Chapter Two: Growth
"Final Set, Asato to serve."
Flat serve down the center.
Souji met the powerfully sent ball with a forehand. Catching it on his racket, reducing its momentum, adding control and spin before sending it back on a high diagonal towards the left-hand corner of the court.
Action, reaction; stillness had never and would never be a known quantity on a tennis court.
Asato countered. He didn't bother targeting the open court, instead, sending the ball straight and deep into Souji's court. He attacked with a fast, low ball meant to pass or throw Souji off balance.
Souji moved forward meeting Asato's counter with a two-handed backhand of his own, catching and killing the momentum they'd each added to the ball before sending it shallow back to the opponent's court.
Once, twice, the ball rolled to a stop just past the net.
"15-love!" called the umpire.
"Yes." Souji pushed sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. He'd played that nicely, keeping Asato in the corner, glued to the baseline as he opened up the rest of the court. God— Souji bounced on the balls of his feet— he loved playing a drop shot as a finisher. Hitting his opponent when they least expected it. Watching their face drop as they ran forward, racket outstretched, slowly realizing that they had no chance to return the ball. It was all the more fun since Asato's natural inclination was to stick to the baseline, keeping up a line of defense, not allowing a single ball past him.
This entire match, he'd forced Asato to play outside his comfort zone, bringing him up the court and away from the baseline. From the very beginning, he'd dictated all aspects of the game.
A casual observer could recognize that Asato was good; very good. Another player in Souji's age group would find the defensive wall Asato had constructed to be impenetrable. Two, even one year previously, Souji himself would have struggled and most likely failed to break through that wall. This game was a testament to what a difference a year makes.
Souji took a deep breath, centering himself. Two more points until match point, three more for the set; the excitement was building. He set himself in the corner, bouncing on the balls of his feet waiting for Asato's serve.
Wide slice. The ball struck the outside line and curved out.
Souji's racket just barely caught it. With the slightest of touches, the ball shot diagonally across the court, making a beeline back to Asato. A weak return that just barely stayed within the white lines, Souji could feel the openings created in his game as a result of the weak return.
Asato easily met his return, and sent it back, flat and straight into the open court.
"Fifteen all."
"Shit." He'd rushed, had thought too far ahead, and had lost the point.
Tightening his grip on the racket, Souji could feel the layers of tape he'd wrapped around the handle that morning, compress, giving way as his fingers tightened. There was nothing worse than seeing the ball fly past him. Losing even a point, no matter how meaningless it might be to the final score, rankled him.
"Fifteen seconds."
He could feel the umpire's stare from across the court. Souji turned and took a second-deep breath before setting himself in the receiving corner, returning to the familiar bounce as he readied himself for Asato's serve. He'd allowed himself the time needed to prepare; he wouldn't allow another ball past him.
·‡·
"Game, set, and match. Winner Ike Souji. Final score 6-0, 6-0."
The murmurs of the crowd drifted over the court; he could hear some snippets, those calling out to them, telling both Asato and himself just how good and entertaining the match had been, showing their appreciation for the level of hard work. There were other comments as well, from where he stood, he could hear snippets:
"Amazing—"
"He's unbelievable… just fifty-three minutes…"
"Who'd have thought Ike-kun would bagel Asato-kun…"
"He's left his entire age group in the dust…"
"—maybe? Egawa Takuma might still be a challenge?"
Souji closed his eyes, breathing deeply, forcing air into his lungs. He appreciated the praise and acknowledgment, especially after years of sitting in the background watching his peers like Takuma and Ogata succeed. For years the two had snapped up titles from every tournament entered, making a name as geniuses at the forefront of the generation. They had been in his sights since he'd started the sport, he'd watched them and the praise they'd received. In all honesty, he'd wanted to be them.
He let his neck relax and his head fall back just slightly, the wind felt good, drying and cooling his skin from the sweat that had accumulated on the surface. Why did he feel so unfulfilled? The match had concluded, he'd won, and yet something was off, something that he just couldn't put his finger on.
Asato cleared his throat, breaking his thought process, and shaking him out of his reverie, "good game, Ike-kun."
"Ah, good game." Pasting a smile on his face, Souji shook his head, ridding himself of the disconcerting feeling, and the frustration from not knowing where it came from. The match was over, there'd be ample enough time to take stock of everything at a later point of time. He smiled, taking Asato's hand. "It was fun Asato-san, your serve is as powerful as always. Next time we play, I'll get you back for the points you scored on me."
