Chapter Text
Shaking his head Jean attempted to focus on the drill happening around him. Practice had been going on for about an hour now and he couldn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat anytime the plexiglass doors opened to admit one of the coaches. The Kathy Ferdinand Show was an early morning program similar to Good Morning America which meant the interview should’ve already been well underway. Jean wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or apprehensive that nothing had happened so far; the stress of remaining on high alert was beginning to wear him down. Practice seemed to go on forever making Jean feel like he’d aged a decade by the time the final buzzer sounded signaling the end of the AM session. He’d definitely be seeking retribution from his little diable rouge later for all the added stress. As it was he dutifully traipsed after his team to shower and grab lunch.
When he entered the athlete’s dining hall Jean pulled up short. Ahmad was bent over backwards on one of the tables spread throughout the room struggling against an upperclassman who had him pinned down. Jean recognized him as a semi-regular starter by the name of Lucas Schmidt. Rumor had it the other boy was slated to play for New Orleans next year. The person doing the beating was someone with whom Jean was extremely familiar, TJ Williams, a favorite of Riko’s and someone who genuinely enjoyed following his every order. Jean’s initial reaction was to run. He’d promised Neil he would stay out of trouble but this was just a kid, their kid, and he felt a surge of rage propel him forward.
His teammates who had gathered around to watch parted like the Red Sea as Jean stalked toward the trio with murderous intent. He barreled into Williams not unlike how he’d deliver a brutal check on the court. It was almost cartoonish the way the other boy flew across the room to fall awkwardly on his side. Jean didn’t wait to see if he got back up and used the nearby chair to help boost his jump over the table to land on the other side where Schmidt was situated still holding down Ahmad. He wasted no time listening to the older boy babble out a string of protests cutting them off with a swift and brutal uppercut. Jean then reached down to push at Ahmad’s arm to get him moving.
“You’re going to regret that Moreau,” Williams said as he regained his feet.
“Va te faire foutre*,” Jean spat and came around the table to stand in front of Ahmad who was clutching at his stomach protectively. He glanced over his shoulder at him. “Where’s Fuentes?”
“S-showering still,” Ahmad stammered. “You know how girls are.”
“Let’s—”
The rest of Jean’s statement was lost from a wild strike to the side his mouth. He felt his neck crack as his head whipped to the side from the resulting impact. Before another hit could land Jean lashed out with his foot to score a vicious kick to the other boy’s knee. When he collapsed from the blow Jean saw his chance and shoved Ahmad toward to exit while keeping an eye on the rest of the crowd. He met their eyes not bothering to hide his disgust and ire.
“Fucking hurry up,” Jean ordered clutching a fistful of the other boy’s shirt to fling him forward. “If they went after you I guarantee Fuentes was targeted as well.”
“Shit, I thought he was just pissed for that terrible pass I threw earlier.”
It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to have small fights breakout over poor performance during a practice, but Jean knew the timing was a little too coincidental. This was either in retaliation to something Neil had done during the broadcast or even more likely a crime of opportunity set up by Riko knowing he wouldn’t be here to defend them. Either way that meant the attack on Ahmad wasn’t an isolated incident. Ignoring his own mounting concern for the redhead he decided to pick up the pace transitioning into a light jog figuring the other boy would follow. When he reached the door to the women’s locker room he paused as Johnson hobbled out holding his bleeding nose.
“The Fu—”
Jean didn’t let him finish and instead smashed his elbow into the side his head dropping him to the ground.
“Come on,” Jean said, nudging Ahmad past the downed body and into the foyer of the women’s locker room.
“But what about him?” Ahmad asked pointing to the backliner currently decorating the hall.
“You really want to stick around to check on an asshole who just stumbled out of the women’s locker room with a fucking bloody face? Merde, get your head on straight Ahmad. It’s basic math,” Jean said. “Now come on let’s find Fuentes.”
They cautiously moved as one through the short entranceway which led into a small lounge area. It was decorated sparingly with only a loveseat and leather armchair, both black. Edgar Allan was never known to have many female players, the most famous of which was Theodora Muldani, that meant their amenities were significantly underwhelming in comparison to what the boys had.
Ahmad took the lead as they ventured further in toward the changing room and shower area. When they got closer the soft sound of crying made Jean take the last couple of steps at a sprint until he spied the target of their search.
Fuentes sat huddled on the floor near the opening of the bathroom sobbing quietly with her knees curled in tight toward her chest. What surprised him though was the person crouched next to her. Jenkins was one of only three females on the Ravens this year. She was a striker, like Riko, but that’s where the similarities ended. Jenkins was tall at around 5’10” with long blonde hair that fell perfectly straight to the middle of her back, on the rare occasions she wore it down. She was ideal marketing material which was probably why Tetsuji had chosen to include her in the new PR campaign.
At their hurried entrance both girls looked up to stare at them. Jean thew out an arm to prevent Ahmad from lurching forward when he saw how Fuentes flinched at the erratic movement.
“Can we come closer?”
Jenkins turned to lock eyes with her charge before she nodded indicating they could approach.
