Disclaimer: The author of this fan fiction does not own the anime/manga The Prince of Tennis in any way, only the characters in this work who are not from that show. She extends her gratitude to Takeshi Konomi-san and to everyone who have made such a brilliant anime/manga possible.
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One
As if by impulse, Atobe Keigo got up from the bench and darted towards the door of the locker room. The Hyoutei tennis team had just finished their morning practice and, through time, the captain had learned never to expect that mere exhaustion could keep his teammates' mouth shut. Whatever loud-mouthed ghost—or demon, for all he cared—had possessed his teammates must be enjoying routine quarreling very much. So when the immature squabbling began, he knew better than to stay.
It was still a bit noisy outside, courtesy of all the giggling and girly reactions his presence had frantically induced. He flipped his hair, deliberately causing some more squeals and calls of his oh-so-mighty name.
He gave a small smirk.
His ego just loved that kind of noise.
Clutching a book on his hand, he entered the school building and headed straight to the elevator. He pressed the button and waited for the sliding mechanism.
. . . Ding . . .
The elevator door opened. He took a step forward and, eyes widened by the quick motion of an advancing figure, regretted the action at once.
"Oi—!"
Whack. They landed solidly on the floor.
"Ouch! Hey, be more careful!"
Now that infuriatingly should have been his line. But before he could retort, the girl picked up her things, got up, and sped away—after giving him a very weird look. The nerve.
He quickly motioned to get up, dusting his shirt in the process. Another rabid fan girl, he suspected, and despite his annoyance, his ego boosted again.
Unfortunately for him, his stumble caused such a stir. With a blink of an eye, the area got crowded with girls from different grades alike, hoping desperately to take advantage of the situation, or better yet, of him.
"Atobe-sama, are you okay?"
"Are you not injured, Atobe-sama?"
"Shall I take you to the hospital wing, Atobe-sama?"
"I'll iron your clothes for you, Atobe-sama!"
Now that offer alarmed Atobe.
Unluckily for him, it was too late.
"Oi, oi, stop that!"
In an instant, hands were all around him in an attempt to take his polo off.
"Atobe-samaaaa!!!"
"Ore-sama is okay, leave him now!"
"Atobe-samaaa!!!"
"Oi, oi! Stop—! Kabaji!"
Even a king cannot stop outrageously crazy and wild boars, I mean, extremely loving and caring fan girls, no?
--
Atobe's rage was plainly unimaginable. Oshitari, who, together with the other regulars found their captain in the middle of the 'assault,' made it a habit to chuckle from time to time whenever their eyes met or, more correctly, whenever he succeeded in catching Atobe's eyes. Whether he was laughing because he recalled the scene and found it funny over and over again or he was just pissing Atobe's head off, or both, the latter couldn't care less. The tensai will have his day, and it will be soon, Atobe mentally noted.
"I expect you all have your homework done. Pass them now to the front. Quickly," their English teacher said, eyeing them to see whether all of them have papers to submit.
Still annoyed, Atobe flipped his hair as he opened his book where the folded paper was inserted. He had gotten used to the trend of submitting his assignments and getting them back with no less than a hundred percent mark at the right-hand side. At times, he even gets grades higher than that through bonuses especially designed for students who weren't nearly as gifted as him.
Poor them.
He turned the pages of the book. He was sure it was supposed to be at page 153, but maybe he saw it wrong and so he went to page 158. Still not there. He rummaged through the book—once, twice.
No sign.
His eyes shot up. That girl!
--
"Ah-choo!" Misaki took out her hanky and rubbed her nose as she mumbled a weak 'excuse me.' Funny, she was perfectly healthy that day.
And so, she casually went back to answering her test paper.
--
At last, she was able to survive the open notes exam. She got a line of seven, but who cares, passing a test means success, and success means celebration. She vowed to drop by her favorite cake shop later and buy her most venerated triple berry cheesecake.
"Okay class, answer numbers one to fifteen on a clean sheet of paper. You have twenty minutes to finish this."
