2008 Gold
Title: Beyond: A Tribute
Part 6: In The Eye of The Storm
Author: Gold
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is created by Konomi Takeshi. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-san or any other entity holding any legal right associated with and arising out of Prince of Tennis . It was written purely out of fanservice and it is not to be used for profit or any false association with Konomi-san or aforesaid entities.
Notes:
1. I wanted Kaidoh in this story somehow. So I threw out the chapter that originally featured a brawl involving Kirihara, Echizen, Ibu Shinji and Kevin Smith. With all the chapters I've thrown out so far, I may have to start a new section aptly named Beyond: A Tribute—Excerpts That Didn't Make Osakada Tomoko's Cut.
2. Rianu asked in her review where Akutagawa Jiroh was. Currently, he's on his way back from Europe (I think he's training as a competitive skier, although I can't be sure). He's on the same flight as Yagyuu Hiroshi, although neither of them will know until they end up heading for the same men's bathroom on the plane at the same time.
Part Six: In The Eye of The Storm
It was midnight in Cincinnati, Ohio, United States of America.
Kaidoh Kaoru shut his eyes for a moment and took a long, deep breath, shifting a little in his armchair—and his eyes flew open as he ended up sinking even more deeply into it, much to his chagrin. This in itself was not very surprising, since the armchair was made of the finest calf leather. One expected no less in the private rooms of the most expensive suite in the best hospital in Cincinnati. Kaidoh's brows drew even closer together as he willed himself to remain still. It was completely out of character for him to be this restless, but too many things had happened this last week, each event worse than the one before, and it felt as if someone had seized him without warning and then thrown him into the eye of a fierce tornado. Discombobulated. That was what it was like for him now, in a world that was spiralling crazily out of control, beyond all rhyme or reason.
Kaidoh's eyes strayed involuntarily to the elegant, beechwood door in the corner of the suite. Beyond it was a room. Kaidoh had not yet glimpsed the inside (and he hoped he would never need to), but he was aware that Yukimura Seiichi was there, in that room beyond the beechwood door, fathoms deep in a sedated sleep after having being subjected to a battery of medical tests over the last few hours.
Nine hours before, just as he was about to begin his match against Sanada Genichirou, Yukimura Seiichi had collapsed before the world, in front of thousands of cameras and flashbulbs, in a 'live' that was beamed from television set to television set around the globe. In a move that would make the covers of a thousand publications and inspire the launch of a few hundred (more) fan associations, Sanada Genichirou shot across the court in record-breaking time, just in time to catch Yukimura's body before it hit the ground. The fact that his accompanying cry of mingled grief and helplessness (so described by one fascinated newspaper wag) echoed around the stadium simply made for far better reality television than most people had seen in a very long time.
In the ensuing confusion, the medical personnel that had rushed on to the court found themselves engaged on the losing end of an unexpected tug-of-war with Sanada, who was desperately trying to resuscitate Yukimura by himself and absolutely refused to let go of him. Eventually, Sanada had to be forcibly restrained by a combination of security officers, the umpire and some of the ball boys, while Yukimura was carefully laid on a stretcher in preparation to remove him from the courts. Kaidoh remembered standing up suddenly and impulsively in his seat in the stands, and the thought that flashed through his mind then was whether it would be faster to take the players' entrance to the court, or to leap down from where he was, and possibly break an ankle. But then there was another loud gasp from the watching spectators and Kaidoh had looked down to the court, just in time to catch sight of two familiar figures striding on to the courts, shoulder to shoulder. Kaidoh recognised one of them as Tezuka Kunimitsu, but the sight of the other made Kaidoh's eyes widen in astonishment—Atobe Keigo.
Within two hours, Yukimura had been removed into the care of some of Atobe's personal doctors, as Atobe coolly steamrolled over the protests from Yukimura's usual medical team, making it very clear just who was really in charge. The anxious organisers of the tournament and the equally worried AMTP would take a decision on the outcome of the match—a postponement or a walkover for Sanada—by the end of the next day, or as soon as the doctors had produced a medical report, whichever happened earlier. The media circus that had been buzzing persistently since Tezuka's sudden fall from grace were only too eager to feast on this startling and most newsworthy turn of events, eventually forcing Atobe to take steps to rescue the situation from being hijacked by the tepid responses from Yukimura's management (the same folks who had been blindsided by Tezuka's situation earlier).
