A/N: Alrighty, the next chapter is done! Whew! For now, it's following the timeline of the actual series quite closely, but as we get into the next few chapters, I assure you it'll start varying it up a bit. Hehehe. We see the beginnings of a pairing here, but not much – just the teasers. Ohoho. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and I'd really appreciate some more feedback on this chapter, too – just because I usually write canonOC stories, so this is a little out of my element. But I'm trying! Hehe.
This chapter is dedicated to my friend LAHDOLPHIN, who has some of the most bloody amazing Prince of Tennis fics – including a Hiyoshi/maleOC fic, 'Seducing the Mushroom King,' which is seriously to die for. HAHAHA. Go check out her profile here (and don't forget to delete all the spaces): fanfiction ( DOT NET ) (FORWARD SLASH ) u (FORWARD SLASH) 1708315 (FORWARD SLASH ) Lahdolphin
UPDATES: I've actually updated the first chapter a little bit, because I was in a rush, rather, when I first wrote it - so go reread it, yeah? A few little details and descriptions added here and there. Hehe.
Disclaimer: I do not own PoT.
Fuji Shusuke was a genius.
Or so the tabloids said.
One in a millennium, they called him – another one of the formidable monsters that were going to take Seishun Gakuen straight to the top this year; a prodigy, a tensai. People saw Fuji and they saw beauty, elegance, and a sort of charm that one didn't often encounter – the sort of charm that worked its magic so discreetly one didn't even notice it whirring away, until it had settled directly in one's heart and made itself a permanent resident.
For those who actually knew Fuji knew that he was so, so much more than that.
They know he was a sadistic bastard, one that could only be defined by the laws of inhuman strangeness, one who preferred cacti to roses, wasabi to actual sushi. No one ever really understood Fuji, nor understood what interested this boy; he was bored with the things that usually shocked the world, and found his interest instead in things that most people didn't dare touch.
Tezuka Kunimitsu himself would vouch for the boy's certified insanity and intense bouts of quirkiness, and Tezuka didn't make such statements often. Inui Sadaharu, though, would simply tell you that Fuji was quite the nice friend, because he was the one person who wasn't immediately slaughtered by one of his 'batches.' He, as Inui would neatly state, was one who knew how to appreciate the finer drinks in life, never mind Kikumaru's outraged shrieks of 'Those aren't drinks.'
Needless to say, when one caught Fuji's interest, one was better off disguising oneself as the opposite gender and leap into the next boat overseas.
As fate would have it, that day in the battle fields, Echizen Ryoma had piqued Fuji's interest.
And god help him, Tezuka silently added.
Ryoma didn't really know why he joined the battle team at Seigaku – his match with the senpai known as 'Momoshiro' had been interesting, but not really enough to have him take the initiative to join a team. Ryoma, after all, wasn't much of a team player, and the world would fall at the seams if he ever deigned to play a doubles match. His Pikachu didn't know how to share the field with other pokemon well unless it was charging towards it with fangs bared and claws outreached in an effort to defeat it, either.
Like trainer, like pokemon.
But he supposed it was something that the old hag- er. Ryuzaki-sensei had said. He had to be careful, Ryoma noted, not to slip and call her what he'd mostly gotten used to thinking of her as from all the stories Oyaji told him, all of which pertained to her as the 'devilish old hag.'
"I can see your father's blood in you boy," she'd said. And for a moment, Ryoma had felt a flash of irritation, because who wanted to be related to that lecherous, skirt-chasing perve? His mother had made a bad choice when she decided to accept that monk into her life.
"You know, Ryoma – he's been waiting his whole life for someone who could beat him, but he never really found that person. And finally, he gave up, and you were born."
Ryoma had paused.
"When he saw you for the first time, do you want to know what he said to me?"
No-
"He said- 'Old hag, I'm tired of waiting for my rival – don't you think it's time I raised one?'"
Golden irises widened.
"He's been waiting all this time, and then he found you."
Sumire's lips quirk into a sly smile.
"Who'd have known?"
