FIREWORKS

Ch. 1: Teeter

|Fuji|

The first day of high school. I stood at the gateway to Seishun Koukou, savoring the thrill of a new beginning.

"This sucks," one student said to another as they walked past me. "We have to be freshmen all over again!"

Smiling, I followed them across the threshold. What adventures would this year bring? What kind of people would I meet? What would we achieve together? I couldn't wait to find out.

Taka-san and Inui weren't in my homeroom, but Eiji was. He jumped on me almost immediately after I was through the door. "Fujiko! You're in my class! Isn't this great? Oh, I know! We should go sign up for the tennis club together afterwards!"

The classroom was silent in the wake of his enthusiastic greeting. Everybody stared at us. I waved to my new classmates. "Good morning."

At Seishun Koukou, everything was bigger. In addition to graduates of Seishun Gakuen, it accommodated students from all over Tokyo, ones whose middle schools didn't have affiliated high schools. Past the high stone wall was an expansive courtyard lined with trimmed, blocky bushes. The main building was six stories high, an impressive example of modern Western architecture with its grid-like layout, perfect symmetry, and floor-to-ceiling windows. I stepped right up to one of these, pressing against the glass. The sky was a clear, delicate baby blue. It felt like if I jumped off, I could fly.

And the tennis courts! Twice as many as there were in Seigaku. Today, though, they were empty save for one in which upperclassmen from the tennis club were greeting the freshman recruits. In general the Second and Third Years were taller and more muscular, though not by very much. Certainly the difference wasn't as drastic as it had been between, say, Echizen and Tezuka last year. Even so, my senpais looked like such strong, capable players that I wanted to meet them all and have them teach me many things, just like the senpais from before had.

Inui had already arrived and was speaking with a student in the regulars uniform—still white and blue, except a vertical blue stripe interrupted the white on both sides of the chest. Eiji spotted him and yelled out, "Hoi hoi! Inui! Over here! Fujiko's here, too!"

Again, every head turned in our direction.

"Eiji…" I said self-consciously, trying to keep him from waving quite so frantically.

Inui came to meet us, but the regular he was with reached us first. "Fuji Syusuke! Kikumaru Eiji! Welcome." He spread his arms. "We've been waiting for you."

"Really? We're special?" Eiji asked, elated.

"Well, your team did win your age group's National Tournament."

Eiji cheered. "Seigaku! Fight-o!"

I glanced around us, unsure of how the rest of the club would react. But none of the upperclassmen seemed angry about this outburst. In fact, they seemed eager.

"I'm Adachi Masa, current buchou of this club," said the friendly regular. "We're very glad that you boys from Seigaku could join us. Seikou's been having a few glitches in the tournaments in recent years. We're hoping your presence can give us the extra push we need." Raising his voice, he addressed the other members. "This is the year, everyone! We're going to win the Nationals!"

The club roared. Eiji pumped his fist in the air. Even Inui was smiling slightly. Nostalgia swept over me. It was the old dream all over again. The old thrill. The old devotion. I could almost see into our future, our team training together, sweating together, growing together. And yet it was quite strange to see thirty or more upperclassmen cheering for a couple of freshmen.

Adachi-buchou saw my uncertainty, and smiled. His goofy demeanor settled into one of self-assured steadfastness befitting someone on the brink of adulthood. "Did you expect to have to win a bunch of matches against us senpais to prove that you're not just ordinary kids? Grow up, Fuji. The seniority versus proficiency debate ended a long time ago. Those of us who're here are here for tennis—which you seem to know a thing or two about. So just take our acknowledgement at face value."

"A—ah…" I felt like a freshman, indeed.

This 'acknowledgement' turned out to be more than a mere pat on the baack. The next day, when the club assembled for afternoon practice, Adachi-buchou split us into groups for activities. Although we had many courts at our disposal, there were still too many members to accommodate at once. "Third Years, twenty laps around the courts. Second Years, warm-up rallies. First Years, go get baskets and be ready to pick up balls." Like my classmates, I headed for the supplies shed.

"Fuji, Kikumaru, Inui, where are you going?"

"Ah, to get baskets…?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Adachi-buchou said sternly. "If I had national-level players on my hands and all I made them do was pick up balls, we'd deserve to lose again this year. Come on. Your time's more valuable than that." He set us to rallying with the Second Years.

As expected, my senpais were very skilled. Although we were only warming up, they showed the kind of intensity I associated with serious matches. Every shot was sharp as a pin and weighed threateningly on the racket strings. With its overall competency, it was no wonder Seikou had reached the semi-finals of their Nationals eight times in the last decade, though they had yet to win the championship.