Jean moved slowly and steadily until he was just out of arm’s reach and then sat down. “What happened?”
Apparently that was the wrong thing to ask because Fuentes started crying even harder and it earned him a sharp glare from the blonde.
“Nice job Moreau.”
“Enculer, pardon,” Jean said raising his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture. “I’m not good with…”
“Crying women? Gee, color me shocked Moreau,” Jenkins said sarcastically. “I’ve seen what constitutes comfort in your book. You literally throw insults at the other person until they get pissed and forget why they were upset in the first place.”
“Th-that’s not true,” Jean protested.
“I may not be fluent in French, but I know enough to understand what bickering sounds like in any language.” The striker stood and walked toward the nearest cubby grabbing a discarded cup of what must be water or sports drink. “You and Neil fight like it’s going out of style. Neither of you can go two seconds during practice without yelling something at each other.”
Jean felt his face heat up in embarrassment as he watched Jenkins bend down to offer the cup to Fuentes. He hadn’t realized he’d changed so much. Neil had a way of getting under his skin and chipping away at the ice surrounding his heart until he was left with nothing but a puddle. Every time a new piece melted it left him feeling raw and exposed but then the redhead would be there with his off-key singing, or a gentle hand carding through his hair and it was like a balm, instantly soothing away any lingering negative feelings.
“Hey earth to Moreau,” Jenkins said, waving a hand in front of his face. She must’ve been calling his name for awhile now. “Jesus Christ do I have to do everything? I need you to focus and check on tweedle dumb over there while I handle Fuentes. Deal with your own issues some other time. Have a heart to heart over a cup of coffee, go to couple’s counseling, I don’t care. We have bigger problems right now.”
It was tempting to snap back at the blonde how Neil preferred tea over coffee but Jean understood the time for banter was over so he quickly turned his mind to other matters like checking on Ahmad. He went down his checklist of questions almost routine at this point with how frequently Neil and him went through them. Are you bleeding anywhere? Do you feel dizzy or nauseous? Any sharp pain? Jean then finished with a quick palpation exam checking for any broken bones.
“So, great news,” Jean said. “It’s twins.”
At Ahmad’s dumbfounded expression Jean felt a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
“Y-you, ugh…what the fuck man?”
“You should see your face.”
Ahmad threw his hands dramatically into the air. “How has Neil not murdered you yet?”
“He offered,” Jean admitted thinking back to their early days when Neil volunteered his more illicit services. It was a huge turning point in their partnership and though it was tainted with the memory of blood and pain there were certain parts of it the Frenchman treasured.
“Wait offered? Don’t you mean threatened?”
From her place on the ground Jenkins sent him a too knowing look. It was no secret Jean had tried to end his life on multiple occasions, but Ravens were the definition of willful blindness. Ravens came to Edgar Allan University for one reason only: to play Exy. Every athlete the master accepted was expected to sign to a professional team upon graduation.
School, on the other hand, was a secondary concern for all of them. They were all enrolled in the same undergraduate degree and took their classes together in groups of three or four. It’s why Neil had to meet with the coach that terrible day to get special permission for his class schedule. Had the young Moriyama heir not approved it ahead of time Neil would’ve been forced into the same pinhole major as everyone else on the team. Thanks to Neil’s special accommodation two of the other underclassmen were forced to switch majors in order to accompany him to lectures. It did the redhead no favors in lessening the animosity already aimed at him.
The weren’t even supposed to go anywhere without taking at least one teammate along. It was an intense lifestyle. They lived and breathed Exy on a scale no other team could or would. That type of forced integration and malevolent punishments put them on a whole different scale than any of their opponents. In short, they were the complete opposite of everything the PSU Foxes represented.
“Too bad for you I didn’t take him up on it so now you are stuck with me,” Jean said and thumped the other boy hard on the back.
“Owwww, that was unnecessary.”
“Sadly you’ll live. No broken bones that I could tell,” Jean diagnosed, reaching up to rub at his aching jaw. “You will likely be sore for the next couple of days, but it shouldn’t be any worse than one of coach’s beatings.”
“How do you know all this stuff?” Ahmad asked. “Like how do you know what questions to ask and where and how hard to touch?”
“I know Dr. Josten-Moreau over there gave you a clean bill of health, but I really think you ought to get your vision checked,” Jenkins said as she helped Fuentes to her feet.
“Why is Neil’s name first?”
“Because clearly he’s the brains of the operation,” the blonde said, guiding the younger girl away from the wall. “Let’s move this little shindig into the foyer my ass is freezing after sitting on the floor for the past twenty minutes; she’s ready to talk.”
The four of them moved back into the lounge area. The girls took the couch while Jean chose to lean against the whiteboard motioning for Ahmad to take the armchair and waited.
“I-I was in the shower,” Fuentes began. “I heard someone come in behind me and thought it was one of the other girls.”
Her breath hitched and Jenkins gave her a small nod of encouragement.
“A large hand reached around to cover my mouth and I panicked. I tried to break free, I kicked and scratched but he wouldn’t let go,” she said and Jean noticed she had to clasp her hands together to stop them from shaking. “I finally managed to get a foot against the base of the shower and got enough leverage to throw him off me. It was Johnson.”
