Disclaimer: all recognizable characters of Bleach and Prince of Tennis go to their appropriate people…which is definitively not me

Prologue/Chapter 1

It was a beautiful midsummer day in Tokyo. Birds were singing, the sun was shining, and a cool breeze rustled the leaves on the trees. Groups of tourists crowded the streets and ice cream shops overflowed with customers. Closed off from this hustle and bustle with a wall of leafy hedge was a park, interspersed with couples sitting hand in hand and a group of relaxed university students, chatting amiably about their summer plans. On the bleachers next to a worn tennis court, a boy was sprawled out beneath an open sports magazine, snoring softly. All was peaceful and tranqui-

"Jack Knife! Eat that, you bastards!"

A flock of birds took off from the trees, cawing in a disgruntled manner at the disturbance. Momoshiro couldn't have cared less as he swung wildly, sending the ball hurtling towards the opposition's court like a meteor towards Earth. However, like many meteors that hurtle toward our lovely planet, the ball never quite managed to reach the ground. With a contemptuous glance and a relaxed swing, Atobe Keigo returned the ball with elegance and grace. It landed neatly behind Momoshiro Takeshi and Echizen Ryoma's racquets, which had crashed when the two attempted to counter simultaneously. Momoshiro scoffed in annoyance and Ryoma glared balefully from behind his hat.

"Love-fifteen, with the Atobe-Kabaji pair leading," Horio called from the sidelines, eyes wide with reverential awe. He, Katsuo, Kashiro, Sakuno, Tomoka, and Tachibana An were all gathered by the sidelines, cheerleading for their beloved tennis superstars and bemoaning their recent lost points.

Ryoma, who was usually able to tune out the simpering shrieks, could now feel them corkscrewing into his eardrums, fueling his building headache. Ryoma was not quite sure how he had gotten himself entrenched in this situation. Originally, his plans for the day had consisted of sleeping, eating, some more sleeping, and playing with his cat. He thought he deserved a break after their win at Nationals a week previously, but Momoshiro, it seemed had other ideas. Thanks to that imbecile, he was out on a street court attempting to salvage their pathetic doubles combination against the prissy captain of Hyotei and his devoted minion. Pulling a ball from his pocket, Ryoma glanced wistfully at the boy napping on the bleachers. Cursing his tall, smash-happy friend, Ryoma bounced the ball and prepared to serve.

Earlier that morning, Echizen Ryoma was having a wonderful dream. He had been crushing his brother mercilessly in a match. Instead of tennis balls, they had been playing with oranges, which exploded upon hitting Ryoga's court. Tezuka had handed him a trophy bearing the inscription: Seigaku's Pillar of Support as Ryoga curled up among the orange debris and cried. His father, dressed smartly in a suit and tie, had grinned approvingly from the crowd, where all the spectators were his past opponents, dressed in dazzling ball gowns-

Something large, heavy, and smelling strongly of cologne had landed onto him, jerking Ryoma into reality. Blinking away the disturbingly hilarious image of Shiraishi in a feathery, neon pink dress, the image of a smirking Momoshiro had come into focus. His hair was even more spiked with gel than usual and he was dressed decently in a button down shirt and slacks. This smartening up had gone unnoticed to Ryoma, who had, upon realizing who had woke him up at such an ungodly hour of the morning, tossed Karupin at his upperclassman's head before burrowing under the covers. The cat did not take kindly to being pulled out of the warm bed and chucked across a room and subsequently attacked the closest thing. Unfortunately, the closest thing happened to be Momoshiro's head.

"Call off your hellion, Echizen! It's ruining my beautiful face!" Momo had shrieked, struggling desperately to detach the infuriated pet.

Ryoma had ignored his friend's plight and snuggled deeper into his pillow.

"What the hell are you playing at, barging into someone's room at the crack of dawn?" Ryoma had snarled when Momo (now cat-free) had jerked his blankets off, dumping the freshman unceremoniously on his bedroom floor.

"Nine in the morning ain't the crack of dawn, dumbass," rubbing the scratches decorating his forehead. "Anyways, I have a date with An-chan today, and you're coming."

Ryoma had stared at his friend, incredulity pasted over his features. At least that explains the man-perfume, he thought absently.

"What did you just say?"

"I have a date with Tachibana An today. You're coming with us."

