CHAPTER I

GUESS WHO'S BACK IN TOWN?

"Ryoma! Hurry up, you're going to be late!" a brown-haired man yelled up the stairs towards his daughters bedroom.

There was a grumble before a series of loud curses emerged from the room - apparently, Ryoma had caught sight of her alarm clock. There was a familiar cycle of loud crashes before came the thunder of footsteps on the stairs. The black (blackish-green really) haired girl darted into the kitchen in her uniform. She hurriedly began to wolf down the pancakes her mother placed in front of her with a resigned shake of her head (though not with ought a look of distaste first).

"Oi, what's that you're wearing young missy?" her father asked taking in the sight of the boys uniform - black trousers, white shirt, and un-buttoned black military uniform jacket instead of the green skirt and jacket combination she was supposed to be wearing.

"I sent it back," her mother stated, grabbing a piece of toast from the toaster.

"Why?" Nanjiro asked an injured tone in his voice for some reason.

Rinko sighed at her husband's attempts to remove his daughter's tomboyish nature.
"You of all people should know Ryoma would have turned up in her jeans if faced with a skirt," she grumbled around a mouthful of toast, flicking over one of the legal documents for one of her clients.

"But-"
"I'm not wearing a skirt," Ryoma stated flatly, rising from her chair and picking up her tennis bag before dashing for the door.
"Bye mum"
"Oi!"
"Yeah, you too old man"

The door slammed itself behind her as she dashed from the house, chuckling at her fathers loud protests:

"I'm not old brat!"

"Hey Inui, did you hear?" a boy with light brown hair and what appeared to be a near constant smile on his face asked the taller, glasses-wearing boy walking next to him.
"Fuji? You mean the new first year Coach Ryuzaki was talking about?" the boy asked, stopping just short of the entrance to their school.

"Yeah, you know anything?"
"Oh! You guys heard about it too?" an energetic redhead asked with obvious interest, a boy with short black hair standing behind him.

"Morning Kikumaru, Oishi - and no, Coach Ryuzaki wouldn't tell me anything besides they were a skilled player and the son of one of her old students" the black haired boy replied with slight irritation. He was not used to lacking information on his fellow tennis players, even if they had never met.

"I guess we'll just have to wait for afternoon practice," Oishi reasoned.
"What? Why not morning practice?" his redheaded friend complained.
"The first years have their enrolment ceremony first thing"

To their left, at the other side of the school entrance, a girl with brown pigtails was looking at her watch with panic written on her face. She paced back and forth, wringing the handle of her racquet-carrier in her hands.

"Sakuno!" a low, yet still feminine voice called out.
"Ryoma, you're late!" she yelled, though more out of worry than anger.

"I wanted to introduce you to Tomoka before enrolment, and what if you missed enrolment, or what if-" the girl was dithering back and forth spectacularly, much to her friend's amusement.
"Clam down before you trip up over something Sakuno" the black haired girl smiled jokingly.

"Jeez, come on! I don't want to be stuck with seats at the front of the assembly hall!" the girl known as Sakuno replied, dragging her friend from the gates by her black-sleeved arm.

They dashed past a group of senior students carrying tennis bags. The black haired girl spared them a brief glance, taking in the brand of the bags, before turning back to Sakuno as they hurried into the school building.

Inui looked away from his notebook as two first years dashed past. He recognised one as their coach's granddaughter with ease, but the second was a mystery. At first, he was certain she was a boy from the uniform, until he heard Sakuno's familiarity with her in the midst of their conversation (from what he had observed during his few meetings with the girl, she was as shy as a mouse).

This caught his interest long enough for him to notice the large racquet bag on the girl's shoulder.
'She has three racquets? Interesting…'

"Hey, Echizen!" a loud annoying voice called after Ryoma as she headed towards the shoe lockers.
Turning briefly she recognised the red-brown haired annoying boy from her class.

'What was his name again? Hiruto? Hiroto? Horio!'