Jean already knew who it was but knowing what he did, or tried to do, made him regret not getting another shot in. He hoped the boy had a severe concussion from his elbow earlier.
“He said things to me,” Fuentes admitted. “He said I deserved this and that if I ever wanted to step onto the court during an actual match I’d have to earn it; pay my dues.”
“Disgusting pig,” Jenkins spat.
“So what happened after that?” Ahmad asked. “We ran into Johnson on our way in. Jean decked him one good.”
The blonde striker raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment.
“When I faced him we grappled for a little bit until I slipped on the wet floor,” Fuentes continued. “He land-landed on top of m-me and I hit the back of my head pretty hard on the tiles that’s when Bobbi came in.”
Readjusting his position so he could view the couch a little better Jean tried to recall what he knew about the only female striker currently on the Ravens lineup. Bobbi Jenkins, from what he remembered, came from an entirely average family. Maybe a few to many siblings, but otherwise nothing out of the normal. There were no nasty divorces, no crazy aunt with drug problems, and no ties to the darker side of Edgar Allan that he knew of. It was a mystery to him why she would choose this particular injustice to interfere with after years of doing nothing.
“I can see the wheels turning from all the way over here asshole,” Jenkins said, interrupting his train of thought. “Don’t hurt yourself. I don’t want to have to deal with a homicidal redhead today too. It was by pure chance I happened upon the scene. I forgot my playbook so I came back to grab it and heard a commotion in the communal showers so I went to look. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to hook up in there.”
Jean nodded. While relationships were forbidden in the Nest Coach Moriyama understood the importance of letting out sexual frustration and usually turned a blind eye to it as long as it didn’t become a distraction. Since most of the dorm rooms lacked doors a lot of the team preferred to hook up in the various amenities from the club house to the small study rooms; nothing was off limits.
“When I quickly realized it wasn’t consensual I drop kicked the bastard in the balls. It was just an added bonus his sweats were already pulled down. Not sure if he’ll ever be able to have kids after this,” Jenkins said with a savage grin on her face. “When he fell onto his back clutching what was left of his little dick I stepped on his face and got Fuentes out of there. By the time I had her dressed I saw him limping away nursing his wounds.”
“Jesus,” Ahmad said his outrage evident. “What in the seven hells were those three thinking today?”
“You don’t seem surprised Jean,” Jenkins said, eyes piercing as she stared at him flatly from her place on the couch. “You were pretty tense during practice earlier.”
A headache was starting to build behind his eyes and Jean knew it had nothing to do with the blow he took to his face.
“I had a strong suspicion.”
“Does it have anything to do with Riko and Neil being out today?”
“You know it does Jenkins, stop playing dumb,” Jean said, stepping away from where he was leaning on the wall. “You graduate in less than two years; there’s no way you’re this naive.”
The blonde untangled herself from Fuentes with a cat-like grace and moved to join him stopping less than a foot away. It was shocking to remember she was only four inches shorter than him when he was able to meet her eyes with ease.
“Let’s just say I finally had the courage to pull back the curtain,” Jenkins said. “Something is changing around here and you and that redheaded pip-squeak are right at the center of it.”
“Your point?”
“I believe I already made it,” the striker said and pointed a thumb over her shoulder at Fuentes. “Don’t you think?”
“That remains to be seen,” Jean said and couldn’t hide the skepticism in his voice. “When—”
The door slammed open causing the four of them to jump.
“Finally, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
They all turned to stare at the abrupt intrusion. Jean struggled to remember his name, Costas? Carrera?
“Costanzo, what the hell? You ever hear of knocking?” Jenkins asked.
Jared Costanzo was a third string sub for the defensive dealer position and probably one of the few people Jean would categorize as neutral at the Nest. Due to their differences in skill they were rarely on the court at the same time and interacted even less off it.
“You’re a hard man to track down Moreau. The master is looking for you.”
“They’re back?” Jenkins asked.
“Only just,” Costanzo said. “They went straight to the court. You’re supposed to meet them out there.”
Something was off, but Jean turned to obey anyway feeling the other three teammates at his back tag along. When he stepped around the defensive dealer he caught a small movement out of the corner of his eye. Looking back he saw Costanzo had casually propped up a leg to block the narrow hallway gating everyone else.
“Just Moreau.”
It was an ominous sign and Jean locked eyes with Jenkins. “You ready to prove earlier wasn’t just a fluke?”
Quick on the uptake the tall blonde nodded. “I’ll keep your little chicks safe, Moreau. Just make sure momma and papa bird don’t take too long to collect them and naturally I’ll want a few words in return.”
“Naturally,” Jean parroted back and reentered the hall to make the familiar trek to court.
When Jean stepped through the plexiglass he was greeted by an unusual sight. Neil stood at the halfway line facing away from him showing off the name ‘MOREAU’ emblazoned across his back. It was the hoodie he’d stolen from Jean earlier this morning, but his lower half was now attired in what must have been his interview outfit. It was in the typical Raven dress code of all black but it was strange to see ‘normal’ clothes inside the enclosure. Riko and the master were standing nearby with a couple of assistant coaches. Unsure of what to do, Jean approached them with mounting trepidation.
