Bildungsroman

Chapter 15

What, you thought I was dead? I was gone? Well, the world and my brain tried, but I SURVIVED! And I'm on the final three months of my MA, and boy, is this a story. In every sense.

Enjoy chapter number one-five!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, with no copyright infringement intended. Prince of Tennis belongs to Takeshi Konomi.

It was only in middle school that Sakura had taken up tennis. Granted, she had been an avid spectator and runner before, and the legendary Atobe-Tezuka duel at the Kantou semis had left her breathless and awed, but it had been another match entirely which had made her think I could do this.

While the Seigaku boys had been storming their way to the National title, Japanese girls teams had been on the cusp of a nationwide revolution. Years of systemic sexism and a natural conservatism regarding women in sport had meant that high school tennis tournaments for women had less viewership, less funding, and fewer professional prospects than the boys'. (Tennis wasn't gymnastics, wasn't figure skating; wasn't pretty enough, elegant enough to watch when women played because it was strong and...) Even the National tournament, such a prestigious event for their male schoolmates, was on a far smaller scale. Now, though… Nationals wasn't some distant dream now, or just another feathery title before they all dispersed into various professions. It was a real goal, something to aspire to… and for the best of the best, a path to the pro leagues.

And all this had been made possible by the two players who, in the eyes of the female fraternity, were the best. Sakura remembered The Match, the one that had convinced a number of sponsors to take women's tennis seriously. Junior high, second year, National Tournament semi finals: Ikeda Rin vs Nomura Ayano. The Match.

No one, she found, remembered exactly how The Match had gone: every shot, every point, every game, every set. Sakura couldn't recall it herself. It hadn't been broadcast. There hadn't even been a full house. What everyone did remember, in perfect, vivid detail, was the sheer sense of change. The knowing, the knowledge that they all shared, that small crowd of around 250, that things were going to change, and it was going to be because of those two on the court. They were the best of them all, and it didn't matter who won this tournament, because everyone was going to share in the spoils.

On the way home, Sakura had stopped at the sports store.

And here she was, two years later, wondering if Nomura-buchou remembered that match the way no one else could. Victory, she thought, was a bit of a golden haze. Defeat… defeat was a cold and bitter motion picture with every detail thrown into sharp relief. Maybe captain did remember. Maybe that's why she looked so stern as she spoke.

"We've made it this far, and I'm very proud of all of you." She began, looking at each member of the team. "I've said it before, but you need to keep these words at the front of your mind now: every single match is going to be more difficult than the last. Every opponent you face is going to be better than the last. And you're going to be someone's final hurdle- the one they can't cross."

They all stood around her, postures relaxed but eyes tight and sharp and focused.

"Obviously, this is going to be our last season," Nomura gestured to herself, Kazumi, and Imako. "And unlike the boys," She grinned. "We like to give our successors a heads-up so we have a chance to actually train them up a bit. So, short and sweet: your captain next year will be Takada Mikabi. And Kazumi's choice for vice-captain is Matsuda Reiko."

The announcements were meant with gasps and squeals.

"What?" Mikabi blurted out. She looked shocked. Pleased, but shocked. "But captain, Sakura—"

Sakura winced heavily. "Um… Mikabi-chan, it's not…" Nomura cut her off. "Later, Takada. Now, listen up!" Silence fell again. "Next week's match is against Hyotei, and believe me when I say that we can't go up against them in less than peak condition and expect to win. So we're going to train longer, but also smarter. We're going to have strategising sessions during lunch breaks every week until the final is over, so unless you come to me with a valid reason why you can't attend, no exemptions. Is that clear?!"

"Yes captain!"

Nomura dismisses them, and before Mikabi could pile onto her, gestured for Kazumi to walk with her. The junior captain-to-be was left spluttering, as Sakura grabbed her arm and steered her towards the changing rooms.

"What's she up to?" Mikabi hissed frantically. "Everyone thought she'd pick you!"

Sakura raised an eyebrow, flattered despite herself. "Seriously?" After all the… fainting and losing and falling apart?

Mikabi's top was halfway around her head, so Sakura couldn't see her face; she'd bet money the other girl was rolling her eyes something fierce, though. "Are you kidding me? She totally sees herself in you. And you're better than I am, anyway."

