Disclaimer: I am not Konomi-sensei, therefore I do not own "The Prince of Tennis" or anything related to this manga, game, musical and anime.

Author's Note: I know; I know, I have plenty of fics to update, but I can't help but write this. Please someone knock some sense into me. xD Also, I'm looking for a beta for this fic . . . If anyone's interested, please PM me or say it in your review. :D That would be of great help!


"Honourable Heart"


-Prologue-


For how many antagonising years has it been since I started watching over him? For how many antagonising years has it been since I last felt this insecure?

And . . . for how many antagonising years must I be invisible to him?

Life is hard, as everybody says. It's never fair, and nobody really likes that idea; no, not one bit.

Every being in this world has a beginning and an end, but they are never the same. Some beings get their freedom—their treasured lives—taken away from them earlier than expected. Some of them have tragic ends, while most have peaceful ends: such as dying in the presence of their loved ones contented.

I have seen these repeatedly over the years of my existence.

I watch as my boy, Marui Bunta, play Tennis along with his friends in happiness. His venetian-red hair flowing against the wind, his umber orbs sparkling with joy, and his body glistening with sweat.

He and Kuwahara Jackal are playing against Yanagi Renji and Kirihara Akaya, while Sanada Genichirou is reading a book silently at one of the benches of the park. The five of them have been great friends ever since childhood; but I can assure you that their friendship isn't that good at first.

Kirihara, or 'Bakaya' as Bunta calls him, had teased Bunta countless times about the colour of his hair when they were little. They would get into fights, and the teacher would separate the two of them, give them punishment works, or even give them detention. It started out bad, but it gradually grew alright.

Yanagi had always managed to get into Bunta's nerves. His 'Data Tennis' and 'stalking' would creep Bunta out that my boy would throw a fit.

Sanada had, and still does, this thing about slapping people who slacks off, especially in Tennis. Once, back when they were only six years old, Sanada had slapped Bunta for stopping in the middle of the field, panting as he had tried to regain his breathing. It was a rocky relationship that is still steep, even today.

Kuwahara . . . Well, for once this guy has never gotten to his nerves. I feel a tinge of jealousy with their friendship; it seems that they have such a powerful bond that most people think they're a 'match made in heaven'.

Yeah, right; of course they are.

"Haha! We won, Jackal!" I see Bunta pop his favourite apple-flavoured bubblegum in his mouth, practically bouncing on the ground in glee and eventually hugging Kuwahara from behind.

Kuwahara staggers, looking slightly annoyed at my boy, and tries shoving him off his back. "Yeah, we did, didn't we, Bunta?" Jackal says almost quietly to my boy, still prying him off his back. Jackal sighs in relief when Bunta has finally left his back.

Bunta grins at him, much to my irritation, then looks at both Yanagi and Kirihara with mischievous intent. He points his camboge-coloured racket at them and, with a wink, he says: "Now, on to the dare for the loser of this match."

"Eh! Was there such a thing?" exclaims Kirihara in disbelief, staring at the brunet at his right-hand side with pleading eyes.

Yanagi either doesn't notice or simply just ignores Kirihara's wails as he asks, "And what is the dare?"

"Hm . . . I can't think of anything," Kirihara's eyes twinkles, muttering an overjoyed 'yes!' under his breath. "Can't I just tell you about it tomorrow?" Kirihara's face falls as he screams a 'what!' in a displeased manner.

"Sure," Yanagi replies with a nod, comforting the panicky seaweed-headed brat.

"It's time to go; we'll see each other at school on Monday," Sanada says in a deadpanned tone, pocketing the book he is reading in his jacket, and heading to the direction of his house. Everybody says an enthusiastic 'yes!' in reply.

They all leave one by one, leaving a smiling Bunta behind as they depart, neatly packing his tennis racket inside his sports bag.

I can see him stare at the heavens in longing; probably thinking of what would happen to his family now. I want to comfort him, to say reassuring words and cheer him up, but I can't. I'm forbidden to show myself in front of my boy. That would be breaking the rules as a Guardian Angel. But I've already broken one because . . .

. . . Because I've already fallen for him over the years.