So, it seemed Ryoma's hearing wasn't going. However, apparently Momo's sanity was.

"Momo-senpai…Do you know what a date is?"

Momoshiro looked perplexed. "Of course I know what a date is, Echizen. If I didn't I wouldn't be going on one with Tachibana."

"Yeah, Momo-senpai, you're supposed to be going on a date with Tachibana. That means you're dating Tachibana. However, you're inviting me to join you on that date. That would imply that you guys are dating me as well. Wow, never knew you were into that kind of stuff, Momo."

Ryoma had been quite proud of himself for being able to be that articulate so early in the morning. Unfortunately this accomplishment had gone unnoticed by Momoshiro, who had merely rolled his eyes and snorted derisively.

"You wish, Echizen, you wish. Actually, An-chan's brother doesn't feel comfortable letting her go on dates alone, and usually tags along as a chaperone. Fortunately he's sick today, but still insists that someone accompanies us. Since you're our friend and aren't really the type to interrupt anything-" Momo waggled his eyebrows suggestively-"you're my best candidate."

"No. Now piss off and let me sleep."

Ryoma had yanked his blankets back from Momoshiro and climbed back into bed.

A good half hour of tussling, arguing, and a considerable amount of bribing had ensued, ending with a triumphant Momoshiro leading an irritated Ryoma out of the house. The pair had met Tachibana An at a small café near the train station, and, to Ryoma's utter un-amusement, it seemed that Momo had not informed An that he was bringing a chaperone. So, Tachibana An taken it upon herself to bring a small cohort of people to monitor her and Momo's date. Please, let this be a nightmare. Please, just let me wake up in my nice, comfortable bed, Ryoma had groaned internally. In front of him Ryuuzaki Sakuno, knees collapsing together under a short skirt, hand clutching her chest as she stuttered and blushed. Though he did not have any major issues with Sakuno herself (aside from a vague annoyance), he did have major objections to the leech-like behavior exhibited by her friend -what was her name, again? Tomoe? Tamaki?- who always seemed to magically appear wherever Sakuno was, the freshman cheerleading trio of Horio, Katsuo, and Kachiro not far behind. Sure enough, when the quartet had ventured into a movie theater, Sakuno's pigtailed friend leapt enthusiastically out from behind an Iron Man cutout, greeting them with a supersonic shriek. To Ryoma's chagrin, the male portion of his fan club had somehow teleported, Star-Trek style, into their showing of Scream 5 as well.

Ryoma had to grudgingly commend Momoshiro on his choice of movie. It had given him the perfect opportunity to cling in a terrified fashion to his girlfriend while she soothingly stroked his spiky hair. However, this tactic had done Ryoma no favors. The circulation in his arms had slowed to a standstill when both Tomoka and Sakuno had captured both his arms in death grips, and Horio had somehow deemed it fit to latch onto Ryoma's head. As he walked out of the movie theater two hours later, rubbing his arms in an attempt to regain some blood flow, Ryoma had wondered, grimacing, how it was possible for meek little Sakuno to have such a vice-like grip.

Massaging his various sore appendages, Ryoma had wandered over to the closest vending machine, intending to buy a soda to soothe his headache. Luck, however, was determinately not on his side that day. Being the suave middle schooler that he was, Ryoma often strutted about with his cap pulled low over his eyes, acting as if looking where he walked was beneath him. Now, Ryoma could usually pull that off quite well; however, his brain had not quite regained all the blood it needed to carry out that maneuver, so he did not notice a certain egocentric Hyotei tennis captain prancing in front of him. Needless to say, the results had not been pretty. To pay for the egregious offence of staining his ruffled designer shirt, Atobe Keigo had demanded a match from Ryoma, thus dragging the prince of tennis, his friend, and various assembled minions to the nearest street court to duke it out. Ryoma suspected that Atobe's attitude, prissier than usual, was due to the still sore defeat at Nationals two weeks previous.

A scowl etched itself firmly in Ryoma's features as he threw the ball up in the air and served. He and Momoshiro were losing 4-2, and Ryoma wanted nothing more than to wipe that supercilious sneer off of Atobe's face. With a grunt (and several adoring squeals from the sidelines), Ryoma sent the tennis ball flying into the opposition's court.

"Oh my God! It's the Tornado Twist Serve!" Horio screeched.

