Extreme Streets Tennis

Hello!

Here's the next chapter, I hope you'll like it.

EST

Nanjiro was worried.

The last sixteen months for him had been mind-blowing to say the least, and all because of his now eleven year old son; Ryoma.

It wasn't normal, of that Nanjiro was pretty much certain. He had wanted his son to be great, to be the best, but… still… he wasn't quite expecting… No, it was by no means normal. He had trained Ryoma in tennis since he was just two years old, he knew that his son was most definitely a genius prodigy in tennis… a tensai… but this was insane… it was inhuman… there was no way… there was definitely something going on… there was definitely something wrong…

Nanjiro had first noticed it at the end of last year, when Ryoma had declined his tennis game, and then refused to tell him why. After that it just got stranger. Some days he would be so tired for no reason at all, practically falling asleep on his feet. Teachers often called from school and complained that Ryoma was sleeping in class. Meal times became horrendous because Ryoma suddenly started eating huge amounts of food, even though he was only small. He also was talking even less around the house, if he was even there… Ryoma abruptly took up the habit of disappearing from the house during weekends, or he came home late from school just in time for dinner and for their daily tennis match.

Nanjiro eventually just assumed that his anti-social son had finally found some friends, so miracles do exist! Hooray! Confetti! However it seemed that Ryoma was embarrassed about it, as he was very reluctant to talk about these new-found friends. At first Nanjiro had tried questioning Ryoma about them, which progressed to interrogation, and when this failed he tired a different method. Extra training! A sure plan to make the brat spill the beans! But this didn't work out quite as well as he thought it would…

– Four weeks after Ryoma's tenth birthday – (A/N which is five weeks after Ryoma's first meeting with Felix)

"Ne, brat, why were you late again today?" Nanjiro asked as he served the ball, hoping to catch Ryoma out into answering his question.

Ryoma sliced it back. "None of your business, old man!"

"None of my business!" Nanjiro laughed as he easily countered it. "I'm your oyaji, which makes it my business."

"Yadda," Ryoma replied as he smashed the ball.

Vroom

Nanjiro blinked in surprise, that had been a fast smash, and totally unexpected…

"Che," Nanjiro stood up, placing his racket on his shoulder. "Fine, you don't want to tell me? Then we'll stop playing this match."

Ryoma looked apathetic. "Whatever," he shouldered his racket too, and made to walk towards the house.

"Ne, not so fast, brat."

Ryoma paused and looked at him from under his hat.

Nanjiro pointed his racket at his son, "I said we would stop playing, not that you could go. Mada Mada Dane! You've had it easy so far, obviously too easy, so you're going to train a bit, it's been a long time since I made you do laps, or sit-ups, or push-ups…So now… do thirty push-ups!"

Ryoma stared at him for a long moment, then said under his breath, "Che, baka oyaji," and set down his racket. Dropping to the ground, he began the exercise. Nanjiro grinned in success, then moved over to the wooden platform outside the house, and sat down cross-legged – sighing in content as he did so. Closing his eyes, he breathed in a deep breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth. A slight noise alerted him to some movement, and he snapped open his eyes to see Ryoma with his tennis racket trying to quietly sneak past him.

"NE! Brat, don't think you can get away that easily, finish the push-ups!"

Ryoma scowled at him. "I did," he stuck his free hand in his pocket.

Nanjiro snorted, "Nani? You think I've gone soft in the head, boy? There's no way you could have done thirty push-ups just then. Heeeh, start again."

Ryoma locked his jaw, and his golden cat-like eyes blazed, but he dropped his racket, turned around and got down on the ground once more. This time Nanjiro watched him do them, and his eyes slowly widened, as they were completed in record time. Ryoma stood up and dusted his hands off, moving to once again to pick up his red racket.

"Matte!" Nanjiro held up a hand. "Sixty sit-ups!"

Ryoma tugged on his hat, pulling it over his eyes, but complied with Nanjiro's request. Once again the exercise was completed in record time. Nanjiro narrowed his eyes at his son, he wasn't even sweating or breathing heavily as he usually was by this time. Ryoma stood up again and gazed at him unblinking, hands once again in his pockets.

