DISCLAIMER: I would never let anyone steal my work if I ever became famous, just saying, so I am ever-so grateful to those authors that do. The Prince of Tennis does not belong to me in any way, but I do wish that it did.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello, y'all. (:

-I am an extreme procrastinator, ahem, perfectionist, sorry. So this story may or may not be continued depending on my mood and, of course, how much love I get from my fellow peers. So, yeah, it'd be nice if you'd review, favorite, pm, or at least read the story, please.

-Oh, and some clarification about the minor character in this story - Horio Sadao. He is Horio Satoshi's father, but should be featured in this chapter only for introductory purposes. I would have used the actual character, if there was one (either that, or I couldn't find it ._.).

-But without further delay, I'll just let you guys go right ahead into the story and (maybe) tell me about your opinions.

-prodigy

1. a person, especially a child or young person, having extraordinary talent or ability

2. something wonderful or marvelous; a wonder

3. something abnormal or monstrous

It was an exhilarating feeling – she could feel the night breeze surrounding her – and she curled her lips up into a smirk – until everything suddenly went black.

Though he had seen much – with his two years of airport security experience – it was a rather chaotic day, he had to admit; really, it was lucky that he had not gone insane yet, having dealt with the pleasure of children bawling at the tops of their lungs, confused passengers – one of which he had to exasperatedly remind that five suitcases was a bit too much –, and old ladies that seemed to take a fancy to whacking him with their wooden canes. He had finally decided that perhaps a cup of tea would soothe his nerves, and Horio decided that his manager wouldn't notice if he just took a miniscule break from his duties.

Humming some cliché classical piece under his breath, he made his way towards the security guard room, hidden in a shadowy corner by the currency exchange booth, at a leisurely pace. The keys strung on a ring by his waist jingled merrily, and he picked one up to insert into the frustratingly small keyhole when an odd pinching sensation passed over his foot.

"Hey!" he called indignantly towards the girl that had just dragged her suitcase over his foot, scuffing his pricy leather shoes in the process. They were a luxury that he had convinced himself that he ought to buy, and he wasn't about to let her get away without a proper apology. "Excuse me, young lady!"

As she turned around with an irritated scowl on her face, Horio realized that the girl was older than he had assumed, multiplying in the factor of her height. She was so painfully short that she wouldn't have even reached his shoulder, though he was by no means a large person. Casually slung over her shoulder was a bulky sort of bag, navy blue in color, which suspiciously reminded him of a tennis bag. But it was the golden eyes that had startled him first, sharp and cold, but mysteriously intriguing.

"What do you want?" The bluntness of the question caused Horio to splutter in disbelief.

"There's no reason to be so rude, I was simply trying to request an apology from – "

He trailed off, realizing suddenly that the girl had already picked up her blue suitcase, magically produced a white cap from who-knows-where, and walked away.

"Hey! Hey!" he shouted, attracting a few bemused stares, but he ran after the girl anyways. She took no notice that he had arrived next to her, despite the fact that he was panting. "You play tennis?"

She stopped. Looking him directly in the eye – Horio became captivated by the piercing stare of those emotionless golden orbs –, she responded with a simple, "Do you?"

"Of course! I, Horio Sadao, have over four years of tennis –"

"Yeah, whatever," she said in a deadpan voice and briskly strode in the opposite direction.

Dumbfounded – no one had ever interrupted his bragging – Horio dogged her in astonishment, forgetting all his troubles about his manager and the cup of green tea that was waiting for him in the security room.

"Play with me," he snorted, after a necessary moment to regain his composure. Perhaps that would teach this arrogant little girl a lesson.

"Hmm," she mused, turning her head sideways to peer at him. "No."

"Why not?" Horio asked the girl incredulously, gaping at her like a fish out of water. He hadn't considered the possibility of her saying no; why would this girl bypass an incredible learning opportunity with him – an experienced player.

She sighed in slight frustration, and fixed on him the most irritated glare that Horio had ever seen in his lifetime. "I'm getting tired of you following me around, so I'll play you, on one condition."

"Alright," he said, satisfied after her agreement. "What?"

"I get to pick the court."

And that's how he found himself standing on a tennis court, near a shady looking alley – which Horio had eyed with distaste –, of all places, holding someone else's racket.

"Little girl, you should be more respectful to those who are better than you at tennis. You could learn something useful." Irritatingly, all this earned him was a blank stare from his companion.

Shrugging it off, he continued, determined to show one more person that he – Horio Sadao – was better than them at something.

"Don't be discouraged if you can't return my serve the first time," he boasted. "It's extremely fast, obviously; it's only natural since I have four years of tennis experience." He picked up a ball and grasped it securely in his palm.

