Chapter Text
*******
Wymack pulled up to the Fox Tower and gave a bleary-eyed Kevin a sympathetic look. “Hernandez said he’d work on the kid, would talk to him some more on Monday. I’m not giving up, either.”
Andrew scoffed at that, because he was more than a little familiar with lost causes and Josten? Among many other things, that kid had ‘lost cause’ written all over him, along with ‘trouble’ and ‘rabbit’ and ‘better off forgotten’. He hadn’t missed how the kid had looked at Kevin, the expression almost one of hunger, and he was oh so pleased that the kid had turned down the mighty Day even if it had meant that he’d flown out to Arizona and back for nothing more than seeing a certain arrogant coward shot down in flames.
Kevin slumped even more in the passenger seat, for once incapacitated due to a lack of sleep and not alcohol, his favorite crutch, before he managed to speak. “He’s the best candidate out of a pathetic lot,” he mumbled, ever the cheerful bastard. “We need him if this team has any chance of being something.”
Wymack gave him a sour look as he glanced back at Andrew. “We’re going to crash for a few hours and then head over to the stadium to look through the rest of that ‘pathetic lot’ just in case Josten doesn’t come through,” he informed Andrew, well aware of how Andrew insisted on keeping track of Kevin. He ignored the rude gesture he received for ruining Andrew’s entire weekend while he climbed out of the car while Kevin nodded before they drove off.
Andrew hitched his bag higher up on his shoulder as he entered the Tower, annoyed with wasting a perfectly fine Friday night flying out to bumfuck nowhere in Arizona to see a twitchy rabbit refuse Kevin (actually, that part had almost made it worth it), to put up with Kevin’s bitching at being turned down by a ‘no-name amateur’ who didn’t understand the great ‘honor’ being bestowed on him, blah blah blah, and have his meds be all fucked up by the time change and now be stuck on campus all weekend.
For once, Andrew was looking forward to practice on Monday, just so he could throw some fucking balls at Kevin fucking Day’s Exy-obsessed head. Hmm, perhaps he could start in the locker room, before the coward put on his helmet and gear. His fingers itched to grab something and start throwing things immediately, but he forced himself to ignore the sensation and crawl into his bed, his brother and cousin still dead asleep in their own.
Aaron and Nicky were just as displeased to find out that there was no going to Columbia that night, no Sweetie’s and no Eden’s Twilight, no cracker dust and clubbing, but at least they could stay in the damn dorm suite and drink while Andrew was stuck sprawled out on the couch in the stadium while Wymack and Kevin fought over the next candidate on the ‘just in case’ list, between a girl in Houston and a guy in Minneapolis.
Andrew stroked his right hand along his left armband and fought the urge to go slice apart all of the racquets just to give himself something to do – too much effort in the end. He should have brought a book, dammit, and was about to get up to go pick the lock to Abby’s office when Kevin came storming out of Wymack’s.
“Ah yes, the age old negotiating tactic of the hissy fit, how mature, Day.” Andrew sat up to applaud the coward as Kevin stomped past him, face flushed with anger.
“Fuck you!”
And someone had just offered to walk back to Wymack’s apartment, hadn’t they? Andrew hummed as he trailed along to the exit, while Wymack stood in the doorway of his office muttering about stubborn jackasses.
It stirred a glimmer of true amusement to see the expression on Kevin’s face when Andrew started the car without him in it and drove off, and kept it just out of reach for a couple of blocks through campus. “Never talk to me that way again,” he warned when he finally did let the asshole into the car.
Sweaty from the heat and the humidity, Kevin merely gazed at him for a couple of seconds before grunting in agreement then slumping down in the seat.
The next day was much of the same, except that time Andrew brought something to read and Wymack threw Kevin out after a few hours of them arguing. If by some chance Josten did change his mind, Andrew was going to ensure that the kid repaid him for putting up with all of this shit.
After he found out why the hell Josten had acted the way he did back in Millport, why he screamed ‘huge risk’ and turned Kevin down while looking at him like that, why his first impression had been to run upon meeting Wymack. The kid was a puzzle, and him refusing a scholarship to a sport he loved (according to Kevin, in order for him to play like that)?
Puzzles bothered Andrew, they got under his skin and wouldn’t leave him alone until they were solved. He’d solve Josten, the sooner the better because unanswered questions were annoying.
Something else that was annoying was practicing for Exy, come Monday (no thrown balls in the locker room, damn it). They were changing into their gear when Gordon came strolling in looking worse for wear, probably from a weekend spent drugging and drinking with Arnolds and friends since it was an ‘off’ week with Reynolds (according to Renee during their practice on Sunday after Andrew had dropped Kevin off at Wymack’s apartment).
“So what, how was Nevada or Utah or wherever the fuck you went to get us the piece of shit striker?” Gordon asked as he pulled his ratty t-shirt over his head. When Kevin didn’t say anything, Gordon paused in reaching into his locker for his gear. “What? You guys went there, got out of practice early and everything to make the flight.” When Kevin grabbed his helmet and slammed his locker shut, Gordon raised his eyebrows over that reaction. “You get shot down or something?” His eyes grew wide when Kevin stomped out of the locker room. “Wait, no shit? Someone told the great Kevin Day ‘no’?” He smirked at Andrew as if actually expecting an answer. “Tell me you filmed it! I wanna watch it on loop for hours!”
Even though he agreed with the asshole, Andrew merely returned a blank look while ever talkative Nicky gave out an explanation, even to an asshole he detested. “From what I understand, as soon as the poor kid realized that he would be on the same team as you, he decided to give up playing Exy all-together.”
Gordon was quiet for a moment before he gave Nicky the finger, which was along the lines of their usual style of communication, his thick brows drawn together in anger. “Fuck you, you faggot. Don’t blame the no-talent kid for not wanting to join this team of rejects, especially after meeting your thug of a cousin and the prick over there.” Then he muttered curses into his locker as he yanked on his uniform.
Oh, how sad, one of Andrew’s teammates was upset with them – Andrew would wait for the wellspring of sorrow and remorse, but concrete and steel didn’t last that long and would come tumbling, tumbling down around him at some point during his bout of introspection. That and Wymack’s dulcet tones beckoned the man’s beloved ‘lazy worms’ to get their asses out onto the court.
Hmm, perhaps Wednesday’s topic with Bee would be of Sartre’s insightful belief that hell indeed was other people, and how Andrew appeared to be wallowing in an unknown ring of it at the moment.
That theory was strengthened by Wymack informing Kevin and Andrew after practice that both the university’s athletic board and the ERC were after him to find another striker quickly, so they could only wait until the end of the week for Josten to change his mind. That meant a return trip out to ‘lovely’ Millport on Friday if Hernandez didn’t convince the kid by then (Andrew suggested a little light waterboarding, but no one ever listened to him for some reason), and then off to Minneapolis on Saturday if the rabbit proved stubborn (meaning flighty) – it seemed Kevin had won out in the end.
“I’m not flying all over just so you have a new toy to play with,” Andrew cautioned as he followed Kevin into the showers; he’d gone along without too much complaint the first time because Kevin had been so certain that Josten would say ‘yes’, that anyone who played with such desperation, with ‘everything to lose’ would jump at the chance to sign with a bunch of rejects like the Foxes. Hmm, someone had been wrong, hadn’t they?
“I won’t leave until I get him to say ‘yes’.” There was that look on Kevin’s face as he spoke, the one he got during practice, when he’d told Andrew that he would play again, that he’d give Andrew something to live for once Andrew came off the meds. That he got when he told Andrew that he could be a professional Exy player if he just gave a damn. Hmm, delusion, such a wonderful thing. Though Kevin could surprise one, he had to admit. Maybe he would surprise everyone by making Neil Josten change his mind.
Andrew wasn’t certain he liked that idea, not when the kid rubbed him the wrong way.
Not that he got a chance to worry about it, in the end. By Tuesday it was out on most of the NCAA Exy forums that the Foxes had attempted to recruit an unknown striker from some tiny rural high school that didn’t even make it to the state championships, who had only played for one season, who had turned them down. Some of the commenters were crowing over that fact, a player turning down Kevin Day, turning down the Foxes because they were the laughing stock of the NCAA, while others posted that it only showed how desperate PSU must be to go after such a raw player.
Andrew had to admit, some of them had a point.
What had Wymack ranting and raving (along with Kevin) was that the news never should have leaked. Wymack hadn’t told anyone other than the Foxes and Abby who it was he’d gone to recruit, and Andrew doubted that Hernandez had said anything since Wymack had asked him to keep it quiet. Andrew also doubted that Josten had opened his mouth, not when the kid had been acting so dodgy about stuff. So that left the rest of the Foxes, who knew that Wymack hadn’t wanting anything to get out because he was going after someone so unorthodox – that and all the shit that had happened after the news that Kevin had come to PSU.
Correction, that left one Fox in particular, since Wilds wouldn’t disobey her precious ‘Coach’, Boyd wouldn’t go against Wilds, Renee would never do such a thing, and Reynolds… well, she couldn’t be bothered. No, there was just one other active player left, one who hadn’t been pleased about Josten in the first place, and one only too happy about anything that made Kevin look bad.
Unfortunately, Boyd stepped in before Andrew could do more than slam Gordon into the lockers and split his lips with the force of the hit, and Wymack kept the asshole in his office for the rest of the practice session while Andrew sat it out on the bench. The damage was already done.
Hernandez called on Wednesday evening to say that Josten hadn’t shown up for school, that he’d freaked over the news getting out about the Foxes trying to recruit him but he wouldn’t talk to Hernandez about anything.
The kid didn’t show up on Thursday, either, and Hernandez discovered that he didn’t have a real address for him or a working phone number for his parents. That there was no way to contact the kid. Andrew felt a faint smugness at being proven right, at having his suspicions confirmed, while Wymack cursed and Kevin began having panic attacks.
There was no point in going to Millport on Friday when Hernandez told them there was still no sign of Josten (whoever he was), so they changed their flight to Minneapolis, left with no alternative but to move on if they wanted to sign someone for the next season. Andrew spared one last thought for the kid as he prepared for another damn flight, annoyed at having to fly, at having to leave his armbands behind, at having to deal with a sulking Kevin upset at being deprived of his first choice, and annoyed at being stuck with a mystery about the vanishing ‘rabbit’.
