Chapter Six: Echizen Ryoma vs the Rikkaidai Regulars

Sanada hadn't let him give up his spot as a regular to Kirihara (not that he would have) as Kirihara demanded, mostly because there was nothing in the rulebooks that allowed such a thing. Nishiki had only been too happy to give the privilege to the red-eyed bastard, but Sanada's piercing look stopped him in his tracks.

Ryoma wasn't sure what to say in this case. "…Thank you, Sanada-senpai."

"Kirihara has to re-earn his spot." The older boy looked down at him. "As do you."

"What?"

"Obviously, you don't take being a regular seriously if you're willing to put it on the line in a bet. Which you lost," Sanada glared at him. Ryoma glared back—he hadn't even really lost that game. "And then you just leave in the middle of practice without a valid excuse?" Ryoma wondered if Sanada hadn't seen the shit being beaten out of him; his excuse had been more than valid. "So neither of you will be a regular until one of you earns it in April."

Next school year. Really? They'd sit him out so long? They had already given the newcomer spot to Kirihara, who, much to Ryoma's ire, played and won against Hyotei's Hiyoshi Wakashi in the Finals. From what he saw, Ryoma could have beaten him too. He'd seen the kid with the weird mushroom haircut, and he did seem to give Kirihara some trouble. 7-6, it had been. Ryoma bet he could have gotten at least one game using just his right hand.

He looked at the boy who would be his vice captain next year. "You don't like me," he said bluntly. He was taking lack-of-subtlety lessons from Fuji on how to get what you wanted, and he wanted to know the truth. According to the mild boy, being obtuse was one of the easiest ways.

"I don't have to like you to work with you," Sanada said and turned his heel. Ryoma was distinctly reminded of another quiet yet strong character. Tezuka. He was a real captain. Ryoma watched Sanada walking away and wished, not for the first time, that his captain were Tezuka-buchou.

It felt like the winter season was still upon them even though it was February. Valentine's Day came and went, mostly with hate mail but also with the occasional genuine card, much to Ryoma's surprise. He was starting to wonder who hated him and who just couldn't bring themselves to help. The snow still fell, with flakes making the trek to and from Rikkai almost unbearable, but the entire country had already celebrated Setsubun, the beginning of spring. Ryoma was thankful that his new shoes kept out the wetness of the snow and ice. He remembered when just two months ago he had to walk home from Rikkai and then to the diner and then home in his soggy worn tennis shoes.

But now he thought of the Seigaku regulars every time he set foot into the melting snow, because he knew that the eight of them had no idea what the shoes meant to him. And the gift card.

His relationship with Rikkai seemed to deteriorate, though. Of course, the bullying stopped, thanks mostly to Sanada's backhand of doom, but the cold stares and the teasing of his peers had come to an all time high. Ryoma was mostly impervious to it because he knew he had a group of energetic tennis players waiting for him at the diner, and nothing they could say could change that. Oishi still asked him every time if he was okay, and Ryoma was always happy to tell the truth that yes, he was fine, and stop worrying, he was made of strong stuff.

Even though he wasn't on good terms with all of the Rikkai regulars, Ryoma still accompanied them when they were off for the indoor tennis courts again. There were others in the tennis club who came with them, working so they could be competitive in the ranking matches in April. Of course, many of the tennis club members played other sports during tennis off-season. Jackal was the captain of the basketball team even though he was only a second year and also the co-captain to Rikkai's dance team. Marui was even part of a bowling league. Sanada-senpai continued his kendo during tennis season; it wasn't the type of sport that really had a season anyway, and Sanada was apparently one of the best in Japan. Surprisingly, or perhaps not as surprising at all to those who knew him, Niou was heavily into theatre and hunting whenever he wasn't playing tennis.

Because of everyone's other commitments, off-season practice was relegated to the weekends and Friday afternoons, and the middle school tennis team never showed up again. Ryoma, already waiting on the platform with Yukimura-fukubuchou, watched his team walk down the stairs toward them. He looked at the empty train pulling to a stop at the platform; they wouldn't have a problem fitting into the spacious compartments, and even this reminded him of the difference between the Rikkaidai and Seigaku regulars.