"What?" she asked, as the boy caught up with her.
"Are you joining the tennis team?" he asked as they entered the area designated for the shoe lockers.

Ryoma grunted in confirmation as she pulled on her shoes and walked swiftly out to the courtyard, hoping to rid herself of the irritation and find Sakuno. She would probably be twice as lost if she asked Sakuno for directions to the tennis courts, but she did not really want to spend more time with Horio than necessary. He was a nice enough person and all, but he was too damn loud. And somewhat annoying.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts she did not notice the second year until she had walked into him.
"Oops sorry- hey, you a first year?"

Ryoma looked up at the boy with black her and what she supposed was a joking smile. Good, he did not take it personally - she could be bothered dealing with getting into a fight on her first day.

"Its fine, my bad" she replied half-heartedly.
"Echizen! Wait up! I- hey that's a second year! What cha talking to a second year for?"

Ryoma twitched with irritation, but made no move to show her irritation.
Instead, she ignored Horio and turned back to the second year.

"Can you tell me how to get to the tennis courts? I have to talk to Coach Ryuzaki, but she isn't in the staff room," she asked, with a weak attempt at politeness.

She could not be bothered - she had to get her application in to the old bat.
The second year did not seem to mind the lack of manners, smirking at her courage instead.

"Echizen! You can't talk to our sempai like that!" Horio squawked, clearly horrified.
"Its fine, I'll let you boys go this time. The tennis courts are behind the gymnasium. Coach Ryuzaki is probably in the clubroom going through today's practice set up" he smiled goofily.

Ryoma mumbled her thanks.

"What, but Echizen isn't-"
"Hurry up Horio; I have stuff to do later y'know"

Horio hurried after her, saying something about playing tennis for two years.
Ryoma ignored his jabber in favour of a text message she had just received.

- - -
From: .:Awesome-Prowess:.
To: -R.E·Tennis01-
Subject: Welcome to hell brat.

How was your first day missy?
- - -

Ryoma pondered this for a fem moments before sending her reply:

- - -
From: -R.E·Tennis01-
To: .:Awesome-Prowess:.
Subject: Re; Welcome to hell brat.
- - -

It was normal… I think I have a friend-type-thing, but it's annoying. And Loud. And Stupid.
…Sounds sort of like you Monkey King.
}:p
- - -

She paused, waiting for the message to finish sending, before furiously tapping out another message, snickering as she did so. Horio did his best to ignore the deranged noises as he continued to attempt instigation of conversation.

"So how about it? You want to give it a shot?" the brown haired second year known as Arai asked with a smile too forced to be natural.

'Oh boy, this has extortion written all over it' Ryoma to herself, trying to blot out horio's constant jabber of two years of tennis playing.
She hoped those other two kids didn't get dragged into…

'Oh, too late…'
Oh well.
It their loss not hers.

Before long Horio and his two companions had exhausted their ten ball supply, and the three second years had looks of triumph on their faces. Ryoma watched on in boredom as the additional payments were revealed, wondering when the old bat would show up. She had not been in the clubroom when she checked before being wrapped up in this mess.

"Hey, do you think you can get of scott free brat?" the voice of Arai demanded obnoxiously.
'So much for staying out of it…'

"Fine…" Ryoma grumbled, fishing a red racquet out of her bag.
"No Echizen! That's nuts! There's no way us first years can hit that thing!" Horio protested, backed up by Kachiro and Katsuo.
"Well, duh, it has rocks in it. Of course you can't hit it normally" misunderstanding Horio's protest.

She threw the ball up in the air, letting it fall before swung her racket down onto the yellow sphere, directing it towards the can. The ball hit the top of the can, knocking of the lid and knocking it over. Small scraps of stone and gravel spilled onto the tennis court, and her fellow first years turned on their sempais.

'Jeez, where is that stupid old bat? I have to give her my registration and paperwork…' she thought to herself, throwing the ball and swinging her racquet once again.

