Title: Ambition 1/?

Author: Freya

Disclaimer: I'm making no profit off of this story.

Sum: Echizen Ryoma is arrogant, lazy, rude, and now has to carry Seigaku on his shoulders as captain. Chances are, they won't even make it past the Regionals. Good thing Seigaku's full of miracles.

Note: This story will follow a mix of the anime and manga canon, as I see both as valid mediums, and some of it's stuff I threw in of my own volition, taking advantge of the fact that this is merely fiction. This story will focus quite a bit on Seigaku, but the point of view will shift to other schools (mostly Rikkai Dai and Fudomine) time and time again. It's meant to be read as gen, but I can't resist tossing in subtext and pairings (het and yaoi both, for those of you who think it really matters.) If you know me, you can probably guess they'll be the typical ones, haha. Anywho, it's mostly just my take on how I'd like TeniPuri to fly after the Nationals. I hope you all enjoy it.

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It was the second year in a row Ryoma defeated Kevin Smith at the Junior Invitational, and he was beat. A two hour nap on the bus ride home hardly did a thing to alleviate the exhaustion he felt. Kirihara sure knew how to rub one's skull raw with a victory noogie, and Ibu's inane mutterings on how he he could've crushed Kevin quicker brought a frown to his face. Really, did that guy ever shut up?

Ryoma tapped the heal of his sneaker against the frame of the seat again and again. His stop was the last one. Streams of white gold from the evening sun casted silhouettes across the seats, and Ryoma slouched back against his seat. He contemplated heading straight home and into bed, but Momoshiro wouldn't have it, and Ryoma wouldn't risk it. Momo liked to laugh as he assigned laps, which made his position as captain all the more nerve-wracking at times. Kaidoh-fukubuchou tended to agree, if only out of spite.

Those two would never change.

Ryoma lurched forward as his bus came to a sudden halt, just a few blocks away from Kawamura's Sushi. Che. Tokyo traffic could bite his ass. He stood and requested that he be let off, knowing damn well he could walk faster than this. And surely enough, he was at the entrance of the sushi restaurant before he knew it.

The moment he slid those paper-thin doors open, he was greeted with festive shrieks from current teammates, former teammates, and a few other people, like Whatshisface, and Thatrandomperson. Too many people. Ryoma already had a headache.

"What are you waiting for, Echizen? It's your party!" says Momoshiro, dragging him in by the collar of his gakuran as he always did. It always hurt, too. Momo had no regard for his own physical strength sometimes, like Eiji-senpai had no regard for his weight when he piled himself on top of Seigaku's second year ace. Some other idiots joined in suit, and Ryoma's face dropped into his trademark frown. People were beginning to think he resembled Tezuka a little too much these days.

Once freedom of his limbs was granted, Ryoma took the empty seat beside Tezuka and said nothing. There was nothing to be said really. That was a comfortable feeling to Ryoma.

However, like most comfortable feelings, this one couldn't last. The moment Tezuka excused himself to use the restroom, Ryoma was surrounded by first years and his fan club, all of which had sushi platters perched in their palms. He'd become something of an idol in Seigaku, sweeping victory from Rikkai Dai Fuzoku's current captain in the Regionals, with a promise to do so once more in the Nationals. It was all anyone could do not to drop dead with glee just to be in his presence. His patrons annoyed him so.

So, as he always did, he took Ryuzaki Sakuno's platter. She knew what he liked, she put a lot of it on his plate, and she was quietest about it. He absently took bites of the contents on his platter, relieved to feel the presence of his former captain at his side once more after the funny farm dissipated. Being the Pillar, Ryoma had the Captain Throne to look forward to soon. It's a role he hadn't contemplated as much as he should have, but nevertheless, one he would take on successfully. When it was his turn, he wouldn't just lead Seigaku into the Nationals, they would win. And he would enjoy every minute of knocking Rikkai Dai off their obnoxious pedestal. Especially that blood sucking, God-forsaken, demonic bastard he'd come to almost like. Almost.

Kirihara Akaya was going down.

"Echizen," Tezuka said, his lips were pursed, his back was straight, his eyes had the tiniest glint of hope that your average idiot would have definitely missed. He lifted one of his large, firm hands and gave Ryoma's shoulder a good squeeze. It was perhaps the most intimate gesture his former captain had ever offered to anyone, and Ryoma knew he chose this moment carefully. Tezuka was never careless. "I left Seigaku in your hands," he said. So take it all the way down the road to victory, he meant.

He downed his last sip of tea, and his hand fell straight from his junior's shoulder. He hadn't a single doubt in his mind that Ryoma would take Seigaku all the way; Ryoma didn't doubt it, either. Two out of three of Rikkai's Emperors fell during their match in the Nationals in Tezuka's year. The wind only blew in Yukimura's favor the day of Tezuka's defeat, but it was a match that would never be forgotten. It was a match that etched itself into Ryoma's subconscious down to every bead of sweat that their bangs tossed into the air. The more he thought of it, the more he knew he wouldn't lose; couldn't lose.

Ryoma brushed his fingers over the lingering warmth of his former captain's touch, clenched his shoulder, and pumped his fist. Maybe he wasn't so tired after all.

"Yosh," he whispered as he pulled his racket and a change of clothes out of his bag. Those whose eyes had fallen upon him wondered what he was doing as he headed for the door.