"Okay, I know this is going to sound disgustingly modest, but that is not true." Sakura protested. "You beat me almost as much as I beat you; if anything, we're evenly matched. Ceteris paribus, though that's really not a thing in tennis…"

"What does that even mean?"

"It's Latin for 'all other things held constant'." Sakura explained. "It's used to compare things that aren't usually… never mind."

Mikabi snorted. "You're a fucking nerd, Sakura-chan."

Sakura grinned. "Guilty."

Truth be told, Sakura was a little miffed at the snub. It made no sense, she privately admonished herself, since she'd told Nomura that she wasn't going to be sticking around next year; she wasn't drop-dead serious about tennis the way Mikabi was; hell, she didn't even want to be captain! But pride is pride, and even the most easygoing of us has it; Sakura waited until Mikabi had left, hollering something about 'goddamn physics', before stepping out of the shower into the empty changing room.

She sighed. She didn't like feeling this way- this undercurrent of baseless resentment was as shocking as it was icky. It brought to light a facet of Sakura's character she hadn't been aware of, and didn't enjoy facing.

Her phone buzzed.

Incoming message from: Sanada-san

Your taste in novels is surprisingly good.

Sakura snorted. He could never just compliment her, could he?

'Surprisingly?'She typed. 'At least I have taste… unlike someone I know.'

She threw on her clothes as quickly as possible; it wouldn't do to dawdle, not when captain and Kazumi-senpai were probably waiting for her to get out so they could lock up.

As she walked to the bus stop, Sakura's mind went back to Nomura's words regarding the upcoming matches. She was right, of course; even though she'd done well enough against Rikkai, losing those practice matches— the way they'd lost them— had jolted all the girls, and not pleasantly either. It was a good thing it hadn't been an official thing: neither of the captains had played, and Sakura, the only person to have won her match, hadn't had an easy time of it. It had been the hardest match of her admittedly short career, exposing the veritable gulf between reigning champions and aspiring campaigners. Winning hadn't made Sakura secure; quite the opposite.

She curled a lock of hair around her index fingertip, and thought about acceleration.

Fuji tilted his head, carefully considering the paper before him. Sakura fidgeted.

Crystalline blue eyes opened. She fidgeted some more.

A small puff of air escaped those delicate lips, and Sakura's hands twisted around each other.

Abruptly, Fuji let out a musical chuckle. "You're so cute when you're nervous, Sakura-chan."

Like a marionette whose strings had been cut, she collapsed into the seat before him. "You're impossible, Fuji-senpai." She groaned. "A girl worries, okay?"

"Not as much as I will, when we get around to practising this." He indicated the sheet he'd been examining. "It's very risky."

Sakura actually giggled. "I know, right? I never thought I'd come up with something like it, let alone volunteer to practise it."

Fuji's eyes danced, but he was by no means sold. "You could get seriously hurt. I mean 'seriously', Sakura-chan. And that's if you don't end up breaking your neck."

"Okay, that's… that's dramatic, senpai." She scoffed. "I've been learning how to dance- not that I'm very good at it, mind, but it's had some interesting side-effects. And, well…" She met his eyes easily, a gentle confidence shining in her gaze. "Yes, I'm going to get knocked around a bit, but nothing serious. I trust you… and I think we can trust us."

She held eye-contact throughout that little speech, and Fuji couldn't help but smile at her innocent faith.

"Alright." He conceded. "Shall we meet this evening after practice?"

Sakura grinned, and there was nothing gentle about it; it was all sunbeams. "Sure thing. See ya, senpai."

It was a good thing, Sakura mused the next morning, that she owned a respectable amount of makeup. And friends like Kagome and Airi, who were kind enough to pass on their knowledge of the art.

She dabbed a little more concealer on the bruise on her jaw, wincing as she did. That one wasn't too bad... The one on her shoulder, on the other hand... She was very glad, at that moment, that the school dress code forbade any sleeveless clothes on campus during school and activity hours. The ugly, respectable uniform blouse sleeves were a bit of a lifesaver right now.

She wasn't even doing anything wrong! But after her shaky start to the season, and the reputation for recklessness she'd acquired, she didn't think she could stand more noses poking into this new idea than she and Fuji-senpai together possessed. People so often jumped to conclusions...

