research and results that were up to his incredibly high standards, and even notice things from the bench that he couldn't on the field, which allowed him to focus more on other things. 

Like being a proper fucking captain to his team. Instead of being a captain, a tactician, a manager, a researcher, and an information analyst. All at the same time.

Which, yeah, he could do - he got by just fine before her, thank you - but it was getting harder and harder to maintain that balance as they fought against stronger opponents.

It was, and he was unashamed to admit this, a goddamn relief.

—

Musashi was 13,297 hours, and 49 minutes late.

But better late than never. And even if they lost the match, there was still one more chance to advance. All hope wasn't lost. They could still make it to the Christmas Bowl.

And honestly, despite losing, they gained something far, far greater.

Because that fucking old man came back. He was back, and now their real Christmas Bowl dreams could finally come true.

When reviewing the footage for the match against the Wild Gunmen, Hiruma couldn't help the stupid grin that stretched across his face as the camera focused on Musashi’s clean shaven mug walking over the horizon.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He wasn't ashamed for reliving that moment of excitement again. He waited too long for it.

But he was blindsided by the fucking manager suddenly narrating over it.

“Let's see…”

The camera shifted to focus on the field, where Musashi was getting into position.

“There's one second left in the first half. The last time-out is over.”

The old man was a blur, pulling his leg back for an explosive kick.

“After so long… it staggers the imagination. The time-out is up. Time, frozen for so long… is moving again…!”

Her words were punctuated by the ball shooting through the air like a cannon.

Hiruma was reminded that, of all the people there - outside of him and Kurita - only she really understood the weight of Musashi's return. 

Even if she wasn't part of their little trio back then, she was still part of that history. She saw the tragedy happen in real time. 

And, in her own way, she protected them. Even when she didn't have to.

Even when she had a moral obligation not to.

He found himself listening and re-listening to her words, isolating and saving them into a separate file, replaying them over and over. 

The relief and sheer joy in her voice was hypnotic. It was like she was speaking his emotions into reality. They felt like rain - acknowledging, and then gently washing away his deepest moments of despair. 

Hearing it all said out loud made everything feel more real. Their journey. Their dreams. Their goals.

Her.

He listened to it until he had every breath, intonation, and hitch in her voice etched into his memory.

—

He found her crying just before their match against the Bando Spiders.

Not that he went back to check up on her specifically or something fucking stupid like that. He just happened to wander over and conveniently stood right outside the entryway that she had a 99% chance of being in. That's all.

“I've been… so self centered…”

Her voice echoed slightly, and he could barely hear her words. But it was obvious she was beating herself up for not noticing that her brat had grown up a long time ago.

Hiruma knew this was going to happen. He knew as soon as the shrimp told him what he wanted to do - to finally reveal his identity to the world.

No longer known as Eyeshield 21, but as Sena Kobayakawa.

And as damn proud as he was of the shrimp, Hiruma knew it was a gamble. Sena was fighting in the big leagues now, pushing himself harder and harder to earn the title Hiruma shoved onto him. His opponents were only going to get tougher from here on out. But Hiruma wasn't gonna stop him.

And right now, his attention was focused elsewhere.

As the announcer read off more names and introductions, he waved off Suzuna, who had come by to check on her. Anezaki didn't need an audience right now.

But Hiruma wasn't worried.

He prepared for this moment as soon as the pipsqueak asked to have his real name announced.

“DEIMON’S MANAGER, ANEZAKI MAMORI!”

He saw her head snap up and grinned to himself.

Of course he knew that she would be alright. She was the most capable woman he's ever met. Damn near the most capable person he's ever met. This wasn't nearly enough to keep her down - she was made of stronger stuff than that. He knew better than anyone else.

She just needed a moment to cry and get it out of her system, that's all.

He watched as she hastily wiped her tears and grabbed her things, those blue eyes of hers now burning bright with determination.

“The incredible multitasker! She communicates from the bench with pretzel sticks and sign language!”

The announcement continued, and he cackled as a startled, embarrassed expression spread across her face. It was a much more welcome look on her than tears, in his opinion.

She started chasing him down as soon as she spotted him near the entrance. 

Not that he’d been standing guard until she was ready, or anything ridiculous like that. 

-

Hiruma stood among the stands, watching as the rowdy crowd finally left the stadium. The fucking manager was nearby, helping to pack things up.

He grinned.

They did it. They fucking did it. They beat the Bando Spiders, and now they could advance.

He let himself enjoy the feeling of deep satisfaction, knowing that it was because of his team's combined efforts that allowed them to get this far. Not a damn one of them slacked off. And with all their grit and determination, the Devil Bats were gonna make it to the fucking Christmas Bowl, or die trying.

They would all damn well make sure of it.

A familiar ringing from nearby broke through his thoughts.

In an instant, all his good cheer fell away. 

There was only one person in the world who could find his real number among all his dummy accounts - and had any reason to call him right now. Someone who's very existence frustrated Hiruma beyond words.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Anezaki glance over at his duffle bag of cellphones, curious.

The ringing stopped, and the phone beeped, signaling the start of a voicemail. The voice spoke clearly for both of them to hear.

“Yoichi?”

It was his father.

“I know you won't pick up. But I wanted to congratulate you on making it to Kanto, even if you got mad at me.”

He turned away from the duffle bag. He could still see Anezaki, and it wasn't hard to notice the shock on her face, even from this far away.

“I’ll be praying that you get to the Christmas Bowl. You may not want to think of me as your father, but I…”

He showed no reaction to the voicemail.

Anezaki was still looking between him and the bag, not sure what to do.

Really, he could have told her to leave. Or just destroyed the phone before it got to voicemail. Or a number of other things.

But he didn't. 

Maybe part of him actually wanted to hear his old man's words of encouragement. As stupid as it was. Or maybe he just wanted to fuel his spiteful need to win. 

He preferred to think of it as spite.

She broke the silence between them, looking nervous - a rare emotion for her to show around him. He didn't like it.

“Um, Hiruma-kun…?”

“Forget you heard anything.”

He said it without turning around, blowing a bubble.

