The day after they form the football club, Musashi goes to the library first thing in the morning and sifts through the books under Sports. He isn't confident he'll find anything, but there it is, between the taller, thicker hardbacks. The Essential Guide to Football, it reads on the light blue spine. He tugs the book off the shelf and thumbs the pages from start to end.

The check-out card bears a single name -- if a scrawled YA HA passes for a name. This puts a tiny quirk in Musashi's mouth.

"Crappiest shit I've read."

Speak of the devil. Hiruma pops out from behind the bookcase and leans back against the shelves, arms crossed, and ankles, too. On his mouth, which never seems to stop chewing, is a grin that never fails to bare fangs.

Before he can stare any longer, Musashi pulls his gaze down to the book in his hand. "Crappiest?" he says. "Why?"

"Why," Hiruma says, "'cos it doesn't tell me something I don't know!"

This doesn't really explain everything, but Musashi shrugs and says, "Oh well." He smacks the book lightly against his palm.

Before he can tuck the book back in the shelf, Hiruma scoops it out of his hold. "I'll teach you football," he says. Grasping the spine, Hiruma reaches over his spiky head behind him and slides the book back in place. "Follow me, fucking old man."

So Musashi does.

Turns out Hiruma means following him out the school gates and then to the train, until they're miles away from Maou and just outside Ojou Private High School, tucked in a tree amongst dozens of other trees overlooking a bustling football field.

Musashi pauses with a bit of bewilderment. 'Why the heck am I up here again?' After all, he's never had to climb a tree and perch himself on a branch before.

But for all his misgivings, somehow, he can't bring himself to question this in any way. He simply looks at Hiruma next to him, stares at the bubble growing fuller and less pink between Hiruma's lips, and waits.

Hiruma cackles, reaching behind him for something. Musashi doesn't see where he whips out a pair of binoculars, just like he never sees where he pulls out an AK-47 or that little black notebook.

"See those guys?" Hiruma says. He flicks the binoculars over to Musashi and nods toward the field past the solid enclosure.

Through the clear lens, Musashi can make out a white cross on a blue shield on the players' helmets. "Yeah."

"Fucking Ojou White Knights. Watch closely, fucking old man."

So Musashi does.

Turns out they're in the middle of a practice game. Musashi can't make sense of a few things, such as the excessive body-smashing being part of the game, but Hiruma walks him through it, and after two plays Musashi's caught on every single fundamental of the sport.

"And that's all you need to know!" Hiruma says. "Fucking easy, ain't it."

Musashi shrugs, handing the binoculars back to Hiruma. "Yeah."

"And fun, right?" And then Hiruma's mouth is chewing again, as if it never tires of chewing at all. As if it never tires of moving at all, even.

Musashi pauses with a bit of fascination, wondering if that mouth --

Suddenly he pulls his gaze down to his lap. "We need to get back to school," he says -- and it's not some excuse; first period starts in fifteen minutes, in fact -- then proceeds to climb down the tree. He doesn't expect Hiruma to follow right after, but he does.

Reaching the ground, Musashi feels something uncomfortable down his belly when he glances up and gets an ample view of Hiruma's backside. At once he tears his gaze away, but apparently nothing goes unnoticed by Hiruma.

Hiruma says, even before his feet touch the grass, "I can read faces, ya know."

Musashi grunts.

"Yep, faces. Body language. I can read 'em a mile away. I have to -- I'm a fucking quarterback! Helps in strategizing and shit. Right now just by looking at you, I can tell what you're fucking thinking."

"... Which is?"

"Something funny. Like kissing my mouth, or something. It's all in your face, fucking old man. If you don't do something about it then I will."

This draws a rough little sound out of Musashi. "You're bluffing."

But Hiruma says, "I'm good at that, too."

All things considered, Musashi can't think of anything Hiruma might not be good at, anyhow. "I suppose you are," he says finally, but to the ground between their feet, because he suddenly can't seem to look up anymore, not with this urge to actually kiss Hiruma's mouth, or something.

"I bet your kick can cover the whole sixty fucking yards."

At the face of such a stray remark, Musashi finds he's unable to not look up and say, "What?"

"Club practice, three-ten on the dot. Show me what you've learned." Then Hiruma splits, leaving Musashi staring after his awfully blond hair.

It's a little inexplicable, but all day in school, for once, Musashi finds himself counting the minutes until three-ten.

END