Disclaimer: See Prologue
Whew this is a whopper. Longest chapter yet at almost 5000 words... You know you love me. A million thanks and cyber cookies to those who reviewed, sometimes I just go read them to boost my ego. That goes for everyone that put me on alert and their favorites, too. I just like reviews slightly more.
Here We Go Again
Chapter Four: Drastic Times
Last Time: As he started up the steps, his thoughts quickly turned to a hot shower and food. Noting that he needed a nameplate for the door, the tennis star swung it open.
And immediately felt the urge to smack himself.
True, he was in no need for cash, but with the renovations Fuji had told him about and this… His mother was trying to ruin him.
The floors were wood with a glossy, light gold stain, and a square silver rug covered the center. The walls were painted a pale sky blue, although one of them (the wall opposite him) had no paint at all, as it was made entirely of glass. Over by the right edge of this wall were sliding doors, through which he could see a patio, complete with two chairs and a small table.
Almost directly in front of him and lined up against the window/wall was a pastel green cat bed. He was pleased to see his beloved Karupin sleeping soundly in it.
On the floor directly to the right of his feet was what seemed to be a (You're joking, Kaa-san…) trapdoor. Two-and-a-half feet squared, a small chrome handle sat on one side. The Roman letters (1) 'ER' in midnight blue dominated the center.
Between the entrance to the patio and the trapdoor was a low chest, its color matching that of the rug. The top half consisted of a single drawer, and the lower half seemed to be a bookshelf. He could see several of his favorite titles and authors among the multicolored spines. On top of the chest… People really were going to think him a diva.
Eight pictures stood in a row on top of the chest, each of him holding a sizeable trophy, plaque, or other form of award. All were from a day that he had won one of the four major tournaments.
His eyes fell on the Wimbledon picture from just a few weeks ago, then the blank space next to it. He snorted, feeling as if his mother was sending him subliminal messages via the space. "I know you'll win the next US Open, honey."
He found the image above the piece of furniture much less self-absorbed. It was a three-foot wide, two-foot tall copy of the picture he had been forced into two years ago on top of that mountain. He gave a small smile at his younger self being held in place by a bubbly Kikumaru.
Finally, his incredulous gaze switched to the ceiling. The lights had switched on when he entered, except now he found that they weren't lights at all. The entire ceiling was made of some form of screen that was currently set to an HD picture of a clear sky at high noon, minus the sun. Somehow, it managed to give an accurate portrayal of daylight, though. How much had this honestly cost? He didn't even know they had something that could do this…
Deciding that a shower was more important (or rather, pressing) than grilling his mother over the phone about how much of his money she'd spent, Ryoma sighed. Shaking his head and walking a few steps along the wall directly to his left, he opened a sliding door that he assumed was the bathroom.
Assumption proving to be correct, he once again looked around. Thankfully, the bathroom was relatively normal, with tiling and overall color scheme in modern black, white, and chrome. There was also no fancy ceiling, just the odd lighting fixture here and there.
The sink had a few black drawers beneath it and a shelf at the very bottom where he could see crisp white towels stacked. A marble countertop gleamed white and twisting, modern faucets were reflected in the large mirror above the counter.
On the right of the sink was a plain white toilet, which faced a shower with frosted glass walls.
Finding what he was looking for, the waterlogged boy slid the door shut behind him. He quickly stripped off the wet garments clinging to him and threw them on the tiles. Finally, his fingers tugged at the knot he had tied in the little… for want of a manlier word, ribbon, letting his wet green hair flop onto his shoulders.
He took the few steps to the shower and swung the door open, drily noting how, apart from his standard front door, it seemed to be the only one on hinges. Closing the door, and seeing the rest of the bathroom warp and go out of focus through the frosted glass, he looked for how to turn on the nozzle above his head.
Again, the urge to smack himself washed over the exasperated teen.
A gleaming black touch screen was embedded in the tile below the nozzle. Seeing an, 'ON' button in the corner, he pressed it. The screen flickered to life, and electric blue writing on a black background appeared.
Welcome, Echizen Ryoma. Please select your preferred temperature and jet strength.
Two meters appeared below the words, one with a blue strip that shifted to red around its edge and the other a bar with a little showerhead at the top and bottom, the top blasting water and the bottom barely more than dripping.
Setting the heat next to the reddest section and the jet strength in the middle, he felt hot water pour onto his head right away.
