Title: Don't Trust Them
Published: December 6, 2015
Author: Ribbon
Target: Hirakoba Rin
Default Name: Hirotani Haruki
I was ten when my family made the move from the frigid realms of the north down to Okinawa. My father was offered a job down in Naha halfway through my fifth year at elementary school, and my mother encouraged him to accept the offer. She had been living in Aomori for as long as she could remember, and she was very upfront about her feelings towards the cold. My father, a true Tokyoite, had a hard time disagreeing with her. I was the only member of the family who wasn't so keen on leaving: I'd learned to love the way the cold made my bones ache; I'd learn to love the way the sky looked on a crisp, winter day, and I'd learned to love the trek through snow and ice on my way to school every morning in the chilly months. I had made good friends in Hachinohe, and I was two years shy of becoming a junior high school student—but as a ten-year-old, my opinion didn't matter.
Near the end of the summer, we packed our bags and said goodbye to our friends. We left behind our tiny apartment near the train station and we flew to Okinawa, where the sky was blue and clear and streaked with clouds, and the humidity was so excruciating that we had sweat pouring down our backs within minutes of leaving the plane. We moved into a modest house, not so far from the beach, that was warm and more spacious than our cramped apartment in Hachinohe—but no matter how beautiful Naha seemed, something didn't quite sit right with me. My mother told me that I was simply harbouring attachments to Hachinohe—but in time, I would learn to grow fond of the distance. My hometown would soon be replaced by a compulsory love for Naha. I would go to school and learn to make new friends; I would learn to love the look of the sky on a hot, summer's day; I would learn to walk to school drenched from head to toe in my own sweat.
My father promised that, if I was good, we might be able to go and visit Hachinohe one day, but I didn't believe him. He promised me a long time again that we wouldn't leave Hachinohe until I'd graduated from high school, and he didn't keep his word. My mother scolded him for trying to make promises that he couldn't keep, and in some ways, I'm glad she did: she taught me an important lesson about not holding other people to their promises, although admittedly I did have a much harder time trusting people after that. The only way I could forgive my father for packing us all in a suitcase and stringing us along to Naha was to make him play tennis with me every single week. I would pull on his shirt after lunch, insisting that he come and play with me, and he would laugh gently. He would carry our tennis racquets to the local court, and we'd have a light rally until the sun would set.
When the summer was nearly over, my father and I went to play tennis together on a lazy Sunday afternoon, and he said to me, "Haruki, in September, Papa has to go to Nago for a while. When you start school, you'll have to find someone else to play tennis with you, okay?"
I blinked, having never really thought about continuing with tennis after my father decided to stop humouring me with weekly rallies.
"Maybe you could join the tennis club," he went on. "You know, they'll teach you how to play tennis properly. If you join, you'll be much better than Papa in no time!"
I was reluctant to make a promise that I couldn't keep. "I don't want to join the tennis club."
When the sun started to set, my father cut off the rally. Usually, when we finished a rally, we would shake hands over the net and say "Good game" to one another, in the spirit of good sportsmanship. This time, instead of extending an open palm over the net, my father held out his pinky and offered up a sheepish grin.
"You don't have to join the tennis club if you don't want to." He said. "But will you promise Papa that you'll try to find something that you like doing?"
When I didn't return the gesture, he smiled wistfully at me.
"You're very guarded, Haruki—just like your mother."
"Mama said that distance is something you grow fond of." I said.
"How cruel!" He said, wincing as he laughed. "Well, that's alright, I suppose—Papa doesn't need the reassurance. But Papa has been wondering, Haruki..."
"Eh?"
"The reason that you don't believe in promises... could it be that you don't trust the other person to uphold their part?" His eyes were alight with laughter. "Papa thinks it's that you..."
Don't Trust Them
"... Haruki."
i.
Starting a new school was much harder than I was ever willing to admit to my parents. On my first day at Ryuukyuu Minami, I had such a hard time understanding what the other kids were saying to me that making friends was pretty much impossible. There were a few people that lose their patience in the process of trying to befriend me, and took to calling me names like mainlander and outside, but thankfully, most of my classmates were patient with my poor communication.
For the majority of that week, I got by on the pleasantries of my classmates.
When Thursday came around, I overheard a gaggle of my classmates whispering excited to each other during first period. When my seatmate saw the curious look on my face, she explained (in the simplest possible words, and complete with actions) that, this afternoon, a dodgeball tournament of some kind was taking place. From what I could piece together, it was a tournament in which classes were pit against one another in matches of dodgeball, and the winning class would be exempt from cleaning duties for a week.
