Chapter 19: Sly As a Snake
"Thank you for coming, Ryuugamine-kun." His brain was playing odd tricks on him. The president's formal greeting seemed like an introduction to a courthouse trial. Kiyoshi's heart squeezed and shuffle in its place, thumping loudly that it drowned his other senses.
The other upperclassman was leaning on the sofa, impassive as if Kiyoshi was a stranger, not the slave he loved to bully. It made a shiver zip through Kiyoshi's back, tightening his fists so the pressure would keep him in the real world.
"I take it Sumire-san delivered the message," the president continued, furling his clothed arms around themselves. Kiyoshi merely nodded, the girl's warning swirling in his head. Should he leave? He fidgeted, unable to make a choice. What was he supposed to do? Not even Shino-san taught him how to deal with people that may not have the best intentions in mind. Sumire would know, she wouldn't hesitate to act. She had never done so. That was the big difference between them, she was so damn strong. Kiyoshi couldn't win. He could only stay in place, faithfully obeying the last order he was given. He bit his lip, hating himself for his lack of ability. Why was he trying?
"You have nothing to say?" The upperclassman asked carefully. Kiyoshi shook his head, evading his eyes.
"He's boring. I told you," Kensou drawled. "He would have come back to work if you had told him." He wasn't wrong. And it made Kiyoshi hate himself even more. He couldn't escape the habits that had become ingrained in him, rooted deep in his psyche. There is no way he could win.
Kiyoshi heard a small, weary sigh. He was familiar with it: 'I can't believe you are like this.' He was as irked as the president. His cloudy thoughts flew to Hideyoshi, how helpless he must have felt for being incapable of supporting his family any other way than selling his and his brothers' life work. But at least he made a decision while Kiyoshi made none. The more he had thought about Hideyoshi these few days, the darker his thoughts had become.
"Ryuugamine-kun, what is that you want the most in the world?" The president asked. Kiyoshi lifted his eyes, his sluggish mind tingling at the aftershock of the question's strong nudge.
"What I want the most?" he repeated, so quiet he wasn't sure he had actually spoken. What did he want? What was he doing all of this for? Soccer, his mind replied. You are doing this became you want to go back to the soccer world. "Soccer," he replied, squeezing the word out of his throat.
"Why soccer?" the other inquired curiously. Why? Why? Kiyoshi thought, urging his mind for an answer. Why do I like it so much? "Because. . . I can forget about the pain," he confessed. He remembered his muscles aching from training, begging him to stop. His breath hitched, lungs working overtime to keep his brain functioning. ". . . When I focus, I forget everything."
"What pain do you want to forget?" The president insisted.
"The pain I'm feeling right now." But everything feels dull, his mind said. 'I hate myself,' Kiyoshi replied. It is a dull pain, his mind corrected itself. "The pain of being unable to feel. . ." he trailed off, thoughts trying to scramble for the full answer. Numbness is uncomfortable. With soccer--
"How did soccer make you feel?" There was hesitation and awkwardness like someone who wasn't used to discuss about feelings.
"It made me feel alive."
The room sank in a weird silence. Kiyoshi glanced at the president, a strange expression settling on the older one: his narrow gaze had widened behind his square glasses, and he was looking away, covering his mouth with one hand.
"It's not that complicated, Shuu," Kensou's matter-of-factly tone changed the mood. "The strain from sports pushes the body to the limit. He's probably talking about adrenaline." The president's eyes widened, sparkling with understanding. Not a sportsman then.
"Then, what is it you want the most? Playing soccer or feel alive?". Why did he want to know? He seemed genuinely curious. Kiyoshi tried for an answer.
"I don't intend to use it to harm you," the president answered professionally. "I don't lean towards immoral methods like Teikoku's coach." He glanced at Kensou, too quick to be intentional. "I know how harmful they can be."
Kiyoshi didn't care about that guy's past but couldn't help imitate the president's action. "Um. . ." He bounced his arm a little, pointing at the sofa.
"I picked him up after he had left Teikoku," he explained as if he was talking about a stray animal and perhaps the circumstances weren't too different. "He's sharp so I decided to put him into use." He stopped there, whatever implications of Kensou's use was up to Kiyoshi to decide.
Kiyoshi glanced at the subject in question, passive and controlled, observing them from the corner of his eye. Maybe the president had stopped for his sake. Kensou was being used after all. Sumire's words made more sense. However, Kiyoshi was put under Kensou's watch because it was Kensou. The guy hated the Coach, and it was clear he abused Kiyoshi because of his status as a spy. He didn't treat the president or the others members as rudely. Any spy, including Sumire, would be fed up and leave the school under that treatment--it was unfair after all. Anyone but Kiyoshi.
So Kensou was a tool. Just like Sumire. Just like him.
Kiyoshi's sight was keener when he focused on the president again. Then, a thought ran through his mind. Friendship. Keima. His heart warmed and with it, the red oni moved, chain rattling.
"What do you wish, Ryuugamine-kun?" Kiyoshi returned in time for the crucial question. He tightened his fists, hesitating.