At 6 p.m. on 29th July 2010, Cincinnati time, three hours after Yukimura's collapse, a terse statement was issued to the press, informing them shortly that Yukimura's condition had stabilized and that doctors were still examining him. It was signed off by a mysterious Taki Haginosuke of the as-yet-unheard-of AMI Corporation. At 8 p.m. the same evening, Cincinnati time, a second statement was released to the press, informing them that a press conference would be held within the next twenty-four hours, with the exact time and venue to be confirmed later. At the bottom of that simple statement were eight names—Atobe Keigo, Tezuka Kunimitsu, Yukimura Seiichi, Sanada Genichirou, Kirihara Akaya, Kaidoh Kaoru, Ibu Shinji and Echizen Ryoma. (To be honest, Shinji, Echizen and Kirihara were nowhere to be found at that time, and Yukimura was obviously not in any position to object, but Atobe considered these minor tics not worth dithering over). All media enquiries were referred to one Taki Haginosuke of AMI Corporation.
Kaidoh took a deep breath and sank even more deeply into his armchair. Across from him was a small sofa upholstered in rich, cobalt-blue velvet with alternating silken stripes of gold and lavender. Tezuka Kunimitsu sat on that sofa, serenely taking his refreshment from a cup of Earl Grey, as composed as if he were Her Majesty, the Queen of England at her most gracious. His eyes were fixed on the book he was reading, although occasionally he glanced up and allowed his gaze to scan over the room briefly before returning to the page he was reading. Waves of intense, rock-solid calm seemed to emanate from him, and Kaidoh felt vaguely reassured.
To Tezuka's right, on that same sofa, Echizen Ryoma was curled up like a wounded kitten, large, haunted eyes fixed dazedly on the little white cap he was turning over and over in his hands. Currently, Echizen was not in a happy place—he had had a brawl with Kirihara Akaya barely an hour ago, leaving his face patched with several gauze bandages, and his left cheek was so swollen that it was the size of a tennis ball, and he had great difficult speaking. To top it off, he was sporting several nasty-looking bruises and gashes, especially one beauty of a bruise right smack on his left shin.
Kaidoh cast a brief look in Echizen's direction. All the bruises and gashes and miles of gauze didn't tell the whole story. Obviously, this was all about Momoshiro, the-baka-who-had-disappeared. Kaidoh would never openly admit it, but yes, there had been this gnawing anxiety in his bones since the day he had read the news about Momoshiro's disappearance. Still, Kaidoh was also equally certain—as sure of this as the sun rose in the east every day—that Momoshiro would turn up. Kaidoh knew Momoshiro—knew his idiocy, his brilliance, his fearlessness and the way Momoshiro simply powered his way through everything, good or bad. Momoshiro would pull through, wherever he was. Eventually. It was just a matter of time. Kaidoh only hoped that it wouldn't take too long, because Echizen was treading the fine line between sanity and madness, and Kaidoh himself felt as if he, too, would snap if this week became any worse than it already was.
"Kaidoh-sempai." That slightly garbled voice was Echizen Ryoma's. "Have you talked to Inui-sempai lately?" Echizen's tone was expressionless. His eyes rested fixedly on the little white cap he was turning over and over in his hands.
Kaidoh's brows furrowed a little. "… yes… fshuuu…"
Echizen moved slightly. "You talk to him... every day?"
Kaidoh blinked. "…fshuuu…no…"
Echizen's head sank so low that Kaidoh could no longer see the other boy's face, but Echizen's fingers had clenched into fists around the little white cap. "… what do you talk about…?"
A pause.
"The weather," Kaidoh said finally. He focused on the elaborate (Persian?) hand-woven carpet currently underfoot. "Tennis." Just… things.
Echizen's voice was low and soft. "… do you call him…?"
