Schneider leaned back in his leather lounge chair and took a swig of beer. He was clad in a crimson satin robe emblazoned with a swastika on the back. "Yes..." he said into the cordless phone he was casually balancing on his shoulder. "Iím very pleased to hear that. Youíll be rewarded." With that, he hung up without so much as a goodbye and stuffed the phone back into the pocket of his robe. He smiled to himself. He was feeling pretty good. "Ah, everything is working out perfectly," he said out loud. "I must tell Aryan Ozora of his Ďrevengeí. He will be most pleased." But first... He finished off the rest of his bottle, feeling the icy cold German brew slide down his throat most satisfyingly. That had been his tenth beer of the day...but according to the sports physical he had been required to take before he came to Japan, his liver was functioning relatively well. He couldnít even remember the last time he had gotten drunk. It was for the best. He had to be in constant control in order to serve his Fuhrer.
He then took the phone again, dialing a number. As soon as he was finished dialing, he said into the phone, "Aryan Tsubasa, good news! The Brothers and I--"
No answer. Just an odd sound. Schneider gritted his teeth, slamming his fist down on the chair. Busy signals sounded different in Japan!
"He had better get off that damn phone, and fast!" he hissed. "How dare he even think of not installing call waiting for the highest ranking member of the Nazi Boys Club?!"
A lone figure darted across the silent field, cloaked in shadows cast by the late afternoon sun. It bounded past the wrought iron gate to the street. The city was empty, strangely enough, and there would not be much need for a cover--damn! It paused to extricate its hair from a tree branch. Were there no laws in this town?!
"Eagleís Nest, come in!" the mysterious character whispered urgently into the device he held in his palm. "This is Hefner. It seems that all is clear, but Iíve been repeatedly hearing strange sounds coming from the dumpster about five feet from here. Should I investigate?"
"Leave it, Hefner," the voice on the other end responded crisply. "Report back to Eagleís Nest at once. Master Schneider requires you to accompany him on a visit to his Aryan Brother."
The German goalie fell silent for a moment, listening to the fuzz fade out over the communicator. Again...I have to go through this again...?! "Damn!" he cursed, drawing his foot back and kicking the dumpster as hard as he could.
Hefner jumped back slightly, taken aback. However, after a full minute of listening he dismissed the cry as a figment of his imagination and began to walk away. Moments later, he came back and kicked it again for good measure.
"Stop!!" the dumpster screamed. "For the love of God, stop!"
Hefner blinked with the sole eye he had. "Steven...?" he called tentatively.
A faint whimper answered him. "Help me..."
Hefner paused briefly, then ran. Better to let an Englishman die than to keep an Aryan waiting.
"Hey!!" Stevenís voice bellowed from inside the dumpster. "Where do you think youíre going?!" His consciousness was fading fast..."Arenít you going to--oh, to hell with it! I never shouldíve trusted a Jerry!"
With that, he knew no more.
Tsubasa was glad he had left the phone off the hook; judging from the amount of beer he had drunk earlier, heíd be throwing up his guts for the rest of the day. He just wasnít used to imbibing on such a level...
"Tsubasa?" his mother called. "Thereís somebody here to see you."
"Coming." Tsubasa groaned, taking a hearty swig out of a bottle of Scope. Spitting it out into the sink, he rushed to greet his visitor.
"Good afternoon, Aryan Brother." Schneider walked into the house, not bothering to take off his knee-high boots. Hefner, naturally, was at his heels. Tsubasa smiled weakly--he noticed that he was wearing a funny studded collar attached to a long leash; his blond superior was holding the other end. Hefnerís hair was as gravity-defying as ever.
"We have news of great importance," the goalie spoke up.
Schneiderís blue eyes flashed. "Silence!" he ordered, giving the leash a good yank. Hefner gagged. Satisfied, Schneider turned to Tsubasa. "Your line was busy, so I had to resort to a personal call. Were you making funeral arrangements for Ishizaki sama?"
Tsubasa shook his head, now a sickly green color.
The German blinked. "Is there something you would like to tell me, Aryan Tsubasa?"
Tsubasa shook his head again, sweat beading on his forehead. With a desperate cry, he ran to the nearest potted plant and stuck his head in it.
After listening to the boy retch for a few minutes, Schneider continued. "I have just received word that your revenge is underway. In a few days, you will be a happy and inspired young Nazi once again."
Tsubasa nodded feebly. "Thatís nice."
"Very well. I will see you later." The blond young man saluted stiffly. To Hefner, he said, "Letís go!"
The two goose-stepped out of the house. The last Tsubasa heard from them was Hefnerís choked cry as Schneider punished him for accidentally kicking him in the butt. He had to work on that spacing.
The day was finally over, the night sky swallowing up every last trace of light. It had been a day that nobody would be able to forget. While the rest of Tokyo was asleep, the memories of the horrible day kept Toho Gakuen awake. Seeing their captain fall had sent the members of the soccer team into despair, and they still sat in silence, awaiting the news of his condition. They cluttered the hall outside the infirmary, waiting...
