Hey all! This is my first Prince of Tennis fic (although I've already written a ton of fics for Inuyasha). Yoroshiku!
Anyways, this fic takes place right after the Nationals match between Hyoutei and Seigaku, so for some of you it may contain spoilers.
Um…anything else? Quick reference for those who don't know all the Japanese terms I've used:
Buchou: captain
Kantoku: coach
Sempai: upperclassman
Regulars: not actually Japanese, obviously, but this is the same as the "starters" in the English manga (and possible English anime)
Katsu no wa: "The winner will be…"
Disclaimer: All characters etc. are the sole property of Konomi-sensei.
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The bus was silent.
Well, no, it wasn't, not really. Sakaki was talking softly into his cell phone. Mukahi was muttering something to Oshitari. Even Jirou, unusually calm for his state of consciousness, was speaking to an as-usual unresponsive Kabaji.
So maybe the silence was only in Shishido's head…but somehow, the bus felt silent.
Sakaki muttered something into the phone and then snapped it shut. He turned to Atobe, who was sitting in the seat across the aisle from him—as per usual, the two of them had taken the very front seats. "Atobe, are you feeling better?"
Instead of directly answering the music teacher, Atobe asked, "Kantoku, the bus may leave now, but before you say anything I would like to address the regulars."
Sakaki nodded first to the buchou and then to the bus driver. The driver picked up a small radio and spoke into it, informing the buses carrying the non-regular members of the team that they were departing.
As the bus began to back out of its parking space, Atobe slowly rose from him seat, his jersey draped over his shoulders, same as ever. But he looked different. He looked tired. Maybe it was the effect of the brisk "haircut" that Echizen brat had given him after their match. How the kid had managed it was beyond Shishido; just watching had exhausted him. But maybe, now that his hair had been roughly cropped short, lacking the "wings" that had always flipped outwards just at ear-level, Atobe had somehow lost his usual luster.
But that was not the case, he knew. Atobe could be stripped, shaved, and painted lime green and still have that same noble air as always.
Now, something was definitely off. It wasn't that Atobe was exhausted. Yes, he had only just recovered from losing consciousness at the end of the match, but mere physical wear had no effect on his natural charisma. There was something else…something internal and deeply important…
"Regulars," Atobe began, looking each of them in the eye. For once, Shishido had to fight the urge to look away from his buchou's piercing gaze. "I wish to address you all. But before I do, allow me to make one thing clear. When I speak to you, I speak not as Atobe Keigo, who stands at the top of Hyoutei's 200-member tennis team." He closed his eyes for a brief moment, then opened them again. When he spoke again, his voice had somehow lost that self-important ring that Shishido had gotten so accustomed to. Although no one spoke, Shishido could feel surprise sweep through the bus as Atobe continued, "I speak only as your buchou Your teammate."
Teammate, Shishido silently repeated, listening as the word seemed to echo through the bus. Other than that rush of traffic outside, the bus truly was silent.
"Hyoutei Gakuen has always been known for its formidable tennis team. And we knew it. We were proud of it. We entered the tournaments this year believing that this was our year. That this year, we deserved to win. That this year, no one would steal our victory. And what happened? We underestimated our opponents. We made a fatal mistake, and it cost us our first chance at the championship. We lost to a dark horse team."
Everyone flinched at the memory of that humiliating match against Fudoumine Chuu. That had been a rude awakening to the true strength of this year's competitors. Atobe adjusted the jersey on his shoulders. "Fortunately, we had a second chance, and we took it. We fought hard in the consolation matches and won what we believed was our rightful place in the Kantou Tournament."
"What then? This time, we knew better that to take our strength for granted. We trained and became strong"—Shishido could have sworn that he saw Atobe's eyes flick in his direction—"and, when the time came, sent only our best."
They all knew what came next. "But our best…lost." Atobe's voice was surprisingly gentle as he recollected their loss to Seigaku, as if he were trying to reassure his teammates. "Why? We did not underestimate Seigaku's tennis skill. What we did not see and did not prepare for was Seigaku's sheer drive to win. Not because they 'deserved' it, as we believed of ourselves. But because they wanted it and worked for it."
He smiled grimly. "But why did that matter to us? We had lost our chance in the first round at the Kantou tournament. So early in the season…we were done."