Ah well, it wasn’t like he would see the kid again, so one less thing to worry about.
********
Neil cursed himself for being stupid, so stupid. He should have listened to his mother, should have kept running, should never have stopped and stayed in one place for so long. Should never have played Exy. And what had he done? He’d stayed in Millport for way too long, long enough for Hernandez to notice things about him. He’d joined the damn Exy team, something his mother would have beaten him black and blue for doing, and been recruited by an NCAA team.
By an NCAA team with Kevin Day on it.
He curled up in his seat on the Greyhound bus a little more as a sharp pain went through his chest at that thought, at the reminder of seeing Kevin, and it wasn’t just because of the lingering bruises from being hit by his own racquet thanks to Andrew fucking Minyard. If there was one thing that had gone right last Friday, it was that Kevin hadn’t recognized him, thanks to almost eight years and him altering his appearance, but no matter how much he’d wanted to say ‘yes’, to grasp a tenuous chance at some sort of the future… he hadn’t been able to get his mother’s voice out of his head in the end.
His fingers itched to pull out the packet of cigarettes from the duffle bag draped across his lap, but he couldn’t smoke on the bus. Perhaps when they got to El Paso and he switched buses or tried hitchhiking for a while, when he changed his hair color yet again to throw off anyone following him (he couldn’t risk anyone noticing him, not after seeing his latest name all over the internet. Not after having people who had ignored him all year long come up to him and talk to him as if they knew him).
He’d done everything he could to stay unnoticed, to take on a new position, to stay in a small enough town, to play on a team not quite good enough. To allow himself the one thing he enjoyed the most for a brief time before he moved on again, before he left it all behind. To give himself a chance to rest and recover after California and that night by the ocean and the acrid tang of smoke clinging to the back of his throat.
He’d learned his lesson – no more weakness. No more deviation from his mother’s rules. There was a contact in Monterrey whom he could use for a new ID, then he would stay in Mexico for a while and see if he had any better luck there than in North America. If not, maybe try Russia…
Dammit, why had Hernandez sent those games to Wymack? Why did the man have to interfere?
Once in El Paso, Neil lightened his hair some more and switched out his clothes, and managed to hitch a ride with a truck driver by using a story about an asshole roommate leaving him stranded and him not wanting to ask his parents for money since they had enough financial troubles at the moment with his sick grandmother. That got him as far as Fort Stockton, where he once more hopped on a bus that would take him to San Antonio. He figured he’d hitchhike the rest of the way to confuse anyone following him, and was just looking for a suitable place to grab some supplies as well as pick up a ride when they caught up to him.
All he knew was that there were two of them, one of them an Asian man and both well-dressed, and they must have paid off the guy in the convenience store because they had no problem walking up to him and tasing him in the back when he tried to run away. He had faint memories of being hauled around, and then nothing.
He woke up in the back of an SUV with tinted windows with his hands bound by not one but several plastic ties. One tie he could manage, but several? That would take some effort, and considering that there were two large gentlemen sitting on either side of him and two more in the front of the vehicle, somehow he doubted that was something he could manage without their notice. He cleared his throat and attempted to speak, but the man on his left – he thought it might be the same Asian man from the convenience store – held up the taser in an obvious warning.
“You’ll be quiet,” he said.
Neil didn’t see the point in arguing, not when he figured they were taking him to his father’s house for the Malcolms or DiMaccio to deal with him. So he slumped down and did his best to save his energy for later, at least for a little longer, until he began to squirm. When the taser came out again, he motioned to his crotch, his face flushed with embarrassment. “Uhm, bathroom?”
The SUV pulled over and both men got out so he could take a piss by the side of the road; as much as he’d love to try to run, it didn’t make sense when there was a taser in the small of his back at all times and a gun pointed at him from two feet away. He didn’t recognize the men, which wasn’t unusual, but they were rather calm for his father’s people, calm and quiet. That worried him, because calm and quiet didn’t give him much to work with at all.
One of them handed him a bottle of water when they were back in the SUV, and when they stopped for gas he was given some sort of breakfast sandwich as well. It was clear that they were determined to drive straight through to somewhere, and as long as Neil was quiet and cooperative, he was allowed to remain conscious. Judging from the highway signs and all, they were headed northeast.
Neil felt his heart speed up when he realized that they were going to West Virginia, especially when he saw the signs for Edgar Allan. Why there and not Baltimore? His father was still in prison, right? It didn’t make sense.
They arrived at the campus in late afternoon, with the SUV pulling right up to the huge black Exy stadium he could still remember so well from his childhood. The men rushed Neil inside; they knew the necessary codes to grant them access and the one or two guards stationed nearby ignored their presence. Neil could hear what sounded to be practice out on the court, but he was dragged along to the East Tower. He had to struggle to breathe and even walk properly as he remembered the last time he was up in that tower, at what his father had done to the man with an ax, but the two men holding onto his bound arms had no problem with his weight.
It felt like a torturous eternity, the ride up to the top floor of the East Wing, felt like the walls of the elevator were closing in, and the door opening didn’t bring any type of relief. Neil wanted to sink into the plush carpet and drown in it, but forced his feet to carry him forward, into the room with the black carpet and leather sofas, with the red vases filled with orchids and the walls covered with the priceless screens and woodblock prints and the wall of glass overlooking the court below. The room with one exit which was well guarded.
The room where Tetsuji and Riko Moriyama stood waiting for him, along with Patrick DiMaccio.
It took his brain a few seconds to reconcile the three people standing there like that, why one of his father’s men – his father’s right hand, at that – would associate with the founder of Exy and one of its star players. Yet DiMaccio stood a respectful distance from Tetsuji appearing a bit rougher and older than Neil recalled (he remembered the bastard trying to kill him and his mother, remembered DiMaccio’s scarred face twisted in hate as they ran away, remembered the pain those rough hands could mete out) while a greyer version of Tetsuji eyed Neil with calm indifference and a teenage Riko gazed at him as if he was some sort of rare specimen.
“Nathaniel Wesninski,” Tetsuji said into the uncomfortable quietness of the room.
Neil did his best not to flinch at hearing that name and shifted about as he stood in front of the men with his hands bound in front of him, still dressed in the same clothes he’d worn for at least two days – loose faded jeans, a large white t-shirt and a worn, pale grey hooded t-shirt. When he didn’t say anything, Tetsuji nodded to one of the men standing next to Neil, who handed over the duffel bag which had rarely left Neil’s sight in the last eight years.
“It’s been an interesting few days, tracking you down and unraveling your past. You were found trying to cross over the Mexico border with the remains of my money.” When Neil stirred at that, Tetsuji arched an eyebrow. “Yes? Do you feel like speaking now?”
“Yu-your money?” Neil cast a leery look at DiMaccio, who scoffed at the question.
“You damn well know where that money came from, you little shit,” the large enforcer said, his voice just as rough as always and possessing a strong Mid-Atlantic accent. “You-“ One gesture from Tetsuji and he fell quiet and backed down.
Neil stared on in disbelief at that, at his father’s enforcer obeying a Japanese man half his size dressed in black slacks and a black polo with an EA Raven’s logo. “But that… that’s not possible,” Neil said, his voice little more than a whisper.
Riko continued to stare at him for a few more seconds before speaking in Japanese, to which his uncle gave a slight nod. “Where is your mother? Where is Mary Wesninski?”
Doing his best not to flinch at the question, Neil had to struggle to breathe for a moment, which earned him a shove from the guard standing at his left. “She’s dead,” he managed to choke out as all of the black in the room reminded him of the night-time sky above him and dark water stretching out to the horizon, the flames burning dancing spots into his vision as he did his best not to cry despite the acrid tang of smoke.
“When?”
The sound of Tetsuji’s impassive, low voice snapped Neil back to the present even as he had trouble understanding what was said and ended up being manhandled onto his knees. “Answer Master Moriyama,” the guard barked at him while a strong hand on the back of his neck forced him to look up at the Japanese man.
“When did she die?” Tetsuya asked while Riko smirked at Neil.
“In… in California, about a year ago.” Once again he was back on the beach with the wet black sand, could smell the acrid stench of gasoline and burnt flesh, of plastic and rubber and metal set afire, until the thick fingers squeezed too tight around his nape. “After we ran into my father in Seattle,” he gasped. “I burned her body and mu-made my way to Millport.”
Tetsuji studied him for a moment then looked at DiMaccio, who gave him a courteous nod. “It matches what we’ve found out so far. There’s been no sight of the bitch anywhere and he was in that town for a year under the latest alias with some story about his parents being away for work a lot. Mary never let him out of her reach for more than a day, let alone months.”
“Then he’s probably telling the truth.” Tetsuji nodded to the man behind Neil before he used the black cane in his right hand to jab Neil in the chest. “Do you know why you’re here?”
For a moment Neil debated lying, debated saying it had something to do with his father and decided that for once, it was best to tell the truth. “No.”
“Good, you’ll do better if you’re honest with me from here on out.” Tetsuji used the metal-covered tip of the straight cane to force Neil to look up at him. “Your father works for me.” When Neil’s eyes went wide with shock upon hearing that and he made to shake his head in denial of the thought of the Butcher of Baltimore reporting to anyone, let alone an Exy coach, the tip jabbed him in the throat just hard enough to make him cough with the need for air. “It’s the truth, and the sooner you accept that, the better.”
“He’s not lying, Junior,” DiMaccio agreed. “Why do you think I’m here?”
Neil struggled to remain somewhat upright and shook his head. “To… to ku-kill me.” To kill him in his father’s stead since Nathan Wesninski was in prison; to chop him into pieces, much like what had happened to that man so many years ago. Though if what they said was the truth, it explained why that had happened, didn’t it?
DiMaccio snorted in amusement at that while Riko’s smirk widened. However, Tetsuji shook his head. “I don’t kill assets, and you’ve already cost me money.” At Neil’s confused look, Tetsuji motioned at the windows which overlooked the court below. “You were here eight years ago to prove your worth as a Raven, an audition which your mother interrupted when she took you and the money I gave your father to hand you over to me.” Neil stilled upon hearing that he was to have been given to Moriyama all those years ago – that he was meant to play alongside of Kevin and Riko. Then the part about the money kicked in and he realized that he would have been sold, like a slave.
