RAINDROPS
A Prince of Tennis Fanfic
By: weirdcoffeeholic
Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis (nor Ryoma for that matter). sobs
Author's Note: It never fails to amaze me that even though I'm legally an adult, I still find my sweet sanctuary in Saturday morning cartoons and junk food. :D
Another Irrelevant Note: A few days ago, I accidentally left my dorm unlocked and went out to go to an internet café with my boyfriend. I left my wallet (which had around 65) inside my room and brought change just in case. Around fifteen minutes later, I went back to my dorm to grab my wallet and purse and went out again to catch a movie with my boyfriend at the mall. When we were about to pay for the movie snacks (it was my share), I took out my wallet to find out that I only had, like, ten bucks left. Turns out, one of the boarders in my dorm is a petty thief and the bitch got away with it when we went to the police. She said we lacked "physical evidence" even though we had an eye witness and that she was the only one who was there when the crime happened. Yeah, so there. I just gave away 55 this week so I'm just so effing broke and pissed. That's the reason why I updated so late. I lost inspiration along with my money. LOL. Apologies, apologies, apologies.
-oOo-
CHAPTER TWENTY
Found
Kesuke quietly heaved himself over the window sill and repositioned his bag on his shoulder, toppling down face first into the floor with a loud 'thump.' Wincing, he stopped himself from yelping out in pain and straightened up, brushing off his sleeve. He unconsciously muttered a word that would've driven his mother berserk.
He ignored the stinging of his nose and looked around with wide eyes at the actual office of, according to Eiji, one of the richest men in the world. It had not been a let down. His jaws dropped to the floor. This is wicked.
Kesuke had seen pictures of the presidential oval office from his history classes at school, and the resemblance was very uncanny, right down to the embroidered logo on the floor, except instead of an eagle clutching scrolls, there was a tennis ball with a racket in the background. With that, he knew he had the right office.
With a sheepish grin that reached his ears, he dropped his bag on the floor and took out his camera. He then began taking pictures of everything his eyes had laid upon – various trophies, medals that were stack on shelf after shelf from different tennis competitions. A couple of them were from the US Open and there was even one that was bagged from Wimbledon. And they all bore the same name: Echizen.
Kesuke raised his eyebrow. This guy's pretty good, he thought as he took one last picture and moved to the messy work desk to his left. Camera in his hand, he skimmed over the papers littering the surface. There was nothing interesting – just a bunch of graphs and weird terms he didn't know of. He could barely understand what they said, but something else did catch his eye.
Carefully, he pushed some of the random documents aside to reveal a particular framed photo that made Kesuke feel nostalgic. He took it into his hand and brought it closer to his eyes, not letting a single detail pass his brown eyes.
It was a picture of a man with his hand on the shoulder of a young boy, most probably his son. The father was in a black business suit, had dark skin, and short, brown, spiky hair. The son on the other hand was pale with messy, black or dark green hair. He had on a private school uniform and a white tennis cap. They both bore the same sharp, catlike eyes, except that the man's were black and the little boy's were yellow.
Kesuke furrowed his brows broodingly. That's freakishly weird, he thought. He was intensely focused on the son, whose face was stiff and deadpanned. He raised the camera and focused it on the photo. It's either my eyesight sucks like Mom's or this guy looks like my long lost twin or something—
BAM!
Kesuke felt like he was electrocuted. He dropped the frame in surprise and heard it shatter on the floor. His head snapped up as he found himself face to face with an empty, steel barrel of a gun and a pair of golden eyes that could possible tear flesh.
Uh-oh.
-oOo-
He blinked twice at what he saw.
If anyone would be looking at a distance, they would in their right mind to call social services. The scene was very disturbing.
What the hell—
Ryoma Echizen, well-renowned CEO, named one of the wealthiest men in the face of the planet, was pointing a Desert Eagle handgun on an unsuspecting little boy who had somehow made his way to his office. It was enough to make his sales, not to mention reputation, plummet into oblivion.
He scowled as he slowly lowered his gun and tucked it back into his coat. Ryoma half-expected the kid to scramble out the window where he probably snuck in, but he just stood there, stunned, staring at him with wide, emotionless eyes.