Asato, slapped him gently between his shoulder blades, his seventeen-year-old frame towering over Ike's fourteen-year-old one. "Geez, you won and you're still complaining about the points you didn't get. Don't joke. Please, like I'd let you do that; next time I'll win. Besides, if everything goes right, I'll be going pro next year, so there's no way I'd let you get another win from me."
His head snapped back; attention caught by that special word.
Pro; the aspiration of so many young tennis players, it was an objective, however, that so few could reach. To be able to devote one's entire life to the sport, and make a living, it was a dream, so few achieved. Somewhere along the way it had become his dream as well. Ever since Natsu had introduced him to the sport, tennis had hooked him around its little finger. He loved every aspect, the matches, the rush of chasing after the ball, slamming it past his opponent, watching their faces as the match progressed and little after little it became more one-sided as he crushed each part of their game.
He'd always loved to win, but as the years had passed, he'd found that he hated to lose even more. He knew he was good, good enough that this past year he hadn't lost a single match, but it wasn't enough. With age came wisdom, and with each day that passed, he was slowly realizing that however much he loved it, winning was only satisfying if there was a cost attached.
·‡·
He deftly navigated through the groups of bystanders, before easily finding the contingent from the Southern Tennis Club. With their t-shirts emblazoned with STC and the wide berth the rest of the tournament onlookers gave them, they were impossible to miss. Souji stood on his tiptoes and slung his arm around Egawa Takuma's shoulders. He grinned, feeling Takuma stiffen at the unexpected contact. The taller boy's body vibrated for just a moment as his inclinations to either throw off Souji's arm or yell at him battled within himself.
Before Takuma could decide, Souji removed his arm and moved past the steadily reddening boy, coming to a stop in front of the patriarch of STC, the stern-dog-faced loveable head coach, "Coach Miura! What'd you think?"
Coach Miura paused mid-conversation and turned, ruffling Souji's dark brown hair in the process. "I swear, zero decorum—" he shook his head before waving to the coach he'd been having a conversation, "—You did well. I saw definite improvements in your baseline play, and your forehand consistency is beginning to show—"
"Coach Miura—" Misaki poked Souji's side before dancing away, "—don't jerk him along. Tell him how proud you are of him; I mean we all heard you, it's not exactly a secret." She grinned, as she and the rest of the group surrounding them waited for coach Miura to speak.
As the head coach of the wildly successful STC with a contingent of other coaches under him and far too many young impressionable tennis players looking up to him, it wasn't very often that Souji saw coach Miura show an expression other than annoyance or exasperation. For some reason whenever coach Miura spoke to him his face took on a strange pinched look.
Souji bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, "So… Coach Miura?" His grin widened, "are you going to tell me how awesome I am?"
"Ike…" exasperated, coach Miura sighed and shook his head; wearing an expression that was all too familiar.
"Yes?" Souji fiddled with his tennis bag, waiting for whatever validation coach Miura might give him, a smile poking its needy head. Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have suppressed it. Out of the corner of his eye, Takuma shook his head and walked back towards center court. The other had evidently had enough of the proceedings.
"I don't think it needs to be said that you did very well today. Do you really need me to extol your virtues?" Coach Miura paused, waiting for Souji's response. "However, there are a few things that I think we'll need to talk about, in private, so I think it best that we schedule a time to meet." Like a balloon that suddenly sprung a leak, the anticipatory air surrounding them created by the expectant members of the Southern Tennis Club quickly lost its helium. They'd waited for coach Miura's patented Souji response, but all they'd received was the long drawn out sigh and the shake of his head, a letdown if there was one.
"But, before that, go… Hurry after Takuma, as you both need to get ready for the medal ceremony. It'll be good to see two STC members on the podium. I'll expect you at STC the day after tomorrow for practice and we'll have a talk about the matches and what's next."
Coach Miura gently turned Souji around; guiding him and the rest of the milling club members towards the medal ceremony and court the tournament officials had designated for the event. "No matter how far you all made it this tournament, you all did very well." He raised his voice, addressing the entirety of the club members. "The STC staff, myself included, is very happy with today's results…"
Souji nodded, tuning out the rest of coach Miura's pep talk, his thoughts consumed with the next few tournaments marked into his schedule. Just a year ago, the mere mention of the Kanto tournament or even the following nationals would have sent shivers of excitement down his spine. Kanto, as the next tier match after Kanagawa, brought together the best players in the region. With each participant hoping to play for not only a spot at nationals but a seeded position amongst the nation's best, each subsequent tournament would be a fierce battle amongst the best of his age group. It was everything he desired and yet the thought of once again playing through the Japanese tournament cycle filled him with pure exhaustion.
