Eyeshield 21 Fan Fiction ❯ Combing His Depths ❯ Combing His Depths ( Chapter 1 )

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

“Combing His Depths”

Eyeshield 21 fanfiction by the butler

Koutaro, Julie, and Akaba

Set vaguely after the Bando/Deimon game. No spoilers, so far as I know.

Disclaimer: the author does not claim ownership of the characters herein portrayed in fan fiction. They belong to the creative universe of Eyeshield 21, which is the property of its author and illustrator.

Something, people started whispering among each other, was wrong with Koutarou Sasaki today.

It wasn't anything to do with how Koutarou looked- his hair's still up, his lips still in moue, his uniform the same white, black, blue and red ensemble as everyone else. The patent leather shoes are there. And it's not as if this is the first time Koutarou went around with a scowl on his face- there was, around the time of the amefuto club's purging, a time that Koutarou went around with a darker look than a mere scowl on his face, when he looked positively murderous for days on end. No it wasn't that at all. But no one could put their finger on what exactly was wrong with Koutarou Sasaki this fine cheery morning at Bando High School. That is, until Akaba Hayato decided to enlighten everyone, after a guitar riff of course.

“He's not combing his hair.”

And by the gods, Akaba-sama was right! Koutarou, chin resting on a hand as he brooded at his desk, mumbled something evil into his palm as every head in the classroom turned and looked at him as if he was something not smart in the microscope during laboratory class. One brave girl ventured to ask the irate kicker as to why he has foregone his most hallowed ritual.

“Tch, idiots! Stop staring at me `coz it's not smart at all!”

Was the smart (at least to Koutarou) reply, and by the way Koutarou grumbled into his palm again and looked out the window, it's the only reply they'll get. The class turned to their Akaba-sama then, but all they got was a guitar interlude, which they all enjoyed listening to but not necessarily understood.

It was a moment later when Koutarou remembered to remark angrily at Akaba,

“Oi, what the hell are you doing in my class? Red eyed bastard, your classroom's the next room, not this one! Tch, not smart, man.”

Of course, only Koutarou would have wanted Akaba-sama to leave.

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The day stretched way too long to Koutarou's opinion, and his hand just reached at his back pocket for the 50th time that morning, a reflex movement that the kicker seemed unable to do anything about. He settled for running the hand through his hair instead, and sighed. He looked out the window again, though the clouds offered him no peace.

He was pretty sure people were keeping tabs on him now, and there may even be a betting pool going on amongst the more adventurous of the students as to when he'll crack and start combing his hair again. Not smart! His recent action of running a hand through his hair was even now being debated by three students behind him in whispers as to whether that counted as combing or not. He turned, gave the three a scary look, and then launched his patent spit attack at his mortified classmates, who promptly yelped and shied away in disgust.

“Koutarou Sasaki! How many times must I tell you to not spit at your classmates in the middle of a lecture? Stand outside, now!”

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Lunch was a sad affair. Without Julie around Koutarou had to settle for the home-made bento his elder sister practically forced on his person, making Koutarou her very own guinea pig for her lunchtime concoctions in preparation for the one she was planning to give to her crush. Reaching into his pocket, Koutarou pulled out some pathetic looking bunch of coins and pocket lint, grimacing when he realized he didn't have enough to buy a decent meal at the cafeteria. Not smart. Oh well, he thought as he bravely pulled out his chopsticks, a man is foolish to turn away “good” food. Even so, he took a deep breath before venturing to pick something that looked like a piece of scrambled egg but was, for some reason, of the color pink.

It tasted, unreasonably, of onion and had the texture of a dog's rubber chew toy. It takes a lot of talent (or non-talent) to be able to do that to plain, everyday bacon.

Deciding to be a man about it all and eating anything out of the horrible bento was, he realized, not smart.

It was a stroke of luck that the sudden guitar riffs from behind made him gulp in surprise; else he wouldn't have been able to swallow the damn thing.

“The hell are you doing here you red-eyed freak?! I told you this isn't your classroom! Not smart!”

This earned him a guitar interlude and several cries of “Koutarou-kun is such a meanie to Akaba-sama!” making his lip involuntarily curl and his hand reach for his back pocket. He cursed when he realized this and glared at his hand for being such a traitor. Akaba, meanwhile, negotiated the floor and sat on the empty seat before Koutarou's desk, facing the irate kicker while idly strumming his ever present guitar.

“You have a home-made bento today.”

“Eh?”

“It seems that some girl has been charmed enough by your spit attacks to make you one.”

The guitar riff that Akaba played after that remark sounded positively smug, Koutarou was prepared to bet his right leg on it.

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Koutarou stood blinking before the amefuto club room, holding his breath as he looked into the deserted room after classes. Shit, it couldn't be… not again…

“No practice today.”

And the breath he was holding escaped his lips, his shoulders immediately slumping. His fingers itched for his comb. For a moment he thought the amefuto team members had quit on him and the kick team again, not smart! Without Julie around he had no one to remind him about schedules and stuff, not because he wasn't smart or anything. He was almost grateful for the sound of Akaba's voice informing him about not having practice today, if only it didn't actually come from Akaba.

“I knew that! Not smart of you man. I was just, er… passing by!”

“Fuu…”

“Shut the fuck up! And why are you everywhere I am? That's not smart!”

And shoving his fists into his pockets, he left Akaba in a huff. The redhead strummed a few chords in his guitar before shaking his head and walking the other way. The idiot must be crazy, Akaba thought to himself, if he didn't have his guitar for one whole day he'd have went crazy.

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After depositing the contents of his sister's not smart bento into an unassuming trash can (which did not know what just hit it), Koutarou turned the corner and headed towards Julie's. Her mom always treated Koutarou nicely and he made sure to place her in his mental Smart list (as opposed to the Not Smart list, which was headed, predictably enough, by Akaba closely followed by Musashi). After sipping the tea offered to him and impatiently tapping his foot as he sat in the living room, Koutarou was greeted by the sight of a sickly Julie still wrapped in a blanket heading his way.

“Oi, you still sick? Not smart!”

“It's not as if I wanted to get sick, idiot.”

Sitting down with a sniff, Julie patted at her pajama pockets until she fished out something. She held it out for Koutarou to take. He greedily snatched it from her hands, having the grace to look apologetic after doing so.

“Mom gave this to me this morning. She said you left it with her to give to me when you passed by to walk me to school. Honestly, what were you thinking? Giving me your comb as if it would cure me or something.”

“Huh? Tch whatever. It's obviously the smart thing to do.”

Julie gave him a bemused smile.

“Sometimes you confuse me, Koutarou-kun.”

Koutarou pouted as he flicked the comb open with a flourish and started combing his hair the first time that day since he left it at Julie's that morning. It was a solid idea, giving Julie his most treasured object when she was sick and suffering along with her for the rest of day, and he wasn't about to label it as not smart just because he couldn't explain it to the girl. Really, it wasn't his fault Julie can't decipher the depth of his gesture; he was going out on a limb as it is, giving up his comb.

“Not smart” was all he managed to say.