Upon reaching the small gathering he finally set eyes on Neil’s face. Gone was the easy smile from last night’s win and in it’s place was a frightening blankness. The redhead’ s expression gave nothing away. Jean felt his eyes catch on the new bruises adorning his cheekbone and corner of his mouth an almost mirror image to the ones Jean could feel blossoming on his own face.
Something had happened.
—POV Shift—
The journey back to Edgar Allan passed by in a blur of nerves and anxiety as Neil’s imagination kicked into overdrive thinking up all sorts of horrible punishments, each idea more abhorrent than the next. He tried to regret his earlier actions, but no matter what angle he examined them from they felt necessary in his overarching plan to oust Riko out for good. If Kevin folded now he’d have to take a more extreme and direct approach to shove the Ravens’ self proclaimed number one off the deep end.
And then there was Andrew, with his steady gaze and easy acceptance always confusing Neil at every turn. He reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes recalling how only hours ago Andrew had done the same. It was unsettling just how capable the blonde goalkeeper was at pulling him off balance.
“We’ve landed.”
The low voice yanked Neil out of his head and into the present moment. The master thought it best to keep Riko and Neil as far apart as possible on the return trip so the redhead had been relegated to coach with a member of the security team as chaperone. There was a niggling in the back of Neil’s mind that said he should know the older Japanese man forced to babysit him, however he couldn’t quite place him.
Throwing out any distractions save surviving the remainder of today Neil stood to follow his escort off the plane. When the looming sight of Castle Evermore came into view it was hard not to shudder at the feeling of foreboding wafting off the building so strongly Neil felt like he should have been able to see it in the air. The short respite was over.
Neil’s eyes took a second to adjust to the darkness of the multilevel parking structure until they pulled up to the well lit glass entrance used to welcome VIPs situated directly under the East Tower lobby. Before clambering out of the vehicle the redhead was stopped by a sudden hand to his forearm.
“Mr. Wesninski,” that same deep voice from the plane said. “I am Daisuke. The little lord has tasked me with looking after you.”
Neil’s hackles rose. “Prove it.”
The security guard reached inside the neckline of his shirt and pulled out a thin chain upon which hung a small silver dragon. Neil learned a couple of weeks ago both brothers had a penchant for marking their people, Riko with his numbers and Ichirou with a dragon. Most of the young heir’s inner circle wore it proudly on their back in the the form of a traditional Japanese tattoo known as irezumi and it was seen as right of passage. It was also seen as a physical representation of their loyalty since Ichirou was born in the year of the dragon and in Japanese culture dragons represented bravery, wisdom, and strength. Ichirou had explained it to him once during one of his regular progress report phone calls. Apparently each color and variant meant different things. Then it clicked, Neil knew where he’d seen the other man before.
“You’re the bodyguard from that day at Millport.”
Daisuke inclined his head.
It all made sense now. For those final weeks before high school graduation Neil felt watched. He’d eventually written it off as his long cultivated psychosis built up over years on the run and his mother’s deep seated paranoia rubbing off on him. Though looking back on it now it stood to reason Ichirou would want to keep an eye on his investment. Neil knew the young heir had tried to get someone on the inside as he’d used that as one of his own bargaining chips, but he didn’t know Ichirou succeeded prior to Neil’s offer which begged to question why he’d accepted it in the first place.
“That’s great and all, but what does that mean ‘looking after’ me?”
“I am supposed to obey you in all things,” Daisuke replied and waved off his partner who was standing outside the passenger door impatiently.
Neil rubbed his mouth in thought wincing as his fingers touched his now split lip. It was a fine line he was walking. Ichirou’s protection came at a cost even if it came under the guise of fulfilling his contract. If he took the easy way out now that would mean breaking his agreement with Coach Moriyama to not undercut his authority. He had knowingly disobeyed a direct order and that came with consequences.
“Please thank him for me,” Neil said. “I will handle this one on my own.”
Daisuke nodded and Neil thought it looked like he had something else to add. The older man almost looked embarrassed.
“Any other messages for me?”
“Yes.”
Neil caught sight of movement in the side mirror and spotted Riko and Tetsuji getting out of the sedan behind them. “I’m on extremely limited time here, if you could perhaps speak a little faster.”
“He said…don’t ruin your pretty face.”
At Neil’s perplexed expression the security guard cleared his throat awkwardly and turned around to face the front, gripping the steering wheel once more. He didn’t have time to puzzle through the significance of that strange message and took what little time was left to mentally prepare. He breathed deep shoving Neil far into the recesses of his mind and opened a door long neglected. This was a task for Nathaniel.
When Neil finally stepped out of the SUV his mask was firmly in place and all he felt was a cold fury. Coach Moriyama beckoned him forward and instructed him to hand over his backpack to one of the awaiting staff members. It wasn’t hard to figure out where they were going, the court. He was about to ask if he should change into his playing gear when Riko shoved him hard between his shoulder blades bypassing the door to the locker room entirely.