“But-“
He was jabbed in the throat again.
“Be quiet,” Tetsuji ordered while Neil struggled to breathe. “I see there will be a need to teach you your proper place along with the necessary training to bring out your true potential.” Through the tears in Neil’s eyes as he coughed in pain, he thought that Riko appeared pleased at that prospect. “You possessed a talent all those years ago, but it’s grown rusty from the videos I’ve seen. Rusty, but still there.” For a moment something dark twisted Tetsuji’s face before it became impassive once again. “However, Kevin was right to recognize the ability buried beneath that rust.” Beside him, Riko’s smirk vanished beneath obvious jealousy and hate.
“We will beat off that rust and drag that potential to the fore,” Tetsuji declared. “As of now, Nathaniel Wesninski, you are returned to your proper place and are a Raven.”
“I’m not a possession,” Neil declared. “I’m not-“
A swing from Tetsuji’s cane cut him off as it hit the side of his head and knocked him to the floor, for a moment blinding him with a flash of white and a searing pain that jolted through his skull.
Tetsuji spoke in Japanese as he walked away, though Neil thought he caught the French word ‘Moreau’. As soon as the Japanese bastard was out of the room, DiMaccio grabbed Neil by the front of his shirts and yanked him into the air, the sudden motion making Neil’s head ache and stomach heave.
“Listen well, Junior,” the enforcer said with a thin sliver of a smile on his full lips, the lower one creased with a thick scar and no emotion in his pale brown eyes. “I’ve got a message from your father for you.”
Neil managed a weak grin in return. “I hope he’s doing well in prison. Maybe I can send him some soap for all those fun times in the-“ He refused to show any pain when the bastard gave him a rough shake.
“You look like him but you sound like her, it makes me want to rip out that foul tongue of yours,” DiMaccio said with a low growl, his voice a deep rumble. “Now listen, you little shit. Moriyama wasn’t kidding about you being where you belong. You stay here and you do what you’re told for once in your fucking life, or you deal with us, you got it?” DiMaccio gave Neil another rough shake until he nodded. “Your father said he’ll cut off your feet an inch at a fucking time and make you eat them if you try to run again. Got it?”
“Got it.” Neil barely, just barely, resisted the urge to spit in the bastard’s face – and only because he already bore enough scars from DiMaccio.
“It’ll be a first, but I’m sure the Moriyamas will teach you some manners soon enough. Remember, we’re watching you,” DiMaccio warned as he dropped Neil onto the floor before walking away.
That left Neil with a pleased Riko and the two guards; after eyeing him for a couple of seconds, Riko motioned to one of the men who leaned down to saw through the plastic ties around Neil’s sore wrists with a knife before hauling him onto his feet.
“You’ll be in the Red Hall sharing a room with Jean Moreau,” Riko explained as they left the East Tower with Neil between the two guards yet again. “He’s property, too, so don’t expect him to sympathize, especially when you should have been here years before. You’ll have tonight to be taught what you need about your new home, and tomorrow you’ll be out on the court where Uncle will determine if it’s worth it to keep moving forward with you as a striker or return you to your original position as a backliner.”
Neil stared at Riko as if he was insane – no, he was insane, everything about this situation was insane, but if he could trust the words being spoken just then. “I’m to play Exy.”
Riko reached out to grasp Neil by the chin; held as he was by the two guards, Neil couldn’t do anything to escape the strong, calloused fingers digging into his flesh nor the cruel gaze latching onto his own. “Are you that stupid? Your only purpose is to play Exy for my uncle and to play well.” He frowned after a few seconds as he studied Neil’s face. “No more contacts, I won’t have you hiding behind such ugly things.”
“But I-“ Neil bit into his tongue rather than give the asshole the satisfaction of hearing him groan from the harsh slap which knocked his head aside.
“Maybe you are that stupid, but you’ll soon learn some basic rules,” Riko said with evident glee as he grabbed Neil by the hair. “You don’t talk back to me. You don’t talk until I give you permission. You listen to what I say and you obey me.” He gave Neil’s hair a hard yank. “Understand?”
Too bad Neil had only ever listened to his mother, and not well enough to avoid ending up in this mess. “Fuck you,” he told Riko, and braced himself for the blow to come – a punch to the stomach.
“You’ll be broken before the next season even starts,” Riko promised as he followed with his right knee into Neil’s chest, then his elbow down onto Neil’s back to knock him onto the floor of the elevator. “Jean will go over the basics with you tonight, tomorrow will be practice, the first of many, and as long as Uncle decides you’re worth the effort, you’ll spend the summer being beaten into shape for the upcoming season.” The bastard emphasized ‘beaten’ with a kick that rolled Neil onto his knees. “Bring him along,” he ordered the two men.
Neil was half-dragged into the Nest and past several people whom he assumed would be his future teammates, if he survived his ‘audition’. Young men and women dressed in black and red tracksuits who were able to ignore him and the two guards with ease, who gave Riko a respectful bow of the head and went on their way without saying a word. He’d find it amusing if he wasn’t in pain and about to be stuck in the dark, black-walled, dungeon-like place for the foreseeable future. A dungeon where the exits were controlled with access codes.
Right then, as Neil swallowed down a mouthful of blood and felt a familiar throb of pain through his body, as he realized that the situation was fucked up and only about to get more fucked up, that he had no chance of escape and would only have to bear down and accept the pain, accept the abuse and whatever the hell the Moriyamas threw at him until there was some small chance of… of something… he felt an intense wave of hate for Kevin Day - for Kevin Day and Coach Hernandez, for Coach Wymack and Andrew Minyard. For the man who had sent out the recordings of his games and the man who thought he could ‘save’ Neil. For Kevin, who thought he could show up and get whatever he wanted, and for Minyard who had to fuck up Neil’s chance at escape and had probably been the one to post about him on the damn forum, he was that much of an asshole. Because of all four of them, Neil’s attempt to enjoy something for once in his life had been ruined, had blown up in his face and his past had caught up to him with a vengeance.
“Here,” Riko said before pushing open a door and stepping into a room which Neil was shoved into a moment later. It was done in black as well – everything in the room was black, the furniture and bedding and walls, enough to make the rare bits of color (books, odds and ends, a scarf) stand out in stark relief.
The young man who had been sitting at one of the two desks all but jumped to his feet and bowed his head to Riko in a subservient manner, the ‘3’ tattoo on his cheek standing out in stark relief on his pale skin. Neil recognized Jean Moreau, starting backliner for the Ravens right away not only by the tattoo but his neatly combed black hair and pale grey eyes, as well as the way he loomed over Riko. He definitely was a lot taller than Neil, almost an entire foot taller than him, in fact, and Riko had a couple of inches on Neil’s 5’3” height – or lack of it, as most people liked to remind him.
Still, Riko was the one who drew attention while in the room with his manic dark eyes and cruel grin. “We have a new roommate for you, Jean. A new partner.” He had the guards dump Neil on the unmade bed on the left side of the room. “Nathaniel Wesninski decided to return to his rightful place after all this time, though he’s going by Neil Josten now.” Riko’s smile took on a sharp edge while Jean flinched for some reason, the motion slight but telling. “My uncle’s leaning toward keeping the latter, it’ll look better on a jersey, I suppose.”
“Josten,” Jean said in a quiet voice with a French accent. “The Foxes’ missing recruit.”
Something twisted on Riko’s face once again. “Kevin’s missing recruit, don’t you mean?” Then the sharp smile returned. “Quite the irony, don’t you think? Dear Kevin leading us to the little runaway we’ve been searching for oh so long.” Riko gave Neil a pointed look while Neil gave a tentative press to his ribs to make sure nothing had been cracked or broken.
Deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to give away a bit of information and might make the bastard leave a little sooner, Neil shook his head. “He didn’t appear to recognize me at all. I ran because I wanted to make sure he didn’t, because he was too determined for me to join his team and I knew it would only be a matter of time before the truth came out if I did.” Then he laughed a little, the sound bitter and defeated. “Not that it mattered.”
Riko laughed as well, only he sounded amused. “You can thank Minyard, his delinquent guard dog for that, he’s unhinged when it comes to Kevin.”
There seemed to be a lot of that going around, but Neil just barely kept the comment to himself and managed to keep from being hit again for once. Riko nodded once in approval before returning his attention to Jean. “He’s your problem now,” that made Jean’s back stiffen in obvious displeasure. “Teach him some basic manners and the rest tonight and show up tomorrow for morning practice, the both of you.”
It was quiet for about a minute after Riko left the two of them alone in the room, until Jean let out an elegant snort and went to stand more in the middle of the room. “Nathaniel Wesninski,” he said in that accented voice of his which made Neil think of all those years spent in Europe with his mother, the time in Paris and Marseilles and Antwerp, in Quebec City and Montreal in Canada.
For a moment an intense longing filled Neil as he thought about all those cities and countries with his mother, all those years on the run. How Mary had kept him going, had kept him (mostly) safe, and here he was in the place she’d done her best to keep him from, apparently. How it had all been for nothing in the end.
How she’d died for nothing in the end.
All because he’d been so stupid and hadn’t listened to her, had stopped running. Because Kevin Day and Andrew Minyard had to come along and fuck up the one good thing he had left.
Then he shoved it all aside, the pain and the loss and the regret, everything but the anger and the hate. He kept them close as he smiled at Jean. “Didn’t you hear? I’m Neil Josten.” He allowed some of the British accent he always used when alone with his mother or when outside of the US – which had been most of his life except for the past year or so – to creep into his voice.
Something in his expression unsettled the Frenchman. “That hasn’t been decided for certain,” Jean argued before he gave Neil a blank look. “Though that is a more preferable name.” He looked Neil up and down. “You don’t look like much, all things considered.”
Meaning he didn’t look like a monster, most likely. Neil thought about the dye in his hair and the contacts in his eyes and smiled. “Looks can be deceiving.”
“One hopes, because you’re my responsibility now,” Jean shot back as he folded his arms over his chest; he was dressed in a black tracksuit like the others had been, black with red lines down the sides of the arms and the legs and a number ‘3’ on the left chest.