Strangely enough, the girl seemed faintly amused, but Horio didn't let it get to him. It was probably just a scheme to unnerve him, but he wasn't about to be pulled into that trap.

As usual, the ball soared across the net, and Horio took a second to admire his skills; though it was fast, he was still able to see it.

Ha, he thought smugly. That should teach you not to mess with Horio S –

A flicker of movement later, a harsh, seemingly intentional breeze whizzed past his cheek and startled him into silence, and he heard the sound of a ball bouncing from behind him.

Flicking a taut string on her racket, the girl pulled her white cap even lower than Horio thought was physically possible, and murmured, "Mada mada da ne."

"Six… to…zero," he whispered to himself, finally collapsing on the court in utter exhaustion. After that, he had proceeded to play one of the most one-sided tennis matches of his lifetime; the girl had not let him even graze the ball, yet she herself returned every single one like a machine – with clean efficiency and no clear discernment of any effort of all.

"Hey," he heard a voice drawl, and he looked up. "I was expecting a little more from someone with four years of tennis experience. That was too easy, Horio." Her voice was sardonic.

"Who – who are you?" he heard himself wonder.

She studied him for a moment, and then replied slowly, as if she were internally debating whether or not to answer the question, "I'm Echizen Rin."

For some reason, that name sounded familiar, but Horio couldn't recall where he had heard it before. "Echizen Rin?" he murmured, half to himself.

"Er, yeah. So, Horio, do you know where Rikkaidai is – I'm sort of lost."

"Yeah, it's really close to the airport – you just walk over there and take the second left. You'll see it." He gestured vaguely with his hand.

"Thanks." And with that word, the girl named Echizen Rin was gone.

Collecting his thoughts, he trudged out of the alley – completely exhausted – when a discarded newspaper caught his eye, blaring out the headline 'Prodigy Echizen Rin Brings US Open to a Shocking Conclusion'.

His addled thoughts made him a little slow to realize the actual significance of the statement, but when he did…

"EH? That – that girl won the US Open?"

"So much for staying inconspicuous," a certain girl muttered to herself, striding into the sliding doors of the sleek bullet train. Coach won't mind though; he's such an expert at annoying me." She pulled her cap lower, scowled, and – if you could get past the emotionless mask – one could tell that Echizen Rin was worried.

Just then, a phone rang, and she fumbled to reach a cell phone in a side pocket of her tennis bag. "Hello?"

"Rin," a voice said, managing to sound both cheerful and threatening simultaneously. "I trust that you're enjoying yourself in Japan?"

"…Fuji?"

"You were supposed to call me – in fact, I just got a message from the hotel manager that you didn't arrive yet." Fuji sounded accusatory, and despite the fact that she knew he was probably lenient about the matter, she winced. "I was worried Rin." She marveled at how quickly his voice could change, suddenly sounding concerned. "It's your first time in Japan and – "

"Fuji, I was born here."

"Well, yes, but – alright, I stand corrected. This is the only time – in your memory – that you have been to Japan. If I recall correctly, you were in Japan for how long – until you were two years, three months, and fourteen days old? That's not nearly enough to remember."

Shocked, she could not help but utter a soft, "Fuji, you're such a stalker." She was sure that he heard it; Rin could have sworn that he smiled, even if she couldn't see it."

"Anyways, Rin," he directed, "get to your hotel and sleep. I've already explained the situation to the manager, and everything should be arranged. You're near the airport now, going towards the mall two miles west from there, right?"

Of course he had to know exactly where she was because – obviously – it was Fuji. She had hired Fuji as her manager at the time because he was supposedly a tensai, but it had been a fatal mistake. Sometimes she suspected that he posted spies everywhere that she went.

"Yeah… Fuji, how – "

"Good," he remarked smoothly, cutting her off. "I've arranged a vehicle to come and pick you up. It should arrive in about ten minutes."

She groaned in apprehension of what was to come. "Fuji, please don't tell me it's anything too showy. I'm trying to make myself fit in, if you don't mind."

Innocently, he said, "Of course not. At least I didn't order a horse and carriage this time – I'm not even sure if they're legal in Japan, on the streets. Besides, a limo's not that bad in comparison.

She responded with silence, and took a deep breath to calm herself. The last time this had happened, Rin ended up nursing a sore throat for two weeks; she was just not built for screeching.

"Fuji," she said dangerously, and if looks could kill, there would have been a hole seared in the side of the apartment complex she was standing next to. "I'm going to kill you."

He had the nerve to chuckle.

SO. How was it?

Anything from telling me that I'm awesome to pointing out my unavoidable grammar or spelling mistakes are welcome!

I may post a sneak peek of the next chapter on my profile soon, hopefully, if enough people are interested.

再见!

.SER3NADE