The court was empty when they got there and Neil checked the overhead Jumbotron system to see the noon rest period countdown was going. The players would be on break for another hour yet. The redhead trailed dutifully behind the small gathering of people up to the half court line where he was told to stop.
He refused to turn when he heard the plexiglass door swing open and slam shut behind him. There was only one person they could be bringing to this little show. Several heartbeats later Jean was in front of him scrutinizing his face with sharp eyes. It was hard not to react to the other boy’s questioning stare and the new red marks Neil saw darkening his pale skin.
They only broke eye contact when a couple of the staff returned with buckets full of balls and Neil’s custom red racquet, which was pushed into his hands. Neil used a heavy racquet though most striker’s didn’t bother with them preferring to wield the easier light racquets for speed and accuracy due to often only having a split second to take a shot. Kevin had been forced to switch to a light racquet after his injury, but used to have a heavy when he played with the Ravens; Riko still used one.
Neil was leery of switching racquets at first having learned on a light one in his youth. There was a serious adjustment period during the start of the season at Millport, but heavies were more popular with defense and since he’d boldly claimed he wanted to play both striker and backliner it was nearly a requirement. Heavies were all about force and speed. Few offense players bothered with them, either not wanting the extra weight when trying to outstep defense or unable to perfect their aim with such an unwieldy stick. When mastered, though, heavy racquets could be devastating.
The first time Neil used one it felt clumsy just holding it. Taking shots with them was worse. The racquets were four to five times heavier than the one he’d grown up with. They sat different in his hands and dragged on his swings. Despite that, the sound the balls made as they ricocheted off the wall always sent a dark curl of power through his veins. Every rebound was a small boom.
As soon as Neil passed all thirteen of the basic Raven drills he was left with a scary accuracy that would have taken him years to learn on his own. Combined with the power of the heavy racquet his swing was downright formidable, practically a weapon. Neil had a sickening premonition he knew why he’d been presented with his racquet. His prescience proved true not a second later when Tetsuji spoke.
“You will shoot until you hit the target one hundred times.”
“Yes sir,” Neil agreed, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It did not disappoint.
“With Moreau in net,” the master instructed.
“What?”
“I said you will shoot until you hit the target, not what that target would be.”
Neil forced down the surge of anger threatening to break through his mask. “You’re joking.”
“Get in goal Jean,” Riko ordered reaching out to shove the taller boy.
Grey panicked eyes met icy blue as Jean stumbled forward looking impossibly small next to Riko even though Neil knew logistically that wasn’t accurate. Riko's Japanese genes had betrayed him just as Neil's tiny mother had betrayed him. Riko might be short, but he radiated power and lethal malevolence.
“He’s not wearing any armor,” Neil said, fighting to keep his voice even.
“Better hope your aim is good,” Riko taunted.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll invite the rest of the team out here to join us and you can watch him run the gauntlet until he loses consciousness.”
Neil grit his teeth against his burning rage. The gauntlet was a sadistic punishment usually reserved for only the most grievous of offenses like scoring an own-goal or purposely injuring another player off the court. It consisted of running suicides while the rest of the team lined the walls of the inner court slinging balls at the player. The only piece of armor allowed was a helmet. Normally it stopped when the person completed a set number of suicides or the balls ran out. Very rarely, it would continue until the court became too clogged with balls to safely run or the player collapsed, whichever came first.
Neil wanted to scream, to say ‘fuck you’, but he couldn’t. Ichirou’s protection only extended so far and Neil didn’t want to push the boundaries this soon.
“Jean,” Neil said, emotionlessly. “Get in goal.”
There was only one way to get through this without breaking down and that was as Nathaniel. He ignored the searching look in favor of grabbing a bucket of balls.
“Where do you want me to set up?”
Riko smiled. “The penalty line.”
Neil liked penalties because they were easy points, but because they were easy he usually found less satisfaction in them. Right now though, he hated them with a vengeance. Instead of decking Riko in his overly smug face the redhead walked past him to the designated spot envisioning all the ways the other striker would meet his gruesome end at the hands of his older brother.
This was why his mother said attachment was a weakness, this anguish right here as he scooped up the first ball and stared across the short distance at his partner. This was the price of caring. Neil swung. The ball flew harmlessly into the goal missing Jean by inches.
“Oh I forgot to add,” Riko said walking in a slow circle around Neil to lean in close to his ear. “Coach Nakamura is keeping tally. For every shot you miss…”
Neil bit back a cry at the unexpected strike of Riko’s own racquet landing across the unprotected back of his thighs.
“I’ll take great pleasure in disciplining you to make sure the lesson sticks.”
It was so tempting to rip the racquet out of Riko’s hand, but Neil settled for giving him his father’s smile and watching with great satisfaction as the other boy flinched. There was no benefit to delaying the inevitable so Neil scooped up another ball and hurled it at the net. When it struck Jean in chest Neil felt it as keenly as if he’d struck himself.
