Ryoma hadn't meant for things to snowball like they had. Because, really, he would have loved to play on the tennis team. Seigaku, at least, seemed to have decent players. And he had been fully intent on joining, even walking to the courts with the loudmouth of the class who, from the way he described the team, made it sound like he was the reason for Seigaku's success with tennis. But then he saw two of his other classmates being bullied by older classmen, and Ryoma had stepped in. Perhaps it was okay in Japan for older classmen to take advantage of their juniors, but it certainly wasn't in America. And that, not Japan, was where Ryoma had grown up.
As if embarrassing the olderclassmen and consequently making them angry at him wasn't enough, Momoshiro Takeshi - an eighth grader, and the one who had given Ryoma and Horio the wrong directions to the court - had to step in and create a further scene. Rather than rise to the challenge, Ryoma backed down. It was clear to him the other player was injured and besides that, he didn't want to create a scene. Correcting the teacher during English and sparking a flurry of whispers was bad enough; already his classmates were calling him arrogant and brash for having the gall to say the teacher had been wrong. Imagine what would happen if he joined the tennis team and tried to be himself there!
No, he didn't want to be in the spotlight. Not now. He would adjust to Japan and then join. Until then, he would participate in tournaments that were hosted by tennis clubs and associations. Tournaments, however, weren't frequent. And rather than settle for practicing at home, he looked for other alternatives. He would join another sport.
Sumo wrestling was out of the question. Basketball and baseball were as well: he wanted to avoid teams. Which left him with one other option: track. By the end of the day, he had joined as a long distance runner and had made the team. It wasn't tennis, but it was good enough for him.
Six months after moving to Japan, Ryoma felt he had finally adjusted. In the beginning, he would forget his "place" at school but eventually just stopped socializing with his classmates and speaking up in class unless addressed. He would pay attention to the teacher (or pretend to, anyway) and get the homework done on the roof at lunch to avoid sitting with people. All the stress that had accumulated during the day - keeping quiet when the teacher said something wrong in English, ignoring Horio's loud boasts about how well the tennis team was doing and how awesome the older classmen were, having to rewrite notes he had unknowingly written in his first language - dissipated when that final bell rang. He would go down to the changing rooms and, ignoring the rowdy members of the tennis team, change into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt before going to the track where the team met.
And then he would run.
After the first lap, things would become a blur. Initially he would think of the US and his old friends before allowing his mind to become blank. Breathe in, breathe out. It was therapeutic; his way of dealing with life in Japan. He wasn't Ryoma from America, nor was he the arrogant and silent Echizen, but Runner 45.
By the time he realized that he was finally clicking with Japan, he no longer had any desire to join the tennis team. Oh, he would have loved to play a match with some of the members that caught his eye when he ran past the courts, but he didn't feel the burning need to register for the team any time soon. Naturally, it was once he had adjusted that things were uprooted once again.
As usual, Ryoma had stayed after practice to continue using the tracks. He no longer wanted to be the strongest in tennis, to be a match for his father, but rather the one who could run the furthest. The one who wouldn't tire. And, as usual, he had been zoning out as he ran.
"Hey!" someone shouted from the tennis courts. Dismissing it as someone shouting at another member of the tennis team, Ryoma continued running. And again the person shouted, this time accompanied by, "Kid on the track! Hey!"
And so Ryoma slowed, looking inquisitively at whoever had shouted at him. The person looked vaguely familiar, but Ryoma couldn't put a name to the face.
"Practice ended awhile ago, you know!" the person shouted, as though Ryoma didn't know.
Ryoma nodded before picking up the speed and continuing on his way, mind already slipping to that foggy state where he didn't think of anything. Distantly, he heard more shouting from the tennis court, but it didn't seem to be aimed at him and so Ryoma continued to run.
Breathe in, breathe out. In, out...
His mantra was cut off when he heard footsteps thumping behind him. Someone else was on the track. But who? And why?
"Hope ya don't mind if I join you," the person said as he ran alongside Ryoma. Ryoma frowned, picking up the speed. He did mind. Running gave him an excuse not to talk to anyone. Doing long distance gave him an excuse not to deal with people.
This person - this boy - didn't seem to catch onto that.
"The captain didn't like me slacking off to talk to you, so he had me run laps since 'I wanted to talk to you so badly,'" the boy continued, keeping up with Ryoma. "He's so tough! I was just looking out for my junior!" A big grin.
Ryoma continued running.
"So how come you're still here? Didn't practice already end for you?" the boy chattered on. Ryoma glanced at him with narrowed eyes before continuing on. The footsteps slowed, and for a moment Ryoma thought the boy had finally gotten the hint until he felt a hand around his wrist. Startled, he jerked to a stop, nearly tripping on the track before he straightened.
"What?" Ryoma snapped. "Yes, practice ended for me. Is it against the rules for me to keep using the track? Because if it is, I'll leave now."
"Whoa, whoa, I was just wondering!" the boy said, holding his hands up in an attempt to placate the agitated seventh grader. "You don't have to leave or anything!"
Whiping the sweat from his forehead, Ryoma turned to start running again but stopped when the other boy snapped his fingers.