He could see slight movement from his periphery, and he assumed she gave a nod. Afterwards, she continued packing, like nothing had happened.

She never mentioned the incident again.

Part of him was grateful. He had no desire to open that can of worms anytime soon, if ever. That was part of his life that he was content never involving himself with again.

But part of him wondered why he even let her listen in the first place. 

He's never let anyone hear his father's voice before. Not the fatass or the old man. He kept any information on himself under tight control - none of the team even knew his birthday.

But he didn't feel that urgency with her - the need to hide everything but the absolute essentials. To appear as the indomitable leader. He let her see the most vulnerable parts of himself that never saw the light of day. It's something that started feeling natural.

The bubble popped.

Dammit.

It happened so gradually that he never even noticed. Without realizing, he dug himself a cozy little hole, and now it was too fucking deep for him to climb out of.

It was time for a distraction. And he had the perfect excuse.

Maybe drowning the team in a dozen or so kegs of beer would give his brain time to fully process this new, unexpected epiphany.

—

They were doing interviews with some of the team captains. It was standard stuff - who did you view as the biggest threat, who do you find most similar to you, what are your strong points, etc. Basic shit.

The uglier Kongo brother sat across from him. 

Not that Hiruma was complaining. He loved getting under that bastard's skin - not that it was all that hard. And it was an opportunity to gather some intel.

He assumed the magazine heard rumors of their history, and knew of the bastard's womanizing tendencies, and scheduled Hiruma at the same time for some extra insurance. At least it worked in his favor.

“Why do you play football?”

“Because it's fun.”

He took special gratification at the barely controlled rage on the bastard's face here. He looked fucking constipated.

The interviewer realized things were going south fast, and tried to redirect.

“What type of girl do you like?”

A simple, frivolous question.

Hiruma wasn't surprised by Agon’s response. The bastard had about as much depth as a fucking puddle on a hot, dry, summer’s day.

With the question now directed at him, blue eyes and auburn hair flashed through Hiruma's mind. The answer came easily.

“Someone useful.”

He was well aware of how terrible it sounded. That was the entire fucking point.

He had no time for romance, and little interest. Better discourage any idiots who thought they had a chance, while spreading his intimidating, hellish reputation at the same time.

Besides, as he's recently come to realize - there was no point. He already had someone who fit the bill perfectly. 

And there wasn't a damn person out there who could replace her. 

-

If he wasn't sure of his feelings before, they were solidified the second she casually pulled out a fire extinguisher the moment he grabbed his flamethrower.

Not that she needed to know. Or anyone else, for that matter. They had strategies to plan, and games to win. 

He saw the look in Musashi's eye, and promptly ignored it. 

Agon flashed a smug grin at them from across the field.

They had a grudge to settle.

—

He knew she was overly protective. It was one of the first things he learned about her. 

She never showed him any fear, and stood up to him time and again to protect their classmates from his blackmail and threats. It was the reason she joined the club. 

It was literally in her name.

So all in all, he wasn't surprised when she practically threw herself in front of the fucking cheerleader when Gaou started smashing his way through the stands like wet clay. He couldn't even find it in himself to be annoyed.

It was just a core part of her personality.

So when she put herself in front of a walking death sentence with no concern for her own safety, rather than waste time feeling annoyed, he took action.

Within seconds, he was standing in front of both girls, tasers crackling in his hand and ready to be used.

He ignored the look of surprise on her face and focused on the monster in front of him.

He wasn't going to ask her to change, even if she acted stupidly suicidal in moments like this. He would just plan around that fucking habit of hers and make sure nothing came of it. 

Planning for every scenario was Hiruma's specialty, anyway.

From his periphery, he saw the Ha-Ha Brothers pulling out baseball bats, gathering around the others defensively.

Good. 

Even if nothing happened here, it was satisfying to see their ragtag little group protecting each other. 

—

Anezaki found him while he was typing away in an empty classroom the day after their match against the Shinryuu Nagas. 

For whatever reason, she decided to sit behind him. Her eyes were glued to his back, like she was searching for something.

He ignored it.

But then a towel lightly brushed against his shoulder.

Funny. He's pretty sure that was the first time she's ever touched him outside of a medical context. Even if it was through a proxy.

“So you're the only one who has no muscle pain?”

His bubblegum popped.

Of course he did. But crying and whining didn't do anything to help. There was functionally no point to it. So why bother?

“You know… you don't always have to be so tough.”

Her words drifted over gently, like she was sharing a secret.

“You don't have to act so strict anymore. The others will be okay. They're not lazy, you know.”

Did she come all this way just to reassure him? 

Despite himself, the edges of his lips turned upwards into a soft smile. A far cry from his usual manic, toothy grins.

Why was she always able to see right through him? Ever since that day on the Death March. He should be frustrated that he couldn't fool her, but he felt - damn it all - charmed, instead.

“Shut up, fucking manager.”

His words lacked any bite. When did he become so soft? He had a reputation to uphold.

Time to fix that.

“Shall we have a bet?”

He startled Anezaki as he suddenly turned around, aiming a impish smile her way. 

“Um, I don't really like gambling…”

Despite her hesitation, she agreed.

To be honest, there was no real point in the bet. He knew he wouldn't win. He was counting on it, actually. Because, for once, it wasn't the goal.

He wanted to lose.

Because losing meant that her words were true. That his team was everything he hoped they were, deep, deep down.

And maybe, just maybe, he wanted an excuse to show her his thanks.

-

“I told you they'd come!” 

She beamed at him, holding a hand out for her prize.

“Soda will melt your teeth and you'll die!”

He cackled, tossing her a can of soda from over his shoulder. He couldn't afford to be too nice.

—

He saw what Gaou did to Kid. He was well fucking aware of that caveman's strength, and how he crushed every quarterback in his wake.

And Hiruma knew he was next.

Musashi called him a dreamer, but he was also a realist. He had to plan for every scenario. Especially now.

Including one where he was taken out of the game because of an injury.

It's not like he enjoyed thinking about it. He really fucking didn't. But the chances of it happening were astronomically too high to ignore. They had to prepare, just in case. 

And so he handed Anezaki a letter. Written inside were his backup plans. She was the only one he could trust with this information.