Nanjiro scowled. "Thirty laps around the house, including the tennis court!" he barked.

Ryoma rolled his eyes, and then launched gracefully into a loping run. Nanjiro watched him go, still frowning. Usually Ryoma would complain more too, or at least try to argue… he didn't usually just follow orders like this, not without a cutting sarcastic remark or the like… And why was he always so late anyway? What the hell was going on? Nanjiro crossed his arms and sat deep in thought for a few minutes.

"Are we finished now?" Ryoma asked in a bored tone.

Nanjiro's head shot up to see Ryoma several feet away, he hadn't even heard the boy approaching!

"You finished?" he asked warily.

"Duh."

Again in record time…"Ne, what's with that tone, che, always such a brat," Nanjiro said, closing his eyes as he tried to hide his uneasiness. Something brushed by him, and he opened his eyes again to see Ryoma walk into the house with his racket in hand – but walking so softly – Nanjiro had to really strain to hear the footsteps, even on a wooden floor. Since when did this happen? Since when had Ryoma gotten so fit? Since when…?

…had he grown without me noticing?

–Back to present time –

And there was something else that made it obvious all wasn't quite well with Ryoma.

– Three weeks after Ryoma's tenth Birthday –

"Get your ass on the court, brat," Nanjiro said during his usual before-game stretches. Ryoma walked slowly onto the court, his face half-hidden in the shadow of his cap. Nanjiro inwardly scoffed, what was the boy doing now?If he thought he could hide behind his hat, he was wrong. "Here it comes, brat, are you ready for this?"

"Hurry up and serve." Ryoma sounded annoyed.

"Nani? You should have more patience, brat." Throwing the ball into the air, Nanjiro narrowed his eyes, taking in his son's position; he smirked, and then executed a Perfect Twist Serve. The serve was almost faster then the human eye could follow, it hit the exact point Nanjiro had aimed at, reverse spun, and then flew up. Ryoma swore, and ducked – his hat fell from his head.

"BAKA OYAJI! What are you trying to do, kill me?!"

Nanjiro just stared, and then cracked up laughing, "PAHAHAHA! Your face! AHAHA! What happened? Did mimicking pandas suddenly become the new fashion?! Hahaha!"

"Hilarious. You're so funny I forgot to laugh," Ryoma said flatly. A whopper of a black eye marred his face; and Nanjiro was practically rolling on the ground with uncontained amusement.

– Present time –

He hadn't thought much of it at first… but then… it had not only continued, but it had got worse. Ryoma sometimes came home totally covered in bruises and grazes and cuts. When asked about it he replied that he 'fell' or 'tripped over', but it soon became apparent that Ryoma was being mixed up in fights… a lot of fights involving fists, judging by the frequent bruises.

– One month after Ryoma's tenth birthday –

Nanjiro watched his son intensely as he wiped the sweat off his face after a long game, he winced as he accidentally touched a painful looking bruise on his chin.

"Ryoma," Nanjiro started, for once being serious. The green haired boy looked up at his tone, seeming surprised that his father had used his real name for once. "Ryoma," Nanjiro said again hesitantly, damn this was awkward… "Are you having trouble in school?"

Ryoma's face changed to one of confusion. "Nani?"

"I mean," Nanjiro frowned and rubbed the back of his head with his racket. "Are you being bullied?"

The confusion vanished, and Ryoma's eyebrows rose in pure scepticism.

"Yadda," Ryoma turned on his heel and began walking away. But Nanjiro wasn't ready to leave it at that. He flounced after his son.

"If someone's bothering you, you don't have to bear it all yourself! I'm your father, you can trust me." Ryoma ignored him, and instead walked faster. "You know you can talk to me!" he yelled after him, but there was no reply.