Neil sneered at that. “I’m not your anything.”
Jean could move with a good bit of speed and came toe to toe with Neil, making him wish he had some sort of weapon on him still, yet all the taller young man did was glare down at him. “No, you’re my responsibility. Let me explain something to you, Josten,” Jean sneered as well. “Everyone here is paired up with someone else and so is responsible for each other. You share a room with them, you share a similar class schedule with them, you are always together with them.” When Neil snorted in disgust at that, Jean’s pale eyes narrowed. “You practice together and you succeed together. More importantly, you fail together,” he stressed. “We fail together. So when you go out onto that court tomorrow, your ineptitude will reflect upon me, which is something I won’t tolerate for long. And that mouth of yours? That defiance? I will not tolerate it for long, either.”
“What, Riko’s going to kick the shit out of you, too?” Neil taunted, only to stare in disbelief when Jean’s expression grew shuttered; this close, he realized that he could see faint scars on the backliner’s forehead, almost hidden by the thick fall of black bangs. “Really?”
“We fail together,” Jean repeated before he walked away.
“What happened to your last partner?” Neil asked as he went over to the dresser on what he assumed to be ‘his’ side of the room.
Jean gave a very nonchalant shrug. “A word of advice to you, do not mention Kevin if you can avoid it.” He spoke the striker’s name with an abundance of venom, to which Neil raised an eyebrow. “Jamie wasn’t very good at remembering that.”
“I see.” Neil opened a drawer to reveal what looked to be some new clothes, almost all of it black. “Are these his?”
“No, those were delivered earlier today,” Jean admitted as he returned to his desk. “I suppose that should have been a warning, but I didn’t quite expect… you.”
“I didn’t quite expect any of this.” Neil flipped through the clothes since he’d been dragged along without sign of his duffel bag, and found what looked to be a couple different versions of the tracksuit that Jean was wearing in what should be his size, along with some shorts and sweatpants. Well, in something that would fit him without being too big or loose. Another drawer contained t-shirts, long-sleeved shirts and a couple of sweatshirts, another underwear and socks, and there were some pajamas as well. All of it black and red and bearing the Edgar Allan logo.
The closet contained dress slacks and a couple of pairs of jeans, some dress shirts and polos, and some nice sweaters. “They’re probably waiting for you to confirm that you can still play before they give you any official jackets,” Jean said. “Though I’m sure you’ll have a uniform waiting for you tomorrow.”
“And if I can’t play?” Neil asked as he closed the door, a budding sense of panic which he refused to acknowledge growing inside of him; it was too real, seeing all of those things in his size, in knowing that the Moriyamas had managed to prepare all of this on such short notice. His father had been rich and powerful… and these were people to which Nathan Wesninski was but a lackey? Just how powerful were the Moriyamas? Powerful enough that he’d never heard of them even with all the time he’d spent on the run, in dealing with forgers and counterfeiters and smugglers and worse.
Too powerful, he was afraid.
Jean’s grim smile was all the answer he needed just then.
“Go wash yourself,” Jean ordered as he wrote some notes down. “When you’re done, we’ll begin your education, rosbifs.”
Neil blinked at the insult, which he hadn’t heard since leaving Amsterdam, really, and had to push down another wave of remorse and guilt. “Bet you can’t stand the color scheme here,” he said without any attempt to hide his British accent as he grabbed some clean clothes to take into the bathroom connected to the bedroom suite. “No white anywhere to be found.”
He’d reached the bathroom and locked the door behind him before it sunk in what he’d meant by that jab, and managed a smile for the first time in what felt like forever while Jean ranted about stupid Englishmen.
He had a feeling it would probably be the only time he smiled for the foreseeable future.
*******
Andrew itched for a cigarette as they waited for their connecting flight back to South Carolina at the Atlanta airport. “What? You got this one, he was all but tripping over his feet to sign the contract.” Unlike a certain rabbit.
Kevin shook his head while he stared after Wymack, who was off getting the three of them some coffee. “He’s not good enough.”
“Of course he isn’t.” Andrew rolled his eyes at that while his hands rubbed up and down the insides of his forearms, desperate to feel the familiar, welcoming weight of his knives. Oh, returning to campus couldn’t come soon enough, but at least he was done with traveling for the next few months – until they had a long-distance away game. “What did you expect, this late in the season? All the best players have been picked over a couple of months ago.”
“Josten wasn’t,” Kevin said with a stubborn jut of his chin.
“I said ‘the best players’.” Andrew wondered if he could get away with bashing Kevin’s head in with a garbage can or something, but decided it would be too much effort to lift the large thing. Was there anything smaller that would do sufficient damage? A quick glance around the terminal didn’t reveal anything of much use, so it looked as if the insufferable bastard got to live a little longer. “Not neurotic liars and runaways.”
“What is your problem with Josten?” Kevin demanded to know as he dropped his carry-on bag to the floor.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that he turned you down then ran for the hills? That Hernandez discovered that he’d been lying about where he’d lived for the year and that his parents didn’t exist?” Andrew gave the drunken coward a too-sharp smile as he folded his knife-less arms across his chest. “He was one huge lie and that makes me a wee bit suspicious, especially since he drew your attention.”
Kevin snorted at that. “Yes, but he ran. If he was supposed to be a trap, why did he run?”
That’s what bothered Andrew the most, to be honest. Why had Josten run? Why had he seemed to panic, to hide the fact that he’d panicked, after seeing Kevin? To turn down something he seemed to want so much? Anyone could tell from the way that he played that he lived for Exy (maybe not Andrew, because really, live for Exy?) – that’s what had drawn Kevin to him, after all. Yet he’d spit in Wymack’s face and turned down a chance to play Exy, to have a college degree even if it meant playing for the Foxes (not even Aaron had been able to do that).
Something was just a little off there, and that made Andrew suspicious as fuck.
He didn’t like puzzles, especially ones which nagged at him like this one, and Neil Josten was one hell of a pretty-faced puzzle, from what he could tell.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” he told Kevin as he rocked back onto his heels. “Oh, except the rabbit isn’t anywhere to be found. Imagine that.”
Kevin let out a weary sigh as he shook his head. “Yeah, I know that. It’s why we had to sign Yee instead.” He didn’t sound too happy.
Keung ‘Kenny’ Yee, a rather bland name for their new striker – a nice, Anglicized nickname for someone who was trying so hard to fit in, for someone with all these lovely anger issues which made him a Fox. Renee should adore him… not.
Kenny Yee with his pockmarked face and massive attitude and eagerness to leave behind his stifling home who were too ‘demanding’ for his taste (re: too traditional and too caring and too close and Andrew already loathed him on sight). He had a bit in common with Reynolds in that regard, except his family were pure middle class, if even that, but he couldn’t claim any abuse other than strict parents, couldn’t claim the usual sob story other than innate stupidity and poor choices on his part. Well, it could be argued that he had a shitload of racism shoved down his throat, which was one of the few things Andrew hadn’t experienced, but somehow he didn’t think the kid would garnish much sympathy from Wilds or Renee or Gordon or even Nicky in the end.
He certain wasn’t going to gain much sympathy from Andrew, not when it seemed that Yee had created most of his problems. But he was a striker when the team needed a striker, so Andrew would ignore him.
The kid just wasn’t the striker that Kevin needed, it seemed. Cue the waterfall of tears – at least from someone who cared. He was a passable player whose issues had kept him from being recruited by anyone other than Wymack, who was an idiot and was sub material at best.
Kevin would have to work hard to beat him into shape, but perhaps that would be for the best, Andrew considered as he caught sight of Wymack strolling toward them with a carrier full of coffee and a bag of take-out in his hands. It would give the Exy junkie something to focus on other than the Moriyamas and the Ravens, would keep him busy on the court where it was easier for Andrew to keep an eye on him. Not much for Andrew, but he was used to being screwed over at this point in his life.
Not as much fun as watching Kevin play with a rabbit who possessed long runner’s legs and a lean body Andrew wouldn’t have minded getting his hands on, but there had been something too suspicious about those over-large, too worn clothes, that dull, dark floppy hair and boring, ugly brown eyes. Something that made Andrew think that Josten was trying to mask his appearance, when anyone else would have been pleased to possess such stunning looks.
There had to be a reason for that, and now it would nag at Andrew, would whirl around in some corner of his drug-soaked brain like a battery-powered toy left on in chest – except there was no hope of the batteries running out as long as he was stuck on the happy pills.
Fucking Neil Josten. Wherever the mysterious rabbit had up and gone, Andrew hoped he was in some shithole even worse than Millport, Arizona.
*******
Neil woke up with a start, his hands scrambling for the gun beneath the pillow on his bed which wasn't there, blurry eyes blinking as he took in the unrelenting blackness of the strange room and tired mind whirling as the events of the last few days slowly returned to him. Being caught in San Antonio, the long car ride, Edgar Allan, the Moriyamas, DiMaccio, finding out why his mother had taken him and run all those years ago, being told he would now play for the Ravens.... For a moment, all Neil wanted to do was pull the black covers over his head and deny it all, to pretend it was just some sort of nightmare, but that wouldn't make it all go away.
Besides, his new roommate threw something which felt like a book at him.
"You have ten minutes to get ready, per the schedule I explained to you last night. Tardiness is not tolerated."
"Nothing is tolerated here, from what I gathered," Neil mumbled as he shoved the covers aside, along with the book. For a moment he twitched when he realized that Jean was staring at his eyes, which were left exposed without the colored contacts that he'd worn for so long, and then he resigned himself to such things; without his duffel bag he didn't have any replacement pairs and he'd kept the old ones in for too long as it were without cleaning them - that and he'd been told to take them out. Jean had been very explicit last night in explaining what would happen to Neil if he continued to defy Riko and Tetsuji.
He got out of bed and went into the bathroom (more black - black tile, black shower curtain, black linens) to wash his face and brush his teeth after using the toilet, and returned there once he saw what Jean was wearing for the day so he could change without the backliner staring at his scars.
Jean gave him a disproving look when he returned to the bedroom. "You'll have to get over this false modesty very quickly. There's no real privacy amongst us Ravens."