He couldn't look her in the eye. It would feel too personal.

But then she went and did the unexpected by ripping the damn thing to shreds right in front of him.

She was looking at him with tears in her eyes, desperately telling him that he shouldn't think such things. That he absolutely couldn't get hurt. She refused to even consider it a possibility.

She walked off before he could even say anything.

Fucking manager. As if he really had a choice in this situation. This was all he could do. He didn't like it anymore than she did.

Because if he goes down, the chances of Gaou crushing the others rose greatly. That would be the end of the Devil Bats, and their Christmas Bowl dreams. He couldn't allow that to happen.

He heard shuffling, and saw the rest of the team somberly walk away from where they were eavesdropping.

He only caught a glimpse, but he saw the steely looks in their eyes. Their determination to prevent the inevitable.

He could only hope that it would be enough.

—

The first thing he was aware of was Anezaki's voice softly commenting on how, even asleep, he refused to make a fuss about his own pain.

That was when he realized he was in the infirmary. And that's when he remembered that his arm was fucking broken.

He started pushing himself up, startling the fucking manager in the process. She shot up, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Which he only then realized were bare.

They must have undressed him while he was unconscious.

“Hiruma-kun!? You shouldn't move!”

He ignored her fussing, taking stock of the situation.

His arm was broken. And from the cheers they could hear outside, his team was still fighting. Alright. Good. He knew what to do.

“Wrap up my arms.”

“Huh?”

His voice was rougher than he expected, and he forced himself to lift his head, eyes meeting hers - which were red rimmed from crying, and far, far closer than he initially anticipated.

“I said to wrap up my arms, fucking manager.”

“No, I - I, I can't -”

“If you don't, I will.”

They both knew it wasn't an empty threat.

She closed her eyes and her shoulders slumped, gently letting go of him to grab the bandages from nearby.

They must have given him some drugs for the pain, because he felt a little floaty and off balance without her support. Not that it would stop him.

She returned with the bandages, fidgeting and looking reluctant. She started to say something - probably a protest - but caught herself and just sighed as she pulled up a chair, getting herself ready.

“I'll try to be gentle.”

True to her word, she carefully picked up his right arm, and placed the palm onto her leg so she could wrap it more easily. 

His arm screamed out in excruciating pain, but he grit his teeth and did his best to fucking bare it.

Maybe it was the drugs, but he was suddenly very aware of her legs. And her hands. Which were touching him for a much longer amount of time than ever before. And the fact that he was currently shirtless.

Maybe his brain was desperate to find something else to focus on besides the fucking pain, because for some godforsaken reason, it zeroed in on this.

Hiruma never liked exposing his body to others. He avoided it if he could help it.

It wasn't for any particularly deep reasons. He was just a private guy and the idea made him generally goddamn uncomfortable. Sue him.

Things changed after he started training.

No matter how hard he worked, how many hours he spent at the gym or whatever special exercises he took on, he couldn't bulk up. He stayed a thin, wiry figure with little to no obvious muscle mass. And damn it all, he fucking tried.

He just wasn't built that way.

He's long since accepted this fact, but being topless around others always brought back a little bit of that frustration and insecurity. Especially around those with distinctly more muscled bodies.

And so he avoided those situations entirely. Easy solution.

But now he was sitting topless in front of the woman he may or may not - fuck it, definitely had feelings for - while she ran her hands up and down his arms so she could wrap them up. At his orders.

He couldn't even enjoy the moment because of the pain. Life sure was fucked up like that, huh.

At least he didn't feel that sensation of mild, crawling discomfort that usually followed, despite the lack of clothing. 

So he watched her wrap his arms. He could feel her eyes intently observing his upper body. He suspected that she was just looking for further injuries or bruises - she's shown no signs of liking him like that.

But having her eyes so focused on his bare body made him want to fucking squirm. It was a fun, new, different type of discomfort. One that was just as annoying as the first.

To her credit, if she noticed anything, she kept her mouth shut. Or maybe there weren't any other injuries. It was hard to tell when the only pain he could feel was the pain in his arm.

Before he knew it, she was finished. It felt like it took years, and yet only minutes passed.

He stopped her before she put the damn tape back.

“Wrap my left arm, too.”

“Huh?”

“It's a bluff. Let them wonder which arm is actually broken.”

“You can't -”

“Left arm, fucking manager.”

She wanted to put up a fight. It was eating at her, he could tell. But she relented and shifted - sitting in a mirror of their previous positions.

Which meant that his palm was against her thigh again. Only this time, the pain didn't keep him from registering the sensation of touching it, or from feeling her body heat. Because, unlike before, this arm wasn't broken.

He refused to consider that train of thought any further. Not the time.

He hoped there would be a time in the future. Maybe after they won the Christmas Bowl. Maybe they could recreate a similar situation, without all the despair, and pain, and necessity of medical care. Without her looking at him like he might shatter in her hands like fragile fucking glass.

He knew those drugs had to be good for his thoughts to wander this far off into disgustingly sappy, unexplored territory.

His left arm took considerably less time than his right, unsurprisingly. But she didn't budge from where she sat, still holding onto the tape and biting her lip.

She wordlessly started taping over his right arm again, reinforcing the pressure. 

Which, well, he was going to order her to do that anyway, but he suspected she had a different reason for doing so than what he had in mind. 

He was pretty damn sure this was just an excuse to keep him in the infirmary. To try and buy time to keep him off the field. At least it was actually helpful.

She finished, and he stood up, and the flood gates spilled forth as she started begging and pleading for him to stay behind.

“You can't play with your arm like that! I won't -!”

Somewhere in his cold, dead heart, he welcomed her concern. It was proof she gave a fuck about him outside of forced proximity. And he hated how part of him clung to that idea.

He was only a little sorry for disappointing her. But he had a promise to keep.

“Third question.”

He knew this would come in handy at some point. He just wished it wasn't this particular situation. But he'd use any cards he had right now. 

Desperation did that to you.

“Fools in the NFL often play with a broken bone. True or false?”

She frowned, helpless frustration painting her expression.

“...If I say true… you'll just go back to the game. False.”

