Disclaimer: Not mine, never was. Dammit.

Notes: Blame this on the lack of long Echizen-centric fic, and being addicted to Flower. I swear it's the driving force in my obsession with Atobe.

I know I should be working on Feed the Fire, but after marathoning the anime, OVAs and manga in a week or less, I wound up diving headfirst into PoT-fandom. Help, I need an intervention.

This is currently unbeta'd, but I've read and reread it so many times, it should be fine. I hope. Let me know if you catch any glaring errors.

Breaking Limits

Tokyo in mid-July was stifling, and as the sounds of the city enfolded him as he stepped out of the air-conditioned terminal, Ryoma wished, not for the first time, that his father hadn't confiscated his hat. The sun was like a hammer, heat waves shimmering off the tarmac in the distance, and he knew that if it weren't for the sunglasses Kevin had pressed on him, he'd have had an instant migraine from the glare. Settling into the back of a cab, tennis case beside him on the seat and fingers itching for a drink, he found himself wondering, once again, why he'd agreed to this crazy request of his fathers, and why his father had chosen now to spring it on him. He should be training, not half way around the world in Japan of all places.

"Ah... you play tennis?" The cabbie's voice broke him out of his thoughts, and Ryoma glanced up, catching the driver's eyes in the rear view mirror before looking away.

"Yeah."

"I suppose you're pretty good then, huh?" He glanced into the mirror again; the man's eyes were only mildly curious, and he could get away without answering if he wanted to.

"I guess you could say that." The cool glass of the window felt good against his forehead, and Ryoma pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head so they wouldn't get in the way. "How'd you know?" He asked.

The driver smiled, waiting until he'd pulled through a turnpike safely before answering. "Had a few pros in my car before. Only the good ones keep their rackets with them personally."

"I see."

The rest of the drive into the residential area was quiet, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the air conditioning inside the car instead of watching the world go by outside. The sounds of the city faded away as they pulled into quieter neighborhoods, and he made a mental note to look into a way to get around while he was in the country. One more thing to ask aniki about. By the time the taxi stopped on a quiet street, the sounds of the city were gone completely. There was no breeze in this part of the city, and the air felt heavy as he stepped out of the taxi and walked around to the driver's side, fishing his wallet out of his pocket so that he could pay. "Thank you." He paused, one hand over the open window of the car, and the driver looked up at him in surprise. "You're a fan of tennis, right?" When the man nodded, Ryoma set his racket case down, and pulled a tennis ball from the side pocket, cursing the voice of his manager for drilling him on how much does it cost to be nice to fans sometimes, Ryoma? "Do you have a marker, or a pen?" Another blank look, then the man grinned and reached into the glove compartment, holding a black marker out to the teenager a few seconds after.

"I knew it! You look too young, but tennis pros always do, I suppose." Ryoma couldn't help smiling at the man's excitement while he scrawled his signature on the ball and wrote his name underneath so the man would know who he'd given a ride to before he tossed it to the driver and shouldered his bag again. He was halfway across the street before he heard the cabbie's startled exclamation, and the smile slipped into a full-blown grin that lasted all the way into the house.

"Nanako-chan, aniki, anyone home?" There was barely time to slip his shoes off and set his rackets down safely before a solid body slammed into him and knocked him to the floor.

"Chibisuke! When did you get in? Why didn't you call? I would've picked you up!"

He glared up at his brother over the rim of his glasses; they'd slipped when Ryoga had tackled him, and sighed. "My flight landed an hour ago, aniki. I had the airport forward my luggage." Ryoma grabbed the man's hand, and let himself be pulled to his feet, slipping his shades back onto his head. "As to why I didn't call... Do you really think I'd let you drive me anywhere after what happened in Arizona?" He called back as he walked into the house proper, stretching to work the kinks out of his shoulders as he walked.

"That wasn't my fault, Chibisuke! How was I supposed to know?" His brother protested as he trailed the boy into the kitchen. "Besides," the brunet grinned, "You were having fun!"