He's probably from the tour, he thought, sighing inwardly. Damnit, Eiji. He noted the digital camera in his hand.
The little boy just stood there, unmoving, not making a single sound. It was giving Ryoma the goose bumps, the way he looked at him like a statue. He was never really the one for kids, but he took this opportunity to test his child communication skills. He scoffed. Good luck with that.
"Hey," Ryoma finally said. This is going to be harder than I thought.
The kid remained frozen. Apparently, it was kind of hard not to be after almost being shot.
Ryoma cleared his throat. This is going to be harder than I thought. "Hey, it's okay," he repeated, taking a step closer. The boy's reaction took him by surprise.
"Get back!" he warned in his little voice, snapping out of his trance and resuming a fighting stance. He backed up. "Get back, I tell you! I'm a blue belt in karate. My teacher says I'll be on my way to a black belt in no time! You don't wanna fight with me if you wanna live!"
The older man rolled his eyes at the antics. You know, he's kinda cute. "I got my black belt when I turned seventeen," Ryoma told the kid.
The little boy's eyes rounded a bit more, emphasizing their shape and color.
It made Ryoma stop. Wait a sec, he thought. The boy's features were definitely something that struck him head-on. That's about the oddest thing I've seen since I saw Ryoga sleeping with a blankie when he was twelve—
Ryoma always thought that he and his brother were the only ones who had the peculiar hair color they were born with. Strangely enough, the boy's head was also the same shade of deep blue green. Come to think of it, even the eyes are the same—
"Please don't tell m-my coach!" the kid asked as his voice started to break. Tears were forming on the sides of his eyes. "I might get kicked off the t-team! Cause if you tell him, then h-he's gonna tell my Mom! And my mom d-doesn't know I'm h-here cause I f-forged the reply s-slip cause I knew she w-w-wouldn't let me, but I really wanted t-to go—!" He sniffed and wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket.
Ryoma blinked at the crying kid beside his desk. The way he stuttered almost every word disturbed him a bit. Oh God, what the hell am I supposed to do here? First my wife and now I have to deal with this? If something happens to this kid, I'm dead. Signature forging by a school kid. Does my insurance cover that?
"Hey," he said again, slowly pacing towards the boy who wouldn't stop crying into his jacket sleeve. He knelt down in one knee in front of him. I'd better let him off. What harm could a little kid do? "You wanna make a deal?"
The kid didn't look up, but his sobbing subsided a bit.
Ryoma sighed. "Okay, I won't tell your coach that you were snooping around in my office. I'll just tell them you got lost and you bumped into me. People get lost in here all the time." he said.
This seemed to quiet him down. Ryoma let out another breath.
"But you have to promise me that you'll tell your mother what you did," he added.
The boy looked up this time, an incredulous look plastered on his face. "H-huh?" he stammered. "B-but she's gonna ground m-me for a whole week! I can't have that when I've g-got tennis p-p-practice everyday!"
Ryoma remembered that it was a tennis varsity team who came for a tour. The uncanny resemblance of the boy was still getting to him. "I'm sure your mother wouldn't do that," he said, trying to be comforting without losing his corporate-ness, if that was humanly possible.
"Yes, she w-will!" the boy said, wiping his tears away defiantly. "You don't know how she is when she gets m-mad!"
The older man was starting to get a little frustrated. He had to get this kid back to the tour before he gets accused of something stupid like kidnapping. "Okay, here's what we're gonna do," Ryoma said slowly, calmly. "I'm going to take you back to you your field trip and I won't tell them anything—"
Ryoma stopped in mid-sentence when his sharp, gold orbs landed unexpectedly on the name that was sewn in blue over the boy's jacket. The lettering was small, simple, and handmade. The sight gave him the chills and his heart sank a couple of notches. It hit him like a giant, unexpected tsunami.
K. Ryuuzaki
He blinked twice, refusing to believe his eyes. He thought it was just a trick of the light or perhaps an illusion, something that was seemingly impossible. The kid stared at Ryoma with confusion written on his young, bubbly face. He swallowed a lump in his throat.