The next morning, before he even knew what he was doing, he'd turned in an official sign-up form to a smug Ryuzaki Sumire, who barely concealed her budding grin of triumph. Ryuzaki-sensei had slapped his back with a hearty laugh (which bordered on manic enthusiasm that he didn't really understand), and Ryoma had simply tugged on his hat with a quiet 'mada mada dane.'
And as Ryoma left, he could swear he heard the words 'Sakaki, watch your damn back, because I'll show you what senile looks like.'
"Nya! Did you hear? That first-year joined the club!"
"Eiji, you'll hurt yourself if you jump around too much- and oh? The one Momo battled yesterday?"
"Man, that freshman was something else – that arrogance and smirk, and all-"
"Fshuuuu…you're just a weak disgrace, peach-head."
"What'd you say?!"
"You heard me, idiot."
"You're the bastard who looks like a cross between a terrorist and a stupid snake-"
"A-Ah, you guys, don't fight-"
"Here, Taka-san."
"OH! BURNING! TAKE DOWN THAT FRESHMAN IN A REMATCH WITH A BURNING PASSION-"
"Probability of the freshman making the regulars: 5 percent; after all, first-years aren't in the ranking matches."
"Nya? Then why the five percent, Sada?"
"Saa… Inui's never been wrong, has he?"
"Enough. Resume practice. Yudan sezu ni ikou-"
"Pretty words for someone who was caught necking it with Hyotei's Emperor the other day-"
"NYA?!"
"OH, BURNING LOVE!"
"Shusuke! Must you provoke him so-"
"That is enough." A cough. "Practice is in session."
"I thought it was strange that Momo-senpai was doing so badly yesterday – turns out, his Mankey's arm was sprained with some broken equipment the other week!"
"Hehhhhh."
"Oi- are you listening, Echizen?"
The loudmouth boy (as Ryoma had labeled him, because learning his name was a little troublesome) looked down at Ryoma with something that could only be described as smug arrogance in his eyes. Funny look, Ryoma noted, for someone who had huddled in fear at Arai's teasing game the other day. But Ryoma only resumed tying his shoes with a noncommittal 'hm?' and he could tell that the lack of interest annoyed Horio.
"No matter – I guess it just shows that a freshman can't be as good as a regular."
Ryoma continued to tie his shoes.
"Ah – did you guys know? Yesterday, a fighting type against an electric type was a null matchup? There are specific type advantages and disadvantages that can really sway the outcome of a match!" Horio exclaimed, bringing up an expert finger to accentuate his point.
Once again, the small group of freshmen ooh'ed at his knowledge.
"You're really cool, Horio!"
Horio flushed a happy, embarrassingly bright red. "Well, it's just- common knowledge, you know? I have two years of battling experience! Who knows, maybe I'll even be a regular."
Ryoma tightened up the knot on his shoe and got up.
Sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine, ninety-
Ryoma counted off silently in his head as his upper body curled lithely up and down, and he could feel his muscles fall into that comfortable ache of a good work-out. The first-years around him, though, apparently didn't share the idea, for groans and pants could be heard from throughout the grounds. Ryoma spared one of them a disinterested glance, and fought the urge to smirk at the whining mess he found.
Two years of pokemon training experience, it seemed, didn't do much when it came to basic exercises, did it? Ryoma had met a group of particularly annoying first-years that day, but he was never one to be anything more than passive; they clumped around with him, because apparently that was what freshmen did: huddle together in frightened little cliques.
The fence doors to the grounds swung open, then, and five boys walked in through the doors. Again, murmurs filled the air, and Ryoma paused to wonder if it was really that interesting to talk about the same people every time they entered the area.
"Alright, freshmen! Feel free to pick a rectangle and try sparring with some of the club pokemon; we want everyone to have a hand at battling," the one at the front proclaimed, clapping his hands with a gentle smile. Two locks of hair formed mirror crescent moons on his forehead, and the rest of his head, Ryoma saw, was rather…smoothly almost-bald-but-not-really.
Funny hair.
At his words, though, the entire area erupted into fierce cheers and a mad shuffle as freshmen darted up off the ground and headed towards where the club's practice pokemon were kept. Ryoma winced and shifted over as a part of the stampede rushed past him, too, and barely managed to avoid the flurry of feet as they passed.
