It's aggravating that he can't answer in kind. Watching other people play was never something Yukimura particularly loved-- someone else's victory could never be as exhilarating as your own wrought by your own hands. But it's the kind of sweet, mildly embarrassing thing you're supposed to say to a new boyfriend, and not having something equally nice to say leaves Yukimura feeling wrong-footed.

His irritation turns to the coaches. He'd have something timely to say if they'd given Marui a damn chance.

"I'm not sure I'm a fan of this sort of mini-tournament. It seems like a waste of our energy, and anyway, this is how Seigaku does things, with their little ranking matches."

Loyalty only goes so far for a pragmatist, though. Even as he says it, he's armchair quarterbacking the entire tournament. How would Yukimura have set up the matches? The corner of his heart that is solely concerned with finding excuses to kiss Marui is still new, still a muscle that aches when Yukimura overextends it or uses it in a novel way.

The calculating tennis captain is a much more comfortable costume to wear, one he's broken in and made much more his own over such a long time, and that part of him can't really find a proper place for Marui, flashy serve and volley doubles expert, either. Tanegashima, perhaps, would be a good partner, or Niou, but... yet... and then...

"It's a sign of indecisiveness that the coaches don't know what they're doing yet," he said. "Possibly even weakness."