Breaking Serve

By: Jyra

Disclaimer: Do not own Prince of Tennis. If I did, I wouldn't be writing this. Instead I'd be laughing about how I've created one of the best mangas in the world…

Completely behind I know but I've had exams and then Christmas and then more exams and uni stuff and coursework. Yes, I know, no excuse really. So this is a late chapter for the Australian Opens. Very late I know. However, the next chapter will be for Monte Carlo (which I've been watching all week and am currently watching Federer vs. Wawrinka whilst waiting for Murray's match) so that will be up by Monday or Tuesday. After that there will probably only be a few more chapters as I intend to end this on the event I started with- Roland Garros, Anyway, enjoy

.Pillar pair.

.X.

New Year

New Passion

New Game.

It was his year. It didn't belong to anyone else apart from him.

He was still the Prince of Tennis.

And this was his final.

The changing room was quiet. The only sound came from the faint roar of the crowd, imprisoned behind the double doors. Bending down, Ryoma checked once again his bag. Rackets, spare shirt, grip tape, tennis ball. Smiling slightly, he bent down to pick up the tennis ball.

There was nothing remarkable about it. It wasn't signed by Sampras or Agassi and he hadn't used it to win a title. It was just a small, yellow, fuzzy ball. Ryoma had seen billions of them in his life and played with more than he'd had hot dinners.

It was just a ball.

A ball that symbolised his life.

And perhaps more importantly, his love.

Love, life, tennis. It was all the same really.

XXX

It a separate changing room, Tezuka Kunimitsu also checked his bag. Rechecking it for the final time, he sat down; satisfied that everything was in order.

Picking up the tea cup next to him Tezuka's mind wandered, contemplating his next match. It was a final. A Grand Slam final. The Australian Opens final to be precise.

Having won the tournament two years ago and made it to the semis last year, Tezuka knew he was the favourite to win. And he would play to win. He would walk out onto the court and give it his all.

The world number one sipped the hot tea and hoped that he would lose the game.

XXX

The ball was still in Ryoma's hand when the announcement to take to the courts came. Slowly, he replaced the grip tape, the shirt and the racket into the bag before hoisting it over his shoulder. Only the ball remained, clenched in his fist.

The ball that had been pushed wordlessly into his hand by Tezuka Kunimitsu straight after the world number one had taken the US Opens title. A ball that said they would meet here, that Tezuka would play his best and that he knew Ryoma would too.

A ball that told Ryoma more than any newspaper headline proclaiming his downfall would. Tezuka still believed in him, Japan still believed in him and for most part, so did the world. He was the Prince of Tennis. A Prince who would one day over take the King.

Starting today.

As Tezuka came out onto the bright courts, he heard the roar of the crowd, saw the line of the net, smelt the adrenaline and could taste the electricity.

But the only one he could feel was his opponent, standing over the other side of the net, the same cocky grin still on his face and the customary cap pulled low over his eyes.

As they shook hand at the net, Ryoma's mouth curved into a smirk as he whispered

'I'm taking this one buchou'

Tezuka didn't remind his that he wasn't buchou, that they were equals now. Instead he replied with an emotionless

'Ah'.

This was what he'd been aiming for. What they'd both been aiming for.

The same flawless, imperfectly, life filled game with Tezuka that had driven Ryoma to work harder and faster, to win more and more, to be equals and to play together for always. The need to not have to prove anything anymore because Tezuka already knew.

It was his final.

His win

His...his...his life.

Everything in tennis started with love and long after the match had finished, it ended with love as well.

Love was hitting every un-returnable ball back across the net. Love was pushing him every day. Love was tennis and tennis was everything.

The winning shot was spectacular.

Later, when the match was over and the world number one and the newly reinstated world number two were lying side by side exhausted on a generic hotel bed, Tezuka turned to Ryoma and asked, quietly, how he came up with that shot. Tired as he was, Ryoma raised his head to rest it on the elder's chest and lazily smirked up at Tezuka.

'I hit it with your ball Buchou...'

And Tezuka really didn't mind losing. Well not really. He'll win the next one anyway.

Xxx

Hope you enjoyed this (very late) update

Jyra

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