Notes: I have long since stopped writing fanfiction but this year, I made it my resolution to finish old projects. One of the old projects was this story, Black Dream, which was written while I was in high school. It was one of my favorite stories to write and one of the stories that I could clearly picture the ending. Over the years, the middle section of the story had changed and my writing style had changed also. So I've decided to rewrite this story and give it a complete ending. The ending will still be the same as how I had imagined it but the story has changed a lot.

One of the key changes is that it's a lot heavier and darker than the previous story. And then of course, it's that the characters are much older.

In any case, I really do hope old readers will be able to finally finish this story. I plan to update this story as frequently as possible - either weekly or every four days. I'm still working on completing it, but I have 14 chapters (including this one) done so far. The story will probably be around 17 or 18 chapters in total, or up to 20. But just now that I'm close to finishing and this will be a complete story.

Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter 1:

A large half empty bottle of sake stood alone on the countertop. Beside the sake bottle is a day old worn newspaper, crumpled and stained with the remnants of grief. The words "prodigy" and "Echizen" could barely be read in the headlines through the tear stains and ripped pages.

Footsteps echoed, creating a slight disturbance on the wooden panels and contrasting the stillness in the dark.

"Ojii-san."

Nanjirou Echizen sat still, back resting against the flimsy bamboo walls, but not enough to fall through.

Ryoga stopped in front of his father. He sighed and looked down, eyeing his father's slumped shoulders and the way he seemed to be tired of everything.

"Want to go see him?"

Nanjirou looked up, staring blankly into the eyes of his eldest son. Then, he sighed, turned away, and moved to get up. Bones aching as he grunted, hands pushed against his knees.

"Of course," he said. "Let me clean up a bit."

Ryoga watched his father stumble back into the darkness.

The ride towards the hospital echoed the old Echizen household - a sudden stillness had fallen between the two Echizen men. That stillness reminded Ryoga of the old Echizen home. Once large and even grande and filled with life, it now seemed to be too large, too big, too empty for a single person to live.

The nurses let them in, murmuring in soft tones about visitation hours and how there was one hour left before they closed for the night.

They enter. Ryoma's room looked exactly the same as how they had left it a mere day ago. A pile of magazines - all about tennis - laid on the countertop from when Ryoga had visited yesterday night, waiting, hoping. There was a small duffle bag filled with tennis racquets hanging in a corner from when Ryoga first came in and had been left forgotten when they were kicked out of the hospital room. Flowers, gifts, and get-well wishes adorned the tables closest to Ryoma's bed, all from adoring fans and friends.

Ryoma himself looked pale underneath the fluorescent lights. His dark hair splayed out underneath him, creating the look of a dark avenger. An IV tube trailed from his left arm, marking the skin where the needle was inserted an angry purple color.

He looked smaller somehow, swathed in sheets of white and shrunk underneath the covers.

Ryoga picked up the clipboard at the foot of the bed and scanned it. Despite not understanding any of it, he knew one thing - nothing had changed.

Nanjirou settled into the chair across from bed, facing Ryoma's prone body. His shoulders hunched, crumpling his yukata and making the wrinkles decorating his face look more prominent than ever.

A torrent of footsteps suddenly roared from the hallway, slowing and softening as it came closer to the door. It slid open.

On the other side of the door was a face Ryoga hadn't seen in many years.

"I heard about what happened," Momoshirou explained. Sweat covered his forehead as though he had run straight to the hospital after tennis practice.

"Any news?" said Kaidou, from behind Momoshirou.

Ryoga shook his head, then beckoned the two in. They settled on the ground - there were no more chairs - and stayed silent.

A few minutes more and the door slid open again. This time, Tezuka, Oishi, and Kikumaru appeared, all looking serious and much older.

"Did someone decide to host a party here?" Ryoga joked.

"The team's on the way," Tezuka answered.

Five minutes until the end of visitation hours, there were far too many people in Ryoma's room. Nanjirou alone sat in the lone seat in the corner, quiet, and contemplative. The way he had been since his wife's death. Tezuka stood by the window, leaned against the wall, arms crossed the way he had always done. Oishi and Kikumaru sat next to each other on the ground, on Ryoma's right side. Kaidou and Momo sat as far away from each other as possible.

Inui came later and so did Kawamura. They stayed standing, keeping the room alight with soft-toned conversations about life after high school. The newspaper detailing Ryoma's accident stayed clutched in Inui's hand, his knuckles turning white with every passing second.

No one said anything about Fuji's absence, but they all wondered.

They stayed there as long as they could. The nurses were gracious enough to extend their visitation hours for an extra hour on the condition that they wouldn't fall asleep.

Easier said than done.

Ryoga herded them out an hour later. Everyone. As the hospital closed to visitors for the night, Ryoga looked back at his brother. He wished he had known, had done something, had talked more with his brother. He wished a lot of things. He looked away.

Inui had left the newspaper by the bed, the ends of the paper uncurling with each moment.

The door slid shut. The newspaper unfurled.

"Tennis prodigy Echizen comatose after fall" the headlines read.