Setting/ background: America. His parents died before they moved to Japan.

Warnings for this story: future implied underage sex, violence, slash (I'll also put warnings on the chapter itself)

Pairings: Ryoma/ OC, future Ryoma/Fuji or Ryoma/Yuki

-oO-

They treated him burgers and walked him back. The silence grew awkward when he stopped in front of the orphanage and he glared at them, daring them to say something about the place or him. There was no pity, only acceptance. And they ruffled his hair and waved goodbye with an invitation, 'We're usually at the courts on 1,3,5 around late afternoon to evening. Look for us if you want to play again.'

He cried himself to sleep that night, muffling sobs in his pillow, tiny hands clenching sides of the soft cotton. His parents were really gone.

- 1 year later -

'Hey Ryoma! Are you free tonight?' Joel jogged up to him, panting a little, looking harried and a little anxious.

Ryoma blinked. 'I guess. Why?'

'Great, can you stand in for Jack for a tennis match? He had a tiny accident this afternoon and won't be able to play.'

'Why can't you stand in for him?'

'Well, the match is really important and you have a better chance of winning. Please?'

'Whatever.' He shrugged.

Joel sighed in relief. At least now the boss won't kill Jack or him.

-oO-

Ryoma looked at the screaming crowd around them in the warehouse-like 'stadium', headlights shining on the tennis court in the middle of the stands like some grand finals match.

'Why are there so many people?'

'Erm, they are tennis enthusiasts,' Joel mumbled, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

'Seems like an important match. Are you sure I can just play for Jack?'

'Don't worry about it. If you can't win, he won't be able to do it either.'

'Seems unfair for his opponent,' Ryoma said idly, looking at the larger teen across the court who was warming up and stretching, with a serious look on his face.

'Just play your best. But uh, it's really important that you win.'

Ryoma stared at him pensively. Joel fidgeted and looked away.

'Ok,' he said finally, bending down to tie his shoelace and readjusted his cap. 'You owe me lots of Ponta after this.'

Joel laughed, a mix of relief and nervousness. 'Sure.'

The crowd jeered as he walked across the court and met his opponent at the net to spin for the right to serve first. He lost the toss. His opponent seemed overly confident, looking down at him from his greater height with a mumbled 'easy win'.

Ryoma smirked and turned back, walking to the receiver's position and standing in the ready position, racket held in front of him in his right hand.

A toss, the sound of impact and the ball sailed over the net. Mediocre serve, he thought as he returned the ball. To and fro it went, his opponent trying to place the ball away from him and him always managing to return it.

Wait for a mistake or end it fast?

5 minutes, 10, 15… the crowd was getting rowdy and impatient, shouting for either to score. Well, it was getting pretty boring.

Ryoma hit a fast return, aiming for the corner. It flashed past his opponent and bounced just before the boundary before he could even move. He smirked at the stunned expression on his opponent's face. That guy should not have been so arrogant earlier.

'15-love!'

What followed was in stark contrast to the first rally. The match ended in 10 minutes.

'Wow you totally trashed him!' said Joel, handing him a towel and a can of Ponta.

Ryoma smirked. 'He said it'd be an easy win, so I gave him an easy loss. Just stand there and watch the ball flash past.'

Joel laughed loudly, clapping his shoulder. 'Nice one.'

A man dressed in a business suit stopped behind Joel and studied him. Ryoma looked back unabashedly, taking in his blond hair, blue eyes, sharp nose, high cheekbones, and strong physique that hinted of regular exercise. The cut of his suit was impeccable, and out of place in this rowdy warehouse-like place. He's relatively young, probably mid-twenties to early-thirties.

'Hey Ryoma, what are you staring at?' Joel asked and turned around. He tensed minutely and said, with a smile that might pass for a grimace, 'Hi Boss.'

Ryoma raised an eyebrow. The side of the man's lips quirked upwards. One couldn't call it a smile.

'Hello Joel. Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?' the man asked pleasantly, still staring at Ryoma.

Joel's glances darted between them, looking like he wanted to find another way out, or maybe calculating how bad it would be if Ryoma was his usual bratty self to his boss. He exhaled and said, 'This is Ryoma. Ryoma, meet my boss, Tom.'

Tom extended his hand. 'Nice to meet you.'

Ryoma took his hand and murmured, 'Likewise.'

He released his grip but Tom held on to his hand. 'You're a very good tennis player. How old are you?'

'13,' he replied shortly.

'13 is a good age. So much potential.' The pad of his thumb rubbed the back of Ryoma's hand lightly.

Ryoma stared at him indifferently and said, 'Can I have my hand back?'

Joel's eyes widened and he looked torn between apologising profusely and dragging Ryoma away from his boss immediately. He should have known it would be very bad to bring Ryoma here, no matter how much he needed him to win the match.

Tom laughed and released his hand. 'Of course.

'Joel, can you give us a moment alone?'

Joel looked at Ryoma uncertainly, and flinched as Tom's glare sharpened.

'I'll be over there. Yell if you need anything,' he said, trying but failing to sound like he's joking.

Tom turned to Ryoma and smiled warmly but it didn't reach his eyes. 'I have a business proposition for you.'

'I'm not interested to be your boy toy.'

Tom looked startled for a moment before laughing softly. 'Interesting assertion.'

Ryoma folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head. 'Was I wrong?'

Tom paused, studying him keenly. 'No, but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. What do you think about playing more matches for me?'

'Not interested. I'm only helping a friend today.'

'You'll get a 10% cut of the profits, which can be a few thousand dollars per match. You'll have room and board at the mansion with the other boys if you want to move out of the orphanage. You'll have access to training facilities and coaches, and be reimbursed for tennis-related expenses. You'll also meet more challenging opponents.'

'What's the catch?'

'You'll have to play matches and achieve my desired result.'

Ryoma thought for a while. 'I don't trust you.'

Tom laughed. 'Of course not. Trust your friends then. Plus you'd make their lives much easier if you agree.'

Ryoma narrowed his eyes. 'Is that a threat?'

Tom spread his hands in a universal non-threatening gesture and shrugged. 'Think about it. Let me know your answer in a week.' He smiled, like the way businessmen smiled when they wanted you to think that whatever they're proposing is good for you but actually even better for them, and walked away briskly. A tall, well-built, tanned man in a suit, whom Ryoma didn't notice was there before, followed silently. The bulge at the side of his waist was noticeable.

Ryoma stared after them stonily and muttered, 'Che.'

-oO-

I have some idea of where I'm going with this but I'm not sure if anyone would be interested to read it. Let me know what you think. To continue or not? Because I've read stories where it's better to leave it as one-shot and don't want to make the same mistake. Thanks.

If you think I should continue, feel free to suggest ideas too.