I found myself looking forward to the dodgeball tournament: I was an athletic kid, meaning that I finally had a chance to show people I wasn't just a useless mainlander, and dodgeball was unlikely to require very much verbal communication on my part, meaning that I didn't have to worry about compromising my performance with my inability to deal with the localdialect. When long homeroom came, the teacher told us to change into our gym clothes and head down to the gym—which we all did, shaking with enthusiasm and the inability to contain our competitive spirits.
The atmosphere in the gym was far nastier than any of the names I'd been called that week, but not a single person wanted to be seen cracking under the pressure. They held their heads high as the match was announced, and bounded to their respective courts enthusiastically, ready to commence one of the most brutal elementary school dodgeball matches that I'd ever taken part in. It was, retrospectively, a rare moment in which the class was able to unite and work together towards a common goal. Even the kids who called me names passed the ball to me on occasion, trusting me to rack up outs in each and every game. Their confidence in me was heart-warming, and for the first time that week, I felt that I'd truly been accepted by the natives of this strange and foreign land called Okinawa.
Though we lost to the other fifth grade class in the end, I was approached by a small group of boys and girls from my class, who invited me to eat lunch with them. They told me that I'd been a really valuable player today, and they wanted to exploit my athleticism further. They told me that they played dodgeball a lot after school, and if I wanted to, I was more than welcome to join them.
It was my first and only invitation into a clique at school, and I would have been stupid to refuse. Having a group of friends meant that I would no longer be called an outsider, or told that I had no place at Ryūkyū Minami. Having a group of friends meant that I didn't have to lie to my parents anymore about how well I was getting on with my classmates. Having a group of friends meant that it didn't matter so much when I went home and the mailbox was empty. When that clique offered me a place among them, I accepted their invitation, intending only to use them as a distraction from the gaping homesickness that had opened a hole in my heart.
Despite my unethical reasons for wanting to join them, though, that clique was the place I made my very first real friend at Ryūkyū Minami.
Just as I was starting to enjoy my first after school dodgeball game, the leader of the clique, Tobio, said he was throwing in the towel, giving the OK for the rest of us to do the same. We walked to the front of the gate together, said our goodbyes, and then parted ways—or so I thought. After I started walking, I noticed very quickly that I wasn't the only person heading towards the sea. When I turned around, I came face-to-face with one of the boys from the clique.
He looked at me with wide, blinking eyes. "Huh? Somethin' wrong?"
Like many of my classmates, he had black hair—almost the same length as mine—and tanned skin. I was certain that he'd introduced himself to me earlier that day, but I didn't remember it; I figured that, after sometime, he would forget my name anyway.
I pointed in the general direction of my house. "Do you live this way, too?"
"You betcha!" He said, grinning from ear to ear. "C'mon, I'll walk ya back home."
He was much more talkative than I expected he would be—but, to my relief, he spoke slowly and carefully, fully aware that I had yet to accustom myself to Okinawan Japanese. Although I still had a hard time understanding him, I had a much easier time piecing together what he was trying to say in comparison to my other classmates, who spoke brusquely and quickly. He was very considerate, and much friendlier than he looked. As we walked, he complimented my athleticism and asked if I played any other sports. I told him that I used to play tennis with my dad until he flaked out on me and went to Nago for work.
The very mention of tennis caught his attention. "You play tennis, too?!"
"Not competitively." I clarified. "Just for fun."
He grinned from ear to ear. "Guess there's no helpin' it... alrighty, I'll show ya my secret trainin' spot. Are ya doin' 'nything this weekend?"
"N-no, probably not... why?"
"Cos you 'n' me should go play some tennis—that's why!" The way he said it, it should have been obvious. "You said ya pops flaked out on ya, right? I'll rally with ya instead."
His declaration surprised me. "Um... okay. If you really want to."
He started warming up his shoulder, making a bit of a show about getting a new rally partner, but before the conversation could progress much further, we arrived at my house. He said goodbye to me very casually, telling me that he'd see me again tomorrow, but for some reason, the flippant farewell left me feeling a little bit uneasy. It was hard for me to say such a casual farewell, not knowing if or how long this friendship would even last. My brain told me that it was far too early to call him a friend, and—given my history—I believed it.
