Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Title: Life Lesson
Author/Artist: MoonlitAffairs (Kyoka)
Theme(s): 6- Innocence
Characters: Tezuka Kunimitsu, Tezuka Kunikazu, Fuji Shuusuke, Seigaku regularsRating: G
Warnings: Character death
Disclaimer: Everything and anything belongs to Konomi Takeshi, the creator of Prince of Tennis/Tennis no Ohjisama. I may love the characters dearly, but I own nothing. (no, not even a good tennis racquet) All credit goes to the manga-ka, animators, and respective owners and copyright holders.
Summary: After the loss of his grandfather, Tezuka is convinced that the only way to show strength is by not crying. Fuji seems to think otherwise. Written for Livejournal 30 deathfics.
Word Count: 1,891
Life Lesson
Innocence was a strange thing.
There was a child's innocence, which once gone, could never return.
Tezuka Kunimitsu would never forget his grandfather, or the day that he had truly lost all indications of innocence. This wasn't the type of innocence that one would expect. It wasn't any sort of virginal innocence, nor the innocence of a young child. Tezuka was always very serious and mature. He didn't seem to have much innocence left at the meager age of fourteen.
Maybe this wasn't innocence; maybe it was. If it was, indeed, than it was the end of it.
Kikumaru Eiji was not usually the most perceptive one, but he had pointed out that Tezuka had been acting strangely for a few days. He sure hadn't been conspicuous about it, or all too considerate. He was a kind person in all, but his tendency to joke about something that upset him ate at Tezuka a little. He never had shown any sort of disturbance at what Eiji had said. All it was happened to be about a comment that maybe Tezuka was lovesick.
Some seemed to think Tezuka wasn't capable of such a thing. Partially, it was true.
It hurt, but it wasn't the hurt of being lovesick.
The whole ordeal had ended in Oishi Shuuichiro gently reprimanding his friend and doubles partner, then removing Tezuka from the situation by whisking off the boy to play some street tennis. Eiji had proved to take the distraction well, as he loved to have any chance to play doubles with Oishi.
A captain wasn't supposed to show pain at all. Tezuka had been firm in that.
The wound was fresh, though. They still had yet to schedule a wake in honor of his grandfather.
The following day, Kawamura had come up to speak to Tezuka in private. Bashfully, he stated that it seemed like something might be wrong. He was polite about it, and Tezuka dismissed him as he would anybody else, though perhaps with a little more kindness since the usually quiet boy was only asking out of pure concern. Kawamura said nothing else about it, being the mild-mannered boy that he was.
None of the teammates spoke verbally to each other, but all were a little worried for Tezuka. After all, he wasn't one to be wounded by anything, and the idea of him being in pain was something foreign to the whole lot. Tezuka, for the most part was normal; his voice never wavered when he ordered laps or gave instructions. Tezuka stood straight as ever, went about his normal habits, and always seemed to have the same, rock-like personality that he always had.
Nobody could say, though, that from time to time if one looked under the almost noble-seeming hazel eyes they couldn't see a small glimmer of pain. Something was eating at Tezuka's heart, and all seemed concerned about it. Echizen, though, pointed out that their captain was human and what he was going through might be considered normal. If Tezuka didn't want them in his business, then it was with good reason. Worried as they were, none of the regulars of the tennis club of Seishun Gakuen had any right to meddle in the captain's private affairs.
They were all innocent in ways, even Tezuka.
Before, he'd never lost anybody, and after only a week in the hospital, only a few days after nationals, Tezuka Kunikazu died.
Tezuka, lost in a whirlwind of the whole thing, didn't even know what to feel. When his mother first told him, his eyes were slightly wide, but he slowly lowered his head, told his mother that he understood, and honored his grandfather in all the ways he was expected to.
Never once, though, had he cried.
After all, it wasn't the mature thing to do. Plans for the wake commenced, and aside from mourning with his family, Tezuka showed no pain.
He needed to be strong for his club. In his last moments of being a pillar of support for the Seigaku tennis club, he needed to show that it took a team effort to be strong. If he failed on them now, he would be setting a bad example for the younger students. After the mishap with other older students when he had been young, Tezuka was firm on fair discipline and the idea of setting good examples. Tezuka was growing with each passing year to be a fine young Japanese boy, setting a good standard for what a child should be like.
Tezuka was obedient. Tezuka was stoic.
Therefore, Tezuka couldn't cry.
At least, that's what he thought. One day, Momoshiro and Echizen came up to him asking if he was feeling all right. Kaidoh never came up by himself, but stood in the distance. Tezuka didn't seem to notice it, but all others took it as a form of concern. Inui came up just an hour later near the end of practice and asked Tezuka if he was catching a cold. By Inui's data, he estimated (though his data on Tezuka was extremely vague to begin with) that the captain, nationally ranked junior high tennis player, had lost nineteen percent of the strength he'd had only a week ago, and that his speed had decreased by an astounding thirty-three percent.
