Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis was created by Konomi Takeshi. Not me. Please don't sue.
AN: Minna, if you haven't checked out the RyoSaku site Beriath and I created, make sure you do. The fanart there rocks. See our bios for the link.
About my works, I know I'm slow. But I still appreciate every comment and criticism you guys care to give me. Thank you for taking the time to write them. They mean a lot.
Enjoy.
Masquerade
By Cinpii
Chapter 2: Hook, Line and Sinker
The day was sunny, a light breeze kicking up and relieving some of the afternoon heat. Sneaker clad feet made its ready way across concrete, the steps sure and quick. Another pair of feet trotted towards the first at a faster pace, with all intention of catching up.
"Echizen, slow down."
Ryoma cocked his head but did not reduce his speed. He recognized the owner of the voice and, now armed with the knowledge of who was shadowing him, decided to walk even faster.
He wasn't in the mood for a chat. He was late for practice. Why was the whole world gunning for him like this? He just wanted to play tennis, damnit.
It was to no avail. The pair of feet caught up.
"Brat," Momoshiro Takeshi muttered to himself before brightening his face and calling out again with a cheerful nudge. He'd give the kid a noogie but Ryoma was already so asocial as it was, it'd be detrimental to Momo's goal.
Ah, what the heck? Life was too short to bypass a good noogie. Momo reached out and pulled the reluctant pre-teen into a headlock, using his free hand to ruffle Ryoma's hair.
"Itai-su Momo-senpai!"
Ryoma's bag dropped to the ground in the scuffle. Oi, he really hated it when Momo did that. Just because he was short everyone thought it was ok to pick on him. Grrr…
Ryoma shot Momo a dirty look before he bent down to shoulder his bag.
"What does Momo-senpai want?" the petulant boy asked.
If he wasn't crabby before, he was now, Momo thought. Ah well. He was used to it. Like water rolling off his back, Ryoma's testiness didn't bother Momo in the least. It was Ryoma's most amusing trait, really. At least to Momo. Being the jokester that he was, he decided to tease the first year a little more.
Raising his eyebrows and giving Ryoma his most innocent face, Momo remained silent and shrugged his shoulders. He'd been taking lessons from Fuji and been dying to try it out.
"Just saying hi."
The cat-eyed boy looked at his senpai in disgust and continued his trek towards the clubhouse. So perhaps he was being childish. But really. He was so not in the mood for such things.
Momo trailed along, five feet away. He folded his hands behind his head, lackadaisically walking as he whistled with his devil-may-care attitude. He was late for practice, but he had an excuse, so life was good.
They continued walking like that until Ryoma reached the clubroom. His shirt was halfway undone by the time Momo came in. Silently ignoring the other presence, Ryoma irately undid the rest of his buttons hoping to change quickly and get on the courts.
Momo obviously had other plans.
"No delicacy, no delicacy at all. No wonder you make all the girls cry." The words were muttered, but Ryoma heard them. Hands pausing at the buckle of his belt, he turned around and leveled a frown at his teammate.
The frown was ineffective, as Momo did not see it, his naked back towards the smaller boy. Muffled grumbles came from his side of the room, words like 'konoyarou' and 'callous heartbreaker' emitting from the shirt he was tugging over his head.
Sirens were going off in Ryoma's brain. Don't ask questions, just change and get the hell out. But in a rare lapse of intelligence, he ignored his good reason to sate his curiosity. In a voice carefully modulated to not sound overly wary, Ryoma spoke.
"What does Momo-senpai know about that?"
A snicker. Then a chuckle. The next thing Ryoma knew, he was standing witness to a chortling senpai, bent at the waist and arms clutched protectively around his middle. Ryoma scowled as Momo's braying laughter abraded his ears.
"Who – doesn't – know?" Each word was punctuated with a gasp, as Momo fought for breath, his tone laced with hapless mirth.
They were talking about him. Bastards. Faces swirled before Ryoma's eyes, a myriad of them, flashing by so fast they started blurring until they became indistinguishable. He had noticed the whispers and glances increasing of late, but had not thought twice about them.
So everyone knew huh? Like he cared. He wasn't here to win a popularity contest. But the attention was getting annoying, and Ryoma detested being used as rumor fodder. It was one thing having people talk about him because of his tennis prowess; it was another to have their tongues wagging because of his supposed 'love life'.
Correction. His inexistent love life.
"And how would you solve my problem?" Ryoma muttered, flapping his Seigaku jersey before shrugging it on.
He didn't really expect a response. It was just an automatic comeback. In hindsight, Ryoma regretted ever saying it. In the weeks to follow, he would come to regret it very, very much. That was the thing about hindsight though. One was only wiser after the mistake.
"Easy. Get a girlfriend."
The tennis prodigy paused tugging on his shirt to just stare at the spiky haired junior. That was the first and last time he'd ever ask Momo for advice. He knew his senpai was thickheaded, but he didn't think Momo was that slow.
