Neverending Promise: (Fuji) Tennis no Oujisama (Syuusuke)
Neverending Promise: (Fuji) Tennis no Oujisama (Syuusuke)
A/N: text-flashbacks/thoughts/emphasized words
text-spoken in another language
text-written
Chapter Two: Encounter with the Juniors
"What's this?" Hayato asked, turning the open magazine which lay on Akari's desk. It was the current month's Pro Tennis Magazine issue.
"Joint Special. Back to the 80's. Japan's Golden Age," he read out loud. The article had some pictures of a man with long brown hair with a white band of cloth tied around his forehead.
"An article written by Innoue Mamoru," Akari said as she read over the article. "Don't you have to go to class?"
"You do too," he remarked and they both got ready.
The walk to school was silent, as usual, but both enjoyed the serenity of it. It was dark, but Akari was walking with her eyes half-closed. They separated and Akari went to her locker, after which she went to her classroom.
Almost everyone's head turned to see the new student who had entered their classroom. Lucky enough, there were only few, it being only six fifteen in the morning. The people were intrigued when they saw her. They had enough reason to be, honestly, for Akari's butt-length straight lavender hair was laid down, going over the sleeves of her gakuran male military-style uniform and framing her face.
"Is she a he or is he a she??" came across the room as she walked to the farthest corner, nearest the window, ignoring everybody else.
"Are you going to sign up for the tennis club?" Akari asked Hayato as the two walked with sling bags over their shoulders.
"Dance Club first," he replied. "You?"
"Same." Akari stopped in front of her locker and rummaged around, emerging with a tennis bag. Hayato's brow rose. With a sly smirk, Akari said, "Screening for Dance Club isn't till five."
"Echizen, Yamato, wait up," called someone from behind. Both stopped to see a brown-haired boy from Ryoma's class running to catch up with them. A school bag hung over his right shoulder while a tennis racquet in a jacket hung over his left. "You're the Echizen from my class and the Yamato from Class One, right? Are you joining the tennis club too?"
"Who are you?" Ryoma asked bluntly as both stared at him.
"I'm Horio," he replied in an arrogant voice after clearing his throat. "As you may know, this school is famous for its tennis. There are a lot of strong players. Even though I look like this, I have two years of tennis experience."
"Hey, wait up!" he called when he saw that he was talking to nobody and that the two other freshmen were already at the courts, and ran to catch up.
'I wonder what's wrong with them,' Horio thought as he watched Yamato and Ryoma walking with their eyes closed.
"Oops." The two boys opened their eyes to see a tall boy with spiky black hair and violet eyes. "If you don't look where you're going, you're going to hit someone"
'I think that's one of the…Hm…' Yamato thought as he and Ryoma stared at the guy in front.
"That's a big bag you're carrying." He frowned. "I don't like your look. But since you both are freshmen, I'll let it pass this time."
'Uh-huh…' Yamato was almost rolling his eyes mentally.
"Look in front when you walk," he waved as he walked to the school building, the smile back on his face.
"It's just like Seigaku to have nice facilities," Horio said suddenly. "Let's go sign up now."
"You can't." The three freshmen looked and found two other freshmen near the entrance of the first block of courts. Both were wearing identical white shirts and red shorts.
"The Juniors and Seniors have a game with another school," the taller boy with his black hair cropped short.
"Sign up begins tomorrow," said the other shorter one with longer black hair. He was kneeling next to his bag, putting out some tennis balls. "Most freshmen have already left, but we want to hit some balls before we go."
"Damn, this sucks," Horio sighed.
"Hey, are you guys going to join our club?" a junior with medium brown hair and tanned skin asked. He was in a blue tennis jersey, with a white shirt underneath, and white shorts. Standing next to him was a slightly taller guy with bluish hair, also wearing the jersey, but with matching pants.
"Ah hello," Horio and the two other boys said. They all bowed at the same time to the two older boys standing inside the court.
"I'm Mizuno Katsuo, a freshman," the taller boy from earlier said.
"Kachiro Katou," said the other.
"I'm Horio Satoshi," he said, scratching the back of his head as he smiled to the two older boys. "I'm honored to be able to join a tennis club as renowned as Seigaku's. I have two years of tennis experience."
