Chapter Four: Genius

"—This came sooner than I expected, and I can't say I'm happy, but during the past two years, seeing the rapid level of growth you've gone through, I likely should have expected something of the sort." Coach Miura sighed and covered half his face before rubbing his knuckles against his temples.

"We'll of course be sad to see you go," said Coach Miura, glancing to the side at the three foreign occupants. "And you should know, there will always be a place for you at STC, Ike-kun."

"Coach Miura, you're going to make me cry." If there was ever a moment that he wished he could cry on command, this was it. He'd give anything to conjure big fat alligator tears, the kind that would make Coach Miura squirm and make the same face that was just lurking under the surface. "I—"

"— Souji," Coach Miura warned his face hardening, daring him to continue. "… As I was saying, it has become increasingly obvious that you've moved past the stage that most of your peers are on. So, when you came to me and voiced your concerns, I took some steps and contacted a few of my associates who were kind enough to put me into contact with these gentlemen here." Miura nodded to the three suit-clad men clumped in the small office space next to him.

Souji couldn't help but look each one up and down, his eye drawn to them like a moth to a flame. They all seemed so out of place; surrounded by a multitude of sports equipment. The three reminded him of his father's associates, clothed mainly, in dark grey and black, he doubted they'd found a reason to smile in years, they were an overly stoic lot.

Coach Miura cleared his throat. "— They'll be happy to tell you more. But before they do, I'd like to take a moment to stress just how rare this opportunity is." Miura tapped the top of the desk, making sure that Souji's full attention was focused on him. "It's not uncommon to go overseas, though normally it's an option presented to those a little older than yourself— the first step to a professional career. Still, such a step doesn't come without significant costs. Training partners, coaches, facilities… you were aware of all this?"

Souji nodded, they'd had this exact conversation when he'd first broached the topic. He'd assured Coach Miura that his parents had placed money aside, that as long as the cost wasn't exorbitant, he'd be able to cover the expense. "Yes."

"Good. Tennis at the junior international stage and beyond isn't something that one enters into lightly. It's a whole different world, far harder than anything you've encountered so far."

The man sitting to the far left nodded emphatically, before sitting forward, interrupting Coach Miura "— very hard. There've been others who've tried and come up short, talented youngsters such as yourself…" He abruptly fell quiet. With only the briefest of glances from the suited man sitting in the center, the apparent leader of the nine-to-fivers, the man lost his voice, quickly clamming up and sitting back.

"Miyara-san is right of course, the tennis world is built to weed out the week, and unprepared—" Coach Miura hurried to continue, "— Which is why it's imperative that you have people backing you. A team per se. These gentlemen, Miyara-san, Nakahara-san, and Kasai-san are some of the best…"

Souji couldn't help the grin as it stretched across his face, a poor representation of the general giddiness that had easily overtaken him. This was it. He'd thought about further honing his craft, finding even more opponents he could battle, debuting on the world stage to the cheers of thousands. Everything he'd dreamed about was just there, scant centimeters beyond his fingertips, if he just leaned forward, he'd be able to grasp it.

Miyara, Nakahara, Kasai, Souji committed the names to memory. They weren't what he had expected, candidly speaking he hadn't put any thought to the concept of a team. It was a commonly known fact that behind each of the great tennis players currently on the Tour was a contingent of professionals ensuring the gears never stopped turning.

Souji eyed the three, they were dour-looking, but if they spent enough time together, he was sure he could break them out of their shell. Liven them up just a bit.

The white office light flickered, sending the shadows of the room's five occupants shaking wildly in the otherwise motionless room. With wide eyes, Souji quietly considered the three, his new team. They were all listening closely to Coach Miura, nodding when appropriate, their faces the picture of composed professionalism.

There was a clock head just above Coach Miura's head, ticking quietly away without fail, despite the life-changing meeting taking place just feet beneath.

It was a metaphorical end of an era. Each second that passed, each movement of the clock hand caused moments to pass, moments that could never be revisited. Each click brought him a step closer to the end of his time in Japan and the beginning of what would undoubtedly be a triumphant beginning to his international debut.

Souji nodded to himself, barely able to contain his excitement. He'd have to work on his signature as there'd undoubtedly be requests for it, once his name was illuminated in the bright lights.

"Souji? Souji…"

He jumped, "Yes?"