"If I hit it a hundred times will you give me a million yen?" she asked in a cocky tone, enjoying the stunned look on the faces of the second years. If she had to wait for the old bat, she might as well have some fun while she waited.

Before she could hit the can however, someone else did, and with enough tremendous force to force her eyes into widening for a moment. Whirling round she found herself face to face with the second-year from earlier. She heard Horio squawking in recognition outside the court too.

"Jeez Arai, you can't go around bullying first years" he reprimanded, presumably jokingly before adding in a darker tone: "you can't".

Ryoma for one was wondering if the guy had some sort of repetitive tick in his speech pattern, like a broken record perhaps.
She got the impression this was a common thing…

'Jeez, where is that damn old bat? I need to be sorting out all my paperwork, not pondering the speech patterns of muscle-idiots!'

As Ryoma pondered this, she almost did not hear the familiar newcomer - who seemed to be known by the name Momo if the other second years were anything to go by - introduce himself.

"Second year; Takeshi Momoshiro! Call me Momo!" he stated cheerily. Ryoma gave him a blank look.
'Momo? Who calls a boy Momo? Girly name for a boy…'

"Okay" she stated, decidedly uninterested in the strange nicknames of her seniors. She turned around, planning to go back to the clubroom to see if the old bat had turned up yet when a hand grabbed her shoulder.

"I didn't say you could leave yet kiddo," he grinned down at her.
'Dear god, what fresh hell now?'

Bunta Marui stared at the text in front of him with a look of pure loathing.

Beside him, his doubles partner sighed to himself before going back to his own work. He could hear Akaya having a small panic attack in the seat behind him - most likely the blood and gore. If it was enough to make their vice captain squeamish, then there was no doubt Akaya would too.

It would not be so bad if he could take a normal class, but his father's persistence had resulted in an unwanted talent for the dead language and placement in the advanced class. He was insistent on its eternal presence in his timetable.

Only one more year after this… then freedom!

'It's not even in Japanese characters… Why is it so important that I learn this?' he complained to himself, scribbling an angry translation of the passage he was reading. It was a delightful story of human sacrifice, blood, gore and all - at least he couldn't complain about boring course books.

As he scribbled, he felt his phone vibrate - an indication he had received a message. Being careful not to attract the attention of the teacher, he moved his phone from his pocket under his desk to a viewable angle, thanking the gods he had remembered to put it on silent mode.

Once certain he was in no danger of being discovered, he press one of the control buttons to view the message

- - -
From: -R.E·Tennis01-
To: .:Candy_Pop:.
Subject: Guess who's back in Japan?
- - -
Just thought you'd like to know before I beat your as in the Tournament for Nationals Sugar-Fetish.
:P
- - -

He stared at the tiny lettering in a mixture of horror and delight, ignoring the worried looks from Akaya and Jackal.
After re-reading the message several times, its meaning dawned on him.

"Ut Brat! Ego operor non have a sugar obsession! Is est pro tennis damno is!!" he swore loudly in Latin.

A piece of chalk flicked his forehead painfully; Bunta looked towards the front and the strict, not-happy Latin teacher.

"Aw haud… Did Inquam ut sicco loud?"
"Detention, Mr. Marui."

"Echizen what are you thinking?" Horio wailed quietly, something Ryoma had dubbed as a miracle - not that it made her feel like listening to him.

"You can't play against a second year! Even if you were a guy you still couldn't play him!" he protested as Ryoma pulled out a racquet with a higher string tension.

She was glad her father had gotten her into the habit of wearing cycling shorts and tank tops under her clothing - it meant she did not need to worry about traipsing to the girl's clubroom to change; she just had to pull her tennis clothes over them with no worries over modesty.

She was pondering over her shorts or the tennis skirt her father had foisted on her (she liked the shorts, but despite its skirt-ish-ness the skirt was far easier to move in) when a familiar voice echoed through the courtyard.