– Present time –

It wasn't until later that Nanjiro began to suspect something much worse, especially after that alarming revelation a little over a month ago…

"Uhe, uhe… (yawn) Uhe, uhe," Nanjiro sang sleepily to himself as he moved through the dark house at two o'clock in the morning. Opening the fridge, he took out a carton of milk and drank straight from it, letting out an "Ahhh!" of refreshment, and using his sleeve to wipe his mouth. Placing the carton back in the fridge, Nanjiro drowsily moved to go back to bed, when he noticed a faint light from outside.

"Heeeh, who left a light on? Geez, that brat…" he sighed, and changed direction to go outside. Rinko was on a business trip at the moment so it was currently just the two males in the house. As Nanjiro walked outside into the cool night air, he noticed that it was a full moon out. This, coupled with his good vision, resulted in him being able to see almost just as well as in the day-time. He breathed in the cool air deeply, and looked around for the source of the light.

Strange… Nanjiro frowned and looked up. The light was coming from the second floor. Nani? He moved backwards, away from the house, so that he could see up properly. This revealed the light to be coming from the window of Ryoma's bedroom – the boy's lamp was on.

"Che, what is that brat doing up at 2:00am?" Nanjiro asked himself as he reached around to scratch his behind. "Annoying kid." Then a movement from the roof caught his gaze. Nanjiro narrowed his eyes, zeroing on it, and then he froze. Ryoma was lying on the roof, staring up at the stars, one hand was folded behind his head so he was resting on it like a pillow, in the other hand…

Ryoma held a lit cigarette.

Nanjiro watched as motionless as a statue; Ryoma brought the cigarette to his mouth. The end of the fag flared in the night, glowing red as it seemed to wink evilly, like it was purposely mocking him. Nanjiro's eyes remained fixed on the sight before him, he was unable to tear himself away – a thousand thoughts were running through his mind, and all of them were incoherent. A stream of smoke spilled out between Ryoma's lips, and it hung above him in a misty cloud twisting as the wind caught it. Nanjiro swallowed suddenly as rage reared inside of him – he gritted his teeth, then moved quietly back towards the house, just as quietly going inside, climbing the stairs, and entering his son's room.

The room was the same as ever, with Ryoma's rackets, school bag and clothes slung haphazardly in a corner. Karupin was curled up on the bed next to Ryoma's discarded white cap, the bedside lamp was on, and the window was open. Nanjiro pulled a chair over to the wall with the window, and sat down to await his son's return. He tried to keep himself calm, but inside he was seething and fuming vehemently.

After about ten minutes Nanjiro heard the roof above him creak, and then suddenly Ryoma came swinging in through the window, to land lightly in a crouch in the middle of the bedroom floor. There was a silent still moment when the world seemed to be holding its breath. Nanjiro saw Ryoma's shoulders tense as he sensed that he wasn't alone. The boy half-stood and turned around in one quick fluid action. Ryoma's eyes widened slightly as they met his father's. Nanjiro stared back at him, trying to remain impassioned.

"Nice fag?" he asked in a dangerously soft voice, the light from the lamp half illuminating his face.

Ryoma flinched faintly. "Oyaji."

"What… do you think you are doing?" Nanjiro struggled to keep his voice even, and a waver of fury managed to slip through into his words.

Ryoma was silent, the boy looked at the floor; his hair hid his face and threw his eyes into shadow.

"Well?" Nanjiro snapped, his hold on control beginning to falter. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Ryoma remained silent.

And this, over everything else, finally pushed Nanjiro too far. Couldn't he at least meet my eyes!? His temper raged within him and he saw red. With a wild roar he flew across the room, grabbing his son by the collar, and lifting him several feet off the ground – shaking him as if he could shake some common sense into him.

"DAMN IT RYOMA! YOU'RE ELEVEN YEARS OLD!"

"G-Gomen! I'm sorry!" Ryoma gasped, "…It-Ittai… oyaji…"

Nanjiro glared at him with barely contained fury, but the look of pained terror on Ryoma's face slowly made the anger fall away, like sand through a sieve. A wave of overbearing tiredness washed over Nanjiro, and he suddenly felt much older then his age.

He half-heartedly placed Ryoma back on the ground, where his son continued to stand looking like a frightened little kid – exactly what he was. The two stood in the room, both looking at the ground half a foot away from each other, the silence churned around them in a surreal way.

