CHAPTER THREE – RECOGNITION

Walking alone in the courtyard, Ryoma sighed with both annoyance and resignation; the sunlight that shone down upon him made him slightly regret having only his black leather jacket to wear alongside his prison uniform. Beneath his beanie, he could feel sweat dampening his brow and scalp. Still, the discomfort of it all was better than languishing in his room all day, where he had spent the past few days trying to find small ways to get used to the new environment he was in. Naturally, the most obvious change was the freedom to walk around and do whatever he fancied during his free time—and there was a lot of that, Ryoma found, even though he still refused to use it on anything that involved tennis. His nights were free of the ungodly wakeup calls that the more mean-spirited jailers in prison often did just to spite him and other inmates; gone were the threats of physical pain and even death from those who recognized who he was and what he did; and even taking baths felt odd but comforting nonetheless without other prisoners being around to mock him for his height and harass him with unsavory proposals.

Still, in spite of these positive changes, there were things that Ryoma still could not get used to; he had stripped his bed of its mattress and slept on the bare frame, looking for the uncomfortable sensation of his cold steel bed in prison; he did some basic exercises within the privacy of his room every morning and afternoon, the duration of his routines timed down to the second as if a guard was still roaming around reminding him that his exercise time was up; and even as some of his classmates in 80-A began wearing the official brown uniform for Ultimates, he still kept wearing his prison garb out of habit. The chains trailing after his left ankle were out of the question, given that he was never given the key for their removal when he left prison; Ryoma wondered if they stayed there because the system wanted him and everyone else to remember that he was still a criminal, regardless of which prestigious school he was asked to attend. These thoughts weighed him down more than any manacle did.

And yet, Kirumi Tojo stayed true to her word. Not a lot of people had the interest—or the courage—yet to approach him of their own volition, and Ryoma made it a point to avoid those who actively sought him out regardless like Kaede and Kaito. Kirumi, on the other hand, was someone that he somehow felt comfortable with, regardless of the highly formal nature of their time together. Three days had passed since she had shown up so suddenly at his room, delivering a tray of food like she had guessed that he was hungry but also reluctant to join the rest of the school at the cafeteria. Since then, Kirumi kept bringing him lunch without fail, and the dishes she had brought him were nothing short of amazing.

Even though he had given his express acquiescence to her request to keep doing such things for him, Ryoma kept guessing what Kirumi's actual motivations were. The only solid fact he knew so far was that it was all simply part of her creed as the Ultimate Maid, to serve those who need it, but Ryoma could not stop himself from wondering if he was a special case in Kirumi's mind. After all, she admitted that she had taken the liberty of deciding that he was someone in need of her services, which was different from the other students who openly requested her to tend to them. Part of him wanted to think that he seemed so wretched and pathetic to the point where he was starting to actively draw sympathy instead of warding it away, but Ryoma doubted that Kirumi simply wanted to patronize him.

A stone bench in the courtyard provided him with some solitary respite—not that it mattered, seeing as how little to no Ultimates seemed to take notice of him in spite of his eccentric appearance or his former celebrity status. The rest of his classmates were scattered throughout the school, free to do whatever they wanted as lunchtime approached.

Ryoma was deep in his thoughts about what else the day had to offer when he sensed movement at his back, heralded by a brief rustle in the hedges behind the bench. He quickly leapt off the bench and whirled around, his mind shifting towards another gear in an instant as he faced the intruder. However, his expectations screeched to a halt as he found himself staring at his classmate Gonta Gokuhara. The butterfly net he was wielding looked like a toy in his huge hands, and his muscular frame stretched taut over his brown uniform as he tensed. Standing there with his wild, entangled mane of hair and his massive frame towering over Ryoma, he resembled a human tree.

"Ah, Gonta sorry!" the Ultimate Entomologist hastily blurted out, taking a step backwards. "Gonta not mean to scare Ryoma!"

"It's fine," said Ryoma, shaking his head as he relaxed his stance. In his surprised state, his mind had instantly formed the image of an armed inmate wanting to get the jump on him like so many that had tried before. "What were you doing behind my back?" he asked Gonta, trying not to add any edge to his tone in case the Ultimate Entomologist thought that he was angry.

"G-Gonta just catching butterflies. School filled with wonderful butterflies—and many other bugs too," replied Gonta. His face was still tinged with worry as he adjusted his round glasses. "Gonta should have spoken up sooner. Sneaking around not very gentlemanly."

"I said it's okay, so don't worry about it too much," Ryoma reiterated. "Just be more careful next time."

"O-Of course! Gonta will remember." At that, Gonta smiled, looking rather childlike for someone so enormous. "Gonta not know Ryoma could move so fast like that. Ryoma is strong and fit!"

Ryoma grunted to himself. "Thanks, I guess. Anyway, you might be busy. Don't let me keep you from your work."

