He was, Keigo reflected, getting better at spotting the angels. It was something in the way they held themselves, apart from any mortal excitement around them. At a place as excited as the courts hosting Nationals, they stood out. The one that seemed to have caught Kantoku's attention today, though, was a bit different from the usual run.

It was not, Tarou reflected, unusual for Keigo to sit in the window when he and his coach were discussing the tennis club. Tarou gave him that much latitude, because Atobe Keigo's willing obedience was a valuable thing. Normally, however, he paid proper attention, no matter how he lounged.

Someone had claimed the practice room ahead of him; the plaintive notes of a violin filtered dimly through the closed door, flaunting his reserved 5:15 to 6:15 slot in Ohtori Choutarou's face.

Hiyoshi noticed the stranger first, and decided that he’d regret it for the rest of his life. This was especially true since the last time a stranger had appeared on the courts, Jirou had run off with him and there had been some business about an antichrist, the explanation for which Hiyoshi was determined to ignore.

The Adversary stared at the Messiah, frowning. The Messiah stared right back, also frowning.

"You're not what I was expecting," Adam said, at last, feeling that a Messiah ought to be wearing a white bathrobe, or have a halo, or somehow demonstrate his difference from ordinary humans (perhaps funny-colored eyes?).

Sakaki Tarou paused on his way across the grounds of Rikkai Dai to visit his contemporaries on staff, and watched the junior high tennis team practicing. This team was always worth watching, but this time something specific caught his attention. Something about them had changed, since the last time he'd observed these players. It was most notable in Yukimura-kun, and Tarou sighed faintly as he contemplated the inherent disorder of what he was seeing.

"Taken," a light voice stated next to his ear.

It was a beautiful day: the sunlight was warm and the bleachers reasonably comfortable, and his host didn't have a match with Atobe for at least another half hour. Crowley stretched and yawned, supremely content with just how good life was.

It really was a pity that things were about to get so complicated.