Disclaimer: Don't own it, wouldn't mind if I was given Atobe though.
Short update because I've been busy with various other projects (my KHR and ES21 fic, working for a scan group, LJ icon challenges.), and I feel bad that I haven't updated, especially with all the alerts I'm getting on this.
The pace should pick up after this, I hope. I'm still debating a fairly major plot point with myself, but I think I've all but made up my mind. Not sure when the next update will be; Probably in February, provided my muse holds out.
Useless OC trivia: Iwasaki-buchou is named for Iwasaki Taro, composer of the Gurren Lagann OST, and Tajima-sensei is named after Tajima Yuuichirou from Oofuri.
The tennis regulars cornered him at lunch the next day, and despite his protests, managed to drag him off to the roof for the interrogation.
There had been a brief introduction- Momo took the chance to point out the boy with bandana he'd seen yesterday as Kaidou Kaoru, another freshman, while Fuji made sure Tezuka formally introduced himself, before they sat down in a rough circle, with the majority of them keeping themselves between Ryoma and the doorway back into the school.
"Kidnapping isn't nice, sempai-tachi." Ryoma muttered between mouthfuls of rice, glaring across the group at Momoshiro, who smiled back at him apologetically.
"Sorry Meino. We're just curious, y'know?"
"Yeah, Ochibi!" Kikumaru crowed, leaning around Fuji to grin at the fifteen year old, who stiffened at the nickname. "What was that yesterday?"
"Tennis." He knew he was being childish by sulking like this, but considering the circumstances, Ryoma couldn't make himself care. Did they really have to gang up on him?
"Ahh, Meino-kun, I believe I speak for all of us when I say that was not ordinary tennis." Oishi murmured, attempting to pacify him. Ryoma rolled his eyes, already knowing what the junior was going to ask, and wishing the boy would man up and just ask. "We just want to know where you learned to play tennis like that."
"America."
"Were you coached, then?" It seemed like the others were willing to let Oishi handle the line of questioning for now.
Ryoma snorted. Formal coaching indeed. All he'd ever had was a tennis obsessed father and older brother, and that's all he'd ever needed. The fact that his father had been a world class player was something they didn't need to know. "Not that I know of."
"What!" It was Momo that yelled, but he found himself glancing at Fuji- who'd claimed a spot to his right when they had sat down- before looking over at Tezuka, sitting opposite from him. They were both staring at him, coolly calculating, and the ever present smile was missing from Fuji's face.
"I played tennis with my family. Dad made me enter a few tournaments, and I won." He shrugged. It was how he'd gotten into competitive tennis, after all. "I didn't think it was that big a deal, really." Liar. "Tezuka-buchou probably would have beaten me in the end. He was holding back." And so were you. Across the circle, Tezuka's eyes were faintly challenging, and he had to fight back the frown. You haven't seen anything yet.
"Indeed. Tezuka was only using roughly forty percent of his capability yesterday." Inui, seated to his left, chipped in as he flipped through a well worn notebook. "There was a ninety five percent chance of him winning the match yesterday, if Tajima-sensei hadn't stepped in." He paused as Ryoma looked over at him indignantly, and the freshman noted that the book was filled with data and calculations on tennis strategy; obviously Tezuka's. "Of course, if he had used Muga no Kyochi, then it would have increased to one hundred percent."
Ryoma froze, chopsticks forgotten halfway to his mouth. "M-Muga no Kyochi..."
"Saa, you know of it?" Fuji's voice was light, but Ryoma could hear the wariness in it, and laughed weakly.
"That's just a myth, right? Surpassing your limits and all that... it doesn't really happen." He mumbled, trying to make sense out of what they were trying to tell him. Tezuka can use Muga no Kyochi. Tezuka can use Muga no Kyochi.
"Aa. It's real, Meino-kun. Tezuka's not the only one we know of, either." Oishi answered.
"Yeah, but Buchou is the best at it, Oishi! He can use the Hyaku Ren Jitoku and Saiki Kanpatsu too!" Eiji chimed.
Ryoma's eyes flew up, locking with the captain's even as his mind ground to a halt in shock. Two of the doors, and no one knows who he is? "You're so close to Ten'i Muho then..." He whispered. The jealousy gnawing at his chest was getting worse, and Ryoma desperately wanted to get out of there before he said something he'd regret, but Fuji seemed to reading his mind. When he'd started packing up the remains of his lunch, the second year had grabbed the hem of his shirt. He couldn't get up unless he wanted to ruin his uniform and he didn't think the junior would be letting go any time soon either.
"You okay, Meino? You look like you just saw a ghost." Momo asked, speaking up for the first time since the interrogation had started.
The freshman waved him off, glaring at Fuji out of the corner of his eye. "Why aren't you a pro already, Tezuka-buchou? You're definitely strong enough." He laughed again but the sound wasn't coming out right. "You were probably strong enough years ago." Where have you been, all this time?
Tezuka met his gaze steadily. "Not yet. Five years ago, we promised to win Nationals, and I won't leave the team behind until we do." The junior's brown eyes were questioning, daring Ryoma to step up the the challenge.
Ryoma met his gaze levelly for a moment, feeling his tension draining away under those eyes, before he nodded in acceptance, a small smirk on his face. "Then I guess I should apologize for holding you up, buchou." Six pairs of eyes looked at him questioningly, but by then the warning bell marking the end of lunch was ringing, and Ryoma took off before anyone else could pin him down.