senselessness

There was a crowd of younger students milling about the club room. There were always a few nowadays, trying to work up the courage to ask Yukimura for help or guidance, but because he'd been gone so long and accomplished so much (and a host of other reasons besides), most of them were too intimidated to actually go through with it.

Jackal was approached by a few; the crowds were thicker because they'd begun to realize that Yukimura wouldn't be around much longer, and the chances to act were becoming less with each day. But none of them had the same fears with Jackal or Bunta, and that was gratifying, in a way. Jackal was confident enough in himself to say that most of the questions were well within his level of expertise. About the only thing he couldn't advise on was actually being a Captain.

Tamagawa would have to go direct to the source for that one. He was in the little crowds more often than not-- Yukimura always acknowledged them with a smile, then went back to whatever he was working on. Jackal was focused on the second years, but he could hear Yukimura's pen tapping against a notebook-- not writing. He supposed their line-ups could be more eclectic than, say, Seigaku's, but it shouldn't have been too difficult to place them all against Hyoutei. The main problem was that the regulars were a man down, with Niou away, but the eighth man would have just been the alternate, right? They'd played almost the entire year without one.

Another look around at all the second years, though... Most of them were good. But they'd started out good. Few of them had improved in the leaps and bounds Akaya had, or even Seigaku's second years. The difference between Momoshiro's failed power plays against him and Bunta, versus the Shitenhouji pair...

Of course, Tamagawa hadn't been ready to play in any of those matches, but who's fault was that? He'd watched them all, Jackal believed; they expected the non-regulars to do their part, keep up morale, and pay strict attention.

But the mindset of being in the audience was different than the focus possible when you knew there was even a chance of getting into a game. Confidence became a necessity.

If Yukimura stuck his jacket on somebody's racket and named it next year's captain, Jackal would have supported him wholeheartedly-- Yukimura and the jacket both. But, there would be questions. Yukimura was the captain, yes, but if Jackal's private anguish over his illness was any indication, they were friends, too. He hadn't questioned the decision to pass over Akaya as captain, and he understood the reasoning for Tamagawa... but they'd set him up for failure. And Yukimura seemed to be mired in thought over this silly little exhibition, which was nothing more than an exercise in vanity for them and Atobe both.

He waited until the first year in front of him was satisfied with his answers, then approached Yukimura and glanced down over his shoulder. Written in the notebook (surrounded by increasingly unflattering doodles of Atobe and Echizen) was just SINGLES 1 - AKAYA.

He took a deep breath, which Yukimura heard, and met with one of his sweeter smiles.

"Something on your mind, Jackal?"

"Just what's on yours," he answered. He nodded at the notebook. "You're really playing Akaya against Atobe?"

"It's where he belongs," Yukimura said. A little gleam of mischief in his eyes suggested there was more to it than that, but he didn't elaborate.

"It's where you belong," Jackal said. "Isn't it?"

Yukimura drew an X over a particularly smug looking Echizen (and his "TENNIS IS FUN!" speech bubble). "It was."

So Yukimura's thoughts were also on the future.

Jackal took a second deep breath, watching the way Yukimura's eyebrows rose in amusement at it. He expected the second years to be nervous, not Jackal.

"I was wondering who you were using as an alternate."

Yukimura laid the pen aside, folding his hands together and giving Jackal his undivided, almost rapt, attention. Jackal didn't usually ask about such things before Yukimura was ready to reveal them; he was, more often than not, content to follow his part in the plan. Yukimura knew where he liked to be and, more importantly, where he shined. Jackal trusted Yukimura to use him well, efficiently, all in service of Rikkai's third--

Jackal felt himself smile, improbably, waiting for Yukimura's answer.

"If I put one of us in reserve, we'd be short," Yukimura said, humoring him. Yukimura knew how to use him best, and was setting the stage for him while Jackal gathered his thoughts. "I'm not giving Atobe a free match."

The best player wasn't always the best captain, but Yukimura was. Yukimura saw things as they were, like anyone, but he also had a special knack for seeing things as they might one day be. The future was more real to him than it was to anyone else, and it was exciting, the way he'd started to try and bend it to his will during the World Cup.

"You're also not going to underestimate Atobe," said Jackal, taking a roundabout way to the point he was ultimately going to make. "We aren't invincible. We might need to hold someone in reserve."

There. He'd spoken the blasphemy, and felt a pang of regret as the shadow passed across Yukimura's face. Hurting Yukimura was the thing absolutely no one did, but Yukimura would see clearly.

"No, you're right about that," said Yukimura, slowly. He didn't know where Jackal was going, and he wasn't really smiling anymore, just listening. "I ask again. What's on your mind?"

The future, Jackal thought, but not his own. And yet his own future was the only one he could really control. He couldn't ask Yukimura to bench anyone else; it wouldn't be right, or fair to them.

"I think I should be the reserve player," he said, getting it out of the way. "And we should have the new captain play in this match."