Half of this chapter is basically a Feuilly appreciation ramble because who doesn't love Feuilly?
Oh and I'm actually super tempted to write 'Bahorel and The Broken Racket" at some point:')
So the Les Mis fandom has kind of went mental recently; thank god I don't have like real life faceclaims for many of the les amis(there's nobody perfect enough to suit each of them).
It's a strange situation; players usually retire from the match before they get to this point, or don't play in the first place. Enjolras takes a minute to regain himself once the medication he's given kicks in. The ice wrapped in a towel which had been provided due to the strange heat is pressed against his neck, and the towel Jehan had soaked with water still rests on his forehead.
"You shouldn't play," the trainer sighs. "But it's your decision."
"I'm okay," he insists, some of the colour returning to his face. "Thank you."
He walks slowly back towards the court to serve, his steps minimal to prevent using up any energy he doesn't have to. He chucks the ball into the air, and in the space of no more than a second, he fires the ball down the T. An ace. Jean Prouvaire- one of the greatest returners on the tour- has no chance returning this ball. The crowd erupts in applause.
"That was..." Jean Valjean is speechless, leaving the commentary with a couple of seconds of silence. "Amazing tennis right there. Enjolras could pull it out of the bag if he can keep this up for two sets."
"He's making it obvious that whatever happened just there isn't going to stop him," Dahlia continues. "He may be unwell, but he's going to push himself to the absolute limit today."
"Jean Prouvaire is playing well today too; but Enjolras is clearly much stronger on clay. Even under the weather, he's just a master of this type of court. Prouvaire is playing the better tennis, but Enjolras is having more success with his style of play."
"I really hope Enjolras can hold up for the two or three sets; this is set to be a fight to the death if he can."
Enjolras' good start doesn't continue, as he fluffs up his first serve. His second serve is good enough to spark a rally from the baseline, both holding their shot well. The blond seems to be feeling better; his shots lack their usual power, but he's aggressive enough to force Jehan to make a couple of unforced errors and takes the first game of the set. He also manages to nab an early break, which leads him to win the whole set at 7-5.
One more set. One more set and he's beginning to feel ill again. He breathes in deeply, forcing himself to run through the fatigue, sliding towards every single ball Jehan sends to the other side of the court. Jean Prouvaire doesn't falter either, barely even noticing the blazing heat burning away at his skin. Every move is elegant and seemingly effortless. Both players have long hair, which had been tied back out of their faces, but has now fallen loose and flies wildly in the air. Its 6-5, and if Enjolras manages to break Jehan he'll take the game.
A double fault gives Enjolras an early lead; fifteen love. Jehan bounces back, changing the score to 30-15 much to Enjolras' dismay. In the blink of an eye, it's deuce. And then second deuce. And then sixth. The advantage goes to Enjolras. Jehan's first serve comes up short. The second serve starts a rally. Enjolras hits the ball, with maybe a little more spin than he had intended. The ball looks as if it's going out, but it clips the line. Enjolras has won.
He collapses onto the ground with joy, his white shorts getting covered in red clay. The tiredness finally hits him, and he knows that if he even tries to talk all that will come out will be a whisper, but he's ecstatic. He hugs Jehan over the net, who asks him if he's alright and congratulates him.
When he gets a chance to collect his stuff, he slumps down onto the chair and covers his face with his hands. His body aches all over, and as the happiness begins to wear off, he can't ignore it much longer. He stops to sign a few tennis balls and autograph books, because it's something he always does even if he's had a particularly bad match, and rushes into his changing room, understandably worming his way out of the post match interview. Combeferre has already made his way there, and welcomes his friend with open arms. Enjolras dives into the hug, finally getting a chance to admit to himself how awful he is feeling.
"Worst match of my life," he chokes out. "I thought I was going to collapse at one point."
"You looked as if you were about to as well," Combeferre sighs, placing his hand upon the player's head. "The ice bath may be beneficial in several ways today."
"Ice bath? I just want to sleep..."