Speaking of conclusions, she wondered how Sanada had found the ending of the book she'd recommended. It was a frustratingly ambiguous ending; she'd almost thrown the book against the wall when she'd reached it. Sanada was hardly the type to throw books around, but she really wanted to know his reaction.

Almost on cue, her phone beeped with an incoming message.

'An excellent read. I've recommended it to my nephew.'

Sakura choked on air. Her mother looked at her askance. 'Don't blame me when he points and laughs at you.'

For once, he replied in less than ten minutes. 'He would never be so rude as to point. And you recommended the book to me in the first place.'

'I mentioned it. MENTIONED. I also said it was one of the most painful books I'd ever read, and that I couldn't stand it. Why did you even buy it?'

'Because all the other titles you mentioned were in English, and I'm not interested in reading English novels.'

Sakura replied fifteen minutes later, when she was boarding the bus. 'I must politely call you a SNOB.'

His reply came two hours after. 'Please don't restrain yourself on my account.'

She grinned, tapping out a reply during lunch. 'Don't flatter yourself, whipped cream, it's not on your account.

Predictably, she received no further messages for the rest of the day. Sakura was a little sorry.

"How's your pen-pal?" Momoko asked mischievously. "I saw a lot of surreptitious texting going on under your desk."

"Oh yeah," Sakura smirked. "He sure keeps my fingers busy."

Airi, Momoko and Kagome all groaned. Sakura laughed and flounced away to practice, blowing them a smacking kiss.

Hyotei. Tomorrow was the match against Hyotei, and Sakura had never been more nervous.

Not before her match against Yamabuki, powered by caffeine and ill-placed determination; not before Tachibana An and Fudomine, fit and flexible (if not exactly fleet-footed); not even against Urayama from Rikkai, which had easily been the toughest match she'd ever played, unofficial though it had been.

She lay in bed, blankets hopelessly tangled around her from all the tossing and turning. It was 11PM, well past her Inui-mandated bedtime, and both her parents were also dead to the world. Still, sleep eluded her, and she let out first a breath, then a sigh, then a tight, shrill little shriek of frustration.

Pitching upright like a horror movie heroine, she fumbled for her phone unlocking it and scrolling through her contacts. Airi might be awake, but Sakura wasn't sure she wanted to be ordered to 'calm down, bitch, you're going to be fine'. Momoko and Kagome kept early hours; the former because she was a freak who liked early-morning yoga and Kagome because she'd been up late the past three nights sneaking into college parties, and she always crashed early on night number four.

(Speaking of which, smoking and the occasional drink was all very well, but the sneaking had become more frequent and Sakura should talk to Momoko about possible interventions)

But… Mikabi would be asleep (the very same Inui-mandated hours and her own shockingly good habits), and she'd rather chew on her own toes than call Nomura-buchou or Kazumi-senpai about pre-match jitters. Which left…

Sakura swallowed. And hit 'call' before she could talk herself out of it.

I really need more friends.

When he picked up with a gruff "Hello" on the third ring, Sakura was so surprised that she said the first thing that popped to mind. "Don't kill me."

There was a brief pause, before he replied. "You live in Tokyo." His tone was deadpan- and a little confused, and suspicious, alright, so not really deadpan- but she laughed anyway.

"That I do." She agreed, getting out of bed and crossing over to the window. She sandwiched the phone between her ear and shoulder as she fiddled with the latch. "Did I wake you?"

"…No. I was going over some final strategies." He didn't sound tired at all. Did he keep late hours? "You're up late."

She threw the window open and leaned out. It was a warm night. "Yeah." She breathed deeply, before letting out another sigh. "Couldn't sleep."

"Don't you have a match tomorrow?"

"Don't you?" She countered.

"I won't be playing." He sounded so confident, so seamlessly sure, and she told him so, substituting a scoff for her slight envy. He scoffed right back. "Of course I'm sure."

Sakura looked up, a wistful expression in her eyes that Sanada couldn't see. "I wish I could have that." She muttered.

"You don't want to play?" He asked, his voice sharp. Sakura backpedaled hastily. "No, of course not— of course I do." She ran a hand through her hair. "Of course I do, it's just…" She bit the inside of her cheek, before spitting it out: "I'm nervous. About tomorrow. I'm just. Really. Nervous."