Is my mind fucking playing tricks on me?
-oOo-
Sakuno Ryuuzaki was not pleased.
She was not pleased at all.
"Horio," she pried the name out of her mouth with all the patience and respect she had. A vein was twitching on her forehead. "When are you going to get the fact that I'm way too busy with the Times, caught up with paying the house bills, and dealing with unreliable writers to even consider dating?" Much less dating you?
The man grinned proudly and adjusted his tie. "Well, as you can see, my dear," he began, causing Sakuno to break the led of her pencil on an unfinished article. "I've made countless contributions to this reputable newsprint for the past years now—"
"I mean, you try raising a seven-year-old boy alone!"
"—critically-acclaimed articles, after being a full-proof copyreader, there's just nothing I can't do! I'm just so disturbed as to why you won't accept my invitation for dinner—"
"I've way more important things to do than listen to you and your senseless babbling, so if you'll excuse me—"
"—and it's very evident that without me, this paper would be as good as pulp—"
"What?!"
Horio's supposed reply was silenced completely when a crumpled piece of paper went zipping at point-blank range into his open mouth. The EIC stood up, towering over the shaking form of her Opinions writer, her shadow creeping on the carpeted floor. In her hand was a newly-sharpened, very pointy HB pencil.
"Say that again," she hissed dangerously. I don't have time for this. "Say that again and your employment will be as good as pulp. No, correct that. You will be as good as pulp."
Horio said something illegible. But Sakuno didn't care.
"Get out of my office. Now."
The man willingly obliged and trudged away, hunched-backed. No one dared to stand up against Sakuno when she was like this, especially if one of her subordinated said anything against the paper she worked so hard for.
She rubbed her temples in an attempt to soothe the migraine that was coming.
When will that guy give up? I just don't understand why he tries so hard? There are plenty of women in this office building who are more desirable than me, but why, oh Kami, why me?
Sakuno had actually considered giving him a chance. But decided it was far too risky. Heck, she didn't want to be imprisoned for a homicidal attempt at the most arrogant, egotistical, big-headed man she had ever met—
A glint from a rock on her finger snapped her out of her thoughts.
Are you sure that's the reason, Sakuno? a voice in her head spoke so suddenly that she was surprised herself.
A couple of seconds passed.
She ran a tired hand over her face in frustration.
No, I don't think that's the reason why.
-oOo-
"Hey, mister," Kesuke piped out, sniffing. "What are you looking at?"
He looks like he just saw a ghost or something.
The tall man in the dark business suit didn't twitch a muscle. It was his turn to gape; dumbstruck at whatever – or whoever – it was before his yellow eyes. The thing that disturbed Kesuke the most was that he wasn't even blinking nor breathing. It was like his breath was suddenly caught in his chest.
Kesuke felt his fear and surprise wane as the man remained frozen in place. His tears had dried already, his blood flowed back into his cold veins, and he found himself raising his eyebrows inquisitively. His undying curiosity got the best of him.
"Hey, you're the guy in the picture!" he squeaked, pointing to Ryoma with a rather accusing index finger, its tip hovering a centimeter away from the man's nose.
This seemed very effective and it snapped him out of his torpor.
The man looked a little dazed. "What… picture?" he said slowly, as if afraid his choice of words could cause an explosion.
"That one! The one on the desk!" Kesuke then indicated the small picture frame on the man's messy table. This guy's weird, he thought absentmindedly. And to think I was scared of him a while ago. Pfft.
Yellow eyes flickered to the particular piece of bric-a-brac for a moment before shifting his gaze back at Kesuke again. His pale complexion grew paler for some unknown reason. "Oh," he said, looking weary, confused, and shocked all together. "That… was taken a long time ago."
Yeah, like I didn't figure that out on my own, Kesuke thought. I'm not five years old anymore. I wouldn't mind getting as tall as you though. "Wow, so you won all those cool trophies on the shelf?" he asked, eyes widening with excitement, ignoring the other's rigidity.