The shorter and most central of the three businessmen, Nakahara, cleared his throat and corrected his tie. "As I was saying. Asics is extremely excited to offer you this opportunity. We make a point to follow the tennis careers of a few promising juniors; and normally we would wait to make an offer until the end of your first year as a professional. However, after watching your progress we would like to offer you an opportunity to join our team—"

"This isn't what I expected…" Souji said. For a few brief moments, he'd let his imagination run wild, ignoring the ensuing conversation progressing around him. Now to be thrown back into the fray, he felt partly adrift and lost. "Asics?"

"Yes," Nakahara said, nodding. "We were informed of your interest in studying internationally through connections associated with Miura-san. We feel that our help could be used to assuage some of the costs that you'll undoubtedly find from travelling overseas. Of course, later, we'd expect a return on investment, but we realize that for this to happen, your initial growth can't be hampered. Based on your track record, Asics would like to offer you a full scholarship to attend the Florida Tennis Academy."

FTA? Souji gawked, wide-eyed at the man, taken aback. Of course, he knew of the Florida Tennis Academy, what tennis player didn't know the illustrious training facility. With a combination of pros and rising juniors, the Academy routinely produced athletes that went on to make a name for themselves within the tennis world. Despite the academy's stellar track record, apart from a cursory look, he hadn't considered the school as a viable option since its tuition was at the bare minimum sixty-thousand a year.

From his briefcase, the Asics representative took out a thick manila folder. "Our company believes it's in our best interest to nurture and ensure that the next generation of Japanese athletes have the ability to represent Japan as best they can on the world stage. We believe you have the ability to be at the forefront of said generation." He slid the folder across Coach Miura's desk, flipping it open as he did. "Asics would hope that if given this opportunity to train at one of the premier facilities, you become a flagship, in a sense for your generation. In the same way that our company has revolutionized the sports attire world, we hope to give you that same chance."

He stared down at the folder in front of him, staggered by the gesture. Just from a cursory glance, he could tell that there were provisions; of course, there would be, he was still a relatively unproven quantity internationally. Nevertheless, to have Asics, a company so well-known and reputable, recognize him, and want to support him, to believe that he had potential…

"What does this mean? Can I only wear and use Asics? I mean— I wear Nike now, but I could switch…" He could just picture his face forty-feet high, striking a really cool pose, one fist in the air as a crowd of onlookers celebrated his win with him. I would look so cool, he thought a grin slowly covering his face.

Even if he'd wanted to, Souji couldn't stop the small vibrations of excitement at the prospects envisioned.

"Ah—" the Nakahara chuckled, his hands waving through the air. "Nothing quite like that just yet. Though if the scholarship were to turn into a partnership, I'm sure something along those lines might be on the table. But I believe we're getting a little ahead of ourselves. The contract copy you have in front of you has the complete details of what will be expected of you to continue receiving the scholarship money." The Asics representative flipped through the hefty contract, pointing out different highlighted clauses as well as what each would entail.

"Souji," said Coach Miura, interrupting Nakahara. "I'm sure your father will be able to parse through the legal jargon much better than you and I could. Perhaps our time would be better spent with you all getting to know each other better. Doing a bit of networking."

It was the first meeting he'd ever sat through that hadn't been called because of a mistimed prank or ill-designed joke that had pissed off one of his schoolteachers. As he sat there, answering the Asics representatives' questions and asking ones of his own; Souji had a temporary moment of clarity. If sitting up on the hill, under the shade of the cherry blossoms had been the start, this was his first step, he'd finally left 'Go' and had begun rolling the dice.

"If you agree to the terms, and want to accept the scholarship, the number to fax the signed documents back is located on the top." Nakahara tapped the heading on one of the sheets of paper. "Preemptively, I hope I may be the first to congratulate you on joining the Asics family. We see greatness in you, and believe that you have the potential to live up to all that we believe you can be," Nakahara said. "We'll be waiting for your word, then."

As one the three representatives stood and bowed, first to Coach Miura then Souji, before leaving the semi-cramped office.

Coach Miura's office door swung shut with a hollow thud, the metal latch clicked with a certain finality.

"I have to go see them out, but I think I should say this one more time; just so you can hear once more how big an accomplishment it truly is." Coach Miura stood, as a rare smile graced his face.

Souji couldn't help but note how one side of his mouth tugged a little higher than the other as if his muscles weren't used to the motion.

"You should be proud of yourself, Souji. Companies like Asics don't take note of junior athletes very often, especially when they won't see a return in investment right away," said Miura. "With the economy the way it is, even sponsorships have been relegated to those that are truly proven in the sport, scholarships like yours are even less common..." Miura patted Souji's hand. "You have a special gift Souji, one that others are beginning to recognize and acknowledge. If you choose to accept their offer, which I hope you do; I have no doubt, Florida Tennis Academy will be lucky to have you. You've done well."

