“Ugh!” Makoto Souda sank into one of the two overstuffed recliners pushed close to the TV set, elbowing several teammates out of the way. They stormed into various corners of the rec room, with the exception of Nitta and Kisugi, who dusted themselves off and settled for the arms. Souda ignored them and clutched his stomach, his black eyes bulging. “I swear, if I eat another rice cracker, I’m gonna spew all over the place! Who made up these dumb rules, anyway?!”

The Tachibana brothers, looking to the world like twin gargoyles haunting the back of the sofa, giggled as the majority of the Japan Youth team tried to fade into the paneling. “You can’t blame us!” Masao hit the pause button on the VCR remote, sending the little Tsubasa collapsing on the screen into temporary stasis. His brother rearranged the sheaf of papers in his hands. “If you have a problem, take it up with our captain!”

“Besides,” Kazuo added with a smirk, “you should be proud! Not many people have an eye like yours!”

From the opposite side of the room, Ishizaki gulped, nervously tightening the bandanna tied Rambo-style around his shorn head. ‘I don’t think I’d want that kind of eye.”

“Quit stalling and throw that thing already,” Izawa retorted, thrusting a finger in the direction of the dart board in front of them. “This is the last round. Loser has to be the winner’s personal slave for the rest of the trip, you got that?”

The simian player grinned at him. “How can you say that, knowing that you’re going to lose? You just sealed your fate, pal!” He took the dart from Izawa and sauntered backwards a few steps, all the while casting jaunty looks at various members of his audience. “Wish him luck, guys! He’s gonna need a lot of sympathy in a little while...”

“Che!” His long-haired opponent snorted, his hands on his hips. Ishizaki winked at him and ran his finger down the length the dart. “Get on with it, you moron! And you can quit posing, because nobody’s watching!”

Ishizaki obeyed, humbled. He closed his eyes, raised his arm, and threw the dart forward blindly.

Thwap! Izawa let out a mocking laugh. Ishizaki opened his eyes to see the dart, only partially imbedded into the board’s white outer rim, dislodge itself from its target and fall to the floor. “Kuso...”

His opponent tossed his hair back in a triumphant gesture and picked up the dart, holding it inches away from the boy’s face. “Should we call that a freebie?”

“Urusei!” Ishizaki snapped, his face red with humiliation. “How was I supposed to know that my chi would betray me?”

“Next time tie that bandanna tighter. I think your brain’s starting to leak out again.” Izawa waved him away, his eyes twinkling. “Now stand aside. I’m going to end this once and for all.”

Ishizaki fell back, sulking. However, his expression brightened as he watched the other boy prepare to launch. He tiptoed behind him, his mind dancing with hell’s mischief. As Izawa drew his arm back, the monkey boy did the same, and when he followed through--

“Ouch!!” Izawa stumbled forward as Ishizaki jabbed him in the spine with his index finger. The dart flew out of his hand and sailed across the room, landing somewhere between the door and the refrigerator. “What are you doing, you idiot? That hurt!”

“I was just returning the favor!” Ishizaki threw his hands in front of his face to ward off any prospective blows. “It’s not fair that only I get a free throw! Come on, let’s give it one more shot!”

“Fine,” was the heated reply. “Go find the dart, and we’ll play.”

“Uh...” Sweat beaded on the monkey boy’s forehead. He laughed uneasily, straining his eyes and staring off into every possible nook and cranny the room had to offer. “Uh...ne, Izawa kun, can’t you give me one little hint?”

“Forget it.” Izawa shook his head, disgusted. “I give up, let’s call it a draw. It’s too late for this, anyway.”

Ishizaki was relieved. He yanked the bandanna off his head and gave his chin a quick mop. “What are we gonna do now?”

The two players gazed around the room skeptically. The long-haired boy scratched his head, bewildered. Nearly the entire team had squashed itself into a modest sized sofa and its two surrounding chairs--players were stuffed between cushions, draped over each other’s feet, and hanging off the ends like birds in a pet shop cage. They were completely absorbed in the game on the TV screen, but every so often one or two of them would stoop over from their seats and meticulously count out a number of rice crackers from the package in the center of the room. Ishizaki hadn’t even opened his mouth halfway when one of his teammates sensed his presence and turned to greet him with a diabolical grin.

“Join us,” Kazuo said.

Ishizaki and Izawa gulped. Was it just them, or did his head just do a 180? They exchanged terrified looks. “Well, actually...” Izawa stammered.