"How long?" Nanjiro eventually broke it.

"G-Gomen?"

"How long has this been going on? Smoking?"

Ryoma shifted uncomfortably as he thought. "About… six months," he reluctantly revealed.

"Six months?!" Nanjiro's temper flared again, but this time directed more at himself. It had taken him six – months – to notice?!

Ryoma winced; and Nanjiro breathed deeply through his nose to try and calm himself.

Then he held out his hand. "Give them here. Now," he ordered, his cold tone leaving no room for argument. Ryoma reached into his pocket and took out a box of cigarettes, placing them in his father's hand, he still didn't look at Nanjiro. "There is no more from this moment on." Nanjiro pocketed the packet. "You will quit. Understand?"

Ryoma nodded silently. Nanjiro run a frustrated hand through his hair. "That's it Ryoma. This is the last straw, what the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

But to Nanjiro's shock, Ryoma then did something he hadn't seen his son do since he was a toddler.

He began to cry.

Nanjiro watched stunned, as rivulets of silent tears traced their way down Ryoma's face. His son made no movement nor sound, but the tears still came unchecked, as they dampened his clothes and dripped with a wet 'plop' to the floor. Nanjiro's blood ran cold and he floundered in uselessness for a moment, before the sight became too much and he moved on instinct. He reached out and grabbed his son's arm, and in one swift motion, pulled him forward so the boy's head rested on his chest. Ryoma gave a gasping sob and his shoulders shuddered in his father's arms. Nanjiro could feel his shirt becoming wet from the boy's tears, but he didn't say anything. Instead he gathered Ryoma up and gently sat down on the bed next to Karupin. The boy buried his face in Nanjiro's shirt, and there they stayed until finally Ryoma fell asleep in his arms.

But Nanjiro didn't sleep. He ran his fingers through Ryoma's dark green silky locks, eyes on his son's face. Ryoma looked so peaceful when he slept, and so kawaii…

"Ah, brat," Nanjiro whispered fondly, "seriously… you sure can be troublesome." As smoothly as possible he moved Ryoma onto the bed, and tucked him in. Then he crept out of the room, switched off the lamp, and closed the door behind him. Once in the corridor he stood still for a moment, and then pulled out the box of confiscated cigarettes to examine them more closely. They weren't his brand of fags, so the brat couldn't have stolen them from his supply, and Rinko didn't smoke… so really there was only one other explanation…

Those newfound 'friends' of Ryoma's…

– Present time –

But perhaps the most disturbing thing of all the events in the last sixteen months, were the two's daily tennis matches…

At first Ryoma's vigour in tennis seemed to dwindle, for some reason he was already exhausted when he played Nanjiro in the afternoon, and he lost worse then usual. Nanjiro had wondered initially if Ryoma was ill, and that was the reason behind his depleting energy. But as time progressed it became apparent that this was by no means the case, and Nanjiro recognised the exhaustion as the results of continuous overloading exercising. He would have reprimanded his son for this, but then… Ryoma's talent in tennis began increasing. The force behind his shots grew more powerful, he was moving faster, reacting quicker, generally improving in all aspects. Techniques that Nanjiro had never taught Ryoma began to slip into their games, and originally he was greatly pleased by his son's advancement, whatever Ryoma was doing was undeniably working.

…however…

It worked really well. Too well. Ryoma was progressing faster then he ever thought possible at ten years of age. As the weeks went by Nanjiro found, to his astonishment, that he actually had to start concentrating on the games, he found himself having to work harder to return his son's shots, and by the end of their games he was out of breath… During the day Nanjiro really began anticipating their games before dinner, his thoughts were rarely on anything else those days, and his heart would beat faster with excitement when he thought about Ryoma's burst of evolution.

It wasn't until six weeks after Ryoma's tenth birthday that Nanjiro realised that what his son was doing really wasn't… normal… Actually it was practically impossible…

Nanjiro lunged for the ball, and used a super uprising to smack it into the corner of the opposite court. He allowed himself a smirk as sweat dripped off his face, there was no way that kid could get there in time, the brat was at his limit, so this point is min– NANI?!