Tezuka refuted the idea that he was ill, even though he had to admit that this time, keeping everything in like he usually did was becoming more difficult.
The next person to ask, when they were walking home together, was his friend Oishi. Again, Tezuka refused. "There is nothing wrong, Oishi. There is no need for concern."
There was nobody left who needed to ask except Fuji, and for a few days it seemed as if he was going to leave Tezuka alone. Tezuka was grateful.
It had been a mere week since the death of his grandfather. He'd already attended the wake and ceremony, and now he would accompany his family to the cremation the following Sunday.
They said that time was supposed to heal all, but Tezuka didn't find that to be true, even after much prayer both for and towards his grandfather. Now Tezuka shook at the mere thought of the man, and his chest was constricting painfully, making it hard to breath, to hold back a fit of tears that threatened.
Tezuka Kunimitsu was failing to realize that he was still a child, in all technicalities.
He was too worried about his team and their well being, and in the process he was beginning to weaken mentally.
Still, he refused to cry. The locker room had emptied, now devoid of all people other than Tezuka. He was the only one there. It felt cool, and he was clutching at his regular's jersey. He didn't realize it, that he clutched it as a child would a teddy bear. It was weak. It wasn't something he would have consciously done. However, his refusal to tell any of the tennis club regulars what was going on was beginning to wear on him.
With his back turned to the door, facing his locker, a single tear escaped.
Even as a child, he rarely cried. Now he shook weakly, his lips pressed in a thin line while his eyes revealed the true fatigue he felt.
No matter how many times he told himself it wouldn't be proper to cry, he had to just lean against the locker for a minute, take off is glasses, squeeze his eyes shut, and let a few silent tears escape.
"I didn't know the famous Tezuka Kunimitsu cried," The voice, if it hadn't seemed so hauntingly familiar, may have appeared to be rude and presumptive. Tezuka's eyes widened, and he turned to the source of the voice behind him, placing his glasses back on his face. "What is wrong, buchou?"
"Fuji, what are you doing?" The boy darted out of hiding, a grave look on his face.
"There has been something wrong," he noted. "You've been lying to everyone." Fuji's message was sharp and filled with a sly sound, perhaps a little disappointment. However, Fuji's gaze seemed to soften a little bit. It would have been hard to tell, though, since Fuji almost always kept his eyes closed.
"It isn't your business to interfere," Tezuka stated stubbornly. That was how he was, Fuji supposed. It really wasn't Fuji's business to butt in. Fuji shouldn't have hidden in the first place. Tezuka knew the boy's intentions; he'd hidden himself as everyone else went outside to warm up, hoping to catch his captain alone.
They were both stubborn, really. Fuji was just more apparent in that fact. He wanted facts, and demanded them without so many words. Tezuka, with even less words denied Fuji his wishes, frustrating the resident genius. Fuji obviously wasn't too happy Tezuka was complying, but he wasn't one to become violent over it. No, he just wormed his way around until he found some tricky method to get his way.
Tezuka was standing firm, not letting go. It was like a battle, really. They had reached a stalemate where neither could win. Yet, with Tezuka's crying, Fuji seemed to have found leverage that might have given him an advantage. He smiled to himself almost, though his look was mainly that of concern. Tezuka could see past it all.
"You were crying," he repeated. "I want to know why. The Tezuka I know doesn't cry over just anything." Tezuka sighed deeply. Fuji wasn't even going to leave without an explanation, so he gave in to that one little thing, after holding the information back so long. However, his voice held a threat, that if Fuji didn't stop his questions right there, Tezuka was going to be dishing out laps by the handful; Fuji mind as well be running them for the rest of his time at Seishun Gakuen.
"My grandfather," he stated simply. His eyes were not free of tears.
"Ah, I see." Fuji pulled Tezuka on to a bench and gave him a good look. "Tezuka, do you think being strong involves not crying?" His question was sudden and unexpected.
"No."
Up until then, it had been a lie. Tears unwillingly left his eyes. Tezuka hated to be like this. The first time that he had sobbed, since he was probably two years old, he was in Fuji's arms.
That day, Tezuka learned a life lesson. Strength and maturity didn't depend on a strong front. Perhaps that was the innocence, broken by Fuji's happy aura. At least, that's what he thought. The prodigy was pretty talented, getting to the point where Tezuka had finally half-heartedly agreed to what he had said and finally cried hard, leaning against Fuji's shoulder.
Innocence was lost through maturity; some of it was good, and some of it was bad… Tezuka couldn't help but miss it, though.
That had been the first day they had embraced, or rather, the day that Fuji had first embraced Tezuka so tightly, in such a caring manner.
Tezuka would later visit his the family grave, recently honoring his grandfather, with dry eyes, but offerings of prayer and gifts, as he breathed the incense deeply and remembered the lesson that Fuji had taught him, that strength had nothing to do with pain.
Fuji would never again teach Tezuka a stronger life lesson.