Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is created by Konomi Takeshi-san. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-san or any other entity holding any rights associated with and arising out of Prince of Tennis or New Prince of Tennis. This 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.
© Gold
Author's Notes:
It has been a very long time. Writer's block and real life got in the way. But I finally, finally, am able to pick this up again. I have not actually written anything for so long that I thought I had lost my ability to tell a story. Also, I found two hundred drafts for this entire piece of fanfiction on my hard drive and it was a bit hard to let go. I do wish I had saved the Chinese translation that someone did once for this fanfiction.
Now, about this chapter. It's meant for Tezuka Kunimitsu, who ought to have been the main character in this fanfiction, and then found everyone else muscling in on his territory, jostling for space in the story and stampeding merrily through the chapters with hardly a thought for him. Somehow, I don't think Tezuka minded. I think he understood – and I think he understands still, and wouldn't have wanted it any other way...
... because this story was never only about him.
Beyond: A Tribute – Part Twenty-Two: The End of the Age of Innocence
Tezuka Kunimitsu had been born and brought up in Japan for most of his life. In him was ingrained much of the spirit, mettle and respect for tradition that characterised his people. At the same time, he had also spent many years training in Germany and America. The exposure to different cultures, mindsets and ways of life shattered several pre-conceived notions he had unconsciously held, and opened his eyes and mind in ways he had never imagined. He would always feel more at home in Japan than anywhere else, but it would also be inevitable that his perspective would come to straddle both East and West, and imbue the best of both worlds. Ironically enough, it would also mean that he would never wholly belong to either.
Tennis had woven its way into Tezuka Kunimitsu's life for as far back as he could remember.
He lost his first tooth and scraped a knee for the first time when he tripped and fell trying to retrieve a tennis ball. (His grandfather said, stern but kind, Yuudan sezu ni ikou).
He felt a sense of achievement for the first time when he finally managed to swing a racket correctly and to hit a tennis ball over the net that was almost the same height as he was. (His grandfather said, proudly, Yuudan sezu ni ikou).
He got into his first fisticuffs at a very tender age when someone tried to steal his tennis racket. The thief failed. (His grandfather said, righteously, Yuudan sezu ni ikou).
When he won his first tennis match against an opponent bigger, older and stronger than him, the adults crowded around him and showered him with praises. (His grandfather said, approvingly, Yuudan sezu ni ikou).
He won his first championship medal at a country club, at the tender age of six, beating opponents who were at least four years older than him. (His grandfather said, delightedly, Yuudan sezu ni ikou).
As the years passed and Tezuka grew older, tennis' role in Tezuka's life kept pace together with him. For it was through tennis that Tezuka learned things about the world he lived in.
Some lessons were harsh. He faced selfish sempais who were bullies and stopped at nothing to physically injure him; he hurt himself in order to do what he thought was right, so as not to disappoint a good friend, but he only succeeded in nearly breaking that friend's heart instead. more than once, rivals from other schools deliberately tried to injure him further, no matter that it stop him from playing tennis altogether, forever. Tezuka learned that people were not who they seemed, that he needed to walk in someone else's shoes before making decisions that would affect them and that yes, there were people in this world who had ill intentions. People could be… wicked.
But tennis also gifted Tezuka with that which could not be purchased otherwise, for any price in any market. He found true friends who would stand by him for life, sempais both wise and good, a school where he belonged, team-mates who were brothers-in-arms and for whom he would gladly have sacrificed his future in tennis (and indeed, very nearly did). He had found a purpose in life that grounded him and thrilled him in equal parts. It was a dream of all dreams, one that was magnificent, ambitious and attainable all at once, one that he could pour his whole heart and soul into. For, truth to tell, Tezuka Kunimitsu's soul was all passion and fire – carven marble exterior notwithstanding.
Success did not come easily. Tezuka did what he thought was best, but not always right for him, and sometimes it took a wiser hand to gently nudge him on his way. He knew that he was blessed beyond belief to be able to make a successful career of the game that he loved so deeply, and to be able to do this for the rest of his life. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had fleetingly thought that should he someday retire from the tour, he would hope to be able to play on the senior tour (or perhaps even start one of his own). Or he might coach the next few generations of Japanese schoolboys, help them find joy in tennis and guide them on their way, as he had once been guided.
When, then, had it come to this?
The year they had debuted on the pro circuits, it had been so simple. They knew nothing, except how to play tennis. So that was exactly what they did.
They played tennis, figuring out the best strategy to accumulate points, determining the events they would enter and targeting the desired rankings. (The fact that they all targeted the same junior world No. 1 ranking and nearly always the same events, had fazed them not a whit). Tennis was their domain; that was made abundantly clear. The rest of it was taken care of by their management. This made perfect sense, given that you cannot reasonably expect a bunch of teenagers to do what team managers, who are experienced adults, can do. The management drew up schedules, arranged transport and accommodation, managed media relations, liaised with their fans, recommended endorsements, balanced the books, engaged coaches, nutritionists, doctors and whoever necessary, and did all the administrative work for funnelling their earnings into their bank accounts. The steady stream of income had grown to highly significant proportions by the end of their first year as pros.