·‡·

"You're leaving? I thought…" she trailed off. Motionless except for her hair twisting in the gentle wind.

They sat, looking out on a crowd of their peers. Watching them wave excitedly to each other, eager to leave school and begin their summer vacation. They were the same age, and yet their cares, desires, wants, were so different. It'd be years until his peers would have to make decisions that would dictate the rest of their lives, make the career choices that he, and Natsu, struggled with now. They couldn't wait until their twenties to decide what type of office job they would sit at for the next fifty years. For them, it was now or never.

"I'm happy for you Sou-chan… I guess… I always thought you and I'd go all the way through school together. And then…" Natsu fell silent, staring off into the distant horizon, her expression pinched.

He slung his arm around her, giving her shoulders a tight squeeze. "Eh, Natsu did you want us to grow old together? We'd get married, play the circuit together, you the WTA, me the AT…" He trailed off as a thought crossed his mind and he felt her shoulders stiffen. There were times that he took his jokes just a tad too far, crossing the line without even realizing it. For years he'd known what the line was that he couldn't cross. Natsu had made it abundantly clear at the age of six after he'd teased her about liking Sukehiro the main character from an anime they'd both been watching.

"Do you… like me— wait, you don't like like me do you?" he asked, feeling his heart rate skyrocket.

He'd said it as a joke, without thought of the consequences. But, what if she actually liked him?

We've been friends for years, I couldn't imagine— Souji shook his head, ridding himself of the image.

Her answering punch numbed his arm and hand; stopping his train of thought in its tracks. "Idiot." She slipped away her tight glare melting away as a less hostile expression took its place. "Course I don't. I might have thought about… we're better off as friends." She sat back down, wrapping her arms tight around her knees.

"Best friends." Souji frowned, choosing his next few words very carefully, as the sting emanating from his arm a friendly reminder that depending on what he said next could decide whether Natsu was more or less understanding. "Besides, I'm sure there's someone out there for you that's so much better than me. I picture a six-foot-five blonde-haired German with eyes the color of washed-up seaweed—" His muscles tensed anticipating the answering punch, they weren't disappointed. "Ouch… you and I… we'd drive each other crazy."

"Insane," she agreed.

Natsu unwrapped her arms from her legs and pulled him back to once again sit shoulder to shoulder. In the silence, she leaned her weight against him, undaunted by the societal norms that dictated there should be a boundary even between friends.

"Do you remember during the summers when our moms would take all three of us to the beach?"

"Mm-hmm, yea," he agreed. "…Shiro hated every minute of it. He said it was because he was wasting valuable training time and he'd rather be at the gym—" he shrugged, "—but I'm still convinced it's 'cause he's secretly afraid of the ocean," Souji said, smiling at the memory of his brother sitting in the hot sand refusing to enter the surf even after hours of their combined cajoling. "Why are you thinking about those trips now?"

"Mm… no reason, really. I just realized our summers are over. There'll be no more trips to the ocean."

As she leaned against him her hair brushed his face, tickling his neck, reflexively his nose wrinkled as a sneeze attempted to push its way through. Not now. If I sneeze now, I'll laugh… this is a serious moment, they'd never find my body if I laugh. Hold it in—this—is—a— serious moment, his face twisted with the monumental effort.

"… It'll be strange not having you here. Who am I going to walk to tennis with, or talk to?" She played with his fingers, threading hers with his. "You have to promise me that when you get the chance you'll call and text. There's no excuse for not keeping in touch… okay? We'll stay friends no matter what… okay?"

A joke floated through his thoughts, begging him to say it, release it to the world. Reluctantly and rather impressively if he said so himself, he suppressed the urge. His arm still smarted from where Natsu had previously punched him.

"I promise that even if I'm playing in the middle of the jungle or the desert, I'll take the time to call."

"Ike Souji, professional tennis player."

"Not yet." His head came to rest on hers. "Hey, who knows. I might get to America and find out I can't cut it." It was a poor joke, one that even he couldn't find the strength to laugh at.

"I don't think you will Sou-chan…. fail, you know. We both know how good you are. You might have thought that I didn't notice, but I've seen how you are during your matches, how you become a different person. You have more fun when you and your opponent are evenly matched, and you can take him apart little by little. In that last match against Asato-san, you weren't having fun, beating him like that. Right?"

He blinked, thoroughly bemused.

She had noticed.

