Chapter 2

Ryoma stretched his arms lazily above his head, already bored with his classes. It was only a few weeks into the school year, but nothing had changed from the first year he'd arrived at Seigaku for junior high. Even in high school, the classes weren't all that difficult. Those around him were already complaining about the difficulty of English class, considering the literature they were going to delve into this year. Luckily, having spent a couple of years in America on his own, the language wasn't all that difficult for him to pick up. And so, while the teacher spent time in class going over passages that were harder to understand, Ryoma spent the hour either dozing with his trademark white cap pulled over his head or looking out of the window.

The weather was mild, still in the transition between summer and autumn. The trees were still lush and green. Finally the bell rung, signaling the end of class for the day. Ryoma put his things away in what seemed to be a leisurely pace, but inside he was impatient to get down to the changing rooms and into his uniform. The day had been frustrating, and since he was never a very open person, he vented out his feelings into tennis.

All in all, it was the same as it was the first year he came. He gave a small smirk as he recalled having to deal with conflicting emotions that came with growing up. However, he stopped when a picture of a smiling sempai rose up in his mind. Quickly casting it away he increased his pace, eager to have the feel of a tennis racket in his mind, knowing that the exhilaration of the game could erase—though temporarily—his unwanted emotions. What they were, however, he did not want to identify.

Not now, not ever.

The sun was close to setting when tennis practice was over, and he was just heading out of the locker room when he realized just how unexhausted he was. High school wasn't all that different from junior high. As it was his last year, the remaining star players had all gone away. Every single day after school, he was forced to compete with fellow peers that were nowhere near his level. Oh, sure, there were one or two that were a little better than usual, but it still wasn't enough to give him a good game.

With his racket bag slung over one shoulder, he heaved a small sigh as he headed out the front gates of the school, his eyes automatically shifting over to the courts of the junior high when he passed by it.

Momo—the first one I met. I suppose I could call him the big brother I've never had. His laidback attitude and loose mouth always got him in trouble with others. Whether it was the opposing players, Kamio—over the bike and Ann, or Kaidoh.

And Kaidoh. He was threatening on the outside, ' always hissing like a snake' people would say. But to those that knew him well, we would always compare him more to a snarly kitten. I did catch him that one time looking adoringly at a couple of stray kittens in a box.

Probably the most frustrating to play against was Inui. His data collecting would sometimes get in the way and clash with his social skills, but he wasn't a bad person overall. But his juices were the worst ever. Urgh. And the names he gave them were so bizarre.

Taka was always the quiet one of the group, the one who seemed to be cheerful despite the occasion. Then he did a complete 180 degree personality change when he picked up a racket. There seems to be no middle ground for him. Despite that, people are still drawn to his character.

The Golden Pair is probably the one doubles legend that will live on for a while. People say that opposites attract. Kikumaru was so carefree, so energetic, always running around and exploring everything. Oishi, on the other hand, was the mother hen of our group. He'd be the one to depend upon if someone was injured. He could also be referred to as the compassionate one of our captains.

The stoic and famous ice captain was, of course, Tezuka. I think I loved him at one time. His strength was admired by everyone, and I was one of them. I challenged him at every turn. He accepted them, even though he knew I wasn't ready at that time. However, my love was never returned, and I grew tired of waiting for him.

And then there was…Fuji. I couldn't get near Tezuka, so I went to him to satiate my hunger for competition. He did so, surprisingly. I never thought that he could poise such a challenge. Every time I felt like I got closer to him, he pulled away slyly. Even when our relationship went beyond that of the court, he pulled away from me. I don't know if it was unconscious or not, but I never got to know him as well as I would've liked. Even Eiji said that I knew him far better than he ever did. It wasn't enough.

Still…maybe it was for the best that I didn't get too close. It still hurts even now… His expression darkened, the golden eyes growing dim with the pain that still existed despite the fact that it was so long ago. So lost was he in his thoughts that he never noticed a shadowy figure trailing behind him. He cut through into a small alleyway where he usually took a shortcut on the way home when it came up from behind and forcefully applied a cloth to his face. It was scented with a sickly sweet fragrance that made him shudder, and he struggled to push the attacker off. However, the bulk of his tennis bag made it difficult and he found himself spiraling down into a dark abyss. He was shoved onto the ground and his head was cut on the wall, a feeling of wetness trickling down from his temple. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was a second, slimmer figure from the corner of his vision appear and head towards the attacker.

Then came the darkness.

"Ryoma, wake up. Come on, open your eyes." Ryoma heard the voice, as if it came from a far distance or from a radio station that didn't have the best reception. The darkness was comforting, and he didn't want to get back into reality too soon. It was always so complicated—with emotions and having to talk to people—that he preferred to stay here, in the darkness, where nothing else would disturb him.

"Ryoma!"

