. Inui/Kaidoh, Prince of Tennis. For [info]ametatsu, who requested it a million years ago. 200 words. And, uh. Angst warning?

You have to use the people you can use.

Inui had sixty-seven notebooks full of data: data on people, on their movements, bodies, habits; on things and places and homework assignments.

Tezuka had his own notebook. So did Fuji. And Kaidoh.

Inui normally wrote everything down even if he had no reason to suspect it would be useful later. What Mizuki had said to him at the Prefecture tournament he had not written down.

He had not needed to, in order to remember it.

Across the court Kaidoh’s face was burning. He was backlit against a bright orange sliver of sunset, and for a moment he seemed to be on fire all over. “Was that better, Senpai?” he said, flicking his racket towards the mark on the grass court, approximately three centimeters closer to the singles line than the shot before it had been.

“Shift your swing three degrees to the left,” Inui said.

Kaidoh blinked.

You have to use the people you can use, Mizuki had told him, voice oily with understanding. Don’t you, Inui-kun?

Inui pushed his glasses up on his nose and the lump down out of his throat, and crossed the court to show Kaidoh how.

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