Summary: He must be dreaming or at least hallucinating, Ryoma decides, because there was no other explanation as to how a 28 old man could go to sleep one night only to wake up in to body of a 16 years old girl. Harem fic. Hyotei!Ryoma. Fem!Ryoma.

Chapter 1 I'm a WHAT!

There were a great many things, Ryoma decided, that 15 years navigating the turbulent waters of the pro tennis world should have taught him already. One of those things, for instance, was to never look coach Taylor in the eye. The woman might look all soft and cuddly on the outside, but she was a beast where and when it counted, forcing all of her students to develop an healthy amount go fear/respect for her as a matter of self-preservation. All, of course, expect Ryoma, who continues, much to everyone's secret amusement, to defy her at every given opportunity. It has, unfortunately, landed him more than once in some very hot waters. Not that it did anything to deter him from any future transgressions. Stubborn to a fault Ryoma was but that was a story for another time.

The second thing on the list of things he should have known by now was probably more closely related to his current predicament…

Jeremy Bentsen was, and still is, one of the top players in the game according to the American Tennis Association's most recent ranking. Hailing from the same town as Federer, Bentson grew up playing tennis and burst on to the professional scene at the tender age of 23, loud mouthed and unapologetic, sweeping his competition off their feet like an tornado. The fans loved him, the press ate him up and while his natural talent for the sport could never be compared to the likes of Ryoma or Kevin for that matter, his determination and sheer passion for the sport more then made up for it. And Ryoma? He hated him.

It wasn't because he was jealous mind you; there was nothing to be jealous about when Bentson had never managed to beat him in the 10 years he was pro. No, it was more that Bentson was chaos personified with his wild hair and devil-may-care attitude. Ryoma liked order to an extent, he liked quiet; he did not like Bentson. Unfortunately, Bentson did not share his dislike, having decided early on that Ryoma was a hoot and elected him as his official drinking buddy. Ryoma of course did not drink by choice but Bentson was particular good at getting under his skin and making him forget that there was no conceivable way he could ever win any drinking contest against the older man considering how Bentson was built like an ox and Ryoma still hasn't grown in to a respectable height and weight for someone his age. Needless to say, drinking with Bentson was a mistake waiting to bite him in the ass and Ryoma really should have known better by now.

The first time Ryoma had fallen for Bentson's taunts, he had woken up the next morning shirtless and disoriented. The second time had gotten his picture plastered all over the newspaper under the title "Party Boy Gone Wild." The third time was in jail and the forth time under a 400 pound man who had insisted on calling him baby boy until Ryoma had threatened to slap his ass with a sexual harassement lawsuit if he didn't stop. The fifth time was last night and considering his track record with this sort of thing, Ryoma really shouldn't had let it happen in the first place.

Should was, of course, the operative word here. Ryoma had never been one to do things he "should" do.

Hence his current predicament.

Really, Ryoma was getting way too old for this shit.

London, UK

Ryoma wakes up with a headache, one that would probably speak of many hours of horrible retching to come. It isn't the first time mind you, because Ryoma was and still an idiot when it comes down to it but is way too stubborn to change.

"I hate myself," he mumbles dejectedly, trying to force the marching band playing merrily in his brain to take a break. But since it's easier to simply push the blame on to other people, his thoughts of self-hatred was immiedielty replaced by "I hate Bentson." That feeling was at least familiar.

Deep down, Ryoma knows he should really get up and see for himself what the damage was. But the bed was confortable, the sheet clean smelling and getting up involved taking responsibility for his actions. So, like any normal human being, he decides to procrastinate. Lazying about for a few minutes more never hurt anyone.

Ryoma wiggles happily under his covers, relieved that his headache is slowly retreating, leaving him with a clearer mind. He lets himself relax for a little while more until hunger finally gets him to give up and get up.

"Stupid stomach," he says louder this time before something makes him freeze in alarm.

His voice…had sounded strangely feminine.

Never one to let things go, Ryoma opens his mouth to try again; a tentative hello leaving his mouth. Instead of the usual gruff voice he was used to, a soft tenor echoes back to him, finally cementing his fear. He hadn't misheard. He really does sound like a teenage girl.

Alarmed and more then a little freaked out, Ryoma pushes himself out of bed with an energy he somehow musters up without killing himself. He finds a mirror near the door of the room and stares in abject horror at the sight that greets his tired eyes. He must be dreaming, he thinks, or hallucinating. There was no other explanation to this; not other explanation why Ryoma would go to sleep a 28 years old man and wake up a 16 years old girl.

Once he figures out how to get out of this nightmare, he was going to kill Bentson.

For the moment however, Ryoma was too busy trying to stay calm.

With a trembling hand, he touches his hair gingerly, feeling the long strands falling to his shoulders in gentle waves. The girl in the mirror does the same, her expression of awe mirroring his. She was cute, he decides after a while, in a little girl sort of way. With her short stature and obvious lack of curves, she couldn't be more then 14. Puberty had obviously not hit her just yet or, Ryoma thought glumly, it had but hadn't left the marks puberty usually leaves on every other female in the world. He wouldn't be surprised that his hallucination would also suffer from the same physical deficiencies as the real him.

Sighing, Ryoma let go of his dark thoughts and moves his attention next to his attire. A simple night gown clothed the girl's body. It was pink, Ryoma notes with disgust; he tugs a little experimentally on the garment, feeling the silk slide easily through his parted fingers. At least it was high quality.

