Enchantment of the Night
Okay, dudes, here's the idea. While Prince of Tennis is property of the guy who wrote it, Cheeseburger of Doom owns the whole Chains of Blood universe. And this was written with her express permission.
Well, this is a fanfic of a fanfic, KamioxShinji pairing, though it won't get there for a loooong time. And this will not update fast. I am sure of very little in my life, but I am sure of my lazy attitude, at least.
All that said, let's start!
Prologue: Yoru ga Kuru!
A boy was busy practising tennis. He was using one of the automated ball-shooting machines made by Japanese so that people could play by themselves without having to do stupid things like smile and shake hands with mortal enemies, and it was not a very good one either. It made sputtering noises, and sometimes the balls didn't shoot in the correct place. Better players would have lauded the realism, but the boy was getting irritated. A cat sitting near the machine gave him a flat, steady look out of yellow eyes, then yawned.
Oh well, he shrugged. He wasn't all that great a tennis player anyway. Certainly not of the new breed of youngsters who gave their lives and souls to it, the type who had coaches who could book them the best training courts, and the machines that didn't splutter, with shiny dials to adjust speed and velocity and other things he didn't know about. He was still a rookie, a first-year, and the best he could hope for in the training was being ball-boy, and hearing his superiors laugh at his clumsiness.
The tennis court was on top of a high-rise building, surrounded on four sides by dark green wire fencing. It's scruffy, the lone player thought in mild disgust. That's what it is. All the faded lines and rubber that isn't even springy anymore, full of cats at every perch, with sweet wrappers and papers everywhere. It fit the player, actually. The youth was in a half-slouch, that made him look as tired of the world as the felines that made the tennis court their nighttime roost. He was wearing a faded sweatshirt with red letters printed across the front that gave the impression of an impressive slogan, and roughed-up sneakers with blue stripes. He looked very uncomfortable with his body, his swings and grip held an unsteady look about them, as though all he had done had been done by accident, and he blinked a lot, like a small mouse.
The machine whirred, lining up its next ball. He turned, adjusting the grip on his racket, and absentmindedly noticed that a cat had jumped onto the machine. It was sitting on top of it, with its paws in front and its hindlegs backed up against its body, directly facing him. Like most cats, it managed to make its perch look like the most comfortable place to be in, and it had an intimidating stare that made you feel like a rat without a sewer to run into. The boy was used to cats in the practice court, so he didn't pay it any heed.
The machine emitted soft whine that gradually became higher and louder, going up and up, and he knew the ball was coming. He lifted his hand to adjust his arm, as the pitch of the whine rose, and it was so high... a keening screech... it reminded him of a car accident, the squealing tires...
The cat parted its jaws delicately, exposing its wide black mouth with a pink tongue inside, and blinking its red eyes. The boy's body toppled to the ground.