“Wrong! I win. Now do what I say, like you promised.”

He saw the exact moment realization hit. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes.

“Are you kidding? That was a long time ago!”

“Keep your promise. Now tape me up, fucking manager.”

He laughed quietly.

“I have a promise to keep, too. There's no question of whether I play or not. I have to play.”

She stopped resisting after that, realizing she was fighting a losing battle. She added another layer of wrapping on his left arm, and he started walking as soon as she finished.

But she called out to him before he got too far.

“Wait! At- at least let me help you put your uniform back on.”

“Kekeke. Looking for more excuses to keep feeling me up?”

“Wha- I would never- !”

Her voice hit a shrill pitch, and he took satisfaction in seeing the indignant blush on her face.

“Don't you dare distract me, Hiruma-kun.”

She snapped at him, already done collecting herself. It's something he liked about her, how quickly she recovered.

Her voice was soft when she spoke next.

“Just… let me do this. Please?”

He didn't know why she even bothered to ask. It's not like he could really do it himself. But maybe she just needed to hear him give her permission to help. He could oblige.

“Fine. But make it quick.”

He sat back down on the infirmary bench while she ran around, gathering his things.

First was his undershirt. Pulling that around his broken arm and then over his head had been awkward, but they managed. He didn't even have a chance to move before she reached over to smooth the fabric down flat against his body.

He joked about her feeling him up, but that's honestly how it felt with how much she was fussing right now. And as nice as it felt, it was a little distracting.

“Fucking manager.”

“Huh? Oh, right, sorry…”

She at least had the self awareness to look embarrassed before grabbing his armor.

She carefully pulled it over and around his body, lacing the chest pieces together with more focused precision than was strictly necessary, making sure everything was tightly secured.

Her hands were on his shoulder pads, testing their sturdiness, when she stopped moving for several long seconds. Her hair covered her eyes, and she was looking down, so he couldn't even see her expression.

He was about to bark something at her - they didn't have time to waste - when she beat him to the punch.

“This is all I can do.”

What?

She looked up at him, those watery blue eyes meeting his. Her voice was unsteady, but her gaze certainly wasn't.

“This is all I can do.” She repeated, louder. “I can't stop you. I can't protect you. I can't do anything. But at least I can make sure that these…”

She squeezed one of his shoulder pads. She took a breath.

“That they'll stay in place and protect you in my place, as much as they can. I know it's not much. But… this is all I can do.”

What was he supposed to say to that? Don’t worry, it'll be alright? He refused to say such empty words given the situation. Especially after everything he's already put her through.

He didn't get a chance to say anything, because before he knew it, she had him in a one armed hug - burying her face in the crook of his left shoulder.

“Please win.”

Her lips brushed against his ear, and he felt a shiver run up his spine. He awkwardly returned the hug after a moment of shock, wrapping his left arm around her and staring far, far ahead.

“Of course we will, fucking manager.”

Her hair tickled his neck as she nodded. She quickly pulled away after that, moving to help him with his jersey like nothing happened.

He appreciated it.

Soon, he was dressed and ready to go. He took a breath and steadied himself. He couldn't show any weakness if they wanted to win this.

It was time.

-

He walked out onto the field with his usual boisterous chaos, causing mass panic and confusion all around. 

He thought the ketchup was a nice touch personally, although the fucking manager sure didn't. She fixed a disappointed stare on him the entire time she helped apply it.

Since she had to stand in front of him to do it, he has an unfiltered view of her face. It allowed him to observe her directly and up close without consequence.

She never noticed the intense stare directed her way.

He'd put her through so much shit today. And not just her, but the rest of his team. 

He should make it up to them somehow. After they win this.

Because they will win. He's going to make damn well fucking sure of that.

Okay. Play time - off the field, at least - was over. 

She stood behind him, discretely sliding his helmet over his head carefully. As she clasped it into place, he felt her lean in close, her warm breath on the back of his neck.

“Please, be careful.”

She said it like a prayer.

She was gone after that, like she was never there - returning to her place back on the bench. 

He felt like something deep had changed between them today. Something new and unknown, that verged on the edge of intimacy. But there was no time to contemplate that right now.

She had done her job. Now it was time for Hiruma to do his.

He stepped onto the field and got into position behind the fucking fatass.

It was time to win this.

“HUT!”

—

The fucking old man cornered him after he'd got his arm properly treated, leaning against a wall and folding his very-much-not-broken-arms.

Fucking show off.

“What is this, an intervention?”

Musashi quirked an eyebrow at him. He eyed Hiruma's cast, looking mildly concerned - but it was overshadowed by the deep amusement etched onto his face. 

“You like Anezaki.”

He never was one to beat around the fucking bush.

Hiruma barked out a laugh.

“Kekeke! Did you go senile to match your appearance, old man?”

“You know those distractions won't work on me.”

Musashi was unphased by his barbs, too accustomed to bother with acknowledging them. Few things ever got under his skin - which meant most of Hiruma's go-to avoidant strategies were useless here.

Damn him.

“I saw you two during the last game. She helped with your arms. She strapped on your helmet. And you gave her that letter beforehand - you wouldn't do that for just anyone.”

Hiruma bit into a new stick of gum, staring intently at the other man - all humor gone.

Musashi chuckled. “You don't have to be so tense about it.”

Hiruma refused to respond.

“Honestly, I think it's good for you.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “There's no point to this discussion.”

“Why?”

“Because -”

Musashi interrupted. “Because you think she doesn't like you back?”

Hiruma glared, blowing a bubble at his friend contemptuously.

The asshole had the gall to laugh. “You really have no idea, huh?”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Musashi shook his head, running a hand through his hair. 

“You know, for someone who thinks he's got the whole world figured out, you're pretty blind to what's right next to you.”

“Answer the question, old man.”

His eyes fucking glinted, like he was in on a joke that Hiruma didn't even know existed. Bastard.

He raised his hands placatingly.

“All I'm saying is that you should pay more attention to your surroundings. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

Musashi left after that, disappearing around the corner, leaving Hiruma alone with his thoughts.

There was no way Anezaki liked him that way. She showed zero interest in him, or anyone else, for that matter. There was no point in getting his hopes up.