"Aha! I knew I recognized you! You're that freshman that wouldn't play with me!" the boy - Momoshiro, Ryoma remembered now - exclaimed. Instantly, Ryoma could feel something settle in the pit of his stomach. This couldn't be good...
"How about a game then?" Momoshiro grinned, putting a hand on his hip cockily. "You play, don't you?"
Slowly, reluctantly, Ryoma nodded. And again Momoshiro grabbed his wrist, tugging him towards the tennis courts.
"Great! Hopefully there's an open court now, or else Tezuka'll make me go back to running laps and I-"
"I don't want to play against you!" Ryoma said, tugging to get out of Momoshiro's grip. The taller boy stopped, staring down at Ryoma incredulously.
"What? Why not? We can play another day if you'd like-"
"No!" Ryoma cut him off. "I'm not tired, I just don-"
This time, it was Momoshiro who cut him off. "Then what's the problem? Come on, just one game and then I'll leave you alone!"
Mumbling something under his breath that sounded a lot like "you better...", Ryoma allowed himself to be dragged along to the tennis courts. Relieved that the other members were too busy playing their own matches, Ryoma stared down at the ground as Momoshiro went to borrow a racket for Ryoma and tell Tezuka (whoever that was) that they were going to play a quick game.
But what had been assumed to be a "quick" game turned out to be much longer. Winning the first point with serves alone, Ryoma could hear the other members who weren't playing a game come over to their court. He ignored it though, focusing on the match; he would not be distracted by spectators. He refused to let Momoshiro score so much as love off of him, wanting to beat the sophomore so badly that he would never bother Ryoma again.
The murmurs of the other members became louder as more came to watch, until finally an irate voice called the match to an end. Panting lightly, Ryoma once again wiped the sweat from his forehead, pushing his bangs aside. An arm - Momoshiro's, Ryoma discovered - was slung around his shoulders.
"Hey, Tezuka, I think I've found Taka's replacement!" Momoshiro grinned. Several gasps sounded, and Ryoma tensed, forcing the racket into Momoshiro's free hand before moving away. There were too many people watching him, and already people were muttering angrily about how unfair it was that he was being considered for a starter position despite not being on the team. As if Ryoma asked for this! He had to get away, and get away now.
A boy with glasses who must have been Tezuka approached them, followed by a redhead and a boy with two small pieces of hair falling onto his forehead.
"Hoyyyy, he was pretty fierce!" the redhead exclaimed, bouncing on the heels of his feet. A taller boy with a bandana strolled over, glaring at Ryoma (or was it Momoshiro?), an older boy with thick-rimmed glasses trailing behind.
"Or maybe the idiot isn't that good," the boy with bandana hissed.
"Shut up, you stupid viper!" Momoshiro snapped. "You play him! I bet he'll whoop you too!"
"What's your name?" the boy with the weird hair asked as Momoshiro and "the stupid viper" began to argue.
"Ry-" Ryoma began, before correcting himself. "Echizen Ryoma." Family first, and then the individual. That's how it was in Japan, Ryoma told himself.
The boy with the thick-rimmed glasses began scribbling something in a notebook, muttering to himself as he looked back and forth between Ryoma and his notebook.
"What do you think, Tezuka?" the boy who asked Ryoma for his name questioned.
"He'll have to play some of the other starters," Tezuka said, voice rather monotone. Ryoma tensed further. They wanted him to tryout?! But he was already on the track team, and very happy! He didn't want to change all of that! He didn't want people to criticize him again for being different!
"He's already played Momo, so maybe he should play Eiji and Kaidoh?" interjected a boy with light brown hair. "We can see how he deals with different types of players."
"That'd be fun, nyaah~!" the redhead cheered, while the boy in the bandana stopped arguing to hiss quietly.
"I think I'll pass," Ryoma muttered.
Silence.
"What?" Momoshiro asked. Murmurs began to grow louder as the other members of the team began to talk amongst themselves, now calling him "arrogant" for not wanting to be on the team.
"I don't want to tryout," Ryoma said, staring down at the ground so he wouldn't have to look at the others. "I told you that I don't want to play tennis."
"But why?!" the redhead exclaimed. "Tennis is so fun! And you're so good at it! Why wouldn't you want to be on the team?!"
"I'm not interested," Ryoma murmured. More raised voice. He could feel Tezuka , the brownhaired boy, and the one with the odd hair stare at him. The one with the notebook was still scribbling away, muttering to himself.
"N-not interested?" Momoshiro stuttered, as if Ryoma had just commited an unforgiveable sin. "But we're the best! We-"
"I'm not interested," Ryoma repeated. He bowed stiffly to Tezuka before moving away. "I need to go. Excuse me."
"Wait, Echizen!"
"Let him go," Tezuka said. "It's his choice."
"Yeah, but-"
Ryoma left the courts to protests and a feeling that things were going to get a while lot worse.
Um, obviously certain liberties were taken with this fic. pleasedon'thateme. I realize that the Ryoma in cannon!verse would never have backed down from a challenge, but this fic was partly inspired by another fanfic in which the author pointed out that Ryoma hadn't been in Japan for long before he joined Seigaku's tennis team. It's understandable that while he is confident in his tennis, he might not be with other things.
There's probably going to be one more chapter to this, so... look for an update soon. :3