Notes: Tezuka, Fuji and Ryoma. More hints than actual progression in relationships. May be considered Gen if looked at in a very lopsided way. Contains spoilers for the anime series.

the eternal opponent
by Lady Genna

1.

Even now, he could close his eyes and still remember, the feeling of wind rushing through his hair and the taste of sweat on his lips. The feeling of his racket handle slipping. The sureness of the ground underneath his feet and the sharpness of mid-afternoon sunlight, scorching his face.

The sight of Tezuka, standing on the court opposite his, sunlight glinting off his glasses at all the wrong angles, and his firm, confident posture.

"Become the next pillar of Seigaku, Echizen."

It was a dream he couldn't escape from, the eternal nightmare he was trapped within from the moment he met Tezuka. He wanted to refuse, out of spite, out of sheer obstinacy, but he also understood the inevitable. The school was going to need him. The team would need his support in the days to come. He couldn't understand how he knew all these, only that he simply did.

The Kantou Quarter Finals came and went, Tezuka injured his shoulder and responsibility was thrust onto Ryoma's, the burden heavy and depressing.

He didn't want it.

He didn't want to become the next pillar of Seigaku. He didn't even like the sound of it.

Ryoma had wanted to tell Tezuka he couldn't push his dreams onto other people. He wanted to become stronger, yes, but he didn't want to become the support for a team of tennis players. Tezuka had mistaken his passion for the game. Ryoma played to win, not to enjoy the sheer thrill of the game. His father was the one who taught him that each game must end with a win on his end.

He had lived based on his father's dreams for years, and although he didn't want to do so any longer, habits were hard to break.

Now, Tezuka was doing the same, assuming that just because he had the drive, he would be the correct person.

Ryoma would have told Tezuka the truth, except that he never got a chance to-- because Tezuka never gave him a chance to.

His last memory of Tezuka was a shadow at the edge of the tennis courts on the day before he flew off for Germany, the silhouette still tall and imposing. Ryoma didn't get to send Tezuka off, and it was probably a conspiracy on the part of the third years, who were overly concerned about him. He hadn't sulked about it, but it didn't mean he couldn't be unhappy over the underhand arrangements they made.

He was later told that Tezuka wouldn't be coming back, right after he won the Nationals for Seigaku. It was kind of depressing, and he couldn't help wondering what was it that he had been waiting for. Maybe he wanted to see Tezuka again, to reassure himself that he still had heights to go and his captain was defeatable. Maybe he was simply too attached to Tezuka, who clearly remembered him, but maybe he wasn't important enough.

There were so many other people in the school team who needed Tezuka's attention. People like Oishi, Kikumaru, Fuji, Kawamura and Inui. They were the ones who grew up with Tezuka, who played by his side for three years, and who were obviously more important than Ryoma, despite everything Tezuka had said about being the pillar of Seigaku.

He wasn't bitter. Maybe a little sour, but nothing he couldn't live with.

Tezuka was important, but he wasn't that important. He might be a figure Ryoma looked up to during his first year in Seigaku, but he wasn't everything. He was the point Ryoma wanted to reach, the place he had to surpass in order to become stronger than ever, but he wasn't the deciding factor for everything in Ryoma's life.

Prior to the winter vacation, Ryoma found Fuji waiting for him in his homeroom after school, sitting in his seat staring out of the window contemplating the scenery outside. The older boy had looked so pensive, like there was something on his mind he couldn't describe, and there were too many things for him to voice.

"Fuji-senpai," Ryoma greeted, waiting for the other to speak.

"You have a nice view from your seat." Fuji turned, smiling. "No wonder you don't pay attention in class."

"...what do you want?"

Ignoring his rude question, Fuji propped his chin in a hand almost lazily, letting the winter breeze stir his hair.

"Tezuka came back last week. I believe that he only informed the third years..." Fuji mused to himself almost absentmindedly, tapping an index finger -belonging to the hand his chin was propped on- against his face in a light, regular rhythm. "I thought you would be interested to know."

Ryoma stared at Fuji, wondering if it was a bait and realising that Fuji looked too sombre to be amused by what he was doing.

"So?" Ryoma muttered, coming to a stop beside Fuji to start packing his bag. He paused at the open textbook, noting the scribbled message with a frown.

How important is tennis to you?

Ryoma snapped the book shut and shoved it into his bag, staring pointedly at Fuji.

"He won't be able to play tennis anymore." Fuji mused thoughtfully, almost to himself. "It's such a pity, isn't it?"