"I'm not a Raven yet,” Neil argued as he tugged on the hem of his black t-shirt.
"You have always been a Raven," Jean shot back. "Ever since the day your father handed you over to Tetsuji." Before Neil could argue with that, he walked out of their suite.
There were more Ravens out in the hallway, some Neil recognized due to having followed Riko and Kevin's careers over the years, some he didn't. Jean, who had waited for Neil to fall in step beside him, murmured their names and positions as they walked to what appeared to be a small kitchen where several people prepared something light to eat before morning practice. Jean started to make what looked to be some sort of shake with a powdered mix while Neil watched on. "We'll eat after practice, but you need something until then." He added some fruit to the blender, to which Neil nodded, a faint smile on his face when Neil grimaced at the pile of green, leafy vegetables. "One of the team's dieticians will work with you."
"Wonderful." Neil thought of all the years of grabbing whatever was cheapest and easiest to eat while on the run, what wouldn't spoil (or wasn't too spoiled), and sighed. While Jean poured their 'snack' into two glasses, he noticed the assessing looks sent his way - assessing and hostile. However, he didn't say anything right then, he merely accepted the glass and forced down its contents with a long-practiced ease. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as some of the other things he'd had before, the sourness of the powder somewhat masked by the fruit.
Jean nodded in approval once their empty glasses were placed in the sink. "Now to the locker rooms." They were quiet until out in the hallway, where Jean gave him a sideways glance. "Do you... do you speak French?" he asked, having switched to that language at the end.
Neil debated giving up that advantage so early, but since he'd acknowledged Jean's little jab at him last night and a few other insults which had been peppered in among all of the information crammed down his throat, it probably was better to admit the truth sooner rather than later. The one thing which was becoming clear was that - albeit with great reluctance - Jean was the closest thing to an ally at Edgar Allan that Neil had, and that was only because of the inane 'pairing' rule between teammates – a fucked up ‘one for all and all for one’ mentality on a minor scale. So he begrudgingly said “yes”.
Something akin to relief flashed over Jean's face for a moment, quickly replaced by the backliner’s usual passive indifference. "That should make things a little easier," he continued in French. "Though be careful, since Riko doesn't care to be left out of conversations."
“Ah.” Neil arched an eyebrow at that. “One gets the impression that Riko doesn’t care for a lot of things.” To hear about Kevin or be left out of things or have his authority questioned. One might think of him as a rather insecure fellow, that Riko.
Jean gave a slight shake of his head. “I will remind you yet again to be careful around him and mind that tongue of yours. He will get you on your knees one way or another.” Judging from the bitterness in his voice, Jean seemed to be speaking from personal experience. “You can go down on them willingly or end up on them broken.”
“He only thinks he can break me,” Neil said as he stared straight ahead, as he thought of everything his father had done to him, his father and his father’s people.
That prompted a faint laugh from the backliner. “Wonderful, a challenge.” Jean said the last word as if it was an obscenity. “The question will be when you break, and how much grief you drag me into with your stubborn stupidity until then.”
There wasn’t much Neil could say to that, so they both were quiet until they reached the locker rooms. Neil was unhappy to note the open showers lacking any stalls or shower curtains, and the weighted stares from the other Ravens as Jean led him to a row of lockers away from everyone else.
“At the moment, you are now number ‘4’ on grace,” Jean explained in English. “You would have been ‘3’, except your mother interfered.” He inclined his head to the left, the side of his face which bore the number tattooed on his own cheek. “You will have to prove to the master that you deserve your new number.”
“I don’t care,” Neil lied as he stood there with his hands clenched into fists; it was a lie because more than anything he wanted to put on the gear waiting for him behind the metal door of the locker, to go out onto that court and play Exy. All he’d ever wanted to do was to play Exy, really. But what he didn’t want was to be told he had to play it, to play it for some assholes who had dragged him all the way here and considered him property.
Jean gave him a small, mocking smile even though his eyes contained an emotion which resembled pity as if he knew Neil’s thoughts. “You have no choice because that’s why you’re here. From now on, your only reason to exist is to play and play well – how many times do you need that explained to you?” he asked in French. “You put on the uniform and you do your best, because to do less is to suffer or worse.”
“To be beaten. I can take beatings,” Neil sneered.
“At first.” Jean looked away as he opened Neil’s locker and grabbed a jersey with ‘Josten’ across the back of it yet bereft of a number. “There are worse things than beatings, though.” Before Neil could ask what they were, the jersey was flung at his face. “And in the end, death, because a worthless asset is no asset at all.”
After seeing what his father had done to people in the basement of the house back in Baltimore, to the sobbing man up in the East Tower… Neil had an idea of what death would await him if he proved ‘worthless’ and grit his teeth as he set about changing into his new uniform without removing all of his clothes. Jean scoffed at him before changing out, uncaring as he stripped down to his boxer-briefs right beside Neil, who struggled to pull out his t-shirt beneath his new black under-shirt. At least he didn’t have many scars on his legs so it wasn’t a problem to strip off the track pants in front of someone.
Once he was fully dressed save for his helmet and gloves (and a little disturbed by how well everything fit), Jean led him out onto the court, where Neil paused for a moment as memories overwhelmed him – of all the years ago when he’d been on it with Riko and Kevin, of how happy he’d been that day eight years go as he’d played with them, only for the day to end in horror and the next to be the start of a nightmare that was still ongoing.
“Do well, roast beef, and you’ll be out here every day, will hear the crowds cheer you on,” Jean murmured as he gave Neil a gentle shove forward.
Neil glared at the French bastard for a moment even as he felt the insane urge to smile despite everything. Then he schooled his expression into blankness as he followed Jean toward where Riko and Tetsuji were standing together and looking at some sort of chart. Riko raised his head at their approach and gave Neil an appraising look before nodding at Jean. “It’s a start, at least.” Neil took that to mean about his appearance.
Jean stepped on his foot as if in hopes to keep him quiet, but before he could say anything, Tetsuji spoke up. “Why did you switch positions? Why a striker this past year?” He gave Neil a cold look, much like one would give an unknown insect they were trying to identify, one that disgusted yet mystified them and would be squashed as soon as the sense of curiosity was satisfied.
“I… it was the only available one on the team,” Neil found himself explaining, unnerved by the look in the man’s flat black eyes despite having been around all of his father’s people – perhaps because he had been around his father’s people and knew that as far as Tetsuji was concerned, he was a mere thing. “I wanted to play so much that I agreed to being a striker, and I thought that it would help confuse anyone who might recognize me.”
Riko snorted in amusement at that while Tetsuji gave a slow nod. “You lack precision and strength, but you have speed and a natural instinct for the ball. You’ll play as a striker today.” Then he made a dismissive wave at Neil as if that was all and spoke to his nephew in Japanese.
Jean gave the two men a short bow as he placed his left hand on the back of Neil’s neck and forced him to do the same; Neil resisted at first and barely held back on the urge to punch the Frenchman in the stomach, but bent forward the slightest amount before allowing Jean to pull him toward the side of the court where a long line of rackets were held upright in a black rack. Neil blinked in confusion at the two new ones on the end – a backliner and striker racquet perfect for his short stature. “But… how?”
“Only the best for a championship team, and no expense spared.” Jean’s pale gaze flickered over to the Moriyamas. “As soon as they discovered who you really were, they would have uncovered everything about you,” he continued in French. “These are nothing.” He flicked a hand at the racquets. “Grab your racquet and go.”
Just when Neil thought he was getting a grasp of how powerful the Moriyamas were, something new came up to throw him off his balance. So he pushed all thoughts of the family out of mind as he did as he’d been told without argument for once and went to where Jean indicated he should stand on the court, along with enough other Ravens for what should be a proper scrimmage.
It was the championship season for the team and they still had one more game to go, and now Neil was being dumped on them during their practice for that game. Between that and him being in the running for the fabled ‘Perfect Court’, he thought he could understand the glares directed his way, the outright animosity for some unknown rookie being given such special treatment. A rookie singled out by Kevin Day, someone who had turned their back on the Ravens a few months ago.
It looked as if he had yet another reason to hate Day, didn’t he?
Tetsuji and Riko called out something in Japanese, and then Riko sauntered out into court to issue a few more commands in English which didn’t make much more sense to Neil but had the players shift about to various positions. Riko and a tall striker (Paul Nichols) faced off for the ball, which Riko won first possession of, and then the game began.
Neil had never seen a game played so fast and vicious before, and within the first minute realized how outclassed he was – he’d expected it somewhat, considering that these were university players, were Class I, but he could only hold on to the ball for a couple of steps before he was knocked aside or down, before someone easily elbowed him aside or slammed him into the walls (most often Riko, surprise surprise) to steal the ball away. Yet despite that humbling realization, he dug down deep and got back on his feet, he caught his breath and went after the ball again and again.
By the time Tetsuji called an end to the match, Neil was bruised all over, his lower lip was split and bleeding and his ego had taken the worst hit of all, so it was no surprise when the man turned to Jean and ordered them to go through drills until it was time for Jean to report to class.
“So much for breakfast,” Neil said as he followed a frowning Jean over to the other side of the court while several Ravens sniggered behind their backs.
“You’ll be lucky if you get lunch,” Jean warned. “That was truly pathetic so I suggest you shut up and watch.”
About to snap at the bastard, Neil thought of how Jean was going hungry because of him and swallowed the insult on the tip of his tongue instead. Then he stood there as Jean set up a series of cones and walked him through what was the first of the supposed famous Raven drills.
“Learn it quickly, for both our sakes,” Jean told him. “Prove to me how clever you are, and make those bastards who are hoping to see both us fail choke on their envy.”
“Why should I care?” Neil asked even as he struggled to get the difficult pass down. “Why should I believe you?”
“Go ahead and learn the hard way. Why let a thing like my experience help you?” Jean said with a weary sigh, his eyes shaded with a bleak emotion.
Neil was quiet after that and focused on the drill.
When it came time for Jean to leave, it didn’t surprise Neil when he was ordered to continue practicing by himself, which he did to the point that his arms burned from exertion. There was enough water to keep him hydrated and the hunger he ignored with ease from all the times when he and his mother couldn’t risk stopping to eat, but he was grateful when Jean returned and told him it was time for a break.