"You have to properly recover from the match; the last thing you want is cramp when you're already feeling shitty. It'll cool you down too; you're feverish."
"But-..."
"You only have a day's rest until the semi-final. I want you to be better. This could be your year."
If he is better, he'll go on to play Adrian Feuilly, the rising Polish tennis star. Having never really managed to succeed for his first few years playing professionally, in the past few years he's been working his way into the high ranks. Still to break into the top ten, he's started off well in grand slams and ends up falling short around the half way mark. This Roland Garros has been his most successful major to date, and if he plays his cards right(or if Enjolras is still unwell) he'll have made his first ever grand slam final.
Humble and down to earth, Adrian Feuilly has developed quite the fan base in his years of playing tennis. He'd grew up with very little money, only getting into the sport through showing significant promise when he'd played at school. Unable to afford a television, he'd learnt all he knew about tennis as a kid from learning as he went along. A good teacher or two showed him the ropes, but when it comes down to it he'd used his own instinct and his own skill to get to where he is today. Now wealthy enough from sponsors, he's paid back the people who've helped him throughout his life, and is prevalent in fundraising for children in similar situations.
Well loved by the press, he's a firm favourite to win the French Open this year. He's had an easy journey this year, coming up against some of the less able clay-court players, but he knows that if Enjolras is fit, he's in for one of the toughest games of his life. Feuilly plays a relatively defensive game from the baseline, but on clay his technique verges more on the aggressive side.
Enjolras himself has great admiration for the man; coming from a much wealthier background, he'd been surrounded by the more traditional view of tennis being a 'rich person's sport'. Being Julien Enjolras, however, this was an idea he'd quickly dismissed once he was old enough to think for himself. He hates the exclusivity of the sport to only those who can afford to play it and it's perception as being a 'snob sport', so he's glad that several players have defied this expectation.
Feuilly isn't the only one from a less wealthy background; one name that springs to mind is Bahorel, who will likely be either Feuilly or Enjolras' opponent in the final as he's on the other side of the draw. He had lived in Scotland his whole life, more specifically in Glasgow, only being able to play tennis if he managed to wait around the local park for long enough to get one of the free public courts, and even then they were of horrible quality; those awful stony courts where the ball hardly even bounces. Despite the bad resources, once he was old enough to play at school, he quickly developed a great skill for the sport, and before he knew it he was on the junior circuit, generating quite the response from the world of tennis with his surprise win at junior Wimbledon.
This warm welcome didn't last for long; a lack of good sportsmanship and a reputation for being a sore loser paired with a boisterous attitude earned him a more hostile reaction from the press as his career developed. His anger led to outbursts on pitch, leading to several warnings and a "fan-fiction" on one of the tennis sites christened 'Bahorel and The Broken Racket"; which not only mocked Bahorel's quick temper, but also the emergence of questionable 'Enjolferre' fans at the time.
Despite his reputation, Bahorel is actually a nice person. The mere fact he's Scottish is part of the reason why he's pictured as being so violent; grumpy and patriotic are just some of the stereotypes applied to him. Yes, he's got a tendency to be a bit of a grump, but only when the umpire's been particularly unfair in his calls or when he's angry at himself for playing badly. His patriotism- although only ever displayed in tongue and cheek comments about English players on the tour- is also frowned upon by the rest of Britain.
At Roland Garros so far, he's been particularly well behaved. He likes clay; he's aggressive, of course he likes clay. He likes the crowd too; he can't hear the insults if he doesn't understand the words they're hurling at him. He's also toning down the gamesmanship too; he doesn't waste his time between the turnovers, he doesn't pull medical time outs just to slow down his opponent's momentum and he even shows a sense of sportsmanship which he rarely ever displays.
The reasons for this aren't too clear; maybe he's finally realising that his success will mean nothing unless he calms down, or he's realising that getting angry can be detrimental to his game. Either way, it seems to be working. Being calm and collected helps him to hone his aggression into his shots instead. Whether it be Feuilly or Enjolras, they're going to be in for a particularly difficult final if they have hopes of taking the title.