Author's Notes (READ): I do not own Prince of Tennis; it's all written for fun and no profit whatsoever. I'm tying in manga events with anime events, although I am following the manga for the most part, including characterizations, along with the help of information found on various web sites. I've showcased the Tokyo teams, adding Rikkai Dai only because of their champion status. Otherwise, while I do know about Rokkaku and Midoriyama (they weren't talked about as much as Rikkai), I do not have an unlimited amount of knowledge of Shitenhouji, Higa, etc. That is why they were not included.
Inspired by Banji's words (regarding the two boys, respectively) in Volume 12 and 20 (quoted at start and end of story – and just in case, I do not own them). The volume 12 quote is what is in the official English translation, but the volume 20 quote isn't. I felt the original words were better.
"He's got the stuff to be one of the best in the world..."
Banji blew a wistful sigh, indulging in a rare moment of melancholy, watching a match between Fudomine and Yamabuki. Through his many years of mentoring and coaching Yamabuki's tennis team, talented players arrived and departed, leaving Banji with pride every time he remembered their intense matches.
But he also recalled the times when the sweet taste of close-grasping victory was replaced with the bitter taste of defeat. What was happening this year was proving to be no different, but that small ache of not emerging victoriously in the way he wanted weighed heavily on him more than ever. Of course, Banji knew full well what the reason was: Jin Akutsu and Kiyosumi Sengoku.
Minami made a great captain. He and Higashikata formed a doubles team that utilized plain, simple tactics, as opposed to fancy, grandstanding moves, making the two boys an effective team. Muromachi was no slouch, Kita and Nitobe worked and acted as one, stunning their opponents, and Nishikori made a decent replacement.
However, Banji feared there would never again be a fierce, naturally-gifted athlete like Akutsu on the courts, and that Sengoku might never realize his full potential to become a truly great tennis player.
This year was looking particularly competitive with young men like Ryoma Echizen, Kunimitsu Tezuka, and Shusuke Fuji, all hailing from Seigaku, the school Yamabuki lost to earlier.
Then there was Kippei Tachibana. Banji glanced to the far, right side where the Fudomine captain sat, observing the match between Nishikori and Shinji with an expression of sternness set in stone; definitely a boy not to be underestimated.
Others to watch out for were from schools like Hyoutei: Keigo Atobe, for example. The teenager actually held the skills to back up the lofty words seen pouring from his smirking mouth all the time.
Finally, the reigning, defending champions, Rikkai Dai, possessing national-calibre players like Akaya Kirihara, Renji Yanagi, Genichirou Sanada, and the enigmatic captain, Seiichi Yukimura. They were nearly invincible.
But none of them were Akutsu and Sengoku.
Oh, how vividly he remembered the day when he met Akutsu, the answered prayer to his long years of waiting for a truly great player. Banji could still recall the utter calmness of the late afternoon following the end of practice. Not a leaf had twitched in the surrounding trees of the tennis courts. Not a sound had been heard, save for the distant cries of traffic and some unidentifiable bird. Warmth had encased everything like a second skin.
Taking a short stroll that day before heading home, Banji happened upon Akutsu, serving tennis balls with so much force, the tough teen may as well have been slugging some poor victim—Banji had heard rumors, after all (typical school kids), so his guess couldn't have been far from the truth.
Jin Akutsu had flexibility, agility, and power, by the far one of the best Banji had ever seen. And who would've guessed that admirable applause could bring forth violence? Luckily – blame Sengoku for the superstition – Banji had escaped Akutsu's wrath, and the boy had gone on to become a tennis regular.
Unfortunately, only for a short while.
Akutsu lacked the passion for the sport, slipping through Banji's fingers, even if the old man hadn't been clinging very tightly. He knew it would happen eventually. Akutsu wasn't a heart-warming, sentimental type of guy, who breathed tennis like oxygen.