He touches his cheeks next, feeling a plumpness that had never been there, not even when he had been this young. His golden orbs were still the same but bigger and less intimidating. The girl looks like him but at the same time doesn't. It was, Ryoma concludes, an indescribable feeling.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupts his quiet contemplation of this new development and before he could start freaking out once more, there was a small knock.

"Yes?" Ryoma calls out, forcing himself in to sounding somewhat normal.

"My Lady," a man's voice responds, "Breakfast is ready. Will you be taking it in the Great Dining Room? Your parents are already there waiting for you."

Great Dining Room? Ryoma repeats in his head. My Lady?

"I'll be down in a minute," he finally says, deciding to go along with the flow for now.

"Of course Miss," the man - butler? - replies before the sound of retreating footsteps reaches Ryoma's ears.

"Right," he mumbles to himself. He still wasn't convinced he wasn't hallucinating but for now, he had to get dressed and get some food, imaginary as it was to calm his imaginary hunger.

The Great Dining Room was situated on the first floor of what was, Ryoma was quickly realizing, a mansion. A mansion that spoke much of the wealth this family must possess to be able to afford it. Frankly, it made the middle-class boy in him a little bit uncomfortable. After all, this was the sort of place he imagined Atobe would live in…and if this much money meant ending up acting like him, Ryoma would happily trade it all away.

This hallucination was getting more and more confusing by the minute.

The sight of two strangers sitting at the dining room table, smiling at him with the tenderness of parents at the sight of their children, just added the cherry on top of the proverbial cake.

"Hello Dear," says the woman, whom Ryoma assumes is her mother. Adopted certainly because the woman was blond and blue-eyed and Ryoma definitely was not.

"Ryoma," the man says, his British accent making his name sound foreign, "Please do come join us. We have much to discuss."

"Mother, Father," Ryoma says, opting out of the more familiar Mom and Dad. This obviously wasn't a "Mom" and "Dad" family.

He sits down at his seat, careful to tuck his skirt beneath him. Considering that Ryoma had never before now worn a skirt in his life, the reflex was rather disconcerting.

"My Lady," says the familiar voice of the butler who had knocked on his door a while ago, "Would you prefer pancakes or cereal this morning?"

"Pancakes," Ryoma replies, and a plate of steaming hot pancakes was placed in front of him. The service here was definitely first class.

"Ryoma," says his mother after he had taken his first bite, "Your father and I have talked in length about your desire to visit your birth country. While it pains us to have you so far away, we are aware you are already 16 and need to discover yourself."

16? This body was 16? Why wasn't he more surprised by this?

His mother continues before he could say anything.

"Do you still wish to meet your birth parents?"

"Umm yes," Ryoma says, eyes wide. Was she talking about the Echizens? Finally, some familiarity.

"As expected," his father sighs but smiles, "I have already contacted the Echizens on your behalf and they have been more then happy to accept you in their home until you graduate from high school."

"You will of course be coming back here to University," his mother continues, "I have already secured you an early admission to Oxford."

"Oxford?" Ryoma repeats incredulously. He didn't know much about British Universities but he knew Oxford and its reputation.

"Oh don't look so surprised," his mother laughs, "It is your father's alma mater."

"All that money I donate each year must be good for something," his father mumbles.

So this was how the other half lives, Ryoma thinks dazedly to himself. He wonders if Atobe also had an early admission to some prestigious university.

"You will be taking the jet of course," his mother continues once the topic of university was closed. She says jet in the same tone someone would say bike. "The Echizens will be meeting you at the airport. We have already enrolled you in Hyōtei, as it is the only school befitting someone of your status."

"We will miss you," his father concludes, smiling sadly and for some strange reason, Ryoma finds himself returning the sentiment.

This hallucination was definitely messing with his head.

Japan

Atobe Keigo knocks twice on the wooden doors leading to his father's office before a strong "Come in" brought him to push it open.

"Father," Keigo says, walking closer, "You wanted to see me?"

"I do," says the man, professional as always, even in front of his own son. "I'll be quick since I do have a lot of work to do. In a few days time, the daughter of Lord Brighton and the heiress to his enormous fortune will be transferring to Hyotei."

Keigo's eyes widens at the news.

"The Lord Brighton?" he repeats almost breathlessly. He knows of Lord Brighton of course; everyone in the business world knows about Lord Brighton. The man was a genius; and his multi billion dollar empire spoke much about his skill and leadership. The Atobes could only dream of ever having something of his calibre.

"Yes," Mr. Atobe says, expression grim, a mixture of annoyance and resignation colouring his tone. As much as he hates pandering to people richer than him, he knows enough to do it when needed. "So I really shouldn't have to tell you how crucial it is for you to develop a rapport with the young Lady Brighton. I admit you probably won't find anything in common with her as she does not play tennis but you will need to find something else to talk about."

"Of course father," Keigo replies, nodding. He was familiar with this routine. "What is her name?"

"Elizabeth," his father replies, "But she likes to call herself Ryoma, a nod to her Japanese birth parents. She has lived all her life in London so will need a translator. Please do make sure she has everything she needs."

"Of course father," Atobe nods, "Will that be all?"

"Yes, you may go."

With his orders in mind, Keigo turns on his heels and exits the room. He had some planning to do.

TBC