If he wanted a girlfriend, he'd have one already, damnit. Ryoma stated so as he started on the buttons of his polo. He stated so in typical Ryoma fashion, of course.
"That's the stupidest idea I've ever heard."
Momoshiro wagged a finger at his kouhai before he laid down his logic. "No, hear me out. Once you get a girlfriend, the rest will back off."
The younger boy raised a skeptic eyebrow. Grudgingly, he could concede the truth in that statement. But the thing was, he didn't want a girlfriend. Again, going against his good logic, Ryoma humored his senpai. He should have known better, but even the magnificent Echizen Ryoma could fall prey to stupidity every once in a great while.
"Who would I choose?"
It was too late to say yes to any of the girls he had already denied. Not that he remembered their faces. He was really bad about that. With names it was even worse.
Pretending to dig through his bag, Momo effectively hid his visage, which was a good thing. Ryoma didn't see the devilish smile that graced his senpai's lips. If he did, he would have been on guard. He should have been.
Momo was a matchmaker at heart, and for months he suspected the reason why Ryoma spurned all advances was because he secretly liked the coach's granddaughter. It was blatantly obvious to him, but Ryoma was hard to read sometimes. Most likely though, and this Momo would bet his lunch money on (which was a small fortune in and of itself, and not to be taken lightly), was that the little brat just never realized his feelings for the girl.
Although he was a genius in tennis, Ryoma could be really slow.
Momo's grin became even wider. Who better to give Ryoma a push in the right direction than his loving, caring senpai? Momo knew Ryoma was sweet on the girl. It was a gut feeling. His tennis style was based on instinct, so this feeling couldn't be wrong. Now, if he just pushed the right buttons…
"Why don't you pay someone to agree to pretend for you? That way you don't really have to do anything."
"Pay someone to date me? Is Momo-senpai nuts?"
"Ok, so choose someone who would do it for free. What's her name? Osakada? How about her?" Momo suggested. His lips twitched and he smothered a snort. Ryoma would never go for that loud-mouthed girl and he knew it. Sure, the self-proclaimed president of the Echizen Ryoma fan club was cute and spunky, but frankly, her obsessive fangirling was downright disturbing.
"Yada." Ryoma aimed a stolid stare at his senpai, one that well expressed his disdain. The image of him dating the pushy, outspoken girl horrified him. No freaking way in hell.
Echizen was so easy to predict. Momo suppressed a smile and instead made a show of thinking hard, tapping his finger against his chin. "Well, the only other first year girl I can think of that might actually tolerate you enough to do it for free is the coach's granddaughter."
Sakuno?
Reddish brown eyes set in a pretty face materialized in Ryoma's mind. Impractically long hair bound in twin pigtails. A smile as sunny as it was pure. A sweet, soft-spoken voice. She was innocent, untainted… and absolutely perfect for the role. No one would ever doubt their relationship if it was Sakuno. She was too sincere.
And too kind to turn down a request.
A vein popped somewhere above Ryoma's left eye. A possessive emotion surged in him and it added a sharp edge to his tone. "Don't drag Ryuzaki into this."
"Heeh? A little touchy, aren't we? Why not her? She'd be nice enough to pretend." But you don't want to pretend. Not with her. Too bad you're so obtuse you can't see what's right in front of your face.
Ryoma remained silent while he pondered his words. He wasn't sure why he spoke out like that. He just knew he didn't want to use her in that way. Of course, being the prideful boy he was, he didn't dare say that. So he huffed and commented, "Not interested."
"Ah, you're right," Momo nodded in agreement. "She wouldn't be interested in you. What was I thinking. An un-cute brat like you mustn't aim that high. Your callous and blunt nature wouldn't suit her anyway."
Ryoma's hand paused from stowing his pants away on an empty shelf. His head swiveled, lancing Momo with an incredulous look. His senpai continued speaking, oblivious of the reaction of his sole audience. The litany of adjectives marched on, all depicting how undesirable Ryoma was, and how he'd never be able to score a pretty little thing like Ryuzaki Sakuno. Ryoma's eye ticked all the while.
"Never mind I said anything." Momo clapped his hands and dusted them off, finished with his soliloquy. Ryoma had stood there silently throughout the entire spiel, stewing in resentment. He was gonna whup his senpai's ass on the courts. But first things first.
"You don't think she'd go for me?" Ryoma spoke calmly, his voice vibrating with quiet intensity. The room's atmosphere became eerily still.
Momo halted from opening the door, a wide smirk encompassing his face. The kid was nipping at the bait. He was too good.
"Never in a million years."
"It won't take that long. She'll be mine before the end of the week."
"You willing to bet on that?"
"You're on."
And that was how the bet was made. Two stupid juveniles hashing out details in the tennis clubroom on an innocuous day during practice.
They would each come to sorely regret it.