Noticing the screens display change, he saw five buttons:
Shampoo – Conditioner – Soap – Music – Off
While four were obvious, Music? Pressing the button out of sheer curiosity, he heard a song from his iPod begin playing. He wasn't even surprised anymore.
A few minutes later, he stepped out of the stall. Snatching a towel from beneath the sink, he began to dry off.
Suddenly slipping on the water that had pooled beneath him, he flung a hand out to steady himself. As his hand drew away from the wall (directly opposite the shower and toilet) he noticed the silver handle beneath it. A door?
Sliding it open, (he would have no clue how to turn a handle by tomorrow morning – he was sure) he saw a large closet that he could take one or two steps into. He could see several school uniforms hanging to his right, along with the one formal suit he owned and matching loafers. The rack on the left seemed to hold his extensive collection of tennis shirts. A full-blown dresser rested beneath it, (presumably for undergarments, shorts, and pants) and with his various caps on top. A modest black hamper sat beside it, which he decided not to throw his sopping clothes in. The rack facing the closet doors had any other clothes, jackets, etc. that didn't fall in any of the previous categories. Lucky for him, this included pajamas.
He stepped into the main room a minute later in sweatpants and a t-shirt, wet clothes in one hand. Making a beeline to the patio, he saw that the rain had stopped sometime during his shower. Sliding the glass out of his way, he stepped onto the deck and draped his clothes over the rail, then walked back inside.
Seeing a change in the floor color to his right, he turned his head. A custom, slightly rounded bed sat flush with the floor, the two entities completely level. Navy blankets sat on top, silver sheets could be seen as the bed had been turned down, and several pillows with pastel green covers were lined up against the wall that served as a headboard.
From his vantage point, he saw a top-of-the-line sound system nestled in a niche that ran the length of the bed. Above it was a collection of CD's and tennis magazines, with room for more. Below it was a screen similar to the one in his shower.
'I'll find out later…'
A few feet above the bed was the only light in the room, a simple LED fixture for reading at night. There was a jumble of colors, faces, and sceneries lying beneath it, and he walked over to the bed to examine them.
What met his eyes was a jumble of snapshots, of him, his family, his friends. A photograph that's size matched the one from the mountain across the room took up the center of the collage. The team was on the courts after his match with Yukimura Seiichi. Everyone was grinning (some more than others) and Tezuka, their rightful captain, proudly holding the embroidered flag.
He was determined to have a newer version of it before the year was up.
Looking out the glass that made up the third wall of his bed's little alcove, he noticed the dorms a little ways off and the scenic parks in between. This was the last time his mother would ever design a room for him, but he had to admit, he wouldn't mind living here.
~X~
"Hoi hoi, minna-san! Dinner's ready and in the foyer! Tezuka, that means get out of your Quiet Room!"
Looking up from his tennis magazine (no, he was not reading an article about himself… this time) Ryoma stood gracefully. Upon closer inspection of his closet, he'd found a beanbag that matched the pillows on his bed, as well as several pairs of Fila's "generously donated" sneakers in varying colors and one or two pairs of sandals.
Ryoma had pulled the squashy chair into the main room and set it down next to his cat's bed. The cat-eyed teen had then proceeded to pluck a Japanese tennis magazine from the shelf by his bed, flopped down, and stayed in that position until Kikumaru's loud announcement came through an intercom that he'd just found out he had.
Walking over to the door, he looked at the white box on the wall. There was a button for each member of the team, the gym, kitchen/dining room, laundry room, (We have our own laundry room, too?) game room, foyer, and Tezuka's Quiet Room. Strangely, the latter was in red and had, "ONLY PRESS IN EMERGENCIES" written below its label. The last button, which is what he presumed Kikumaru had used moments before, was labeled, "HOUSE-WIDE."
Wondering if he could somehow block Momo, Kikumaru, and possibly Fuji from constantly calling him, he swung his door open.
He immediately smelled the delicious scent of burgers, the only Western food he truly loved. Quickly taking the few steps to the slide and jumping on, (hey, why not?) the young pro put his strong legs to use, hitting the ground running and jumping over the floor's slope and a beanbag. And there was the meat.
Kikumaru and Oishi had swept the beanbags and game consoles to the bottom of the slope, putting a long folding table in their place. A massive tray of plain burgers on their buns was on one end, fries next to them, and a large selection of toppings took up the other.