“You can’t escape us forever!” Masao grinned and elbowed his brother, who counted out several sheets of paper and handed them to the newcomers. “Pull up a patch of floor, you two. You’re just in time! The first half of the game is almost over, and then the real fun’ll start!”

As if on cue, Souda groaned.

“What game?” Ishizaki asked.

Izawa looked down at the paper. “Nankatsu versus Toho: A Drinking Game by the Fabulous Tachibana Brothers.” He shot an accusing glance at them. “Kora! You’re not supposed to drink during soccer season! Now doesn’t this explain a lot!?”

“Simmer down.” Kazuo eyed him coldly. “My brother and I may not be as pure and upright as you two princes, but we can play by the rules as well as anyone.”

“We’ve been using rice crackers instead,” little Mitsuru Sano said brightly, beaming from beneath his impressive mop. “We’re not even halfway through the game, but we’re all ready to throw up right now!”

The younger Tachibana nudged his sibling, smiling wickedly. “Looks like we got what we wanted anyway, Oniichan! They’re eating out of our hands!”

Kazuo nudged him back, harder. Masao further reciprocated, and the resulting shoving match sent both twins flat on their backs on the floor behind the couch.

“Crazy monkeys...” Izawa gave them a long, disapproving look and helped himself to their seat. Ishizaki clambered up to join him, eager to exercise his gluttony.

“Hey!” he called down, spying the near-empty package in the midst of the swarm. “Didn’t you guys say there’s a lot of tape left? What happens when we run out of crackers?”

“Typical question,” Izawa smirked.

“Daijyobu desu!” Nitta gave them a thumbs’ up sign. “We sent Matsuyama san to buy some candy. It’ll be more expensive, but we’ll get sicker faster, don’t you think?” The younger player smiled, cutely displaying his fangs.

Ishizaki stared at him. “You sure have some strange pastimes.”

Silence reigned for a few uncomfortable minutes, until Souda let out a loud, fake-sounding cough. All eyes turned on him. “Now that you mention it, it’s about time Matsuyama came back,” he said shamefacedly. “Taking his time, isn’t he?”

“Do you think he’s hurt?” Morisaki gazed up at him from the foot of the chair. He seemed seriously disturbed by the prospect. “There’s the storm, and--”

“If he went out in this weather, he deserves everything he gets,” the spiky-haired player interrupted. Morisaki was crestfallen. “Going out late at night before the biggest game of the season---mattaku! That guy needs to get his priorities straight!”

A scowl darkened Ishizaki’s features. He made a snorting sound. “Yeah, you tell ‘im , man.”

“Nani ya?!!!” Souda leapt to his feet in a startling motion, sending Kisugi and Nitta flying in opposite directions. “Why you little--”

“Souda san, please calm down!” Nitta protested, now lying in Takasugi’s lap. “You know that Matsuyama san didn’t want to go out in the rain! He--”

Souda froze, his hand poised inches from Ishizaki’s jaw. “What the frig are you talking about?!” he demanded.

“We forced him to go when you were busy puking in that plant over there.” Kazuo emerged from behind the sofa, his hair askew. He giggled. “What a su-cker...”

“Hey!” came a voice near the refrigerator in the far left corner of the room. “I heard that! Don’t you go on thinking I’ve forgotten!”

The older Tachibana blinked. Souda withdrew his hand from Ishizaki’s face and used it to casually fix his hair. Morisaki slowly rose from his seat on the floor, his eyes wide with expectation. “Sono koe wa...”

“Matsuyama?!” Ishizaki started, nearly toppling off his precarious perch. Izawa caught his shoulders and hauled him upright. “What the h--how did you get in here?!”

Matsuyama crawled out from behind the refrigerator, his body taut as a drawn bow. He hair hung in half-dried clumps around his blotchy face, but his clothes were still soaked, and he hugged his sides as he crossed to their side of the room, vainly attempting to warm himself. “I came through the door, Ishizaki. What did you think I did, swing in on a vine?!”

“What are you dumping on me for?!” the simian boy retorted. “I didn’t have anything to do with this, I tell you!”

“You let this happen,” Matsuyama said bitterly. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re as guilty as he is.”

“What are you talking about?” Izawa asked, his thick brows softened with concern.