"Momoshiro! What did I tell you about playing on that injury? You can wait until tomorrow - when you have the doctor's clearance - to have a match!" Sumire Ryuzaki bellowed as she marched onto the courts, clearly fuming with rage.

"But Coach Ryuzaki! I wanna play the new guy!" Momo complained loudly.
'What? New guy…? Have I missed something? Well, whatever…'

"Hey old bat" Ryoma greeted with a slight amount of enthusiasm - she had not seen her grandmother for several years after all. There was a less than gentle whack on the head for her remark, but Ryoma and Momo noted it had a lot less force than it usually did.

The old woman looked her up and down before sighing in defeat.
"I swear, you look more and more like that pervert every day" she grumbled, before leaning closer to avoid being overheard.

"Why can't you just wear the girls uniform Ryoma? I think one of my regulars is questioning his orientation…" she added in a quieter voice.

Ryoma raised an eyebrow and glanced towards Momo before turning back to her grandmother.
"I don't care if they think I'm a guy, it'll be easier to get along with them first anyway - and I hate skirts."

A buzzing from her pocket alerted her to a reply from her earlier message and she shuffled around inside her pocket for the contraption.

The coach/grandmother gave her a calculating glance before grinning in triumph.
"Ryoma, you do realise you'll have to wear the girl's uniform if you join the official team don't you?" she said quietly - avoiding the boys who were trying to eavesdrop.

Ryoma, who had been busy going over her messages, almost dropped her phone in horrified shock. She turned to the old woman for an explanation, and though her face remained stoic, thoughts of revenge were running through her mind as her grandmother explained her insistence on the Girls Uniform (for tennis at least - Ryoma was relieved to know that she was not required to wear the green thing).

As the conversed out of earshot, Takeshi Momoshiro was watching the newcomer with a critical eye. Something about this guy was not right, but he could not place his finger on it, familiarity with the coach aside.

'I guess I'll just have to wait until practice tomorrow…' he thought to himself as the new boy - who he still didn't know the name of for some reason - left with the coach towards the clubroom.

Yushi Oshitari, the for-all-intents-and-purposes-when-Atobe-was-not-around Vice-Captain of Hyotei Tennis Club, had a problem.

Well, he did not have a problem per se, it was more like his Captain was creeping him out with his actions today; he had become obsessed with his phone. Normally it would not bother him; Keigo Atobe was president of the student council, and Captain of a 200+ member tennis club besides the work his did for his father on occasion.

It was fairly normal to find him jabbering away in god-knows what language to god-knows who in the middle of class, lunch, practice, the hallway, the bathroom, council meetings, etc. What was so disturbing was the fact he was not talking, but messaging.

Keigo Atobe did not message people at all - apparently it was too proletariat, and too inefficient for business. He had never once seen his friend send a text message. Yet here he was, willingly texting god-only-knew who in god only-knew what language.

'Perhaps the apocalypse is coming?'

Pushing thoughts of Judgment Day aside, he began his search for his sleepy team-mate. Jirou was in atobe's class, and was more likely to know what was going on than anyone else. Well, except Kabaji, but you couldn't really get Kabaji to say much…

Actually, you couldn't really get Kabaji to say anything...
He pitied the teachers.

Alas, Jirou did not have an explanation for him. His fellow regular had, of course, been sleeping through most of her classes. She had only recently woken for lunch and some quick practicing.

He knew for a fact Gakuto wouldn't care if Atobe had started dancing the Macarena, and all anyone could get out of Wakashi was that 'Gekokujou' gabble (that boy need help - his fixation with over throwing Atobe was reaching worrying levels).

He also knew that Shishido and Chotaro would be too busy practicing Chotaro's serve to be of any help.
This left him with only one solution to his problem: Ask Atobe himself.

…The very idea was preposterous, but he had little choice in the matter.