Ryoma stared at his brother in disbelief as he opened the fridge, instinctively pulling out a can of Ponta- his brother knew his habits far, far too well- and cracked it open. "Two twenty Ryoga. Two hundred and twenty kilometres an hour! And you're surprised they suspended your license?"

"Ah, but you're not denying that you had fun!"

He stared at his brother a moment longer, before shaking his head and dropping into one of the chairs at the table, gulping down his drink. "Che, what am I even doing here? Stupid Oyaji!"

"Ryoma, are you having fun?" Ryoga's question, so suddenly serious, caught him flatfooted.

"What?"

"I asked if you were having fun. With tennis, I mean." His brother's brown eyes pinned him down, and the question hung in the air, heavy and awkward, like Ryoga had dropped some kind of earth shaking truth on him. Are you having fun? The more he thought about it, the more important the answer seemed to get. Ryoga was still watching him quietly, waiting, and he looked away, taking a sip of Ponta as he thought. Did he enjoy tennis? He wouldn't play if he didn't enjoy it, right? He glanced at Ryoga again, and scowled. It had been a while since their last match, but he hadn't beaten his brother yet. Hadn't beaten the old man either.

But...

"Not lately." He sighed, and saw his brother frown before he continued. "It's too easy. I can't leave the Juniors until I'm eighteen, even though I've already..."

"Beaten everyone." Ryoga finished, meeting Ryoma's eyes. "Echizen Ryoma, four time US Juniors Champion at twelve, and the only person in history to win two calendar Grand Slams. All before age sixteen." He snorted, and the tense atmosphere eased somewhat. "Yeah Chibisuke, I can see why you'd be bored."

Ryoma leaned back in his chair, setting his drink down on the table. "Six years too late to play Monfils, two years too early to play with the big boys..."

Across the table, Ryoga grinned at him. "You realize the old man is doing this so you won't be bored, right?" Ryoma raised a brow, but his brother just grinned even wider. "Think about it, kiddo. Why else would Samurai Nanjirou stop one of his sons from winning their third Junior Grand Slam?" He asked, voice heavy with amusement when Ryoma's eyes widened in horror.

"It's not too late for me to go back. I can still call-" He growled, reaching for the phone in his pocket when his brother's laughter cut him off, sounding more like a dog's bark than real laughter.

"Ryoma, the deadline for accepting your spot was two days ago."

"What!"

"The old man started planning this before Wimbledon, Chibisuke. You've been had, so why not go with it?"

"That's not the point!" Snarled Ryoma, exploding out of his chair so he could pace. "That... that... Augh! It's my career! Fucking old man!" His fingernails were cutting into his palms, pinpricks of pain slicing through his anger. "It's not his goddamn career on the line this time, aniki! You don't just quit being a pro!"

His brother watched him quietly. "Oyaji did."

"Oyaji didn't have sponsors or contracts to worry about!" He yelled, throwing his hands up.

"Relax Ryoma! It's been taken care of! Oyaji's a pervert and an embarrassment, but he's not completely useless." Ryoga answered, before pointing at the chair Ryoma had been sitting in. "Sit, and we'll talk about this. He's told me what the conditions of this challenge are, and I want to make sure you know exactly what you've gotten yourself into, Chibisuke."

The teenager complied, dropping into the chair bonelessly and taking a drink from the half empty can of Ponta, sulking. "All the old man told me was he wanted to me to come back here, and keep my head down."

"Really?" When Ryoma nodded in reply, Ryoga groaned, dropping his head into his hand. "Seriously Oyaji? Seriously?" He sighed, and fished his phone out of his pocket, flipping through the menus until he found what he wanted. "Join Seishun Kokou, join the tennis club, find a way to make sure they win Nationals." Looking up, he caught his brother's eyes. "The Japanese circuit is a team thing like the Davis Cup, Chibisuke. If their tennis club sucks, well, it's up to us to whip them into shape, I guess!" He smirked, remembering their father's ridiculous training sessions while Ryoma glared at him silently, waiting for the rest of the conditions to land. "He's forwarded your school scores to Seishun already by the way, so you don't need to worry about studying for entrance exams. They've agreed to accept you based on your grades even though technically you should be attending the middle school due to your age. Shouldn't be any problems, but we can get you a tutor if comes to it."