My turn to serve. I reached down, and my hand swiped air. I was out of tennis balls. There were some at the foot of the low wall behind me. Two steps later, "Fuji! What're you doing? Hey, you! We need more balls here."

I turned around in time to see my rally partner gesture at a nearby freshman, who hurried over with his basket. He glanced at me and smiled awkwardly before lowering his gaze. I recognized him from my homeroom class. "Thank you," I said with as much earnestness as the deed could warrant. He mumbled something indistinct and quickly left.

"Don't sweat the small stuff," my senpai scolded. "That's what other people are for."

I nodded. But the next rallies were so drawn out that we were reassigned to running laps before anyone had to get us any more balls.

After the laps there was a ten-minute break. Sweating profusely and breathing heavily, I headed for the water fountain. The setup was similar to Seigaku's, a row of taps and a trough on either side of each fountain. A short rise of cement separated the two sides. When the two upperclassmen approached the side opposite mine, they didn't see me bent over drinking out of cupped hands.

"Japan's gotta start keeping track of radiation and stuff. More and more little freaks are cropping up."

The laughed, not unkindly.

"But it's a good thing. Maybe we can actually win this time."

"The Nationals? Wouldn't that be great. Don't bet your rackets on it, though. I'm pretty sure Kato and Urahara as freshmen could've matched today's Kikumaru and Inui. Now? Please. But even they got beat last fall."

"I'm not talking about Kikumaru or Inui, though. To be honest, we could do with or without those two. But you've got to admit, that Fuji Syusuke is something else."

"Oh, yeah, I'm definitely glad we have him. Even if he's not a regular this year, just practicing with him'll do us good…"

They walked off out of earshot. I straightened and returned to the courts, disappointed that my teammates weren't being properly appreciated. They seemed to think my strength—or Eiji's, or Inui's, or that of anyone from Seigaku—existed in isolation. Well, if the whole idea of a 'team' eluded them, then Seikou was going to need more than an extra push to bring it to the pinnacle.

It felt like fate when the next activity was announced to be practice matches. "Just to see what level everyone's at," Adachi-buchou said. He instructed all Second and Third Years (plus Eiji, Inui, and me) to pair up.

"Great! Doubles with Fujiko!" Eiji cried.

"Ganbatte, ne?" I followed his bouncing steps onto a court, and wondered if he was missing Oishi as much as I was. Seeing two regulars on the other side of the net made me wish fervently that the Golden Duo was here, whole, and ready to dazzle.

"One set match, Fuji to serve."

Maa, it couldn't be helped. Eiji would have to make do with me. I served. In terms of speed and power, it was clearly no threat to our opponents. The ball ricocheted off the ground near my feet an instant later.

"Love, fifteen."

"Fuji," called the senpai who had made the shot, "get serious. You're going to lose real badly if you don't."

"Just watch us!" Eiji retorted playfully. "Let's show them what we've got, Fujiko!"

I served. The ball came back. I sent it off again. It came back. Again. And again. Eiji watched the entire process with wide, bewildered eyes. His racket was at the ready, but every time it no more than twitched before I picked up the shot. We exchanged glances. He pouted. He knew.

"This one's yours," I warned, standing back to clear the court for him. The ball was due to land close to the net, directly in front of me. But I had retreated behind the baseline, and Eiji was one somersault away from a beautiful short-range smash. Waiting for the sparks to fly, I observed the ball's trajectory just as Eiji's outstretched racket… There was something—I was running before the thought could fully form.

With a sharp curve and dive the ball evaded Eiji and flew straight for the baseline on the other side of the court—where I was waiting. A swift backswing scored us the point.

"Wow, did you see that?"

"He saw through the shot!"

Preoccupied with the game, I hadn't noticed the clumps of people gathering around us. Adachi-buchou stood at the sideline, watching me.

"Sorry, Fujiko," Eiji said sheepishly. "Didn't see that one coming."

"Don't mind. Listen, there's something I want to do…"

The match continued. As the speeding ball neared I narrowed my eyes on it, noting its strength and spin. My return was precise, calculated, and hopefully unsuspicious. The senpais didn't notice a thing. The ball came back at me—before it went in a wide arc to the side. Eiji gleefully dispatched it.

"Fifteen, all."

