Disclaimer: Based off of Silent Alarm, by Jennifer Banash, although not plagiarized: the basic idea was from Mrs. Banash, although the plot will be all mine. All characters are canon-compliant and can be found in either Prince of Tennis or New Prince of Tennis, by Takeshi Konomi-sensei.

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and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling

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prologue—

((i carry your heart))

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"Momoshiro-senpai," I said, and watched as he turned to me, the front of his fringe bouncing onto his forehead with the movement. He looked surprised at my sudden acknowledgement of his existence; I had gained a notorious reputation as the Ice Prince of the Seishun Sector, who kept to himself and spoke little, if not none at all, and had once snubbed the confessions of thirteen girls and two boys in one day. The school population and I had an unspoken contract—if they left myself alone in peace, I would not bother them, and vice versa.

"Ah, Echizen-kun, wasn't it?" he asked, not unfriendly. "You're... Ryoga-senpai's little brother, aren't you? Do you want something?" I noticed that he paused minutely before saying my brother's name, as if the word itself were a ticking time bomb, liable to explode any second. He, as well as the rest of this god-forsaken town, seemed to be under the impression that I resented my brother; rather, it was simply that Ryoga's overbearing attitude overwhelmed me more often than not, and avoiding him solved both of our problems.

I reached out a fist, revealing the small tennis racket keychain concealed within, the chain snapped cleanly in half. "You dropped this in the hallway earlier," I said curtly, more than aware now of the stares we were getting from the people around us. I had probably talked to only three people of my own volition that were not my immediate family or close friends this year, and all of them were teachers. "Please be more careful with your things, senpai."

"A-ah, I will," Momoshiro-senpai nodded, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. He dangled the broken chain in front of him almost thoughtfully, before pocketing it in one the deep folds of his khaki shorts. "Thanks for the help, Echizen-kun. I was almost afraid I'd lost it. And call me Momo-chan—Momoshiro-senpai just makes me feel old."

"Momo-senpai," I contended, raising my eyebrows, as if daring him to counter. He was tall, much taller than me, and it must have looked ridiculous with our height difference, the way I stared at him almost like I was issuing a challenge. "Calling you Momo-chan just makes me feel stupid."

He barked out a laugh, startling the crowd that had begun to gather around us. "Ha! You're a feisty one, aren't you, Echizen-kun?" He looked at me strangely, tilting his head slightly in thought, as if searching for something, and I took the time to study him as well. He was a regular of the Seigaku tennis team despite his young age, dating Tachibana An-senpai from Fudomine Sector, and in relatively good terms with Kaidoh-senpai; his grades were decent, his appearance slightly above average. Popular with his classmates and underclassmen, although most of his upperclassmen deemed him unimportant and unworthy of their time.

I blinked, and realized Momoshiro-senpai was still staring at me, waiting for me to answer him. He had apparently found what he was looking for, judging on his satisfied expression, and I arranged my face into something unreadable. "You are the more energetic one here, Momo-senpai," I remarked blandly, no longer in the mood to talk. I had said more today in public than the entirety of last year, and I could feel my energy draining away.

"Wait!" I stopped mid-step, turning my head to face him in barely veiled annoyance. Momoshiro-senpai ran a hand through his excessively gelled hair, causing it to stick up even more. "Take this, before you go." He threw something through the air towards me. I caught it, opening my mouth slightly in surprise when I made out what it was: a miniature tatami mat, the kind found in traditional Japanese dollhouses, barely the size of my palm. A single kanji character was written on it: 喜, good fortune. "For good luck."

I looked at him, and then at the mat. Finding no reason to acknowledge him for what was simply a thank-you gift, I simply pocketed the mat inside the interior of my baggy jeans and walked away. The sea of students parted as I approached them, before dispersing by themselves.

Momoshiro-senpai's amused and almost affectionate words as I turned the corner of the hallway were not unheard: "Brat."

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The bell rang for second period just as I entered the classroom, earning the Saito-sensei's huff of exasperation as he wrote down my name for roll. My usual seat in the back had been taken by Horio, who was animatedly whispering to a group of disgusted-looking girls, and I shot him an irritated glare before looking around the classroom. The only desk remaining was in the middle of the first row, right in front of the blackboard, and I silently traipsed to it, slinging my bag over the chair.

"R-Ryoma-kun, h-hello," Sakuno stuttered from behind me, giving me a shy smile. She was possibly the only female contact I had with the world excluding my cousin and Okaa-san, although in all ways she could be considered my sister.

I gave her a stiff nod. In the stark lighting of the classroom, I could see a thin sheen of gloss over her lips, and how her eyelashes curled ever-the-slightly upwards. I still remembered the little girl who chased fearlessly after yowling cats, who scared away a would-be pickpocketer with her tennis racket, who lost both her front teeth jumping off the playground swings. The difference was unsettling.

Saito-sensei rapped twice on the blackboard sternly, and my attention turned to him. "Alright, class has begun. Attention on me, please. Textbooks to page 180; we're starting basic prepositions today—"

I reached down to scratch an itch on my calf absentmindedly, tuning out the lesson. I already knew most of the curriculum, having read the entire textbook at the start of the school year. I had come to Tenisu Gakuen hoping for a challenge, although it was revealing itself to be a monotony of sorts: black and white and grey, maybe even duller than the courses at the local public school.

At the sound of the first crack, my head snapped up and turned to the source of the sound. Saito-sensei looked annoyed, opening the door and glancing out the hallway, tapping his feet against the source of the floor in irritation. "Must be one of Mifune-sensei's kids again, playing around," he said, turning back the board and gesturing to the words written neatly on it. In. Between. On. Under. "No worries, one of the teachers will deal with it."