He’d made it through about another dozen shots before he missed one again flying past Jean’s head with enough force to ruffle his hair. The resulting sting from Riko’s racquet barely registered so focused was Neil on Jean’s well-being. He fell into a rhythm after that. As a result of an entire summer of sixteen hour days Neil was used to operating on autopilot. He didn’t even notice when the bucket of balls was replaced with a fresh one.
At a little over the halfway mark Jean dropped to one knee after a particularly fierce ball to his hip, but no one signaled him to halt so Neil kept shooting. When he made it to the final five shots he fired them off rapid succession wanting it over. The expression on Jean’s face was resigned and it cut Neil to the bone. He felt thrown back in time to those initial weeks. Neil had sorely disliked Jean the first several days, but he understood in retrospect the reasons behind the cold treatment. Jean was privy to the ugly truth about the Moriyamas, as he'd been sold to Tetsuji years ago to settle a debt with the head of the family. Jean hated his lot in life, but he was past the point where he could even think of fighting back. He wasn't a rebel; he was a survivor. He did whatever it took to get through the day, until now.
Now Neil had infected him with his stupidity hauling him smack dab in the middle of his fight with Riko and quite literally into the line of fire. He wondered if Jean would be able to look at him after this, or if he would flinch anytime Neil picked up a racquet going forward. He wasn’t concerned with the physical damage, those wounds would fade, no Neil was worried about the spiritual harm this would leave behind.
The last ball rolled off the tip of his racket to land one final hit to his partner. Distantly he heard Coach Nakamura yell out ‘one hundred’ but he didn’t dare move. He was Nathaniel right now. He didn't care that his friend was one soft breeze from blowing over, didn’t care he’d deliberately tarnished a game he loved with this barbarous display, and he certainly didn’t care that Riko now had a hand placed dangerously low on Neil’s hip.
“We done here?” Neil asked frigidly.
“Well it seems you are your father’s son after all,” Riko said squeezing his hip cruelly.
“You are free to go,” Coach Moriyama dismissed them. “Also, starting tomorrow the time you spent in beginners Japanese will now be spent on the court is that clear?”
“Yes master.”
Riko left him with one final smack of his racquet scoring a hit to his backside and then said something in rapid Japanese too quick for Neil to catch, but it sounded something like ‘it must be one tight hole’. The words didn’t make much sense to him so he wrote them off as having been misunderstood and focused on staying standing while the court cleared of spectators. The moment it was empty Neil staggered on unsteady feet toward the goal where is friend now lay in a crumpled heap.
“Jean,” Neil whispered gently trying to uncurl the older boy, a whimper of pain made him pause. “Jean?”
“Anyone ever tell you, you throw like a girl?”
A shudder went through Neil as the final pieces of his mask crumbled burying Nathaniel once more and he wrapped Jean as carefully as he could so he was resting in his lap.
"Some of the strongest people I've known are women,” Neil said, thinking about his mother standing unflinching in the face of his father's violent anger and her ruthlessly leaving bodies in their wake. “So I thank you for the complement my friend.”
“My pleasure, now get me the fuck up off this ground I’m pretty sure my ass has fallen asleep,” Jean said, starting to shift into an upright position. Neil tried to ignore the feeling of guilt when the other boy winced.
The clock overhead read there were only thirty minutes left until afternoon practice started and Neil knew they’d be expected to be in attendance so he gripped the tall Frenchman under the armpits hauling him up. Due to their height difference Neil was a tad too short to be of much help but he stuck nearby anyway as they made their slow journey off the court
“Don’t think we aren’t talking about those new marks on your face, I know for a fact I didn’t put them there,” Neil said giving the boy a sidelong look.
“Would certainly hope not after all that overtime I put in over the summer helping you with your aim,” Jean said while nudging him away from their normal turn and toward the staff suite. It was also where the women’s dorms were being the only exception to the no door rule after a few nasty hazing incidents. “There was small altercation.”
“Define small.”
By the time Jean finished filling him in Neil was shaking with anger and they’d arrived at the final door of the hall. Since his arms were full supporting his partner Jean ended up being the one to knock. They were greeted shortly by Ahmad who Neil noticed was sporting a nice shiner.
“Welcome back!”
It was a little too cheery following the events from earlier today but Neil nodded in thanks. The offensive dealer held the door open ushering them inside. Neil surveyed the room not quite sure what he expected. It was decked out in the typical Raven black with red accents and yet he thought it felt more homey somehow. The beds were lofted to accommodate the three people living here with the desks shoved underneath one of them and the third bed the other. It was cramped quarters, but Neil liked it. Ever since he and Jean started sharing one bed half their room went unused making it feel less lived in. Here there where clothes strewn about all over the floor, bright colored posters stuck haphazardly on the walls showing the female representatives currently on the US National Team, and even a small collection of potted plants.
There were only two women on the Court's roster. One was a dealer from USC. The other, Edgar Allan’s own Theodora Muldani. Her ascension to the national team two years ago drew a lot of attention since she was the only player who'd turned down her initial invitation. Her official reason was she didn't want the Court schedule interfering with her fifth year at university. No one expected the national team to give her a second chance, but the Court's representative was waiting for her at her final championships game.