He wasn’t grateful for having to shower in the large room without a door or curtain, and was certain that Jean leaned against the far wall in order to drive a point home, to remind Neil that he’d have to get used to it. At least Jean kept his gaze mostly downward after a brief look at Neil’s scars, though he didn’t say anything about them.
Lunch was steamed fish and rice and pickled vegetables, which Neil managed to choke down under Jean’s watchful eye, and found himself surprised when there was a bowl of strawberries afterwards, to which Jean didn’t say anything as he sipped his coffee while looking aside. They returned to their room afterward, where Jean worked on his homework and made Neil watch part of the Ravens’ last game (against the Lions) before they had to report for afternoon practice.
It was more of the same, of Riko taking great delight in beating Neil on court, him and the other Ravens, and Neil doing what he could to hold his own while Tetsuji watched it all with an impassive, judgmental eye. Then for him to spend his evening practicing drills until he could barely move his arms.
The next day was much the same, except Tetsuji switched him to the backliner position, and when Neil called Riko an asshole in the afternoon practice, he received a hit to the head (mostly blocked by his helmet) from the end of Riko’s racquet.
That evening both he and Jean went without dinner while he worked on the drill until late at night and then had to clean the court before they could leave, and Neil was so grateful to collapse into his new bed when it was all done. Only for the day to start again all too soon.
He couldn’t get the saying ‘be careful what you wish for’ out of his head – it was on a constant loop in his thoughts, repeated in English, French, and German, even in rough Spanish and Italian. For so long he’d regretted being unable to play Exy, had thought back on when he’d played with Riko and Kevin at Evermore, had gone so far as to dare to ignore his mother’s numerous warnings and join some no-name team in a town in the middle of nowhere….
Only to find himself back at Evermore not by his own choice but forcibly dragged there and told that he should have been at the Nest all along, that he was Moriyama property. That his mother hadn’t taken him and run so much from his father but his father’s employers. That he had no choice but to play Exy since he was Moriyama property, and he had to be of value to them in one way or another.
Just because he was property didn’t mean he was treated well; Riko hadn’t gone as ‘overboard’ with the abuse since the first night, but Neil had a feeling that the bastard was only holding back because enough abuse was being inflicted upon him thanks to Tetsuji’s ‘trial’ runs. Because he needed to be in some sort of decent shape for the trial runs.
Most of the Ravens were utterly vicious as Tetsuji kept testing Neil on his skills as a backliner and a striker in order to determine what his position would be for the upcoming season. ‘Nathaniel’ was to have been a Raven backliner, after all, to join the Perfect Court as number ‘3’ – but Mary had taken him away and Jean Moreau had stepped into his place. ‘Neil’ was known as a striker, and thanks to Minyard posting about him turning down Kevin Day, it would raise some questions if Tetsuji switched Neil’s spot on the team without good reason. Hell, Neil had to give a reason why he was even a Raven, let alone one posed for the Perfect Court, and the other Ravens were only so happy to prove to their precious ‘master’ that he shouldn’t be allowed in the Nest at all.
On top of Riko’s ‘attention’, the ramped up schedule at the Nest where Exy was the main focus of everything, Neil was almost delirious from the pain and exhaustion over a week later when Tetsuji approached him after another grueling session of practice, right before the Ravens’ championship game with the Trojans. Neil could feel each and every place he’d been hit during his hours out on the court, all the spots where his body had been slammed against the walls or knocked onto the hard wood floors, the sore points where sticks or body parts had knocked into him. Riko of course was the worst offender, but Johnson and Saunders were almost as bad - Johnson refused to accept the possibility of a ‘rookie’ being accepted onto the team so easily, while Saunders was doing his best to move onto the starting lineup.
It probably didn’t help that Neil did his best to give back as good as he got, that he refused to just take the hits without going down fighting. All of the Ravens (including the women) were taller than him and outweighed him, but he was faster and had spent the last several years fighting for his life in a literal sense. If it were a proper game he’d have been red-carded several times, but Tetsuji let things play out other than to call out a few instructions in Japanese – instructions Neil was slowly picking up, as he had little choice but to learn the language since it was spoken so often in the Nest.
He didn’t like not knowing what was happening around him, especially since it appeared that he was stuck at Edgar Allan for the foreseeable future.
Riko’s ‘team’ won that day’s game like always, but Neil had managed to score three points, even if two of those points had cost him a black left eye and bruised ribs. Well, more bruised ribs.
Tetsuji came out onto the court and stopped before Neil with the rest of the Ravens fanned out around them, with Jean at Neil’s side as always and Riko standing beside his uncle in a respectful manner. The older man eyed Neil for several seconds with an indifference that made Neil want to throw his helmet at the bastard when he thought about the power Tetsuji wielded over him, until Tetsuji gave a slight nod. “He remains a striker. Give him the number four.” For a moment it looked like amusement flickered across his face before it resumed its usual impassiveness.
There were audible gasps at that declaration and several people took to staring at Neil with open hatred. One dealer – Tyson – actually spoke up. “But he’s not good enough for that number!”
Riko grinned, the expression cruel and eager as he looked at Neil. “We have all summer to make sure he will be.” And by that, he meant to beat Neil into shape.
Tetsuji told everyone to get back to practice, which meant that Neil went off to resume work alone on the Ravens’ drills (he was on the second one by then and almost had it perfected), which he worked on until it was time for lunch; at that point, the Ravens had finished with their classwork (which he felt was a bit of a joke, since it was clear that their main reason for attending the university was to play Exy), and had to bear dealing with the rest of the Ravens as he showered and changed into ‘normal’ clothes so he could eat lunch with Jean and savor a short break before practice resumed.
He should have known something was up when the rest of the team was so quiet despite their anger at Tetsuji’s announcement, how they kept their distance in the shower and locker room, especially when practice was done for the day (at last). Neil had just pulled on his t-shirt, hair still damp and body aching from the latest round of abuse, when strong hands grabbed him and slammed him into the wall of metal doors.
“Let me go!” he called out as he lashed out with his feet and managed to catch Bautista in the abdomen, only for Johnson and Tyler to haul him away and pin him down on one of the benches forming a long row in the locker room. Neil caught sight of a grim-faced Jean standing off to the side shaking his head, and then Riko leaned in to fill his vision. A very pleased-looking Riko who straddled his hips to help keep him on the bench.
“Looks like we’re keeping you after all, Josten.”
“Fuck you,” Neil spat as he struggled against the hands holding him down.
“I see you still haven’t learned to watch that mouth of yours, have you? Oh, this is going to be fun.” Riko nodded to Johnson and Tyler, who were holding onto Neil’s shoulders and arms, and Neil found his arms yanked above his head and something that felt like a t-shirt tied around his wrists to hold them beneath the bottom of the bench. Meanwhile, Bautista kept hold of his legs so he couldn’t kick them free, and Tyler went over to help.
“You’re going to learn your place,” Riko said as he pulled a switchblade from the back pocket of his pants, his smile widening when Neil stilled in long-ingrained fear at the sight of the weapon. “You’re going to learn to obey and call me ‘king’.”
“Fuck you,” Neil repeated as he braced himself for what was to come, especially upon sight of the knife, to push down those old fears and memories. “You’re just a kid with self-image problems. Gotta have everyone tell you-“ His head rocked to the side from Riko’s slap.
“Four is going to be the number of teeth you have left when I’m done with you,” Riko said as he flicked the knife open and began to cut at Neil’s shirt. “Do you know what that number symbolizes in Japanese?” When Neil remained silent, he dug the knife into the center of Neil’s chest, right above his sternum, until a whimper of pain escaped past Neil’s lips. “Do you?”
“No.” Neil glared up at the bastard who was going to enjoy causing him pain, he could tell. “What does it mean?”
“Oh, you can learn.” Riko grinned as he finished cutting through Neil’s t-shirt to expose his scarred torso. “It sounds like the word ‘death’, so it’s considered an ill omen, the number. I find it fitting that the son of the Butcher will bear the number – that and he seems determined to talk himself into an early grave.” Riko traced the tip of the knife along the right side of Neil’s chest. “Call me your king.”
Neil smiled at him even as he braced himself for what would happen next. “No.”
Anger flashed in Riko’s dark eyes despite the smile on his face. “I own you now,” he said as he slid the tip of the knife beneath Neil’s skin. “I can do whatever I want to you forever.”
He proved just that to Neil, proved that no one would stop him as he slid the knife into Neil’s flesh again and again and again, until Neil screamed from the pain. Neil never called him ‘king’, though, and after a while Riko clicked his tongue in disgust and got up so someone (Neil’s vision was too blurry from the pain at that point) could tattoo the number ‘4’ on his left cheek.
Riko and the others left, then, everyone but Jean who dragged Neil back to the showers to wash the blood from him and wrapped him in towels to keep him from bleeding all over the floor, then dragged him to their suite where he dumped Neil in his chair before going to fetch an impressive first aid kit.
“What, no alcohol?” Neil asked through chattering teeth, the British accent taking over again as it always did when it was just him and Jean, when they were alone in their room. When had he come to think of it as ‘their room’?
Jean gave him a searching look as he removed the towels then shrugged. “What, are you an alcoholic, too?”
Neil managed a slight shake of the head at that. “We… we always used it to dull the pain, my mother and I. For things like this.” Then, since he had given Jean a truth. “Who’s the alcoholic?”
Jean pointedly did not look him in the face as he fetched some alcohol wipes to begin cleaning the new cuts Riko had left behind. “Kevin.” Once again, the name was loaded with a mixture of emotion, hate foremost. “I could never keep anything on hand for very long because he would find it and drink it himself.”
Neil considered that while Jean cleaned the cuts; it worked somewhat as a distraction from the pain. “Did he need it for things like this?”
That wrung a broken laugh from Jean. “Kevin? Oh no, Riko rarely laid a hand on Kevin. At least, not until the end.”
So there was a story to be told, but Neil wouldn’t push for it that night. “But he lays a hand on you.” That much seemed obvious since Jean was property, too, since he had something like this and appeared to know what to do with Neil’s wounds, since Neil had seen Riko lash out a time or two at the Frenchman already. Since he’d seen the scars on Jean’s body in the locker room and showers. Since Jean was so worried about being included in Neil’s punishments.