He then thought about Tezuka, who towered over him in the tennis court still, who seemed like everything important in his world when he finally looked up and saw the other's face, filled with determination despite the odds.

"I'm going home." Ryoma shouldered his bag roughly, turning to leave the classroom. "See you at tennis practice tomorrow."

"Ahh, of course. Until tomorrow, then."

Ryoma's footsteps dragged on his way home that day, and he couldn't help thinking about Fuji and the way he looked against the window frame, one lonely shadow outlined by whiteness from outside.

"He won't be able to play tennis anymore."

The leaden cold feeling at the base of his stomach continued to grow, until he realised that he was disappointed, and he had been fearing this disappointment for months.

2.

After junior high came high school, filled with a dizzying mixture of matches he kept winning for the school team. Fuji once asked him how important was tennis to him, and he couldn't answer, because he didn't think tennis was important. He thought winning was important, though, because winning was reassurance, an indication of how good he was and how much further he could go.

The feeling was gorgeous, like soaring through a diamond blue sky, knowing that nothing and no-one could stop him, no matter how hard they tried.

And still, throughout all those years, one person stayed prominent on his mind, the person he was sure he still couldn't defeat, regardless of how much he had improved. Tezuka couldn't play tennis again, and therefore, he would never know if he could still defeat the other boy. Would he win through sheer expertise on his end, or would he win simply because Tezuka was handicapped?

While Ryoma was afraid to play against Tezuka for those very reasons alone, he was also keen to see how much further he had to run to catch up.

Despite what Fuji had said about Tezuka's return during his first year in junior high, he never managed to run into the older boy at school. The third years had all retired, leaving the courts to the younger players. He didn't think Fuji would lie to him about Tezuka, but he also didn't think that their school was small enough for him to avoid running into a fellow student.

There was no Tezuka at senior high either.

What was once just a faint curiosity became a kind of lingering obsession, as he watched out for every single flash of dark brown hair and a pair of oval-shaped glasses.

Ryoma wouldn't claim that he spent years waiting for Tezuka, because he didn't. He was, however, still thinking of the person he failed to beat since so many years ago, their final match against each other leaving a strange aftertaste in his mouth. He was close to winning, but not quite there yet. He wanted to know how far he had progressed since then, the milestone for each achievement he made, but he didn't have the chance to play against Tezuka again.

Even Fuji...

The incomplete match he had against Fuji, the one which was stopped by the Ryuuzaki, was completed a year ago during his first year in high school. While playing against Fuji, it felt as if he had moved on without the rest of the team. Fuji was the unchanging and yet, evolving force in his life-- that was what he thought back then in junior high, while facing the smiling boy across a tennis court with rain pouring down all around them.

Ryoma couldn't help feeling as if he was short-changed at the end of their match, the smile which Fuji gave him leaving him cold inside.

"You've grown up, Echizen."

Of course he had. Time hadn't moved on without him.

There was something else which Fuji wanted to say-- something he couldn't quite catch, something about the way he gestured at the distant end of the courts when he spoke, a flash of blue the only indication for his eyes.

"I'm sure you won't have problems defeating Tezuka now."

It felt as if he was back at his classroom three years ago, watching Fuji talk about Tezuka while observing the snow falling outside the window, something sad and nostalgic with the way he had said Tezuka's name. He wanted to ask Fuji if he had been waiting for Tezuka as well, but he wisely kept his mouth shut, deciding eventually that it wasn't his business to begin with.

Momoshiro once told him that Tezuka and Fuji were connected in the way most normal people wouldn't understand. Their relationship was one of tennis and rivalry, but it didn't explain why Fuji always lost to Tezuka and why Tezuka never seemed to want to play against Fuji. Ryoma mentioned Oishi, and Momoshiro had laughed, waving his comment aside.

"They are best friends! Of course Tezuka-buchou and Oishi-senpai are close!"

The answer only left Ryoma more confused than ever.

3.

"The best of three set match, Echizen Ryoma to serve!"

The feeling of déjà vu was a little nerve wrecking, but otherwise tolerable. The Japanese man who stood facing him across the court wasn't Tezuka, but Ryoma couldn't help feeling as if he was facing his former captain each time he saw the other player. There was the similar dark brown hair, arranged in slightly wild locks, and the thin metallic spectacle frame, reflecting light at all the wrong instances.

Each time Ryoma won, it felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He would find Fuji watching his matches from time to time, a shadowy image from his past lingering at the edge of the courts. And despite the number of times he tried locating Fuji after his match ended, there was no sign of the former tennis prodigy anywhere. The feeling he was left with had been surreal and dream-like; Fuji was a mirage who refused to stop haunting him, on and off the tennis courts.

