"Across the Courts"
02. Dandelion
Game set! The match is over with 3 wins to 0. Rikkaidai wins and proceeds to the finals!
It felt surreal. Amidst the roar of the cheering crowd, Shiraishi Kuranosuke, second year of Shitenhouji Chuu and soon-to-be captain of the tennis team, sat on the cold, hard bench in apathetic silence. He closed his eyes, his bandaged left hand clenched tightly together but otherwise not knowing how to respond.
Swept away. It only took three straight losses to ensure the end. All their dreams of winning the National Tournament with glittering trophy and the majestic crimson victory flag in hand, all their hard work in straining their muscles and bodies into facing battle on the courts, all their training together as a team in all conditions through rain and shine and mud and grass… they were all washed away in a matter of minutes, mere seedlings of a dandelion blown away in a mighty yet almost nonchalant wind that was Rikkaidai.
Helpless. There had been nothing he could do. He never had the chance to play in Singles 1 and to show Japan his own special style of tennis. What did it all amount to? What was the purpose of having such a unique style when it could not even guarantee to clinch a win for his team? Now together in line with the rest of his team, he stood on one side of the net facing the yellow-clad tennis team of Rikkaidai.
Thank you for the match!
A strained courtesy. He never hated a group of eight people more. They seemed so heartless and overbearing, their gaze set only on their second consecutive national win. Both teams saluted and left. Shiraishi thought of nothing else but that unfeeling emptiness of sheer loss, like a matured dandelion with its feathery white seedlings gone. Just a single lonely stem swaying meekly in a paltry breeze. Just a thin little weed that could be so easily crushed. Just something so false, so helpless, so insignificant.
He collapsed onto the unforgiving bench and leaned back, staring blankly at the skies through the open roof of the stadium. Straining to see past the bright sunlight, he narrowed his eyes and wondered how something so pure and beautiful could be such an annoying hindrance today. Just swaying along the fringes of his vision, he thought he saw a tiny particle floating gently in the light winds. His bandage left hand snatched it out of the air, and he sat up straight to curiously examine it.
One dandelion seedling—yes, tattered—but still intact and pure and white all the same!—laid in the palm of his hand. He closed his eyes again and smiled with—what was this feeling swelling in his soul and glimmering in his eyes?—the hope for one more wish. Just for next year. When he would reveal his perfectly chiseled tennis. When he would follow a perfectly scripted play from his bible.
When they would clinch a perfect win for sure.
Fin
A/N: But what hurts is that we know Shitenhouji will lose in the semifinals… again :(
Disclaimer: Konomi Takeshi owns PoT.
.moose