Disclaimer: Would I be writing this if I owned PoT? And btw, some of this story contains direct quotes from the translated manga at thespectrum(dot)net. Enjoy and review! ^_^
I picked up the racket gingerly, its clumsy weight unfamiliar and awkward in my hand.
"Here's how you hold it, Syusuke."
My dad bent down and rotated my grip. "Just try and hit the ball for now, OK?"
I was a little disgruntled at how he underestimated me. Tennis didn't look that hard—maybe it was actually really, really, easy, and I would be able to get it just like that.
Maybe I was a genius at tennis.
"Come stand in the serv—the little box thing here."
"It's called a service box, oto-san," I informed him patiently. Even I had learned this from all the tennis matches he watched on T.V.
My dad stared at me for a second—probably surprised that I knew something he didn't—and then let out a small sigh.
Yes, stand in the service box, Syusuke."
I beamed, hopping off the bench eagerly to show my dad how good I was at tennis.
He raised his racket and tapped the ball over the net—clean and simple.
It was right in front of me now.
I could hit it.
Hit it!
My racket came forward and—
—and all I heard was an airy swish as the ball bounced past me, and rolled away.
I let my arm drop, and the top of the racket scraped against the hard cement. I stared down at the ground, ashamed of myself and my face hot.
"Go again, Syusuke."
I raised my head, surprised.
But I'm bad at this game!
"Try one more time." My dad held up another ball, ready to hit it again.
What would it feel like to hit it?
Slowly…
…carefully…
…I lifted my racket off the ground.
This is…
I lost my train of thought as another tennis ball came sailing over the net.
"You are dismissed!"
Yamato buchou clapped his hands once and walked out of the tennis courts. Everyone headed for their bags, getting ready to leave.
"Tezuka?"
He turned to me, expression as blank as a piece of white paper.
"Yes?"
Quickly, before I could change my mind, I asked,
"Would you…give me some advice on something?"
He raised his eyebrows just a tiny centimeter—but at least I knew now he was capable of emotion.
"On what, Fuji?"
I glanced towards the streams of people getting ready to leave, and waited until the very last one had exited through the fence door. Tezuka waited patiently.
Finally, I took a deep breath and turned to him.
"Do you have some time right now? I need you to help me with something."
。。。。。
"…and if I can pull it off, that's how it should work."
Tezuka and I were sitting on a bench by the side of a court, me explaining in great details and him listening intently. He adjusted his glasses and looked deep in thought.
"How would you be able to create that much spin," he asked slowly, "so that the ball does not bounce?"
"It's actually quite simple," I said, having to press down on my voice to contain the excitement. "By taking advantage of your opponent's topspin and then adding your own spin in the same direction, that should be enough to have the ball sink and slide against the ground."
"Yes…" Tezuka agreed. "But it will take precise movements to make sure the ball goes over the net, too."
I nodded and turned to smile at him.
"And that is where I'm hoping you will help me."
There was a small silence.
"Let's go get the balls."
We stood, and something in my chest swelled.
"Thank you, Tezuka."
。。。。。
The last orange rays of the sun peeking over nearby mountaintops spilled over into the tennis courts, tinting the sea of balls a golden hue.
I was hunched over, gasping for air—my legs were numb and shaking with fatigue, and my wrist was beginning to swell up from the constant slicing.
Tezuka paused as he picked up a ball.
"It's getting late, Fuji."
He's telling me to stop.
I gritted my teeth and pushed my upper body into a standing position.
"A few more feeds, Tezuka…please."
I held out the racket in front of me, silently urging for him to just hit it.
There was a moment of hesitation, and then another topspin ball soared over to my side of the court.
Shoulder out…
Feet apart…
Wait for it…
At just the right timing, I sliced my racket through the air and brushed against the ball. I could feel its extraordinary spin; everything had worked this time; it was going to work, the ball—
—soared and just barely hit the net.
My shoulders sagged and I felt like I could barely support my aching legs.
I was so sure I had it that time!
"That's the closest you've gotten to it today."
Tezuka walked up to the net, holding another ball—he was looking at me with a twinge of concern in his eyes. "Can you carry on any further?"
No…my body urged. Stop…rest…rest…
"Yes."
I looked Tezuka in the eye and smiled to reassure him. "I want to master this. I will."
With a simple nod, he walked back to the baseline and fed me another topspin.
At that instant, my head suddenly cleared—I breathed deeply as I watched the ball come.
This…
I held back my racket in preparation.
…will…
It was right in front of me now.
….work!
With one flowing moment, I sent the ball back over the net, where it dipped down quickly and glided along the surface of the court in a gold flash.
"This is…"
"The swallow return."
My throat choked up with gratitude. Already, Tezuka seemed to know me so well.
I sucked in another deep breath of air, revived by my success. Tezuka and I looked at each other, and his face would have been another perfect, impassive mask—if not for the twinkle of emotion in his eyes.
Am I…dreaming?
Tezuka…
Niou…
Who is this?
What am I seeing?
Images flashed before my eyes like a hurried slideshow—but this is an illusion. He is Niou Masaharu; this is Rikkaidai. This is the National Championships.
I couldn't help but dart a sideways glance at the real Tezuka, my teammate, my captain, my friend…
"Let's go, Fuji."
He thought that Tezuka would be my weakness.
Something immense surged from my very core, filling me with restrained energy and anticipation and happiness. Niou couldn't have known—even I hadn't known—how much I was looking forward to this. Maybe it was because of how close we are, or maybe actually in spite of that…but in all these years together, I had never played a true match against Tezuka Kunimitsu.
What a god sent opportunity.
This is—
I gasped sharply, body tensing tightly as the bright-green ball bulleted—clean and simple—past my feet.
"Fifteen, love!"
After a second of stiff shock, I shook loose my muscles and straightened up, tearing my eyes away from the heavy mark of the ball just inside the service box.
。。。。。
It was a relief to be able to close my eyes.
It was amazing, how much more I could feel—the ball was like a part of me, something alive and pulsing that drew me in and told me where to go.
"Game, Fuji, six to five!"
Niou Masaharu's illusion is beginning to crack.
Now, he is only my opponent that I must defeat.
"The sixth counter…"
A breeze brushed against my hair and glided up towards the dazzling blue sky.
"…Hoshi hanabi."
As the stars crashed down into the court and sealed my victory, I smiled.
"Game, set, won by Seishun Gakuen, seven to five!"
I immediately walked up to my team, eyes focused on one: a single person who was so perfect and imperfect at the same time, that he could not be duplicated.
"After this, will you have a match with me…Tezuka?"
After all this time, after everything around us had seemed to change—it was still the same calm countenance, the same eyes that, except in the rarest moments, betrayed nothing from within.
"If that is what you want."
Things had changed, but this never will.
Don't always be so serious, Tezuka.
After all…
This is tennis.