That first year, Tezuka now realised, Atobe Keigo had been with them. The changes had come in after Atobe had left, not subtle but decidedly innocuous, part of a rot that they were now paying the price for, in ways still unfathomable to them.
Something had been irreparably broken, somewhere.
Even Oishi, who had one of the kindest natures in the world, had said to Tezuka, hesitantly to be sure, but possibly with the barest edge of accusation in his tone: Nobody said anything. I thought they were supposed to.
There were things that they had to deal with, apart from playing tennis. This, they understood. They had no intention of abdicating their responsibilities. But there were managers for a reason, and people had been hired to deal with all the things which they had absolutely no expertise in. And they had trusted them. They were countrymen, a fellowship in a foreign land.
What had he told Oishi, who had been in Biei with Kikumaru then, hoping to find Momoshiro? What had he said to Oishi, when the other had expressed self-doubt and anxiety, and wondered if he had been doing something right?
Do what you feel you have to, with no regrets.
But do not lose yourself along the way.
We all want to take responsibility for things bigger than we are and to save the people we love.
Atobe Keigo had been doing what he could for them and more, very much more. He had stepped into the breach and flexed the muscles of his very considerable resources. Atobe had steamrolled or else destroyed obstacles in their way (or perhaps more accurately, in Atobe's way), as best he could, and created a new order to replace the chaos that they had been.
You are not the only one who can be a pillar.
Tezuka remembered that Atobe had once said something like that to him, a very long time ago. It had been an age ago, when Tezuka had made the choice to leave Japan for Germany, and Atobe's words had the ring of a promise. – Atobe was not one to take his promises lightly.
But this wasn't about being a pillar.
This wasn't about being free.
This wasn't even about tennis. Not exactly. Not in the way they had been thinking, which was extraordinary, because up until then, everything had been about tennis.
"…still going to do it," Sanada rumbled, his voice breaking unceremoniously into Tezuka's reverie.
"…a very bad idea," Echizen insisted as he grabbed a grape-flavoured Fanta from a cooler box that Kabaji Munehiro had magically wheeled from somewhere.
Yukimura tugged on Echizen's arm and pulled him down in a flailing of arms and legs to the seat beside him.
"Hey–!" protested Echizen, barely keeping his canned soft drink afloat.
"Sit," ordered Sanada, pressing on Echizen's shoulder in (what was for him) friendly fashion. "You talk too much, Echizen Ryoma."
"Do not," Echizen muttered. "You don't listen enough, Sanada Genichirou."
Yukimura chuckled and reached for a bottle of cola, only for it to be snatched away by Kaidoh Kaoru. Yukimura arched an eyebrow.
Kaidoh coloured a little, but held his ground. "Inui-sempai says that you can only drink from Yanagi-san's approved list of brands of natural spring water or filtered and boiled tap water, until further notice."
Kirihara beamed in great relief. He would never have dared to do that; there was a pecking order even amongst the ex-captains of Rikkai.
"Too much sugar, artificial sweeteners and flavourings are probably not conducive for your current condition," Ibu Shinji stated matter-of-factly as he poked about discontentedly in the cooler and finally extracting a bottle of mineral water. "Here, Yukimura-san."
Watching them, Tezuka's face softened. It would take more than this to tear them apart. The question was, would they all be on the same page? Could they pull together and do it as one team?
For too long, they'd been completely fixated on the idea that what it took was a potent cocktail of genius, athleticism, mental mettle, guts and blood, all swirled into a heady mixture laced with lethal doses of self-confidence and ambitious drive to follow their dreams. They had lived and breathed tennis, driving themselves on and pouring their soul into it, because this was what you did if you were true to your dreams. This was how it was supposed to be.
It was supposed to be enough. This was about tennis. They were supposed to rack up the points, to get wildcards into tournaments, to barge into the top rankings and thumb their noses at opponents on the way, and to win titles on the tour. They thrilled to the fight, their very blood fired up at the thought of playing matches, of going to the top. Never mind the gruelling rounds of the third or fourth tier tournaments they had to play in order to gain points for the right to compete in the best tournaments. Never mind the hell of jetlag and sometimes questionable lodgings, of opponents who played dirty and those who hid their foulness beneath fair faces. Those were rites of passage which all had to go through.
But in professional tennis, it takes more than that.
It takes adults. It is a career, not just a sport. Professional tennis is more than what happened on the courts. It was a business as well. As players, each of them was both the entirety of the business and the sole reason for its success and failure. They were each a self-operating business, and simultaneously both sole managing director and sole shareholder of that business. This was what it meant. This was what it took after one stepped into the working world – to run their own business and to make a career of it. It was not enough to evolve in tennis alone. They needed to evolve, too, from children to adults. They had fancied that they had been carrying on like mature adults when really, all they had been doing was playing at being grown-up. This wasn't junior high or high school any longer. Their graduation was long overdue.