"Ochibi! That was awesome! You should challenge that kangaroo bastard from Hyotei to a jumping match! Here want some Ponta? We've got a bunch in this cooler…"
"Eiji," interjected the redhead's boyfriend with a sheepish grin. "His name is Gakuto, not 'that kangaroo bastard'"
"But Oishiiiiii!" Ryoma turned his attention away as his upperclassman went on a tirade about the evil that is Gakuto.
Sipping his grape Ponta, a company whose offer to sponsor him he had gleefully accepted, he looked at the burgers. He honestly didn't know if the fact that the kitchen had so many was ridiculous or not. Not, he decided, what with eight hungry and competitive teenage boys living here.
As he sat down on a beanbag a few minutes later next to Momo and Fuji, the hungry teen tore into his massive dinner. Once again, he started a competition with his best friend as to who could eat more.
"Hoi? Where's Tezuka? Can someone who's content with dying go knock on the door of his quiet room, nya?" inquired Eiji, who seemed to be acting as host for the little party.
"What's Buchou's 'Quiet Room?' Kikumaru-senpai's mentioned it a few times now," asked the newest member of the household.
A feminine laugh (giggle, really) chimed from his left. "It's a completely soundproof room above the mudroom, though all of the wall's facing outside the dorm are glass. It was originally just the quiet room, but as Kunimitsu virtually took it over, we renamed it. He's the only one who ever tries to escape the chaos – Momo-chan, Kaidoh, and Eiji usually cause it, Inui can get 'Ii data' from it, Oishi tries to break it up, and I personally enjoy it. Right, Eiji?"
"Mm-hm" came the reply, slightly garbled due to the excess of fries in the speaker's mouth.
"I'll go get him, then. He's less likely to kill me." With that, the brunet on Ryoma's left stood.
"So Momo-senpai, they told me you guys got kicked off the team." The boy's words were seemingly blunt and callous, though anger could be seen smoldering in his golden eyes. "Did they just decide it wasn't worth moving you now that you were all settled?"
The usually easy-going teen on his right had sobered immediately. "Yeah… I can't believe they let that bastard get away with giving us the boot, though. He must've bribed them. You just can't do that, no you can't (2)."
"Fssshhhhh…"
Ryoma took that as Kaidoh's once-in-a-lifetime concurrence. "Sorry to sound cocky-"
"I'm used to it."
"Che. Anyways, sorry to sound cocky, but I'm probably richer than him, from the tournaments, sponsors, ads and whatever. I was thinking on this when I was in my room…"
~X~
Ryoma finished scribbling the answers to his (unnecessary) English homework down.
Apparently, when he slid back the trap door, a ladder that led to another room was beneath it. He had climbed down after dinner to find a sort of living room, the floor the same gold paneling as upstairs but with beige walls and a vibrant red rug. The bright scarlet and his favorite color, silver, seemed to set the color scheme for the rest of the room (excluding the occasional purple Ponta-themed décor).
On the side nearest the ladder was a plasma screen TV, an entertainment system, and a large couch. On the other side, there was a mini-fridge that held nothing but grape Ponta. In fact, the silver appliance seemed to be custom made for him, as the trim and most of the giant Ponta label on top were purple.
A desk with a new Macintosh computer sat in the corner that would be below his closet, complete with a large desk chair on wheels. His personal favorite thing about the desk was that, in lack of a window, his mother had placed yet another two-by-three-foot picture above it, only this one was of Karupin's head poking out from behind a pillow the size of his torso. Even better, the pillow was a giant, plush grape Ponta can.
There were only two problems with the room.
One: It had that strange ceiling, which he had taken the liberty of setting to 'Night' via his computer. The ceiling was now an expanse of velvety, midnight blue littered with stars. A faux-crescent moon cast soft, silvery light over the room, and his desk lamp was switched on.
Two: Yet again, the wall facing outside was made completely of glass, with sliding doors. Sliding doors that opened onto a wrap-around porch like those at traditional temples. A porch could be accessed from the onsen, patio, (which was attached to the kitchen) or any of his housemate's similar doors.
Earlier, the Prince had gotten this unwelcome surprise in the form of Kikumaru running past, screaming, "Unyaaah! Ochibi, run! Fujiko, help! Inui's about to blow up his part of the porch!"
Sighing and putting his pencil down, Ryoma shoved his completed homework into a folder, which was then placed in his tennis bag. It was time to figure out how much this had cost him.
