Part 2 is up!!! So I hope I didn't make you guys wait too long! I got totally caught up in the holiday feel AND I was working on my piece for the school fashion show. Also (to add to my growing list of excuses XP) I just realized how bad I am at writing action scenes so I was revising that part like crazy! So because I realized I wasn't very good, I edited out most of the action. –sigh- sorry nya, better luck next time! Ah and you might notice that lack of transitions in here. I wanted to show the choppiness of Fuji's/Tezuka's thoughts as they plays since well, they have their attention on something else. I don't know about you but when I'm playing sports I don't think in logical essay style sentences. Well enough rambling. Here we go!

One good thing was that it was cooler here than Japan.

Ryoma took off his cap and fanned himself. But it's still hot.

He squeezed the water bottle with more force than necessary and enjoyed the rush of cool water wetting his parched throat. Raising his hand reluctantly he wiped away the trickle of water that had mingled together with his sweat. And with the movement of his hand, his mouth followed to leave his trademark smirk to taunt his current opponent.

His opponent on this particular day didn't quite have the iron will to win that most players did; as a result, the player let off vibes of nervousness that could blow away anyone within radius. In other words, he was a nervous wreck.

The young tennis player from Japan frowned, picking up his beloved tennis racket once again. Of all the players he had met, the ones from America seemed to be the weakest. That was to say, only the ones he met. The players he had had a match with all seemed to be either overconfident, over analytical, not analytical enough, or just plain stupid. However, he quickly forgot his minor 'dilemma' as he stood at the end of the court. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the familiar yellow ball that had snuggly fit beside his leg, never losing his grin.

Maybe that's why I don't remember anyone from America.

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"Your serve. Best out of three matches."

Tezuka raised his eyebrow, the only expression he had made throughout the whole encounter.

"Are you sure that's not too long for you."

"Yes. I'll be fine."

With a nod, he gave Fuji another glance before walking to his side of the court. Feeling something in between bitterness and relief, Fuji walked to his end of the court.

Playing without the regulars' uniform on was certainly strange. The white shorts and polo shirt that had so often clung to his body was now missing. It was somewhere in the back of his closet to be forgotten or to become a disappointing memento. The t-shirt and shorts he was wearing now was not what he dreamed.

But he really shouldn't be so caught up in what he was wearing. If he was playing the match that had been put off for two years, the most important match of his life, surely that was more important than what he should, would, have been wearing.

His grip tightened on his racket. Tezuka was standing, leaning forward slightly and ready for his serve. A train passed by in the background, its windows reflecting the dying sun into Fuji's eyes. It was now.

It went more to the left than he wanted it to; he was planning to hit it to the right. But that was okay. The satisfaction of having the ball returned was more than enough compensation. And the thrill of chasing after it: immeasurable.

Bu-bup bu-bup bu-bup. He could hear his heart pounding in his ear. He could feel his muscles creak as he turned on his heel impossibly fast. He could sense the warmth that his hand was giving off, making his racket warmer and warmer. Furthermore the joy mingled with the thrill of the hunt stimulating him to breathe faster and faster. For a moment he had to wonder if it really was just a hobby, a joy turned into a hobby, a hobby turned into a joy, or plain love. And in the same moment the idea that he would grow weaker and die was unreal. A lie. A charming fairytale found in his collection of books back home.

Tsubame gaeshi, higuma otoshi, hakugei, reverse tsubame gaeshi, sideways hakugei. Moves that he worked on for years and those that had surfaced out of need. Each had been sent out with the determination to crush and the fear that perhaps its weakness would be seen. Sometimes they went victorious, other times in defeat. Either way, there was no denying Tezuka Kunimitsu's skill.

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(Tezuka POV)

His moves flowed out freely like water. One counter after another they came: counters that had been changed to suit his purpose and the very same ones that had defeated countless other players. If I had known that he was this determined… No. Either way, there is no denying Fuji Syuusuke's skill.

Once again the ball does not bounce but merely rolls under my racket with something like malicious delight. I stare at him. He stares at me. And finally I see it. The genius that never woke up; the genius that had fallen asleep two years ago.