“Yes,” Jean offered once he was done cleaning the cuts. “Now you know why you need to keep that fool mouth of yours shut.”
Despite the fire burning along Neil’s (when had the identity set that deep?) chest, despite knowing that he was just going to be cut and beat again and again and again, he had to laugh. “We may have a problem,” he admitted. Because Neil? This identity that seemed to have sunk into his bones with a tenacity which startled him? It was 90% attitude and 50% stupidity and 100% stubbornness, which didn’t make any sense – which summed up Neil perfectly.
Which summed up what had driven him on ever since his mother had died, really. He had nothing to lose anymore without her tethering him to the ground, to reality, to the fact that he had to keep his head down and his mouth shut if he wanted to survive. Which was why he had done something so stupid as to stay still and play Exy. But what did he have to lose anymore, really? It was only him, only Abram, and he didn’t think he could go on without anyone to center him, without anyone to push him and hold on to him and guard his back, to be there at night so he could sleep semi-peacefully.
So fuck ‘em. Fuck everyone who thought they could break him.
Jean closed his eyes and murmured a prayer in French beneath his breath, while Neil grinned at the thought that anyone could still possess any faith in such a place which resembled Hell. “Of course I am chained to a fool like you,” Jean said after a preparing a needle to stitch Neil up.
“I hear that everyone gets what they deserve,” Neil told him with a fake grin.
“I hate you so very, very much,” Jean told him with a great deal of passion as he jabbed the needle into Neil’s torn flesh.
There wasn’t much Neil could say to that, so he merely smiled with long-practiced ease through the pain while he was stitched back together.
*******
Andrew yawned in boredom while Kevin watched the championship game between the Ravens and the Trojans, his hands clenched around the empty glass of vodka; Aaron had given up an hour ago and was over at his desk reading some book even though classes were over for the semester, while Nicky played some game on his phone while sprawled out in one of the beanbag chairs. “You know they’re going to win,” Andrew said before sipping his own glass of alcohol.”
Kevin stirred at that and shook his head while he reached to grab the bottle of vodka on the coffee table so he could refill his glass; why the coward wasn’t over at Wymack’s watching the game, Andrew had no clue, but this was keeping them from Eden’s, dammit. Considering how much of a mess Kevin was at the moment, they probably wouldn’t be able to go until the next day. “The score is close, they might-“ as he spoke, Riko scored another goal. “I’d hoped… I thought maybe this year they’d win,” he said as he closed his eyes and raised the glass to his mouth.
“Why, because you’re not there?” Andrew scoffed at that, in no mood to placate Day’s fragile ego. “You’d only be on the court for how long if you were still a Raven, while Riko’s been working up to play longer to cover for you and they still have Moreau and the rest of the line-up.” He grinned as he twisted the knife a little more. “You’re not irreplaceable, imagine that. Guess that’s why you’re number ‘2’.”
“Andrew,” Nicky murmured while casting him an appalled look before offering Kevin an apologetic smile. “You’re always telling us that the Ravens are the best. This just proves it, right?”
“They are the best,” Kevin agreed once he set the empty glass down and reached for the bottle. “This is what the Foxes need to strive for.”
“I think the Foxes are fucked up enough as is,” Andrew remarked before another sip of whiskey.
Kevin flinched at that before he shook his head. “The Foxes are a broken, dysfunctional mess,” he argued, coherent despite all of the alcohol he’d drunk. “You can’t stop fighting long enough to play.”
“We’re not that bad,” Nicky mumbled as he glared at his phone.
“Yes, you are.” Kevin scowled at the television, where Riko had scored another point and the crowd at Edgar Allan roared in excitement. “You’re worse, even.”
“But you’re a Fox now,” Nicky was kind enough to remind the grouch.
Kevin closed his eyes as if in pain and drank straight from the bottle for several swallows. “Next season has to be better,” he said when he finally lowered it, his voice hoarse and expression bleak. “The team has to be better, though you’re still going to be crushed by the big Three.”
Over at his desk, Aaron made a sound of disgust. “We’re missing out on Eden’s for this?”
Andrew gave his twin a cheerful grin. “Consider it a taste of what’s to come next fall.”
“I hate this fucking team,” Aaron grumbled as he got up, went into the kitchen to grab a six-pack of beer and then stomped his way into the bedroom with the alcohol and his book.
Andrew sat there nursing his whiskey while Kevin grew drunk enough to pass out, at which point Nicky threw a blanket over him and joined Aaron in the bedroom with more beer; he almost turned the television off but left it on, especially since the game only had a few minutes left. As expected, the Ravens won, though the Trojans didn’t embarrass themselves by giving up too many points.
That team’s captain managed a weary smile for the camera and spouted such ridiculous shit along the lines of ‘good game’ and ‘learning from it’ and ‘looking forward to a rematch next season’, the triteness of his words making Andrew want to gag. This was Jeremy Knox, the player which Kevin talked about with such suspicious fondness and respect? Disgusting.
After putting up with that, Andrew decided he might as well watch a little longer and see what the Ravens had to say, considering all the shit that the team (who was he kidding? It had been Riko and maybe Tetsuji behind it all) and their deranged fans had put the Foxes and the university through in the last few months. That they might go through again with Kevin as a starting striker for the team come September.
It took a few minutes, but they finally got around to interviewing Riko, an arrogant smile on his sweaty face and the Ravens an orderly dark crowd behind him despite the fact that they had just won yet another championship. Tetsuji was standing close to his nephew and appeared grim as fuck while Riko spoke about the superior team winning and gave his uncle credit for his skill as a coach. That smug smile flickered when some reporter asked about how it felt to win the title without Kevin beside him, a faint hint of darkness which Andrew was certain not many people would catch, before Riko managed a (fake) contrite expression.
“It does bring about a sense of sadness, I admit,” Riko told the cameras focused upon him. “Kevin has always been at my side, a huge part of this team and my career that I still can’t believe that he’s not here, but it was his choice to move on and I have to respect that decision.” Then the smile returned. “Yet we are able to move on as well, and as you can see, it hasn’t held us back.” There was a slight twitch to his smile, a sharpness as he leaned forward. “As difficult as it is to move forward without Kevin’s presence, it’s something we have to do and I think you’ll see some interesting changes to the team next year. Interesting and promising changes. We are looking forward to becoming the best we can be, as always, and nothing will hold us back.”
‘No one’ was clearly implied in that statement.
Several reporters rushed to speak over the other to ask for clarification, but Riko stepped away from the microphones while Tetsuji shook his head and said that would be enough, that his players were tired and there would be more interviews the next day. Riko paused to glance over his shoulder and gave one more parting smile, one last comment that his players deserved a reward for their efforts, and something in the familiar cruel hunger of that expression made Andrew turn off the television at last, unable to willingly look at the bastard any longer.
He had a feeling that someone at Edgar Allan, at the Nest, wouldn’t be celebrating much longer. However, he’d already taken one broken bird in so it wasn’t his concern.
He got up to fetch some more whiskey.
*******
If Neil thought that being sliced up by a psychotic spoiled brat would cut him any slack when it came to practice, he was wrong; Jean dragged him out of bed the next day without any remorse.
“You did this to yourself,” his partner informed him. “I told you to behave.”
Neil managed a weak laugh as he did his best not to wince. “How do they expect me to learn anything like this?”
Jean was still for a moment as he handed Neil his clothes – clothes he’d just shed once they got to the locker room. “You had best get used to it, you stubborn fool. Here at the Nest, they don’t care about exhaustion or anything that can be hidden beneath your uniform.” A haunted look came into those pale eyes which had become so familiar to Neil in such a short time. “As long as you can stand, you’ll be out there.”
Well, it wasn’t like Neil should be that surprised, not after what he’d gone through while Tetsuji had ‘tested’ him to see what position he should play, and it wasn’t anything that he hadn’t endured while on the run with his mother – when they’d pushed themselves to their limits and sometimes beyond to stay ahead of his father’s people. But all of that for a game?
Then again, he was learning that nothing ever was simple when it came to the Moriyamas. Jean was slowly explaining the truth about the family’s empire to him, now that he’d been tattooed and accepted as part of the Perfect Court, now that it was clear that he’d be spending his life as an ‘asset’.
Riko and Tetsuji were part of the side branch of what was a yakuza family, basically ran a front with Exy, the Ravens and the Nest at Edgar Allan as a means for the main branch, headed by Tetsuji’s older brother, Kengo, to use to launder money and bring together his criminal associates under the pretext of watching games. It was all oh-so clever, and now Neil was a part of it, would be handing over the money he made with any endorsements and an expected pro-career.
If he didn’t earn any money? Well, as it had been repeatedly told to him, an asset with no worth wasn’t an asset at all.
So he swallowed the pain with long-practiced ease and changed into his uniform, took his place out on court and dealt with Riko and the jealous Ravens, smiled in defiance when he stole the ball from Riko and managed to score a goal despite it all. Then spent the rest of the day practicing the third Ravens’ drill while the rest of the team prepared for the upcoming championship game, until Tetsuji ordered him into the Nest because of the people arriving – more the media than anything.
There were strict orders for no one to mention Neil to anyone not a Raven or approved by Tetsuji; the team’s coach had made it clear that he wouldn’t allow the leak made by a certain Fox to happen among the Ravens, that he didn’t want anyone to know that Neil had ‘signed’ with their team until the new season began. Considering his sway with the ERC, he’d even gotten the sport’s governing council to easily agree with that, claiming some nonsense about Neil being upset about what Andrew had done when he’d turned down Kevin.
As a skilled liar, Neil had to hand it to the man, Tetsuji knew how to work people.
He was in his room when one of the assistant coaches came for him, and for once he kept quiet as he followed the middle-aged man down the hallways which led to one of the lower level elevators which would take him to the East Tower. Immediately on his guard by that fact, Neil tried to think why he’d be required to go back to the ‘family’s’ tower, to the place he now knew was where they held ‘business’ meetings and was closed off to anyone who didn’t have the express permission of either Tetsuji or Kengo Moriyama to be there, and didn’t think he’d fucked up that badly in the last week or so. He’d received Tetsuji’s approval and been tattooed, after all. Surely his small defiance against Riko hadn’t been that bad?