She always got uncomfortable whenever subjects like that were brought up about her. And he refused to look for deeper meaning to her actions like those lovestruck morons did.

She cared for him like she did any of their other teammates.

That's all. 

As if in fucking response, his traitorous brain decided to flood him with memories of her - desperately hugging him, whispering into his ear, pleading for his safety, crying for his sake.

It caused Hiruma to pause mid step.

"Please, be careful."

He clutched his gun and swore, speeding up his pace.

After that match, he didn't fucking know anymore. It's not like he knew shit about the subject, either.

But Musashi wasn't one to dick around with stuff like this. He told it like he saw it, blunt as a hammer. So if he was certain he noticed something between him and the fucking manager… 

Hiruma chewed on his gum contemplatively.

—

It was the night before the Christmas Bowl. He and Anezaki stayed back at the clubhouse, finishing off last minute preparations.

It was almost time. The tension was thick in the air - it was exhilarating as much as it was suffocating.

Anezaki sighed, sitting down and taking a moment to rest. She ended up doing most of the physical labor, since his arm was still in the cast.

"I can't believe you still have so much energy, Hiruma-kun."

She rested her cheek against her palm, watching him type away one-handed on his laptop.

"Can't afford to slack off now."

She hummed a response, closing her eyes and laying her head down on the table.

It was quiet between them. The atmosphere almost peaceful, like the calm before the storm.

The silence let his mind wander.

It was a long journey to get here. Years built up to this moment. Some filled with laughter and naive youthful optimism.

Others with crushing misery and hardship.

There were times when it felt like the world was doing it's damnedest to screw them over. To make sure they never made it this far. To fling them into the deepest depths of despair.

An image of Musashi rushing off mid-game came to mind.

It was the moment that changed everything. All their dreams - crashing into tiny little pieces right before their eyes, in a single, goddamn instant. The frustration and pain haunted him for months after. It didn't matter how hard he screamed or smashed things, it was never ending to sooth the ache.

He had never felt so goddamn fucking hopeless before.

"Hiruma-kun?"

Anezaki was looking up at him. It was then he realized that he'd stopped typing. 

"Is something wrong?"

He avoided her eyes.

"It's nothing."

She didn't look convinced. She never did when he tried brushing off her concern. She knew him too fucking well - and it didn't help that she'd been especially watchful while his arm was recovering.

She sat up, keeping a careful eye on him. The tension in the room grew thicker.

Hiruma had two options. He could ignore her and let the conversation sit awkward and unfinished, without ever addressing what happened. Or he could open up and tell her what was actually on his mind.

If this discussion happened months ago, the choice would've been obvious. 

A lot had changed since then.

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. He could never look at her directly during moments like this. It felt too fucking vulnerable.

He took a deep breath.

"A year and a half ago, we didn't even have a .0001% chance of making it this far."

She knew what he was talking about. He didn't need to go into further detail. And frankly, he didn't fucking want to.

But what surprised him was how deeply it hurt to finally acknowledge that fact out loud.  He never actually admitted how bleak the situation had been before, but now that he had, it felt like he was getting stabbed in the fucking chest.

It was damn near as painful as breaking his arm.

He was vaguely aware of a chair being moved and the sound of footsteps.

When he opened his eyes, instead of the ceiling, Anezaki's face filled his vision. She was leaning over the back of the chair to look at him face to face, and her hands had found a place to rest on his shoulders.

The physical contact grounded him, allowing him to relax some.

There was a deeply sad, tender look in her eyes. Her voice was barely a whisper.

"That must have been frustrating."

Understatement of the fucking century.

Hiruma closed his eyes again, letting out a slow and steady breath. 

"Yeah. It fuckin' was."

He reached up to take her right hand with his left, giving it a slight squeeze.

"But it doesn't matter. There's no point thinking about shit like that right now. Because we're going to the Christmas Bowl tomorrow, and we're gonna fucking win."

She squeezed his hand back in reassurance.

"We won't let you down."

He believed her.

—

They won. They actually won the fucking Christmas Bowl.

It felt surreal. Like a fucking dream.

Getting to this point would have been impossible just a handful of months ago. But they did it. The Devil Bats - Hiruma's team, his teammates - beat the odds and made their own miracles happen by force. They kicked and screamed and fought like hell until they grabbed victory by the throat and refused to let go.

They were the underdog of fucking underdogs, but here they were - gleefully trampling on 30 years of tradition with their ugly, dirty, sweaty ass shoes.

And the biggest surprise of all - Hiruma bet all his chips on trusting his teammates. Putting aside numbers and calculations for once, and just believing that they would win. Something he's never done before. It was the riskiest move he's ever made in his entire fucking life.

And they proved him right.

Fucking hell, he really was just as big of a dreamer as those shrimps. 

Gaou tossed him in the air like a ragdoll, and he couldn't even bring himself to care. 

They won.

He had never smiled so goddamn hard before. He felt high on adrenaline, or maybe drunk on happiness, or whatever stupid metaphor usually fit these situations. The details weren't important.

Because this was the best day of his fucking life.

He took the opportunity to step back and bask in the euphoria of it all, letting the rest of his team get their own chance at being gleefully man-handled by their old rivals-turned-teachers.

“Hiruma-kun!”

Anezaki found him hidden slightly out of sight of the others - out of breath from running around and congratulating the rest of the team. 

She was uncannily good at that. Finding him, that is.

The adrenaline must still be affecting her, because she took a running start and practically threw herself at him in an impressively aggressive hug.

“YOU WON!”

In a split second decision, he made use of her momentum, grabbing her by the waist and twisting them into a chaotically spinning, red and white hurricane.

She was still giggling when they stopped, breathing heavily with her cheek pressed against his chest, leaning against him to keep her balance. 

They stood like that for a while, both catching their breath. He enjoyed the moment while it lasted.

But the adrenaline wore off, and her actions must have finally caught up with her brain, because she suddenly turned a brilliant shade of red - very similar to the Devil Bat uniforms, actually - and scrambled to try and detach herself from him.

“I'm sorry! I know you usually don't, I didn't mean, I wasn't thinking -!”