I serve the ball to him and watch as he returns it, only to have it land near me. The others do the same. His swings become more ferocious and unrelenting when he realizes this. His eyes glint with mounting anger as well as frustration that is dangerously close to being detestation. I do not budge and instead stare him down. To lose in this is to turn back and take back my word.

He has become stronger. But so have I. I have promised to play to my best, to determine which of us is the stronger player. However, there is a part of me deep inside that burns with curiosity: why is he so eager to play this match if it does not truly matter to him if he gets stronger or not?

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(Fuji POV)

His arm is certainly better. And even if it wasn't, I feel as if he would still play at this level. Am I truly being a challenge to him?

I must be. He is struggling with a straight face. Sweat gathers at his forehead, making it gleam with the last of the sun's rays. His glasses have become less opaque; they have started fogging up. Moreover, his swings are more precise, more accurate, and less forgiving than other times.

It's not only him. I am having my own share of difficulty in this match. The sweat is making the shirt even more uncomfortable than before and making strands of my hair stick to my face. The only consolation to the heat seems to be that it is better than being cold. Yet I think I would be disappointed if it did not turn out this way. After all, overcoming Tezuka should not be an easy task.

There is a clatter when my racket drops to the ground. I stare at my hands with patience as they stretch at odd angles; it has happened too often now for me to be scared. It takes a moment for me to be able to bend my fingers and retrieve the fallen racket. I glance at Tezuka. He is busy checking the gut of his racket. So far it has only occured during the short breaks we allow ourselves. That is the only mercy I seemed to have been shown today.

He does not speak as he signals he is ready. I nod briefly and walk to the other side of the court.

I am ready.

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"Where's your brother, Yuuta?"

His mother looked at the clock nervously, her hands wringed the green and white apron she wore. Yuuta put down his cup and looked at his mother apologetically.

"I don't know Okaa-san…"

Fuji Yoshiko sighed and sat down on the kitchen stool. A scrumptious aroma filled the air of the kitchen; she had just finished making roast beef.

"Well I hope he comes home soon. His dinner will get cold."

Yuuta continued to look as she now settles her eyes on the phone sitting at the corner of the counter.

"He should be calling soon."

All Yuuta wanted to do now was to get out of the room but the guilt that had swelled inside of him prevented him from going anywhere; how ironic that the very reason he wanted to go out was the thing that was stopping him.

"What's going on Yoshiko? Is Syuusuke not here yet?"

As soon as he stepped in, his father's presence fills the room. He remembered it was always like this. The happiness of the times he had played with his brother would quickly disappear to be replaced by a heavy prideful air that his father seemed to always carry with him. Yuuta stood quietly by the side as his parents conversed.

"I don't know… He hasn't called and he told me there are no club activities after school…"

Yuuta tried to suppress the lump in his throat that threatened to come out; he couldn't help feel sorry about that too.

"Well have you tried his cell phone? He should have that with him."

"I know I've tried. He isn't answering; he must have it turned off. Oh but he should be calling soon. He never stays out without telling us where he is."

Fuji Shunsuke cleared his throat at his wife's response: he couldn't help but feel a bit of contempt at this situation. Leaving an ill boy out and losing all form of communication with him was rather irresponsible really.

"I'm sure he's just at a friend's house, studying."

"I already called all his friends. They all say that he didn't go home with them today."

"Are you sure you called all of them?"

"Yes dear. I am very sure."

It was one of the rare days when Yoshiko opened her eyes. Usually they would have a rather alluring charisma but today they glared daggers at her husband and looked rather threatening. Yuuta always thought of his brother whenever he saw his mother's eyes.

"I'm just making sure Yoshiko. You forget sometimes."

This did the very opposite of what Shunsuke had meant it to do: anger his wife.

"How could you even think I would forget anything that has anything to do with my children? I stay with them every day and care for them with more than ten times the love you ever give them! Why don't you call them if you think I 'forget sometimes'."

A deafening silence followed as the three occupants of the kitchen merely stared at one another. Then it was all over when a sob escaped Yoshiko's lips and she buried her face in her hands as if she had committed the most hateful sin.

"Oh I'm so sorry! I didn't mean- I'm just so worried! He never leaves like this. I'm just… oh so sorry."

