Lock and Key Chapter ONE, a prince of tennis fanfic

A/N: WAH, I'm so baaad. I know I shouldn't have started another project. I swore I wouldn't! Not even for Tenipuri, my newest love. But then this happened. GAH. ::whacks head on desk::

Well, I'll have to see how it goes. There's the fact that poor Wintry has school coming up, and another three or four unfinished fics, and she really ought to be studying for the SAT like a nice, responsible girl. But really, though this idea has been used before, no doubt, the plot bunny seized me and gobbled me up. I've got big plans for this fic. Well, not really. But hopefully I'll be able to finish it.

However, something that is actually important:

QUESTION FOR ALL OF YOU: Should this fic have shounen-ai/yaoi or no? I'm thinking along the lines of either Oishi/Eiji, or Tezuka/Ryoma, or maybe both. Though if you've got any other pairings to request, go ahead and tell me, and I'll see.

I'll repeat this question at the end of the chapter so y'all don't forget. Enjoy! (Oh, and I don't own anything, nya)

Lock and Key

When he was little, Echizen Ryoma had liked to pretend he had the keys to the kingdom. He'd be able to open the back door to all the sweets shops down by the Main South Bridge and sit in their store rooms for days, gorging himself on all the chocolate and sugared candies he'd want. Or into the box seats of the theatre district, out by Shallow Bridge, a place Mother had told him stories about before bed- she had worked there as a girl.

But there were two locks he had wanted most to open: the door to the gate of the King's School's courtyard, where the squires had their afternoon practices, and the little gold padlock on his father's mahogany chest.

That was at least three or four years ago. Ryoma glanced at the chest beside the mantle, as he always did when he left, then hurried to follow his father outside. He was twelve now and his father's newest apprentice- even if it was ridiculously easy to slack off under the old man's watch, Ryoma was too old to be daydreaming about sweet shops and other impossible things.

In the past few months, Ryoma had been deemed a passable swordsmith, if not as diligent as some would have liked. The journeymen liked to rebuke him frequently for dozing off while working the bilge, or sweeping the floor. The other day he'd been cuffed at least twice for it- Ryoma winced at the memory. Even now, the red mark was still there.

"Hurry up, boy!" his father called from far ahead. The stupid old man waved an arm at him, urging Ryoma to pick up his pace. Not bothering to reply, Ryoma shifted the bundle in his arms and vaulted over the front gate, then continued walking only slightly faster than he had before.

Clearly impatient, Nanjiro huffed, scuffed his boots on the dirt path, and then began walking again without waiting for Ryoma to catch up properly. Not that Ryoma cared. He preferred to set his own pace- probably the reason why he and his father arrived late so frequently, and had to apologize to everyone who was already there. Nanjiro complained that it undermined his authority for those under him to see him repeatedly break his own rules. 'At this rate, they won't respect me anymore!' he'd whine, always in that same childish tone.

Ryoma snorted. His father didn't deserve any respect as it was. He might be a master swordsmith and, previously, an acclaimed swordsman- but the man was also a pervert and a lazy ass. He bought dirty literature from the bad parts of town and liked to spend his midday meal at the nearby tavern, drinking and peeking under the barmaids' skirts. Choshi, the affable bartender and owner of The Golden Bull, had nearly kicked Nanjiro out once for harassing his daughters.

It'd been hard for Ryoma to get any respect for himself, with a father like that. People would pity him, some would hate him, and others would dwell on his father's past glory. And no swordsman, knowing of Echizen Nanjiro's reputation, dared take his only son on as a pupil.

Ryoma's grip tightened around his package. No. He wouldn't dwell on that. He was already apprenticed to learn a swordsmith's trade. Even if he could find a master who would take him, it was too late now.

Still, he allowed himself to dig his fingers through the canvas and clench the sheath until they ached.

Around him, the countryside was fading away- newly sown fields and cottages covered with budding vines gave way to the harbor. As the dirt path became one of cobbled stone and they crossed the Main West Bridge, people became more abundant. 'Coming into the city for the day, just like we always do,' Ryoma thought. There were farmers pushing vegetable carts or driving donkeys with sharpened sticks, and women in patterned dresses carrying baskets of eggs and flowers to sell. They were the regulars, people Ryoma saw on his way to the city every day.

