Disclaimer: I don't own TeniPuri.
After the Whistle, Before the Bang
Shock came first, with vibrant sparks of pain in every direction. It hadn't been the first time. Shishido had bruises to document every night he had spent out under this moon, the one that was slowly waning tonight, growing tired of seeing him night after night, failing at the same feat again and again. Bruises that came in every rejected color of the rainbow; sick yellow, battered blue, gray-purple, and tender, puffy red. Each brush burn and awkward fall backwards bought him a new limp in the morning, a new stiffness by the end of the week.
He did nothing to prevent injury though. He did nothing but try, all night. Each ace thrown right into his face, his chest, his stomach, winding him, bruising him, blinding him. Pain and exhaustion were two beautiful muses pointing and laughing as they dragged their claws along him.
But Shishido was trying. Picking himself up one more time, neon yellow scattered around him like a mine field, court lights like a helicopter spotlight, Shishido lifted his eyes to the other side of the net, the red, green, white of Christmas all year round, and he saw another kind of partner in the man standing opposite him. The man holding the racket, the man firing the gun. Because Choutarou was trying too.