- x -
My new friend came knocking for me early on Saturday morning. I hadn't expected him to come so soon, so I was still half-asleep when my mom called up the stairs for me, but he was patient enough to wait outside while I brushed my teeth and changed clothes.
When I came downstairs, he showed me to a spot close to the beach where there was a tennis court; he told me that it was half-shaded by the neighbouring building in the early morning, and although "the weak should avoid playin' when it gets reeeeal hot out", it was bearable to play there in the late afternoon, when the temperature dropped off. The court, as a whole, was nothing spectacular: there was no fence to enclose it, and there were no nearby walls that were good for self-practice (the neighbouring building was made from wood), the net remained in relatively good condition, and although the lines were worn, they were all still visible.
My friend tilted his head at me when I didn't say anything. "Somethin' wrong?"
"I was just wondering if there were any walls here—you know, to play against." I said honestly.
"What'cha talkin' 'bout? Ya play tennis on a tennis court up in Hachi-what's-it, don'cha?" He looked at me like I was a poor, frightened foreigner. "Here in Okinawa, we play tennis on a tennis court."
"What if you're playing by yourself?"
"Then ya find somebody to play with, stupid!" He waved his racquet around, as if doing so helped to emphasise his point. "C'mon, are we gonna play some or what?"
"Yeah... okay, I guess..."
He grinned from ear to ear. "You get dibs, Harucchi—smooth or rough?"
The fact that he remembered my name—let alone make up a nickname for me—caught me completely off guard. "W-wait—um, what's your name?"
He dropped the racquet. "Huh?!"
Hirakoba Rin was his name. He said it a little indignantly—maybe so that I wouldn't forget it so easily. As an opponent, he was nimble and resolute, making it hard to score points off him. Even though we'd initially resolved to start the day with light rallies, we descended late into serious matches by the late morning, each of which Hirakoba was the winner. When we retired from the courts around noon to sit under the shade of a nearby tree, he complimented my stubbornness and unwillingness to go down so easily. He proclaimed that I would become a worth rival of his, although it hadn't really been my intention to do so.
Before late afternoon could hit, I got sunburned so badly that we decided to thrown in the towel. In my haste to get out of the door that morning, I'd forgotten to wear sunscreen. Hirakoba held his tan up to my pasty one; the difference in our complexion made him laugh, and made me look away uncomfortably. He promised that I'd be as tan as him soon, and that it would only be a matter of time before I started to look like the other kids. I wasn't sure whether to believe him or not.
Since my house was on the way, he walked me home to make sure I didn't pass out from sunstroke. Even though we didn't get to play for as long as he'd hoped, he still had the good will to grin at me when I turned around to wave goodbye from the front door.
"Today was pretty fun, Harucchi—let's play again next weekend!"
"Y-yeah, okay..." I shuffled my feet, unable to reciprocate my enthusiasm to quite the same degree. " Thanks for showing me your secret training spot, Hirakoba-kun."
For some reason, the cheery look on his face dropped, and he shivered, even though it was still ridiculously hot out. "Cold!" He shouted. "So cold, Harucchi! Y' damn ice queen!"
"... Huh?"
"Call me Rin! We're not strangers, right?" He said, a little indignantly. "We're rivals, and rivals should regard each other like the scum of the earth!"
"U-um, okay, well..." Harucchi didn't quite seem like a nickname befitting of the scum of the earth, though. "Then—thanks, Rin-chan."
Rin grinned from ear to ear. "See ya at school on Monday!"
As I retreated into the safety of my own home, I couldn't help but feel lighter—like I'd truly made a friend for the first time since coming to Okinawa.
- x -
Our weekend rallies quickly developed from a thing we did for fun to a thing we did out of habit. I woke up unconsciously on Saturdays and on Sundays at 6 o'clock to rally with Hirakoba until noon, after which we would retreat to my house, talking and eating watermelon on the veranda until the sun went down, and he went down. Part of me was grateful for the fact that our hangouts became routine: I liked that it became a concrete and infallible part of our weeks, dissimilar to my father's "maybe I will, maybe I won't" attitude towards rallying with me on Sunday afternoons.
When exams became a looming threat, I asked Rin if he wanted to cut back on practice hours in favour of studying, but he shook his head and said, "I'd prob'ly show up outta habit 'nyway."