But often foreigners came in as well. Ryoma liked to watch for them. Those who traveled from other kingdoms were easy enough to identify- today, a band of gypsies, their jangling wagon and richly hued clothes making their group evident, traveled with them towards the city. Probably for the Spring Festival, Ryoma remembered. Every year they brought their wares to sell at the week-long celebration. Spices, music, hand-woven rugs, clothing- but also stranger things. Fortunes, charms, mild potions- little magical trinkets that were otherwise impossible to procure in the city.

Of course, these things had never interested Ryoma. Magic was full of uncertainty and dubious reliability. He had no use for it. So when he spotted a gypsy girl going from person to person (and becoming crestfallen at her frequent rejections), he did his best to keep himself from being noticed- eyes forward, package secure, and pace steady.

The girl had long brown braids, each ended in a hopeful marigold ribbon, and an equally eager expression on her face that seemed to blush instantly at the sight of him. Once he saw that blush, Ryoma knew there was no escaping her. He sighed once and resigned himself to it.

As quick as she could, the girl darted towards him, tripping once over the hem of her long skirt and bumping into a disgruntled farmer as a result. She apologized profusely, then continued towards Ryoma until she reached him, and quickly fell in step with him.

"Excuse me, but..." She fumbled, flustered, and anxiously smoothed the front of her dress. Ryoma only stared at her. "Would you like me to read your palm?"

"No." In attempt to escape her, Ryoma tried to pick up his pace. The girl, seeing this, immediately cried out and grabbed at his arm.

"Please! I haven't found anyone willing, but I wouldn't ask for much in return..."

"I don't have anything to give you."

She shook her head so violently that her pigtails whipped from side to side, like snakes. "It doesn't have to be much at all!"

How irritating. Nanjiro might get angry if he was held up too long. "Eh? Try someone else then. I've only got this package that I'm carrying," he insisted, hefting it up a bit in his arms to show her.

The girl's eyes lit up. "If you don't want your palm read, I could carry this for you!" She reached to grab the cloth, but Ryoma jerked it away just before her fingers could touch it.

"My master trusted me to take care of this."

She reached for the bundle again, more insistently this time, and got one handful of cloth. "Please, I beg you! I won't have money for food until I can sell my cakes at the festival!" she pleaded.

Ryoma stopped and stared her in the eye, irritated. He tugged a bit on the package. "Let go."

She met his gaze, a bit cowed by it, but only blushed and answered firmly, "I won't!"

"Go bother someone else, I don't have any money!"

"Please-!"

"Oy." Both of them turned. Nanjiro had turned back to see what his son had gotten into. One look at the girl turned his frown into a simpering smile. His eyes slid up and down her body, the old pervert. "Introduce me to your lady friend, Ryoma."

Ryoma scowled and gave the bundle a final yank to loosen her grip on it. "I don't know her at all."

The girl, apparently mortified, made a hasty curtsy and bowed her head to hide her flushed face. "Sakuno. My name is Ryuzaki Sakuno." Her hands fidgeted with the front of her skirt. Nanjiro, seeing an opportunity, seized one hand and kissed it. Immediately, Sakuno went into another blush. Ryoma was beginning to wonder if that could be healthy for her.

"Sakuno. How charming!"

"N-nice to meet you- sir!"

"Call me Nanjiro, don't be shy, dear, though that blush is quite- Ryoma? Oy, Ryoma-!"

Damn. He'd nearly been able to escape. Ryoma stopped, but decided it'd be better not to turn around. Seeing his father flirting with a girl more than half his age wasn't something he wanted to deal with right now.

"That boy of mine...you little fool, why won't you come help this pretty young girl? What happened to your manners?"

"I learned my manners from you, so they can't possibly be good."

"Tsk! Speaking to your father that way..."

"Um," said Sakuno, very meekly. Nanjiro ignored this and grabbed hold of her shoulders.

"Look at her, Ryoma! The picture of innocence, beauty...all she asks of you is a simple palm reading, and what do you do? Shun her! Push her away in her time of need!"

"Why don't you let her read your palm then?"

Nanjiro shook his head as if the idea was ridiculous. "I'm a man of my own fortune. I've taken charge of my life, and shape my own future as I see fit!" He seemed inspired by the very idea.

Sakuno gazed at him with wide eyes. "That sounds brave of you, sir! My grandmother always says-"

"Don't encourage him," Ryoma muttered. "He'll only get worse."

"When we get back to the smithy-"

"Please, let me do a reading for you! I'm much better than I was at last year's-" Sakuno wheedled, beginning to look a bit desperate.

"- you'll sweep for the rest of the day-"

"Much better! Grandmother-"

Ryoma glared furiously at his father. "You only make me sweep because you don't like doing it yourself!"