"You two over there…What are your names?" the boy with bluish hair asked. Ryoma and Yamato stood there, unresponsive and only eyeing the brown-haired boy. Annoyed, the inquirer yelled, "Hey! Can't you hear me?"
"It's okay," the boy with brown hair said, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We know a good game. Want to try it?"
"Game?"
"You mean that?" blue-haired one asked. When he saw the look on his companion's face, he ushered the three freshmen into the court, saying, "Right, right. You have to play that."
"The rules are simple. You serve from over there and try to hit this can with only ten attempts," the brown-haired one explained. He placed a can near the service line. "The prize money is one thousand yen. Well, it's like a sign-up ritual."
"Tryout fee is two hundred yen per person. Want to try it?" coaxed the other one.
"Of course we'll do it!" the three boys exclaimed eagerly. "Senpai's please allow us to try it out."
"That's the spirit!" the russet-haired boy said, turning around and smirking as he and his companion quietly laughed.
Yamato and Ryoma were at the sidelines, watching, with the former standing, his hands in his pockets, and the latter leaning wordlessly against the fence.
"You guys really suck," Horio said as he stepped up to the baseline confidently.
"You can say that, but this is our first try at tennis," Katsuo said, he and Kachiro bending over in exhaustion and disappointment. Both had finished serving ten balls, none even managing to touch the can.
"We can't hit such a small thing with only ten balls," Kachiro piped up.
"I, Horio, with two years of tennis experience, will now try," he announced, then having changed from his school uniform to a vibrant green shirt with orange accents and red shorts.
"It's not supposed to be like this," he said when his third ball flew above the can, as his other shots had.
The two other freshmen just watched, both having something in common. Horio had hit nine of his balls, and his last one grazed just the top of the can, not moving it.
"Too bad," the brown-haired junior said as he got off from the umpire's seat.
"That was difficult after all," Horio said, scratching the back of his head. He dug into his pocket, took out some coins and held them out to the older boys, as the other freshmen were doing. "So the tryout fee was two hundred yen."
"Huh? Maybe you guys misunderstood," said the taller one.
"Knock-the-Can-Down Serve Game." One of them turned the can around, revealing a slip of paper taped to the side. Smirking, he read, "One hundred yen per ball, two hundred tryout fee. Together, that's one thousand two hundred yen."
"What! We don't have that kind of money!" the three freshmen exclaimed.
"You two over there…" the brown-haired called with a smirk on his face. "…You should both try this too."
"Don't you think you can save them?" taunted the other one.
"Sure, I'll do it," Ryoma said as he stood up. Yamato was doing the same thing. The two walked over to their tennis bags and produced their respective racquets.
The three other freshmen watched their saviors in mild amusement. Yamato was around 160 centimeters tall five feet, three inches which made him seem more like a short senior than a freshman. He was in black shorts and a blue-accented white shirt. His legs and arms were wrapped in white arm warmers think Sasuke style and his blue cap had an "R" embossed on it. Ryoma was shorter, just right for his age, in black shorts and a red-accented white shirt, his white cap also with an "R" on it.
The brown-haired junior produced another can and waited smugly as the two prepared to hit the target. Yamato went to the baseline, twirling his white-and-blue racquet repeatedly, the black grip creating a sort of illusion. Ryoma was standing beside him on the other half of the court, gripping his red racquet on its black grip.
"Don't do it Echizen, Yamato!" Horio warned. "You'll never hit it."
"You can't knock it down if you aimed directly at the can," Ryoma said.
"Wh…What do you mean?" the brown-haired junior asked. A drop of sweat rolled down his cheek.
"There are rocks in there, right?" Yamato asked, having spoken for the first time since his arrival. He threw the ball upwards and hit it with precision. The green ball hit the lid of Yamato's designated can, making it topple over and revealing the rocks inside.
"Sugoi! He can hit the top of the can with pinpoint accuracy!" Katsuo said in amazement.
"Ah! The senpai's cheated!" Horio yelled.
Yamato twirled the racquet around his hand a few more times before getting out of the court. Ryoma served his ball without any effort. H repeated it a few more times, shocking the others.