Flopping down on the low red loveseat next to his desk, he pulled out his phone and called his mother.
"Hello, Echizen residence."
"Kaa-san? It's me."
"Oh, hello honey, how was school? Do you like your room?"
"That's the problem. How much of my money did you spend? I don't want to go broke before the year's out."
"Hahaha. Don't worry, silly. The only really expensive things were the techie parts, and those came for free from a sponsor. The cost of the rest of it didn't even get rid of your first US Open's winnings."
"And the freaky ceiling and electronic freaking shower?"
"The sponsor, honey, remember? They were only too happy to hear that the Echizen Ryoma was going to sample their newest products. They did want feedback, though."
"I'm not doing any interviews."
"Don't worry, you can just tell me if it works well and I'll pass it on."
"You won't add anything to it?"
"Of course not. They just want to be able to say you use it and it works, they know you aren't going to be giving rave reviews about a product any time soon."
"Huuuuhhh… Whatever, then. Just tell me next time you do something big with money that's under my name. Good night."
"Good night, sweetie. Love you."
"Aa. See you."
Ryoma hung up, sighing again. While it's true that he was glad his finances were still intact, he was also (once again) resigning to the fact that his mother had some sort of way to pacify him.
It was annoying.
As the huffy teen shoved his phone back into his pocket, his sharp ears heard a few soft plinks of rain on the roof. Remembering the clothes he had left on the balcony, Ryoma grabbed his bag (not wanting to have to come down here tomorrow morning) and scrambled up the ladder.
Sure enough, when his rumpled green-black locks poked through the trapdoor, a few drops of rain had already dyed little circles on the stone decking black. Throwing his tennis bag next to the bookshelf, (3) he strode over to the doors, shoving the glass pane aside.
The teen was about to turn on his heel and get back to the shelter of his room, but –
"Ryo~chan."
He turned. He saw the simple black iron bars making up the railing. He saw one stretch of railing to his left. He saw the railing in front of him expand… to another balcony. He saw the railing to his right… had a one Fuji Syuusuke standing behind it.
"Don't worry, it's only going to drizzle for a few minutes." The genius' smile was wider than usual, his head tilted to the side… with his shirt in one hand instead of over his torso (4). "Ryo-chan? Are you okay; you look like you've seen a demon."
'Interesting choice of words, I have.'
"Fuji-senpai, what are you doing?" Translation from Ryoma-speak to Ryoma-thoughts: What in the hell are you doing on my balcony without a shirt on when it's pitch black out?
"Saa, Ryo-chan, it's my balcony, too. Everyone in the frat, except Momo down on the end, shares one. Did you forget that I'm your neighbor?" Ryoma had paled a bit when he saw Fuji. Now, he was white as a sheet, eyes wide.
"Damn it."
Fuji giggled quietly as Ryoma's door slammed closed. This was going to be such a fun year. How he had missed his little Prince.
~X~
'Night'
'This setting will turn off four hours after activation. Is that okay?'
'Yes.'
'Good night.'
As it turned out, the screen next to his bed was a way of controlling the ceiling, which could be set to Midday, Night, Early Morning, Sunset, Forest, (where a web of bright green leaves spread across the screen) and strangely enough, Underwater. Why he would ever need to use the latter, he would never know. Downstairs, the lights were controlled via the computer, and instead of Underwater, (which was to match the blues/greens/silvers up here, he guessed) the red-themed living area had Firelight. He hadn't tried it, but at least he might someday. Why, though, oh God why, would he need to feel underwater?
Shaking his head and rolling onto one side, the tennis star let fatigue overwhelm him.
~X~
"O-chi-biiiiii!"
Gold eyes snapped open. Stupid Kikumaru-senpai had slammed his stupid door open stupidly loud at six-fifty in the stupid morning.
"Nya? Where's Ochibi? Ah! Oishi, you don't think he got kidnapped, do you? Ochibi! Where are you, nya?" The cat-boy's voice drifted in and out of focus, irritating Ryoma enough to drag his mind awake, kicking and screaming.
"Eiji, calm down. Echizen has that sunken bed in the corner, he's probably still asleep." came the pacifying voice of Oishi Shuichiro.
"Oh. Right. But Oishi, it's all sunny out so we need time for the walk, plus breakfast, getting ready, and, you know, that."
By now, the subject of their discussion was almost irritated enough to jump up, kick them out of his room, and fall asleep again. Almost.