Maybe, he was getting sick?
Normally, after matches, he loved talking about the competition, going over every detail, talking with coach Miura about just what had gone wrong. Why was it that today the motivation that normally overflowed was so grossly absent?
The crowd parted before him, their whispers paving his way. It was no secret that the onlookers expected varying levels of greatness from Kanagawa's top four, whether it be in the upcoming national tournaments or for the more elder of the four and his foray into the international tennis world. For all intense and purposes, they were the future of Japanese tennis.
Souji nudged Takuma with his elbow and leaned against the other, "sad that we didn't get to play each other…isn't it?"
Takuma grunted and moved away; deftly placing Asato as a barrier between himself and Souji.
He grinned and turned back towards the waiting crowd. Nothing had changed, Takuma's response was as expected; despite the years he'd known Takuma, he couldn't remember a time that they hadn't been like oil and water. Though their relationship was cordial and filled with grudging respect, neither could help throwing the occasional small dig when possible, it was just far too good pass up. Truthfully, if not for the common link that went by the name of Natsu Takasaki, he doubted they'd even have a peaceable conversation between them.
His musings were broken as the crowd, in response to the gathering of the tournament officials, fell quiet, excitement tinged the air. Souji shifted back and forth, hoping to pick up some of the crowd's excitement, this wasn't the first time he'd finished in the top four, but it was the first time the journey to that position hadn't excited him.
·‡·
He glanced to the side, staring just past Asato's slouched figure, taking in Takuma's expression. It was impossible to miss the other's sour expression. It'd be so easy to needle the older boy, if there was one thing Souji had learned after years of knowing Takuma, it was the buttons to push that would set him off. Reluctantly he pressed down the urge. Messing with Takuma was addicting, it wasn't his fault, it was just that Egawa Takuma made such an easy target.
Glancing sideways, he eyed the other top three finishers, feeling a grin threaten to split his face as he caught Takuma's glare. What more could he say; oil and water.
·‡·
Standing in the crowd, a frown slowly growing on his face, coach Miura crossed his arms. "Dear God, Ike, resist the urge," he mumbled under his breath.
·‡·
Souji turned his attention back to the emphatically gesticulating official. There'd be time. Although they hadn't had the chance in this tournament, it was a given that they'd play each other again. Whether it be Kanto, All-Japan Junior, or an unsanctioned match on one of the STC courts, their rackets would match at some point. There was no use further riling him up at this moment by grinning in Takuma's face. Though… he pondered… maybe it wouldn't hurt to play with Takuma just a little after the ceremony had concluded, it really was entertaining to watch him turn red when he talked to Natsu.
The official moved to stand in front of him, the fake metal disc held between the middle-aged man's hands.
He bent forward.
"And finally, to Ike Souji, I award first place in the Kanagawa Prefecture tournament." The official placed the plastic medal around his neck and offered him a smile before turning. "Please go ahead and congratulate all four finalists, and please join me on cheering them as well as all the other participants that will continue on, and compete in the Kanto tournament in a month's time."
Souji raised his hands and excitedly waved to the crowd, basking in their warmth and appreciation. Moments like these he'd gladly relive forever.
·‡·
"Congratulations Sou-chan."
He stumbled back; arms full of an excitedly bouncing Natsu.
"You were amazing against Asato-san, you're practically guaranteed as the number one seed in Kanto now," she gushed, using his shoulders as an unofficial springboard.
"He wasn't that amazing." Takuma loomed behind them; his expression rearranged into a dark, unapproachable glower. The older boy stared down at them, deep grooves cut into his forehead.
Releasing his shoulders, Natsu took Takuma's hands and swung them back and forth. "Takuma-kun, you should be nicer to Sou-chan since you're both friends—"
Stifling a laugh, Souji watched as Takuma's ears and face flashed an ugly shade of puce, "—we're not friends like I could ever be his friend. We're rivals."
She frowned and pulled Takuma closer to the two of them. "Rivals can be friends… Right, Sou-chan? Takuma-kun's your friend?"
