Happy birthday, Cyborg Reborn!

Third Person POV

"Checkmate." ZP1C1 moved his queen into the opening between the guarding white knight and the white bishop.

The red cloaked boy that sat opposite him brooded for a moment at the board, then broke into a loose grin and chuckled. "I thought you didn't like to use the queen, C1?"

"Do not mistake our restriction for reluctance, C3. Our kisaki is our trump card."

ZP1C3's brow twitched under his hood. However, his was hastily thrown over and did not cover his face as neatly as ZP1C1's, therefore his flashing eyes and momentary scowl were all too visible to his captain. On the contrary, the boy sitting in front of him upheld his concealed visage with stiff lips that either ignored his company's displeasure or shared his company's bitterness, accentuated by an adjacent mole on his right cheek that served as his only identification beside the tattoo that ZP1C3 knew all his comrades bore.

Those stiff lips softened a little and crinkled into what came closest to a smile ZP1C3 saw once in awhile when they were well in the privacy of ZP1C1's room. "We were forced to move our queen up," ZP1C1 commented in a warmer tone in contrast to his previous seriousness infused with the rarest tinge of respect. His recipient grinned back toothily.

ZP1C1 returned his focus to the sixty four squares with pursed lips. A habitual hand rested under his chin as he placed an index finger on the upside down white rook that stood at the border, tipping it dangerously on the edge of its base.

"What are you thinking about?" ZP1C3 cocked his head.

ZP1C1's thoughtful index finger stilled, but he did not switch his attention from the board to his comrade. A couple seconds passed before he replied. "Your queen..." ZP1C1 mused solemnly, "I was wondering if it could have turned the game around."

A victorious grin split across the addressed boy's face. His eyes twinkled with a predatory glint, and he let out a half-chuckle. "You used 'your' and 'I'." His half-assed effort could not conceal the smugness in his voice.

His captain stiffened, but the tone of his voice remained dignifiedly even. "We most certainly did not. This one should not make allegations as irrational as their plays."

ZP1C3's grin widened as he leaned his head onto his propped elbow with slack eyes focused on ZP1C1, lounging across the table in a display that conveyed the message he was clearly unconvinced. "Sure," he drawled, "Whatever you say."

The whites of ZP1C1's eyes flickered momentarily as they caught the dim light before he readjusted his hood. "Anyway, how was practice today?" he continued curtly, "We are sorry we had to retreat early." A swift, subtle tilt of the chin towards the wastebasket filled with fresh, bloody tissues atop crusty wads confirmed ZP1C3's suspicions when his captain had clutched the lower half of his face and quickly left his Second Comrade in charge as he ducked out of the room.

"Oh, ZP1C2 let us go ten minutes after you left and told none of us to bother you for at least four hours," ZP1C3 replied sourly.

The only piece that did not topple or clatter to the floor was the black queen.

"I obviously didn't follow that order." ZP1C3 commented as he bent over to collect the rolling figures. ZP1C1's shoulder slackened and he quickly sat back down. ZP1C3 looked up surprise when he did not receive a response, even though he was accustomed to his friend's withdrawn character. He had expected a snarky but appreciative comeback.

ZP1C1 retrieved a white rook from the floor and examined the varnished wooden figure in his hand. "Still thinking about that?" ZP1C3 piqued. He decided that ZP1C1 must be remaining silent for the sake of grace. He could care less about preserving dignity in each other's presence, but he knew ZP1C1 sometimes did not care about his feelings. Exclusion, disregard, and apathy still stung occasion, like how ZP1C1 insisted on using their titles instead of their names after they were promoted to ZP1, but he had to remind himself that ZP1C1 cared in other ways. That was just the type of person ZP1C1 was. He would be an accommodating friend; ZP1C1 had enough crosses to bear. He would compromise, just as ZP1C1 allowed him to indulge his vengeance in the team his comrade worked so hard to manage. They could truly be like gods, if only they were not bound by human desires.

ZP1C1 flipped the rook. His pale forearm looked almost delicate in the frail light, like a branch of silver birch, against the cardinal dye of his cloak. "Tell us, what is the strongest chess piece?"

"Isn't it the queen?" ZP1C3 asked, furrowing his brows lightly. The answer seemed obvious to him. In his curiosity and confusion, his earlier disdain for the kisaki was pardoned and shoved to the back of his mind.

The faceless lips curled into a smirk at this predicted reply as his fist hardened, and the cloak slipped below his elbows. The lamplight illuminated the pallid limb. "No. The queen may be the most powerful piece on the board, but the king is the chessmaster. We would have won anyway."

