Swallow the Moon

◊   ◊   ◊

Branch

Some tales of Rikkai, and their recovery in the aftermath of Regionals. This set of stories is less an arc than a collection of things that happen in the same 'verse. Manga spoilers throughout.

Ink Burns

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

This is a work of fanfiction, produced according to the principles of transformative fair use as put forward in US copyright law, and abiding by the custom and practice of fan-produced work in Japan, where the source texts were created. No author is in any way affiliated with any of the creators of the source texts, nor with the companies who distribute their products, nor any other rights holder, and these stories were not authorized by either the creators or the producers. Ink Burns is a fan site and the material here is freely provided for the enjoyment of fellow fan-community members; there is no commercial infringement.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 US license at the Ink Burns fanfiction archive (http://www.branchandroot.net/archive/).

"Touch And Go" published on 2005-10-11 15:50:12.

"Zoology and Mythology" published on 2005-10-12 15:55:14.

"The Quality of Mercy" published on 2005-10-13 16:00:25.

"Essential" published on 2005-10-14 16:04:48.

Attributions can be made by author's name and a link to the archive.

This ebook edition was published on September 6, 2019 by the Ink Burns fanfiction archive.

Cover illustration is Untitled watercolor by G. Carlos Soler, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike (http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:CUADRO26LANUIT.jpg).

Cover design by Branch.

Touch And Go

Kirihara's relationship to Sanada and his temper. Drama, I-3

1

The first time wasn't really a surprise. Even one summer of observation was enough to tell anyone that Sanada-senpai had no sense of humor. But the frown he had been wearing at the end of Akaya's smash practice was too good to resist.

"Sanada-fukubuchou," Akaya said, as solemnly as if he were imparting the secret of immortality, "if you're not careful, your face will freeze like that."

The expression didn't change one bit as Sanada-fukubuchou fetched Akaya a brisk swat across the back of the head. "Your grip is too light. Work on that," he directed, as if Akaya had never spoken.

Akaya's mouth quirked. "Yes, Sanada-fukubuchou."

2

The second time, Akaya ducked out of range and the swat missed. Sanada-fukubuchou gave him a steady look.

"Two hundred laps. Now."

Akaya made a face at Marui-senpai, who was laughing, and started running. Easier not to duck, he decided.

3

It was another three months before he stopped trying to get a rise out of his vice-captain and Sanada-fukubuchou stopped letting him.

In December.

4

"Is it really spring? It's too cold," Akaya complained, wrapping his jacket around him as the team finished changing. He admitted to himself that it might just be the atmosphere, with Yukimura-buchou gone, but he wasn't about to say that out loud.

"Should we bring you flowers to cheer you up?" Niou-senpai tossed over his shoulder. "Didn't know you liked spring so much, Kirihara."

Akaya gave his smirking senpai an evil look. "Well, I guess that depends on how much you're selling it for, Niou-senpai," he drawled.

The faint sting of a cuff across the side of the head made Akaya start. It had been months since that had happened. He blinked at Sanada-fukubuchou, who was giving him a look of distinct disapprobation. The entire team was still for a long moment, and then sound rustled through them as everyone seemed to let out their breath at once. A faint grin tugged at Akaya's mouth.

Yeah. It was spring again.

5

Akaya stood silently as Sanada-fukubuchou approached. He was distantly aware that he was in shock; he had never lost to anyone but those three. And now... an unofficial match with a first-year from the school they were about to play in tournament. He could tell when Sanada-fukubuchou saw the scoreboard by his abrupt stillness.

"I lost." The words brought it home, made it real, and the sharp impact that jarred him off his feet was a strange kind of relief. Even the ache along his jaw, when it caught up with him a moment later, helped. It snapped the world back into focus, and Akaya actually felt the hard clay under him and the small scrapes on his palms where he'd caught himself.

When he looked up the flash of hot rage in Sanada-fukubuchou's eyes was already fading back into tight, measured determination. His gaze rested on Akaya with hard question, and Akaya bit his lip and nodded shortly.

