Rod Freakin' Aokimoto

'CHRIST!!! WHO THE HELL SPOILED SCHOOL???!!!!'

Ten stopped dead in his tracks, glaring up at the school's glacial monstrosity of a building labelled 'Aoi Akeboshi High School.'

Who the hell thought it was a good idea to make a damn glasshouse for a school? They spoiled his sweet second home. He could literally see everything: students moving through every floor, teachers pacing the hall, all of it.

He stood there quietly, his thoughts were heavier than his outward frustration. What the hell happened to privacy? Hadn't anyone considered what it felt like to be exposed like this? Wasn't the school board worried someone might trip, shatter a glass wall, and end up as a casualty on the evening news? Where had sanity gone?

Well, no one cared anymore. At least that's how it seemed ever since he awoken from that long long coma.

His lips pressed into a thin line as someone familiar drifted into his mind.

Kira.

Yeah, Kira. His Kira. His junior girl. He could already picture her again: glossy pink hair, cocky little smirk, and that playful way she'd tug at his tie whenever they sneaked around the school halls. They had history, a lot of it.

Those unseen, heated moments in the gym, empty classrooms, hallways no one was supposed to be in during school hours. Trouble, wrapped in a pretty pinkish peak package.

A faint, sad smile tugged at his lips before vanishing again. Class could wait. Even though that's the main reason those officers had shoved him in an over-geared-looking UPG van and drove him all the way here, it could wait. Hell, the entire day could wait. He was going to find Kira. Maybe cry her a quiet river while she rubbed his head and murmured sweet condolences in his ear.

Definitely.

But as Ten pushed through the main glacier-like doors that didn't feel so glassy when he touched them, someone stopped him in his tracks.

"Shit!" Ten stumbled back, clutching his chest as his eyes locked on the man towering in front of him. The guy was a mountain. Broad shoulders, thick arms, and an aura that screamed, 'Move or get flattened.'

Ten blinked. He took a small, slow step back. His instinct was to stay quiet, his mind was already running through what little Japanese he knew.

He'd lived in Japan since they had all moved here from the States when he was 13, sure, but he'd never picked up more than a handful of words. Sure, he was one of the guys who topped the class, but language lessons had never been his thing. Sports and girls, yes. Japanese? No.

So, he bowed stiffly and mumbled, "Konnichiwa?" It came out more as a question than a greeting. He wasn't even sure he got it right.

The big guy's stern face cracked into a grin.

Ten tilted his head, holding down the super urge to scowl. 'Why were new faces so weird? All serious one second, smiling the next?'

"That would be your class," the man pointed down the hallway. His deep voice was oddly cheerful.

Ten followed the gesture. He squinted his eyes toward the doorway.

It was all blurry, damn his eyes. But when he caught sight of a figure ever so familiar, he froze.

'Oh, hell no.'

Leaning casually against the doorframe with arms crossed and smirking like he owned the world was none other than Rod Aokimoto.

That flaming red hair stuck up like he'd been electrocuted, and those sharp, tainted red eyes were locked right onto Ten.

Ten's jaw tightened. 'Rod freakin' Aokimoto.'

The guy was three years his junior and four classes his junior as well, but he had the nerve to act like he was king of the court. Back when Ten had been captain of both the basketball and badminton teams, he'd tried to take Aokimoto under his wings. Mentor him.

But Aokimoto? No. The kid didn't want a mentor; he wanted a rival.

Aokimoto was rude, blunt, and a total loner. He didn't take orders, didn't respect Ten or any of the top seniors, but Ten especially. He didn't respect authority. Instead, he challenged him: on the court, in the hallways, everywhere. Aokimoto challenged Ten.

And now, now Ten was supposed to share a class with him? His junior both by age and stage of life? Just because he missed school for seven years while he was in a coma?

Ten let out a bitter laugh under his breath. This wasn't just frustrating; it was an insult.

Without a word, Aokimoto raised his hand. His palm hovered in the air for a moment before a hologram shot out of it. It was a vivid, glowing display projected from a sleek nude band that almost seemed like it wasn't wrapped around his palm. It seemed more like a second skin.

"Ten Shaw," Aokimoto started off, emphasizing the full name in absolute taunt. "Did you think the world would wait for you while you were off having your beauty sleep?"

Ten narrowed his eyes, but his clenched fists stayed at his sides. He couldn't bring himself to snap back. Before he could even think of a reply, Aokimoto beat him to it.

"Well, guess what? It didn't. All your friends and colleagues have graduated. They're done with school. You should be grateful you've been dropped to my class and not lower. At least we've got a year before we leave school. Still, it's all so you can catch up with the world."

He made a sweeping gesture, making the holographic calendar flash brighter, then clenched his fist, and the display disappeared. "So you can catch up with the state of affairs of the world."

Aokimoto turned away, popping his gum with an obnoxious bop. But he didn't leave yet.

"Did you just…" Ten couldn't even process it fully. That was a hologram. Out of a band? How was that even allowed in school?

Before he could piece his thoughts together, the towering man stepped forward. He raised his hand, showing off an identical nude skin-like band. With a deep voice carrying authority, the man said, "This is yours."

Ten glanced between the man's hand and his face. He didn't feel good about this. Who would? What the hell is wrong with this place? "Mine?"

The man nodded. "We'll need to scan your palm, so this will do it. It has to sync with you, to match your biometric data. Subsequently, this band will serve as your ID; your pass, wherever you go."

Ten's eyes flicked to the band. Unease curled in his stomach. It looked alive and sleek but unnatural and weird still.

"I don't need a damn bracelet to prove who I am to anyone in this country. I'm Ten Shaw, the four-time Basketball Nationals Champion, the Golden Bowler of the country's Junior Rickitti Cricket Team."

The man: "????"

The man didn't answer. He simply held out the band.

Ten hesitated. His body tensed, his jaw locking. Against his better judgment, he reached out.

The moment his skin made contact, the band snapped to full effect. It slithered around Ten's palm like it was alive.

"What the…" Ten yelped, pulling back. But it was too late. The band had locked into place, fixing itself to his skin and palm like a second layer. It synced with the patterns of the fate lines in his middle palm, humming faintly as it glowed at the seams. Ten could feel it; too real, too wrong.

"Get it off!" Ten shouted, yanking at the band. But it wouldn't budge. It pulsed against his palm like a heartbeat, mocking him. "Get this thing off me!"