"I know, Eiji. Oh, there he is. Echizen, it's time to wake up." The teen turned his head slightly to glare at the two figures.
"Che." With that eloquent counter, the hypotensive bum (5) pulled the silvery sheets back over his head.
"Ochibi," Kikumaru scolded. "Don't make me get Fujiko in here."
"I'll get up." He could remember the scene on the balcony last night with painful clarity, despite his sleep-muddled mind. Why was seeing Fuji without a shirt so uncomfortable? He had changed in the same room as the guy every day in middle school. Either way, he wouldn't have wanted the genius getting him up; no matter what method was used, doubtless it would be unpleasant for him.
Rubbing his sleepy eyes like a cat, the tennis player propped himself up on one elbow. "Get out. I'm getting dressed."
"Roger! Breakfast's in the kitchen!" With that, the couple took their leave.
Rising groggily, Ryoma looked out the… wall. True to Kikumaru's words, the sun shone brightly. No way in hell was he wearing the blazer all day.
Once he was in the bathroom, he washed his face and turned to the closet. Pulling a uniform off its hook, he changed, opting to leave last night's pajamas on his bed.
The dark-haired teen walked downstairs a few minutes later, blazer in his bag, first two buttons on his shirt undone, and tie knotted loosely around his neck. Now, which way was the kitchen? 'Just listen for where the chaos is.'
His method seemed to work well, as after following a hallway that had shouts echoing off the walls, he found himself in a large, modern kitchen.
Before entering, he had prepared for the worst and got it. Red-brown cabinets, touch-sensitive faucets, granite counters, and a giant eight-burner range. What weird sponsors had his mother been getting him?
Probably didn't matter, with all the big eaters in this house.
Said big eaters were currently munching on a Western breakfast of eggs, toast and bacon. Ew. "That reminds me, where's Kawamura-senpai?" Were the power player here, he could've (and would've) made a Japanese breakfast.
Kikumaru wilted. "Taka-san went to some fancy cooking school, nya. Either he visits or we drop by Kawamura Sushi when we want to see each other."
That explained it. Though things wouldn't be the same without their gentle giant around, it wasn't unexpected. He had been talking about dropping tennis for a while before Ryoma left. "Oh."
Fifteen minutes later, the group walked out of the building, which Ryoma noted was a large brownstone, with most walls taken up by reflective windows. The wall on the other side of the building, where their rooms were, would be completely glass.
En masse, the tennis players started the five-minute walk to the main school, their progress significantly slowed by several of the member's antics. Luckily, no innocent bystanders were caught in the crossfire, as Tezuka had all but kicked his team out the doors early.
As he watched Kikumaru nearly glomp/tackle Momo straight into a tree, he heard the 'click click click' of camera shutters. "Preserving memories," Fuji stated shortly, bringing his eyes away from the Fujifilm FinePix HS20EXR (6) in his hands. "Moreover, while I'm proud that you're scheming, are you sure it'll work? You – we could get in quite a bit of trouble."
Ryoma snorted. "Mada mada dane, Fuji-senpai. It'll work."
"It'll probably work. If it doesn't…" By now, the brunet's eyes were open and a frown was on his face.
"Then I take the fall. Whatever. As they say-" he then switched to his native tongue, knowing the genius next to him would understand. "Drastic times call for drastic measures."
HOLY SHIT IT'S THE PLOT! Yes, I finally started to get this story's ass in gear. Ryoma, what you be plottin?
I know I spent a stupidly long amount of time on his room, but I felt like being descriptive. Live with it. Still, who wouldn't want that room? Floor plan's on devianart, link's on my account, all that good stuff.
(1) Remember, they're in Japan. Roman letters = Not Kanji.
(2) Momo's weird speech pattern. He'll say something, and then say something slightly different.
(3) The chest with his Grand Slam pics. It is also a bookshelf, and using chest all the time is unwieldy.
(4) I'm sorry to male readers (if there are any) but fangirls, can anyone honestly say they haven't wanted to see Fuji shirtless (he always dresses so neatly…)? If so, YOU ARE A LIAR (insert GOD DAMNED if you want)!
(5) Ouran reference! XD
(6) Hahaha get it? Fuji has a Fujifilm camera? … Please don't kill me under a mountain of rotten tomatoes. Anyway, I looked it up, it's an actual camera. Pretty snazzy one, too.