"Everyone says so! Oh please, sir, please, or I can carry that for you-"

"That settles it then," Nanjiro proclaimed far too loudly. Ryoma and Sakuno immediately fell silent and stared at him, blinking. With a wide grin, Nanjiro settled his callused hands on his hips and surveyed them both, shifting his gaze back and forth between them. Satisfied, he leaned forward, an expression of concentration on his face-

- and then poked Ryoma decisively on the nose.

"Agh!" cried Ryoma, swatting the hand away. "What was-"

"You," said Nanjiro with a cheeky grin. "Let her read your palm, boy." He then turned to Sakuno who, predictably, blushed. "And you, my little flower-"

"Blushing pink flower of doom," Ryoma grumbled under his breath. Nanjiro glanced at him over his shoulder. With speed that should have been impossible for the stupid old man, he wheeled around and snatched the bundle easily from Ryoma's hands.

"Hey!"

Ignoring Ryoma's protests, Nanjiro turned and presented the bundle to the girl. "Miss Sakuno shall hold the sword!"

Sakuno stared at the package, bewildered. "Hmph," said Ryoma. "What about the payment, then?"

Nanjiro dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "We'll get to that eventually," he concluded. Then, without ceremony, he grabbed Ryoma's hand and wrenched him forward by the arm to stand before Sakuno. Sakuno could only blink (and blush) while Nanjiro brandished Ryoma's hand back and forth in front of her. "First, the fortune!"

"Damn it, are you drunk?" hissed Ryoma. Nanjiro only smiled at him, rocking on the balls of his feet with his arms crossed smugly at his chest.

Tentatively, Sakuno handed the sword into Nanjiro's care with yet another apology before getting to work. Ryoma wanted to roll his eyes- how ridiculous. She wouldn't even look him in the eye as she took his left hand and began examining the lines of his palm.

"Ah, well...you've got calluses." She pointed, and touched his palm very lightly with the tip of her finger. "Here, here- and here. Then...uh, are you...a swordsman, maybe?"

Nanjiro, who had been peering over Ryoma's shoulder, guffawed. "A swordsman! This little brat?"

Ryoma snapped to attention, suddenly furious. "That's not funny. I'm going to be a better swordsman than you one day."

"Someday. Perhaps. But for now, you can't even execute that lunge properly. It's your footwork, you know."

"I can lunge perfectly well and you know it," Ryoma snapped. Giving his father one last glare, he turned his attention back to the girl. "Keep going."

"Right!" Sakuno gave him a feeble nod and then continued studying his hand.

Ryoma waited. The girl nervously picked her way across his palm, cradling his hand as if she were afraid to break it. "Well?"

"Uh, I..."

"Don't rush her."

"No, it's okay!" Sakuno insisted. She lifted Ryoma's hand. "You see...here...this long line down the center of his palm. It's your life line. And it's long. So, uh...I think you might have a long life." She looked up eagerly, as if waiting for his approval.

Ryoma scowled. "Anyone could have told me that. I learned to read lifelines as a child." To his father, he said, "This girl doesn't really know how to read palms at all. Can we go?"

"We have time. Give her a chance." Although his words were encouraging, Nanjiro's voice contained an undeniable threat. He followed this up with a firm knock to the back of Ryoma's head, before he looked over at Sakuno and gave her a nod of reassurance. "Go ahead."

Sakuno squeaked, a bit alarmed now, and continued hurriedly, "Well, I don't think that you'll get sick too often either...and you'll live in peace...and happiness...and-" Here her entire face turned pink. "-you'll have lots of children and a pretty wife...and succeed in your trade...and " She trailed off, out of breath. Letting go of his hand gently, Sakuno gave him a meek smile that rose and sank at the corners, uncertain. "And that's it."

Ryoma eyed her. "Are you sure?"

Nanjiro, smiling broadly, clapped him on the shoulder hard enough that to hurt before handing the bundle to Sakuno. The gypsy girl immediately used it to hide her face. "What d'you mean, is she sure? That sounds like a fine future to me, Ryoma, if you can make it happen."

"I hope not." Thank God, that was over. No longer captive, Ryoma set off down the road, ignoring the protests that followed him.

Fortunes. Honestly, only fools and bored housewives believed that sort of trash. Ryoma crossed his arms behind his head, sighed deeply, and decided that he needed a long nap today more than anything else.

That is, he did before he heard Sakuno's terrified scream.