Prologue

~Tezuka Himeno's POV~

Sweat rolled down my forehead, into my eyes, but I didn't dare blink. To do so would be a grave mistake. I griped my racket so hard my knuckles were white; I wouldn't be surprised if there was a permanent hand mark on my racket. A strand of hair had escaped my headband, though I was too focused on the spinning tennis ball to fix it.

Finally, it was the showdown between a prestigious Japanese school and my all girls' school, Crossroads Academy. Ever since I had lost singles to them last year, I had been training my butt off. There was no way I could let my team down – not after flying all the way to Japan for this. The boy I was facing – Fuji or something akin to that – was good.

But I was better.

The boy smashed the ball over the net, using some strange shoulder move I've never seen before. I lunged, sending the ball back, just out of his reach. The crowd cheered, leaping to its feet – or at least, my half did. It was deuce, a tie-breaker ahead. I looked at the boy, grinning and panting. He returned the smile, though he didn't say anything. Despite the seriousness of the match, both of us were having fun.

The boy lobbed the ball, and the crowd held its breath:

Love-15

All-15

15-30

15-40

30-40

Double-deuce.

Advantage server.

I gritted my teeth and slammed the ball over the net, scoring a point. Two minutes later, he too had scored a point, sending us into match point. One point. Just one. I couldn't mess this up, not after all the hard work I had put into this.

The boy served the ball at me again, using that strange move. I knew it was out of my reach the second he hit it; however, my body didn't get the memo. I lunged for it, and the spinning ball hit the very tip of my racket. Pain splintered through my arm as my racket was torn from my grasp. I faintly heard the boy call out something, voice alarmed, as my vision turned red. The last thing I heard was someone call my name before my vision went black.

***

"It's broken," the family doctor, Watanuki Kyo, announced in English as he walked into the room.

I glared at him, cradling my injured arm protectively, as a nurse attempted to put a cast on it. "I could've told you that," I snapped crossly in Japanese. I could speak both languages fluently, though I preferred Japanese. "Now tell me something I don't know."

"Himeno!" my father, Tatsuya, snapped sharply. "Don't take that tone with the kind doctor!"

"He's only trying to help, sweetie," my mother, Mawata, said soothingly.

I scowled at the white-tiled floor, but held my tongue. I had been conscious for all of fifteen minutes and was in a rotten mood. Not only had I broken my wrist doing a stupid, novice mistake, but I had been carried – unconscious! – off the court. And on top of that, I had lost the match! I clenched my un-casted hand – my right – angrily. What else could go wrong?

"How long until I can play this thing, Sensei?" I asked the young man in a more mollified tone.

The man exchanged a long, seemingly nervous, look with my parents, and cold dread washed through me. Something was up. At my father's almost imperceptible nod, the doctor sighed. He looked at me, his warm eyes sad. "Himeno-chan, the bones in your left hand should heal up fine in three months." Three months? That seemed like forever, but I could do it. That should be all, but I sensed that Watanuki-sensei wasn't finished. "But… when your wrist snapped, it tore the ligaments around it. You'll have full use of the hand but… you'll never be able to play tennis again unless you want to loose full use of your hand. I'm sorry."

Never play tennis again? I stared at my parents, then at the doctor, brain numb. Then, for the second time today, I passed out.