Neil’s casual perusal abruptly ended when he noticed Jenkins giving them a not so subtle once over while rubbing the back of a very obviously red-eyed Fuentes. He moved all they way in and temporarily disregarded them in favor of getting Jean settled.
“Stay standing,” Neil ordered. “If you sit you’ll stiffen right up and practice will be so much worse later. Plus I’m not confident I can drag your heavy French baguette ass up again.”
Jean hummed his agreement and posted up against one of the support poles of the loft gripping the edge of the safety railing.
“Why wouldn’t you be able to get him up?” Jenkins asked looking the two of them up and down.
Unable to hold back a sigh Neil pulled out a desk chair from under the loft Jean was leaning on and rotated it so it was facing the right way before perching on the edge of it.
“Because I just took one hundred penalty shots,” Neil began.
“But that—” Ahmad interjected.
“On Jean,” he finished.
“The object wasn’t to score,” Jenkins concluded with ease.
Neil gave her tight nod. “Depends on your point of view.”
“Wait, what—I’m lost,” Ahmad said from his place on the bed opposite them. Fuentes however, Neil was glad to see, was following along.
“I disobeyed the master,” Neil said, practically spitting the title. “They found my weak point and exploited it to make sure the lesson really sunk in. It doesn’t matter though, what matters is what we do next.”
“We?” Jenkins said, arching an eyebrow.
“Jean filled me in. I was under the assumption there was something you wanted from me, from us,” Neil said waving an arm to encompass the room.
He watched carefully as Jenkins expression shifted from passive to calculating in the blink of an eye. She gave a pointed look at the two other freshman. Neil understood the message loud and clear.
“Ahmad, Fuentes,” Neil said. “There are only twenty minutes left until the afternoon session starts. Are you up for it?”
They shared a look and answered in unison, “Yes.”
“We’ll meet you there shortly,” Jean said. “Keep to yourselves if you can.”
“Talia said she’ll look out for you until we get there,” Jenkins spoke up and surprised him by hugging Fuentes before giving her a gentle shove toward the door. Neil was caught off guard by a wave of gratitude. Women were an enigma to him having only been exposed to his mother for most of his childhood so he didn’t have a large sample size to learn from.
“We’ll talk later,” Neil promised standing to clap Ahmad on the shoulder and giving Fuentes a tiny smile. “I’m sure you have a ton of questions and I promise I’ll answer what I can during the study period later.”
When they were gone Neil remained standing next to Jean and looked up at the intimidating striker. He’d only been partnered with her a few times, but he greatly respected her skill on the court.
“So…”
“So…” Neil echoed back.
“I want in.”
Neil shared a look with Jean hoping the other boy could clue him in and instead all he got was a shrug.
“On?”
“This,” Jenkins said pointing between the two boys and gesturing after where Fuentes and Ahmad disappeared. “All of this. Whatever it is you are trying to do here.”
“Why?” Neil asked.
They both watched in confusion as Jenkins threw her long pointy tail over her shoulder and stalked toward the small bookshelf in the corner. She came back with what looked like a thick textbook dropping it unceremoniously into Neil’s lap. He looked up at her in puzzlement.
“Well, open it you half-wit,” she said, crossing her arms stubbornly.
So he did. Neil was right it was a textbook, an exceptionally dry history textbook to be exact, but then he noticed the little notes crammed in the margins. They were mostly inane like descriptions of the day’s practice and scathing reviews of teammates, whose names sounded vaguely familiar, but once in a while something odd would sneak in. Sprinkled throughout the little notes would be tiny glimpses of the people that wrote them. The sharing of a particularly interesting fact or snide remarks about the campus gym shutting down its pool again.
“Who?”
“Thea and Kevin,” came the unexpected reply from Jean.
“How?” Neil asked, incredulously.
Thea would have been starting her fifth year with the Ravens when Kevin started his freshman year, but Kevin and Riko grew up at Evermore around the Raven line. Kevin would have known Thea her entire five-year career as a Raven. Neil wondered how long it took them to fall for each other and what Thea thought of Kevin's transfer to the Foxes. He was more curious how Kevin found room in his heart for someone else when he lived and breathed Exy. It seemed impossible that a man could be so devoted to more than one thing.
“It’s part of the reason I want in,” Jenkins said, moving to grab the book back from Neil. “There is a reason the Ravens don’t often recruit women and it’s not because we tend to be physically disadvantaged.”
“Unnecessary distractions,” Neil guessed.
“Not in the way you are thinking. We can be a distraction yes, but in Coach Moriyama’s eyes we are also a tool.”
There was a knot forming in Neil’s stomach that had nothing to due with the fact he hadn’t eaten since yesterday.
Jenkins was now pacing the room. “When the Ravens sign a woman it comes with a few additional caveats.”
Neil noticed Jean was suspiciously quiet next to him and he decided he wanted this conversation to be over and done with.
The blonde striker paused in her pacing to stop directly in front of him. “Sex. In exchange for a guaranteed pro career after graduation one of our duties is to help male players with any of their pent up frustrations.”
“With sex,” Neil said flatly. “So Thea?”