Kaidoh stared down at his hands. "Sometimes." Thinking about it brought back memories, some of it unwelcome. He looked up at Echizen, trying to find the words to explain that he empathised. Momoshiro Takeshi was to Echizen Ryoma what Inui Sadaharu meant to Kaidoh Kaoru—more than a sempai, more than a team-mate, more than a best friend. In Kaidoh's case, whatever success he had ever achieved on the international circuits was something that he shared with Inui Sadaharu, even if the rest of the world did not know it. Inui, in Kaidoh's view, was the reason Kaidoh Kaoru was standing there, almost at the apex of the tennis world.
When he was eighteen years old, Kaidoh Kaoru left behind everything he knew and loved, and moved to America to pursue a mad, mad dream. He was going to be a professional tennis player.
According to Kaidoh's geography lessons in school, everybody in the United States of America spoke English. Kaidoh realised by the end of his first twenty-four hours there that his geography teacher had been wrong. Americans spoke maybe a thousand different languages, and several other polyglots that passed for English but probably weren't. America was a melting pot of different races, different tongues – and different English-es. Everybody had different accents and different ways of expressing what they meant. Some of them spoke English very fast, some swallowed their words as fast as they said them, and some of them just sounded plain funny. English had been one of Kaidoh's best subjects in school, but here, in the land where everybody was supposed to speak in the language he had so painstakingly learned in school, Kaidoh Kaoru found himself unable to comprehend and unable to be comprehended.
In his first three months there, Kaidoh travelled to over twenty junior pro tournaments in twelve different cities. He crashed out in the first round for about half of them and made it to the second round for the rest of the tournaments. His opponents were big, strong and irritating. Several of them liked to grunt loudly after each serve. Several liked to chomp on bananas in between sets although it didn't visibly have positive effects on their game. Several liked to play mind games that served no purpose other than to insult their rivals as crudely and as lewdly as possible. Kaidoh had always thought that tennis was meant to be a gentleman's sport, not a bloodsport, but a fair number of the players had apparently never learned or never been taught that. Those were the ones who were there for the glory of the fame, not the laurels of the game.
Kaidoh's weight dropped by an average of one kilogram a month during those first few months. The coaches overseeing him were concerned, but not over-anxious. They had diagnosed Kaidoh's condition correctly as merely an extra-severe bout of homesickness which, in their experience, generally wore off within six months or so. If it didn't, Kaidoh would have to pack up and return to Japan. He would not be the first talented player to do so, nor would he be the last. The problems he faced, after all, were not unique to him alone. For every one player who makes it to the pro courts, ten thousand others fall by the wayside in defeat, unable to cope with the harsh reality of professional tennis. Kaidoh would have to toughen himself both physically and mentally before he could truly claim a place amongst those who were qualified to play on the professional courts of the world.
Kaidoh knew that he had to do something—he had come this far, and he wanted to be able to go further. He would not give up and he refused to fail so close to his goal; if the coaches could not help him, then it was up to him to find the right person who could assist him. There was, in effect, only one person who might just be able to pull it off—Inui Sadaharu.
Inui Sadaharu was Kaidoh's sempai and very good friend. Their almost-best-friendship had been forged during Kaidoh's second year in junior high and plodded steadily all through their high school years. Sometimes Kaidoh secretly thought that they had always been meant to be friends. They clicked together easily; Inui had a soft spot for Kaidoh, who in turn had a very healthy respect for his sempai, who was one of Seigaku's best singles players. They were team-mates, good friends, and regular training partners outside of club practice. Inui had been the Seigaku regulars' data specialist and unofficial training consultant, drawing on his data of their physical condition and tennis skills to devise their diet, training regimens and also three-quarters of their regular drills. He was also the architect of special daily training menus that had helped Kaidoh to improve his physical condition and tennis skills over the years. Kaidoh trusted that Inui—and not the nutritionist and coaches—was the one person best-placed to decide what should be done.