"If I can hit the can one hundred times, then you'll owe me one hundred thousand yen, right?" Ryoma taunted as he got ready to give another serve. He hit the can about five more times before he was stopped.
"How can you use that tone to a junior?" the blue-haired one said.
"Just because you were born a year earlier, doesn't mean you can do something like this." Ryoma got ready to serve again when a ball suddenly flew by, hitting the can right in the middle. When it did, it left a large dent and sent the ball flying to the fence.
"Oh, I hit it, lucky," came a familiar voice.
"Oh, the guy from before," Horio said.
"Hey, Arai, just because the seniors aren't here, doesn't mean you can bully the new freshmen," the spiky-haired boy with violet eyes said.
"Mo…Momo…something came up so I'll be leaving first," Arai stuttered as he scrambled away.
"Hey, who said you could go?" the Momo guy asked. Arai faced him before taking another step back.
"Yup it's him, Ryoma," Sakuno said as she was pulled by someone, with two adults following them. "And it's the other guy from the tournament."
"So cool!" the other girl muttered. "Sakuno, who is that? Introduce him!"
"Oh…This is Echizen Ryoma," Sakuno said. "And the other one, from the tournament…I think his name was Yamato…Yes, Yamato something."
"Heh, so you're Echizen Ryoma? Much smaller than I thought," the junior with violet orbs jibed. "And who might this be?"
"Who are you?" Ryoma asked, his voice tinged with slight annoyance.
"Second Year, Momoshiro Takeshi," he announced. "I heard from Ryuzaki-sensei that you could use the Twist Serve. And just recently, she couldn't stop talking about another guy she saw at the Seniors Tournament. Was that you?"
"You won't know if you don't see for yourself," Yamato said in an unreadable voice.
'Geez, why does he have such a cold voice and a stoic face? It's almost unnerving!' Momoshiro thought, smirking to cover his real thoughts.
"So how about it?" Ryoma asked, a slight smirk playing on his lips.
"I'll crush you both," Momoshiro said confidently.
"It'll be a handicap match. You and Echizen against me, okay?" Momoshiro asked.
"No." Momoshiro raised his brow at Yamato's reply. "I don't play Doubles."
"Fine then, I'll play against each of you, one on one," Momoshiro shrugged. He turned to Ryoma as Yamato exited the court. "Which?"
"Smooth."
"Which? Smooth?" Katsuo and Kachiro asked, confused at the two vocabularies.
"That's why I don't like beginners," Horio said arrogantly. Holding up his racquet for demonstration, he explained, "Those are terms used to determine who serves first. If the grip faces right side up, it's called smooth. If it faces down side up, it's called rough."
"Too bad, it's rough," Momoshiro said. "Well, I'll let you serve, but I'll take this court."
"Momoshiro-senpai, don't you want to serve first?" Horio asked loudly. "You won the toss."
"I want to see the Twist Serve right away," the elder replied.
"Momoshiro-senpai, you're so cool!"
"Call me Momo-chan," Momoshiro said with a welcome note.
"I can't call you that! Can I be the umpire?"
"Go ahead," Momoshiro answered.
Horio eagerly climbed up the ladder and sat on the chair. Clearing his throat, he began. "Er…and now, the game between Momoshiro-senpai and Echizen will begin. The referee will be me, Horio, who has two years of tennis experience."
"Forget about all that and begin the game!" yelled the annoying girl from outside the courts.
"So now, Best-of-One-Set Match. Echizen to serve," Horio announced.
"Out," Momoshiro called as Ryoma's first serve landed just outside the service box. The senpai held out his racquet and pointed it at Ryoma. "I don't' want any slice serves. Don't hold out on me."
"No," came Ryoma's blunt reply.
"Arrogant brat," Momoshiro mused.
Obliging to his senpai's request, Ryoma crossed his right foot over his left, leaned to his right, jumped and served. The ball flew over the net, stopping right before Momoshiro, flying up and knocking Momoshiro's racquet from his hand.
"Scary, scary." Momoshiro leaned over to pick up his racquet. He walked to the net and crouched down in a ready position. "Caught me off guard."
