A/N: Giftfic for Otsukimi (formerly bonnsaka). First published in Friendship Has No Limits, a series of Tezuka-centric drabbles written by members of NXYZ Community Forum. The rest of the drabbles are posted in Frog-kun's account.
Disclaimer: Konomi Takeshi owns Prince of Tennis.
Tezuka is in his usual spot in the secluded area of the park one late afternoon, rallying with the wall. He has been gauging the condition of his left arm, as the Kanto Tournament is coming up soon, and opponents will surely be a handful of notches higher than the others Seigaku faced in the prefecturals. Of course, they have to be ready, and–
He feels a sharp pain in his left elbow, and the neon green ball whizzes past him.
He hears it bounce a few times, until it finally comes to a stop. The pain in his elbow is gone, too, but his left arm has turned numb. It is good that he has managed not to drop his racket despite his weakened grip.
He switches his racket to his right hand and fetches the ball. It has bounced a few yards away, and Tezuka's mind is in turmoil during the brief walk. Will he be able to fulfill his promise of bringing Seigaku to the nationals with his injured arm? Will he be able to give up his future for the sake of the success of his team? Will he still be able to conquer the tennis world and reach for his dreams?
Tezuka reaches the ball and bends down, scooping it from the ground.
There is only one answer to drive all those doubts away: "Don't let your guard down, kid."
Instead of his deep voice resonating in his mind, he hears a feminine voice with the characteristic masculine pride. He looks up, expecting to see a tall girl with short black hair, but there is no one.
He straightens up and busies himself in packing his things, but the memories have already infiltrated his mind.
He never knew her name. He was never one to ask questions he deemed unnecessary anyway, and in that particular situation, he saw no urgent need to get to know the stranger. All he knew was that she was also an athlete, judging by her built and clothing, and that she was probably a few years older than him.
He remembered she was sporting a maroon sweatshirt, matching jogging pants and white rubber shoes, and a white towel was draped on her neck. Her skin was slightly tanned and her muscles toned. Back then, it appeared she had been running. She was sweating and her breathing was slightly heavy.
He had also been training in that secluded area of the park after school two years ago. He had been swinging with his right arm when he heard the clank of a metal behind him. He was not affected at all by the little distraction, and thus continued to hit ball to the same spot in the wall until a voice called out to him.
"Don't let your guard down, kid."
The voice was uncharacteristically low for a female, a stark contrast from the high-pitched squeals he had been used to in tennis tournaments. Even the style of speech was rather manly, but the voice still had that feminine hum blended with the masculine tone.
He caught the ball with his left hand, and turned to face the stranger.
She was opening a can of soda she probably bought from the nearby vending machine, and downed the drink in a few gulps.
"Ah, that was refreshing."
She made no further attempt to address him, so he resumed rallying with the wall.
He did not know how long she stayed there, or if she had actually stayed to watch him. He only noticed she was gone when he went for a short water break, and by that time the sun was already half past the horizon. He had been busy pondering about those commanding words and that authoritative yet playful tone that she used at him as he hit every ball.
Don't let your guard down… that didn't sound bad at all.
He met her again shortly after that, under the same circumstances. He had been practicing hitting backhands with his right arm when he heard the thump of her sports bag in the nearby bench, but he made no move to look at her until she called out to him again.
"So you're at it again, huh, kid?"
The ball hit an uneven surface in the wall, causing it to bounce in an irregular angle, and flew straight to the girl.
Tezuka tried to reach for it, but did not make it in time. He wanted to shout a warning, but everything happened swiftly. His eyes followed the trajectory of the ball, and braced himself for an apology soon.
The girl was already seated in the bench, eyes closed and her right hand holding a bottle of water and pouring it over her head. She opened one eye just in time to see the ball speeding towards her face, and to Tezuka's surprise, caught the ball with her left hand without the slightest hint of shock in her features.
She put the bottle down, placed the ball in her right hand, and threw it towards him. It was such a precise throw: she aimed it to his right with just enough power and the right height for him to catch it with his racket.
"Here you go, k–kid."
It happened almost too quickly, but he noticed it: during her follow-through, her arm stopped for a split second, as if she was hit by a sudden jolt. He chose to ignore it, and went back to the matter at hand.
"I apologize," Tezuka said and bowed slightly.
She offered him a weak wave and a broken smile, but his eyes were on her trembling right fist. She went back to her seat after that, drying her hair as if nothing happened, so he also returned to his practice.
He wasn't so sure what happened, either. Suddenly, her blithe demeanor was gone and was replaced by that of… agony? Or was it frustration? And then it was back again. But then again, he had always chosen to mind his own business, and thought nothing about the incident.
The third time he met her, it was also under the same circumstances. He had been training his right arm again, lost in the sounds of his tennis balls hitting the wall. He was surprised when he caught her lying on the bench from the corner of his eye, her white towel covering her face.
It seemed she was asleep, so he went on with his training like usual. The clouds were gray and the winds were blowing quite harder, so he had to maximize the time and wrap up before the weather could get any worse. He had almost forgotten she was there, until she called out to him like always.
"Ne, you are really left-handed, aren't you?"
The ball hit the rim of his racket, and he easily caught it with his left hand. He snapped his head towards her direction, and he saw her lifting the towel from her face as she pulled herself into a sitting position.
How could she have possibly known that when she wasn't even looking? How could she have known, when all of the few and short times that she had seen him play, including that instance, he had been using his right hand? How could she tell so easily?
"Who are you?"
He had a dozen questions he wanted to ask, but that was all that came out. He found himself lost in her deep blue eyes that were not focused on anything, as if her mind had been wandering about, bothered by something. And yet, at the same time, those eyes were also shining with determination, full of hope and of big dreams.
She caught him staring and held his gaze firmly. And then, with utmost seriousness certainly uncharacteristic of her, she finally answered as the first few drops of rain fell from the sky.
"A senpai."
The raindrops were cold as they hit their skin, but neither of them attempted to seek shelter. An unspoken conversation ensued between their eyes: his were questioning, hers were mysterious. She did not have his poker face, or Fuji's enigmatic smile, but the faraway look in her eyes shrouded her in shadows, revealing the depth behind that seemingly carefree attitude.
"A senpai," she repeated, and this time she flashed him her smile that had always reached her eyes. He briefly wondered how she could look caring, nostalgic, proud, and yearning all at the same time in just one smile.
A big droplet fell on her nose, and as she instinctively looked up to the gray sky, it appeared it was only then that she realized it was raining. She pulled her white towel over her head, slung her sports bag in her shoulder, gave him a casual salute, and walked off.
He has never seen her again since then, but he can still hear her voice in his mind every time he echoes her very own words.
Don't let your guard down.