"Oh, yes! Gonta must find more spots for more bugs." Gonta stood up straighter, his towering figure momentarily casting a shadow over Ryoma, but as he made to walk away, he turned back to look at him with some reluctance. "What about Ryoma? Ryoma just sit here alone again?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine here," Ryoma told him. "Or maybe I'll find a different spot too, I don't know."

"Oh, okay. Is Ryoma coming to eat with Gonta and rest of friends later?"

Ryoma shook his head, remembering his lunchtime with Kirumi. "I'll be eating somewhere else."

"Oh, o-okay," said Gonta, looking momentarily sad before continuing. "Gonta just notice that Ryoma always alone. Kaede ask Gonta and others about it too. But Gonta not sure how to ask Ryoma. Might not be very gentlemanly."

"I . . . I see," Ryoma muttered.

"But Gonta hope Ryoma join friends soon!" Gonta went on enthusiastically. "Always good to have friends. If Ryoma have no friends, Gonta happy to be Ryoma's friend!"

Ryoma fell silent at his words, wondering for a moment just how long it has been indeed since he last had friends. After all, most—if not all—of the people he had been friends with were gone now, and the knowledge of it made him feel even emptier. Nevertheless, unable to bring himself to shut down Gonta's wholehearted innocence, he could only manage to give the Ultimate Entomologist an awkward nod and say, "Yeah. I . . . I appreciate that. Thanks."

Again, Gonta flashed that trusting smile of his. "Good! Anyway, Gonta need to go now. Catch Ryoma later!"

And with that, Gonta departed, vanishing behind a corner of new hedges in search of more butterflies. Ryoma watched him go in silence, chuckling to himself for a moment at how comedic their initial encounter seemed with the image of their contrasting appearances. Still, he felt comforted by Gonta's friendliness, enough for him to look forward to Kirumi's arrival later on with slightly increased anticipation. Whether this would be a short-lived comfort once lunchtime passed remains to be seen.

Kirumi arrived that noon with a plate of curry, the rice in the middle looking like a fluffy white island amid the sea of red, orange and yellow. Its smell wafted into the room as soon as Kirumi entered, making Ryoma look up from where he had just finished doing sit-ups.

"You're here early," he told her as he stood up.

"There were fewer students who required my services at the cafeteria," Kirumi explained, setting her tray down on the table. "Most of them wanted their food delivered to their rooms instead."

"Maybe because they've seen you coming in here bringing food," Ryoma proffered rather grimly.

"Perhaps, though most of them seemed to be simply too busy to go to the cafeteria," said Kirumi. "Some of them are hard at work putting their talent to use."

Ryoma grunted. "Like you, huh? I feel like a lame slacker compared to you lot."

Kirumi bowed her head in respectful contrition. "Forgive me. It was not my intention to slight you in any way."

"No, no, it's fine. I mean, it's true, isn't it?" Ryoma stated as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "You guys are putting in a lot of work becoming better at your talents, like true Ultimates. As for me? Well, I've still got a ways to go."

"But you are exercising and staying healthy," Kirumi countered. "You are not wasting your free time in any way. You are still being productive on your own."

"Yeah, maybe. I don't know. It's just part of what I've been doing for the past couple of years." Ryoma sighed, shaking his head. "Anyway, enough of that. Let's just settle down for now. Have you eaten already?"

"Not yet. I must complete my services to others first before I take the time to eat for myself."

"Aren't you hungry?"

"I will manage," said Kirumi, holding herself up with a certain measure of poise. "That reminds me, there is something I've been meaning to ask you. It would only take a second."

"Yeah? What is it?"

At that, Kirumi took out a small notepad from her skirt's pocket. Feeling rather confused, Ryoma hung back as she detached a pen from it and flipped through the pages, stopping at a certain point. She turned to Ryoma again with a serious air.

"Are there any foods that you avoid or detest?" she asked him.

Ryoma frowned. "Er . . . I don't think I have any," he replied, still puzzled.

"I see. Any food allergies that you might have?"

". . . None that I remember."

Kirumi nodded, taking on an increasingly professional demeanor as she jotted down notes. "How about bedding preferences? Any particulars that you might want me to take note of?"

Ryoma sat up straighter, his confusion peaking. "I don't . . . Hold on, what's this all about?" he inquired.

Her eyes flitting back at him, Kirumi seemed to snap out of a trance. "Oh, my apologies. I should have been more forthright with my intentions from the start," she replied with a dutiful bow as she lowered the notepad. "I've been going around the school asking students the same questions. It helps me identify each and every preference they might have regarding their food, laundry, beddings and such. I've been meaning to ask you sooner, but there are more students in the school than one would expect, and some of them have quite the number of preferences as well."

"And by taking down notes, you're aiming to remember all of them?" asked Ryoma.