He hadn't known or understood until he'd taken the time to reflect, but Natsu like always had seen through him and had known what he needed and what had been missing.

Wordlessly Souji stared down at the last few remaining stragglers, their backpacks haphazardly thrown over their shoulders, ties, and shirts, undone and untucked. He had no desire to be like them; ordinary.

She squeezed his hand. "—But that's why you won't fail."

"What?" Souji asked, returning his attention to the current conversation.

"When you go to America. I know you won't fail because I saw how much you hated that win against Asato-san. You need a challenge, and once you get it, I don't think you'll be able to let that go."

His eyes slowly closed, letting her words sink in.

There was no one else in the world that knew him the way Natsu did. Since childhood, they'd learned how each other ticked. Without thought, Souji pulled her closer, pulling her into his side until their shadows were unrecognizable as anything resembling human.

"… It's funny. When we were kids it was like no matter how hard I tried you were always a step ahead. And now… it's like you've cheated and taken three steps instead of one. You'll wait for me, right?" asked Natsu.

He nodded. "Mm-hmm. As long as you don't take too long."

Wisely, he didn't comment on the growing pool of tears dripping from her chin, soaking the front of her shirt.

They sat comfortably in the quiet; the silence punctuated only by an irregular hiccup.

The sun, having long since reached its zenith, had begun to slowly descend from its temporary perch. In the dying light, the sun's rays took on a deep amber color, and in exchange for the warmth it instead put on a beautiful show of light. I'll never forget this moment, he thought.

In the waning moments of the day, they sat together, staring out into the magnificence playing out before them.

"Don't get hurt, okay… listen to your coaches… and make friends with people that aren't just tennis players," Natsu said, listing everything she could think of in the short amount of time they had left.

"Thanks, Natsu—"

"— Did you already say goodbye to everyone at STC?"

"Eh…"

"You forgot, didn't you?"

Sheepishly, he scratched the back of his head. In some cases, she knew him far too well. "I was planning on going after I saw you. Did you want to come with me?"

She shook her head. "Today's my rest day. Besides, we don't need to say goodbye more than once. Right, Sou-chan! Any more than that and it sort of loses its meaning, doesn't it?"

·‡·

The courts were quiet; as most of the members had already left for the day, the excitement of summer break unable to keep them tethered to the practice courts. It made no difference, the people who Souji interacted with on a regular were still there. For those who made it to court A, tennis had evolved into something that they couldn't live without.

"Hunh, I thought you were skipping practice," Takuma said. Next to him in the midst of their unsupervised practice stood the majority of court A; Shinji, Raku, and Misaki. Takuma leveled his racket at Souji, a serious expression on his face. "I thought you'd chickened out and that you were too scared to face me on the court."

"Please." He tsked under his breath. "Give me a moment to warm up, then we can have that three-set match we talked about." Misaki," he called, gaining the tall dark-haired girl's attention. "Will you stay and judge?" asked Souji, running a hand over his racket face, checking the strings, searching for any imperfections.

The older girl nodded and gave him a thumbs-up before moving to pick up a few stray balls in her proximity.

Going through his typical warm-up, Souji could feel Takuma's gaze trained on him, assessing while waiting impatiently for the match to start.

Through the years they'd played so many matches, both official and unofficial. If there was anyone in STC that he knew almost as well as himself it had to be Takuma. How many matches have I lost against him? Sixty-seven? Souji thought, swinging his racket, warming up his shoulders. I hate losing.

He rolled his head, feeling the pressure slowly mounting. Perhaps he was imagining it but the air on court A felt just a little heavier than normal. Across from him Takuma grinned and levelled his racket at Souji, his challenge clear. They could both feel it, this match's significance, on some level they both knew that it was worth far more than just a simple three-set match.

"You won the toss—" Takuma called out across the otherwise quiet court, "—from before when we got interrupted. So, you take first serve and I'll take this side."

Misaki straightened moving to stand just on the outer edge of the court. "You're both ready then? Best of three-set match. Ike-kun to serve."

·‡·

Souji bounced the tennis ball, once, twice, three times, before turning his attention to his opponent standing across from him, separated by the net.

For as long as he could remember Takuma had been called a genius.

For six years he'd watched from the sidelines as Takuma Egawa had stood at the forefront of the Japanese tennis scene. Winning every tournament he'd entered, dominating the field and in turn their generation. Takuma had been given the label 'once in a generation talent', and he wore it proudly. For six years Souji had watched Takuma easily shoulder the hopes and dreams of what Japanese tennis was to become. From across the net, Souji eyed the other, sizing him up.