Matsuyama didn’t answer. He stalked straight through the group, plowing a hand through his damp black tresses. Ignoring the sympathetic stares of his teammates, he flopped down on the floor between Nitta and Kisugi.

“Are you all right?” Morisaki asked tentatively.

Still no answer. The unfortunate captain of Furano drew a deep breath and let it out in a long, whistling sigh, leaning forward on his elbows and plunging both his hands into his hair. “God, what I’ve gone through for you people...” he said in a muffled voice. “Playing by your side. Boosting your morale. Standing with you against the enemy when there wasn’t a hope left in the world! Why are you doing this to me?! God!” His shoulders shook, and he let out a piteous sob.

Nitta looked distressed. “Matsuyama san...” “Kuso!!” Matsuyama straightened with a jolt, tossing his hair out of his eyes defiantly. “How could you?!” He whipped an arm out in the direction of the tiny figure to his right. “Damn you, Sano! How could you be so heartless when I’ve given my world to you?!”

“Sano?!!” Ishizaki and Izawa spluttered simultaneously, grabbing each other by the shirt in order to keep from ending up like the Tachibanas.

The diminutive player, tucked safely beside his gargantuan protector, smiled. Strangely enough, he seemed to enjoy the attention. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Damn you!” Matsuyama exploded. “Damn you straight to hell, you disgusting little monster! Do you have any idea what kind of mess is going on out there?! If I had waited any longer, I would’ve had to run home on the roofs of all the cars!”

The boy laughed. “Don’t look so upset! We would’ve called the police, but they just laugh at you if the person isn’t missing for at least seventy-two hours.”

“What did you do?” Izawa asked.

Sano grinned.

Matsuyama covered his face with his hands. “The worst thing!” he wailed. “He did the worst possible thing anyone could ever do to me!”

“What are you talking about?” Ishizaki asked.

“Well...” The younger player gazed benevolently at them. Jitou remained at his side, a dumbfounded statue. “You see, the luggage attendants at the airport can be really sloppy sometimes, and they don’t always--”

“Would you cut to the chase?!” Matsuyama interrupted angrily. “Tell them! Tell them how you broke into my suitcase--which was locked, mind you--rummaged through my things like a common criminal, and then STOLE my wallet with nothing but the worst intentions! Go on, tell them how you blackmailed me to go out in that hell--blackmailed me with the most precious thing I call my own!”

Sano blinked, stunned by the sudden violence of Matsuyama’s accusation. Fire surged forth from his teammates’ eyes. Hadn’t they seen it? For the first time since his perpetration, he became acutely aware of the consequences he faced. And what a terrible future it promised...”Ano....” he said in a tiny voice. “A...no...”

Ishizaki gave him an icy look. “So that’s it, isn’t it?”

“Hmph.” Izawa folded his arms across his chest. “I should’ve known. Really, stealing is a felony, isn’t it? You could be sent to jail if you’re not careful, Sano.”

“Jail’s too good for him!” Matsuyama snapped. “I say we string him up on the practice field and let the rain rot the meat from his bones!”

“Sonna...” the boy shrank back against his large companion, terror glazing his child-like features. “It’s a lie! Mina san, Matsuyama san is lying to you! That’s not what happened at all! I--”

Matsuyama shifted closer to Sano and held his fist menacingly in front of his face. “You dare deny this?” he asked with a bloodthirsty grin, slowly raising his fist until it barely touched the boy’s chin. “Ii ka! There’s nowhere for you to hide, little man!”

Sano nodded rapidly, edging back on his knees as the black-haired defender closed in on him. His lower lip trembled, and tears flooded his eyes. He closed them, feeling wetness trickle down his cheeks as he clasped his hands together in futile prayer. Onegai...mina san, tasukete...

Matsuyama lowered his fist, scowling. Before him stood none other than Hiroshi Jitou himself, his arms spread out in a massive barrier to protect his favorite little sidekick. “Yameru tai!!”

Sano’s eyes flew open. “Jitou san!” he cried. “Jitou san, get away!”

Matsuyama’s lips curved downward in a thin, grim frown. He backed away from the enormous fellow ever-so-slowly, measuring his movements with the caution of a prizefighter. “You have got to be kidding me,” he said darkly. “Please tell me this is a joke.”

“I won’t let you hurt Sano,” Jitou thundered, lashing a massive arm in his opponent’s direction. The other boy dodged easily. “If you touch so much as a hair on his head, I’ll pound your brains into your shoes!”