He would not fail again.

6

Akaya watched the suppressed exasperation with which Sanada-fukubuchou dusted Akaya's footprints off the coach's bench, and ignored both Yagyuu-senpai's tolerant look and Marui-senpai's snort; he just pushed the hair back out of his eyes from where it had fallen when Sanada-fukubuchou swatted him.

It was good to know he was definitely forgiven for the other day.

7

Akaya felt like he couldn't breathe. There was no tension between Sanada-fukubuchou and Yanagi-senpai, as they spoke; all the tension was in Akaya, watching them.

This was wrong.

It was one thing for Sanada-fukubuchou to strike Akaya for being an idiot, and careless enough to lose. But Yanagi-senpai... okay, maybe he had let his feelings get in the way, but...

But they were the center of Rikkai! The three of them together. For Sanada Genichirou to strike Yanagi Renji... it was wrong. No matter what Yanagi-senpai said about setting an example for the club.

That feeling of wrongness had already pulled Akaya to his feet. The tightening line between Sanada-fukubuchou's hand drawing back and Yanagi-senpai turning his head with quiet acceptance snapped Akaya into motion before thought could intervene.

Under other circumstances, the startlement of his senpai, as they both stood there looking down at him and his interposed racquet, would have made him laugh.

He half expected to feel the brief clip of Sanada-fukubuchou's hand that his insolence usually got him. All he got, though, as he skipped out from between them again, was the weight of thoughtful eyes on the back of his neck.

8

Akaya didn't remember losing, this time. Didn't remember the end of the match at all. But Sanada-fukubuchou's statement of the score echoed through his head.

He had failed.

Again.

Could he even call himself Rikkai, anymore?

Choking shame threw him out from under Yanagi-senpai's hand and over the rail to stand before Sanada-fukubuchou. But his half-frantic demand for the reprimand that a team member could expect for such a loss dropped without a ripple into Sanada-fukubuchou's considering look.

And then he was stepping past Akaya with only a quiet "Sit down."

Akaya did as he was told.

9

Sanada-fukubuchou's hand on his shoulder as they left the courts that day reassured Akaya. But it reassured him a lot more when, a week or so later, he collected a swat for taking a nap on top of Sanada-fukubuchou's uniform jacket.

End
Note: "Selling spring" is a Japanese euphemism for selling sex.

Zoology and Mythology

Some friendly bickering within the Rikkai team. Drama, I-2

Yagyuu started the game, not to any of Masaharu's surprise. Successful surgery or not, the bus ride back from the hospital needed some distraction, and Yagyuu had these flights of fancy. This one was abundantly suggested by Jackal's remark that Marui reminded him of a hummingbird: voracious and viciously territorial, but pretty enough to watch that almost no one noticed those parts.

While Marui tried to decide whether he was insulted or complimented, Yagyuu smiled. "What animal would you be, then, Jackal-kun?"

"Should be a horse," Kirihara put in. "They like him because he's just as strong as they are." Masaharu's lips twitch, recalling that the horses had not gotten along quite so well with Kirihara.

"Nah." Marui shook his head. "Lizard. You should see him basking in the sun some time."

"So what's Sanada-fukubuchou?" Kirihara asked with a grin. Sanada gave him a dark look, but it didn't have quite the usual weight.

"A tiger, perhaps," Yanagi mused, ignoring Sanada's snort.

"Prickly and dangerous, and really good at glaring," Kirihara agreed, secure in the two bus seats separating him from Sanada.

"Does that make you the deer then, Akaya?" Sanada inquired, and returned a sardonic look to Kirihara's glower.

"Akaya's an otter," Marui corrected. "Always showing off."

"All right, then, what's Yanagi?" Jackal asked, over Kirihara's indignant Look who's talking!

"A turtle," Sanada answered, finally entering the game in the name of payback. "All observation and deliberate movements."

Yanagi simply laughed softly.

"And Niou-kun?" Yagyuu asked, in the tone of someone baiting a trap. Masaharu snorted and lifted a brow, placing a small bet with himself.