Natsu's innocent question had opened two paths for him. He could choose to either take Natsu's innocent statement and overlook it, or he could run with it, just to see Takuma's expression. "We're more than friends, we're brothers—" he draped his arm around Takuma's shoulder, "—bonded in blood sweat and tears. He would die for me, I for him—" he could feel his laughter bubbling up. If he could just hold it in for a moment longer, push Takuma just an inch more, they all might see the rare sight of Takuma's head exploding. "—Without Takuma-chan—"
Takuma shrugged out from under his arm, elbowing him in his ribs before shouldering his tennis bag in one motion. "—get off me Ike, God, you're so annoying!" He hurried off in the opposite direction, his face steadily deepening to a deeper color of red.
"A-ha-ha-ha! Natsu did you see his face? That was hilarious, I thought he was going to blow." He dissolved into another fit of spontaneous laughter, as the image of Takuma's face once more flashed through his mind.
"Oh… Sou-chan—" she let out an exasperated sigh, "—you really shouldn't push him like that." She grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the tennis courts and the last of the spectators still milling around. "C'mon. My dad said that after the tournament he'd treat us to a celebration dinner, hot pot, and barbeque."
"That sounds nice."
They walked quietly, Natsu letting him set a slow meandering pace, to the restaurant. It was almost possible to forget the light metal was hung around his neck. If not for the glint of the setting sun, he could have easily forgotten the achievement hanging off his neck. Instead, his thoughts were consumed not with the award, but the final win that had granted it to him and the ease that it had come to him. "…Hey Natsu, what'd you think about today's match."
"Eh? I told you before, that you were awesome. In the second set you barely let Asato-san get a point, and he's probably going pro after high school." Natsu tightened her grip, gently squeezing their intertwined fingers. "You know you're incredible Sou-chan. You don't need me to tell you, you've gotten really good."
He hummed. She was right, he didn't need her to tell him, he had enough confidence without asking for anyone else's input. Still, that wasn't what he'd wanted.
His win today, guaranteed him a top seed in the Kanto tournament in a month; there, he'd be able to face even more opponents comparable to Asato, or Takuma.
Stumbling slightly, he blinked dumbfounded, struck with a moment of intense clarity. That was the problem; for all that he loved tennis, and the intense struggles that the matches afforded him, the most recent match against Asato hadn't provided him that struggle. Asato-san hadn't held a single service game for the entirety of both sets. As Natsu had pointed out, 'he'd played incredibly', the second set had lasted a total of twenty-four minutes. It'd barely been a challenge.
With a tight grip, Natsu grabbed his hand; pulling him faster down the paved pathway, leaving him no choice but to follow. He could feel his breath quicken, as his mind dragged unwillingly behind them as his lungs struggled to force unneeded air into his extremities. Perhaps it was a badly conceived metaphor, but for the first time ever he wanted to dislodge his hand and step off the sidewalk. Halfheartedly Souji allowed himself to be pulled.
·‡·
His feet pounded against the pavement. An even cadence in time with his breath, with each step, he breathed three seconds in, three seconds out, embracing each second to himself as a time of self-exploration. It was a time of relaxation and meditation, a time that was solely his own.
Despite the brisk early morning air, he could feel droplets of sweat slowly making their way down his forehead, coating his neck and back, creating an unbreakable bond between his skin and his shirt. On quick feet, he passed by Minamoto's bread shop and Seto's flower shop, taking in the smells of freshly baked bread and cut flowers lingering in the still morning air.
Banned from STC, along with everyone else who'd played in the final days of the prefecture tournament. He'd woken that morning feeling particularly fidgety, perhaps because he'd been unable to shake the unsettling feeling that had settled upon him after yesterday's tournament.
Souji pushed harder, increasing the pace from the rather slow eight-minute mile to a quicker seven-minute pace.
"Morning Ike-kun!" He waved to the store owner, calling out a brief greeting as he passed.
The thought had briefly crossed his mind to spend the day with his brother watching him workout and spar at the MMA gym across the city. It had long since been their tradition, even before his life had been utterly consumed tennis, to go with Shiro to his gym. He'd happily trail after Shiro, willing to sit and watch his older brother spar. For years he'd sat in the corner for hours on end without a modicum of impatience, watching Shiro practice the same jab, uppercut, block over and over. It had over the years become a place of refuge, today however he had too much energy.