"You really are very good," Yukimura-fukubuchou quietly said to him.

"Fukubuchou?" Ryoma had no idea where this was coming from. They never really seemed to have time between the two of them, and it seemed Yukimura-senpai was taking advantage of the moments in which it was certain that the rest of Rikkai would not be eavesdropping.

"Kirihara can't lead Rikkai to the Nationals. You can. You can lead Rikkai to win," Yukimura-fukubuchou declared, never removing his eyes from where the train would be. He really didn't know how to answer so he just looked up at his vice captain. Ryoma wondered if winning was the only reason Yukimura-senpai talked to him at all.

It didn't happen in slow motion, and it didn't feel like an eternity as the other Rikkai regulars would later recount. One second, Yukimura-fukubuchou was standing straight and tall on the platform, like the gentlest god on Mount Olympus, and the next second, he was on his side on the dirty floor, his eyes wide in fear, closing, scrunching up, and his body still and limp like Oyaji's corpse.

His eyes were closed but he was alive.

"Yukimura!" That was Sanada-senpai. Ryoma felt himself being pushed to the side so that Sanada could get closer to the fallen child of God. His scarf looked disorderly on his usually orderly self and his teeth were clenched. Later, Ryoma would say that shock prevented him from moving and helping the boy, but he knew that when he saw the young man still as death, all he could think about was Oyaji.

On the rooftop garden of the hospital, Yukimura-fukubuchou sat in a pair of patient clothes. The sunset was beautiful but nobody on that roof paid attention to it. The winter breeze was refreshingly chilly, but it seemed that they were all frozen in time. For some reason, Ryoma felt that this was some kind of personal team meeting that he wasn't supposed to be a part of. Looking on, he realized that even Kirihara looked like he belonged in that group concernedly surrounding Yukimura-senpai.

"Firstly, I'll be devoting my time to healing. It'll take a while, they said."

Ryoma could tell from Kirihara's tense shoulders and shaking head that he was ready to explode. "But if Yukimura-buchou isn't here, we'll have a huge blind spot!"

"It may not have been expected, but don't let my condition overwhelm you. We'll still win the Nationals," he answered calmly. Ryoma thought he had a one-track mind.

"No, no, that's not what I meant!" Kirihara pleaded with him. It was obvious to Ryoma that Kirihara desperately relied on Yukimura-fukubuchou. They had a connection he couldn't even imagine having with another Rikkai regular.

"Shit. This can't be real," someone said, probably Jackal. Ryoma didn't know the regulars well enough to tell.

Ryoma didn't want to hear more of this and walked back into the building. He hated hospitals. He had been really appreciative toward Oishi when he had taken him to his uncle's house rather than to a clinic. Ryoma hated the smell, the look, the people.

The hospital in Los Angeles hadn't been white, he remembered. The tiles were a purposeful maroon in one wing and a dark green in another. He only ever visited those two wings anyway. Oyaji's room had been off-white, as if the hospital was trying everything in its power not to fit the stereotype. But it was still sterile and smelled like chemicals.

He remembered sitting on the window seat looking out over the city, hoping that he'd be able to see Tokyo like this, because Oyaji promised him that they'd all go to Tokyo together once he got better. He remembered spending sleepless nights watching his mother slowly going crazy. She would go about the day thinking that Nanjiroh would come home like he did everyday, and she would forget to go to the office or look at cases. She never visited him in the hospital, almost afraid to see the reality. There was no hope, they said. Ryoma didn't want to hear it.

There was no such thing as "no hope." This was Samurai Nanjiroh! He didn't know the meaning of the words, "slow down." Which was probably why he ended up in the hospital.

Sometimes he hated his father. "It's your own fault," he said once. And immediately regretted it. Oyaji looked at him by moving his eyes, unable to move the rest of himself, and closed them in pain. Kaa-san was convinced that it wasn't his fault. But it was all his fault. Everything.

"What time is he coming home tonight? I made some beef stew, and I thought he'd like it…" Days like these were every other, and Ryoma hoped for nothing more than a reprieve. Maybe a different set of parents.

So he hated hospitals.