"Are you okay?" Ryoma asked, smirking slightly and causing his senpai to frown. "You're sweating."
"Fifteen-Love," Horio called from the umpire chair.
Ryoma bounced the ball a few times and performed the Twist Serve again.
"Thirty-Love, Echizen leading."
Ryoma served again. As soon as the ball touched Ryoma's racquet, Momoshiro rushed to the net and hit the serve right after it bounced. It bounced once over the net before falling over on Ryoma's side. Ryoma ran and got it before it bounced again.
"Out," Momoshiro called.
"Thirty-Fifteen, Echizen leading."
"He returned the serve," said an amazed Katsuo.
Ryoma went to the other side and served. A rally started, the ball constantly being hit back and forth. Ryoma ended it by suddenly hitting a drop volley right before the net.
"Drop volley," Momoshiro muttered as he fell down. "You can do that too?"
"Forty-Fifteen, Echizen leading."
"Mada mada dane," Ryoma smirked and transferred his racquet to his left hand.
"Time out," Momoshiro said just before Ryoma threw the ball up. Waving his hand, he said, "I quit. It's over. I'll let you go, for now."
"Doesn't matter to me," Ryoma said as he walked out of the court, putting his gakuran over his tennis outfit.
"That was great!" Horio exclaimed as he stood in front of Ryoma, trying to see inside his bag.
"I was very surprised," came Kachiro, who was standing next to him.
"Echizen, what clubs do you train at?" Horio asked.
Ryoma looked up at them, and replied in a monotonous voice, "Temple."
"Temple?" the three boys chorused.
"Wait, Tomo-chan," Sakuno said as the annoying girl pulled her into the court.
"Good to make your acquaintance," Tomoko said, bowing to Ryoma. "I'm friends with Ryuzaki Sakuno. My name is Osakada Tomoka. Nice to meet you."
"He…Hello Ryoma-kun," Sakuno stuttered, blushing. "I'm sorry about last time."
"Ryuzaki Sakuno?" Ryoma blinked. "Who's that?"
"You don't remember?" Sakuno's face turned red from embarrassment.
"Next?" Momoshiro was looking expectantly at Yamato.
Yamato let his gaze rest on him for a while. "Sorry. I generally don't play with injured people."
With that, he made his exit, nine pairs of eyes trailing on him.
"Are you okay with this, Momoshiro?" the old woman asked.
"Ah, Ryuzaki-sensei," he said, slightly shocked that she could appear in so many places.
"At this rate, the freshmen will have run all over you," Sakuno's grandmother said. "What more if you played them both?"
"You could be right," Momoshiro replied, scratching the back of his head.
"Be serious," his coach said, crossing her arms over her chest. "If your right foot wasn't sprained, you could've—"
"Nope. They both knew from the start," Momoshiro said. "That's why the other one refused to play with me."
"Really?" Ryuzaki mused.
"One used his other hand to play a senpai," he said. "How scary. What's his name again?"
"Echizen Ryoma," Ryuzaki said for the hundredth time.
"No, I meant the other one."
"He's…I think his files said his name is Yamato Rai."
"Scary, scary," Momoshiro said, placing his racquet over his shoulder before walking away.
Rai walked along a deserted street. He was nearing a narrow alley when something caught his attention.
"Hey you!"
He stopped but did not turn. A group of high school students had been following him since he got off the bullet train. Also, Rai noticed that all four of them had been his opponents in another tennis competition, held days after the one with Sasabe.
"You there." One of them stepped forward, his voice gruff. "You short little kid. You took what was ours!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Rai said as he saw another group of boys walking around the corner. "Neither do I know who you are."
The other group farther away was a group of six junior high students. From Seigaku. In tennis jerseys. Rai's face showed sheer indifference and nonchalance as he looked straight ahead, in the direction of the junior highs.
"Should we do something?" a red-head with a cat-like face asked.
"Not until we know what this is about," another, one with thick black-rimmed glasses, said.
"Don't give me that hit!" Finally, Rai turned his head to see the high school kids seething with rage. "You must've cheated to win my trophy!"