"Fox," Kirihara said, decidedly.

Yes, he'd rather thought that would be it.

"Perhaps also the snake," Yanagi offered. "Given how rarely he does anything in a straight line."

"That should count for Hiroshi, too, then," Marui pointed out with a thoughtful bubble.

"Their combination is a snake?" Yanagi sounded amused. "So what is Hiroshi alone?"

The whole team paused, considering. "A bear," Jackal said, at last. "Powerful. Needs a large range. Extremely dangerous if provoked. Very communicative, if you know how to read their body language." He traded a slightly sheepish smile for Marui's astonished look. "I took my brothers and sisters to the zoo last weekend."

Masaharu leaned back in his seat. "What's Yukimura?" A much longer pause followed his question.

"A crane?" Kirihara suggested, at last. "His game is graceful enough."

"A butterfly would seem most appropriate to his emergence, just now," Yagyuu murmured.

"A dragon," Sanada said, quietly, looking out the window.

And the game ended on a rustling sigh of agreement.

They were all getting off the bus, stretching and exchanging dinner plans, when Masaharu heard Yanagi ask Kirihara, softly, "So which are you going to be, Akaya? A tiger cub, or the boy who swallowed a dragon pearl?"

Glancing over his shoulder he saw Kirihara looking up at their strategist with an expression caught halfway between question and decision.

"I'm going to be the thunder."

Masaharu tucked away the glint of approval in Yanagi's smile to think about later.

End
Note: See this site for several versions of the story of the boy who swallows a dragon pearl.

The Quality of Mercy

Yukimura's reaction to his team's behavior during his absence. Drama, I-3

Yukimura

The day of his return to the tennis club, Seiichi held the Regulars back for a moment at the start of practice.

Standing and watching them, arms folded, Seiichi could see the signs of release. Stifled yawns and strained eyes from late-night celebrations, or possibly hysterics; but also the relaxation in their grips on balls or racquets, the easier lines of their mouths. He could sympathize entirely.

Which didn't change one word of what he was about to say.

"I've watched the video taken at Regionals," he started, evenly. The entire team paused, as if they all held the same breath.

"I was not impressed," Seiichi continued, letting a bite come into his voice. "Too many of those games were sloppy, and too many were aimed at cheap victories that were unworthy of you. We are Rikkai. We are the best." His eyes narrowed. "We don't need to win by default. Ever."

Niou merely gave him a faint shrug, shifting closer to his silent partner, but Akaya hunched up and Sanada's gaze flickered aside.

"Remember this," Seiichi stated, quiet enough that they all leaned forward, "we win because we are the superior team. I will not permit anything less. I will not allow you to make anything less of yourselves, or of Rikkai. Understood?"

A subdued chorus of assent answered him, and he nodded. "Then start running some laps to warm up." He glanced at Niou and Yagyuu. "Or, possibly, to cool down. I'll tell you when you're done." A few winces met that last statement, but he could also see a wry familiarity in their glances as they turned away. A comfortable familiarity.

So much for the easy part. As the team set off he held Sanada back with a look, and set a hand on Akaya's shoulder. "Akaya."

Kirihara

Akaya tried not to flinch as his captain held him back. Getting chewed out by Yukimura-buchou was one of his personal definitions of not-fun. To be honest, he preferred Sanada-fukubuchou's reprimands; they were over sooner and they hurt less. And even when it was a hundred laps, at least it was simple and defined and you could see the end of it. Yukimura-buchou's reprimands were... more difficult.

But he knew that he had played too loosely, with Seigaku's Fuji at least, and Echizen too, really, and probably deserved it. So he took a breath and straightened his shoulders. "Yes, Yukimura-buchou?"

Yukimura-buchou's eyes were sharp. "During your match with Fuji you found something new in your own game, didn't you?"

Akaya blinked. That was not what he had been expecting. "Yes," he answered, hesitantly.

"Do you think you can find it again?"