From beside him, Horio – the one with two whole years of battling experience – and Katsuo and Kachiro, too, got up, excitement in their expressions.
"That must be Tezuka-buchou!" Horio comments, and the other two freshman fawn over his words.
"Hey, Oishi – why don't we go over there to practice, too?" a softer voice calls out to 'Oishi,' and Kachiro and Katsuo hands Horio a deadpan look. Horio laughs sheepishly.
Before any of them could say a word, though, the sight of the regulars practicing has them in a spellbound hold.
Whoosh. Thump.
Whoosh. Thump.
Whoosh. Thump.
Oishi stands at the far end of one of the rectangles, and a large crescent-shaped pokemon hovers just beside him: Lunatone. From beside the trainer and Pokemon, a large steel bin container is stood, filled to the brim with small, metallic disks: training material, something Inui had developed in order to aid in both defense and offense training. And in times like these, accuracy.
A basket stood a few feet away from Oishi.
Oishi tossed one of the disks in the air, and Lunatone hovered it forward in a beam of blue light: Psybeam. Whoosh.
"Swellow," a soft voice orders.
Ryoma's eyes flit to the owner and catches a glimpse of honey-brown locks and an eternal smile imprinted on fair lips.
The bird pokemon dashes forward, wings outstretched and glimmering silver; it rams straight into the floating disk, and hits it straight into the basket.
Thump.
Lunatone hurtles another disk forward-
"Aipom, nya!"
A purple monkey-like creature darts forward, and with its hand-shaped tail, punches the disk-
-right into the basket again. Thump.
Horio, Katsuo, Kachiro – and all the other freshmen – stare, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Horio's eyes don't stop widening until Ryoma wonders if it's possible for the skin around one's eyes to actually tear from one's eyes growing uncharacteristically big, and then- "No matter where he levitates it-"
Thump.
"They're hitting it all-"
Thump.
"-into the basket," Horio breathes weakly.
Thump, thump, thump.
"Seviper- fshuuuuu," and a viper-like, shimmering black snake springs forward from a coil; the red tail nearly punctures straight through the disk, and it careens into the basket.
Thump.
"I've never seen accuracy practice like this!"
"So this is the skill of the Seigaku regulars…"
The freshmen have erupted into a sea of awed murmurs and exclamations. Off to the side, Arai and the second-year members look oddly proud of the regular members, as though it were their pokemon making it into the baskets, and not the regulars. "Our senpai are great, as usual," Arai murmurs, not without a swell of pride, and turns to look condescendingly upon Ryoma. "Do you see now, freshman? Don't get so cocky just because you managed to hold your own against an injured Momo."
Ryoma only watches his Pikachu do little entertaining flips in the air, eyes occasionally flitting to the regulars' practice in half-interest.
Arai starts in a flash of burning irritation at this disrespectful, damned freshman-
"Ah! Crap, too far!" Oishi exclaims, just as Lunatone sent a training disk flying far, far, over at least the span of three rectangles-
Ryoma looks up.
The disk is heading straight down, down, right for where he's standing-
-but moving's a bit of a chore. So instead, Ryoma tugs on his cap lightly, and intones: "Pikachu."
The yellow pokemon scampered up his leg, back, until it's reached his shoulder, whereupon it launches itself into the air. With an adorable exclamation of 'Pika pika!,' the rat flies directly at the training disk, and Pikachu's tail has already begun to glow a bright, blinding silver-
Clang!
Pikachu's tail slammed against the training disk, and sent it flying back-
-over the three battle fields-
-hurtling past Fuji's head, barely brushing against his hair; the boy's blue eyes have opened slightly-
-and straight into the basket.
Thwump.
For a moment, the grounds are frozen in activity, with all eyes – some bulging, some awed, some amused, some glinting behind a pair of calculating glasses – trained on the small form of Ryoma, who's only concern is patting Pikachu on the head. The silence is broken when Horio drops the pokeball he'd been holding from his limp hands, mouth open in a gaping hole.
"It's surprisingly simple," Ryoma drawls.