And so, later that day, he found himself all but stalking his captain as he followed him around the courts overseeing practice. Atobe kept giving him strange looks, but he couldn't give in; this was the only way he'd ever get an opportunity to find out what had his captain so out of whack.

The chance arose when Atobe began a practice match of their own. He was about to announce his question when he was interrupted by a strangled, dare he say it, squawk of horror.

"That brat! How does the title monkey king befit one such as I? Monkey King! I am nothing like a monkey! Do I have fur? Do I swing from trees? No! I am not a monkey! That brat… I'm going to crush them at the district tournament for this! Monkey king… how unseemly…"

Jirou, who had nearly been falling asleep on the courts, was wide-eyed. In fact, most of the club seemed to have taken on some expression of surprise. Even their coach was surprised! Since when was Coach Sakaki surprised? One in a blue moon was when he was surprised and there was no blue moon right now...

Well, not every one, Wakashi just looked confused; he probably didn't know how to top a diva fit of that magnitude (and yes, he had tried in the past).

'I wonder if these events are two signs of the apocalypse…'

Kabaji, who had been watching the events unfold, gave a nasal grunt - terrifying the younger additions to the club who had never heard him laugh before- earning him a 'you-saw-nothing!' glare from Atobe.

Sakaki turned towards Oshitari,an eyebrow raised in query.

'…Make that three signs of the apocalypse'

"I pity the man you marry missy, his stomach is going to be in constant agony if that's your idea of cooking…" her father stated, giving the congealed soba noodles a disgusted look. Not that she could really blame him - cooking was not her forte.

Unfortunately, her cousin was out of town for the weekend, and her mother was still working which meant she had to do the cooking. Her father had tried to make toast once and succeeded in setting the cooker on fire with his attempt - despite the fact he had not been using the cooker in the first place. He had been banned form the kitchen ever since.

Still, father or not, he had insulted her cooking and that was just not done. It was far better than anything he could have come up with, and for that reason, she threw a spatula at him.

"Hey!"
"Think about your own cooking before you insult mine; at least it still looks like noodles…"

Nanjiro could find no fault in her argument, and grudgingly let the matter drop (he'd get his revenge during a match later on…).
Instead, he threw a postcard towards the back of her head.

"It's from Ryoga," he stated as she picked up the postcard from where it had fallen after impacting on her skull.

It depicted a strange castle, covered in snow, and had angular writing in the bottom right-hand corner stating country or town e of origin (which she could not read). Turning it over the handwriting suggested that it was indeed from her brother, and she dived into the message with enthusiasm.

"St. Petersburg? What the hell is he doing in Russia?!" She asked her father, who shrugged his shoulders.

Before she could ask more questions, her phone began to blare out one of the worst ring tones it held - a stupid frog dance song that had fro some god-awful reason been popular in America upon purchase of the phone; It was perfect for the caller. Postcard forgotten, she abandoned the cooking and headed for the stairs (and her bedroom).

"Hey what about dinner? You know I can't cook!" her father protested.
"So get take-out. It's probably safer anyway…" she replied, mounting the stairs as she answered the call.

"Monkey king!" she greeted cheerfully.

She ignored her father's protests (and those of the Monkey King) as she climbed the stairs, making plans for her weekend.

Poor Marui. I had the same problem in German once; I insulted an annoying person and the teacher thought I was talking to him. The only difference was my German was terrible, unlike Marui's flawless(?) Latin - I was supposed to say idiot but I think I called him a bald sausage man instead.
My German is very Le Crap.

I don't know how reliable the Latin translator was, so feel free to correct me. In any case here are the translations:

"Ut Brat! Ego operor non have a sugar obsession! Is est pro tennis damno is!!"
"That brat! I do not have a sugar obsession! It's for tennis damn it!!"

"Aw haud… Did Inquam ut sicco loud?"
"Aw crud… Did I say that out loud?" (Lit: Oh no... - It was as close I could get so please just go with it)

Thoughts...?

Nat.
xxx