Author's Note: This is my take on the humble beginnings of an epic friendship, told from Jackal's POV.

Disclaimer: The Prince of Tennis is not mine. Or this would totally be canon.

F is for Friend

#

It was his first day at his new school, and already he hated it. Hated how the students, and even some of the teachers, stared as he walked past. Hated how the girls giggled and the boys whispered. Hated how he felt so left out.

A shadow fell across his desk, and Jackal briefly wondered what sort of faces he would get this time when they realized that he in fact did speak proper Japanese. He understood their curiosity, and even sympathized with it to a degree, but it was getting old.

"You must be the new guy!" chirped a voice cheerfully from somewhere to his right.

Jackal kept his eyes firmly on the glossy pages of the sports magazine (a bribe from his mother) open on the desk in front of him. "Yeah," he said humourlessly. "Guess so."

But if Jackal had harboured any serious hope that a standoffish response would be enough to stop the conversation from going any further, then he would be sadly mistaken. "Um, I don't know about you," said the voice, now sounding thoughtful, "but around here it's considered pretty rude not to look at people when you talk to them."

That sort of really caught his attention, and Jackal reluctantly looked up to find a boy – around his age judging from the single pin on his uniform collar matching Jackal's own – grinning down at him.

But that was not all. The boy also had bright red hair.

"I… I think that's pretty universal," replied Jackal quietly, feeling quite taken aback at having his manners corrected at random by a complete stranger, let alone a stranger whose head looked like that, because what kind of crazy did that to himself in the first place?! He seriously doubted that the unorthodox dye job had parental consent. Though even if it had, surely there were school regulations prohibiting this sort of thing?

"I was passing by, and you looked kinda lonely sitting here all by yourself. Mind if I sit down?"

Jackal frowned. But before he had a chance to explain that no, he wasn't lonely, and yes, he actually minded it a lot when people suddenly invaded his personal space uninvited, the boy had already pulled up a chair from an adjacent desk and was busy making himself comfortable.

"So…" The boy cocked his head to the side. "I take it that you're not from around here?"

"It's that obvious, huh," replied Jackal dryly, expecting the boy to take the hint and leave him alone.

But the boy just laughed. "Yeah, well. I guess it is sort of obvious. So where are you from? I mean, it can't be very far. Your Japanese is even better than mine, and I've lived here all my life!"

Jackal supposed that this was as straightforward as things were likely to get, so he muttered, "My mom is from Brazil. I've lived there until now."

"Oh." The boy mulled over this new, interesting fact for a few more seconds before conceding, "My mom was born in Okinawa."

Jackal regarded the boy cautiously. It didn't feel like the redhead was making fun of him, but then he didn't know what to think at this point.

"By the way, what's with the—" The boy gestured to Jackal's bald head, adding, "Everyone is talking about it."

Jackal's face fell. At least this explained why the boy was being so nice: clearly he wanted to be the first to get hold of the latest gossip.

And for the first time since moving to his father's native country, leaving family, friends and tennis behind, Jackal felt angry. "Why? What is it to you?" he snapped coldly.

The boy put up his hands defensively in front of him. "Chill!" he laughed nervously. "If you don't feel like talking about it, then don't."

Jackal relaxed, slowly letting the tension drain from his shoulders, then sighed in defeat. He was never going to make any friends if he kept his guard up like this, and though he sure was talkative, the boy didn't seem so bad. Still, this wasn't a topic that Jackal had ever discussed openly with anyone before. "…it's a long story," he admitted at length.

"That's alright, we've got time," replied the boy brightly, sliding something rectangular across the desk towards him. "Classes don't start up again until one."

Jackal politely declined the box with 'Pocky' (whatever that meant) written across it in bold letters, and set out to explain the best that he could. "There was someone back ho—" Luckily, he checked himself in time. Japan was home now. "Someone in Brazil that I knew through tennis, who—"

"You play tennis?" interrupted the boy eagerly.

"Yeah, at least I used to," replied Jackal readily, dimly relieved that his new acquaintance was so easily distracted. "I haven't really gotten back into it again since we moved here."

The boy hummed with such understanding that Jackal felt obliged to follow up on it. "Do you? Play tennis, I mean."

"I'm trying out for the team this year," confirmed the boy proudly, suddenly chewing on a thin breadstick partially covered in chocolate.

Jackal nodded to show that he understood, turning a blind eye to the mess the boy was making. "Good luck," he said solemnly, because try-outs were serious business.

"Thanks," replied the boy with a sunny smile, but Jackal could tell that something had changed. There was a certain watchfulness about him that hadn't been there before. "What about you then? You any good or what?"

Jackal quirked a brow. "At tennis, you mean?"

The boy quickly gave his affirmative, and Jackal found himself breaking out in his first genuine smile since he dragged his feet through the school gates that morning. "Yeah," he said, simply. "Yeah. I think I am."

"You're pretty confident, huh."

The boy was looking at him, Jackal realized. As in really looking at him, and he wasn't seeing a foreigner or even a transfer newbie. The boy was sizing him up as a fellow tennis player, as a potential teammate, possible rival, and maybe even friend. He was being tested, Jackal could feel it; and in spite of himself and all his initial misgivings, he hoped to God that he would pass the test.

"…I'm Marui Bunta." The boy held out his hand. "But most people just call me Bunta."

"Jackal Kuwahara," said Jackal as he shook it, instantly realizing his mistake. "Eh, Kuwahara Jackal," he was quick to amend. "Kuwahara is my family name. Sorry."

"Nah, I like Jackal better." The boy grinned. "Kuwahara is so ordinary, you know? No offence or anything."

Jackal resisted a sudden, inexplicable urge to laugh out loud. That boy, Marui Bunta, was totally weird, but Jackal supposed that it was the sort of weird he could get used to. "None taken."

"So, do you wanna meet up after school?" asked his new friend excitedly. "I'll show you the street courts, the arcade, all the good places to eat. You know, stuff like that."

Jackal took a good look at the boy, taking in his bright red hair and wide smile, and thought that maybe – just maybe – his mom had been right and this place wouldn't turn out be so bad after all. "That'd be great, Bunta-kun," he said, mindful of using an honorific. "Thank—"

The boy had suddenly doubled-up in hysteric laughter, and Jackal couldn't help but to feel a bit insulted. He had done everything right, hadn't he?

"What's so funny?" he demanded, feeling more anxious than he should.

"Please, only my grandpa calls me 'Bunta-kun' – and he's seventy-three!" The boy pointed to himself. "Bunta. Just Bunta, okay?"

Jackal nodded. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

"Cool." Just-Bunta grinned and held out the Pocky-box towards him again, this time more insistently. "Hey Jackal, you've gotta try some Pocky!"