The scowl was replaced by a smirk. Atobe shifted to the side in anticipation, only to curse as he realized the ball was about to bounce in a completely different direction. However annoying Horio was, it was helpful when he called out shots with such amazing zeal and inaccuracy. This momentary victory was cut short, however, when Tachibana An shouted, "Look out!"

Ryoma's serve sped straight towards the head of the sleeping boy in the bleachers, well on its way to scrambling his brains. The group gave a collective wince as the resounding SMACK of the tennis ball hitting flesh echoed around the court.

FWUMP. The magazine slid to the ground, revealing a head of pale hair floating in a halo of post-sleep frizz. The tennis ball, mere centimeters from the boy's left eye, was clenched in long, spindly fingers. He sat up and squinted at them through lidded eyes, then looked at the ball in bemusement, as if he just realized he was holding it. Looking back at Ryoma's guilty expression, an air of understanding seemed to pass over him. Smirking, the stranger grabbed a bag from behind the bleachers and headed down towards the court.

Pock.

Pock.

Pock.

Ryoma instinctively took a step back. Despite being thin as a rake, the stranger, bouncing the tennis ball along the steps, cut a surprisingly intimidating figure. He was over six feet tall, and looked to be in his mid-teens. Silvery white strands of hair fell into his eyes and wiry muscles bunched under pale skin. However, it was his smile that inspired the irrational, overwhelming terror in Ryoma. It was wide, nearly stretching across the stranger's entire face, displaying rows of pearly teeth and exuding mockery and condescension. Ryoma was inexplicably reminded of a snake preparing to strike.

"Now, now, play nice, why don't ya?" he drawled. "It never does any good when little kiddies start showin' off and end up hurtin' people now, does it?" He stopped at the bottom step and pulled a light green tennis racquet from his bag. Tossing the ball up in the air, he snapped his racquet down and sent it speeding towards Ryoma's head. Ryoma barely had time to throw up his hand to stop the ball from knocking him out. It spun against his hand, stopping an inch away from his left eye. "You junior high kiddies are so serious. Why, just recently at your Nationals I saw two little brats beatin' each other into bloody pulps in a freakin' preliminary match. It was entertainin', sure, but loosen up and enjoy the game, eh?"

Ryoma rolled his eyes. It seemed like another high school poser decided to make fun of his tennis. He was about to challenge the stranger to a match when Sakuno interrupted.

"Are you alright, sir?" she asked anxiously, gesturing at his hand.

"I'm fine, sweetheart, a little serve like that couldn' hurt a fly," the boy replied. "'S not like it had any real force behind it."

Hearing this, Ryoma twitched and glared at the stranger. Once again, he tried to challenge the stranger, and once again was interrupted by his adoring fans. Horio spun around to defend his idol's honor, shrieking, "But that was one of Echizen's Tornado Twist serves! He's taken out tons of opponents with its power and unpredictability!"

For a second, the stranger looked nonplussed, looking between Horio and Ryoma. Then, he burst into peals of laughter.

"That is so…ADORABLE!" the grinning stranger choked out. "It's Ryoma-sama's Tornado Twist, attack power 500!" he squealed mockingly, before falling on the ground in hysterics. He attempted to right himself, but failed, collapsing once again in a fit of giggles.

Momoshiro's annoyed frown deepened. "You think Echizen's serve's adorable? It's not like you actually know how we play. Anyways, you can't be that much older and better than us, so don't start making fun of our moves."

The stranger snickered and got up. "Y'know, yer right about me being not much older than you guys, seein' as I'm only in my first year of high school. However, don' start assumin' things about me. Just 'cause ya haven' seen me play before doesn' mean I haven' seen you. Well, I haven't seen you, per say, but I know that you, Momoshiro-kun and Echizen-kun over there are from Seigaku Middle School. Ya recently won Nationals thanks to Echizen-kun's spectacular and dazzling performance against Rikkaidai's prodigal captain, Yukimura Seiichi, despite appearin' to be hopelessly outmatched as a previously unknown freshman." He bent down and picked up his magazine, then walked back to the court. "However, apparently Echizen-kun actually possesses amazing power in that midget body of his, as he was the winner of the US National Junior Championship for four consecutive years, even invited to play in the US Open, and proud supporter of Ponta soda." He tossed his magazine to Ryoma and snorted, "Or so I hear."