He walked back up to the rooftop garden to see that the stars were out and the team had left without him. He didn't mind. It just meant that he would have to traverse the hospital alone. With a sigh, he walked back to the area of the hospital he knew Yukimura-fukubuchou would stay in so he could say goodbye for the day.

Seeing the name card by the door already holding Yukimura-senpai's name, although hastily scribbled, Ryoma paused. Should he say something? Their conversation on the platform had been interrupted after all. And wasn't he, as a member of the Rikkai tennis club, supposed to give him support? After all, he was familiar with the kind of depression that hit the patients.

So opened the door a little less than halfway, and would have opened it completely, had he not heard the voices. He could see the doctor and nurse conversing in front, with the boy's sleeping form looking away from them. He couldn't hear everything, but he could hear the important things. "Severe… incurable… tennis… impossible… poor boy." Ryoma had heard the same when the doctors were talking about his father. But Echizen Nanjiroh had given up on professional tennis years before the doctors were saying such things. Yukimura-fukubuchou was just getting started.

He backed away from the door as the nurse and doctor left the darkened room and ignored him as they left. Ryoma peeked in for a second and didn't move. Yukimura-fukubuchou was sitting up on his bed. Had he heard? He knocked on the wood of the door, but heard no answer.

"Yukimura-fukubuchou? I know you heard them," Ryoma said simply. There was no need for circumlocution.

"…do you need something, Echizen?" Yukimura-senpai still maintained his gentle demeanor, even in the face of such news.

"Just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Come in, hm?" He didn't smile, but he didn't frown. Although the lighting was dim, Ryoma could tell that he looked perfectly composed as always.

He wondered what was going through Yukimura-senpai's head. "What is it? What's wrong with you?"

"…they think Guillain-Barre Syndrome, but it's not conclusive. I'll be discharged soon; it's nothing they need to keep me in a hospital for."

Ryoma nodded. He wasn't good in these situations, in which he had to comfort others. He was very much like a cat, and was only good for just being there. But he'd try to say something anyway. "Prove them wrong. They don't know you or your determination. Show them what the Rikkai spirit is about," Ryoma suggested even though he didn't believe or support the 'Rikkai spirit.' But Yukimura-fukubuchou believed in winning at all costs, and that kind of constitution didn't allow for failure, not even to an incurable disease. Ryoma figured that if anyone could fight off a disease it would be someone from Rikkai. They were as bullheaded as you could get.

"Thank you, Echizen. Why don't you go home now? Relax, and I'm sure you'll do well in the next ranking matches," Yukimura-fukubuchou said kindly. His eyes seemed to glow like ice in the moonlight and looked straight into Ryoma's. "Remember what I said. Be Rikkai's support. With me gone, there needs to be another great player ready to take my place. Now, more than ever." It was understood that he was essentially passing his title to Ryoma. It was a promise that if Ryoma helped Rikkai to the nationals, he would be captain, above Kirihara. He would have all the power, and the harassment would be a problem of the past.

But that wasn't really the problem with Rikkaidai. "Get better soon," Ryoma said. He wasn't sure what to do, to say afterwards, so he slipped out, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Echizen," Kirihara said amiably upon seeing him. Ryoma turned to see his classmate leaning against a wall, photos in hand.

"Hanging out with Seigaku, huh?" Kirihara asked. He brandished the photos like a full house in poker, and Ryoma just raised an eyebrow.

"Yea, so what?" Ryoma hoped he looked calmer than he actually was, because he knew this could only be bad for him. He knew Kirihara was royally pissed that his ploy to get on the regular team failed, so the other boy's ire was higher than it had ever been.

"You poor bastard. And your poor bitch of a mother," Kirihara started. Ryoma was tempted to just punch him right there. He wasn't the impulsive sort, but no one was allowed to insult his kaa-san. He wanted to pull his fist back and let if fly into Kirihara's face. Instead, he turned his heel and walked away. He was not going to be suspended or expelled for violence toward Kirihara (never mind that no one had ever really been punished for the violence done to him). That was probably part of Kirihara's plan anyway.

"Literally! I heard Sanada-senpai had to save her job since she was such a crazy bitch."

