Cool! We passed 300 reviews! Thank you all very much and again, I seriously can't believe you put up with my laziness. And since we're talking about the "woohoo" kind of thing, HAPPY 1st BIRTHDAY HWGA! Seriously doesn't feel like it's been a year. Well, anywho, I denied you this chapter long enough, soooo… ONWARD!

Here We Go Again

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Royal Dispute

Last Time: With his trademark cocky smile, the boy stepped forward and slammed his racquet down on the ground, handle up.

"Which?"

"Now, shall we get this started, brat?" In his full self-proclaimed glory, Atobe Keigo stood ready to serve the first ball of the match. On the other end of the court, Ryoma stood lazily in place. There were only tiny hints (a shuffling foot here, a tensed shoulder there) giving away the fact that he was poised to spring.

"You'd better show me all you've got!"

Ryoma gritted his teeth as he saw what could only be the Tannhaüser headed straight for him. Damn it. The one serve that I can't quite… How did that footwork go?

In one training session, he recalled his older brother addressing the issue of what was one of perhaps three serves that Ryoma had yet to return. Monkey King had at one point returned a Tannhaüser by using an offensive contact move called the front foot hop. If Ryoma's memory was correct (which it usually was in regards to tennis) then it was a combination of a step and a twisting jump. If his memory wasn't correct, then he could kiss the chance of breaking Atobe's serve goodbye.

Well, nothing to lose, and the first point and a stupid look on Monkey King's face to gain, he thought as he took the first step. You hop, hit the ball, and let your legs cross… Shit.

He had managed to hit the ball, which was an improvement, but the contact had been sloppy and he could already tell that the ball would be out. Ryoma scowled as his prediction came true and the ball struck the ground a good foot outside of the line.

"Hah… not bad, brat," Atobe drawled with a confident grin. The teen's eyes turned to steel without warning as he served the ball again. "Sorry to say it won't be happening again, though!"

He wanted to say something. He practically needed to say something. The urge to make a caustic remark for the world to hear was burning a hole in his tongue. Unfortunately, he would have to let his actions speak for him right now. Hop. Hit. Cross. Land. Now eat it, Monkey King.

The irritation melted away at the look on Atobe's face. He had seen some pretty interesting expressions over the years, but this one had to be in his top five. It was stuck somewhere in between surprise, anger, and grudging approval. It had been a damn good shot, too, deserving of that approval. Considering how badly his last attempt at returning the Tannhaüser had gone, the deep slice that he had managed wasn't half bad.

Ryoma let out a quick breath, making as close to a scoffing laugh as he could.

The mocking look in his eyes snapped Atobe out of his daze, and the diva quickly bounced back. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected any less of you, brat. That one's time was just about up anyways. Best pull out the stops, nah?"

Well that was annoying. "Didn't you tell me to do my best? Pretty stupid of you not to take this seriously, Monkey King," Ryoma said coolly, though his words could well have been lost on the idiot. "Especially since you're going to lose."

He thought he could hear Fuji laughing somewhere off to the side. "Atobe-kun! Do you need me to translate?"

Bastard.

"As if the great me would ever! But, Echizen-" Ryoma nearly jumped at the use of his real name "-I must say I'm curious. Was this why you didn't speak to anyone the other day?"

He guessed that Atobe was just too proud to actually ask what happened. Said or not, though, the question was still there, and the memories came with it. The freshman's eyes turned cold, and those who knew him could see the simmering fury and pain beneath a thin shell. "Wouldn't you like to know…" he muttered. "If you seriously know what I'm saying, then hurry up and serve."

"Don't get too confident." His eyes like hardened steel, Atobe got back into position. And don't think I'm going to forget about that; you're mute and I will be finding out why. "Now," he announced, "Let'ssee if you can pull it off twice!"

To no one's surprise, Ryoma was able to return the serve a second time, and in doing so he began one of his and Atobe's now-infamous rallies- rallies that both players were too stubborn to lose. This particular one lasted an impressive fifteen before the point was decided.

Ryoma hissed in irritation as he felt his muscles freeze and the ball flickered out of his vision. No matter how many times Monkey King used that dumb "World of Ice" thing on him, he just couldn't get used to the feeling. He hadn't been expecting it, either, as Atobe hadn't done anything arrogant or outlandish directly before it, so using Samurai Zone hadn't even occurred to him.

That put the score at 30-15, and they were twenty minutes into the match. Many in the audience, largely those who had seen the two "Royals" go head to head before, concluded that they had no hope of getting home before sundown.

Another fifteen minutes and the first game finally ended. Ryoma scowled (or pouted, depending on who was looking) at the scoreboard, his smug opponent, and the court in general. Despite beating one of the most difficult to return serves in the entire tournament, possibly the entire country, he hadn't been able to win the first game. The "1" in Hyotei's column of the scoreboard was mocking him.