"Friendship." It wasn't a lie. It wasn't a lie, Kiyoshi told himself. He nibbled his lip. He couldn't say the rest, so he accepted it in his thumping heart. Narrowing his eyes, he spoke with an edge. "Can you give me that?" he challenged.
The president set his chin on his intertwined fingers, elbows propped. "Gouenji-kun seems rather fond of you. He wants you to join the soccer club."
So that was it. "I know." Kiyoshi closed his eyes and heaved. "What about it?" How good of a deal could he get?
The president seemed to have picked up on his intent and chose his words next carefully. "I have been told you have been getting along with some people: a first year in the newspaper club, Gouenji-kun, and your relationship with Sumire-san improved when you were assigned to the soccer club. If you join the soccer club, you can deepen those relationships."
Kiyoshi narrowed his eyes further. It wasn't enough. "I can't join. I'm not a student." He shifted his gaze to a piece of paper at the president's arms reach. Could it be?
The president took the corner of the paper and flipped it over in one swift motion, presenting it to Kiyoshi. "The board has already signed it." Certainly, there were three fancy signatures on the bottom. "Become a Kidokawa Seishuu student and obtain what you truly want."
Kiyoshi hummed, unconvinced. The president irked his eyebrow, words leaving like a serpent's hiss. "What else do you want?"
"Can I have a place guaranteed in the student council if I decide to quit the soccer club?" The president was elected by the students and they appointed the rest of the board. Kiyoshi was stretching the forming deal but was sure Kumoto had enough power to do it.
"You are truly greedy." The upperclassman glared, voice dripping bitterness. Kiyoshi replied with a broad, empty smile. A contract with the terms was drafted, signed by both parties with Kensou as the witness. Kiyoshi took both papers with him, and while he left the room as the victor, he couldn't help but feel like a villain.
⚽️🐰⚽️
Kiyoshi felt on cloud nine, an evil grin stuck in his face for the rest of the day. He looked away from his reflection on the train, more out of embarrassment than shame. His heart swelled with happiness at his first victory in life in years.
As he traveled down the road to his house, the usual fond attitude from the stray kitties reassured him he hadn't done anything wrong despite the nagging guilt and regret. They accepted his offer of affection, the kitties perched on the bleak walls of the old neighborhood. But as hours passed at home, the mirth dimmed. Kiyoshi had cooked dinner for two, triggering thoughts about his mother. His stomach began to thrash in anxiety, he had to tell her if he wanted to change schools.
Like always, dinner was eerily quiet. Kiyoshi usually ignored his mother's presence and hid in his mind but. . . he couldn't do that now. When was the last time he had started a conversation over dinner? When he told her he was quitting soccer. Kiyoshi knew she was working hard to pay his school expenses and had the terrible luck to see how much she had taken out on loans for him. Kidokawa was much cheaper in comparison. It would be good for mother, Kiyoshi comforted himself with the news he had to deliver.
He swallowed his food and tried to get his mother's attention. How should he even start? "Um. . ." As he put together a short speech, his mother's possible reply pierced through his confidence. 'Now you are running away.' Kiyoshi threw on another piece of grilled fish to his mouth, shutting himself up.
A few minutes later, he tried again. "What if. . . I was invited to Kidokawa's soccer team?" Kiyoshi stared at his mother under the top rim of his glasses, suddenly self-conscious of his overgrown hair. Seconds passed without a reaction. Kiyoshi concluded he had spoken too low.
"Do you want to join?" his mother replied, slow and tired. However, she kept her usual poise. No need to fake at home.
He stared down at his dinner, so dull-looking in this house. "I would. . . have to transfer for that."
"Do you want to?" she repeated in a hiss, grip on her chopsticks tightening. "You don't know, do you?" she stressed the ending.
Kiyoshi didn't reply.
"Don't bring it to the table if you haven't made a choice. Furthermore, didn't you choose Teikoku because you wanted to be that team? Why are you changing your mind so fast?" She continued to point out Kiyoshi's flaws. As if she was sick of him. As if she couldn't bear someone like him could exist.
Kiyoshi asked for forgiveness, voice shaking at the verge of tears. She would never tell him what he wanted. She wouldn't even say if she was okay or not with his choices. She didn't care at all! Kiyoshi would have accepted transferring if she thought lifting the burden of the debt was good for her, but it was a pipe dream. Kiyoshi could never do something to make her happy. Nothing he did ever pleased her.
Ever aware of the hole in his heart, the red oni thrashed in its chains, roaring to the top of its lungs. Kiyoshi was the only one who could understand it.
Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me.
Kiyoshi didn't want to be independent; he wanted someone to love him. He didn't have something as basic as his mother's love, how could he obtain anything else?
After that disgusting dinner, he launched himself to his bed and buried his face on the pillow, fastening his jaw so tight it trembled. It did nothing to ease the anger and betrayal in his heart, that's why he had to look for other ways to soothe this pain. It was a basic and primitive need, so it had to take another shape or he would punch the first person who spoke to him when he went outside.
