Author's Note: Something that always intrigued me about Ryoma was the way his personality combines confident prodigy with antisocial loner, especially at the beginning of the series. He picks fights wherever he goes, and people tend to resent him or put him on a pedestal. Momoshiro, on the other hand, does neither. Maybe even more significantly, they spend time together outside the realm of tennis. I have to wonder if Ryoma was even aware such a thing was possible before he came to Seigaku. Which got me thinking: how hard was it for Ryoma to make a real friend? These stories are episodes on that journey.

World in Us
By Swiss Army Knife

Chapter One:
First Impression

Summary: Momoshiro Takeshi is Ryoma's second duel on Japanese soil, but things aren't exactly as they seem.

"I don't chase anyone anymore. Wanna walk out of my life, there's the door. Hell, I'll even hold it for you." - Wiz Kalifa

The school bell was just fading as Ryoma crunched down the path, tugging at the collar of his new uniform in the stifling summer heat. His hand moved to his shoulder and the familiar weight of his gear. After so much strangeness, he could hardly wait for the predictable rules and boundaries of the court. He was so focused that he didn't notice there was someone else on the path until they ran into each other.

"Oof," the stranger said, and Ryoma found himself facing an older student with hair swept up around his ears. His eyes traveled to the bag Ryoma was carrying. "Big bag for a little guy."

Ryoma glared. It was always about his age or his height.

"You look like a freshman, so no harm done, I guess." The upperclassman gave Ryoma a wink, and for just a second his eyes flashed like thin silver fish darting through a stream. "Just look where you're going from now on, eh?"

Ryoma watching his retreating back, annoyed. The classmate who had been trailing him – Hayato? Horatio? – heaved a sigh of relief. "Gee, Echizen. You could be a bit more respectful."

Ryoma didn't deign to reply. It was his first day back, and he was already sick to death of Japanese-style hierarchy.

It didn't surprise him at all when they reached the tennis courts and two sophomores decided to throw their weight around. Ryoma didn't really care about his classmates' money, but he couldn't stand bullies. One shot was all it took to knock over the can and spill its contents, revealing their dishonesty. Frankly, the look on their faces was worth the possibility of a few bruises. However, something unexpected happened before it could go that far.

Ryoma heard the pop of the ball as it came out of nowhere, hitting the container and sending it skittering away. It was a powerful and accurate shot – almost as good as his own. Better in some ways. Ryoma wasn't sure he could dent the can.

A familiar voice spoke: "Oh, I hit it. Lucky!"

It was the boy from earlier, the one Ryoma had walked into. He strode onto the court like it was familiar territory, and the two sophomores became nervous. One of them stammered, "Momoshiro! What are you doing here?"

Momoshiro's expression darkened. "Just because the seniors aren't here doesn't mean you can bully the freshmen, Arai."

Surprised to find himself a bystander, Ryoma took the opportunity to study Momoshiro. In his sports jersey with his hand wrapped around his racket, he was much easier to read. He was confident, but not arrogant. Well-conditioned, too, but he stood with a certain stiffness – oh.

Apparently unwilling to mess with Momoshiro, the bullies decided to beat a hasty retreat. Ryoma watched them go and tilted his head up, catching those silver-fish eyes again. They took on an edge when Ryoma headed toward the gate. "Who said you could go?"

Which was how Ryoma ended up in his second duel on Japanese soil, something he was beginning to suspect would end up a habit. Annoyed, he adjusted his stance. Then, partially out of pique and partially to show exactly what he was capable of, he fired a twist serve that went directly at Momoshiro's face. He heard the intake of breath from the sidelines. An adult was there, standing beside a woman with a camera. He obviously recognized the technical skill of such a shot. Momoshiro did, too, because afterward he gave Ryoma a thoughtful look over the net.

Ryoma smirked. As always, it was too easy.

Except Momoshiro got his racket on the following serve. Then, with the next, he scored.

Ironically, it was only then that Ryoma realized Momoshiro wasn't taking this seriously. It was the audience that made Ryoma sure. Except to extend an offer for the freshmen to call him by some ridiculous nickname, Momoshiro acted like they weren't there. He didn't seem bothered by the mistakes he made either, and now he denounced his first successful return with another jovial, "Lucky!"

If he had any lingering doubt, it was gone by the time he switched to his dominate hand. Momoshiro's eyebrows went up, there was a twitch of understanding, and then he forfeit. That was confirmation of what Ryoma was beginning to suspect: "Momo-chan" might mask himself with a grin, but beneath that was a sly nature. Out of the ankle brace, he might even make a decent opponent.

Despite himself, Ryoma was intrigued.

They didn't get a chance to talk. Ryoma was quickly surrounded by the freshmen and the reporters, all of whom were eager to recap his performance. By the time he turned around, Momoshiro was gone.

'Good riddance,' he thought. Even if Momoshiro seemed a step above the others and had a few unexpected qualities, their age difference meant they would probably barely brush shoulders. Besides, once it became clear that Ryoma stood a chance at stealing away a coveted regular position, any possibility of friendly relations would quickly sour.

There was no real use in wasting time with Momoshiro Takashi.