Tetsuji was inside the large room overlooking the court, along with several guards, Patrick DiMaccio and a young Japanese man only a few years older than Neil. At Tetsuji’s curt motion, Neil slowly gave a slight bow, his attention on the young man standing in front of the windows and watching him with open curiosity.
“So this is Nathan Wesninski’s willful son?”
“Yes, my lord,” Tetsuji answered; since he was so young, Neil surmised that the man was Ichirou, Kengo’s oldest son.
“Interesting.” Ichirou approached Neil with the confidence of someone who expected to never be in any real danger, who expected all threats to be neutralized before they reached him and, upon seeing the wary gazes of the guards around them, Neil was certain they ensured that Ichirou was in good hands. There was also the fact that he could spy glimpses of a leather holster beneath the black suit jacket that the Moriyama heir wore since it was left unbuttoned, and what appeared to be a Glock tucked against Ichirou’s left ribs. “Do something about this hair,” he ordered as he reached out to tug on Neil’s overlong, light brown bangs while Neil did his best not to flinch.
Tetsuji said something quiet in Japanese, to which Ichirou replied in a more firm manner, then bowed his head. All the while Ichirou continued to examine Neil; he let go of Neil’s hair to grasp him by the chin and tilt up his head. “Number four, how fitting.”
“Yes, Riko said the same thing.”
Judging from how Tetsuji frowned and DiMaccio glared at him, Neil shouldn’t be talking, but a slight smile came across Ichirou’s face. “You are your father’s son, I see.” When Neil did flinch, his smile widened. “Don’t you like that?”
“I’m usually told I sound like my mother,” Neil explained. “Because of my attitude problem, I think.”
It sounded like DiMaccio muttered a curse then while Tetsuji spoke again in Japanese, but Ichirou continued to smile as he answered his uncle – Neil caught something about ‘red’ as the man’s fingers tightened on his chin.
“You are definitely your father’s child,” Ichirou said as he finally let go. “Let’s see how well you serve the family in upcoming years.”
There wasn’t much that Neil could say to that at the moment, not without digging himself even deeper into the grave, so he gave another curt bow and allowed the assistant coach who’d been waiting out in the hallway to return him to his room.
When Jean showed up for a few minutes to check on him before reporting to the locker room for the game, the Frenchman at first gaped at Neil and then sat down on his bed as if unable to stand. “Oh fuck,” he swore in French. “This is… this is bad.”
That wasn’t what Neil wanted to hear. “Ichirou didn’t appear offended.”
Jean shook his head. “You don’t understand – Riko was handed over to Tetsuji not long after he was born, as the second son he’s effectively worthless to the main branch. He would give anything to get his father’s or brother’s attention, and here Ichirou calls for you?”
That ‘worthless’ comment explained a lot about Riko’s numerous issues, but right now, Neil was worried about what everything meant for him. “He only seemed interested in me in regards to my father.” He shuddered at the thought of being compared to the monster and having anything in common – it was bad enough to look in the mirror and see the man’s eyes staring back at him, to share so many similar features.
There was another of Jean’s weak, sorrowful laughs at that. “All Riko is going to care about is that you saw Ichirou and he didn’t. One hopes he doesn’t find out… but we are not that lucky.” He shook his head as he stood up.
“Uhm, good luck,” Neil said as he stood up as well. “Tonight, I mean. The game.” Despite his looming future as a Raven, he only really cared about the night’s game because of Jean, because he knew winning it would go well for his partner – because it would go well for them. He meant it would go well for them.
That wrung a slight smile from the glum bastard. “Thank you. Stay out of sight and for once, no trouble?” When Neil rolled his eyes at that, Jean reached out with a slow hand and tousled Neil’s hair. “You can use my laptop to watch it, if you like.”
“Only because there’s nothing else for me to do.” Neil grinned at his roommate. “Or maybe I’ll download a bunch of viruses on your laptop. Sign you up for Welsh lessons, things like that, bring some culture into your life.”
“I know I’m in hell,” Jean sniffed as he headed for the door. “I’m stuck with an uncouth British oaf for a partner.”
Neil allowed him that parting shot to put him in a good mood for the game before he fetched the French bastard’s laptop.
It was always so quiet in the Nest despite having almost thirty people living there full-time and various staff walking around during the day; the Ravens were a subdued, focused team, a driven, disciplined team. Tetsuji had broken them down and reformed them into the image he wanted, him and Riko, and that was something little better than automatons, from what Neil could tell. Automatons with buried rage they were willing to unleash at the most convenient target, some of them.
The Ravens were the best players out there in Class I Exy and would win the game that evening, but it came at a high cost. Their days were dictated to them the entire time they were at Edgar Allan, and most of them would remain over the summer break and take part in an amped up schedule focused on nothing but Exy practice. They paired up so they were never alone, they strove to gain the ‘highest’ jersey number (a ten to nineteen, with the ‘holy grail’ being anything below a ten, which put them in Rico’s ‘Perfect Court’), and listened to the Moriyamas without question.
It went against everything that was Neil, the whole Raven mindset. If he was smart, he should use something from past experiences, from past personas – a bit of Alex, a bit of Luca or Mathieu – all parts of him who knew to keep his head down and his mouth shut to get him through the next few years.
But he didn’t think he could do it. That he could let the Moriyamas mold him into a mindless money-making tool for the rest of his life (however long it was). It might be his own fault that he was here due to ignoring his mother’s warnings, for forgetting her hard-taught lessons, but she had least gone down fighting. Should he do any less?
He settled on his bed with Jean’s laptop and pulled up the game, and eventually got past the pre-game nonsense about teams and speculation about how well they’d do – a lot on it focusing on the fact that Kevin Day was no longer playing for the Ravens. A mixture of apathy and anger roiled in Neil’s chest whenever he heard that name; it was the reason he was stuck here in the Nest, the reason why Jean had suffered new scars and bruises, the reason why the Ravens were on tenterhooks around a psychotic, hair-trigger Riko.
There were several Ravens Neil suffered no fondness for, but some of them (the whole crazy mindset aside) he was learning weren’t too bad. Considering he was stuck with them for the next few years, he had to learn to live with them, and having an overgrown child throw abusive tantrums which affected everyone whenever a certain person’s name was mentioned didn’t help the situation.
The game finally started, and for a while Neil could forget the pain of his new wounds, the shitty situation he was in, the fact that he’d soon be hurting tomorrow (and the day after that) as the two best Class I Exy teams clashed on the court. The Trojans were good, were fast and meshed well together, had a strong ratio of women to men players who more than held their own, but they weren’t the Ravens. They didn’t possess the almost freakish synchronization between the players that had been forced down the Ravens’ throats by Tetsuji’s decrees on and off the court, by the players’ cult-like dedication to the game… nor did they do the sneaky little tricks here or there that went just under the radar of the referees which got the ball into the Ravens’ racquets.
Still, despite all of those things, the Trojans played a good enough game that Riko, Jean and the others had to remain on their toes until the fourth quarter, when the gap in points made it clear who would win. Neil had a feeling that Riko probably wasn’t going to be pleased with that, that he’d have wanted a more decisive victory to prove that he didn’t need Kevin, but he was still winning by four points in the end.
Neil knew that he was fucked up, that he had issues (it was a given, considering his parents and everything), but come on, Riko. How could anyone take one look at that psychopath and the fake smile on his face, and not drag him off to the nearest psych ward? Or better yet, put a bullet in his bran and save them all the trouble?
Once the game was over, Neil closed the browser since he wasn’t interested in any of the post-game interviews or analysis. For a moment he debated downloading something as a joke, but he wasn’t sure how amused Jean would find it and didn’t want to risk losing access to the laptop just yet – he should be getting his own soon, since he was officially registered for the fall at the university. Of course he hadn’t any say in his classes or degree, though after a very uncomfortable ten minute interrogation with Tetsuji where he’d discussed what had happened in the last eight years with his mother (some of which the man had known, after having people investigate their trail as much as possible), he’d been told he would major in Linguistics with a minor in Japanese.
Neil couldn’t argue too much with that, it was better than Business or English Lit, he supposed, but yet another sign of how much the Moriyamas controlled him.
He’d returned the laptop to Jean’s desk and was reading through an old French to Japanese dictionary when the door to the room opened. “Hey, congratulations,” he called out as he looked up to smile at Jean – only for his expression to falter when he saw Riko. A rather displeased Riko, considering that he’d just won.
Neil set the book down and braced his battered body to run, but there weren’t any other exits in the room, just the one that Riko was blocking. There was the bathroom, but the lock on the door was flimsy as hell and a mere courtesy thing that would take a few seconds to break and wouldn’t be too difficult to pick.
“Congratulations,” Neil repeated in English. “What do you want?”
Riko gave him a cruel, tight-lipped smile for a moment. “There it is, that mouth of yours. What makes you think you’re so special?”
“I’m not,” Neil argued as he inched to the edge of the bed. “I’m nothing.”
Something dark flashed in Riko’s eyes as he leaned more into the room. “Yes, you’re right. You’re nothing. You’re whatever I say you are because I own you. I’m your king. Say it.”
It looked as if Neil didn’t get a reprieve that night after all, and hoped that Jean was busy elsewhere for the next hour or so. “You’re a spoiled, psychotic brat whining for your daddy’s attention,” he said with a too-bright smile, and knew he’d be screaming because of those words when Riko’s eyes dilated a moment later.
Yet instead of pulling out his knife, Riko stepped aside and waved a few fifth and fourth year seniors into the room – Nichols, Bautista, Johnson and Federov. “I promised you a reward for a game well played, yes? Well, here it is.” He grinned at Neil as the young men approached him on the bed. “A present from your king. Enjoy.”
Neil’s mind blanked for a moment as the men approached, as the implication of Riko’s words sunk in, and then he lashed out with hands and legs to keep them away while Riko leaned against the wall to watch. But they were too many, were bigger and stronger and weren’t already worn down with injuries and constant beatings and exhaustion – they won out in the end.
But Neil never called Riko ‘king’.
*******