Ryoma skidded into place behind the ball and switched hands with the racket, so he could hit it back using his forehand. The ball rocketed back over the net and passed Nanjiro before he could even blink. Nanjiro gaped, how had that brat done that? He looked over at Ryoma, and his jaw dropped even further… no way…

"Muga no Kyōchi…" he whispered in awe. Ryoma looked up – his eyes had changed, and he seemed to be standing differently… taller somehow – he looked older. But he's only ten years old! Nanjiro thought incredulously, how could he have achieved the State of Self-Actualization at ten years of age, that's impossible! But there was no other rational explanation; the proof was right in front of his eyes. Ryoma had gone beyond his limits, and exceeded Nanjiro's expectations. The ex-pro was staggered and stunned beyond belief. He himself hadn't reached Muga no Kyōchi until he was fourteen…

"Ne, old man, it's your serve," Ryoma called, the boy was in the receiving position and waiting for his father to snap out of it. Nanjiro shook his head, taking a ball out of his pocket. Che, did the brat even know that he'd surpassed himself? Standing at the baseline, Nanjiro got ready to serve. He smirked; well at least now he could see how far Ryoma could really go, throwing the ball up in the air he served a fast serve.

Ryoma hit it back easily, and Nanjiro had to sprint to catch his return, he slammed it back with a top-spin, which Ryoma countered with one of his own – forcing Nanjiro to once again lunge for the ball. A chance ball was hit, and Nanjiro swore and stood ready to counter what would probably be a smash. But then Ryoma did something strange. Caught up in Muga no Kyōchi, Ryoma took two running steps, leapt high into the air, twisting his body as he did so – and smashed the ball upside down! – Then he flipped in mid-air, and landed in a couched pose with one hand on the ground to balance himself, the other with the racket held out to the side, ready for his father's return. That never came.

Nanjiro just stood there, stupefied by the inconceivable level of flexibility and acrobatics that Ryoma was displaying.

– Present Time –

That hadn't been the end of it either… soon it was apparent that Ryoma had opened the first door of the State of Self-Actualization, and then learnt to control it by moving the Pinnacle of Hard Work to whatever body-part needed it. A few more weeks had past, and then Ryoma had the second door open. By that time, Nanjiro was definitely starting to get worried; his son was growing at an unstoppable pace. At that rate Nanjiro would soon have his greatest dream fulfilled, he would have his son as his greatest rival in tennis… But it wasn't supposed to have happened this quickly… Nanjiro had assumed that they wouldn't become great rivals until Ryoma was sixteen, fifteen at the very least. But then, he'd also assumed that Ryoma's play-style would be a copy of his own, and he'd been wrong in this as well. Then about half-way through the last year, something truly scary happened…

Nanjiro had been forced to go to the very limit of all his abilities while versing Ryoma, and that meant pulling out the inner Samurai… the Teni Muhō No Kiwami or the Pinnacle of Perfection, the third and last Pinnacle of tennis. Nanjiro was having an enormous amount of fun, that was, until Ryoma pulled out his inner Samurai.

Ryoma's hat slipped off as he spun around, hitting a backwards forehand as he twisted his body around. The light caught his green hair as it flung around, transforming it almost into a completely different colour and hairstyle. Ryoma's eyes seemed wild, no, they were a different colour too! Instead of their usual golden, they were now green, the same colour as his hair. The ball disappeared; only Nanjiro's Teni Muhō induced vision allowed him to see it flash past. He looked back at the Samurai Junior, to see a true smile gracing the boy's face.

Ryoma pointed his racket at Nanjiro, his green hair and eyes giving him an ethereal appearance.

"Mada Mada Dane!"

Nanjiro had lost. Afterwards he had stood motionless for several minutes unable to comprehend that his son, that Ryoma, had finally become his ultimate rival.