In the end, he had chosen to seal his heart with that need inside. If he didn't seek love, he wouldn't feel the pain of its absence. The red oni wouldn't have woken up, and none of this would have happened. The day Kiyoshi learned that no one in this world would love him was the day he rea had his limit: he closed-off his heart and painted himself white, placing his loveless feelings at the front. It was the only way his younger self could find to remain sane. It didn't matter if he was a victim, he was the bad guy to someone else. He was always the bad guy and was always punished.
"WHAT DID I DO TO YOU?!" The pillow muffled his piercing yell. "I WAS THE VICTIM! BUT NO ONE HELPED ME!" He kept screaming and flailing his legs, words less incoherent than the next until they reduced to helpless sobs.
Time passed, darkness filling Kiyoshi's vision. Submerged in the familiar pain and emotions, it was the coziest place in this world.
A sharp ring cut through his nice place, bringing him back to the somber reality. He shot up the bed and snatched his phone from the desk before reading the ID. Kiyoshi mentally cursed. Not a good time for Keima to call. "Hey," he spoke through the receiver, throat dry and parched. He uselessly tried clearing it.
"Are you okay?" Keima's voice was laced with worry. Kiyoshi insisted on focusing on his friend's motive to ring him. "No, what happened to you? If. . . you want to tell me."
So that's how he wanted to play? Kiyoshi was aware his bitterness was irrational. He had gladly forgotten Kiyoshi was working towards an important objective as well and just when he observed something wrong, his friend mode switched on.
"No," Kiyoshi said with force, imagining Keima's hurt expression. "What's up?"
Keima was not replying, messing with Kiyoshi's patience. He was about to shout when Keima beat him to it.
"We made it to the semifinals," he said with gentle nostalgia through a smile. "Against Mikage. Then Teikoku." He added a little shaky, "I thought I should tell you."
'Because Kiyoshi would be happy for him,' was left unsaid. Kiyoshi gnawed his lip, unable to muster the feelings he was obligated to give. He vouched for an impassive but honest congrats and let the topic die on his end.
"I'm sorry," Keima said after the dead silence. "I haven't asked about Kidokawa--"
"You have," Kiyoshi cut him off. "I just didn't want to tell you." If Keima had insisted, he would have fallen in the habit he wanted to break. It wasn't his fault. It was Kiyoshi's. And it hurt to admit.
"You don't want to tell me?" Keima used a gentler, almost begging tone that made Kiyoshi feel guilty. He was pressing on the wound without knowing. Kiyoshi hid his eyes behind his arm, drawing his knees close for cover and support. His throat throbbed around a lump, eyes stinging with pressure. Keima hadn't witnessed this for a while; it made Kiyoshi self-conscious.
"I am here for you. I want you to know that."
The words caused Kiyoshi to think about him instead, the opposite of his friend's intentions. "When is the match?"
There was a defeated silence. ". . . Sunday. In Mikage, Shinjuku. That's why Tengawara and Mikage are always in the same block."
Kiyoshi lifted an eyebrow and a random memory flashed through his mind. "Why are the Kanto prelims not over? Kidokawa already classified."
Keima made a sound. "An accident happened. I don't know much." He didn't like spreading rumors, so if he had heard something, he wouldn't say. Was it related to the meeting in Teikoku? The one Kidou-san mentioned?
Who knows.
So, Sunday, huh? "Can I go?" The question made Keima yelp in surprise. Kiyoshi chuckled humorlessly. "Were there many people last year?"
"Err, no--I don't remember. Are you sure?" Kiyoshi smiled at his friend's concern, the love he wanted.
"It's a weekend so I can--it's an important match, right?" Kiyoshi swiftly corrected himself.
"If there aren't many people then it's not important for others." Keima chuckled dryly.
Kiyoshi shrugged, the corner of his lips tugging to the side. "If it has meaning to someone important, then what do others matter?"
Instead of awkward, the pause made him proud of his flirtation. If Keima was important to him and Kiyoshi cared about the match, who else matters? "You are right," Keima finally said.
"If you win, I'll give you a reward~" Kiyoshi sang in a childish voice, his lower body tingling at the perverted implications.
Keima chuckled. "What if I lose?" he asked lightheartedly.
Kiyoshi bit his lip hungrily, feeling daring. "I'll comfort you." If proper human decency wasn't a thing between them, he wouldn't have hesitated to touch himself right now.
"I'll pass by leaving the invitation then. Tomorrow. My parents will be going too so. . . you can be with them if it makes things easier."
Kiyoshi could only respond with a weak, throaty sound. However, the thought of Keima's parents was turning off his climbing libido. Damn it.
"Thanks, Yoshii," Keima said softly, correcting his silly mistake. That gentle tone turned him on, snaking right into Kiyoshi's inner ear. He almost missed Keima's next words. "After we win, I will make it up to you. Promise."
Sure he will, Kiyoshi mentally replied, the last of Keima's words fading into oblivion. He would make sure to demand every ounce of love Keima hadn't given him so far. The red oni was thirsty, and it had to be fed. Kiyoshi would do what he can until then.
Sly As a Snake | End