Inui looks to Tezuka instinctively, who inclines his head affirmatively. Ultimately, Tezuka should be neither surprised nor insulted that Yukimura is taking Seigaku's methods and putting his own stamp on them. Yukimura never walked into a situation he didn't intend to command, and it was part of what made him so effective.
It's odd. He's never envied Rikkai's record. Endless, consecutive victories were never his goal. His eyes were fixed on the one prize, the one National Championship of his third year, but for the first time, he wonders if he could have done what Yukimura did.
Just as quickly, though, he knows he couldn't have. Because even Yukimura couldn't have done what Yukimura did, not without Sanada and Yanagi working in perfect concert with him. In hindsight, Tezuka can wonder, if he might have been able to push Oishi or Fuji or Inui... just a little further...
He lowers his eyes back to Inui's kettle. Yukimura is getting into his head again and they aren't even playing.
With Tezuka's endorsement, Inui needs nothing else, and does as asked, slowly smiling. Kawamura takes a step back, then another one, until he's actually hiding behind Fuji.
With barely repressed glee, Inui removes the coffee pot from the fire.
"Gentlemen of the tennis clubs, I present to you... Hot Koukou."
Wordlessly, Yanagi held up a tray with five clear drinking glasses. (He must have gotten the ones prepared for shots as soon as Yukimura spoke. That, or the Professor was more of a sadist than he let on.)
Into each, Inui poured a steaming greenish-purple mixture. Kawamura's nose wrinkled.
"I've made enough pickles..." he trailed off, thankful he was safe.
"It's indeed made with creamed pickles of onion, squash, plums, and a few other things I found around the house," he said. "I thought we'd want something hot around the fire, you see..."
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It's odd. He's never envied Rikkai's record. Endless, consecutive victories were never his goal. His eyes were fixed on the one prize, the one National Championship of his third year, but for the first time, he wonders if he could have done what Yukimura did.
Just as quickly, though, he knows he couldn't have. Because even Yukimura couldn't have done what Yukimura did, not without Sanada and Yanagi working in perfect concert with him. In hindsight, Tezuka can wonder, if he might have been able to push Oishi or Fuji or Inui... just a little further...
He lowers his eyes back to Inui's kettle. Yukimura is getting into his head again and they aren't even playing.
With Tezuka's endorsement, Inui needs nothing else, and does as asked, slowly smiling. Kawamura takes a step back, then another one, until he's actually hiding behind Fuji.
With barely repressed glee, Inui removes the coffee pot from the fire.
"Gentlemen of the tennis clubs, I present to you... Hot Koukou."
Wordlessly, Yanagi held up a tray with five clear drinking glasses. (He must have gotten the ones prepared for shots as soon as Yukimura spoke. That, or the Professor was more of a sadist than he let on.)
Into each, Inui poured a steaming greenish-purple mixture. Kawamura's nose wrinkled.
"I've made enough pickles..." he trailed off, thankful he was safe.
"It's indeed made with creamed pickles of onion, squash, plums, and a few other things I found around the house," he said. "I thought we'd want something hot around the fire, you see..."