Disclaimer that also applies to chapter from henceforth: I do not own Prince of Tennis

~CHAPTER ONE~

by

*PreciousCherryBlossums*

It was the last thing he wanted.

After the twelve hour flight, the over-excited, high-pitch squealing of fangirls grated on Ryoma's nerves more than usual. He should be used to them by now; after practically growing up his entire life with hordes of giggling, fangirling females tailing after him. He should be numb to them and their antics. He should be used to their endless proclamations of love. He should just regard or perhaps even dismiss them as just another normal aspect of his celebrity-status life….Pink sparkly love, earnest respect, wide-eyed admiration constantly surrounded the handsome, wealthy, genius tennis player.

But no.

If anything, this media-attracting life had a negative, opposite effect on Ryoma. He grew to nurture a strong disdain for fangirls, viewing them as annoying and foolish. He resented all the attention that was focused on him daily. He valued solitariness, privacy and control with a fierce passion. But most significant of all, was the fact that Ryoma grew to hate love itself.
In his opinion, it was suffocating and dangerous; it drove people to do crazy things. From a young age, he was exposed to the shadows that coexist with the spotlight. The cheating and lies that goes on backstage. The infidelity of famous people who are constantly surrounded by beautiful people. The blatantly lying words of smiling people who welcome you eagerly, secretly scheming how to exploit you. Random girls threw their love at him constantly…

Besides, love is such a vague enigmatic emotion and Ryoma simply did not understand what was all the hype about it. All he knew was that it was a feeling that one was better off without.

The night sky was inky black, and even though he had not slept in more than eighteen hours, Ryoma did not rest. He stared fixedly out the car window, bright green eyes reflecting the street lamps as the car zoomed by. Though they have been driving for more than 45 minutes, not a word was exchanged between the stoic passenger and the driver. Ryoma wasn't one much for small talk.

Ojisan shot a glance at his young master in the rear-view mirror. For most of Ryoma's eighteen years on earth, Ojisan had been by his side and perhaps was the one who understood the most about Ryoma's particular problem.

A dimly lit park passed by and caught Ryoma's attention. "Stop the car."

Ojisan complied, quickly pulling over and slowing the car to a halt. They were still two hours away from the Echizen residence and that was too long to go without a quick tennis practice even at 1am. Ryoma slung his precious tennis bag over his shoulder and walked up the dirt pathway that lead deeper into the park. He soon disappeared over the hill, only the sound of steady steps indicating the Prince of Tennis' presence in the dark quiet night. Ojisan made himself comfortable in the car seat, taking out a silver notebook; whenever Ryoma was in a tennis court, he never left until he came back better than he was before.

And Ryoma was well on his way to getting his twist serve to twist just a bit more when they interrupted his concentration. Normally, Ryoma could ignore anyone or anything while in tennis-mode but for some reason the trio caught his attention. Maybe it was the ominous time, maybe it was the way they dressed, maybe it was words they said, or maybe it was the bag that they carried. He paused just before serving another ball, to watch the men walk by. Bright green eyes pierced into the darkness from behind the steel fences. Like a cat, he silently observed the scene with an impassive expression. Their voices drifted over like wisps of a cloud.

"You need to hurry up."

"…Hold it tighter!"

"…Won't stop…Annoying."

They looked like a typical gangster-like trio, with an obvious leader and two bulky henchmen. They were mostly moving as a unit, stepping on the patchy grass, almost blending into the darkness with their black clothes. However, Leader and Henchman 1 were a bit ahead; the other man was lagging behind. He was struggling with a rather sizable canvas bag that he was carrying over his shoulder. Ryoma saw the thin rope that tied the top, swinging in the air. Leader paused and made some gestures toward the slower man:

"….Don't let…..Already is pissed…"

Henchman 1 showed his agreement, nodding his head sharply and came over to his partner. Henchman 2 allowed the bag to drop heavily onto the ground. He tried to say something but the other man wasn't paying attention. He seemed to be in an irritated mood. "Just do this to…." Henchman 1 suddenly sharply kicked the bag which fell over in a oddly shaped pile. The sound of impact made a dull noise in the night's silence. He nudged the bag with his foot.

The two henchmen then began bickering with one another; Ryoma could see their hands gesturing wildly, words being exchanged sharply and swiftly.

"….Not supposed to….If he blames us….."

"….Is why….Always causing….fucking want to finish this…."

Leader wasn't paying attention to them. His arms were crossed and muttering something as he looked down at his watch.