I really wanted to hide this longer. At least until I played Yukimura again… But there's no choice. So far, his part-time guinea pig Kevin was the only person to see his newest serve, the Corkscrew. Ryoma had shown it to neither Ryoga nor Fuji, nor anyone else on the team.

He burst into motion, twisting his racquet at the last second to add the spin he needed. Ideally, the serve would hit the ground between Monkey King's feet, but Ryoma found that things almost never went ideally when facing strong opponents. In fact, strong opponents usually had the uncanny ability to invoke Murphy's Law at all times. Ryoma repaid such people in kind by messing up every bit of their plans that he could, but it still irked him.

Hyotei's captain had predicted the serve's path and managed to get his feet out of the way, so Ryoma would have to settle with the awkward footing that Atobe now had.

As the senior moved to return the ball, it began to whip around his ankles. To Atobe's credit, he barely recoiled, but the irregular course had cost him any chance at getting a good hit. As it was, he barely clipped the ball, sending it into the net.

Over the crowd's various reactions, he sent another appraising look Ryoma's way. "I guess it's good to know you haven't let your skills slip lately."

"Who would?" the boy said with a glare. "I'm going now."

Another Corkscrew went over, flying towards Atobe almost too fast to see.

"Don't think the same thing will work twice, brat!" yelled the older teen, skipping back a step and returning the serve barely after it had left the ground.

Ryoma was already skidding forward on his heels, drawing his arm back. By now, Atobe was well familiar with the stance. Without a doubt it'll be one of the drive volleys… but which?

The ball didn't seem to jump up and off of Ryoma's racquet, so that meant either Drive C or the Cool Drive. It would be problematic if it were the Cool Drive; that one he wasn't so sure he could return.

So of course it was.

Ryoma fought back the urge to laugh as, for the second time in so many games, Monkey King got a distinctly un-dignified look on his face. He knew that barely anyone could return the Cool Drive even when they knew it was coming, and he was more than happy to exploit that for all it was worth.

The ball fell back down on Atobe's side of the court and rolled away, unnoticed by the teenager.

Deliberately ignoring the intense look coming his way from across the court, Ryoma pulled another ball from his pocket and began bouncing it, ready to serve. "What did your old coach call it? Ultra-aggressive tennis? Let's see it then."

Atobe cocked an eyebrow. "Come," he ordered.

This time, Ryoma chose a Twist Serve. Atobe was good enough to read the spin and return it in time, kicking off another ferocious rally that made the non-regulars' heads spin. This time, Ryoma made sure to put a slight, unnoticeable Zone spin on every ball he hit. Even so, there were a few times during the rally that he almost froze.

There was one such time that Monkey King decided to get inventive. In the space of one moment, he hesitated while looking for the ball, and found it (unfortunately) veering directly for his racquet hand. He felt a sharp pain on his thumb and instinctively opened his hand.

"Death's Icy Hand!" called Atobe as he jumped into the air. "And… Rondo Towards Destruction!"

Ryoma tried to look as defiant as he could as the ball hurtled past, ruffling his hair slightly.

"30-15!" yelled the referee, looking resigned to his fate. He'd heard horror stories about insane, obsessed kids that played better than adults, giant lights falling while the participants kept playing, and injuries that included but were not limited to crucifixion, multiple bruises and lacerations, a sliced open eyelid, and all but broken wrists. Again, the young participants kept playing with them. He had also heard tales of these two in particular, and their obscenely long match two years ago. He was saddened to know that not a single one of his colleagues had been exaggerating.

With the telltale "pock, pock, pock" of a tennis ball on the court ringing in everyone's ears, Ryoma was preparing to serve again. The freshman let out a large puff of air.

"Here goes nothing."

Pock. Whack. Bang. Roll.

The ball bounced against the ground one last time before being thrown into the air. Ryoma hit it at the top of its arc with all he had. It impacted with the ground of the receiver's box and… rolled directly away from Atobe's waiting racquet.

The prince gave one of his trademark smirks, pointing at the still ball with his racquet. "New and improved."

On the sidelines, Fuji's eyes were wide open, and a Cheshire grin was spreading on his face. "Ne, Tezuka. Was that…?"

"Aa," said the captain calmly, looking at his youngest teammate. "But it was different. His Zero-Shiki Serve has surpassed mine."

"Mm… Is that so?"

"The roll was faster and more forceful, and there was less delay in between the impact and the roll," explained Tezuka, his eyes never once leaving the court.

"Well," Fuji said, the word coming out as a breathy laugh. "Things are getting interesting, aren't they?"

~X~

"If they don't finish soon, we'll have to put the match on hold and continue tomorrow. We aren't supposed to allow the matches to continue past sundown."

Ryoga sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, thanks. I'll pass on the message."

The Hyotei coach, a stiff looking man whose name the elder Echizen had never bothered to learn, nodded his agreement and walked away to where his player sat, regaining his breath.

