Chapter Text
Takao sighed contentedly after his particularly loud rendition of his favourite song. “Man, singing out here in the open makes me feel so glad to be alive, here, with you guys,” he smiled, widely.
“Shut up and focus, Takao,” Midorima said, peering through his binoculars. The wasteland that was the desert landscape outside of Tokyo was as barren as ever. Seemed like everything was clear, for now. His lucky item lay safely at his feet. He would have to consult his fortune again later that day.
Takao pouted, although his eyes danced mischieviously. “I’m just appreciating music! Aren’t you always telling me to be more cultured, Shin-chan?” he teased.
Ootsubo rapped him on the head. “Stop distracting Midorima. We need to be the first to move if we want to collect the bounty on this one. Kaijou is already starting to catch up on us,” he said.
Takao straightened and continued his surveyance of the landscape, eyes sharpening and focusing. He started humming as he watched.
“Maybe we should have a theme song for our tribe,” he suggested, winking at Miyaji.
Miyaji just whacked him upside the head. “Who do you think we are, one of those traveling entertainment troupes? We have a job to do here.”
Takao barely had enough time to shout “Shin-chan—” when arrows appeared in thin air, piercing straight where Midorima’s face had been. Dust clouds suddenly swooped in, hiding all visibility.
Ootsubo yelled, “Quick, into formation!” Miyaji and Kimura immediately got into position, but Takao ignored the order, frantically looking for Midorima. Shin-chan, where are you?
***
Despite the liveliness of the impromptu party happening outside his tent, the music from the visiting troupe was lulling Aomine to a peaceful sleep. He was dreaming wonderfully about being in the entertainment district of Tokyo, hanging out with those girls he heard danced for a living (girls who actually weren’t being paid to entertain, then assassinate), when Momoi’s voice pierced through his sleep. He should have been used to it by now after almost 20 years, but he never was.
“Dai-chan! Imayoshi-senpai is calling a meeting now,” Momoi said. Her face anxiously hovered over his, pretty and delicate. Aomine knew better. Growing up with her, just the two of them against the entire cutthroat population of Tokyo and beyond, killing to gain bounty for a living — it tended to destroy any delusions of innocence.
“Ugh, tell that bastard I’m busy,” he groaned, turning on his side. He tried to let the music soothe him back to sleep. She poked him, hard in the ribs, where she knew he hated.
“Come on! He probably wants to talk about how Touou is slipping in this month’s bounty rankings again,” she chided. Throwing his sheath and dual broadswords towards him, she stood there, arms crossed, glaring at him until he got up.
As they left the tent, she mentioned, as nonchalantly as possible, "Ki-chan's tribe Kaijou pulled ahead of us again." Aomine stiffened. Then he scoffed, "So what? We'll be ahead again after our next scouting trip."
She sighed. Dai-chan was always touchy about their old Teikou academy classmates. That's not to say she wasn't, either. Tetsu-kun...they still had no idea which tribe he had ended up in. As always, Dai-chan's former shadow had eluded any calls for a bounty on his head. There was practically no information on him out there — it was as though he had vanished into the shadows he was so adept in.
Aomine tapped her shoulder. His hand hovered there, always keeping her within touching distance. "You'll stay behind from scouting and do data analysis again today?" he asked, deliberately indifferent as he avoided her gaze.
Momoi inwardly rolled her eyes. Again with his 'its too dangerous out there, Satsuki' attitude. Dai-chan always seemed to forget she had already killed more and collected more bounty than him.
Then again, she was the same way towards him. Since young, they had always lingered around each other, somehow finding comfort and protection from each other's presence. It had to be because they had grown up with only each other most of their lives.
Now if only they could earn enough from bounty-hunting to actually get out of this crappy business.
***
"How do you find it so far?" Hyuuga asked, fake smile plastered on his face. He hated having to impress new recruits. Especially damn foreigners. Well, technically Kagami wasn't a foreigner, although he damn well behaved like one.
"What's that noise?" Kagami asked, frowning. It sounded like two cats had decided to have a yowling contest to see who could yowl louder, and shriller, than the other.