Immediately Shunsuke stepped forward to comfort his wife with a large hug that she had adoringly named 'Shun-bear's hug'. The tension lowered considerably, leaving an uncomfortable Yuuta in the presence of a rather loving scene.

"A-ano… I'll go look for him Okaa-san, Otou-san."

"Oh would you dear?" Yoshiko's eyes sparkled with renewed delight. "Please do Yuuta. And come home safe."

"I'll be back quickly. Please don't wait up for me." Yuuta bowed politely before going out the door. Though he felt good doing this, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about the inconvenience.

The stuff I do for you Aniki…

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The final match. Neither one of them could afford to lose.

They had actually been going back and forth between deuce and advantage for the past hour and the sun had long since set. When this happened the lights around the court brightened the green ground at once, putting the two players in the spotlight.

The two tennis players were both tired now. They had thoroughly exhausted their bodies and their skills. Nevertheless they still moved, being pulled only by the exhilaration that came when one was close to an answer. So they could not give up now, even if their bodies moaned for rest. Not now, not now.

The nightlife that had started to awaken around him was lost to Fuji as he concentrated on the ball. Neither the low chattering in the streets a few buildings away nor the roar of the train bothered him. It was the ball that he had set his eyes on, and that was his world for now.

Tezuka could not hear the noises either. But there was more to his world than just the ball. It was his ball, his racket, and the opponent. The three things the world was really made of. The target, the plan, and the challenge. The whole world always narrowed down to three things for him, and that was it.

Yet both thoroughly enjoyed this. Each pant was a sigh of joy and admiration while each groan was a solace to the art. It was their world now.

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I finally understand why.

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The fall came so fast, so unexpectedly that he almost did not have time to support himself. He did though. He did.

He started to get up but paused as pain shot through his knee; it hurt more than he would have guessed. So preoccupied was he that he didn't hear the series of quick steps from the other side of the court.

"Are you okay?"

He didn't express much but his concerned showed when he thrust out his hand for support. Grabbing it, Fuji stood up.

The knee was red not just with abrasion but with blood also. It rolled down his leg and dripped on the court, clashing horribly with the dark green. Fuji quickly surveyed the damage. Please… please. Let it be minor.

"Let me see it."

Tezuka jumped over the next faster than expected and bent down to look at the damaged knee. Cautiously, he touched the calf.

If he had known, he wouldn't have. But he didn't so he jumped from the shock and pain. He hadn't expected his leg to experience a shock from the fall; the impact hadn't been that sudden had it? But for now, he had been discovered.

"I can still play I think. It's just a fall."

"No. It'd be dangerous." He had stood up to his full height and stared down at him with dark hazel eyes that had grown darker at night.

"I can still play Tezuka. It's the last game. I just need something to wrap my leg in."

"No. Your leg, it's in temporary shock. You might hurt yourself more."

"…I'll hold back a little."

"No."

"If we don't finish this now, when will ever finish this? We don't have time."

Tezuka remained silent, taken aback by the passion in his teammate's words. It only lasted for so long though.

"No."

Wisps of hair blocked his view of his eyes but he could see his lips were in firmly set and heavy. And slowly, almost scarily so, a smile appeared.

"Who am I to argue with you Tezuka? Let's stop."

Tezuka stared. He had anticipated more arguing; Fuji could be stubborn when he chose to be.

"But I have to say sorry. Because I am so sorry Tezuka."

What was it? What was it that he had to possibly apologize for? Tezuka wanted to tell him to stop, even shut up because he didn't want to hear it.

"I am so sorry Tezuka."

His voice was starting to crack now. His mouth was gritted as if he were forcing the words out. Tezuka swallowed, his racket suddenly feeling too heavy.

"I am so sorry. I broke our promise."

A strange taste was forming in Tezuka's mouth as he listened to the voice that seemed to have been partly held back by his throat. He watched as his teammate, no his friend, stood with blood dripping down his leg, pursed lips, and trembling hands. He had to say it.

"It's fine."

It wasn't.

Reality is too cruel, too brutal. I don't even have the right to dream. As I think about the past, the tears will come out again.

-1 Liter of Tears

Hope I didn't offend anyone with Echizen's comment. Anyways, -sigh- hard chapter nya! I hope I didn't disappoint anyone either. Well ill let you guys judge.