“Now you’re talking!” Souda said enthusiastically, punching the air with his index finger. “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”

“Jitou san, stop it!” Sano’s voice trilled through the commotion. “Please, don’t hurt him because of what I did! This isn’t what you think!”

Souda ceased chanting. He and the other members of the Japan Youth team exchanged troubled looks as the boy fell forward on his knees, sobbing, his hair hanging in two brown trails over his shoulders. “Jitou san..mina san...please, don’t fight anymore! What Matsuyama san told you isn’t all that happened! None of you know--not one of you besides Matsuyama san knows why he really did everything I told him to! He went out in the middle of that awful storm, but not because I stole his wallet! No! I gave it back to him as soon as we got to the hotel, honest! I--” Sano hiccuped, brushing his hair out of his face.

Matsuyama took a step toward him and was quickly flanked by Jitou. “Sano...” he said, his own voice wavering, “don’t...”

The boy shook his head vehemently. “No! I have to tell the truth once and for all! You can’t stop me! Listen to me, everybody! As soon as I found out that I had Matsuyama san’s suitcase, I gave it right back! I gave him everything! But his luggage wasn’t labeled, so there was no way I could find out whose it was unless I....I didn’t mean to cause any trouble! It was just one little slip of paper, a slip of paper with a couple of numbers written on it, but Matsuyama san must’ve known it was missing, because he--” He shuddered. “It was too much to resist. We were so nervous about the game, and we were just starting to forget about all that trouble when we ran out of snacks...everything would’ve been ruined if I didn’t do anything! Don’t you see?”

He was answered by thoughtful silence.

“I don’t get it,” Souda finally said.

“No kidding.” At long last, the missing Tachibana hauled himself upright on his Oniichan’s shoulder, leering at the others with a mixture of annoyance and mild confusion. “What’s the deal, dude? You gonna tell us about the dirty deed or are we gonna have to beat it out of you?”

“Yeah, you’d better spill it,” Kazuo piped up.

Jitou raised a hand and slowly clenched it into a fist. The twins shut up fast.

“I don’t know.” Sano let his head hang loose on his shoulders, lost in the sleepy-dazed aftermath of hysteria. “ I never thought I’d be good at impressions. It was an experiment more than anything--I even surprised myself when I made that phone call.”

Matsuyama gulped.

“Sano.” Izawa stared at him dead-on. “What did you do?”

“Well...” The boy gave him a shy smile. “I waited until Matsuyama san and I were alone in the lobby and asked him to buy me a soda, as sort of a reward for returning his suitcase. And when he came back...”

The room froze over. Oh, my God....

“I was on the phone with his girlfriend. I called her up and, using Matsuyama san’s voice, I told her that he was having serious trouble concentrating on the game, and that he needed her to free him from a burden so he could play with a clear conscience.”

His teammates blinked. Matsuyama screamed.

Sano giggled. “I told her that he wasn’t in love with her anymore. I said that he was gay and in love with Jitou san, and that he needed her approval to start their relationship. You should’ve seen the look on the poor guy’s face! He threw himself at my feet and starting crying like a baby, so I told him that if he went out and replenished our resources, I’d give him back the phone number so he could set things right. And here it is.” He withdrew a slip of paper from his pocket and danced daintily over to his victim. “Hai.”

Matsuyama snatched it from him. “Teme! Never speak to me again!”

The deed done, the young soccer player faced the others with a dazzling smile. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Who are you trying to convince?” Ishizaki muttered. “Us or yourself?”

“So you not only blackmailed Matsuyama, but betrayed your best friend as well.” Kazuo said slowly, his eyes gleaming with a strange, almost reptilian light. “You’ve been a bad boy, Sano! You’re going to have to be punished.”

“He was the only person I could think of on such short notice!” Sano retorted. “It’s not like I told Yoshiko chan he was gay, just--”

“That would be a given, wouldn’t it?” “Sonna...” The boy grew dangerously pale. He bit his lower lip, rubbing his hands together as if he were trying to warm the life back into them. “Jitou san,” he implored, gazing up at his large companion with dewy doe eyes, “Jitou san, I didn’t mean to hurt you! You aren’t angry, are you? I would never betray you, you know that! I...”

Jitou gave him a feeble smile. “Tai...” was all he could say.

“I’m bored,” Masao said loudly. “Got any more bright ideas?”