“Riko got sick of them bickering constantly on the court and after practice one day in front of everyone told Kevin to ‘just fuck her already and get it over with’ so he did. Only he didn’t get over her,” Jenkins informed. “Thea was uniquely suited to life at the Nest. She was tall and dark and muscled and wore exactly two expressions: pissed off or murderous.”
It wasn’t hard to picture. Neil had studied the Ravens extensively prior to contacting Ichirou and Thea was like a tank on the court all brute force bulldozing anyone in her way. Thinking on it now it was not surprising Kevin was attracted to her. He needed someone who could keep up with and challenge him. There was also the added bonus she was a Raven alumnus, so she was aware of the repercussions of getting caught with Kevin.
“I take it you don’t fall into that same category,” Neil said.
“Oh I like to screw around,” Jenkins said, totally unashamed. “It’s the matter of consent I’m concerned with.”
“You can’t say no?”
“They can,” Jean piped in. “But depending on who they turn down that person could make their life extremely difficult on the court. It might be something as small as refusing to pass to them during a scrimmage, or purposely sabotaging their net to fuck them up during drills and while that is relatively harmless to the coaches it looks like—”
“Like you suck,” Jenkins finished. “So while spreading my legs, or giving a blow job won’t make me a better player, it does incentivize the boys to help me succeed on the court.”
“I see,” Neil said lamely.
“To be fair you’ve already done a lot in removing the worst of the offenders,” the blonde admitted with a lazy shrug.
“Engle and Reacher.”
“They didn’t respect the ‘no’ rule and still made life a living hell after.”
It was worse than Neil thought. When he originally made his plans he thought getting rid of Riko would be enough. Now he wasn’t so sure.
“Well I can’t take them all out or the ERC might suddenly decide to launch an investigation,” Neil said. “So what can I do for you?”
“Draw the line,” Jenkins replied. “The team is already starting to split and I want you to cultivate that.”
Neil waited for the punchline. None came. “You want me to what?”
“Force the team to pick a side, You or Riko.”
“How does that help?”
“Riko is a sociopath,” Jenkins said leaning around the redhead to open her desk drawer. “I don’t know if he was born that way or if growing up here just exacerbated the worst traits in him. No doubt he was told this was his, and that he would be the best of us. Over and over we heard those same words and everyone believed it, because Riko was the master’s progeny. And as Riko grew older, as he took the captain’s title for real and was practically handed multiple contracts, Riko got justification for every depraved and cruel action he ever took because in the end he became #1. King. Captain.”
Neil knew all this, but he still wasn’t sure what she was getting at.
“Whatever I was before the Ravens I can never be again, but I want to preserve what little of me there is left,” she said sliding a piece of folder paper into his hand. “We placed the crown on his head and I think it’s about time we took it away. He cannot be a king if he has no people to rule.”
Oh this was interesting, Neil thought. He never predicted there might be players amongst the upperclassmen who retained enough of their original selves to be useful. The Ravens prided themselves on their culture and bought into their own hype. They were miserable all the time but they believed in their image, in their skill, in their reputation. Because of this, they believed in Riko with a ferocity that fueled the raging fire inside him, but if that wasn’t the case Neil could greatly up his timeline for shoving Riko out with the addition of a few more allies.
“What I just handed you is our current roster,” Jenkins explained. “I’ve marked where I think each of their loyalties lie and those that might be sympathetic to your cause.”
A tight grip on his elbow from Jean warned him this was entering into dangerous territory. “My cause? You make this sound like it’s life or death here. Like I’m aiming to start a war.”
“Don’t patronize me, you know what the cost of failure is.”
He did. Tetsuji strove to control the Ravens 100% treating them like objects to manipulate, unruly animals that have to be broken before they fall in line, but he did not kill those who couldn’t keep up. He simply broke them to the point that they can’t fight back. Failed Ravens had a tendency to commit suicide. It was a statistic he’d brought up to Ichirou when arguing for his life. Castle Evermore was a monarchy in need of overthrowing.
“I’ll—”
“We’ll take in under advisement,” Jean cut in. “Thank you for your help earlier.”
Neil was irritated at the interruption but understood they were quickly running out of time if they wanted to make practice without being late. There was no way Jean could take another punishment today and still play next week. This was a conversation for another day after he vetted the striker’s claims and thought through the mechanics of what it would mean for his initial plans. “Yes, thank you for your help with Fuentes and for this,” Neil said, waving the small piece of paper in the air. “I’ll look it over and get back to you.”
“See you on the court,” Jean said dismissively and practically threw Neil out the door.
“Do you think she’s genuine?” Neil asked as they jogged back to their room. They only had several minutes to tend their wounds before they’d have to report to the locker room.
“I don’t know, it all seemed a little too convenient.”
“Perhaps,” Neil replied his mind already churning with possibilities.
Something must’ve shown on his face for Jean gave him a light nudge causing him to miss a step.
“Save your scheming for later,” Jean said. “Let’s just focus on surviving the next several hours hmmm?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
French Translations:
Va te faire foutre (Va-teh fair foo-trah)=Go fuck yourself
Enculer (ohn-cool-ay)=Fuck
Pardon=Sorry
Merde=Shit