The two henchman's attention were suddenly diverted downward. Ryoma cocked his head, trying to discern what exactly was happening. Henchman 1 growled angrily and reached down swiftly. He grabbed the end and roughly ripped open the top of the canvas sack. He was about to stick his hand in when Leader suddenly intervened, gripping the henchman's wrist, shooting daggers at him. Leader hissed in angry tones and then curiously enough, the underling muttered something apologetic and retracted his hand from the bag. He took gloves from his pocket and put them on. Henchman 2 did likewise. The other shot a look to the Leader who nodded dismissively, now seemingly disinterested in the proceedings. Henchman 1, having receiving permission, eagerly returned his attention to the bag. Henchman 2, rolling his eyes, held open the bag for him, jerking it upward. Henchman 1 leaned down and stuck his hands inside. The bag started thrashing about and then Henchman 1 made a large movement which made a sharp noise and then withdrew his hand from the motionless bag. Straightening up, he smirked to Henchman 2 who inclined his head in mock gratitude, "I could have done that."Henchman 1: "You're such a wimp, you have to be strong like me."

Leader growled, "You two need to stop fucking around," he turned around, "We're already late and-Who are you?" His eyes narrowed.

Ryoma stepped out of the shadows and onto the dirt pathway, directly in their way. He ignored the question, instead he idly spun his tennis racket in one hand.

"What's that?" He indicated with his chin toward the fallen bag. In response, Henchman 1 swiftly moved in front, blocking Ryoma's view of it. He glared at the boy, whose interest now was most definitely piqued. Henchman 2 quickly reached down and tightened the thin rope that shut the canvas bag shut. He heaved it over his shoulder, gripping on the bunch of fabric tightly in his thick gloved hands.

Leader scrutinized Ryoma suspiciously for a couple of seconds, eying his tall lean height. After apparently coming to the conclusion that he would be not a threat, Leader sneered dismissively, "Nothing that a tennis boy needs to care about." He started walking again but as he moved past Ryoma who was still looking forward, the latter remarked lightly, "No, I think I am curious."

Leader started at his words, stopped and stared at him.

"Is this a robbery?"

Leader scowled, "Look kid, just shut up and leave-" He made to aggressively approach him but Ryoma sidestepped out of his reach and swung his racket back and brought it in with crushing force directly into the Leader's back. He gave out a loud cry of pain, falling onto the hard ground, face downward. "Argh! My back!" Ryoma didn't remove his gaze once from the stunned henchmen who were protecting the bag. "Or is it a kidnapping?"

Laying on the ground, contorting in pain, Leader yelled, "Get him you idiots! Ah, fuck!" Henchman 1 blinked and then narrowed his eyes and made to charge at him when Ryoma, without looking down, suddenly pointed his racket at Leader's neck. "I'll crush his neck too." he quietly threaten. Henchman 1 stopped in his tracks, hesitating. Ryoma smirked. Leader was pissed off, "He's just a kid! He won't-"
He suddenly stopped, his mouth full of dirt; Ryoma had stepped onto the back of his head with one foot. "Shut up." He kept his focus still on the gawking underlings.

That was the last straw for the Leader whose pride was already terribly damaged as may be his back. He lifted his head up slightly underneath Ryoma's shoe, spluttering out dirt, "Fuck! Kill him-"
Ryoma brought his foot down powerfully, smashing the man's face down hard into the dirt. Leader did not speak anymore.

The two other men had witnessed all this in disbelief. Who was this boy? Ryoma now took a couple of leisurely steps towards them. "That bag… human trafficking?" He cocked his head. It was unnerving. How this boy had done all of that and yet, he seemed unfazed.

Henchman 1 swallowed, bared his teeth and then charged at him, yelling.

Ryoma took him out quickly with a few shots with his racket, using two tennis balls he had in his pocket. And then like Leader, Henchman 2 too, did not speak anymore.

In the meanwhile, Henchman 2 had taken this short opportunity to run away. Ryoma could see the large bag thumping against the broad back of the man. He carefully aimed a tennis shot at the man's legs, causing him to trip and fall face first, releasing his grip as he did so. The bag landed on the ground with a heavy impact. The shape unfolded oddly. The man looked back over his shoulder and saw with widened eyes, the approaching figure of Ryoma. He glanced at the large bag that lay motionless and then back at Ryoma and making his decision, he pushed himself up and sprinted off. Ryoma let him go; he had no more tennis balls and besides, what he wanted all along was finally his.

He arrived in front of the bag.
Finally.
He would be able to see what exactly was inside.

Ryoma squatted down and first inspected the bag, staring at it. It was rather large and had a strange shape. To what did this shape belong to, that those three men were so fixated on. Ryoma reached forward with both hands to grab hold of the end. One hand loosen the rope while the other hand held the gathered canvas material. The thin rope fell to the ground limply. And now the only thing that kept the bag closed was Ryoma's two hands holding onto the bunch of fabric at the top.
For the most slightest of moments, Ryoma hesitated.

And then Ryoma blinked his piercing his green eyes and released his grip, allowing the canvas material to fall down.

It was a girl.

Around his age but that was where any similarities ended because she could not be any more different from Ryoma.