She cut herself off, because despite her frenzied efforts, he still hadn't let go of her.

She looked up at him, a little alarmed, but mostly confused.

“Hiruma-kun?”

He grinned down at her.

“I didn't tell you to stop, did I? You still have that promise to keep, fucking manager.”

She gaped at him incredulously.

“You're invoking that now!?”

“Fuck yeah I am. Because we just won the goddamn Christmas Bowl!”

The manic glee in his voice smoothed down any building discomfort. She beamed up at him, her earlier excitement returning as she bounced in his arms.

“You did, you won! You won the-!”

“We.” He emphasized, interrupting her.

“What?”

She looked up at him, wide eyed.

He leaned down, close enough that his face cast a shadow over hers - the tips of their noses almost touching. He stared directly into her eyes.

“We. You think we could've gotten this far without you, fucking manager?”

Apparently this thought never occurred to her, because he suddenly had an armful of a bashful Anezaki.

“Oh… I'm not on the field, so I didn't…”

“Don't be an idiot.”

Did she seriously think she wasn't part of this? He couldn't do half of what he did on the field without her.

She broke eye contact and shyly tried to look at anything but him. Given how close they were, it was pretty fucking difficult.

“Um, Hiruma-kun. How long are we going to stand like this?”

“As long as we feel like.”

“‘As long as we’… but you didn't let me go earlier!”

She shot him an accusatory look, which honestly lost most of its edge because of how flustered she still was. It reminded him of an angry teddy bear.

“You wanted to leave because you thought I was uncomfortable.” 

He, very plainly, corrected her.

Her brain must have taken a fucking vacation during all the excitement though, because she still looked confused. He rolled his eyes.

“If you want to let go, I won't stop you. But I'm perfectly fine like this.”

From the look in her eyes, his meaning finally seemed to sink into her head. But she still seemed lost.

“I thought you hated physical affection?”

“When did I ever say that?”

He was mildly amused as she blinked, taken aback by his response. He watched as she took a moment to search through her memories. 

Sure, he wasn't a touchy-feely kinda guy, and he wasn't about to go around giving out hugs when kicks in the ass worked just fine.

But that didn't mean he hated all forms of physical affection. He was just selective. And rightfully fucking cautious. Kurita was the most affectionate person Hiruma knew and he could crush a truck with his hugs. 

He didn't have a fucking death wish, thank you.

When she inevitably came up empty, Anezaki looked decidedly embarrassed.

“I guess I… just assumed.”

He grinned, leering mischievously.

“You know what assuming things does, right?”

She realized her mistake too late.

“No, don't -!”

“IT MAKES AN ASS OUT OF YOU AND ME!”

He cackled obnoxiously at his own joke while she loudly groaned, burying her face into his chest.

Eventually his laughter faded, and he took a step back, releasing her from his grasp.

“Alright, fucking manager. You're free to go.”

He was a little surprised when she didn't immediately put distance between them. More than surprised, actually.

She stood in front of him, fidgeting with her hands like she was deeply considering something. He raised an eyebrow, blowing and popping a bubble.

He was nearly knocked over when she suddenly jumped and hugged him again. She didn't even have the excuse of adrenaline clouding her judgement this time.

“Congratulations, Hiruma-kun.”

She gave him a light squeeze, and most surprisingly of all - 

A peck on the cheek.

She awkwardly let go, and backed away quickly, a deep blush covering her cheeks. 

“I just wanted to say that. That's all. I, um, I have to check up on the others now, so, um, bye!”

She turned and ran towards the sounds of chaos and celebration just around the corner.

He stood there for a while, staring at the spot where she vanished from sight - a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face.

Well now. Wasn't that interesting.

Maybe he wasn't as much of a hopeless fucking sap as he thought. He might actually have a chance.

Which meant Musashi had been right. 

Shit.

—

Hiruma arrived back at the Deimon football field in style, casually hopping out of the jet he ‘borrowed.’

Looks like everyone was already there. Perfect.

He spotted a familiar figure holding a broom, and didn't hesitate.

“Fucking manager!”

He tossed her the material he recorded while spying.

“I brought intel from America, go through it.”

She was off before he even finished getting out of the cockpit, already in the clubhouse and reviewing the video. She would be done within the hour. 

He fucking loved that about her.

While she was doing that, he pulled the rest of Team Japan together so they could discuss plans for the world cup.

Players, positions, and backups were already finalized. Now they had to practice together and prepare for the trip overseas. 

They were interrupted while in the middle of discussing plays.

“Hiruma-kun!”

Mamori called from the clubhouse, waving him over.

“I'm done editing the tapes!”

She ducked back into the building without waiting for a response.

Players who weren't from Deimon looked incredulous. He relished in the reaction.

“It's only been 45 minutes?”

Marco stated the obvious with a nervous smile, blinking like an idiot.

“Well… Mamori-nee has always been really capable.”

Riku spoke up, glancing over at the clubhouse, a hint of a blush on his cheeks. Ikkyu didn't say anything, but he had the same stupid, dopey look on his face.

Hiruma narrowed his eyes at them.

“Are we going with her as our manager?”

Banba asked, logical and focused, his intense stare moving between the others.

“Technically, we don't really need one for the world cup.”

Akaba coolly pointed out.

It was at this point that Hiruma butted in before they wasted any more precious time on pointless discussion.

“We do if we want to fucking win. She's coming with us.”

His tone bore no argument. They all looked at him questioningly.

“Shouldn't we at least hold tryouts, in the spirit of fairness?”

Yamato, fucking bastion of all things righteous and honorable, suggested.

Hiruma grinned. Time to give them a demonstration.

“FUCKING MANAGER!”

Mamori poked her head out, holding a mop. Perfect.

“What is it?”

He signed something to her in their coded language. She furrowed her brows and signed back.

This exchange continued several more times, with the other players watching in growing confusion - their heads swiveling back and forth like they were watching a fucking tennis match or something.

Finally, she huffed, and walked over.

“Why do you need me to stand over here? I'm cleaning!”

“To prove a point.”

“What do you -?”

He aimed his machine gun at the other players and started shooting.