When had everything changed?

His racket cut through the air, sending the ball streaking across the court.

Without thought his feet moved forwards, allowing his instinct to dictate his actions.

He caught Takuma's return on his forehand and sent it on a hard diagonal in the opposite direction.

"15-0," Misaki called.

Taking measured steps Souji returned to his serving position just behind the baseline. From the corner of his eye, he watched Takuma shift and bounce, keeping his muscles warm as he waited for Souji's next serve.

This was a game that he didn't want to rush. He had an inordinate need to savor each moment as if it was his last.

Fast serve down the center.

Relying more on power than his gift of delicate touch, Takuma met the ball and sent it deep into Souji's court, pinning him to the baseline making it impossible for him to make the same play that had scored him the first point.

Following his ball. Takuma moved forward, stopping halfway between baseline and net.

Serve and volley. Takuma's bread and butter.

Souji grinned and returned the ball with a lob that was both high and deep.

He could feel it, the subtle shift in the tide, the slight tilt of the playing field. Did Takuma know that this game had already been decided, could he feel it the way Souji could?

"30-0."

To this day, he could recall the lecture his mother had given both Shiro and himself after one particularly unruly dinner where more food had ended on each other than in their mouths. He could still remember the disappointment on her face as she explained that civility at the dinner table meant not playing with one's food. The lesson had only stuck when applied to the dinner table.

Once, twice, three times, Souji bounced the ball, noting that Takuma had moved just slightly closer to the center section of the baseline. He's preparing for a serve down the center, I could go wide… it'd be easier to serve wide— he bounced the ball one last time before falling into the beginnings of his service motion— Sometimes playing with one's food couldn't be helped. Center.

"Game, Ike. 1-0, change court," Misaki called.

With just ninety seconds rest in between games, it could be said that this was the most important part of any tennis match. Just enough time to formulate a strategy or regain one's breath. Souji leaned against the canvas wall, feeling his heart rate slow to a more even pace. He'd expected to hold serve, though perhaps not so one-sided. It was the next game that would inevitably bring challenges. Contending and containing Takuma's serve— absentmindedly he passed his racket from hand to hand— now wasn't the time to grow cocky, not yet, not before he'd severed the snake's head.

"Time." Misaki waved them both back to their respective baselines.

Souji stepped up to the return position, twirling his racket in hand, ready for whatever Takuma would throw at him.

The ball spun wide.

Propelled by an incredibly nasty spin, it pushed him out from behind the court's baseline and to the edge, opening a wide expanse for Takuma to attack.

Shit.

Souji's racket just barely caught the return, sending the ball back high and slow, a perfect target.

"Fault," called Misaki, resetting the point.

He huffed softly, eyeing the path Takuma's return had taken, if the ball hadn't bounced just outside the service box Takuma would have easily won the point. If he wanted to win, he couldn't slack off now. He'd played Takuma enough over the years to know just how quickly the older boy could turn a match to his favor. If Souji crushed him early, it'd be far harder for Takuma to find a way to fight back.

Now or never— he crouched, readying himself — maximum effort.

Misaki cleared her throat, "Fifteen seconds."

Takuma served.

His forehand had always been a source of strength and glaring weakness. His reliance on the stroke serving as a neon sign pointing out to his opponents to strike at his backhand. Takuma was no exception; he targeted Souji's backhand as often as possible, forcing him to either return with a stroke that was under par or maneuver himself around the ball and lose precious seconds.

It was the same tactic Takuma had used on him for years, and for years without fail it had worked. There was no reason for Takuma to believe that this match would be any different.

Souji cursed as Takuma easily positioned himself for the return, taking advantage of the weak spinning ball his backhand had produced.

The ball flew back into his court with a newly regained energy, Takuma's return slice, slid past him.

"15-0."

It was an excellent return and a sterling example as to why Takuma for much of his childhood had been considered a genius. He'd never been biased; it was possible to see the beauty in his opponent's tennis while still attempting to tear it apart.

Souji bent, readying himself for Takuma's next serve.

He didn't have long to wait. Takuma's response flew over the net, targeting his center court.

This time, however, he was ready for it.

Souji returned the ball placing a high arching, deep spin upon it. Once again keeping Takuma in the deeper end of the court, rejecting his desire to return to the net and play to his strengths.

Their returns weren't meant to test each other, they already intimately knew each other's game.

Souji let fly a particularly sharp cross-shot.

The pertinent question as the point dragged on, was, who would break first?

There.