She snorted. That gives only a little more than a minute for every number. Is she crazy? What, are they a bunch of Einstein's on that class? Furthermore, she hated Math, for whatever good it could do to her sanity. She rummaged through her bag in search for a blank paper and spotted a folded sheet. 'Oh, there.' She quickly unfolded it.
"Sh-Sha-ke-s-whatever Sonnet 18," she read. 'Oh, 'must be Shakespeare,' she thought, being quite familiar with classical literature. She didn't remember ever writing about it, and having it in English made her sure of that. Apparently, the truce between Math and English as her most hated subject was yet to come to a conclusion. She shrugged and returned the paper in her bag.
--
"Yayy! Dismissal time!" some of her classmates cheered.
It was the time students so merrily yearn for everyday. Circle of friends take off for gimmicks, 'taken' students go on romantic dates, model students head straight to the library, uninterested ones walk home directly, and the rest rush to their respective clubs.
Misaki belonged to the 'end of class, start of club activities' faction.
"Misa-chan, sensei asks you to see him right now," her friend and clubmate Akane informed her. "He's in the courts."
"Oh, thanks," she answered.
"No prob! See ya!" and her friend dashed away.
--
"Sensei, you called for me?" Misaki called out as she approached the bench, the wired fence hindering her from getting any nearer.
Sakaki seemed to have noticed it.
"Atobe, open the gate," he ordered the captain, seeing as how all the others were running laps, apparently out of Atobe's frustration.
Atobe, despite himself, had respect for their coach, so he heeded.
Misaki walked towards the gate as well, waiting for the gray-haired guy.
Atobe's hand reached for the gate handle, his eyes briefly dwelling on the girl in front of him and away quickly.
Somehow, she seemed familiar, but he didn't care enough to think further.
His hand reached for the gate handle.
It froze.
And being the greatly dignified Atobe-sama, his attempt to restrain his temper and expression was quite successful, giving only a twitch of an eyebrow followed by a mocking smirk.
"Oi."
The girl tilted her head, seemingly innocent to his you-won't-get-away-with-what-you-did-earlier expression, waiting for him to continue.
"Are you ready to apologize now for earlier, aahn?" Atobe asked, his hands on his waist, his eyes scrutinizing.
Misaki paused for a moment, and then blinked. She looked at the side, seemingly in thought of what the heck he was talking about which, guess what, irritated Atobe further.
"Apologize?" she finally spoke. "I think you got the wrong girl . . ."
The nerve on Atobe's forehead really burst this time at the fake display of innocence. "Wrong girl, eh? Ore-sa—"
"Your coach called for me."
Atobe stared her down.
She irritably returned the glare. "So open the gate."
Atobe smirked, and with a glorious flip of his hair, he refused. "No."
"What?" Misaki asked incredulously.
"Don't pretend you didn't hear Ore-sama's beautiful voice, girl."
Misaki raised an eyebrow as highly as humanly possible, but knew better than to anger him any further. Everyone knows of his mighty powers and deadly charms, after all. "Your coach called for me, so I need to get in."
"Apologize to Ore-sama first."
"No way."
"You won't do it?"
"Yup."
Then she looked somewhat confused. "I mean, nope. Or yes? Or— Ugh! Just . . . apologize yourself!"
Atobe involuntarily raised an eyebrow. What the heck's wrong with this girl?
"What's happening here?" an expressionless face appeared. It was Coach Sakaki.
They glared at each other.
Atobe, with eyebrows creased and without much choice, menacingly opened the gate, not tearing his glowering eyes away from her.
Misaki detached from the staring contest and looked below, but Atobe wouldn't have missed for the world the sly smile she was trying to hide.
She was yet to learn never to cross an Atobe Keigo.
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Sorry, not really good with beginnings . . .
Should I continue? OOC? Areas to Improve on?
If you like me to continue this fic, please inspire me by giving reviews! Thanks! :D
P.S.: No, my OC's not a tennis player. :D