They still continued to play everyday after that, but now the tables had turned. It was Ryoma that won match after match; it was Nanjiro that was scrambling after the ball, Nanjiro who was left sweating on the ground, Teni Muhō or no Teni Muhō. Everyday Ryoma beat him, said his signature motto, then picked up his hat with his racket and pulled it back onto his head. When Ryoma put his hat back on, the Teni Muhō would fade, and his hair and eyes would return to normal. It was mind-blowing, what his ten year old son had done. What he was – still – doing! Because Ryoma hadn't stopped there…

– Three Months ago –

Ryoma took up his position on the other side of the net, falling automatically into the ingrained form. His green hair blew gently in the breeze, his shirt rustling as it swirled around him. Nanjiro panted from his place in the receiving pose, if he had still had his old hair, he would've tied it up by now. Ryoma paused, staring at the ground in a kind of trance. Nanjiro watched in confusion as Ryoma closed his eyes, and began breathing in time with the wind. What was… the brat… doing now…?

All of a sudden Ryoma's eyes flew open and something, Nanjiro couldn't quite pinpoint what, changed in his stance. Ryoma's eyes were glazed over, the pupil's were wider then normal, and they were sparkling with a cosmos of rainbow-like colours. Ryoma stared at Nanjiro as if he wasn't really seeing him at all and Nanjiro stared back – completely petrified. He got the certain impression – no, the utter conviction – that the person in front of him wasn't Ryoma at all. Instead, here was something much more ancient, more mysterious, something wilder, more dangerous…

Ryoma served.

Nanjiro's eyes widened.

Then he dived out of the way.

It was insane, that was for sure. Not in the way of mental stability, but in nature. Ryoma went against the very laws of nature, what he was doing wasn't just damn near abnormal, it was downright impossible. Nanjiro didn't know what had happened that day, had Ryoma been possessed? Or was this a new level of tennis, unlike anything the world had ever seen before?

"What the fuck was that?!" Nanjiro barked from his half standing position on the court.

Ryoma shouldered his racket, looking down on him with his head thrown slightly up and away, and a sort of feral half-grin on his face.

Then Ryoma spoke in a voice that was much deeper then his usual.

"Samurai Dragon."

– Present time –

'Samurai Dragon' Nanjiro remembered dully, what was that? Some sort of new technique? Ryoma had had an aura about him that was otherworldly, and from then on he became not only unbeatable, but unplayable. Nanjiro was unable to compete with that level of tennis, and so Ryoma was forced to – Nanjiro grimaced at the mere thought – go easy on him.

After the game had finished though; Ryoma had won, had said his customary motto, put his favorite cap back on – and promptly collapsed where he stood. It seemed that this 'Samurai Dragon' took a lot out of him. So they continued to have their daily games, but Ryoma's ultimate technique didn't resurface.

Now it was nearly two months after Ryoma's eleventh birthday, and for the first time ever, he wasn't home for their daily father-son tennis match. Nanjiro was sulking on the wooden veranda in front of the courts, his chin was propped up on one hand, and his tennis racket was discarded next to him. It was the weekend and the brat was late coming back from playing with those mysterious 'friends' of his. Ryoma had disappeared straight after breakfast that morning, and had been gone all day.

Nanjiro had never found out about Ryoma's 'friends', even after all the – still present, but less frequent – bruises, and after that horrible revelation that Ryoma was addicted to smoking… That's right, addicted. The shitty brat had been smoking for so long that he'd actually become hooked on the damn fags – at eleven years of age! Nanjiro clenched his fists just thinking about it, if he ever got his hands on the one responsible for hooking Ryoma up with them… Nanjiro sighed in lamentation. But Ryoma had clammed up about that, his son had promised to quit smoking, but he had refused to agree to stop seeing his friends.

And now the brat was late home! Nanjiro growled. What do you do when your son was an out-of-control tensai… this wasn't something that required seeing a Shrink or anything like that, and Ryoma was definitely not a danger to society, he was just a… rebellious kid, that happened to be a brilliant mastermind, genius, prodigy-child when it came to tennis.