Now they paid attention. My opponent's gaze was keen when I met it. Please see what I'm trying to do. Please understand what I'm trying to tell you. But he didn't. His shot, originally bound for me, swung into Eiji's territory. Eiji pounced.

"Thirty, fifteen."

"Not bad." Senpai came toward the net. "Your planning, I mean. Not just anyone can predict my hits. In a fast rally, too."

"Hirose! You're in the middle of a match, you know," Adachi-buchou admonished.

"Hai, hai." Hirose retreated. He did not even look at Eiji. "Kato, it's about time," I heard him say to his partner.

Kato?

"I'm pretty sure Kato and Urahara as freshmen could've matched today's Kikumaru and Inui."

"Eiji," I said quietly, "be careful of the other one. Kato."

He flashed a thumbs-up. "Leave it to me!"

My next serve was tense. Senses heightened in anticipation. Something was about to happen. The first few exchanges were unremarkable. Then the ball I'd loaded changed course toward Eiji, who sent it to a seemingly unreachable spot on the opposite court.

One fluid back-flip and Kato was in position. His return blasted past within inches of me. Neither Eiji nor I could move a muscle.

"Thirty, all."

They hadn't been mistaken. This Kato was a formidable acrobatics player. None of rivals Eiji had encountered, Muhaki Gakuto, Marui Bunta, or anyone else I could remember, were of this caliber. What was he thinking? "Eiji—" I started to say, but one glimpse of him made me relax. His racket was looping round and round, round and round his wrist. That's right, I reminded myself. We're not helpless. The match resumed.

"Game and match, Hirose-Kato pair, six games to two."

Trickles of sweat ran down my neck, arms, and legs. I was only barely standing. Eiji had already collapsed on the ground. "I guess we lost, huh?" he said sadly, taking my offered hand.

"Our opponents were very strong. I think we did fine."

He tottered off for a drink. I slumped onto a bench, pushing back strands of damp hair. A towel appeared in my line of sight, causing me to look up. It was Inui. "Done already?" I asked, taking the towel.

"I've been done," he said, sitting down as well.

I simply nodded, wary of knowing more.

"We lost," he reported anyway. "Quickly, too. At least it was enough time to gather some excellent data on Urahara-senpai. Though I imagine he got even better data on me."

"Eh?"

"He analyzes his opponents extensively and relies on that analysis to shape his strategies, like I do. But he outclasses me the same way—the last time I checked—I outclass Mizuki Hajiime of St. Rudolph."

At the mention of that person, the old repulsion rolled over me. But it was irrelevant. In the moment of silence we shared, it occurred to me that in the three years we'd attended Seigaku together, we'd never been alone like this. Beyond his love for data and flair for mixing vegetable juice, I knew little about him. Still, his presence was comforting, one of the last vestiges of…what? Something. "Do you suppose," I wondered aloud, "that Tezuka would've won his match if he were here?"

"Tezuka? I expect he would have had a fairly high chance of success. In the high eighties or low nineties, percentage-wise, depending on whom he was paired with and against."

I chuckled. "He was always so far ahead of the rest of us."

"Yes." Pause. "I'll be honest with you, Fuji. If it had been a singles match, you would've stood a chance."

I was silent.

"Data doesn't lie." Inui got to his feet. "There are more matches I would like to observe. Excuse me." Notebook already open and pen already out, he walked back toward the courts.

Higurashi-fukubuchou asked for a moment the following day while the three of us were doing our stretches before practice. "Kikumaru, Inui, congratulations on your outstanding performance yesterday. However, we've decided that training with the Second and Third Years isn't optimal for your development."

Eiji's expression was a mess of shock and dismay. Inui didn't react.

"I think you'll find that the freshman menu is at a more suitable pace," Higurashi concluded.

At first nobody moved. Then Inui went to rejoin our classmates without a word. After a beat, Eiji and I followed.

"Fuji, you stay."

I paused and looked at Higurashi in surprise. "But we're—" But we're a team, I was about to say. Then I remembered. Our team had been dissolved a long time ago. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eiji wave and leave.

"Yes, Fuji?"

"Nothing," I amended and continued stretching.

We—the upperclassmen and I—worked on serving and receiving serves that day. I partnered with Hirose-senpai. We took turns trying to return each other's fastest, strongest opening shots. While he handled mine with reasonable ease, I had to predict the ball's path very carefully to even touch any of his.

"These are just the normal ones," he said exasperatedly after I'd resorted to a flying dive to make the return. "What about the special, wacky ones? Hell—what if the other guy's flat-out too fast for you to read? More speed! Let's go!"