Once again, Souji upped the pace.
Reaching the outskirts of the small city he finally slowed to a jog, allowing his body to rest and regain equilibrium after the oxygen deficit he'd placed it under. He blew out a long hot breath, after thirteen and a half miles, city streets that had been littered with an abundance of shops and apartment buildings had all petered out. Replaced instead with the idyllic backdrop of nature.
Souji paused, taking a moment to catch his breath before tackling the short climb. It was a small hill relative to the other's he'd just run, but it had always served as a marker for the end of the familiar run.
With a single tree growing from the top. It was relatively innocuous. Most traveling in and out of the city would never think to look twice at the small overgrown hill overlooking the small town of Aikawa. But for him, over the years, this place had become somewhat hallowed ground. It was here so many years before that he'd found his purpose, committed himself, promised himself that he'd walk the path to become a pro.
Five years had since passed, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days but he hadn't allowed himself to forget. Each time he went running, the climb up the hill reminded himself of his promise, reaffirming his commitment. Souji stopped, resting his hand on the bark of the solitary tree. It was here under the pink cherry blossoms that he allowed himself to think about his future in its entirety.
Asato was easily one of the best in the prefecture and the Kanto region, Takuma as well was regularly among the nation's best. They were his peers, and yet fighting them no longer excited him. It had become too easy to spot their weakness, Takuma's reliance on serve and volley, Asato's inability to leave the baseline, the list continued.
He fisted a handful of grass, placing just enough tension on the strands to put them under a modicum of stress but not enough to rip them from the earth.
It wasn't to say that he was without weakness, Coach Miura was right, there were times that his reactions proved insufficient during serve and volley, his serve still far too susceptible to a good returner. He hadn't yet broken himself of the habit of pulling or doubting his backhand. And still, despite his faults, he won. Despite glaring weaknesses that seemed as clear as day, his opponents couldn't attack them. For years it had been Takuma touted as a prodigy among prodigies, Asato who would likely go pro, Ogata whose touch on his racket was like an extension of his own arm. He had looked up to them all and yet he was better than each one.
He froze, feeling the rough bark on his back. An unyielding force that even with his whole weight leaned against it refused to bend.
That's what it was; matches that had so excited him just two years ago no longer held the same thrill. He'd become stronger, matches that might have bent or broken him now only buffeted against him, barely swaying branches that would have previously snapped.
He wanted a stronger gale, a greater force to test himself with.
Souji looked down the hill, staring at the small people just going about their day, this was his home. If he squinted, in the distance he could just about make out STC and its wide expanse of dark green courts. It was Sunday, the indoor courts would be more crowded than usual with members from all six courts. Hase, Yukichi, Misaki, Yabe; likely they were all there. They'd felt the gap before he had. The growing divide between them and the canyon separating them. Yukichi had begun to call him 'master', he'd felt their eyes on his back, constantly watching him. Even when they'd took one step forward, he had already taken three.
It wasn't enough. Souji looked up at the hundreds if not thousands of flowers swaying peacefully just above him. There were more tennis players in the world than just STC's A court, more tennis players than the hundreds that would come together for All-Japan Junior.
Relaxing his hold on the grass, he stared down at the light green grass stains staining the skin under his nails. He'd always known that STC wouldn't be the final destination. Since the first time he'd stood on top of the hill and looked down on the city, he'd known that the path of a professional athlete would lead him far from this idyllic hill. He loved his home, loved Kanagawa, but he couldn't allow himself to by stymied by the city's familiar borders. If staying meant he stopped his growth he'd gladly uproot himself and leave.
·‡·
The front door swung shut behind him with a satisfying thud. "I'm home."
He was greeted with a sharp clang followed by a muffled curse. "Welcome home Souji! You were gone for a while. How was the run?" His mother, Hatomi Ike, her long black hair tied back in a low bun, poked her head out from the kitchen. "I hope you were able to figure out what was bothering you… oh… also, I cut up an apple and a melon so sit down and eat before you take your shower."
She puttered around the brightly lit, white-walled kitchen, making the both of them tea while simultaneously beginning dinner. She wouldn't ask, she never did. His mother had always been good at letting Shiro and himself come to their own conclusions and make their own mistakes. "Shiro won't be home until late. He called… said that since the gym is hosting a tournament in two weeks' time, he wants to get in a few more hours practice." She poured a small amount of the hot water into the powdered matcha, mixing it with practiced motions to form a dark green paste.