The week before, someone had tossed a smoke bomb into the toilet of the girl's bathroom, sending clouds of grey haze billowing out the windows and doors. We had to evacuate onto the track field in the middle of a particularly heavy rainstorm until the firefighters discovered that it just a prank.

There was a sharp bang. Then another. A series of small popping noises, and a muffled scream coming from somewhere inside the main building. "Calm down," Saito-sensei barked, shouting over the pandemonium. "I'm sure it's just a prank. Whoever's responsible will be dealt with swiftly." I reached inside my jeans, pulling out the tatami mat Momoshiro-senpai had given me earlier. The plastic surface of the 喜 character over the rough texture of the mat was strangely comforting as I ran it through my fingers.

The door to our classroom burst open, a third year student skidding into the teacher's desk. I vaguely recognized him as Tsubasa-senpai from the Yamabuki sector. He was panting, as if he had run a long distance, his face tinted a shade of crimson, cold sweat trailing down his cheek. His uniform was unbuttoned and hung loose on his thin frame—one shoe was missing, as if he were in a hurry and had no time to worry about anything but the bare necessities.

"What is it?" Saito-sensei asked, impatient, as if half-dressed third-years came bursting into his classroom all the time. "Which science experiment failed this time?"

"No," Tsubasa-senpai said, panting. "Gunshots. There's a guy with a gun out there at the entrance. A real one."

Everything seemed to freeze in one collective breath, motionless, a numbing terror that crept over us all. My pulse quickened rapidly, until all I could hear in my fear was that damned rhythm: ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump. A sharp pain distracted me from my panic; looking downwards, I found that I had gripped my palm so tightly that the nails had cut through skin.

"Get under the desks!" Saito-sensei roared. I ducked under the table, my head knocking painfully against the metal leg. The cracks became louder and closer, as well as the sound of people screaming. "Shit, the keys... the keys..." He cleared his desk with his arm, the objects on it clattering onto the floor. At that moment the fire alarm went off, the shrillness ringing in my ears.

The intercom crackled to life. "Attention all students, we are in an emergency situation. This is not a drill. Repeat: this is not a drill..."

"What do we do?" whispered Sakuno, her fingers clutching my arm tightly. Her voice was ragged, uneven, bordering on hysterical. "R-Ryoma-kun, I'm scared. I-I'm so scared." A tear trailed down her cheek, falling onto my hand.

Before I could answer, the door slammed open, and a figure completely dressed in black stepped through it. There was a pistol in his hands, and I watched the barrel fearfully, the menacing weight of it pressing down on me. All I could see was the gun, the way it advanced into the room, towards me. Sakuno stifled a sob, whispering meaningless, nonsensical words in my ear, her nails digging into my skin.

Bang. Bang. Saito-sensei screamed, clutching his chest cavity tightly as he fell to the ground. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, choking out the guttural sounds of a dying animal as blood began to pool around him. I felt absolutely sick to my stomach, my senses filled with the strong smells of smoke and iron and scorched cloth.

There was another shot, another scream. The classroom was filled with the sound of muffled sobbing, a symphony of wails and moans. I held my breath as a pair of black sneakers walked past me, leaving behind a trail of bloody footprints. More gunshots resounded, shaking the classroom to its very foundation, and I could hear the shrieks of the classes beside us. In the seat to my right, Tomoka gurgled something incomprehensible, before slumping onto the floor lifelessly, blood seeping through her red cardigan.

"No," Sakuno said shakily, reaching out a hand to grab her best friend. "No no no no no—"

"You'll get caught," I hissed, pulling her back. "You can't do this—"

Bang. Sakuno choked, collapsing onto me. I froze, staring at the growing bloodstain on her shoulder, feeling my brain cease functioning as something red and sticky dribbled onto my pants. "J-just a graze..." she mumbled, slowly going limp; I knew her long enough to tell when she was lying, although the way her skin slowly became clammy was obvious a factor enough.

There was a shadow suddenly above, the light dimming across her face, and slowly, I turned around and looked up. "Hey," said the man in front of me, as if we were passing by each other on the street, complete strangers. It suddenly occurred to me that we probably were—there was no sign of recognition in his lifeless golden eyes as he pointed the gun towards my chest, and I could identify not who he was, either. Certainly not the boy who snuck me oranges from Ryuuzaki-obasan's prized heirloom trees, the one who read me bedtime stories in the closet as Oyagi and Okaa-san screamed vulgarities at each other.

I stared back at Ryoga, the terror from before slowly diminishing into something that felt like a forced calm. "It's been a while," I agreed, mesmerized by slanted cheeks and pointed chins.

"Mada mada daze, Ryoma-chan." He smiled, baring a pair of perfectly white teeth. "You lost this round."

Bang. A searing pain stretched across my stomach, burning the skin in agony, and I screamed at my brother's retreating figure as more shots echoed in the room. I felt light-headed, the world around me spinning dizzily, before my gaze settled onto the tatami mat that had fallen out of my hands with the impact. There was a hole through the middle, the edges charred from heat, and what little remained of the 喜 were small black spots, almost nonexistent.

"For good luck," Momoshiro-senpai said.

"...good luck," I mumbled, disorientated. At some point, Ryoga must have left the room, the door clanging noisily behind him, but I could not remember when. The room was now almost terrifyingly silent, only the occasional moan puncturing the hush that descended upon the school. Blood covered the ground in a sea of red, slick and heavy, and even those who hadn't been shot were too horrified to move, to breathe in the smell of death and blood and smoke.

Then there were hands on my body lifting me up, voiced cooing into deafened ears, smoothing my hair. "Doctor!" someone shouted desperately, as I fluttered my eyelashes, too tired to stay awake. "This one's in critical—"

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