The exasperation was not seen on his face, but Rai said, as uncaring as possible, "There are really those who think they're the best in everything in the world, and think they possess everything. If the trophy was yours, then there'd be no need for a contest."
"I got it last year!" he raged "You must have bribed the umpires!"
Rai faced front again. "How would bribing an umpire affect the direction that the ball goes?"
He started walking until he felt a hand gripping his shoulder. Honestly, the grip wasn't firm enough. For Rai, it was slack.
"Let go." Rai's voice was positively lower and silkier, in short, dangerous.
"Give it to me."
"I said. Let go." When he did not respond, Rai repeated. "I said let go so let go."
"Give it." The guy's slack grip tightened ever so slightly.
"Last warning. Let go."
"Give me. The damn. Trophy!"
The high school guy drew back his fist and aimed a punch at Rai. His fist hit nothing but air. All Rai did was tilt his body thirty degrees to the left. The guy gave another punch…And another, and another, and another. Not once did his skin even touch Rai's. Not once did he get hit. Not once did he step away from his spot.
"His reflexes and flexibility are remarkable," the one with thick glasses said.
One of his comrades sneaked up on Rai. He looked at the oncoming attacker from the corner of his eye, having felt, seen, and heard him. The attacker aimed a punch at him at the same time their 'leader' did. Rai smirked. The two punches were from opposite directions. He could hit two birds without a stone. He ducked at the last moment, allowing the two older students to punch each other.
"The little…!"
All four charged and attacked Rai. Well, tried to, anyway. All they kept hitting were air and themselves. Upon seeing that they did not plan on stopping, Rai seceded to switch from the defensive to the offensive. The next unfortunate man that punched had his wrist grabbed and was thrown across the large rectangular garbage bin. A few others followed, leaving the leader.
"Wow," the redhead muttered. "This guy's good!"
A feminine-looking boy with an ever-present smile nodded. "Have any of you noticed that he hasn't moved from his spot since a while ago?"
"Eh? You're right!" one with a weird bowl-shaped hairdo exclaimed. One of the guys hauled himself out of the garbage bin, a broken beer bottle in hand. "Look out!"
They really did not need to say it. Rai was ready even before the assailant charged at him. When he was a few feet from him, Rai gave him a single forty-five degree kick. His body arched and his feet rose an inch or so from the ground, as the bottle flew from his hands. Rai let the kick reverberate for a while, letting him feel the pain, before giving him another. That one made the guy fly back into the garbage bin. The bottle flew in a small arc, landed behind Rai's left foot and smashed into pieces. More than seven shards of glass pierced through his skin and leg warmers. Their leader looked at Rai's injury, grinning like a maniac. But when he saw the latter's unemotional face, void of all emotion, pain included, he freaked out.
But since there were witnesses, he tried to finish his business with one last punch. When the guy was about three meters from him, Rai let the strap of his tennis bag slip down his arm and threw it upward. The battle cry the guy let out was cut short when Rai's foot connected with his gut. The high school student flew forward.
"You're out of luck," Rai whispered in his ear. "My patience is very short today."
With that, Rai hit him with an outstretched palm, his thumb tucked in. The high school guy was sent flying into the bin's interior, with the lid banging close after his entry.
Just in time, Rai caught his bag by stretching his left arm. The strap rested on his shoulder as if he had slung it there.
Rai walked toward the Seigaku regulars, inevitable since that was his route, stopped, looked at every one of them, bowed and left.
Like a while ago, six pairs of eyes trailed on Rai until he turned the bend.
The redhead was first to snap out of it. "His leg."
"Huh?" the others asked. Just then, it started raining.
"Wha…! Let's split!" he said suddenly, already getting drenched. "I don't want to get wet!"
They did and ran in different directions.
The brown-haired boy was going home when he saw a familiar raven-haired boy sitting in a corner of the road, plucking out glass shards from his leg. The water surrounding him was mixed with his blood. Rai was surprised when he held out a beige handkerchief and tied it around the worst wound.
"Can you go home on your own?" he asked. Rai nodded. "My name's Fuji. Fuji Shuusuke. What's yours?"
"A—" Rai cut himself off. He pulled down his cap and said in a monotonous voice, "Yamato Rai."