"When will dad be back?"
She glanced at him a slight frown on her face. "Soon." She passed him his cup of tea, staring at him a moment too long before turning. "I always say your father works himself too hard—" she shook her head, a gentle smile on her face, "—going into his office on a Sunday, just to go over a client's paperwork." Stirring the slowly simmering curry she glanced back at him for a second, before once more turning back around. "I guess that's where you boys get your ability from. Neither of you knows when to stop, both of you intent on training yourself to the ground— I'm glad—" she paused and turned to offer him a wide watery smile, "—I never have to worry that my boys are getting into something they shouldn't. Sometimes it makes me wish for the times that you weren't so self-sufficient."
He could feel it; like balancing on the edge of a razor, the blade oscillating back and forth, threatening to deposit him on the hard ground on either side. Frankly, he didn't know which side was worse, avoiding the truth or facing it head-on.
Souji rolled the small melon balls back and forth across the small plate. Moving two at a time, watching them race each other as they skidded across the wet plate. Well, there was one sure way to pick a winner, he popped one of them into his mouth.
"Souji—" she sat in the chair opposite him, hands cupping her steaming tea, "—you know you can tell me anything… right?"
He froze, staring at the solitary melon on his plate. It seemed that for the first time ever she was going to push. Avoid or face? He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the knife-edge bend forward, digging painfully into his heels, urging him forward. It had never been in his nature to avoid.
Hatomi's head cocked to the side, "Sou—"
"—I want to leave," scrunching his eyes, he cursed at his abruptness before straightening in his seat. This was his choice and his path; he couldn't show any fear now. He stared directly in her eyes. It seemed after all the time spent wavering, he'd found his feet on the ground. Now it was up to him to see just what this side would hold. "… I want to go to America. There are more opponents, the level of tennis is higher, the instruction is better. There are schools—" he rushed to continue, "— in America. It's nothing like anything we have here—" he grinned excited at the thought and the possibilities, "—entire schools that focus on creating the best athletes possible…" he petered off.
She hadn't moved since he'd started talking, frankly, he wasn't sure if she was currently breathing. Souji wrapped his fingers around the tops of the chair's legs, fighting the urge to poke her just to confirm that he hadn't offed his mother. That would be as she put it, 'entirely inappropriate'.
She blinked; another long torturously slow blink and stood. Breaking his internal monologue and stopping the impulse in its tracks.
"…I don't want to just be better… when I know I can be great," he said." but I don't think I can be great here; at least not without proper challengers."
She sighed, taking her time to reply, her every action measured and controlled. He watched her place the stainless-steel top back on the simmering curry. With her back turned from him he couldn't see her current expression. "The best, huh?"
"Yea… in the world," he said. "That's what I want." Who wanted to be mediocre, who dreamed of existing in the middle of the pack?
"It's funny your father and I knew this day was coming since Natsu-chan first gave you a racket and we saw you play in your first match."
He remembered that match, Takuma had easily handed him his ass, he distinctly remembered halfway through the match feeling like they hadn't even been playing the same game. "That's when you knew?" Souji frowned, if anything that should have reinforced that he should have stayed in soccer or continued with anything else.
She nodded, "mm-hmm. You were so disappointed and mad. I remember turning to your father and saying, 'that loss right there meant something. That years from now we'd remember that match. Each month following it we've put aside a little aside for you and your brother."
"Something other than College?"
She returned to her seat and her tea. "Yes, separate from your college fund. Just a little nest egg, tucked away. In the eventuality that either of you decided to go a non-traditional route of you with tennis or Shiro with MMA. I honestly didn't think the first of my boys to use it would be my little Souji." Her hands found his before traveling up and cupping his cheeks, turning his face to her own. "I've had years, and somehow I thought I'd be more prepared, but I guess you never really are..."
"Sorry..."
She shook her head. "Never apologize for talent. You think I'd ever hold you back just because I love having you here. What a poor mother that'd make me." Her thumbs wiped away his tears. "I'm so immensely proud of you. Proud of the boy I saw grow up in front of my eyes and the man I see you turning into. For you to come to me with a clear picture of what you want; especially at your age—" she wiped away her tears and smiled. "I don't think I knew what I wanted until at least mid-twenties. Still, if this is what you've decided, I want you to know that your father and I will do everything we can to help you." She squeezed his hands before offering him a watery smile. "Although that doesn't mean that we'll hold your hand and guide you step by step, especially since you'll be in America. I want you to talk to Coach Miura and ask him what the steps are for going abroad."
