When Echizen Nanjiroh realized that his son was missing, he didn't care at first.
It was a normal day for him: ringing the bell, reading his lewd magazines, pestering Karupin. Ryoma had probably gone off playing a tennis match somewhere. He was usually away in the evenings if he wasn't playing with his father. So Nanjiroh didn't worry even as the dusk became night, which became morning again.
Ryoma still wasn't back.
In the morning, Nanako asked for him: "Where is he? He's been gone all night. School's going to start soon."
Nanjiroh put down his magazine and stared out the window. The path leading to the temple gate was completely and utterly empty. Nanjiroh bit his lip and for the first time, felt a piercing anxiety for his son.
"He's not sleeping at a friend's place, surely," he said with a shake of his head. "That boy..."
Nanako hastened to tell Ryoma's mother Rinko what had happened. Rinko was outside collecting the post when Nanako saw her. She was sifting through the letters and suddenly her face went ghostly white.
"What's wrong?" Nanako asked with concern.
"I-It's..." Rinko held one postcard with shaking hands. The other letters, bills and correspondents from friends, had slipped from her grasp and fallen into the mud. Before Rinko could drop the postcard, Nanako held it with a steady hand.
The picture on the postcard was of New York. Nanako could see the Statue of Liberty was the focal point of the picture. Nanako turned the card over. The back was plain white and a simple message was scrawled on the lines in an unidentifiable script.
Four words: 'I have your son.' She ran to tell Nanjiroh.
Nanjiroh couldn't believe what he was seeing at first. His wife running towards him, waving a card frantically in the air and then shoving it towards his hands, making Nanjiroh grab it in surprise. And then the words, printed neatly across the back, a tale of unbelievable things. The words were too surreal, there was no way this could have possibly happened. His son was proud, calm, he knew what he was doing. If he had been in any sort of danger he would have gotten away; Nanjiroh was sure of it. His son had a head, a brain, something that would keep him away from suspicious people. His son wasn't stupid, wasn't just some ordinary twelve going on thirteen tennis player.
Various thoughts flitted through his mind. Perhaps it was some prank carried out by Ryoma and his friends from the tennis team. Perhaps they were throwing some surprise party, maybe a celebration. This couldn't be true.
When Ryoma still didn't turn up that day, Nanjiroh did something he really didn't like to do normally. He rang up the old hag.
Ryuzaki-sensei promptly answered the phone and answered in her crisp voice. "Who is this?"
Nanjiroh gripped the phone hard. "Listen to me, old hag. Is my kid there?"
"Nanjiroh? You sound... frightened..."
"Be quiet, old hag!" His hand was shaking.
Ryuzaki-sensei said, "Your son has not come to practice. He hasn't been to school at all today. The last time I saw him was yesterday afternoon." She was quiet for a moment. "He's missing, isn't he?"
"Kidnapped, more like," Nanjiroh said gruffly. He quickly explained the mysterious postcard that had appeared on his doorstep. He couldn't see Ryuzaki's face but she had to be shaken.
"Who could have done this?" she asked. "This sounds like an attack on you. What enemies do you have, Nanjiroh?"
Nanjiroh could only laugh bitterly. "Too many to count."
Ryuzaki put down the phone for the seventh time, sighing as she stretched out her arms to relieve some of the tension in her muscles. Not one of the regulars had seen Ryoma that day, not even Momo. The kid always hung around Momo, eating burgers or something of that sort. But now he had just disappeared, as if someone had plucked him from the ground and just left.
Which, in this case, could be true. There was now a high chance that someone had taken Nanjiroh's kid, perhaps putting him up for ransom or something else that kidnappers usually did.
Ryuzaki could only hope that this issue would be resolved without any major casualties.
When Nanjiroh came back into his room, Rinko was perched stiffly on the edge of their bed, her skin ashen and her eyes glassy. Upon hearing the door open, she instinctively turned to face her husband. "Any news?" Her voice was soft, her question short, as if any louder and longer and she'd break.
He sighed, shook his head, and went to sit beside his wife. "He'll be fine, woman." Gently he patted her clasped hands, keeping his voice steady to not betray his own rising strand of panic. "He'll be fine. I'll keep you informed, yeah?"
She nodded, not moving as Nanjiroh rose, only to sit back down again. He couldn't possibly leave her alone in this state. Nanako would be clever enough to direct any phone calls or messages to him.
He took hold of Rinko's hands, and began to run through his mind the long list of people he had offended back in the reckless days of his youth.
"...I want Ponta." Despite his situation - bound to a bench fastened to the ground, and he could clearly see about a meter all around before everything got eaten up by pitch darkness - Ryoma still refused to yield. "Give me Ponta, or my old man won't give you a cent."
Somewhere, a man chuckled. Somewhere, something lashed out and landed forcefully on Ryoma's right leg, eliciting a rather loud "Ow! What was that for-" from the boy.
"Who said I was after money?" Another hit. "You've only got your old man to blame, brat." There was sloshing as something fell into his lap, an unopened bottle. "Water. Take it or leave it."
The floor tiles groaned. A shadow appeared, blocking out the scarce light shining in through the barred and tightly shut windows. A door opened to an equally dark hallway, and slammed closed, leaving Ryoma utterly alone.
Not that he would ever admit he was afraid. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he picked up the bottle with his teeth, pinned it to his chest with both of his knees, and attempted to unscrew the cap. It took a while for it to finally come off. Still gripping the bottleneck between his teeth, he tilted his head backwards, gulping down the water and trying not to choke.
When he'd downed the entire bottle's contents and was still wishing he'd gotten some Ponta instead, his eyes fell on a familiar object not too far away. His tennis racket. As much as it'd seem like a useless piece of junk in this particular scenario, Ryoma wanted it, even if it was for the sake of granting himself a false sense of security. Ryoma stretched his leg out as far as it would go.
No good. He couldn't reach it.
Maybe he should rest a little while before trying again. Exhausted from the day's training, the aftermath of an adrenaline rush, and the whole getting-whisked-away-in-a-limo-and-being-kidnapped fiasco, Ryoma fell into a restless sleep still strapped to the bench.