It was indescribable. The little voice in his head that whispered to him when to push and where to place the ball. In the two years since he'd first heard it, it hadn't steered him wrong. A split-second decision, a gut feeling that told him the time to play with his food had ended.

For just a few seconds he could see everything on the court. He could see the ball slow as it approached, Takuma just behind it moving up the court readying himself for the next blow.

This is it. There wouldn't be a next one, the voice in his head told him so. This strike would be a blow Takuma couldn't recover from.

Souji sent a low fast slice down the line. Passing Takuma's feet before he'd been able to ready his racket.

"15-15."

With every point and each rally, Souji could feel the gears beginning to turn. His decision-making quickening, as he allowed his mind to take a back seat as his instincts led the way.

He sent a deep topspin to the corner of the court.

"30-15. Ike leads."

Could he feel it? Does he know that this court belongs to me?

He met Takuma's serve head-on, not shying away from the dastardly fastball, returning it with a fast topspin of his own.

He'd never been very successful in keeping Takuma glued to the baseline, not allowing the other to commence his favored style of tennis. Now was as good a time as any to see the fruits of his labor.

Takuma's ball came racing back across the net, just barely skimming over the woven lattice. Placed just a meter short of the baseline, Takuma was doing his best as well to keep Souji from moving up.

He could feel the futility; whether Takuma Misaki and the rest of court A knew it or not, he could feel it.

Souji smiled. Watching his ball arc gracefully before dropping down just on the other side of the net. A perfectly timed drop shot.

"40-15."

It was only the second set, yet he could already tell that it, and the game was his.

Weaknesses he'd seen in Takuma over the years and yet had never had the wherewithal to attack were suddenly and painfully obvious. Takuma's serve though incredible was returnable. Kept to the baseline Takuma's threat was far too diminished. His groundstrokes not yet strong enough to give him the ability to brute force himself up the court.

He'd questioned before the match had begun when everything had changed, the point or day that he'd surpassed genius.

Souji bit his lip, following through with his forehand.

In truth, it didn't matter. What did matter was that Takuma, STC, Japan was no longer enough.

The ball passed Takuma's outstretched racket.

"Game, Ike. 2-0, change courts."

Never had the divide felt so large than when a tennis court stood between them. This would be his last match in Japan for a while. He likely wouldn't play another match here until he returned on one of the professional circuits. It was almost poetic that his last match was against Takuma. The necessary bookend to his time in Japan.

"Time."

He owed it to Takuma to give him the best game he could.

Souji served the ball.

·‡·

"Game, set, and match, Winner Ike Souji. Final score 6-0, 6-0."

·‡·

STC was quiet, the clubs only sound from the errant final ball as it bounced across the expanse of indoor courts, before coming to rest on the far wall. The match between Takuma and Souji had lasted just an hour and a fifteen, barely enough time to watch a full Disney movie. Souji twirled his racket once more before fully letting his guard down. The perfect end to his time in Japan.

"I'm glad I got to play you before I left Takuma-san." He held out a hand, waiting for Takuma to shake it, and bring the match to a close.

Distracted Takuma stared at his appendage, making no move to take it, "you're leaving…when?"

His hand wavered slightly in the space between them and threatened to drop. Stubbornly, obstinately he kept it up, he could wait until Takuma was ready. "Tomorrow morning."

"Oh— what about Kanto?" Takuma asked.

He shrugged; he'd already come to terms with the fact that he'd miss, Kanto, Nationals, and all other purely Japanese tournaments. "About a week ago, Coach Miura pulled me, the tournament should release a revised seeding chart."

Finally, after what had felt like an eternity, Takuma took his hand. "Where will you go?"

"Florida—" he grinned, "— 'where dreams come true'," Souji said.

"You're so annoyin—" he froze, his face going through a myriad of expressions, "—ugh… good luck." Takuma dropped his hand and turned, ignoring the three other members of court A standing quietly on the sidelines watching the exchange.

Maybe it was a result of all the years of Natsu urging him to apologize to Takuma after one insensitive comment after another, but he could feel her now pushing him to say something to the retreating figure. The match was over, he was no longer the opponent, now he was simply a boy he'd grown up with, one he'd tentatively consider a friend.

Souji stepped forward, resting a hand against the net. "We'll play again… when we're both pros?"

Takuma paused mid-step, his head bowed, he didn't turn. "Yah, maybe… have a safe flight."

"What?" Souji leaned against the net, feeling it give slightly under his weight. "No hug goodbye? I won't be back for some time; aren't you going to miss me?"