Akaya thought back, and stole a look at the vice-captain, waiting silently beyond Yukimura-buchou's shoulder. "Yes," he said, slowly. "Sanada-fukubuchou showed me. At the start of his match with Echizen."

"Good, then work on it," Yukimura-buchou directed, briskly. "A technique you can call on deliberately, that doesn't depend on you losing, is one that may actually let you win. I'm pleased to see you coming at this from the right direction, finally."

Akaya blinked some more, opened his mouth and closed it again.

Yukimura-buchou's mouth curled up in a crooked half smile. "Mere uninhibited play will never defeat us, Akaya. Or Tezuka." His eyes glinted. "Or, it seems, Fuji and this Echizen."

Now there was a motivational thought. "Yes, Yukimura-buchou," Akaya answered, voice firm now.

"Good," Yukimura-buchou repeated, softly. "Because I don't want to see such inferior tactics from you again."

This time Akaya did flinch, and ducked into a bow. "Yes, Yukimura-buchou," he said, slightly stifled, feeling blood rising to his cheeks.

"You were chosen for this team for your strength, Akaya," his captain stated. "I will not accept you falling short of that." A sigh made Akaya look up again. Yukimura-buchou's expression had softened just a bit. "Though I don't believe it was entirely your fault, this season." Akaya's eyes widened, and Yukimura-buchou snorted faintly. "Don't get too far ahead of yourself, Akaya. You're our responsibility, still." He gave Akaya a small push after the rest of the team. "Laps. Get going."

Akaya took off, still feeling the sting of Yukimura-buchou's censure, but also holding a new bit of hope. Which was fairly standard, after Yukimura-buchou was done with a person. He sighed and fell into stride with Jackal-senpai who at least wouldn't tease him about the flush still on his face.

Sanada

Genichirou stifled an unworthy desire to take off running along with Akaya.

He'd known this was coming. Euphoria had touched everyone, in the wake of the surgery's success, and Yukimura had forgiven them easily enough for their loss to Seigaku, simply agreeing with Genichirou that they would keep their pride and focus, now, on Nationals. That, however, had been before he'd seen the videos, and Genichirou had been waiting for the axe to fall ever since he'd delivered those disks. His loss had been unforgivable, and he knew it. He stood, now, to hear what punishment the captain of his team would assign.

"I don't believe it was entirely your fault, either," Yukimura murmured, dryly, watching the team complete another lap. "So I don't want you taking it on yourself to run laps until you collapse. You will keep your own training menu in balance, and focus on advancing strength, precision and endurance in step with each other, as usual."

Genichirou nodded silently, still waiting.

"You got a bit out of control, yourself, Sanada," Yukimura mused. "Along with Akaya. You two remind me a good deal of each other, at times. Though, with your experience, you should have known better. Whether it was distraction or too much focus, misdirected, you lost sight of why we are the best, and let yourself get blindsided by someone who remembered."

Genichirou's mouth tightened as he restrained the urge to ask Yukimura to get on with it, already. He stood a little straighter as Yukimura finally turned to look at him, level and measuring. And with that uncanny knack of his, Yukimura's next words reflected the heart of Genichirou's thoughts back at him.

"Given that, do you deserve mercy, Sanada?"

Genichirou turned his face aside. "No," he stated, flatly.

Yukimura's gaze, resting on him, was dispassionate. "You lost, and you know why. That is the only punishment you will get."

Genichirou's jaw clenched, and he closed his eyes for a breath. The message, between the two of them, was clear as morning light. Simple expiation was denied to him—it wouldn't be that easy. "Very well," he managed, at last.

"I want you to work with Akaya," Yukimura continued. "He won't be able to use the technique as cleanly as we do, but take him as far as you can." He paused and pursed his lips. "Was it Renji's suggestion to turn him loose against Tachibana?"

Genichirou nodded. "As soon as Renji turned up Tachibana's history."

"Renji will explain his reasoning to Akaya, then. There's no excuse for leaving him ignorant of why facing a violent player set Tachibana so off his game; especially since I doubt it will work twice." Yukimura's mouth quirked. "Renji, I trust, is already sufficiently motivated not to repeat his own mistakes?"

