Echizen Ryoga strolled along the asphalt path within Japan's U-17 Camp, a racquet in one hand, carelessly juggling a tennis ball whilst the other hand was stuck into his pocket, whistling without a care in the world…

…or so it would seem.

Ryoga was, in fact, thinking. He actually wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to the racquet in his hand, or the ball bouncing in front of him, or even where his feet were walking to. No, he was thinking of earlier that day, when he had peered out of the hood of his jacket only to meet a pair of brilliant honey-colored eyes. A very familiar pair of eyes, in fact.

Can't believe chibi-suke is here, he thought, whistling a particularly obnoxious tune. Well, okay, I can believe it, he's gotten so good last time I played him; still, I hadn't really expected to meet him here. He chuckled. Don't be stupid, Ryoga, you're talking about a kid who entered a tournament for people four years older than he is—

"Disappear."

Startled, Ryoga jerked slightly, his control towards his racket slipping; accidentally the ball plummeted to the ground. Annoyed, Ryoga hit it with his racket towards the ground; it bounced back at him and plunged neatly into his jacket pocket, but Ryoga paid it no heed; instead, he looked around for the source of the voice. The voice had sounded like Byoudoin on a particularly bad day—internally raising an eyebrow, he wondered what the high-schooler had done this time…

Curiosity getting the better of him, Ryoga changed course, walking towards the practice courts, where he could hear several rustles of activity of people finishing their match for the day. Seems like the practice court had been used, he mused. By whom, though? Byoudoin? Unlikely.

POK!

There was something unmistakable about the sound of a ball being served, and Ryoga raised an eyebrow. It seemed like he was only half-correct on his musings—from the sounds of it, the practice court was still being used. Sure enough, there were sharp sound of footsteps, and then—

"Ugh!"

That sounded like it hurts, Ryoga thought absentmindedly, quickening his pace, wondering who on earth could still be using the court at such a late hour. He could hear tennis soles scraping against the ground, and soon he could see two figures outside the court that were clearly not holding a racquet, and were definitely not having a tennis match.

The two figures were Tokugawa, who was scrambling up from the floor, and Ryoma, who was staring, shocked at a tennis ball that was rolling slowly across the court.

And in front of the nearby building, Byoudoin was serving another ball.

What's going on?

POK!

In a flash, the two tennis players leapt into the air—and not a second too soon, either, as the wall they had been standing in front of now sported a crater half as wide as Ryoma himself. Ryoma seemed exhausted—he was kneeling lightly on the ground, breaths coming out in sharp pants, eyes wide in surprise. Ryoga seethed internally—just what was his fellow first stringer thinking, sending a tennis ball as powerful as that at the head of a kid?—but Byoudoin didn't seem to care, and now was aiming to serve another tennis ball.

At Ryoma's head.

Before he knew it, he was moving.

Not my brother, you—

POK!

—bastard!

SMASH!

He could feel his hood slipping as he sent the ball sailing away—but he was too angry to care. He didn't even attempt to hide his anger—he openly glared at Byoudoin, the bastard, who simply caught the ball. Shame, he thought, Might've gotten something through his thick skull if the ball shattered his head—

Slowly, he lowered his racquet.

What do you think you're doing, Byoudoin? He thought furiously. Serving a ball like that at a Ryoma's head? If the thing had actually hit—

If the ball had actually hit—

Thoughts of a familiar face, shattered like pieces of glass raced through his mind, and he almost flinched.

Deep breath, Echizen, he's okay. His head's not broken; he's not lying dead in a pool of blood. He's okay, he's alive, so calm down—

All these thoughts passed through his head in less than a second, and Ryoga immediately wiped it away from his mind. Putting on a light smirk and pulling out an orange from his pocket, he threw a casual glance back at his younger sibling.

He certainly hadn't changed… much.

"It's been a while…" He smiled, "Chibi-suke."

A/N: I haven't been writing for such a long time O.o

Methinks Ryoma and Ryoga are so cool! \o/ and that Byoudoin is a jerk.

My first PoT fanfic, sorry for OOC-ness, I don't really know them that well, but seeing as I'm just rewriting a scene from the manga, I think I couldn't have strayed too far from canon, could I? I might be wrong, though. This came to me while I was reading The Chapter Where Ryoga Finally Introduced Himself… and the plot bunnies just jumped me.

Please review! I'd like to know your insight into both Ryoma and Ryoga's character… so I can write them better. Jaa~ :3