He found himself forcefully wrenched back to reality, and with that came a splitting pain in his head. He groaned and tried to sit up, resulting in a heavy throbbing and more confusion. Needless to say, he was unsuccessful in sitting up, and so he willingly laid back down when a gentle push stopped him from getting up.

"Just lay down for a few more minutes, until you feel a little less dizzy," the voice said, sounding oddly familiar. Ryoma opened his eyes, but it was futile to try and see anything. The sun had set and the alley was extremely dim, away from the streetlamps. All he could see was a black outline against the faint glow from the moon. It was unusually slim—though still obviously a male—and the voice was softer than most. Ryoma usually could put two and two together, but the throbbing pain had not receded, making the logical connections far more difficult than they really were.

"All right," he said, his voice a little rough from disuse. He figured that a couple of hours had passed from when he had lost consciousness. He panicked a little when he couldn't find his tennis bag, struggling to sit up once more. A hand pushed him gently back down, replying to his silent question.

"You bag is on the side right now. I figured that having you lay on it wasn't the best thing for your rackets."

A little reassured, Ryoma relaxed, trying to make his position more comfortable. Considering that it was plain asphalt, it was difficult. What felt like an eternity later—though in reality it was probably only half an hour—the throbbing receded slightly, and he was able to sit up without too much trouble. "Ah…!" he cried out softly, his hand going to his head as the blood rushed out and dizziness settled over him once more. He hated showing weakness, even to complete strangers. When he felt that he was stable once more, he stood up, using one hand to support his weight on the wall as he swayed a little.

The figure beside him handed him his bag. "Here."

He took it with a nod of thanks, but it caused his head to throb a little. "Thank you," Ryoma said instead. The first few steps that he took were hesitant, afraid that the faintness might come over him again. However, when he noticed that it didn't, his steps grew in confidence and in speed. His head was still throbbing a little, though. When he reached the end of the alleyway that opened up into a street lit with a few streetlights, he turned to his defender, only to reel backwards in shock.

"Fuji?"

No way…this can't be possible. Ryoma's mind was still reeling in shock at this revelation. To make matters worse, the pain from his temple seemed to have worsened as well, causing him to sway in faintness. Concerned, Fuji moved closer to steady him, worried that the other might collapse. When he reached out, Ryoma unconsciously flinched away from his touch.

"No…" Ryoma whispered softly. "Why are you back here? You said that you would never come back." A sharp pain ran through his chest, clamping it uncomfortably. He wondered now why he was still grieving over Fuji.

Fuji, if his eyes were shown, would reflect deep hurt from when Ryoma flinched away from him. However, they were closed as usual. Long ago, he had discovered the dangers of letting them be shown to the rest of the world. His eyes were simply too expressive, letting others have an unfair advantage over his emotions while he could only take a guess at theirs. "I wanted to see you again, Echizen. It's been so long." His voice was soft and pleading.

However, Ryoma wasn't going to be taken in by it. It had been a really long time, and he wasn't going to forgive Fuji so readily for leaving him so abruptly and in such a harsh manner. Not when the other didn't even give him a chance to explain. "I'm going home," he said bitterly, turning his back to Fuji. He stumbled a little as the sudden motion of turning so quickly made his vision swim and his head light. When he felt Fuji's arm on his own to hold him steady, he jerked himself away from him. "Don't touch me!" he cried out harshly. He ran the rest of the way home, his bag bouncing on his shoulders. A small part of him asked why he had acted the way he did, when Fuji had come back and rescued him. The majority of his emotions were centered on anger and frustration. Whether it was directed at himself or Fuji, he did not know.

He arrived at home sweaty and his face covered in dried blood. Nanako cried out in shock to see him so.

"Ryoma! What happened to you?"

Ryoma's mind ran through possible stories that could be told, unwilling to tell his cousin what really happened. "I—I ran into a pole on the way home and fainted." Inwardly, he flinched at the implausibility of his story, not to mention the stupidity of it. He only hoped that it would be accepted.

"R-really? That must of hurt a lot. What were you doing to make you run into the pole?" She asked out of kindness and concern, but it irked Ryoma to have to lie even more.

"I was just a little distracted by some matters about school," he muttered, looking away. Feigning pain and dizziness, he was able to distract Nanako from asking him to elaborate. After washing his face of the blood and taking a long soak, his body felt refreshed, even as his heart did not. He collapsed gratefully onto his bed, willing to head off into sleep, hoping for the welcome oblivion where he did not have to deal with such complicated matters.

"Why me?" he groaned into his pillow, his voice muffled. "Why?" The night held no responses for him, and his question went unanswered as he slept.

A/N-It's developing quite well, I think. For some reason, this chapter was comparatively easy to write next to some other ficlets and chapters.

Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed it. Now that you've read, it's only fair to review and tell me your thoughts and comments on it, right?

-The Unreal Phantom