"I would say so." Genichirou could feel months of desperate tension, of sole responsibility for the unruly tangle that was a tennis team, easing out of him. If Yukimura refused to give him answers or allow amends for Genichirou's past mistakes, at least he wasn't making Genichirou continue to play the part of leader alone.

Yukimura nodded. "Good." After a moment he added, "You will also come with me on my training runs in the evenings. There's a good deal of condition I need to regain quickly; I'll need someone to pace me."

Genichirou bowed his head. That was the offer of his friend, more than the order his captain—the offer of time when wider responsibility didn't bear down on either of them. That was the compassion that turned the team's respect, which Yukimura's ruthlessness alone would have won, into devotion. "Of course," he said, quietly.

Yukimura

Seiichi shook his head a little, hiding a smile. For years he'd waged a silent tug-of-war with Sanada's grandfather, and for years Sanada-jiisan had been winning. Sanada played tennis as with as much passion as Seiichi could wish, but he had always carried with him the strict formality and discipline of Kendo, and an air of faint disapproval for the freewheeling manners and fluid ranking of the tennis world. Seiichi had not been surprised when Sanada, having to stand as captain, had been pressed even deeper into the system he knew best.

The two players he had been proudest of, after watching the videos, were Akaya and Sanada. Akaya, for finally starting to grasp his true strength, and Sanada...

Sanada for finally leading the team, after their loss. For reaching past his personal shame to give the team a confident center and a way forward again.

He was not going to let Sanada lose that, and lean on the simple, rigid rules of tradition again. He gestured Sanada to follow him, joining the team on their next lap.

"Let's go."

End
Note: This was written before issue 300 came out, and should be considered Divergent Future.

Essential

Sanada practices, and considers connections between sword and tennis. Drama, I-2

Sometimes intense focus shut out the rest of the world; sometimes it only brought the world closer.

Sometimes, especially during kata when he attended to the essential line and nature of each movement, Genichirou found moments of connection between the sword and his other passions. They didn't come as thoughts, they had no path, no start or finish; they were moments of knowing, moments of fact, present and then gone like a reflection in some window he walked past.

Yukimura would use this low guard, that tempted the unwary to make an overhead attack, and then step in, light and flowing, and make this strike full across the body, inexorable destruction smooth as running water.

Renji would make this step, that turned out of the way with such simplicity and hard calm, and allowed attack or retreat with the same poise.

Akaya would always take the outside, like so, the powerful, rounded attack that cut through where the opponent thought he was strongest, a challenge to the one who used it.

Tachibana would use this strike, overhead and centered, ferocious and direct.

Atobe would take this step, sliding under a high guard into a low, efficient cut.

Fuji would favor this straight thrust to the center, the one that demanded patience until its moment came to drive through the inside guard as though nothing had ever impeded it.

Tezuka would use this stance, the one that appeared so stable and unmoving to the thoughtless, motion spiraling up from the feet, invisible and contained through the body, a riptide released only once it was focused.

Pieces of his own team, pieces of other players, if Genichirou only watched and didn't wait they showed themselves in flickers, bright and passing and true as sun glinting on the spine of his sword.

No movement in a kata had reflected Echizen, yet.

What came to Genichirou, as he stood and breathed in stillness, was that if he ever followed the sword far enough to use a live edge outside of kata and tameshigiri then he might find Echizen there.

"What are you thinking?" Yukimura asked, from where he leaned in the doorway.

"Nothing," Genichirou answered with perfect honesty.

A low laugh tumbled through the warm air. "And what does nothing look like today?"

Sometimes Genichirou wondered how Yukimura learned these things about him without ever being told. He considered for a moment. "The first thing it looked like was you," he stated, at last.

Yukimura smiled, and all of the day's moments of fact rearranged themselves around that fact.

End
Note: tameshigiri is cutting practice with a live blade, a la Iaido, generally done with straw mats or rolls or bunches. This is, if I'm not mistaken, what we see Sanada doing in the manga.