Arai darts forward in a surprising display of speed, fueled by his exasperation and annoyance at this freshman. "Don't get so arrogant, little brat!" he roars, enraged, and grips violently at the front of Ryoma's shirt. The smaller boy looks up at him through bored golden eyes-
-and for a moment, Arai feels his breath constricting in his chest at the gleam in those eyes.
"What are you arguing about on the battle grounds?"
Gazes snap to the gates, now, to find Tezuka Kunimitsu's imposing figure at the doorway. "Captain!" everyone erupts into a respectful greeting and bow, but Tezuka's eyes are fixed on Ryoma and Arai.
"Ten laps around the grounds for disrupting practice."
Arai looks crestfallen. Almost like, Ryoma quietly snickers, like a girl being scolded by her crush. "But- he started it-"
Ryoma wants to roll his eyes. Right. He walked on over and put Arai's hand on his neat shirt, and made Arai scream his head off like an idiot. Right.
But Tezuka's having none of that, for he commands: "Twenty laps."
Ryoma sighs and withdraws his Pikachu. "Che," he mutters, and jogs lazily, fluidly off, past Arai and Tezuka and begins running his laps around the grounds; he wasn't going to wait around for Arai to open his stupid mouth and get them more laps.
From across the grounds, Fuji's interested blue gaze follows Ryoma as he runs.
"This annoying brat…"
"What's up, Arai?"
A shuffle.
"Ah – isn't that that freshman's bag?"
"Yeah."
"Woah – four custom pokeballs?"
"His arrogance is really getting on my nerves – I think it's time his senpai taught him a lesson."
"Ah, Arai, you know if you get caught, Tezuka-buchou's not gonna let you off easy-"
"Relax, idiot. It's no big deal. Just a little lesson on knowing to respect your seniors."
Ryoma jogged tirelessly back into the original area he'd started off in, and found the rest of the freshmen commanding out basic attacks to their pokemon. He found Horio with his rattata, and Katsuo and Kachiro with other pokemon on loan from the club; the pokemon darted around a small area as the three issued out wary, tentative orders – ones they'd learned from the beginners' textbook in class the other day.
"Ah, Echizen – you're done running your laps already?"
"Hn." Ryoma tugged on his cap ligtly.
"We're practicing basic commands – hurry up and join us; the freshmen have to try out 100 commands for practice on how to order pokemon," Katsuo explained kindly.
Ryoma walked over to the bench, and upon reaching it, paused in mild confusion. He was sure he'd left his bag here – he wasn't the forgetful one. Golden eyes scanned the premises quickly-
-until raucous, obnoxious laughter filled his ears.
Ryoma's gaze drifted to a spot a few paces away, where he found Arai, flanked by his two second-year henchmen.
"Didn't bring your pokeball with you? A little arrogant, aren't we?" Arai's annoying voice chuckles, and Ryoma's eyes narrow slightly.
"If you're confident, why don't you face me now? Though you don't have your precious pokeballs now."
Ryoma just wants to go back hope and sleep.
"Here, Arai," and one of the second-years tossed him a worn pokeball – one of the Pokemon that the club owned, though really, no one ever wanted to use it. Arai took it, and lobbed it over to Ryoma, who caught it in a deft display of innate reflexes.
"Here, take this extra one."
Out of simple curiosity, Ryoma released it – and found a tiny, green worm-like creature staring back through wide, wide eyes.
"Ah! A caterpie!" Horio's loud, obnoxious voice cut through his thoughts. "You can't possibly battle with that-"
"What's wrong? Won't face me?" Arai's voice interrupted, again, and Ryoma barely suppressed a twitch of his brow with a sigh.
"Arai's making trouble with the freshmen again, nya," Eiji observes, arms slung around Eiji once more.
"Should we stop them?" Inui asks, hardly looking up from his notebook; it's easy to tell that no one really minds enough to put an end to it.
Eiji only shrugged with a sigh, an exasperated 'what-will-we-do-with-him' expression on his features. "He's only gonna get scolded when Tezuka comes back."
Only the 'scritch-scratch' of Inui's pen answered.