Ryoma could only take so much. He twisted around and analyzed his enemy. The messy hair, the flaming eyes, the infuriatingly smug look on his face. The demon still had the photographs of him with the regulars, though thankfully, none of them were at the diner. "Stalker." Ryoma decided he would pulverize Kirihara on the tennis court. He wouldn't risk everything he had fought for just for a fleeting shot at hurting Kirihara. The other boy was probably physically stronger than him anyway.

Ryoma had so much drive to fight, to play dynamically. He wished the ranking matches were now, because he knew he could drive Kirihara's face into the clay ground of the court. But they weren't until April, and he wasn't sure the fire would still be alive by then.

He walked away this time. Next time, he told himself, next time, he would meet Kirihara on the court and there would be hell to pay. Until then, he needed some fuel to keep his hate going. Something to keep him fighting.

Ryoma really didn't know why he was in this situation. Really? Didn't they ever practice? Or do homework? "No. I'm not going." He was not in the mood to hang out with them. Being seen hanging out with them was the worst idea ever.

"Ochibi-chan, please?" It was always Kikumaru who went down on one knee and asked with his arms wide open or performed some other humiliating gesture. Kikumaru didn't mind embarrassing Ryoma if it meant fun in the future.

"Just go, kid," his boss said, "They're pretty much the on'y customers we're gonna have today anyhow."

Ryoma just glared. His only excuse for not going was dashed. And his boss knew it because the smelly old man was grinning and waving goodbye as the Seigaku regulars dragged him away.

The arcade, for the Seigaku regulars, was only fun for the first few minutes of each game while Ryoma adjusted to the gaming platform. "Too bad, no regrets, better luck next week!" Kikumaru declared after he won a shooting game against the boy. Apparently, Ryoma had better luck a few minutes later and soundly beat him. After that, it was Ochibi: 8, Seigaku: 1. The shooting games, the DDR, the racing games, all were easy victories for Ryoma.

The sushi restaurant afterward made him nervous; since he'd been in Japan, he had only gone to one sushi place and it had quickly gotten expensive. His mother had embarrassedly emptied her wallet and apologized to Ryoma that they really couldn't have sushi until they'd gotten on their feet. Ryoma hadn't minded.

But he ate one piece. And another. And figured that since they invited him, they would pay. And he continued eating. He never realized how hungry he got until then.

"Why don't you eat more?" Taka-san asked. Ryoma really couldn't. He was completely full.

"How's the sushi, boys?" the sushi chef bellowed.

"It's great, Kawamura-san," Oishi responded with variations of praise echoing him.

"Oh? What about you young man? Eat some more, you've barely touched your sushi!" The chef let a tray of sushi land in right in front of Ryoma with a clatter.

"Aw, dad, don't make him if he's not hungry," Taka-san said reasonably. Ryoma hadn't realized that this was Taka's dad. Though he should have realized it. The resemblance was uncanny.

Gradually, the regulars had to leave one by one and Ryoma wondered what the purpose of the day was anyway. Fun? Was that all? Could he believe that they had dragged him from his place of work just for fun? Eventually, it was only Tezuka, Ryoma, and Taka left. Though technically Taka-san didn't count since he was planning to stay there for the rest of the day.

"You," Tezuka said. It was strange. "Ochibi," he tried. Ryoma had never heard Tezuka call him by that nickname.

"Tezuka."

"Do you still want that match?" Ryoma wondered if the other boy could see how elated he was to hear those words. He'd heard what Tezuka was like. He heard about the stories his senpai told of the frightening freshman of last year, a boy with eyes like lightning hidden behind glasses to protect us mortal men. With the power to control the ball, even on his opponents' side. He was legendary. And Ryoma couldn't wait to play him.

He affected nonchalance and shrugged. "Why not?"

"…You played a match with him?" Oishi asked. He didn't know what Tezuka had been thinking. There was no way Ochibi had stood a chance.

"Yes. It was…refreshing," Tezuka answered. Oishi didn't understand. Their Ochibi apparently wasn't as little as they thought. Even after seeing the boy hold his own against four high school players at once, Tezuka hadn't expected this level of play. More than a month ago, they had all gone to the indoor courts expecting to see their rivals, Rikkaidai, but they hadn't expected to see the middle schoolers. They hadn't expected to see Ochibi battling it out against a number of high school freshmen and then go back to do some damage control with his fellow middle school seniors. But they had seen him soundly defeat the one causing trouble and bring peace and harmony the way only a leader could. Ochibi was an impressive tennis player.