Petulantly he crossed his arms. "I'm not a grown-up just yet. And even when I am, I'll still need your help…"
"And I'll always give it. You should know, however, since you're deadest on moving to another country, that you won't have your father or I to rely on, we'll be an ocean away—"
"—I'm home," his father called, the clatter as he discarded his shoes and briefcase filling the apartment.
"Welcome home, Souji and I are in the kitchen talking, come join us."
"Just wait—" he puffed out his chest, filled with confidence "—give me a year." Souji held up his finger. "You'll see. One year and I'll take over America."
"Eh? If I'd known you and Souji would be talking about taking over a nation I'd have come home a little sooner and worn better shoes." His father bent to kiss Souji's mother's forehead.
At just a little over six foot his father, Shinji Ike towered over both him and his mother. The grey suit Shinji wore just hinted at the broad form hid underneath layers of business dress. "So? World dominatio— Hatomi? What's wrong, what's with the long faces? Did you not want to include me in the planning, I promise there's always room for…" He paused cueing in on their lack of reaction.
Hatomi turned away exasperation written over her face, "sometimes I wonder where the boys get their awful sense of humor and timing and then you say something to remind me. Sit. Souji has something he wants to tell you."
He straightened in his chair, noting the lessening pressure from his lungs. He was no longer bound to the garden path.
·‡·
STC's expanse of outdoor tennis courts laid before him, an unending sea of green. With multiple outdoor courts, from a bird's eyes view the club closely resembled an organized green honeycomb.
Souji paused for just a moment could still remember the first time he'd seen STC, his utter amazement as Natsu had shown him around the club that had monopolized so much of her time.
"Sou-chan! Sou-chan!?" Natsu bounded up behind him, her long light brown hair already in a high ponytail and ready for practice. "You left so quickly after the last bell, just cause the school year is almost over doesn't mean you can just gallivant off. We were going to walk together, remember." She poked him on his shoulder, further emphasizing each word.
"As if I could ever forget about you," he raised his voice, putting his next few sentences to a childhood diddy. "You're in my dreams Natsu-chan, you and I against the world, forever until—"
"—God, Ike. Are you ever not annoying?" Takuma pushed past them, his tennis bag hitting Souji in the face as he did. "No one, especially me should ever have to hear you sing."
"Eh, I thought it was nice, Sou-chan has a nice voice."
"Aha-ha-ha, hear that Takuma-san, Natsu likes my voice."
"She'd be the only one," Takuma sprinted off in the direction of the indoor courts, whatever else he'd yelled lost to the wind.
Souji watched him go, not bothering to stifle his laughter.
"You should be nicer to Takuma-kun," said Natsu.
"Eh? Nicer? Am I not nice?"
She smacked his arm, throwing him just enough off balance that he had to windmill his arms to keep upright. "You don't even realize what you're doing, do you?"
"Eh?"
She threw up her hands, "Absolutely impossible. You don't even notice, how after you tell your joke, Takuma never laughs." She shook her head, "one of these days you're gonna push Takuma too far and he's going to lose it— and I swear if you say 'eh' one more time."
"E— okay—" he ducked away from Natsu's lightly thrown punch, "—okay? I'll talk to him… sorry Natsu."
"Natsu-chan! Master!" Yukichi waved at them, spilling half of his water bottle in the process. "Congratulations on winning the tournament."
He shifted before awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. 'Master' was a new and rather uncomfortable development Yukichi had propagated in the past few months. Heralded by Souji's win just a few months ago in a minor regional tournament, Yukichi had taken the nickname to heart and had insisted on calling him by the moniker any chance he had. "Thanks, Yukichi-kun, and remember what we talked about? About not calling me master?" He could only hope that this time something would stick. "I saw your match against Iwasa-san."
Yukichi's eyes swelled with large, barely realistic tears, "Master Ike watched me? I didn't think you had the time! I wish I could have done better."
Souji shifted, uncomfortable with Yukichi's choice of words. He hadn't watched the entirety of Yukichi's match, but he had caught the conclusion. Yukichi's opponent Araya had been quite merciless against the STC member. "You've worked hard—" he shrugged, "—what more can you do." He stifled a grimace and looked away, doing his best to ignore the tear dripping down Yukichi's cheek. "I should go." Souji nodded towards Takuma, "I told Natsu I'd talk with Takuma-san."