A flick of his fingers launched the white queen across the barren board into the black queen, sending both pieces clattering against the far wall.

Toyama's POV

After a long, exhausting day of synthesizing various training activities for Mikage Sennou's competitive soccer team, I pushed the club building key in and was just about to lock up the main entrance when a chilling voice from behind made me aware I had company.

"Leaving already, Toyama-san? Good thing I caught you just in time," a playful voice I knew very well called out. His voice gave away his displacement, but his approaching footsteps were inaudible, as they always were.

"Kisaki-san!" I turned around and tightened my grip on the staff key, concealing the irrational panic in my voice with projected jubilation,"How very nice to have you! What can I do for you today?"

A petite redhead boy faced me, with hands withdrawn in the hoodie pockets of his thin, formfitting black sweater that revealed a slim figure with compact muscles. His head was leveled to complement his reserved posture, but the air he carried around himself with his straightened back was nothing less than regal. A thin coronet braid was pinned over his middle part and drapes of dullen raw silk tumbled down to frame his effeminate features in a shroud of theatrical mystique.

"I need a refill," came the lilting reply. I had always found the contrast between his unchanged voice and his height baffling against his mature face, combined with the professionalism of his demeanor and his childish nature. He smiled at me through long feathery lashes with narrow, simpatico hazel eyes devoid of any solace. His lack of heart marked him a dangerous man, though he would often joke he loved too much.

I forced myself to pocket the key along with my own desires for a pleasant evening, then opened the door and stepped into the entrance. "Of course, of course. Right this way." I started walking without waiting for him. I knew he would be following me, and it was much less awkward to pretend I was walking alone in the silent hallway. The smooth shut of the door behind me confirmed he was officially tailing me like the Reaper in Doc Martens.

A flick of the light switch revealed a small room containing a messy desk littered with papers and my headset, around which was crammed with humming hardware that never slept. A detour behind my desk with a casual flourish of the practiced hand minimized the open tab as I escorted the boy to the back. He walked in front of my desk out of social practice, but I could have sworn I saw him narrow his eyes in my direction. I pretended not to see this. Finally, I lead him to an inconspicuous door in the back.

The little room had initially stored miscellaneous and specialized club equipment in the beginning of my career, but the storage was quickly transformed into one of Kageyama's secret bases in Tokyo. Cardboard crates lined the shelves as a crude disguise for the sinister nature of their contents should a new janitor or curious freshman stumble in.

"Do you have anything else for me today?" my acquaintance hummed curiously as he traced a row of boxes with a dark gray glove, exploring the shelves. From my angle in this lighting, Kisaki's eyes appeared almost green.

I stood close to the doorway, perhaps due to a subconscious yearning to touch the little light I could with my feet in the darkness. "S-Sorry, I've only been receiving only common street dope this month. You wouldn't be interested."

"Common, you say?"

That boy was impossible to read. In many ways, he was so similar to the man behind him. I did not have much doubt he was Kageyama's chosen successor, but I would not be able to answer if asked whether he or Kidou Yuuto was the favorite, for Kageyama never seemed to project any outward signs of affection for Kisaki. As if to compensate for that, Kisaki never hesitated to boast about his relationship with the Commander.

Finally he reached the box he desired. My breath caught in my throat when he quickly drew back as if he had changed his mind. "Where's my lilies?" he demanded, whipping around to glare at me accusingly.

I raised my hands in a panicked attempt to subdue his wrath. "Don't worry, don't worry! They're right here. I had to cover the tank." I rushed to his side and flipped up the thick black fabric that revealed a large, lucent tank behind him. White water lilies bobbed at the surface of the plentiful basin under a light panel, supported by supple stems in the illuminated rose-tinted water. "I've kept to the formula, and Fuyukai-san comes to collect them every day before work," I interjected quickly before he could question me again about my fidelity.

"Good..." Kisaki murmured, taking a lingering glimpse at his cherished flowers before pulling the cover over again, obscuring the modest luminescence we had temporarily been granted. As he turned back to the shelves, he drew out a ziplock bag of innocent white powder from his sweater pocket. "Please hold your breath Toyama-san, for fear the devil steals it," Kisaki teased as he pulled his blue bandana scarf up to cover his nose and reached into the crate. I obeyed.

That man would have my soul someday. But not today.

With Ares being out and all, I know we will be receiving more exposition about Zeus, so I would just like to declare in advance that I will be sticking to the context provided in the original canon and my own interpretation.