She was sitting in the bag, knees bent under her, feet splayed out to the sides. She was so bent over that, Ryoma could only see the top of her head. She had her face buried in her hands and did not move. Incredibly long braids trailed down from her head and pooled onto her lap and ground. Ryoma noticed that she was wearing a thin dress, very ill-suited for the quickly turning cold fall weather. It was tattered and worn and yet still shown white in the darkness. The only close to normal thing about the girl was the barely hanging-on vividly red scarf around her neck. It hanged limply around there, the end drooping. She was very slender and looked even smaller, curled over like that.

Ryoma took all of this in and wondered why was this girl so special, why did those three men go to such lengths for her?

He was so curious that he did not think about his next actions. He reached forward with one hand, and lightly placed it under her chin. He could feel her turn rigid. And then he lifted her head up, causing her to drop her hands slightly.

Her wide bright brown eyes stared up into his green eyes in shock.

A fragile feminine pale small face with watery eyes much too big, framed by long bangs, was all he was able to take in before she sharply turned her head away from his hand, flinching from his touch. And then she quickly dropped her head back down, avoiding his glance. He had seen a large bruise on her cheek, an ugly dark color that contrasted sharply with her pale skin. However that wasn't the most important thing.

When she had turned her head away from him, that movement caused the scarf to slip and fall from her neck. Ryoma's attention was momentarily distracted by the red and he looked down at the fallen scarf. And then he lifted his head and saw.

He saw the deathly black collar that wrapped around her neck.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the Prince of Tennis. His eyes widened in excitement.

And everything made sense.

Who that girl was, why those men were kidnapping her, why they acted as they did and why…

Ryoma quickly made up his mind.

He leaned forward, dropping onto his knees and hands to get even closer to her. She did not visibly respond, but continued to remain in that bent over position, staring at the ground. He reached over with one hand towards her exposed neck. He saw her shoulders turn rigid, but that did not stop Ryoma. He continued reaching forward with his right hand….

And wrapped his fingers around her slender collared neck. It felt cool to the touch.

The girl jerked a little but still did not look up. She seemed frozen. And then she started shuddering a little, her small shoulders quivering under the thin dress material.

Ryoma couldn't stop now; he reached over with his other hand and also wrapped it around her neck, covering the black collar.

At that point, the girl slammed her hands down onto the ground, trying to hold herself her up; her body was shaking so much. A very faint barely audible noise could be heard.

Throughout it all, Ryoma had unconsciously leaned closer and closer to the girl and reflexively, somewhat tightened his grip around her neck.

And then the girl looked up. Straight into his eyes.

He felt his heart beat unnaturally fast.

Her eyes were enormous, tears streaking down her face in rapid succession. The light plopping noise of the tears splattering on the ground was extremely unnerving. Because they were the only sounds, illustrating the girl's intense emotions.

She was crying out in extreme pain. Her mouth was open and moving but no sound came out. Her chest was heaving as she tried to gasp for air. Her arms were shaking, as she tried to keep herself up. Her expression was so pained. Her eyes were so overfilling with tears that it was wonder that she still managed to stare into Ryoma's eyes through all of the teardrops.

He was so shocked and taken aback at her expression that he froze for a split second. She choked out something inaudible, pleading with her watery eyes.

And then Ryoma let go.

He released his grip around her neck, leaning away from her, falling back onto his haunches.

Still staring into his eyes, she fell forward.

She collapsed onto the ground, falling onto Ryoma, the side of her head resting on his lap. Stunned at the turn of events, he looked down at her and saw her wet eyes now closed shut. He stared down at the unconscious girl for some time, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. And then he felt but not hear her mutter something in her unconscious state.

Ryoma let out a breath that he did not realize he had been holding in all along.

He lifted up his finger and lightly trailed the black collar on her neck, feeling the smooth satiny fabric.

That night, a very faint satisfied expression reflected in those bright green orbs.

…...

Ojisan made his way back from the park bathroom, hurrying a bit because of the chilly weather. He glanced at his watch and seeing that it was 2am, decided to check on his young master. Ojisan headed towards the tennis court and saw that it was empty. He raised his eyebrows and then turned around to go back. His eyes happened to spy a few stray balls laying on a nearby field. Tsk-ing lightly, Ojisan went over to pick them; his young master was still as lazy as ever. But as he picked up the third tennis ball, he spied a tennis racket lying among the tall grass. Ojisan blinked in complete surprise. What was Ryoma's precious tennis racket doing here alone? He picked it up carefully and eyebrows furrowed in confusion, returned to the car. As he headed down the pathway, he saw the light turned on in the car. Ojisan smiled; they could finally go home now. He went over to the backseat door. Holding onto the handle, he opened up the door:

"Your tennis racket was-Young Master!" Ojisan's eyes and mouth widened in a mixture of horrified, shock, and amazement at the scene before him:
Ryoma sitting coolly, with a young sleeping girl on his lap, her head resting against his chest. The Prince of Tennis smirked.

"Young Master, why do you have a Pet ? ! "