Reactions differed - Kid swore and tried to scramble out of the way, Mizumachi yelped and jumped into Akaba’s arms, causing the music nerd to fall over from the unexpected weight, Marco dove behind Riku, using the much smaller teen as a human shield, and Ikkyu squaked and fell over backwards mid-run. 

Only Banba, Yamato, and Gaou didn't move. Banba, because his reaction time was too slow to keep up, Yamato, because the second he saw the gun he tried to stand his ground and defend himself like he was bullet proof or something, and Gaou, because the fucking caveman gleefully took the attack as a challenge.

Regardless, none of them had been prepared for the unexpected assault.

Every single one of them, however, found themselves staring wide eyed at an innocuous mop, held up like a tiny shield - smoke drifting from where bullets had bounced off its surface, but otherwise looked perfectly fine.

“Hiruma-kun.”

Mamori's tone was clipped as she glared at him, lowering the mop back to her side.

To the player's astonishment, she, like the mop, looked perfectly fine - not a single hair out of place, and looking more than a little fed up with Hiruma's antics.

He cackled, unrepentantly resting the smoking gun against his shoulder.

“Kekeke! You can go now, fucking manager.”

She rolled her eyes and spun around, stomping her way back to the clubhouse to, presumably, finish mopping.

The group slowly moved their stare onto him.

“Any objections?”

They shook their heads in unison.

“That's what I fucking thought.”

-

“Did you know she could do that?”

He heard Marco whisper under his breath to Riku. He could just see the others lean in eagerly for the answer in the reflection of his gun.

Riku shook his head no in a nervous, white blur.

Hiruma grinned wickedly to himself.

—

It was nearing the end of his second year. Less than a few weeks away.

Which, per Deimon's policy, meant his high school football career was pretty much officially over. 

Sure, Hiruma could blackmail his way into removing the rule that kept third years from joining clubs.

But even he wasn't that much of a selfish asshole.

The reason third years weren't allowed to join clubs was so they could focus on education. Deimon was only barely above Zokugaku in terms of performance, and the policy was an effort to increase the number of college hopefuls from such a shitty school.

He knew about the rule when he enrolled. He didn't care. Because it was the only school Kurita could get into, and there was no way he was abandoning the fucking fatass after everything they'd been through.

So yes, while Hiruma could get rid of that policy, he wasn't going to. Because he wasn't enough of a heartless bastard to ruin hundreds of kid's futures for his own selfish purposes.

That didn't mean he liked it.

Yeah, he could still help with training and prepping the football club, but he couldn't participate. He couldn't play in matches against other teams anymore, or feel the thrill of strategizing in the middle of a game. 

Not until college, which was a whole fucking year away.

And honestly, part of him - a part he hated to admit existed - felt lonely.

He was a solitary guy. He generally didn't care for other people and kept to himself. That's how he'd always been.

That all changed after he met Kurita.

For the first time, he made a friend. And a second soon after with Musashi. They became an inseparable trio, chasing an impossible dream together.

It was damn near perfect.

But then Musashi left, and his absence loomed over them like a dark shadow. That was the first time Hiruma felt the pain of loneliness.

And he fucking hated it.

He and Kurita still had each other. It was fine. They were fine. That was his mantra for a year and a half. It kept him sane.

But over the course of a few months, his entire world shifted.

The shrimp. The monkey. The brothers. Fucking baldy. Fatass junior. The twirling idiot. The cheerleader. 

The fucking manager. 

(Ex-manager, he reminded himself.)

The Devil Bats slowly grew in numbers. And not just that - they grew closer. They weren't just a group of people haphazardly thrown together. They were friends.

They were his friends.

All of them.

And honestly, a part of Hiruma feared, without the pretext of being in the American Football club, that they would all eventually drift apart. That a year of struggling together wouldn't be enough to keep those bonds strong. That he would feel that bitter taste of loneliness all over again.

He truly, deeply hated this part of himself. 

Which is why, for the past week, he's been sitting alone, on an isolated part of the school roof, staring off at nothing as he contemplated his deeply buried anxieties. 

He was so stuck in his own fucking head that he didn't even notice a new presence appear just over the side of the building, interrupting his sulking.

“Hiruma-kun?”

Mamori’s soft voice called out to him as she peered over the side of the building.

A bubble popping was the only sign of acknowledgement he gave.

She pulled herself up and over the ladder, moving to sit close to him on the rather small rooftop. He ignored her presence, not even bothering to ask how she managed to find him.

“The team’s been looking for you.”

She offered, gauging his reaction carefully.

He felt her staring at him. He could easily imagine the concerned look on her face. He'd seen it too many times before - it's been burned into his memory.

He blew another bubble, nonchalant.

“Why bother?”

She frowned, confused, and a little put out.

“Why wouldn't we? We were worried about you. You've been missing all week!”

The bubble popped. He continued not looking at her, setting his gun aside so he could fold his arms behind his head and lean more casually against the wall of the stairwell.

“Why?”

“Because we care about you. Isn't that obvious by now?”

“Even you?”

She looked taken aback. Then she squared her shoulders, raising her chin stubbornly.

“Of course I do. Is that so hard to believe?”

No. “Yes.”

“Hiruma-kun, I don't -”

“You have no obligation to care anymore, fucking ex-manager. None of you do. Our roles have been passed on already.”

She fell silent. Good, that made it easier to pretend she wasn't there. He didn't feel like dealing with this right now.

“It's not out of obligation.”

Dammit.

He slid his eyes over to glance at her.

She met them with her own earnest, determined blue eyes. She shifted so she was leaning closer, almost hovering over him, like that would help prove her point or something.

“We're your friends. We care about you outside of being teammates. I care about you outside of that.”

He looked at her silently. Her stern expression softened, with a look of understanding replacing it.

“Hiruma-kun… were you afraid we'd leave you after everything?”

Damn her and her ability to see right fucking through him. He refocused his gaze on the horizon, refusing to respond. 

But she surprised him. Again. She really needed to stop fucking doing that.

She hugged him around the middle, her cheek resting against his shoulder, and her hair obscuring his vision, damn near knocking him over from the suddenness of it. Her grip was surprisingly strong. Or maybe it was her need to prove herself that made her grip so tight.