Inui Sadaharu heard Kaidoh out and then he had asked questions: about Kaidoh's new diet, new training menu, new coach's habits, new practice times, the results of Kaidoh's last physical, and so on and so forth. The upshot was that Kaidoh had found in his email inbox the very next day, a very long email, complete with six separate files attached—brand new training menus, a new diet, and also recipes for some dubious and foul-tasting juices that, according to Inui, were beneficial for one's health. It had touched Kaidoh—clearly Inui must have worked through the night without any rest in order to have come up with those. To the consternation of his nutritionist and coaches, Kaidoh had immediately begun following the instructions in Inui's email and kept to a strict, Inui-sanctioned diet, even going to the extent of preparing the foods and drinks himself when the nutritionist, in a fit of pique, refused to prepare the food in the menus he gave her. Kaidoh never made the request of her again.
Within a month, Kaidoh's physical condition had improved and he was registering improved performances in the tournaments; within three months, Kaidoh was beginning to win tournaments. The coaches patted him on the back and told him how pleased they were that he had overcome his mental block. The nutritionist sulked and treated him as coldly as she could. Kaidoh had said nothing, but continued working out, training, eating and resting as Inui had instructed. Inui's advice, as always, was deadly accurate.
It had been more than two years since that day, Kaidoh thought. But every Saturday night, without fail, regardless of which continent or which country he was in, Kaidoh would report to Inui the results of his training for that week. Inui would make comments, offer suggestions and generally play to perfection the role of Kaidoh's long-distance nutritionist and personal trainer. Sometimes, they talked as friends do, about other things—their families, their friends, whether Echizen was still drinking the Inui-recommended dosage of milk daily, how Fuji had taken on a part-time job at a newspaper, thermodynamics, the fourth dimension, baseball games—
Brrrrrrrrrr. Brrrrrrrrrr. Brrrrrrrrrr. Brrrrrrrrrr.
—The mobile phone in Kaidoh's pocket vibrated four times, rousing him from his reverie. Kaidoh reached into his pocket, pulled it out, and read the message on the little screen.
Kaoru, Renji and I need to talk to Atobe and Tezuka urgently. Is it possible to do so now? Thank you. –Inui Sadaharu
Kaidoh stood up abruptly. "Buchou."
Opposite him, Tezuka lifted his eyes from his book.
Kaidoh silently handed him the mobile phone.
Tezuka read the message on it. Then he, too, stood up.
Atobe Keigo had set up shop in a corner of the suite that was equipped with full business facilities: a large, heavy oak desk, a state-of-the-art laser printer, a powerful-looking photocopier, and several electronic and computer gizmos. Atobe was working off his Blackberry and his very expensive-looking lavender-and-silver laptop, whilst maintaining a telephone conversation on one of his many gaily-coloured mobile phones. Kabaji Munehiro stood behind Atobe, as expected, a stolid and familiar presence in an otherwise curious setting.
Atobe watched as Tezuka and Kaidoh approached, still listening to the other person on his mobile phone. It was Kabaji who took the mobile phone that Tezuka held out, and passed it to Atobe.
"One moment, Yuushi." Atobe glanced at Inui's message on the mobile phone and then at Tezuka and Kaidoh. "Tezuka and Kaidoh Kaoru are here. You had better get Inui Sadaharu and Yanagi Renji in. – No, ore-sama will call you shortly. Use the sixth conference room and tell Miyamoto to get the equipment ready." Atobe snapped shut his mobile phone and looked hard at Tezuka and Kaidoh. "It seems that Inui and Yanagi may be on to something. – What is it, Kabaji?"
"Takahiro-sensei and Aramaki-sensei have just informed that they have carried out some tests on Sanada-san—the same tests as the ones they carried out on Yukimura-san."
Atobe's gaze grew sharp and even Tezuka's eyes seemed to narrow a little.
"They carried out the tests they did on Yukimura—on Sanada as well?" Atobe placed his mobile phone on the desk, his fingers tapping lightly against the oak surface. "Did they say why?"
"No."
The beat of Atobe's fingers against the surface of the desk escalated. "Ore-sama is missing something here and ore-sama has this feeling that it's a big something. Tell them that ore-sama will see them in forty minutes. Inform them also that anything that involves something more major than keeping Yukimura on a saline or glucose drip has to go through ore-sama first."
"Usu."
"Update Taki, but tell him that there are to be no leaks for this—authorised or otherwise."
"Usu."
Atobe pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. "Is the video-conferencing equipment ready, Kabaji?"
"Usu."
"Then let's go."