"That's just Koganei singing in the shower," Riko explained, smiling more naturally than Hyuuga. “Seirin has great facilities, despite being set up all the way out here!”
A large hand descended on Kagami’s shoulder as Kiyoshi hovered his smiling face too-near to his. “Welcome! Don’t worry, I can show you where to find better music than Koga’s singing!” he laughed loudly to himself as they stared at him. He pulled out a harmonica, and played a little tune.
Then he winked and elbowed Kagami. “I’ll also show you where you can have the most fun! Do you like card games, like hanafuda?”
Kagami just stared. Then he said bluntly, "You guys are weird." Hyuuga resisted the urge to face palm. Another tactless loudmouth to add to his tribe.
Kagami suddenly let out a high-pitched shriek as a freaking arrow whizzed past his face.
“I’m sorry,” Kuroko said. “I was practicing my archery.” Kagami gaped. This guy had come out of nowhere. Riko stomped up to him and whacked him upside the head. “Kuroko-kun! I told you, no shooting indoors! Practice your dagger-work instead!”
Kuroko turned to Kagami. “We’re aiming for the top ranking by the end of the year. The winning tribe gets enough gold from the emperor for a lifetime.” He paused. “Among other things.” Kagami could tell he probably cared more for the other things than just gold.
Then Kuroko levelled a gaze at Kagami. “I hope you can keep up with us,” he said.
Kagami stiffened. Was that a challenge? He tried to stare him down, but Kuroko was weirdly intimidating, even from his shorter height. “I hope you guys can keep up with me,” he said.
Hyuuga broke the tension, slamming them both on the heads. “What the hell are you guys having a pissing contest for? We’re on the same tribe, idiots.”
But then he turned to Kagami. “Kuroko’s right. We’re serious about getting to the top. Are you?”
Kagami was slightly taken aback by the steely determination in Hyuuga’s eyes. But he straightened. “I wouldn’t join you if you weren’t,” he stared resolutely at all of them.
***
Midorima was pissed. He had just bent down to pick up his lucky item (a satchel of tea leaves) when the arrows shot right where his head would have been if he had not bent down. Of course, the ensuing chaos had knocked the satchel right out of his hands, and it was impossible to find it in the dust enveloping their post.
Those tea leaves had been expensive. Midorima had needed to consult three different merchants before one of them even stocked the kind his fortune specified. Someone was going to pay. With an expert flick of his wrist, Midorima had four throwing knives in his left hand. His fingers were still wrapped — that wasn’t ideal but it would do.
As Midorima crouched and narrowed his eyes, trying to search for a target, Takao barrelled into him. “Shin-chan! You’re alright!” he said, clutching at him. His eyes were not in their typically focused intensity — they were wild and desperate. He had really thought something had happened to Midorima.
Midorima grabbed him and shook him to get him back to his senses. “Takao. Can you see anything we can hit?”
Instantly, Takao’s gaze cleared and sharpened. He peered through the dust. “I can’t see anything. But we can look at the wind — wherever its direction, you can bet our target is on the other end of it. They are the ones blowing this dust to us, after all.” Midorima was reminded that was why he stood Takao’s presence — he was useful for things like this.
Dimly, Midorima could hear Ootsubo, Kimura and Miyaji shouting for them to retreat. He growled. Not before he got some hits. As Takao pointed out a direction, he threw his knives in a swift arc. They flew beautifully as always, finding their destinations surely and certainly.
Later that day, Shuutoku packed the bodies on their cart.
“They weren’t our bounty, right? Who were they?” Miyaji asked, prodding one of them with the end of his dagger.
“Just typical bandits. They weren’t marked with a tribe symbol,” Ootsubo said.
Nearby, Midorima seethed as he cleaned his knives, precisely and deliberately as he did after every scouting trip. No bounty today, and a lucky item destroyed. He would need to consult the fortune-teller again later. Maybe he would need to pay for leaf-reading in addition to palm-reading, this time.
Nearby, Takao started singing loudly to himself again. Shuutoku let him be. Music was how he handled the days out in the wasteland, at any rate. It helped them survive.