“You don't have to worry, Hiruma-kun. We aren't going anywhere.”

She hesitated, before continuing.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

The words hung between them for a long moment, before they settled somewhere deep in his chest, warm and comforting. 

Fuck, he really was becoming a sap.

They sat there like that for a while. The sun began to set, and he could see the tips of her ears turning pinker with every second he didn't respond.

He finally broke the silence. In the way only he could.

“If you're trying to take advantage of me, you're doing a piss poor job of it.”

“Excuse me!?”

She shot up, looking at him indignant and red faced. 

Unfortunately for her, he had snaked his arms around her waist when she was distracted, so she couldn't move. Her face burned hotter at this realization.

“Really, Hiruma-kun, can't you just accept affection without…”

She trailed off her reprimand, suddenly aware of how intensely he was staring at her, and from how close. She gulped, forgetting how to speak for a moment.

“Hiruma-kun?”

“Mmhm?”

He was leaning closer, leaving almost no room between them. She fidgeted.

“Wh-what are you…”

“Testing a theory.”

“What -?”

He moved closer, barely a breath away. His sharp gaze never once wavering from her. 

“Whether or not you'll stop me.”

They both knew what he meant. He wasn't being very fucking subtle. 

At the same time, he was giving her an out. If she didn't want this, she could just tell him, or stop him, or whatever, and that would be the end of that. They'd forget about it and move on with their lives. 

But Hiruma was a gambling man.

He saw the signs. They had gone unaddressed for far too long. But right now, with her in his arms, he was willing to take the bet of a lifetime.

Mamori flushed, seemingly realizing this all in real time. She did an admirable job of keeping herself together despite being obviously flustered, and met his gaze steadily. She always took a challenge well.

She took a breath.

“I won't have to.”

“And why’s that -?”

He sneered at her teasingly - trying to keep control and save face, preparing for the worst - but he barely got the words out before she pushed forward and closed the distance herself.

Hiruma was briefly caught off guard by her boldness, but it took him less than a second to reciprocate. 

He threaded his fingers through her hair to pull her closer. She leaned into the touch, gripping onto him and letting out a soft sound that suddenly made him determined to find out all the other sounds he could pull from her in the future.

Unfortunately, It was a short kiss - mostly an awkward, heated brush of lips, both of them being inexperienced. But it was more than enough.

Mamori pulled back and looked at him shyly. Her face was trying not to catch fire from how hard she was blushing.

Hiruma, not having a single bashful bone in his entire fucking body, grinned at her like a shark having caught blood in the water, and held on tighter.

“There's no backing out of this, you realize?”

It was practically a threat.

She pouted at him, annoyed at how easily he was taking all this. Too fucking bad for her, he wasn't the type to get all embarrassed and bashful from one little kiss, even if it was from the woman he'd been pining after for almost half a year.

“Of course I know that! You're all or nothing. I've known you too long not to be aware of that by now.”

He threw his head back, cackling delightedly like a fucking mad man. Of course she knew she signed a deal with the devil. Why else would he offer her the contract?

She watched him dryly, still trapped in his arms and fighting the red on her cheeks.

“You're stuck with me forever now, fucking girlfriend! Kekeke!”

She sighed in a deeply resigned way, her composure returning.

“Honestly, Hiruma-kun, do you have to add that word to everything?”

“You didn't seem to care when I called you fucking manager!”

“That's because I knew it would be a waste of breath to keep correcting you.”

“Damn right!”

-

“Hiruma-kun, don't -!”

“YA-HA!”

A rainbow of color exploded above the school grounds as fireworks, gunfire, canons, and other artillery were shot simultaneously into the air.

—

"You know, I kinda miss shooting at the little brats."

Hiruma lazily mused from his place on the bench, Mamori sitting next to him.

It was the start of their second year at Saikyodai University. Football practice just ended, and he was watching his teammates, old and new, get ready to head home.

Mamori lifted her head from her clipboard, giving him a curiously amused look.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. These guys actually know what the fuck they're doing. Means I don't have to drill them as hard."

Something about his tone must've been funny, because he was pretty damn sure she was trying not to laugh at him.

He shot her a look.

"What?"

"Nothing, just - you could just say you're feeling nostalgic."

He grumbled at her cheeky tone. She didn't have to spell it out so fucking plainly. 

"I'm sure they miss you too, Hiruma-kun."

"Shut up."

She leaned against his shoulder, giggling. Now that she finally had a chance to turn the tables, it looked like she wasn't going to let go. Damn her.

"You always were a... What's the military term? 'A father to his men'?"

She teased, waiting for his disgruntled response. 

But her words struck an unexpected chord in him, and Hiruma found himself lost in thought instead.

A father, huh?

He never considered himself the parental type. His personality didn't exactly fit the image people had when they thought of a family man. Not to mention the issues he had with his own old man.

But he didn't hate the idea. In fact, to his own surprise, the more he thought about it, the more appealing he found it.

He thought about his time as the Devil Bat's captain. How it felt to wrangle up a bunch of brats with raw talent and no direction. How he pushed them to become the best selves he knew they could be, and the pride he felt when they exceeded his expectations. 

The tight feeling in his chest when those brats started caring about his dream, taking it as their dream. When they stopped fearing him, and cared enough to fight for him - getting upset on his behalf.

He thought about how those shrimps looked foward to getting his approval like it was a fucking badge of honor.

He never told anyone, and he'd rather eat his helmet than admit it, but he felt goddamn warm and fuzzy when those brats adopted his kick in the ass as the team's universal way of saying good job.

He blew a bubble, ignoring Mamori staring at him, confused by his prolonged silence.

If raising rugrats was anything similar to all that, well. Maybe he wouldn't mind giving it a try one day.

Of course, there were a number of things he needed to accomplish before any of that. Like propose to his fucking girlfriend first. And accomplish his dream of becoming a professional football player.

But after that, who knows. 

Hiruma grinned deviously at his oblivious girlfriend, who looked rightfully more than a little alarmed by his sudden change in attitude.

"You ever think about havin' kids?"