"That pokemon suits you perfectly, freshman – take this as a warning and don't make trouble again."
Ryoma wants to point out that he's not really the one instigating all these fights.
"Just then, maybe your precious pokemon will show up."
Golden eyes narrow.
"Alright. Let's go," Ryoma answers quietly.
Arai stops dead in his tracks. He turns around with a bewildered gaze that tells Ryoma that he hadn't really been expecting to be taken up in his challenge, and Ryoma wants to roll his eyes – what's with all the trouble of getting him riled up without actually expecting a match?
He really didn't understand these people sometimes.
"What?" Arai asks, dumbfounded, a stupid look on his face.
Ryoma's lips curve into a smirk.
"Come on, senpai – unless you're afraid?"
Arai splutters.
"Hmm…" Fuji has his hand poised elegantly over his chin, eyes closed in that deceptively pretty smile of his. Kaidoh looks up in faint interest, though he's more concerned with Seviper's next training set; from beside them, Taka glances at the field in worry.
"Maybe we should stop them?"
Fuji's smile widens. "No – I want to see where this goes."
Inui looks up, and his lips part slightly when he sees that dangerous gleam in Fuji's eyes.
Piquing Fuji's interest never bode well for anyone.
"Raticate – tackle!" Even Arai's commands are in that overly-loud, self-righteous voice, and Ryoma almost winces at the lack of finesse in his battle style. But he couldn't really talk about finesse at the moment, not when he had a caterpie crawling around in front of his own trainer's box.
"Caterpie, dodge," Ryoma commands back in a calm, cool voice, that has some of the freshmen marveling at his attitude.
But Caterpie, try as it might, couldn't obey Ryoma's command – for he'd ordered Caterpie on the witless assumption that it had the same speed, the same capability as his Pikachu, and it obviously didn't. Raticate barreled into Caterpie, managing to strike a hit on its side, and the green bug was rolling off a few feet.
Ryoma nearly cringed.
Arai's answering grin was insufferable.
"Tackle," Ryoma tries again-
-to no avail.
Caterpie slugged on forward, and Arai's burlier Raticate stares it down, sending a glance to its owner in a silent message: Are you serious?
"Paw at it, Raticate," Arai manages to shout over his glee, and the rat does just that; it paws at the Caterpie in half-amusement, half annoyance.
Caterpie went sprawling again.
Ryoma is surprised that it can even crawl up once more.
"As I thought – it's impossible with that Pokemon," the voice of Horio is unmistakable. Unhelpful, as always.
"…String shot." Caterpie, this time, moves with alarming speed, and shoots out a white string of something; it flies harmlessly onto the metal fence behind the raticate.
Arai bursts into boisterous laughter.
"Hmm…" Ryoma stares speculatively at the Raticate, then at Caterpie.
"Caterpie, string shot again," Ryoma orders, directing it in a certain direction; Caterpie fires off the attack, though Raticate easily maneuvers out of the way. Arai's triumphant grin is almost too much to bear, but Ryoma ignores it with another "String shot."
"String shot."
Whoosh.
"String shot."
Whoosh. Dodge.
"String shot."
Whoosh.
"String shot."
Woosh.
Arai frowned – was that freshman stupid, or had he just given up, entirely? He must know by now that none of the string shots would actually manage to catch Raticate; perhaps, he realized with growing glee, this was that brat's way of dealing with resignation.
He'd teach that freshman to mess with his seniors-
"String shot."
Woosh.
"Raticate – time to finish it up; tackle!" Arai commands, an eager finger jabbed towards the bug pokemon.
The brown pokemon rushes into the attack, fangs bared, and Ryoma hardly raises a brow; in fact, he doesn't do anything at all. Caterpie remained still without Ryoma's command to guide him, and Ryoma stood with his hands calmly at his sides, without ever making a motion to order the Pokemon in front of him.
From the sidelines, Horio wonders if Echizen's just completely given up.
Fuji's smile widens – because from his vantage point, he can see the entire picture.