Kawamura asked for a reunion during his first year in the university, seeing that most of them would be graduating and leading lives of their own soon after that autumn. He finally saw Fuji then, who had grown out his hair and wore a pair of thin, bronzed spectacle frames, with the resultant impression being that of a short-sighted and messy scholar.

"It's been a long time, Echizen," Fuji smiled when Ryoma took the seat next to him, bowing slightly in greeting. "How have you been?"

"Fine," Ryoma muttered, picking up his cup of green tea and taking a sip from it gingerly. "What about you?"

"I've been studying. In London." Fuji practically beamed, brushing back loose strands of light brown hair. "London fashion is amusing, but I decided on the English language eventually."

"Ah."

It couldn't have been Fuji whom he saw at the tennis matches, then.

"What are you majoring in now?" Ryoma watched as Fuji lifted a hand to brush back his hair again, the slender wrist appearing fragile and pale in the restaurant lights. "I can't imagine you doing anything other than playing tennis, so..."

"English language." There was a pause, and Ryoma followed up with a sulky voice. "It's the easiest subject."

The other boy laughed. "Indeed! All your other subjects will be in Japanese and you've never seemed to master the basic etiquettes of your mother tongue..."

Ryoma could sense that Fuji would have carried the conversation further, but they were interrupted by the sound of someone opening the door to the restaurant. Everyone watched as, from the shadows beyond, Tezuka appeared and stepped into the shop, head lowered to prevent himself from hitting the door frame.

If he thought Tezuka was tall back in his youth, the older boy was positively monstrous now.

A chorus of surprised greetings sounded all around them, and Ryoma couldn't help noticing how Fuji had kept to himself and only smiled faintly at the mess that formed upon Tezuka's appearance. Eventually, Tezuka managed to get to their portion of the restaurant, and Fuji stood up almost immediately, backing away to a corner just to give Tezuka and Ryoma space to talk.

"...buchou," Ryoma greeted, and remembered an instance later that Tezuka was no longer his captain.

"Echizen," Tezuka smiled faintly, looking elegant and immaculate in his business suit. "I saw your matches on the television. You played well."

"Thank you."

Tezuka then turned away, and Ryoma realised how easily he was forgotten by the person he had been thinking about for years.

"Fuji."

He watched, as Fuji smiled and nodded, arms crossed before himself almost defensively. "It's been a while, Tezuka."

"How's Europe?" The bespectacled boy continued, oblivious to Ryoma. "I heard that you have been living there for the past few years."

Fuji's smile widened, and Ryoma thought that it had looked like a scythe then, all filled with sharp edges and deathly brightness. "Like Japan, only wetter, colder and older."

Conversations continued all around him, and Ryoma spent most of the night staring into the dredges of his tea cup, hoping that maybe Tezuka would stop talking to Fuji, or maybe Fuji would stop looking as if he wanted to be at anywhere but Japan. He excused himself early, apologising to Kawamura over his hasty departure and thought that he saw Fuji watching him as he left the shop, something bright and sad surfacing briefly in his clear blue eyes.

His cell phone rang the moment he reached his new apartment, and he fumbled for the electronic device while attempting to open his door.

"Yes? Echizen speaking."

"Echizen?" There was pause from the other end, the silence sounding like hesitance. "Are you free now?"

Having finally placed the voice as Fuji's, Ryoma leaned against his door tiredly, reaching up to run his fingers through unruly hair. He took a deep breath and barely prevented himself from sighing.

"I am. What's the matter?"

"Can I meet you at the public tennis courts near Seigaku?"

Ryoma glanced at the dark skyline, then thought about the tennis practice he was scheduled for early tomorrow morning. "Sure. What time?"

"I'll see you there in fifteen minutes' time."

4.

The walk to the park was a quick one, and the evening breeze proved to be more calming than he thought. There was nobody around at this time of the night, since he wasn't living in central Tokyo, and most families would be at home either sleeping or watching late night comedies.

Ryoma thought about a lot of things during the walk.

He knew that he had wanted to see Tezuka for years, and the sudden meeting today left him with an odd feeling in his chest, like there was something incomplete, and yet he couldn't name it. He didn't get to talk to Tezuka much, and maybe that was the reason why he felt so exposed at the end of the reunion, the words cluttering him up from inside.

He didn't speak to Fuji either, as the older boy had retreated into a corner of the shop and kept himself there, wearing a guarded expression for the rest of the evening.