Turning their attention to the slightly older boy knocking impossibly fast serves over court A's net, he patted Souji on the back, "Oh." Shivering, Yukichi inched away, "he looks like he's in a great mood; have fun."
·‡·
Souji could feel Natsu's expectations pushing him to apologize. Truthfully, it couldn't have been clearer if she had placed her hand on his back and pushed him across the consecutively laid courts.
Takuma grunted sending his serve whizzing over the net and smashing into the opposing court.
Souji paused, judging by the half-filled ball container and the ones rolling haphazardly, Takuma truly hadn't wasted any time before beginning his serve practice. He walked just behind Takuma and court A. "I'm sorry."
Takuma let out another grunt, the exertion evident as another ball tore through the air.
He couldn't be certain, but he was almost positive the second serve the other boy sent screeching across the net had been even faster than the first. He glanced over and caught Natsu's glance.
"Want to play a match?"
Takuma let a third ball rip.
They'd always communicated better through their matches. Even before middle school when Takuma had been leagues better than him, and their matches, little more than one-sided smash contests. He'd always come to understand Takuma just a little bit better by the time the last ball rolled to a stop.
A fourth ball zipped by.
He could make the bait just a bit more enticing. "Three-set-match?"
Takuma paused, a fifth ball in hand. His attention finally caught, he turned to him. "Fine. But don't expect me to hold back just because it isn't an official match. I'll crush you, Ike."
It was like Takuma had flipped a switch inside him. "Looking forward to it."
Without looking, Takuma held out his racket a hand covering the bottom. "Which?"
"Now?"
Takuma's glare could have shattered a block of ice.
"Fine. Top."
Taking his hand away, Takuma revealed the right side up 'P' on the bottom of his racket. "Your serve, I'll take this court."
Moments before a match begins there's an instance of calm; a held breath that lasts a few brief seconds, just until the first serve passes over the net. Souji loved that moment. It was like a switch within his mind flipped. Those brief seconds, for him, would carry through until the ball bounced its last and the match was called.
A small audience was beginning to grow, drawn to the match between Takuma and Souji like moths to a flame. He closed his eyes breathing in deep. The sounds around him faded to nothing more than a distant rumble, replaced instead with a meditative hum. He was ready.
The ball spun through the air, in a perfectly thrown arc that could easily be converted into an excellently delivered serve. He wouldn't have to pull or force the ball. The power would flow easily from him and would concentrate on the ball.
His racket swung through the air, in a perfect whip like moti—
"Ike! Egawa!"
The top of his racket smashed against the ball.
His perfect serve flew right into the net.
"Neither of you are playing a match right now!" called Coach Miura. His head and part of his shoulders poked through the blue canvas divider, giving all six courts a view of his dark scowl. "Neither of you are properly warmed up, you'd both end up pulling or straining something, and then I'd have to deal with the two of you moping around complaining. Go warm up!"
It was like coach Miura's shout had broken the spell, already, there were a few beginning to make their way around the outer perimeter of the six indoor tennis. Talking and joking in their small clusters they moved at a fast jog. The group gradually gained more members as the remaining crowd gathered around both Takuma and Souji slowly dispersed.
"Takuma-san—" Souji waved his racket above his head, joining the group of runners as they passed him by, "—next time, alright?"
Next to him, Natsu fell into rhythm, easily matching his pace with hers. "I thought you were going to talk to him, not challenge him to a match."
"Eh?" He shrugged. "With Takuma, it's easier to just play him. Let him get out his frustration and throw a few things at me. Besides, how could I turn down the opportunity to play a match against him?"
Slowly he pulled ahead, the pent-up excitement pushing him faster and driving him forward.
He didn't know where the new path would take him, nor what challenges he'd face along the way, but, if it meant he'd once again find the motivation and drive that had dulled the past year then he'd gladly embrace pushing through the unkempt undergrowth to brave a path less taken.
Who knew what the future might hold, or what his place might be within it, but whatever it might be, he refused to sit back and wait. Growth couldn't occur without action; it was incumbent on him to find the path to his next stage of evolution.
Author's Note:
Shoutout to 'wrackspurtsnargles' for helping beta this chapter. If you have the chance you should check out her work 'Breathing', it's really engaging and good, I'd totally recommend it!