"I had to use my full strength."

Oishi blinked a few times, unable to understand a reality in which the legendary Tezuka had to use all of his strength to play a middle school student. "But say you hadn't used your full strength. You still would have won…wouldn't you?"

Tezuka remained silent, and Oishi was sure what the answer was. He hadn't realized Ochibi was so talented. It seemed all of Seigaku underestimated him. "Oishi," Tezuka suddenly said, "I'm going to have to visit the hospital for a little bit."

The game must have been intense; Tezuka's old injury had only started acting up that fall, and it was still giving him some trouble. Oishi wasn't sure what he was going to do with his friend. "You're too stubborn. What're you going to do if the damage to your elbow becomes too much?" Tezuka didn't answer, so Oishi pursued another worry he had. "Ochibi, he wasn't scared of you?"

Tezuka didn't answer. He was looking into the distance, his eyes focused on some strong memory of the recent past. "Tezuka, you listening?" Tezuka knew that Ochibi hadn't been afraid of him. There was something else, though. It had been a strange game, and although he thought he had pinpointed why, it was still bothering him. Ochibi had played a spectacular game. So spectacular that Tezuka wondered why he had never heard of him. The boy was only a senior in middle school. If so, they should have heard of him while they were still in Seigaku middle school. The boy had the potential to be better than Tezuka himself. And rather than being discouraged by that, Tezuka was energized.

Such talent, such a will to win! But that was the problem, wasn't it? "He…really wanted to win. There was something off about that. As if he wouldn't allow himself to lose, as if something terrible would happen if he lost." It had hurt Tezuka to defeat the boy. He appeared so stricken by the defeat, so angry with himself. It was just a game, Tezuka wanted to tell him.

"That is the Rikkaidai mentality," Oishi answered. Rikkai had been number one in Kantou for fifteen years running for a reason. They didn't allow failure.

"But that's not what he needs," Tezuka said, frustrated. He wasn't sure why he thought he knew what the boy needed, but he knew that the kid already had the drive to win. Focusing on that, and that only, would destroy his love for the game, if he had any at all.

Oishi seemed to understand. "You think he needs Seigaku."

The short verbal altercation with Kirihara hadn't been a one time thing. Nor was it restricted to Kirihara.

"Heard you needed some money, Echizen. Why don't you come with me and clean my house? Been looking for a suitable maid."

"Got new shoes, huh? What'd you do, steal 'em?"

"How's your mom doing? Saw her in the red light district and we had some fun. You have no idea how loud your mother—"

He had a detention for that. For punching the boy who said that. But the bastard hadn't gotten in trouble at all. After all, they were just words. Ryoma almost preferred the buckets of water and the punches. At least then he could just heal and get on with it. Hearing these words, he couldn't just send them out of his mind. They circulated, and once they seemed to be gone, they came back with vengeance to tangle his mind and weaken his will.

"They're not bullying you anymore, are they?" Yukimura-senpai asked once when Ryoma visited him. Yukimura was now a patient in Kanai General Hospital until further notice. Ryoma still hated the hospital environment, but he tolerated it just to see Yukimura-fukubuchou.

"…no. I'm fine. Have they found a cure? Or is it really Guillain-Barre?" Ryoma quickly changed the subject.

Yukimura-senpai sighed and sunk into his blankets until they reached his chin. "They're testing for every possible disease, syndrome, infection out there. But there's no cure for Guillain-Barre. No cure. I have an incurable disease. Which is why winning the Nationals is so important." Ryoma didn't think Yukimura-senpai was the type to fall into hysterics in a hard situation, but he also never knew his father to be a mature thinker before he was hospitalized. He figured he could see who a person really was when said person was not only knocking, but was looking through the eyehole of Death's door. And Yukimura really wanted to win the Nationals.