Takuma didn't look back as he pushed the blue canvas netting aside, "God, you're so annoying."

·‡·

"As the Winter Olympics grow closer and our Japanese athletes gear up to compete for the fabled Olympic gold, here are some of the athletes are viewers should pay attentio…" The airport television news host faded out of earshot quite quickly as Haneda airport was unusually busy for the time of year.

There wasn't a space in the airport that wasn't occupied. Everywhere Souji looked people were eating, sitting, sleeping, working. He fell to the side, pushed by a young girl and a gigantic violin strapped to her back, it was only his father's grip on his elbow that kept him upright.

Languages not normally heard in the streets of Kanagawa flowed around him, a constant reminder that in just sixteen short hours, Japanese would no longer be the primary language he'd be immersed in.

I should have studied harder in English, he thought with a frown.

"Just so you know, when you get famous, I'm selling all your baby stuff online," Shiro said, pushing him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm going to make a fortune, hocking Ike Souji collectibles."

"Eh?" Shinji asked, interest peaked. He leaned towards the older of his two sons, slinging his arm around Shiro's shoulder. "Do you really think kids these days will spend money on stuff like that? How much do you think they'd spend for some of Souji's baby hair, or his nail clippings? Your mother has a box in our closet filled with both of your childhood mementos. I'll bet you five, she won't miss a couple of items if they were to go missing."

As if she had ears and eyes in the back of her head, Hatomi turned, a hard-unyielding smile on her face. "If I see either of you go anywhere near that box, I'll serve nothing but natto for an entire month. Natto for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Natto ice cream, I'll even find a way to put it into the tea…"

Souji smirked and quietly blew a kiss to Shiro before sticking out his tongue.

He only had another fifteen or so minutes before his flight began the boarding process, he'd be bereft as a little brother if he didn't take the time to needle and annoy the other.

"You'll call us when you land, yes?" His mother's hands found his own, holding them far too tight to be considered comfortable. "The phone we bought you is for you to use to stay in contact with us and your coaches. Don't give out the number to just anyone. And don't forget to make lots of friends."

"You sound like Natsu," Souji said.

"She's got a good head on her shoulders. I hope you listened to her." With one hand Hatomi pulled Souji's father, Shinji, to her side, with the other Shiro, bringing them all into a tight circle. "You're there for tennis but it doesn't mean you can't have fun."

They all could see the tears as she spoke, the way her eyes glittered, and water welled in the corners. Without prompting, she leant into Souji's father's arms, gaining strength from his presence.

"Hatomi. The boy'll be alright, he's got a good head on his shoulders, even if it does screw a little loose sometimes" His father chuckled, pulling all four of them into a tight protective hug. "Don't forget that we raised both our sons right." He placed his hand on top of Souji's head. "Don't get too bogged down when you get there Souji, remember why you're there and what you're striving for. And don't forget to call your mother."

Shiro leaned in closer, "I might not sell your baby stuff, but I'm totally going to hock your old tennis shirts since I need a new pair of MMA gloves."

Souji closed his eyes, basking in the closeness of his family, with their arms around him the sound of their voices drowning out the din, he could just about imagine that they were anywhere else. That they were not encircled in the sterile white of the airport, surrounded by strangers bustling from gate to gate and the smells from places too far away for him to imagine. For just a few moments inside the bustling Haneda airport hive, Souji could imagine that he was home.

A low hum sounded just before, with a squeal the PA system turned on. "Boarding for flight 148 to Miami, Florida will now commence. We repeat, boarding for flight—"

The illusion shattered; his eyes opened.

This was his path, the one he'd chosen and had committed himself to. He wouldn't allow himself to walk it with fear in his heart, it'd be a disservice to not only himself but all those that believed in him.

He allowed himself one more hug, squeezing his mother and father just a little tighter and longer than normal before he was off. As he walked to the boarding gates, he didn't allow himself to look back and neither his parents nor his brother called after him as from this moment on he'd only look forward.

·‡·

There's something strange that happens after you've existed in one space for any great amount of time. As one becomes more acquainted with every nook and cranny, the space seems to shrink and contour to the body, becoming smaller with each breath, each movement until it is more akin to a coffin than an airplane seat.

Fifteen hours and counting, locked in a tiny metal flying box, if he could scream, he would.

His body had become so used to activity that sitting for any long period of time set his nerves aflame. For the last half hour, his leg hadn't stopped its nervous shaking, he hadn't missed the looks his two seatmates had sent him as he inadvertently shook their chairs as well. Florida was just underneath him; his future was just a plane's touchdown away. He couldn't have stopped his shaking even if he'd strapped himself to the seat.