"Fuji-sen-," Ryoma greeted the moment he saw a familiar looking silhouette, and it was only upon closer inspection that he realised the person standing there wasn't Fuji. "...Tezuka-buchou?"

Tezuka looked startled, as if he wasn't expecting Ryoma either.

"We didn't get to talk much just now." Tezuka finally began, his quiet voice sounding loud and forceful with the lack of noise. "I was so caught up with talking to the others..."

"It's alright." Ryoma muttered, refusing to meet Tezuka's eyes.

"I knew that... I promised to come back."

"It's already over. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Fuji spoke to me often and he always talked about you." Tezuka paused, and Ryoma glanced up, curious. "We were... Fuji and I, we shared something. After he spoke about you, I thought you had become more important than what we shared. So I..."

"You decided that you might as well not return to Japan?" Ryoma finished Tezuka's sentence for him, the bitter tone in his voice obvious and sharp. "I waited for years... to play against you, Buchou."

"I can't play tennis anymore."

"I know. It doesn't stop me from thinking about you, or your tennis, or even what you told me. I believe in winning, Buchou. You are the only person whom I never managed to defeat. Even Fuji-senpai..." Ryoma trailed off, realising something.

Tezuka smiled, the dim lights making him look sad. "He wanted you to stop thinking about him. Do you know that he stopped playing tennis too?"

"You were the one I wanted to defeat. All these years..."

"How important is tennis to you?" Tezuka turned to face the courts. "He asked me the same question."

"Winning is more important than playing." Ryoma muttered, head lowered. "Winning is reassurance. If I win, that means I'm good."

"Who are you trying to prove that fact to?" Tezuka's questions continued coming, gentle and persistent. "Who did you want to see watching you play?"

Something fell into place then, the click sounding so loud in the silence of Ryoma's mind, he thought Tezuka must have heard it too.

Ryoma finally lifted his chin, staring hard at Tezuka. "That person isn't you."

5.

He missed practice that morning, rushing to the airport only after realising that Fuji's flight was due that morning. The Tokyo-Narita airport was filled with throngs of people, who milled about almost listlessly waiting for their flight. He had to struggle through them to reach the departure gates, but there was no sign of Fuji there.

Ryoma knew he wasn't asking for much. He just wanted to say goodbye. And thank you.

Maybe someone up there heard his prayer, because just as he was turning to leave, he saw Fuji walking towards him, the look on his face faraway and nostalgic.

"Fuji-senpai!"

Fuji gave him a bemused look, then smiled. "Ahh, Echizen. You really shouldn't have-"

"Thank you." Ryoma bowed deeply before straightening himself. "Thank you for trying to tell me... for so many years..."

Fuji's smile widened. "Tennis isn't just about winning."

"I wanted to play against Tezuka-buchou. I wanted to win. For so many years, the very notion simply..."

"Yes, I understand what you're trying to say... Tezuka is the only mental barricade you can't get past when you play tennis. Am I right?"

"Yes." Ryoma murmured. "And you knew. You tried to tell me... so that I can become stronger..."

"Well, at least my efforts aren't wasted."

The both of them stood there in silence for several moments, each waiting for the other to speak again.

"Maybe," Ryoma began again hesitantly. "The next time you return to Japan, we can have a game of tennis..."

"Indeed," Fuji agreed, still smiling. "I haven't played for years, but I'm sure it'll be fun."

"I'll... wait for you."

"Next summer." Fuji promised. "I should be returning to Japan by then."

Ryoma bowed again. "Please contact me."

"Ask Tezuka along," the older boy smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. "He can always judge for us, even if he can't play."

"Ahh, of course."

"Of course."

More silence, and Ryoma fidgeted uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Well then," Fuji finally began moments later, picking up his luggage. "I have to go. Take care."

"You too, Fuji-senpai."

As the crowd of passengers pushed past Ryoma to enter the departure gate, he stood there and watched until the speck of light brown was no longer visible, sighing softly like a heavy weight had just been removed from his chest.

Ryoma then grinned. "Next summer... eh?"

notes (again):
And thus it ends with nothing concrete happening. sighs I wasn't really expecting things to happen, but well, one can always hope. It could have been less cluttered too, I believe, but overall, I think it finishes rather nicely for a 3500 word fic.

After ten million tries, I'm finally able to post my fic (I was forced to make changes to its formatting just so that it will look COHERENT on the website.) Thank you so much, (and to prevent abuse, I believe that they have insert a command that parses out every single combination of the letters 'f', 'f', '.' and 'net'.) What in the world is wrong with your parsing machine?