"Yukimura-fukubuchou needs to calm down. After all, they haven't had conclusive tests." Ryoma didn't want to give him false hope, but he didn't want to let him fall into depression either.

"No, not yet."

Ryoma could hear the fatalism in his senpai's voice. It angered him. Ryoma hadn't given up; his dad hadn't given up, even in his last moments, Oyaji had been smiling and joking. Why was Yukimura-senpai being so weak? He was supposed to be strong, the backbone of Rikkai's tennis team.

He thought that Yukimura embodied the Rikkaidai spirit, but now he knew he'd been wrong. The spirit was to win at all costs. To risk everything for glory and be the ones on top, the ones who could claim they were the best. Ryoma, of all people, knew what the Rikkai spirit championed, and Yukimura was not living up to it.

"Rikkaidai doesn't need a captain who will just give up." Ryoma was tired, but he kept fighting. He expected at least that from the boy who would be his captain.

It was probably his imagination, he told hismelf—his imagination. Yukimura couldn't possibly rely so much on him taking up the captain's clipboard. It was years away. Years. "They'll have you," Ryoma thought he heard from his vice captain as he was closing the door behind him. He couldn't trust his ears; it must have been his imagination.

"You," Sanada-senpai growled. Ryoma wasn't sure why he was being growled at. And why all the regulars were openly glaring at him.

"Me." He answered, not sure what they were doing or why they were surrounding him in the hospital's hallway.

"Don't be a smart-ass, Echizen," Niou hissed. Ryoma wasn't used to being in contention with the older regulars, and he wondered what he must have done now. Had they heard his harsh words with Yukimura?

It wasn't Kirihara or Sanada who suddenly grabbed his shirt and lifted him up. It was Marui Bunta. Marui Bunta, who was wrinkling his school uniform and searching him with his cloudy brown eyes. The fact that he wasn't chewing apple gum occurred to Ryoma first, and disturbed him more than the fact that his own feet weren't touching the ground.

"What did you tell them!" Marui demanded, shaking him.

"Sir! We do not tolerate violence in the hallways!" a nurse called him out angrily.

"Traitor," Marui spat, almost throwing Ryoma to the ground. He pulled his hands back and, palms out, held them defensively to show the nurse that he wasn't doing anything anymore.

Ryoma had no idea what was happening or why the Rikkai regulars were angry with him. How was he a traitor? What did he do?

"Don't look at us like that, Echizen," Sanada said, opening the door to Yukimura's room. "We don't tolerate that kind of thing in the regulars." The team filed in, most of them sending him one last look before entering the room.

Ryoma stood there, still confused, but unwilling to show his weakness. He'd find out sooner or later what crime they thought he had committed.

"Really, Echizen," a hateful voice whispered, "how could you tell Seigaku about Buchou's condition?"

That's what this was all about. "So did you tell Seigaku, Kirihara?" Ryoma asked, really wanting the truth. He wouldn't put it past the devil to do such a thing and pin it on Ryoma.

The demon looked truthful when his eyes flashed red and he simply said, "I would never betray Yukimura-buchou." And he swept into the hospital room. Ryoma wasn't sure what had just happened. Wasn't sure why his teammates would so easily believe Kirihara about Ryoma's apparent betrayal. Wasn't sure how Seigaku found out about Yukimura. Wasn't sure about much anymore.

Except that he needed to reconnect with the team he had never known. Was he spending too much time with the Seigaku regulars? Probably. They were too soft. If Ryoma wanted to win the nationals, he would have to survive until then. And to survive, he needed Sanada's protection. He didn't want to admit it, but Sanada was probably the only force stopping the people in his class from pushing him off of the highest building and finally being rid of him.

Tezuka couldn't protect him. Tezuka wasn't his buchou. Maybe now was the time Ryoma needed to start considering Rikkai his home. And to do that, he would have to completely scrap the Ryoma he used to be. If his match with Tezuka had taught him anything, it was that he needed to be stronger. He needed to be cutthroat and ambitious, just like Sanada-senpai and Yukimura. Just like them.

Next chapter: Echizen Ryoma vs. Ibu Shinji! Kantou Semifinals
Note: Next chapter is a pretty big time skip, so I hope you won't get confused. Thank you for reading!