Time ticked on, and Nanjiro resorted to playing with Karupin to ease his boredom. When that failed he picked up one of his famed magazines and got… distracted… for a few hours. Nanjiro next looked up when he realised he was hungry; it was dark outside, and way past dinnertime. Nanjiro frowned, and went upstairs to check Ryoma's room. Nope, the brat still wasn't home… unless… Nanjiro went downstairs, and outside, far enough away so that he could see the roof of the house. No, the kid wasn't there either. Where the hell was he?

As the hours ticked by, Nanjiro grew increasingly worried and annoyed at Ryoma. Rinko was once again away on a business trip, so Nanjiro had been left in charge. Maybe the brat had decided to stay at a friend's house, and simply forgotten to tell him? Yeah that was probably it… Che… so like the troublesome brat. With this last thought, Nanjiro finally fell into a restless sleep.

EST

"Didn't you hear me?! MY SON IS MISSING!" Nanjiro screamed into the phone, he listened for a moment. "I don't care what you have to do! JUST FIND HIM!"

It was the next night, and Ryoma had now been missing for over twenty-four hours. Nanjiro was at the end of his rope, he'd searched everywhere for his wayward son, but Ryoma was nowhere to be found. Nanjiro was running on the increasing fear that either something terrible had happened to Ryoma, or that his son had runaway, just like his brother Ryoga had done when Ryoma had been six.

"No! No, you listen! ... I AM CALM! You'd better do everything you can, or so help me I will… fine! ...Yes I know this is New York! ...Yes, I think I understand completely!" Nanjiro slammed the phone down, and knotted his hands in his hair.

"Ryoma, where the hell are you?" he whispered miserably. Sinking down a wall to the floor, he sat there as the minutes slowly dragged by. His eyes were closed as if he could block everything out if he just refused to acknowledge it.

Then his extra sensitive hearing caught a whispering voice from out the front of the house.

"Are you sure this is it?"

"Yes, I'm sure," another voice answered. "Come on, hurry – careful there!"

There was a smashing sound as one of Rinko's flower-pots broke.

"Oops!" A third voice said.

"Can't you be more careful?" A girl whispered furiously. "Want to wake the whole fucking neighborhood?"

"Stop arguing, you two! Someone ring the doorbell. I hope his father is home…"

Nanjiro moved to the door faster then lightning and wrenched it open. What met him was the strangest group of bedraggled kids he'd ever seen. The blonde boy about to press the doorbell was shirtless; his bare front was splattered in blood. They were all dripping in sweat and looked dead on their feet. But Nanjiro barely noticed any of this. He only saw his son, unconscious and as pale as snow, being supported by the other six children.

"R-Ryoma!" Nanjiro gasped in horror. Ryoma was also missing his shirt, but his entire torso was covered in blood, a makeshift bandage made out of a shirt had been wrapped around his right shoulder. Nanjiro swallowed and tried to keep calm, he couldn't help if he flew into panic now.

"Bring him in!" he ordered rigidly, holding the door open for the group of kids.

They walked in somberly, and Nanjiro shut the door behind them. Moving quickly in front of them, he directed them towards a side room where they placed Ryoma on a couch. Judging by their appearance, and by their worried expressions, these were Ryoma's allusive friends. A monstrous black boy held Ryoma's hat in his hand.

"What the fuck happened to him?" Nanjiro couldn't take his eyes off the blood on Ryoma's chest – he looked so small, so pale…

There was a beat of silence, and then the blonde boy looked directly at Nanjiro, his blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"He… Buchou… He was shot."

EST

"Mr. Echizen?" The nurse called from the doorway. Nanjiro's head jerked up, and he leapt up from the hospital waiting room chair.

"That's me," he said, "is Ryoma okay?"

The nurse smiled at him in reassuring way. "Don't worry, Mr. Echizen, your son will be fine. He lost a lot of blood, but luckily he's blood-type 'O' of which we have great supply. The bullet missed any main muscles or critical arteries, organs, or ligaments, which is really very lucky considering it was a torso wound. He does have a fracture in the right-hand side of his clavicle bone – his collar-bone – but it will heal with virtually no problems. Your son will be left with an impressive scar, but he will be fine."