"Please set all trays to the locked position and raise all seatbacks. We will begin our descent to Miami, Florida where the local time is 1 pm and the temperature is a balmy 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Thank you for choosing to fly 'Japan Airlines'."

As subtly as possible he unfolded himself and leaned forward. Staring past his seatmate and out their tiny shared window.

There, just under the light cloud covering, lay the city of Miami.

·‡·

"Souji? Ike Souji?" A tall blonde man carrying a cardboard sign waved enthusiastically to him. "I was wondering where you got to; your plane came in later than expected. I'm Mike by the way, nice to officially meet you."

He shook the offered hand, tamping down on his urge to bow. "Are you from the Florida Tennis Academy?"

"Hah, you're far more careful than Coach Miura led me to believe." Mike bent, his bright blue eyes sparkling, and put his hand on Souji's shoulder. "I promise, I'm not here to kidnap you."

Following Mike to the black van parked on the airport's corner with FTA's insignia on the door. After spending only a few minutes in the muggy Florida air, he couldn't help but look forward to the air-conditioning inside the car.

"The academy thought it was best if I picked you up, give you a better transition… I'm one of the academy's physical therapists and a sports psychologist," Mike said, unable to let the silence sit in the car ride for very long. "You'll have meetings with either me or one of my colleagues at least bi-weekly…"

Where appropriate Souji nodded, his attention focused on the multitude of palm trees framing the highway, the ocean in the background. It's exactly like the pictures, he pressed his nose to the cool glass.

Japan and Aikawa had always seemed so large but sitting with his cheek pressed against the window of Mike's car as his view of the ocean gave way to impossibly tall skyscrapers. There was so much of the world that he had yet to have experienced.

"…we're excited to have you join the FTA family. I think you'll be pleased with the academy's facilities and coaching staff. The other day I happened to see the plan the coaches drew out for you, after consulting with your former coach." Mike nodded, before continuing. "I think you'll like it. We'll push you, but I'm sure you'll find that you're in the best of hands. Mm-hmm. In the entire world, you'd be hard-pressed to find anything quite like the academy..."

Unable to keep his eyes open he slowly nodded off, lulled to sleep by the sound of Mike's voice, and the smell of salt from the ocean.

·‡·

Souji couldn't help the gasp that forced its way out of him as he saw the FTA grounds.

How had he once thought STC large when FTA was like a small city unto itself.

It was one thing to see pictures on a modem, it was a whole other experience to see them. An expanse of tennis courts, outdoor pools, gyms, track facilities. Everything a tennis athlete could ever want or need was laid out before him.

"Wow."

Everywhere he looked, there were tennis players, never before had he felt so much like an insignificant drop of water in the ocean.

"Everyone's face is like that the first time they see this place," Mike said, slowing the car to a crawl, giving Souji a full look at the gargantuan expanse of building slowly passing them by. "As I said, the academy has everything you could ever want, well… at least for tennis."

Mike drove through the academy's winding roads, giving him his first in-depth look into the place that he'd stay for the foreseeable future. For the first time since the hour-long drive had begun, Mike fell quiet, allowing him all the time he wanted, to take everything in without interruption.

The academy's car came to a stop in front of one of the smaller buildings. Off to the side and without the modern accoutrements, it was easily overlooked; and yet there was a sense of homeliness to the establishment that was lacking in the others.

Mike cleared his throat. "I'll show you to your dorm, so you can put your bags away before I give you the grand tour." He led the way through well-lit corridors, dragging one of Souji's bags behind him. "You'll have three other roommates, so I hope you're good with sharing your space."

Souji nodded, only partly paying attention to the conversation, the rest of his focus on door after door of wildly decorated signs, marking the inhabitants. "I didn't realize so many stayed on campus."

Nodding, Mike stopped in front of room 412 and entered in the code. "We do have a few that commute daily, but most of our athletes, especially those looking to make a go at pro, like to stay on campus. Plus, it makes it easier since most are from all over the country as well as the world."

With an exaggerated motion, he swung the dorm room open, giving Souji his first look into his new home. "I'll give you a second to get your bags into your room, then I'll take you on a tour of the facilities." He patted Souji gently on the back, "We have time, so I'll wait downstairs."

Without fanfare, Mike let the door close, leaving Souji alone for the first time in almost half a day.

He was here, He'd taken the first step and had begun on the second. There'd be no turning back now.

"I'm home."