"But we weren't. Not really," Jirou breathed, watching his buchou with wide eyes. Somehow, Atobe's speech had become a fascinating, painful story that fiercely gripped the regulars' attention. It didn't matter that they knew the whole story already. They couldn't wait to hear more, to find out what would happen next…
Atobe nodded at Jirou. "We weren't done. By some…miracle, some whim of the gods, we were invited to the Nationals Tournament. Just when we had abandoned all hope, we received a third chance! And this time, we would not let it go to waste. We trained. You remember how hard we trained. Hours, days, weeks, eating, sleeping, breathing tennis and a new determination to win. This time, we knew we didn't 'deserve' the championship. We had to earn it. And we labored and sweated and swore to ourselves that we would earn the championship and avenge ourselves against the school that had taken away what we had believed was our last chance."
There was a long, meaningful pause. Atobe said softly, "Right now, we still remember it in painful detail. We started out with one win. Then one win, one loss. One win, two losses. Two wins, two losses."
The buchou swallowed. "Two wins, three losses. And with that…our true last chance was gone. This year…the championship will not go to Hyoutei Gakuen."
He looked down. Silence settled over the bus like a thick, suffocating blanket. Hours seemed to pass before Atobe slowly lifted his head and half-whispered, "The regular members of Hyoutei—the eight people who have fought and battled their way beyond 192 others—these eight people standing at the head of the Hyoutei's renowned tennis team…lost."
Shishido felt his gut clench with guilt and shame, which were quickly followed by anger. What the hell was Atobe trying to accomplish by telling them all this?
But before he could his mouth to question Atobe, to yell at him, or maybe just curse at him, the buchou held up his hand. "But we did not lose because we are weak."
Somehow, his tone of voice cooled Shishido's anger and brought back that magical storyteller's aura. "We are strong. Both our playing and our resolve were strong. But our opponents were stronger."
He cocked his head slightly and stared into space for a moment, saying almost contemplatively, "That is the law of Hyoutei, is it not? Only the strong survive? It is a brutal law, as you all know"—again, Atobe's gaze seemed to veer for briefest of moments in Shishido's direction—"but that is what makes our tennis team so powerful."
"Now, by this law," he resumed, resting his elbows on the back of the bus seat, "it is only reasonable that that the strongest tennis team should take the championship. And this year, we were not the strongest."
"But next year…is another season."
Shishido drew in a quick breath. Don't tell me he's been aiming for this the whole time…
Atobe's eyes suddenly sharpened, and he looked briskly around the bus, his eyes lingering for an instant on the second-years: Kabaji, with his amazing imitation capabilities; Choutarou, with his inhumanly fast serve; and Hiyoshi, the boy Atobe and Sakaki had hand-selected to lead Hyoutei the coming year.
"Five of us will graduate this year. But you second-years will not. You three will remain. And next year, you three will remember the humiliation we suffered when we underestimated our opponents. You will remember the strength of Seigaku's simple, powerful desire to win. And you will remember the pain we suffer now from losing our third and final chance at victory. You will remember…and next year, you will win."
Shishido finally managed to tear his eyes away from his buchou to look around the bus. Everyone looked awestruck. But it was the second-years that Shishido really noticed. Kabaji watched Atobe with a focus that normally only appeared in the middle of a tennis match. Hiyoshi's fists were clenched tightly on top of the bus seat. And Choutarou…shy, hesitant Choutarou was sitting straighter than Shishido had thought him capable of, biting his lower lip and avidly watching Atobe. They all looked…what was the word…
Inspired.
Atobe turned to Kabaji. "You will soon be a third year," he said firmly. "You will be a sempai. A leader. People will look to you for direction now. You must be ready to take charge."
Next, he turned to Choutarou. "Ootori, this past year Shishido has taught you how to control your Scud Serve. More importantly, he has taught you more about confidence and willpower than anyone else on the regulars could. It will soon be your turn to pass that on to others."
Atobe then locked eyes with Hiyoshi, that quiet, strange boy on whose shoulders rested the fate of Hyoutei's 200-man tennis team. They simply stared at each other for a long moment. And then Shishido almost physically felt something shift. "I'm counting on you, Hiyoshi," Atobe finally said, and with that, that shift was complete. The team now belonged to Hiyoshi.
But the former buchou had a few more words to say before he sat back down, more exhausted than he had let on to his team. "Remember, we are strong. We deserve victory, not simply because we are Hyoutei Gakuen, but because we want it." Some of his usual imperiousness returned as he raised one hand into the air and snapped. "Katsu no wa…!"
They had shouted that same cheer for so long that the response was automatic. But for the first time in a long time, Shishido truly believed as he shouted with the rest of team, "HYOUTEI!"
(end)
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Hm…the idea seemed much better in my head, but whatever. I still liked it, and I hope you did, too!
Quick shout-out: Any Tenimyu fans reading this? What did you think of the DL4 OST?