Ryoga did the same, coming back to Seishun's bench to the sight of his little brother dumping ice water over his head while Fuji massaged one of his legs (that got the brunet a warning glance).

"Feel better, Ryo-chan?" inquired Fuji with a gentle smile.

The fifteen year old stood, bending his knee and hopping up and down a few times. "Yeah. It's moving better now."

"Just watch your step, ne? Making mistakes is easy when you're tired." With that, the senior walked off.

After a protective, wary glance at the retreating back, Ryoga turned to Ryoma. "Okay, so here's the deal. They're booting us out of here at sunset, so we've got to finish this before then. Got it?"

The boy nodded, taking several deep breaths.

"You can do it, Champ," encouraged Ryoga with a slap to his brother's shoulder.

Ryoma began to walk back to the court before pausing and looking over his shoulder. "Let's make it ten minutes again, how 'bout?"

"The tie-break match between Seishun's Echizen Ryoma and Hyotei's Atobe Keigo will resume at the previous score of two hundred and six all!" announced the unfortunate referee, who was beginning to show signs of fatigue himself.

Atobe was the first to serve, going for flat out speed instead of the Tannhaüser to keep his shoulder from hurting more than it already was.

The ensuing rally lasted for exactly eight minutes and forty-two seconds. Ryoma had lost to another one of Atobe's ice-related moves – he was too tired to remember its name – putting the score at 207-206 in Hyotei's favor.

Time was running dangerously low. He could see the referee looking at his watch. The roaring cheers of the Hyotei students were getting louder.

I can't lose this. I need to win, without fail. I need to win… it wouldn't be any fun otherwise.

Just like that, a jolt of electricity seemed to run through him. His body suddenly felt cooler, his vision sharper, his movements freer. He hadn't entered this perfect state in a long time, and he had almost forgotten how good it felt.

Sorry about this, Monkey King, he thought with tranquil determination, I've got no intention of losing here, though.

To him, the next few seconds passed both very quickly and very slowly. It was always like that. Every movement was always fast and liberating, but he was able to process things almost one frame at a time. So ultimately, though he didn't exactly know long it took him to win the next three points, he knew that they had been won within his remaining seventy-eight seconds.

The lead in his limbs returned with the force of a truck, almost making his knees buckle. Ryoma was suddenly aware of everything outside of the game again. There was a surprising lack of sound; everyone was still in shock, then.

That makes now a good time. I just hope it isn't too quiet.

Before the referee could stammer out the official news of his victory, Ryoma took a firm step forward, looking his rival right in the eyes. He took a deep breath and…

"Mada… mada… dane."

... Yeah consider that my "please don't kill me" present.

Now some of you have expressed an interest in reading Nishi's cronies' comeuppance. Fuji's hinted at it, and now we're going to see some cogs turning…

~Omake~

Several hours later found Atobe Keigo lounging in one of his home's various studies. Faint sounds of his chattering teammates came from the room next door, where they had all come for dinner after that day's disappointing match. Quiet, soothing violin music played in the background, and the lamps were muted to a dim orange glow.

"Oi, Oshitari," he called, setting down his cup of tea. "What do you make of this?" Atobe made a lazy gesture at the file in his hands, containing a three-page report, court transcripts, medical records, student profiles, and a dozen photos. Quite impressive of Oshitari to have gathered this all in a few short hours. No one really knew how he did it.

The violin music stopped, and Hyotei's resident genius stepped forward casually with his instrument still in hand. "It all seems oddly cliché, but if it's true then it explains several points and most of it has been confirmed by a source inside the school."

"Is that so… And there's been nothing from the media on this?"

"None."

The king snorted. "Well, whoever the brat's publicist is, he's done a damn good job keeping the vultures off of this."

"Clearly," replied Oshitari with an amused smirk, "Just not quite good enough."

"I wouldn't say so. You had to rely on others for information for this one."

The blue haired teen looked mildly affronted. "Only for confirming what I had."

Atobe ignored him, already bored with the conversation. "Aoiyama, Gorou, and Kazuya…" he murmured. "Knowing how hotheaded the people at Seishun are, I'm surprised they haven't been lynched yet."

"Fuji's there," said Oshitari with a shrug, as if it explained the entire thing. Which it actually did, sadly.

"Was he your "source inside the school," then? Think he planned this?" asked Atobe with a smirk, knowing that bringing down not one but several teams' wrath on the three teens whose pictures stared at him was the kind of thing Fuji would take pleasure in.

"If he did, which is likely," Oshitari responded, pushing his glasses up, "I think we can expect a few more schools getting involved before this is over."

"Aa."

There was a moment of silence.

"Atobe."

"What?"

"How exactly did you learn how to read lips?"

The diva stiffened for a millisecond before his eyes took on a haunted look. "An unfortunate incident several years ago involving the London Eye, a hot tub, twelve strawberries, and several metric tons of cotton balls."

"I… beg your pardon?"

~Owari~