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By the tender age of thirteen, Oshitari Yuushi -- that beautiful Kansai-voiced devil -- fancied himself a connoisseur of fine women. He had sampled twelve suitable specimens to date. All of them were at least seven years older than him. He viewed each of these tender creatures as fine wines -- if opened early, the true flavors would be lost before their delicate fruition. Atobe listens to his eloquent conquests with a pained expression.

A heterosexual? On Ore-sama's tennis team? The very idea was a disgrace. It was unheard of. Unthinkable. Unacceptable.

Atobe would be the laughingstock of the middle school tennis world for generations to come. And that, my dear readers, simply would not do. If only Oshitari had been less talented -- if that were the case, he would have let his peer migrate to more suitable pastimes -- Go, or maybe Chess. But Oshitari Yuushi was a veritable tennis tensai, and a needed asset. What was Ore-sama to do?

The solution was actually quite simple. It had to be, coming out of Kabaji's mouth. "Make him gay," he grunts.

"Make him gay?" Atobe repeats, suddenly awed by his own brilliance as a muse.

"Usu."

It was simply a matter of finding out Oshitari Yuushi's type. Blushing, handsome schoolboy like Ohtori? Intense, wild fighter like Shishido? Cute and cuddly like Jiroh? Strong and silent like Kabaji?

Or maybe ...

Or maybe the boy required the full magnificence that was Ore-sama himself.

Atobe raises his beautiful arm high into the air and snaps his fingers. "Kabaji, summon the team to the headquarters."

"Usu."

Kabaji doesn't need to ask if Atobe means the top secret Hyotei headquarters located behind the bookcase in the library. He does ask if they have to wear the spandex outfits this time.

"Of course," Atobe says, sliding his arms into long, violet gloves.

*

Oshitari didn't bat an eyelash when Ohtori blushingly called him Senpai with just the right inflection of irresistibility; nor did he pay attention to the lean, sweaty expanse of muscle Shishido exposes as he smashes a ball over the net. He rolled his eyes at Jiroh's eyebrow waggling, and he made a complaint to Atobe over Kabaji cornering him in the bathroom.

"If you're going to let your sycophants off of their leashes, make sure they're properly disciplined," Oshitari said, adjusting his glasses coolly.

Atobe gave his most dazzling of smiles, and was momentarily distracted by the sheer magnificence of it reflected in Oshitari's lenses. God, wasn't he just the epitome of exquisiteness?

"Look, Atobe-san," Oshitari said, interrupting Atobe's silent self-flirtation. "I just hope the fact that I'm not a virgin while you evidently are isn't getting in the way of --"

Atobe's eyes snapped wide open. "Virgin? Who?"

"I recall you saying that you'd never known the pleasure of a woman."

Atobe laughed until there were glorious tears in the corners of his eyes. Poor, sheltered boy, he thought. He placed a perfect, soft hand against the side of Oshitari's face. "Oh Yuushi," he whispered seductively. "there is so much I could teach you."

Oshitari shoved Atobe off of him. "Just what are you saying?" he asked in bewilderment. "You're a man!"

"Yes," Atobe responded, unshed tears dramatically hugging to his eyes. "I could be the man for you."

"I'm going to be sick, I think," Oshitari said, raising a hand to his mouth.

Atobe's eyebrow twitched. Impossible. No one was above Atobe's charms. No one.

Just as he was about to enlighten Oshitari of this fact, the door to Atobe's home office flew open rudely. "You /bitch/."

High heels clicked in the floors like gunshots as the speaker ran forward to slap Atobe across the face.

Atobe rubbed his stinging cheek, grinning. Suddenly, he wished he'd just dismissed Oshitari and decided to deal with him later. It was Tuesday, after all.

"Who -- who's that?" Oshitari asked in a faint, stunned voice.

"Gakuto Muhaki," the -- boy -- said as he turned on his heel, his dark red hair and plaid, pleated skirt flaring out angrily. "Who the fuck are you?"

His collared shirt was unbutton down indecently to the belly, his tie artfully askew. Atobe watched the nervous movement of Oshitari's Adam's apple as he swallowed, hard.

"Muhaki-kun," Atobe explained, resting a possesive hand on the sharp just of hit peeking out from the skirt, "is Ore-sama's head cheerleader, ahn?"

"He's a boy," Oshitari murmured incredulously as Gakuto licked his lips. Gakuto smacked Atobe's hand away from working down his skirt. Oshitari caught a glimpse of white cotton panties with little blue bows with his genius vision, though.

"Of course. Don't they have cheerleaders like this back home?"

"..." Oshitari made an indiscernible sound.

Atobe kissed Gakuto on the side of his neck.

Oshitari squeaked in a very unmanly manner and exhaled, "Excuse me, I must use the restroom."

Atobe grinned as he saw Oshitari run from the room as though he feared for his life. "Hey Gakuto," he murmurs as Gakuto eagerly ground his pert bottom back against his crotch.

"What?"

"You know how you've been wanting to get onto the team?"

"Yeah, what about it, you fucking bastard? Gonna mock my stamina again, Mr. One Minute and Nineteen Seconds. Stamina, my ass."

Atobe growled. "Ore-sama will pretend he didn't hear that."

Gakuto shrugged. "Delude yourself if you wanna."

Sometimes, Atobe wished, for Gakuto's sake, that he would learn to shut his damned mouth. "You can be a regular if you turn Oshitari Yuushi gay."

"Who?"

Atobe reached for the remote on his desk and turned his television on to the live feed from the bathroom. Oshitari Yuushi's fist moved. Oshitari Yuushi's lips moved.

What's happening to me? he mouthed.

"Che." Gakuto's eyes gleamed. "Too easy."

*

"I'm straight," Oshitari repeated, and the room seemed too small, everything seemed too small as Gakuto leaned in closer. "I like breasts."

"I'm not wearing any underwear," Gakuto breathed.

Really, it was too easy.

*

And so Atobe lived happily with his homosexual team, and no one ever dared raise doubts over his flamoyant authority.

Or he did until Oshitari met Jyosei Shonan's Hanamura-sensei.