"Of course," said Kirumi matter-of-factly, as if such a prospect was the simplest thing in the world. "It has always been a part of my responsibilities to know the preferences of those I serve. That way, I would be able to fulfill their requests to the best of my abilities."

Ryoma frowned again, trying to imagine the degree at which Kirumi was working. "I don't really know what to say. I mean, if you're able to keep track of everything like that . . . well, I guess that's exactly why you're the Ultimate Maid."

Kirumi bowed again. "Thank you for your praise. Now, if you would, there are a few more questions I need to ask."

"Alright, shoot."

As she had explained to him, most of Kirumi's questions were indeed about his personal predilections regarding anything that might require her services as the Ultimate Maid. Ryoma answered her as honestly as he could, feeling rather conscious about how plain some of his replies were—after all, he had no specific preferences to demand, especially after spending the past few years living bare-bones in prison. Not even during his tennis-playing days did he demand anything in the same vein that certain students did, as Kirumi had implied.

When Kirumi was done, she pocketed her notepad and bowed respectfully again, exchanging a word of thanks with him. Ryoma could only nod back for a while, feeling rather conscious of what had transpired, but he kept his silence as Kirumi began pouring tea for the two of them. He mixed up his curry and rice in the meantime, still feeling pensive, and it did not take long before Kirumi began to notice his quietness.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. I just . . . I don't know what to say, to be honest," Ryoma replied.

Kirumi tensed a little. "Did my queries make you feel uncomfortable?" she inquired. "If so, I apologize."

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Ryoma told her quickly. "It's just new to me, that's all. Let's just say that . . . that I wasn't expecting a lowlife like me to get this kind of treatment."

"You are an Ultimate, and one of many who make this place the prestigious institution that it is," Kirumi reminded him. "It is only natural that you are treated as such."

"Really? A criminal like me?" said Ryoma with a hint of bitterness. He chewed on a spoonful of curry, chewed, swallowed and continued. "I've had my chance at life, and I blew it big time. There are other people out there who deserve it more than I do."

"But sometimes, those chances still come in the end, because it is not always up to us to decide if we are worthy or unworthy," Kirumi retorted. "You being here with us . . . that only means you have been deemed worthy."

Ryoma scoffed. "The last time I was deemed 'worthy' of something, it didn't turn out so well," he muttered. "What makes you think this will be any different?"

Kirumi lowered her cup with a serious but meaningful air in her eyes. "I cannot say at the moment, but what I do know is that it is up to us as people to make the choices that we must, in order to see if things will indeed turn out different. And that is what I wish to help you with."

"'Help me with,' eh? Is that how you put it?" asked Ryoma as he took sipped some tea.

"Yes." Kirumi faced him directly from across the table, that thoughtful gleam never leaving her demeanor. "I can see potential in you still, Ryoma. In spite of everything that happened, in spite of where you are now, you still possess it."

Ryoma matched her gaze, leaning back as he placed his cup down. "Somehow I knew that you also had a knack for figuring people out just by looking at them," he said with a brief chuckle. "But are you sure you're not mistaken?"

"I have sensed this before with some of my former employers," said Kirumi. "Many of them were unguided, unable to unleash their true potential. As fate would have it, I was there to help point them in the right direction. I feel that it is both my duty and desire to help such individuals unlock what lies dormant beneath them, so that they may become the person that they were meant to be."

"What little 'potential' I had is long gone," said Ryoma, his bitterness towards himself returning to color his deep voice. "If you don't believe me, ask the ones who were involved in what I did. You know the story, right? I mean, it doesn't take much for you and the others to know that . . . that I'm just a lost cause now. I'm a criminal. I committed a horrible crime, all because I chose to go about things poorly when I should've been playing smart. Does that sound like someone who still has 'potential' to you?"

Silence descended upon them. Kirumi's expression looked unfathomable now as she stared at him from across the table. Ryoma, on the other hand, cast his gaze down and continued eating, chewing on his food slowly, hating himself above anything else. But it was no longer a hatred presaged by immense anger as it was in the first few weeks of his incarceration, no. It was an icy form of resignation; the knowledge that he was done trying to find any reason to keep justifying his existence and what he had done; knowledge that left him emptier than the barest cell the justice system had to offer. And it was this cold indifference, this form of apathetic renunciation of anything about his being that he was showing someone like Kirumi, which he could show to naïve Gonta and Kaede and the rest of the class once he reminded them of what he was at the end of it all: a condemned criminal.

"I'm sorry," he murmured quietly after a while. "I don't want you to feel like . . . like I'm shutting down your principles or anything. If anything, I appreciate what you've been doing, bringing me food and all that. But that's more than enough. I don't want you wasting your faith on me as well."

From across the table, Kirumi nodded once. She took another sip of tea, placed her cup down, and sat up straighter with a sigh.