As luck would have it – curse Sengoku! – the teenager departed tennis, leaving behind a number of possibilities never to be realized. Perhaps a world champion was buried in Akutsu, a man to one day defeat that arrogant Seishun rookie, repaying Echizen for a humiliating loss. Banji would have loved to release such a warrior spirit, but it just wasn't meant to be. Akutsu was gone, forever.
However, in the other hand, Banji's fingers tightened subconsciously on another, one who was lingering still in the world of tennis. Though they were exact opposites, Kiyosumi Sengoku seemed to share something in common with Akutsu: the redhead didn't outwardly show the zest for tennis Banji knew Sengoku had, and that bothered the coach to the point of irritation.
The match between Sengoku and Akira Kamio of Fudomine began. Banji waited for the moment when Sengoku would lose the grin and display a seriousness that anyone, except those who knew him best, would never have thought existed.
Lucky stars and charms seemed to be what Sengoku relied on, and that, Banji knew, would be the downfall. The ninth-grader acted like everything was all fun and games, and sometimes Banji wondered if Sengoku actually believed that he could truly be awesome at tennis. If he did, then he would have to stop depending on if he wore his lucky socks or not to win. Sengoku needed to unleash the sheer talent within, and blow away his opponents more fiercely than ever.
The match continued on, and Banji allowed himself to briefly visit another memory: the first time he encountered the perky redhead. That day had been particularly windy, when life blew in Sengoku, along with a host of eager seventh-graders to tennis practice. After he had shot off – good-naturedly, of course, not originally intended to cause trouble – his mouth at one upperclassmen, Banji remembered the offended regular's issued challenge, and how Sengoku had managed to snag the lead, all the while boasting about how lucky he was. Sengoku had won that match, barely, but it was enough for him to be set upon the locker room shelf of rising tennis legends.
However, Banji had paid far more attention to the match than anyone had. What pulled Sengoku ahead to win that day was that hidden knack for tennis that had shown itself in a sudden turn of steely determination – a powerful swing that sent the ball soaring to victory. Sengoku, naturally, had left practice praising chance and the stars, but Banji had watched that day, knowing the true reason.
Banji still pressed on, waiting, hoping, watching.
But he knew he couldn't force Sengoku to change his style. That force for improvement needed to come from within, and it would only come from a loss.
Banji brought his eyes to the final moments of the match, holding his breath as Kamio and Sengoku battled. The coach secretly nursed a guilt-ridden desire for Kamio to trounce "Lucky" Sengoku.
Committing treason against Yamabuki. . .Banji felt it was necessary, justified, even if he felt so terrible inside. Would he be pardoned if Sengoku used his eagle eyes to peer into his own soul and bring forth the means to redeem Yamabuki's pride?
Kamio suddenly fell to his knees amidst the sound of Banji's heart thumping. For one, tense moment, the outcome was clear – then, Kamio used his hand to spring off the court, leaping forward to deliver the final shot.
Banji barely heard the thunderous Fudomine cheers when everything ended, his focus centered only on the perspiring teen approaching the bench. After an apology, Sengoku walked off. Banji waited awhile before going to find the vice-captain, allowing the boy time to reflect on the loss.
When the coach discovered the redhead sitting on top of the court structure, cradling his tennis racket, Banji stood quietly, and heard the beautiful words he'd been waiting for:
"I'm thinking of changing my style. . ."
Nobody saw Sengoku for a month, save for his classmates and Taichi Dan, who Banji suspected had been sworn to secrecy about the redhead's whereabouts. Still, Banji remained faithful. He would wait, like always, for however long it took. Underneath all his silliness and girl-craziness, Sengoku was a young man of his word.
Sengoku returned to the courts before the coveted training camp, appearing stronger, broader, and sharper. If anything, Sengoku with his newfound strength was almost like a ghost of Akutsu, but the differences that set them apart was that Akutsu chose to leave, and Sengoku chose to stay. That choice showed Sengoku's character, promising more to come from the vice-captain, things that would determine who he was in stone.
Banji smiled, knowing that in time the rest of the world would see Kiyosumi Sengoku revived.
"I believe that your potential for tennis is second to none. From here on out, it all depends on you."