Another silence, before Sanada, clearly caught between discomfort and experience, replied: "I see." He seemed to be mulling over his words, clearly choosing them carefully. He couldn't exactly burst into the patented Sanada-style verbal smack, especially not at this time. It needed some serious decibel level for maximum efficacy.

"You feel unprepared? Have you neglected any of your training?"

"No." Sakura replied firmly. "I've been doing my own training over and above Inui-senpai and Imako-senpai's menu. I'm as prepared as I could be."

"…So what—?"

"I'm afraid it's never going to be enough." She breathed, feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her cami and sleep shorts. Stars, it might have been more comfortable to call Airi and get nothing useful. "It's… it's Hyotei. They're just on a different level, you know? I'm fucking terrified that no matter what- how much I prepare or train or whatever- I'm just going to fall short again."

The silence between them wasn't silence, really; Sakura's quickened breaths sounded like rushing wind in Sanada's ears, and she wondered he couldn't hear her heart pounding- she certainly could. At length, Sanada spoke again, and this time, he sounded nothing at all like the vice-captain the world saw.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say." He sounded a little wary, a little lost, a little angry. Sakura's shoulders slumped. "Nothing, really; I don't know." She admitted. "I probably shouldn't have called- most of my other friends'll be asleep, and the last one… she doesn't really get it, you know? She's not afraid of anything. And Fuji-senpai's a fucking genius, seriously, he's the worst—"

"For heaven's sake, stop cursing." Sanada snapped; Sakura fell silent. She heard him take a breath, then another. "Listen, Kagawa," He ordered. Like she was going to interrupt him. "Ikeda dropped Urayama from the Regulars yesterday."

She blinked at the non-sequitur. "Um," She began, but he wasn't done.

"She mentioned her loss to you, among other things. That match wasn't the primary reason, but it was the last straw. You were supposed to be an easy test, you see. If Urayama had beaten you, she'd have kept her spot."

He took a deep breath. "Urayama wasn't a bad player, Kagawa." She could almost hear pursing of his lips. "If you have prepared, you won't need luck."

"Right…" Sakura murmured, more than a little shocked. She heard him sigh. "Do you have chamomile in the house?" He demanded.

Again, she blinked. He was rather all over the place, wasn't he? "Um," She tried to remember. "I think so?"

"Half a sprig boiled in one cup of water should help you sleep. Set your morning alarm a little louder."

She laughed suddenly, and Sanada fell silent. "I'm not laughing at you." She assured him, the smile still on her lips, still bleeding through in her voice. "Really… thanks, Sanada-kun. Thanks. I- I know it was unexpected, but… I'm glad I called you."

"Hmph." She wondered if he was pulling on the brim of his cap, if he wore it even at 11PM in his room. "Don't make a habit of it."

"I won't." Sakura rolled her eyes. "Y'know, someday, I'm going to pay you back in bulk for all this life-saving advice you keep giving me."

He snorted, making her laugh again. "I doubt it."

"Someday." She checked her phone. "I should go make that tea. Big day tomorrow. And you should sleep too."

Over in Kanagawa, Sanada rolled his eyes. "Of course." He said sarcastically. Then, trying for something like detachment, he cleared his throat. "Good luck for tomorrow, Kagawa."

He pictured the amused tilt of her head. "Thought you said I wouldn't need it."

"It never hurts to be prepared." He shot back. Yet again, she chuckled. He clenched his fist, wondering what was so funny.

"True. Thanks, and same to you, Sanada-kun."

"Hm." Deeming that a sufficient reply, he pressed the 'end call' button. He sat at his desk, staring at his handset, wondering what… just what…?

That ridiculous girl. Still, he had helped, and it had been honest, what he'd said. She didn't really need luck.

Not yet.

Sakura's hair was securely combed, secured, and bobby-pinned out of the way. She stood, jaw clenched, body loose and upright, in line, the Hyotei team across the net, her Regulars jacket sleeves pushed up to her elbows. A few stubborn flyaways shifted in the light breeze. Mikabi's right arm brushed her left, and she didn't adjust.

At the head of the lines, Nomura and the Hyotei captain clasped hands.

Her wristband was pink. Her ankles were free. Her spine was steel.

"The match between Hyotei Gakuen and Seishun Gakuen will now begin."

As always, the next chapter is buried in my brain. It's germinating. It'll come; meanwhile, reviews are fertilizer! (And love)

Cheers,

Chilli.