Tezuka turned to look at Atobe, who hadn't said a word for quite some time, and was apparently watching them as if they were there merely to provide amusement for him, lips curled a little. But there was no humour in the dark, serious eyes that met Tezuka's gaze. Atobe wasn't just watching them; he was watchful, in a manner that suggested that he was also assessing them.
Tezuka's jaw tightened.
He suddenly understood Atobe's actions, from beginning to end. It flashed across Tezuka's mind that Atobe had perhaps, possibly, maybe decided to create a professional management agency for them. But Atobe could not do this alone. They had to be worth it, Tezuka knew.
So Tezuka said, very quietly: "Enough."
Time stood still.
"Sempai?" It was Kaidoh, puzzled – and for good reason.
Yukimura's eyes grew sharp and he exchanged quick glances with Sanada, whose arms were folded sternly, in his classic stance.
Echizen looked down at his Fanta. Something was crackling in the air, making the hairs on his arms stand.
Ibu Shinji shifted uncomfortably and was rewarded with a sidelong glare from Kaidoh, which he promptly returned.
"Enough," repeated Tezuka, a little more strongly this time. "We have been going about this the wrong way."
He was met with several blinks and bewilderment from his utterly unappreciative audience. Tezuka waited a few more seconds, letting his words sink in.
"We have thought all along that we proved ourselves capable of what it takes for pro tennis. The world calls us the Princes of Tennis, and we believe that we are."
Between them, they had reached the finals of five Grand Slam tournaments, the semi-finals of eight Grand Slam tournaments and the finals of nearly all the Masters tournaments and Grand Slam tournaments played over the last three years. They had earned more than twenty tour titles between them, including quite a few Masters titles. Princes of Tennis, indeed – it was a name they had rightly earned.
"We have focused our efforts on evolving our tennis. There is nothing wrong with that. But professional tennis is about more than tennis." The set of Tezuka's mouth was very stern. "It is equally important to grow and progress as persons – to mature into adults."
Kirihara seemed both puzzled and astonished; Kaidoh was scowling so hard that it was beginning to look threateningly permanent; Yukimura looked reflective but his eyes were watchful; Ibu's lips were pursed, a sure sign of disturbance in his mind; Sanada was quite inscrutable; and Echizen – well, Echizen looked oddly meditative.
"We are –" Tezuka paused briefly – "we are not dissimilar to ships on a voyage. The cargoes we carry are like none other in the world. We bear with us all the years that we have spent on tennis, all that we have sacrificed and otherwise given up for tennis, all we have gained because of tennis, all our resources, our hopes and dreams, our hearts and souls – and whatever we have left over, if there is anything left. We also shoulder the hopes and dreams of our friends and rivals, of all those who deemed us worthy of the gift of their cherished hopes and dreams. We – have spared nothing.
"Our ships cannot founder, not with these cargoes. So as we picked our team members years ago, so we should have picked our crew. The crew must have the interests of the ship, the captain and the voyage at heart. Be it peacetime, or should there ever be conflict or maelstroms ahead, the crew is the captain's helpmate, and the ones who must have his back at all times. As captains, the burden lies on us to lead the ship's crew, because we are the ship, the captain and the cargo – and we alone have the responsibility of navigating the voyage."
Tezuka closed his eyes briefly before opening them again. He said, harshly, "We were only ever interested in how seaworthy the ship was, which was how well we played tennis. This is not enough. It is, and has always been, the fault of the captain if he does not know what is going on board his ship, and lets the crew do as they please. For even the most seaworthy of ships will sink if its captain or crew are derelict in duty."
Tezuka looked at them all, into their eyes, and in the tired, watchful faces before him, he tried to find glimpses of who they had once been years ago, when they had been mere children and their faces had been bright with hopes and dreams.
"Let me make one thing very clear. We must not take on ourselves all the burden of blame. This is not what I mean. There are some things we couldn't possibly have known, some things that were wholly beyond our control. Be that as it may, we are no longer children. We made a choice to turn pro, to join this world of adults early – and so we must shoulder our share and do what we have to do."
The silence that followed after was long, very long.
Their age of innocence was over.
Most things about growing up and life cannot be taught. They can only be learned.
Yes, life is a highway and that highway don't care, because it doesn't owe you a thing. And yes, it's about the way you drive on that highway and the vehicles you pass on the way that matter. It's also about the wrong turns you took and the stops you made, and where you ended up when you did what you did. It's about the drivers who joined you along the way and the people you met, who gave you a hand and a lift and a good turn when they felt you needed one. It's about whether you paid it forward. It's about what you learn and understand about yourself, love, life, your fellow men and women and the universe, and maybe a little bit about choice and destiny, as you drive along.
Life is about the choices you make.