The man looked like he was about to be sentenced to death, but he simply nodded in reply. His thin lips were slightly parted as his sharp eyes bore into the Kesuke's. The boy chose to crush it aside, his exhilaration flooding his system. He then began babbling like there was no tomorrow.
"Oh, my God, you're Ryoma Echizen! You're the guy who runs this awesome company right? That's what my tour guide said! I'm a big fan of your tennis rackets! They're, like, the best God-given, man-made invention known to humanity! I got my first racket when I was five and it was Nitoryuu and I still have it till now! It's still in perfect shape even though I practiced with it everyday for two and a half years cause the quality is just awesome, but too bad it got too small for me and I had to get a new one cause I grew a lot cause my mom always made me drink soy milk every morning! She says I need it if I wanna be a really great tennis player someday."
He finished his drivel with a wide, bright smile that reached his ears. Kesuke stood proud, his hands on his hips and his nose high in the air.
The man couldn't help but stare. He seemed hesitant at first but he finally said something after his moments of unperturbed silence.
"What's your name?"
Kesuke opened his eyes and blinked at the question. Mom said to never talk to strangers, but what the heck! He's a CEO with mad tennis skills! I don't think that counts as 'stranger.' "I'm Kesuke," he answered smugly as he pointed to the embroidery on his jersey. "Kesuke Ryuuzaki."
Blood left the man's face. He looked ashen, ghostly even. His illegible glare bore into Kesuke's chocolate eyes in a manner that made a shiver erupt from his core. The feeling of anticipation and fear returned as quickly as it went away. He was starting to get a little scared again.
What's up with this psycho? he thought as he tried to take a step back. Does tennis have this effect on older people? I think Eiji left out something about this CEO dude: 'Despite being an unworldly tennis prodigy, Ryoma Echizen is also a psycho-freak who has mood swings every other minute or so—'
With the way the man was looking at him, Kesuke felt like he was a stray animal who caught his attention. He was kneeling down to level his gaze with his and one of his elbows was slung over his raised knee. The expression on his hard face was unreadable and stripped of any sign of emotion. It was like looking at a very realistic wax figure.
He looked the same as he did when the particular picture on the desk was taken, except that his boyish, youthful features were gone, replaced with mature and more angular ones. Kesuke estimated he was twice his height now and that they had the same odd color of hair. That part was weird. He had always thought that he was the only one in the face of the planet gifted with such a strange hair color.
"What's your mother's name?" the man then asked him.
Kesuke raised his eyebrow at the unexpected prying. But he knew better. No, he wasn't about to tell him his mother's name not after the ridiculous thing he did. He knew his mother by heart and he could almost predict her reaction that it made him want to laugh. She would ground him for a week – no, a month, if she ever found out what her son did. There was no way in his entire existence he would tell, especially if the one he was talking to was a psychotic, never mind the fact that he was uber-famous.
"Why should I answer that, mister?" Kesuke snapped, crossing his arms and pouting. "You're really rich and you have connections. After you send me back to my field trip, you're gonna call my mom and tell me off. I can tell from the glint in your eyes!"
The man rolled his yellow orbs. There was a hint of impatience. "Okay, how about we make another deal?" he asked in measured tones.
"What?" Kesuke still had his arms crossed on his chest.
Clearing his throat, the man shifted slightly. "If you tell me your mother's name now, I won't tell your coach that you were trespassing in my office and I won't bother giving your mom a phone call," he began. "If you don't, I'm going to tell them that you gave them the slip and went snooping around unsupervised. And inevitably they are going to tell your mother about what you just did. Take your pick."
Darn, Kesuke thought, frustrated. He got me there.
He weighed his options and decided on the better choice.
"Fine," Kesuke said. "Her name's Sakuno. Sakuno Ryuuzaki."
-oOo-
Author's Note: Hello, everyone! How I missed writing! I hope this chappy doesn't disappoint you guys. I know you're all looking for some RyoSaku action, but I just can't speed up the flow of the story since it'll look a little… rushed. So there. The encounter of our two star-crossed lovers will be in the next chapter or two. Thank you for keeping up with me despite my absence. See you next week, probably. :)