Scrambling up, I reached into my basket. It was empty. My mouth tightened. I hesitantly glanced around for my fellow freshmen, stomach churning with dread of actually gaining someone's attention. A swish of red. Shockingly quick as always, Eiji was there before I could see him coming. He swapped his full basket for mine. "Fujiko, fight-o!" Then he was gone.

I picked up a ball and gripped it hard. Served. It ripped from my racket like a smash. Caught off-guard, Hirose only just reached it. "Better," he said approvingly. "Whatever you did, keep doing it." So I held my anguish close to me, and let my insides burn.

The second time, it was Inui who came to do refills. "Focus," he advised, and departed before I could say that I was trying. I was. Really. But with my former teammates hovering close by, seemingly intent on reminding me that they were being forced to do my chores, it was hard to think about tennis. And when I could, there was Hirose-senpai—who wasn't a bad tutor; he was like Ryuuzaki-sensei, quick to scold and quick to praise. But he wasn't Ryuuzaki-sensei, or one of the homely senpais from middle school. He was there to help me improve, but somehow I didn't feel like he was on my side. Maybe I was too used to my old club. Maybe I just needed to grow up and move on.

I missed Seigaku. I missed it like home.

Once practice was over, I sought out Adachi-buchou. He was supervising the cleaning up. When he saw me, he smiled encouragingly. "You made a lot of progress today, Fuji. Good job!"

"Thank you. Um." What next? I knew the words, but not how to say them.

Adachi-buchou turned to give me his full attention, and waited patiently.

"I think…I think it would be better for me to train with the other freshmen." Cascading relief. Inui and Eiji were working together to fold up a net. The thought that I would soon be joining them was a great comfort.

"Why?"

"Because as it is I'm the only freshman participating in the upperclassmen's activities," I explained. He was such a sensible person. He would understand. "It draws a lot of attention, and I'm afraid that the others might become resentful…"

He nodded in understanding. "But, Fuji, the whole point is to stand out."

Was that a 'no'? "But…that's not…"

"It seems to me that there are a few things no one clued you in on. Have a seat." He settled onto a bench and motioned for me to join him. I gingerly sat. "In middle school, tennis could be a hobby. People joined the club to have fun, do exercise, look cool, lots of reasons. It was okay to be a bit easy-going. High school is different. At this stage, we need to start thinking about our futures. A lot of people quit to concentrate on entering university or build their careers."

I thought of Taka-san and Oishi.

"Fuji, what's tennis to you?"

The question felt abrupt. "It's…something important."

"I'm glad to hear that. You have more raw talent than anyone else I know. If you keep at it, you'll be on the fast track into the professional world—which is a common goal that many of us in this club share. We dream of winning the Nationals, yes, but there's more after that. Our club places a high priority on helping our members fulfill their personal aspirations. Are you planning on quitting tennis anytime soon?"

"No."

"Let's assume, for the sake of argument, that you go pro. As a pro player, you're going to be alone a lot. Most tournaments are won on an individual basis. Even doubles players tend to work with more than one partner. Your job will be to win, no matter where you are, no matter who you're up against, and make a name for yourself. All eyes on you. Can you understand that?"

"Yes…"

"Then you understand why it's necessary to know how to work independently. Tennis is blind to your personal life, you know. If you surpass your friends, you surpass them. It's a good thing."

My hands were folded neatly in my lap. I watched them clutch each other.

"This isn't a new idea, Fuji. Think about the countless opponents you defeated in the past. They were your peers, too."

Author's Note: Recent beta-reading experiences have made me realize that I'm not quite done with fan fiction yet. Thank you, Gypsy08 and FunkEater for inspiring me to write.

It's funny. Five years ago I set out to change my writing style, make it more literary, longer sentences, longer paragraphs, longer words. In reality, I was trying to emulate what I thought was 'good writing,' instead of trying to write something good. All that did was shackle me with writer's block for a good half a decade. A few days ago, I don't know what happened, but I tried to write this - and it came out. Just came out. It felt like five years ago again. To be honest, this piece scares me. It's stripped of everything I've striven to build. The language is so simple that I almost thing something is missing. But when I look harder, nothing is. It's authentic. And I don't have to try so hard. So, this time, I think I'm ready to stand by this rude, inelegant style of mine. I'm bursting with ideas for my old stories, some of which I'd like to rewrite (or actually write; never got too far on anything after Broken Smile). I'm excited. I'm glad to be home.

Thank you for reading.