Every single week, we rallied fortwelve hours—sometimes more, when we had the time—and before we knew it, graduation day started creepy up on us. I'd completely forgotten that sixth grade was halfway over when Rin asked me over the winter break which junior high school I planned on going to.
"I... hadn't even thought about it." I admitted. "Why? Where are you going?"
He grinned and pointedly proudly to himself. "I'm goin' to Higa. 's a bloke who's been goin' 'round—says his name's Eishirou. 's been collectin' a bunch o' kids who used to practice Shukuchi—says he wants to make a team that'll wreck face all the way to Nationals. Says he wants me to play for 'im."
When he saw how lost I looked, he just laughed.
"I'm goin' to Higa to join the tennis team." He summarised for me, eyes wide with excitement. "You should come to Higa, too! I dunno if they got a girls' tennis team or not, but that don't mean you can't come anyway."
I told him that I'd have to think about it, and he told me that I'd better pick Higa as my first preference, or I'd be sorry. It sounded a little bit like a threat.
When my father came home for New Year's, the first thing he asked me was if I decided which junior high school I wanted to go to. As part of his apology for pulling me out of Tamonoki so close to the end of my elementary school career, he promised that I could go to any junior high school that I wanted to. Tentatively, I told him that I hadn't given the matter much thought, and I was still thinking about it.
My father rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm... what do you think about Higa Junior High, Haruki? It's not very far away, and it's a good school."
"Rin-chan's going to Higa." I mused aloud.
He smiled, perhaps warmed by the thought that I'd actually managed to make friends. "Papa hasn't hear you talk about this 'Rin-chan' before. Is she one of your classmates?"
I looked at him. "Rin-chan's a boy."
My father seemed surprised, if not a little panicked, that my go-to friend was a boy. He laughed nervously and ruffled my hair. "W-well... if Rin-chan is going to Higa, then that gives you even more reason to go there too, right?"
I shrug. "I guess. He said that he wants me to join the tennis team, though."
"You don't have to do anything that you don't want to, Haruki—even if Rin-chan tells you to." My father assured me. "But you can still go to Higa and not join the tennis team. If Rin-chan is really your friend, he won't make you do anything that you don't want to."
I took a good look at my father's face. For some reason, he looked unusually pallid, and he was having trouble making proper eye contact with me.
"Okay." I said. "I guess I could go to Higa."
He mustered a smile in my direction. "Higa's a big school, so you'll make lots of friends."
Despite my father's words, whether or not I would be able to make new friends or not was the least of my concerns. Deep down, I think that a part of me wanted to go to Higa to have a legitimate reason to spite him in the event that he grew out of this friendship we'd fostered over the past year. If we both went to the same school, he would never be able to attribute our platonic break-up to frivolous things like distance or growing up apart: he'd have no one but himself to blame.
But, of course, spite was not an appropriate motivation to do things—so I didn't tell anyone the real reason why I decided to go to Higa. As well as Rin, most of the people in my clique had decided to go to Higa, so any observer could say that I was just a little lost dog, far from home, following the only people who were kind enough to stop by and show me a bit of compassion.
Princo & Ribbon
July 2, 2016.
Dodgeball competition: When I went to Japan, there was one long homeroom where we were all told to change into our gym clothes and participate in the dodgeball competition in the gym. It was the most violent and terrifying thing I've ever witnessed (they're so goddamn fierce and intense).
Cleaning at the end of the day: At the end of every day, before final homeroom, we'd have to clean our own classroom and stuff. We'd have to move the desks and sweep and the like, and then move the desks back afterwards. There were a few more chores, but I don't really know what they are, since I usually just moved the desks (there weren't many guys in our class, and no one else really wanted to lift the desks). A lot of the time, though, people would disappear and slack off in the library so they didn't have to clean. It was kind of funny to watch them all come in after the bell rang for final homeroom.
Smooth or rough: I remember seeing this a lot earlier in the anime to determine who gets the first serve, and who gets to pick the side of the court that they want (I think). From what I remember, the person who isn't spinning the racquet gets to pick smooth (if, when the racquet lands, the letter on the end cap is the right way up) or rough (if, when the racquet lands, the letter on the end cap is upside down); if they guess correctly, they get the serve (service), but if they guess incorrectly, they get to pick the side of the court that they want (end).If someone could correct me that would be great because I don't remember a thing about actual tennis in Prince of Tennis okay it's been a while since they played realistic tennis. You come here for the tennis not the realism LOL.