Ryoma snorted at the idea of having to be tutored. He'd been studying by correspondence since he joined the Grand Slam tour at twelve so he could keep up with his peers, and his grades hadn't been affected. There was no reason for them to be now of all times, especially since he'd be in a proper school setting for the first time in four years. "I'll be fine. What else do I need to do?"

His brother checked the phone, scrolling through the email, humming thoughtfully. "Apparently you've been disowned-" Ryoma choked, interrupting with a strangled, "What?" that Ryoga ignored with ease. "Chill, kiddo, I'm joking. He's says here that he's got you down as Meino Ryoma, instead of Echizen." The older boy's eyes were amused. "That's probably what he meant by keep your head down, you know. Didn't you have, you know, stalkers back home?"

"Ah... yeah. A few, why?" He scowled, thinking about the obsessed girls that had followed him everywhere, at least until his manager had hit them with a restraining order.

His brother checkled. "If you thought American fangirls were bad, you haven't seen anything yet, Chibisuke. You've got quite a following here in Japan you know; One big enough that you'd never be able to take a piss in privacy if the press found out you were here." He shivered in response, and Ryoga continued with their father's list of conditions. "And since you're trying to stay on the low down, that means no signature moves."

It had to be a joke.

The kitchen was silent, and Ryoma knew he must look stupid with his mouth hanging open in shock while his brother smirked at him, but he couldn't have heard that correctly. No way. No way in hell! No signature moves?

"Y-You can't be serious!"

Ryoga's smirk turned predatory, and anxiety shivered down his spine like cold fingers. "What, afraid to play tennis without your fancy toys, Chibisuke? Can't win without the Twist Serve, or those drives you're so proud of?"

"Of course I can!"

"Then what's the problem?"

And that was it- The world froze, crystallized and suddenly there were so many questions that it made Ryoma's mind spin. How long had it been since he'd been forced to use the Cool Drive, had been seen a return ace on his signature serve? Only a few days ago, to be honest, but that had been to the old man, and before that it had been Kevin, almost a month ago, and before that... He frowned, trying to remember. Before Kevin it had been... had been... Had there been anyone? He'd played his father for as long as he could remember, and then it was straight into the Junior Championship, and from there, into the Junior circuit. Someone along the way had to have been able to give him a challenge.

His voice was quiet when he finally answered, but he couldn't bring himself to meet his brother's eyes, staring into the wood grain of the kitchen table instead. "Aniki... it's been a long time, hasn't it? Since I had a challenge."

Royga's reply was just as soft, but it cut through him like a knife. "Ryoma, you haven't lost to anyone but me and Oyaji since you were twelve. The only kid I know that can even give you a run for your money is that brat Kevin, and that's because you practically spoonfed him your counters."

His brother was quiet again, but the words hung in the air between them. '… Since you were twelve.'

Four years was a long time to be playing a game if he didn't have fun doing it.

The fifteen year old sighed, wondering if he was insane even as he gave in, and told his brother to let Nanjirou know that he'd agreed to this stupid idea.

Who knew, maybe he'd get some decent tennis out of it.

Normally I hate A/Ns like this, but I guess I should give a brief outline of the universe differences. After the Junior Championships, Ryoma went straight into the Junior ATP, instead of going to Japan, and Ryoga never left/came back on his own, but refuses to play professionally. Without Ryoma, Seigaku lost in the National quarterfinals against Hyotei, and so the Nationals dream lived on, even after they moved into highschool.

It's now 2 years after the canon timeline, and Ryoma's losing sight of his love of tennis. Yay drama!