Nanjiro slumped in relief, Ryoma would be fine, and then a thought occurred to him. "Ryoma is still able to play tennis, isn't he?"

The nurse looked mildly surprised. "Oh yes, he'll be able to play just fine, but not for a few months at least. Wouldn't want to risk making the injury worse, he might occasionally get the odd twinge of pain, but it would basically be normal."

Nanjiro sighed, thank goodness! It felt like he had called the ambulance a life-time ago, it was a whole twelve hours later now. The police had come and gone, asking their questions about the incident. Nanjiro had replied to most of them that he didn't know – which was complete honesty. The group of kids that had carried Ryoma in had disappeared while Nanjiro had called the ambulance. Apart from the bloodied Ryoma, and broken flower-pot, it was as if they had never been there at all.

"You can go in and see him now, if you want, he's awake," the nurse interrupted his thoughts.

Nanjiro blinked in shock. "He is? Thank you!" he moved away swiftly towards Ryoma's room.

"No problem!" The nurse called after him. Nanjiro reached the hospital door, and hesitated. Psyching himself up, he quietly opened the door and peered in. Ryoma lay on the white bed, his shoulder wrapped professionally now. His son turned his head as the door opened. Ryoma slowly blinked, and silence stretched between the two.

"Hey, old man," Ryoma eventually said, his voice was a little slow from the morphine.

"Hey, brat," Nanjiro half-smiled, shutting the door behind him. He walked over to sit in the visitor chair, and then sat staring at his son.

Ryoma sighed, and looked remorseful. "Guess I messed up big-time, huh?" he said, downcast.

Nanjiro gazed levelly back. "I don't know Ryoma," he said truthfully, "you tell me."

EST

Several hours later Nanjiro exited the room again, but not before Ryoma had told Nanjiro the truth.

The whole story.

From start to finish.

It was incredible. Inconceivable! It was amazing, absolutely astounding! To think that those kids… Nanjiro was utterly speechless. The ex-pro shook his head, and it was bloody dangerous! Really what were they thinking?! Did they have a death wish? But once he got past the initial horror of the idea, deep down Nanjiro was impressed and extremely proud of his son – to think that they had done that! Not that he ever wanted Ryoma to play EST again. Ever.

Ryoma looked down at the bed, he bunched the blanket cover in his hands and twisted it nervously, looking – quite unintentionally – adorable.

Ryoma bit his lip anxiously, then started, "I don't suppose… you've ever heard of EST have you?"

Nanjiro scowled. "What's that? Some new drug you kids are into?"

Ryoma smiled somewhat sadly. "Not the kind you're thinking of."

After he had heard the whole story, Nanjiro firmly decided that Ryoma needed a change. As soon as his shoulder was better, Ryoma would start entering in the American tennis tournaments. He could still see his friends occasionally, but he wouldn't be able to play anything for several months. He'd been assured by Ryoma that the Extreme Streets Tennis tournament was officially over now, and that Ryoma's team had won. A group of eleven year olds! But then, regarding Ryoma's evolved skill during their father-son matches, Nanjiro guessed that it was no surprise.

"Because, baka oyaji," Ryoma smirked from the hospital bed, "we are a team of Super-rookies."

"And you're their Buchou," Nanjiro replied.

Nanjiro smiled as he remembered that. Then the smile faded to be replaced with grim determination as he recalled Ryoma's final comment before he'd left.

"Oyaji," Ryoma's voice stopped him as Nanjiro reached for the door handle.

"Hai?" he looked back at his son, eyebrows raised.

"When I get better…" Ryoma was once again focused on the white hospital sheets. "I need you to help me train."

"Train?" he asked warily.

"Hai. One day, I'll have to face Felix again." Ryoma met his eyes and Nanjiro saw a flash of green fly through the burning golden colour. "And when that day comes, I will defeat him!"

EST

A/N

Do you want to know what happened? It's a SE-CR-ET! :D

Next chapter will be up next Friday: Echizen starts Seigaku!

Arigato guzaimasu!

– Mel XX