Kazuo, however, was not listening. He hugged himself and rocked back and forth, an idiotic grin stretching from one side of his face to the other. “Oh, he’s sooooo bad,” he whispered, enraptured. “The little guy is finally one of us!”

Sano broke from Jitou’s fatherly embrace just long enough to glare at the older Tachibana. “Who are you calling little?”

“Oi, Matsuyama,” Souda said suddenly, raising a dark brow. “What’s up with you? How come you don’t know your own girlfriend’s phone number?” He shook his head, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval. “Now that is a shame. Cute little girl like that.”

Matsuyama’s cheeks grew redder than a radish. “Shut the hell up!” he screamed.

As if on cue, everyone in the room stopped what they were doing, turned, and stared.

Ishizaki let out a low whistle. “Time to switch to Decaf, Hikaru chan!”

“Ma, ma!” Nitta stood up, smiling painfully as he waved their bad feelings away . “Let’s calm down now, okay? We still have a game to watch, and I’m sure we can all play nicely, right?” He giggled nervously, awaiting their approval.

Souda and Matsuyama stared at each other. The taller player shrugged.

“We can’t,” Matsuyama told them. “I got bored waiting for the taxi, so I ate all the M&Ms. Sorry, guys, but that’s my revenge.”

“Maaaan..” Ishizaki whined, making a fist and slapping the side of the couch. “You suck! My stomach is starting to digest itself.... how are we going to start the game up again with no candy?!”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” a voice spoke up. The players slowly turned, their eyes opening wide enough to be included on most maps. That voice...it was like warm molasses on a icy winter’s day, like an angel’s kiss on a fevered brow. Never in their short, wild lives had they ever witnessed a beauty to rival the one they saw in Jun Misugi as he stood in the doorway, a shopping bag tucked under his arm, smiling with the radiance of a thousand stars.

Misugi...Matsuyama opened his mouth to speak, but the words dissolved like crystalline mist in his throat long before they reached the open air.. His chest was on fire, he couldn’t think straight. Could this be the one he was waiting for? The one who--

Misugi let out a semi-startled cry as the raven-haired captain of Furano charged at him and swept him into his arms. His shopping bag fell to the floor. “Ma-”

“Misugi...” Matsuyama buried his face in his gentle friend’s neck, bawling as if he had just been reunited with a long lost lover. “Misugiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! Where have you been all this time? This place has been total hell! Everyone’s been so mean to me-why weren’t you here? You could’ve stopped this--you would’ve stopped this, wouldn’t you?”

“Uh..” Misugi managed a ponderous smile. Matsuyama, did you just kiss me? “I’m sorry I haven’t been around for awhile, guys. I didn’t mean to miss practice, or your party, but--”

“Who’s having a party?” Kazuo grinned at him from behind the sofa. “We did this all for you and you alone, Jun chan.”

“I would’ve come back earlier, but I was at the new Globe theater making an illegal video of Henry V for Yayoi.” The brown haired defender gently freed himself from Matsuyama’s viselike embrace, but kept his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Girls..they like that Shakespeare stuff. I do too, I guess.” He raised an eyebrow as he saw Ishizaki dive off the top of the couch like the monkey he was and land on his feet a few yards away from the shopping bag. “Oh, and I bought you all some chocolates. Cadbury is a very important company in England, so I--” Ishizaki was already digging into the box. Misugi smiled, pleased. “How are they?”

“You’re so cool, Misugi,” Ishizaki said. Or, at least, that’s what he tried to say. Around a mouthful of gooey, chewy, chocolatey caramel, his response was garbled to a few simian chuckles. He chewed harder, trying to free his teeth to speak. And harder. Harder still. All he succeeding in doing was wrapping tough threads all over the inside of his mouth, and he let out an agonized cry, tears welling at the corners of his eyes.

“Ishizaki,” Kazuo called as the smooth headed boy began to hop around, flailing his arms wildly. “Ishizaki, what the HELL are you doing?”

“He’s dancing for us,” Sano said, delighted.

“Oh dear...” Misugi’s well-crafted features grew pale. “I know that look well enough. His teeth are stuck! Somebody, call the fire department!”

Masao grabbed Ishizaki’s chin and pulled as hard as he could. “It’s no use. This stuff is worse than Superglue!”

“Oh, damn,” Souda said emphatically, slapping himself in the forehead. “Now isn’t this just great? We’re never going to get any sleep tonight, are we?!”