"Caterpie- string shot," Ryoma commands suddenly, and the pokemon darts into action: a stream of thick white netting is shot forward, directly into the Raticate, which had been lunging for Caterpie. It's given no time to change direction, and instead, is caught off guard, sent stumbling back-
-Arai laughs at the pathetic attempt at an attack-
-only to have the smile slide from his lips when Ratice can't get back up.
For now, it's caught in a web-like structure that Caterpie has made upon Ryoma's design.
"Hmm…probability that the freshman planned this from the start: 78 percent."
Fuji's smile widens into unadulterated giddiness, and even Eiji flinches from the excitement in his expression. "Saa…a great calligrapher doesn't need to choose his pens, hm?"
"Caterpie – tackle it, until it faints."
Arai's jaw drops.
A Caterpie's tackle didn't do much damage, to begin with – but with the fact that his Raticate was currently tangled up in some messy web and wouldn't be able to dodge for a while-
-but for the freshman to actually tell his Caterpie to just keep tackling until Raticate fainted was…
"Oi, oi – why don't you just call it a day for now?" Arai's friend manages to croak out, and relief floods Arai's system.
Until: "Yadda."
And that was how Arai watched his precious Raticate be tackled into fainting by a smug, vicious little green bug.
"Mada mada dane."
Oishi finally tore his gaze from the window, an almost-excited gleam in his eyes. It had been a while since he'd seen such creative – and relentless – battling in the Seigaku courts; and never had he seen it from such a little freshman. Perhaps Ryuzaki-sensei had been right in being excited for Echizen Ryoma's arrival to Seishun, he couldn't help but think.
He turned to Tezuka, a smile blooming on his lips. "What do you think, Kunimitsu?"
Tezuka looked up from filling out the papers in front of him. A disapproving glance lingered in his expression, and almost immediately, Oishi quelled slightly; ah, perhaps he'd underestimated Tezuka's penchant for the rules. "I don't condone breaking the rules."
Oishi laughed quietly.
"Thirty laps for everyone," Tezuka states quietly, powerfully, and for a moment, Oishi is lost again in the sheer command in such a young person's voice.
Oishi's lips quirk in amusement. "Even the regulars?"
"Everyone."
The door slid closed as Tezuka left.
"Well, well," Oishi sighed.
But Ryuzaki Sumire wasn't looking at Oishi, or the window; in fact, she was looking straight down at the table where Tezuka had been sitting, and the papers there: the brackets for the regulars' ranking matches. A grin tugged on her lips-
"Hey, Oishi. Why don't you take a look at this?"
"Yes, sensei?"
Oishi made his way over, before-
-a soft chuckle. "That Kunimitsu. Even if he says all that, he still…"
For in the very last spot, in Block E, Tezuka's neat handwriting spelled out: 'Echizen Ryoma (Year I).'
"Hey, Echizen."
Ryoma paused in his tracks at the familiar voice – ah, where had he heard that before? Then again, with this new school and all, he was hearing too many new voices to remember. Still. This one tugged particularly at his mind-
Finally, Ryoma turned around with a reluctant glance.
Golden eyes widened slightly at the sight of the smiling face. It was disturbingly beautiful, the face of that senpai - pale, like porcelain, with features so dainty that one could almost believe he were a living, breathing figure of art. Elegance in human form, with every moment made as though it were some slow, seductive dance-
Ah. One of the regulars, wasn't he?
For some strange reason, Ryoma had noticed him amongst all the others – perhaps, he mused, it was the way that the boy had of staring pointedly straight at him. Ryoma shifted his weight to the other foot, not exactly comfortable.
"Yeah?" Ryoma asked, slight inquiry in his tone, with the rest filled in by annoyance and impatience.
"That was a nice match," Fuji murmured in such a whimsical tone, that Ryoma was left trying to figure out exactly how he was supposed to take the statement.
A compliment? Sarcasm? Some implication of something?
"…Thanks," he finally said instead, because he wasn't sure what else to say.
"I'm Fuji, by the way. Fuji Shusuke."
"Okay."
Fuji's smile widened, and Ryoma could have sworn he saw a flash of a predatory grin in the lips. He blinked, though, and it was gone.
"It's a pleasure."
READ. REVIEW. LOVE.