"Where do you think you're going, Echizen?" shouted Horio, thinking he'd spotted his teammate trying to sneak away from his own party. And he would be right, in a way, but Ryoma didn't appear to be caught. The smile on his face was much too eager and gaze much too daring. Those hazel eyes flared with a brand new goal on the horizon; Tezuka had evolved him into a whole new player once more, only this time, he bore the strength of two pillars.

Seigaku would prevail.

"I'm going to play tennis," said Ryoma, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He shouldered his racket, and the corners of his lips curled into the most daring smirk. "Any of you losers coming?"

"LOSERS?!" Horio yanked out his racket, missing the bridge of Mizuno's nose by an inch as he shoved it in his future captain's direction. He then stomped up toward Ryoma, yelling things along the lines of "I'll show you!" and something about his three years of tennis experience. Osakada cheered, pulling out a racket of her own (apparently having learned tennis sometime in the past year or so.) His former teammates--all smart enough to bring their rackets, whether they still played or not--were at his side. His current teammates, Arai and Katou, Izumi and Ikeda, Mizuno and Kaidoh, and, last but not least, Momo-chan-buchou, piled up behind Ryoma, ready to face a whole new beginning for Seigaku: The Road to Absolute Victory.

AMBITION; by Freya

It wasn't that Ryoma woke up too late, but that his alarm clock woke him up too early, so he mashed the snooze button and rolled right back over, Karupin spooned against his lithe back as drifted right back into dream land for another ten minutes. The fact that his first day as a third year started today may have tickled the nether regions of his brain, but the desire to sleep tickled every other part of it. He promised to smash the shit out of his Playstation 2 with his tennis racket for distracting him from a full night of sleep. He positively dreaded the day ahead. The more he mashed the snooze button, the more annoyed he became with his life.

Until finally, he had to physically be coaxed out of bed. Two gangly old fingers clamped around his right cheek and lifted him upward. It hurt like a bitch, and Ryoma wasn't afraid to make to make his displeasure audible. He blinked a couple of hazy, sleep-glazed blinks until he could make out the full form of his coach standing before him, just as old and bitter looking as ever. He stretched his arms over his head, cracking his back as many times as he could before Ryuzaki-sensei had him by the nightshirt, yanking him from the bed.

"Honestly, Ryoma. Do you take pride in being slow? Get your ass dressed now or we're going to be late!"

"Mmm," Ryoma groaned, nearly knocking into Ryuzaki's granddaughter on the way to the closet. He didn't warn them that he was going to drop his pants on the spot and change into his school clothes right in front of them. Che. He could feel Sakuno's blush from where he stood, and was about to remove his underpants for good measure, only to be backhanded by his coach. Okay, so he deserved that one.

He joined his coach and Sakuno at the breakfast table once he was dressed. He had a toothbrush lodged in one corner of his mouth as he grabbed his comb, running it through his hair a total of four times before running back to the bathroom. He was so good at being late, although jamming a slice of toast down his throat on the way to Ryuzaki-sensei's car wasn't his definition of fun. He could have choked to death, but he half-suspected that his coach wouldn't mind. Her favorite thing to complain about was how the Echizens made her feel old.

"You ought to thank Sakuno, Ryoma. She's the reason we stopped by to wake your lazy ass up."

"Ano, Obaa-chan. I just said it'd be nice, you know... because he'll be captain and all," she hummed and smiled that tiny little smile of hers. Ryoma should have thanked her, but didn't.

Sumire frowned and huffed. "If I let him be captain. I wasn't exactly impressed by his brilliant display of responsibility just now."

"Che," said Ryoma in response. She could piss and moan all she wanted, but if Tezuka said he was captain, then captain he was. No matter how much he felt like ignoring the abuse of his alarm clock, there was still no one more fit to lead Seigaku than himself. He is the best damn tennis player in Seigaku; has been for quite awhile now. Mada mada dane.

---

He was absolutely right; he knew he'd be. During the rankings, he beat every single damn person 6-0, not only securing his spot on the Regulars, but his spot as captain, too. No one dared challenge him for the spot, though Katou and Horio were both a shoe-in for the vice captain seat. Horio was eventually chosen for the spot, though, and Ryoma was glad. He wouldn't feel quite as bad about making him do all the boring work.

So Ryoma gave his honored new role a shot, directing the freshmen through swinging drills. He corrected form after form, eventually getting so fed up with the insolence that he made them run five laps. Really, what was so hard about not bending your knees too low? This was a tough job.

Horio spent most of his time in Ryuzaki-sensei's class filing paperwork and getting things straightened out for this year. He was surprisingly good at it, and got most of it done in time to rally off against Katou. It was about damn time he started being useful.

Ryoma was in the mood for a Ponta, and it was getting late. He drew his first official day as captain to a close ten minutes early, ordering the freshman to pick up balls, and a few particularly lazy juniors to help. Assholes. They weren't going to become Regulars by discussing how badly Rikkai performed at the Nationals a few months prior. It was an... interesting memory that Ryoma shook from his head. He wasn't particularly fond of what happened that year.

"You did well today, Ryoma. They respect you," said Ryuzaki, her hand placed firmly upon his shoulder. She gave it a supportive squeeze, then a hard shove. Ryoma frowned. What in the world was that for? She sure has been abusive lately. "However, they won't for long if you keep this lazy attitude up."

"Who's lazy?" murmured Ryoma, tucking the bill of his cap over his eyes. He could single-handedly hand the asses of every tennis player in the circuit back to them if he so pleased. He was hardly lazy. Che, not that she was one to talk, either. She still hasn't dragged her granddaughter to a barber kicking and screaming, after all.

He was just fine the way he was.

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