Never let it be said that Ryoma's mother did not care for her boy. A mother's love could move mountains, or in this case, even a very stubborn Nanjiroh. It was all thanks to her efforts that Ryoma now found himself walking out of the exam hall in Tokyo University, contemplating a visit to the tennis courts, before heading home. Yes, in the span of two weeks right after that dinner, his mother had miraculously manipulated Nanjiroh into purchasing a lovely residence in the peaceful suburban area of Tokyo, about an hour's ride to the University. She had wanted some place nearer, but unfortunately, seeing how both Nanjiroh and her son were easily recognizable in Japan, they needed an area that respected privacy and was probably already home to many Japanese celebrities in Tokyo. Such an area, of course, could not be found within any walking distance of the University.
The sponsors were at first, furious about the relocation, but after a long chat with Ryoma's mother at their new home, they left, not only pacified but quite ecstatic about the gleaming future she painted for them and Ryoma. To her, it had only been the truth anyways. Pursuing higher education would in fact, lead to an enhanced image for Ryoma as the ideal role model for adolescent sports stars, and a more normal Ryoma would appeal even more to his generation, since they could better identify with him. He would no longer just be the invincible Samurai, but the invincible Samurai who went to school like the rest of them.
Yes, Ryoma's mother was a very, very powerful woman.
The swift relocation was another brilliant tactic on her part to move things beyond her husband's control, and forestall a reversal of events should her son be unsuccessful in his first attempt. Apparently, either she had the utmost confidence in Ryoma's abilities, or she believed that one way or another, it was only a matter of time before her son passes the entrance exams, and got himself into the University. Ryoma would just have to keep trying, and a home in Japan would more likely ensure such future attempts should they become necessary, than staying in the States, where Nanjiroh could easily pressurized her son into going back to the pro circuit. After everything his mother went through to get them here, Ryoma feverishly prayed that he simply would pass the first time so as not to disappoint the indomitable woman.
As he went through the exam questions in his mind once more, he gave a small sigh of relief that the whole blasted thing was finally over. It had not been as difficult as he anticipated, and although he had hardly spared a minute from the books except to sleep these past four months, he was still thankful that he could walk away with at least a modicum of confidence that he would not fail. In all honesty, the University had broken its own record in lowering the bar for him, since how could any university in Japan resist the allure of a sports legend, especially of the Echizen kind gracing their halls? Despite a complete lack of academia records beyond middle school, he was only required to take the examination for only Japanese, Mathematics and English, the last subject being a requisite due to his application to study English at the University. The languages were not a problem, merely entailing the application of mnemonic skills to bring his vocabulary up to speed, and Ryoma had a distinct advantage in his American upbringing. He struggled with Mathematics though, and if his mother had not argued with the University enrollment office about his very unique circumstances and selected course, he doubted he could have pulled through. All in all, he knew he had a lot to be grateful for, as the Mathematics exam became only a very basic test of logic and algebra, which he did master in that short interval leading up to the exam.
Thwack! Thwack! The sounds of the tennis courts broke through his revelry, and Ryoma was slightly surprised. He had not expected a practice session to be taking place since he had spied some notices earlier, informing all clubs and sports to cancel their activities for that day to avoid disturbing the examinations. Obviously the tennis team was exempt, most probably due to their upcoming Nationals and the fact that the courts were actually quite a distance from the hall. Still, it was an indication that the University took its tennis seriously, and if Ryoma had any lingering doubts about his decision, they were washed away with this discovery. He certainly could not have borne a place with a tennis attitude that was not aligned with his own.
Briefly, Ryoma wondered if he should interrupt the team. Due to his status, he was actually in some sort of disguise. Well, as much as one could disguise a legendary tennis star without a mask or surgery anyways. His long hair with its mysterious sea-green highlights had been one of his most prominent features, providing the finishing touch to his cold invincible Samurai image when he tied it up during the games. It was now cut painfully short, dyed back to black and basically buried under a white Fila cap, which he wore to obscure his face more than the locks itself. What really did the trick were the thick black-framed decorative glasses he wore. The common person would not figure him to be a sports star or even someone who played sports in this get-up. He looked like, to put it neatly, a nerd. But Ryoma was sure that tennis fanatics would definitely still be able to identify him once they got close enough. His pair of large cat-like hazel eyes, even partly concealed behind the frames, was a dead give-away. And it did look like there were plenty of these fanatics on the courts in front of him, seeing how the intensive practice was continuing even under the scorching afternoon sun. Finding a comfortable perch on the slope nearby, he settled on maintaining a good distance from the courts, to observe the session. Although the figures on court looked quite small from his vantage point, his excellent eyesight served him well, and he could even make out several of the faces on the courts nearest to him.
A tall bespectacled male in a blue and white jersey was furiously scribbling notes as he stood on the sidelines, analyzing what looked to be a doubles practice match. Ryoma easily connected him to one of the two bespectacled persons in the team picture he had seen. The 178-pounds data guy. Most probably. The height most certainly seemed to match that weight and it would explain the notebook as well. But he was boring as hell to watch since his nose was buried in that notebook half the time, so Ryoma moved on to study the match itself. He could associate none of the four faces with those in the team picture, so he thought they had to be just members, instead of team regulars. The standard of play was nevertheless promising, and Ryoma could perceive that despite one pair being clearly more well-coordinated, with the greater advantage, the other pair was still making them work for it. After a few more volleys and the final smash that ended the set, Ryoma shifted his attention to the singles match on the next court. The quick movement of the players at the distance made it tricky to distinguish their features, but he thought he could see that one of them had sandy brown hair, and played with closed eyes and a Mona Lisa smile. Ryoma could not quite recollect if this fellow was in the team picture, but from his easy relaxed stance of play on the court, he must be fairly good. His balls were all falling accurately to alternate far end corners of the court, a usual tactic to swiftly tire out the opponent but required an immense level of control. After a while of keeping this up however, it appeared that his opponent did not seem to be faltering in the least despite the extra physical strain and sweltering heat. All the balls were calmly and beautifully returned, and the rally continued in an endless fashion.
So engrossed was Ryoma in watching the match, waiting impatiently for that almost imperceptible chance opening where one of them would score, that he failed to notice the approach of a stranger until a questioning voice in a deep tenor spoke up above him.
"Who are you?"