All was silent, except for an occasional sniffle coming from Takeshi. The boy had been crying for several hours after Hyuga was injured, and had to be escorted outside by Wakashimazu. Kitazumeís orders, since he wanted to chew out his favorite student in peace.
Wakashimazu was now sitting just outside the door, his eyes half-closed, obviously meditating on the dayís events. Kitazume had left the infirmary a few minutes earlier, and was now in his office watching Urusei Yatsura videos. For now, the world was quiet. But how long would it last...?
Just outside the school building, a shadowy figure appeared, jumping from tree to tree with the sublime grace of a giant locust. It was a young man, too tall to be a native of Japan...a foreigner dressed entirely in black, with a brown tongue-like appendage sticking out of its head and a mask with only one eyehole cut out.
The mysterious figure lifted himself up onto a higher branch, then carefully slid inside the nearest open window. The branch snapped seconds after he jumped off, but he was unfazed. Serene, he gazed at the dimly lit hallway before him...it was illuminated by one light, right above his head.
Perfect. They wonít notice a thing.
As the silent but deadly one made his way further down the hall, he noticed several shadowy figures lining the wall at his right side. He cracked a smile, the action hidden by his mask. Theyíre just lackeys. I wonít bother with them. There was just enough light for him to see the door...the door he had been looking for...his mission was close to being completed. He checked to see if his butterfly knife was still firmly strapped to his belt, then took a careful step forward. He reached for the doorknob, but grabbed something else. Something very strange...
Somebodyís hair...? Who in the world would... He had no time to think this over, for a swift hand had dealt him a crushing blow to the face. He tasted blood. It didnít taste good.
"AUUUGGGHHH!!!" he screamed as he was suddenly thrown to the ground as if he weighed no more than a pillow. D..dammit...! What the hell...! Time for a tactical retreat... He let out another cry of pain as a blow to his stomach sent him to his knees, doubled over in pain. He jerked himself away from his attacker, then took off down the hall. He had heard something rip, but he really didnít care what it was. His life was at stake!
Somebody at the end of the hall flicked on a light switch. "W..what was that..?" Takeshi asked, panic in his voice.
Wakashimazu was standing in the middle of the hallway, holding a pair of black pants. He glanced at them, bewildered. They werenít his size. "I donít know," he said quite honestly. "It was probably a pervert."
"A pervert?!" Takeshi echoed, blanching. "Could a pervert be thinking of defiling our captain?!"
"Maybe..." the raven-haired goalie said weakly, immediately regretting his words. Another breakdown was all he needed. "Donít worry about it. You know Iím prepared to defend us all if needs be."
The younger boy studied his face for a long moment. "All right," he replied warily.
Wakashimazu sighed, massaging his temples. "I really need some sleep."
However, he soon realized that no one was about to allow him to keel over then and there. Just as his eyes began to close, a loud crash jarred him right back into wakefulness. Takeshi shrieked in alarm.
"Hyuga san!" the boy cried, jumping about twenty feet in the air (thankfully missing the ceiling). "Thereís somebody--please, help him!!!!"
"Damn!" Wakashimazu snapped out of his daze and jumpkicked the infirmary door, knocking it right off its hinges. It fell to the ground with a resounding thud. He stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, and adopted an elaborate fighting stance.
"Hyuga san!" Takeshi bolted past the posing goalie into the moonlit room, his eyes wide and frantic. However, as soon as he entered, he screeched to a halt. "What are you doing up?! You need rest!"
The bandaged bad boy tossed a chair out the infirmary window with a savage cry. After a minute of observing the results, he dusted off his hands and turned to his friends. "Hello."
"Hyuga san, what are you doing?!" Wakashimazu demanded, still in fighting stance. "You canít get up when you have a concussion, youíll black out!"
"Heís right," Takeshi agreed, peering out the window. A figure was lying sprawled on the sidewalk below, clad in all black except for heart boxer shorts. Two smashed chairs were scattered next to him. "Didnít our coach say--"
Hyuga laughed, mainly to himself. "Iím playing in the next game. He canít stop me."
Wakashimazu eyed him cautiously. "You canít be serious," he said.
"But youíre hurt!" Takeshi protested. "We all saw what Steven did to you. You donít look good, Hyuga san..."
He nodded vaguely, a sickening sense of recognition building up in the pit of his stomach. Theyíre right... This was not going to be easy to stand...
A bruised and battered Hefner stumbled into the lounge of the Nazi Boys Clubís secret hideout, dazed. That attack at the school had not been a pleasant surprise. Damn...who the hell was that,anyway...? He winced, feeling pain radiate through his body. And where did the chairs come from...?
"I really need a shower," Hefner decided. He opened the closet he had wandered over to and grabbed a towel. Yes...a nice hot shower was all he needed... It was good that none of the Brothers had seen him come in without his pants...
Dekita yo! Now, on to Part Six!Part Six