The middle schoolers gathered around the publication, which turned out to be the most recent copy of Monthly Pro-Tennis. The stranger had opened it to a lengthy article, titled "Spectacular and Dazzling Performances During the Japanese Middle School Nationals Tournament." The story was a featured article, seven pages prominently located in the front. The first two pages were devoted to mini-profiles of notable players and matches of the quarterfinals and semifinals, the next two about the first four matches of the finals, and the last an in-depth exposé of Ryoma and his match with Yukimura, complete with pictures of him playing, watching matches, and drinking Ponta.

"Looks like someone's a favorite of the media," the stranger sang. "It's a testament to how little is goin' on in the tennis world when the feature story in a professional tennis magazine is a load of drivel about a bunch o' kids. Of course, nepotism didn' exactly hurt ya', now did it Echizen-chan?" The stranger winked at Ryoma.

"Would you like a match, then?"

The rib about his father was the last straw. You'll be pleading for mercy by the time I'm done with you, Ryoma thought darkly.

The stranger shrugged. "Suppose I could indulge." He shooed Atobe and Kabaji off the court and got into position.

"Go easy on me, won't ya, Echizen Ryoma? I know you brats seem to have a penchant for brutalizin' your opponents, but I don' particularly want ta go 'round with my gorgeous face lookin' like a truck ran over it."

"Can't make any promises," Ryoma called heading towards the baseline.

CRACK. The ball ricocheted off the bleachers and flew back into the net.

"Game to Echizen, 1-0," Atobe announced. Next to him, the Seigaku freshmen predicted another easy win for their prince.

The stranger looked amused, still sporting a malicious grin despite his lack of points. He yawned as Ryoma prepared to serve, amidst the background noise of, "Here it comes! Ryoma-san's Twist Serve!"

A dull thwack resounded around the court as the ball hit the ground, mingling with the chiming ring of a mobile phone. Something nudged Ryoma's foot. Looking down, the young prodigy saw the fuzzy green ball roll to a halt. Across the court, the stranger was chatting nonchalantly on his cellphone, leaning on his racquet like the Monopoly man on his walking stick.

I didn't even see him move, Ryoma thought numbly, picking up the offending ball.

"Yup, yup; see ya then. Bye, bye."

"Sorry," the stranger apologized, pocketing the mobile, "An acquaintance o' mine wants to meet up in fifteen minutes, so I'm afraid we'll have to wrap this up pretty soon. I would promise ya a re-match, but I don't think we'll need one."

Ryoma smirked. It seemed like this stranger actually had some bite behind his bark. Still, he wasn't about to admit that, considering how much his pride still stung from the earlier remarks, so he called out, "You're right; we won't need a re-match. I'll beat you in ten minutes."

Nine minutes and forty-six seconds later, the ball lightly bounced on the far left corner of the court.

Ryoma stood at the net, sweat dribbling down his face and splattering onto the ground. Adrenaline pumped through him and his mouth was curled in a smile.

"Looks like we won' be needin' that rematch. Have to admit though, yer not as shitty as I expected ya to be."

"Heh, you're not too shabby yourself," he said, a smile crossing his face.

"Gee, thanks," the stranger replied sarcastically, "I really appreciate that." He walked over to the net and clasped Ryoma's outstretched hand.

"Ryoma-sama…lost?" Tomoka wailed. "How could this happen!"

"All of the techniques that Ryoma used to defeat his past opponents," Atobe murmured, "were utterly useless. Even the Pinnacle of Perfection was completely nullified."

"Pinnacles? Of perfection, no less?" scoffed the stranger, "Middles schoolers are precious. I liked the Cyclone Smash one better, though. Not as pretentious, y'know? If ya think ya can perfect something like tennis, ya've either taken a few too many hits to the head, or yer ego's so big it's becomin' a public hazard. Or a combination of the two."

With that, the stranger left, grabbing his bag and heading away from the court.

"Wait!" Ryoma called out, running to catch up. "I think I at least deserve to know the name of my newest rival, don't you?"

The stranger looked at Ryoma and raised an eyebrow.

"Don' get too ahead of yerself, kid. Ya ain't as crappy as that sycophant of a reporter made ya out to be, but ya've still got a long way to go. Don' bother me until you can at least engage me in a game longer than ten minutes."

Just as he reached the street, the stranger looked back and called out, "But for when that time comes…I'm Ichimaru Gin."