"If you felt slighted by my sentiments once again, I sincerely apologize, Ryoma," she stated in a silent but respectful tone. "I did not mean to cause you any form of discomfort, especially about your past. If you feel that I am intruding on something that you do not feel comfortable with, please do not hesitate to reprimand me."

"It's alright," Ryoma told her. "It's not your fault, anyway. Besides, if you've got something that you want to tell me, feel free to say it. I might have my own things to say in return, but I don't have any right to stop you from speaking, you know?"

A look of surprise crossed Kirumi's elegant features. "Are you sure of that?"

"Of course. You don't have to keep asking for my permission about it," Ryoma replied.

"I feel that it would be the polite thing to do nonetheless," said Kirumi, inclining her head. Again, silence fell, and Kirumi looked pensive as she stared into the depths of her cup of tea. Ryoma observed her keenly, gauging what thoughts and emotions he could read on her beautiful face.

At last, Kirumi spoke up again. "About what you have said . . . Forgive me, but to listen to you say all those things, about how you regard yourself now . . . as intrusive and insolent as this might sound, it urges me to help you even more. And it is not simply because it is what I've done before many times in the past. As I've told you before, I am aware of what happened to you, of what you've done. But there is something else underneath it all, something apart from what the world has already seen."

"What else is there to see other than that? I don't think anyone remembers anything else about me apart from that. 'Killer Tennis.' Yeah, that's the name they came up with." Ryoma scoffed as he remembered all the news articles and the reports on television that he had seen during the course of his trial; the moniker had hurt more than he had expected, and it still did now.

"But before that, you were one of the greatest tennis prodigies of the decade," Kirumi proffered. "And I am certain that you still are."

Ryoma felt a renewed surge of bitterness course through his veins at the thought. He shot a dark glance at the dressers where he had indiscriminately stashed most of the tennis gear Hope's Peak had prepared for him. Still, he could not bring himself to shut down Kirumi's views at the moment, and so he merely continued listening.

"Ryoma, there is still some of that talent left in you," said Kirumi, her tone growing firm. "It is why you were chosen to join us all as an Ultimate. That is what Hope's Peak Academy chose to see instead of your past. You are not a lost cause. You are still capable of unearthing and harnessing the talent that you possess within you, your skill as the Ultimate Tennis Pro, and . . . if you will, I wish to help you with that. It is what compels me to keep offering you my services like this, if you would have them."

Ryoma let out a sigh, dwelling on Kirumi's words as he picked idly at his food. True enough, he felt uncomfortable and even troubled every time he would hear about tennis and his past, though he did not want to shut Kirumi down in the same way that he wanted to silence the likes of busybodies he had encountered before. And again, just like he had guessed from her a few days ago at breakfast, Ryoma knew that there was more that Kirumi wanted to say.

"How?" he finally muttered, his terse tone causing Kirumi to look at him in surprise.

". . . What?" she asked.

"How can you be sure that your help won't be wasted? That's one thing I wanna know. And don't get me wrong, I know what you're capable of, from what I've seen and heard so far, but like I've been saying, it'll just be squandered on me. Even if, by some sort of miracle, I end up getting my groove back, it's pointless. My endgame is still prison—that is, if the justice system doesn't throw me on death row as soon as I get back. Would you waste your efforts on someone who's doomed either way?"

As Kirumi sat there pondering on his words, Ryoma was sure that he might have finally curbed her notions of helping him—though whether or not he still wanted to do so, he could not say. All he knew was that his words rang true. After all, part of what made being in Hope's Peak a sobering experience for him was the fact that instead of moving on to other great heights after graduating, he would simply be shipped back to his dreary, well-deserved life in prison. Though he did not want to prove that point merely to crush Kirumi's determination, he could not change the truth in his words.

"I confess, I do not have any satisfactory response to that right now," Kirumi stated at last. "All I can offer you as assurance are my own experiences. As I have told you before, I have encountered employers who have had their fair share of burdens before. I cannot tell you much about them, as such details should remain confidential, but I will tell you what I can. These men, they saw themselves as struggling individuals prone to failure, or those who have fallen by the wayside and even into a life of crime. I, on the other hand, sensed greatness within in them, and the potential towards it that was until then untapped and misguided—or beaten down by fate. And my duties as a servant compelled me not only to serve them on their whims, but also to help guide them on the right path and realize that potential, to regain what they have lost. In the end, they went on to become esteemed individuals and respectable businessmen, when otherwise they would have remained where they were, unable to grow out of the shells they were trapped in."

She reached out and poured some more tea into her cup, taking a small sip before continuing. "That is what I wish to assist you in as well. Your past may already be etched in stone, but your future is something else entirely. Even though we tend to speak of the future with seeming finality, nothing is certain, and life has its way of surprising us all. The only things that we can make certain are our decisions in the end to make the most out of it all, to owe it to ourselves to grow and realize our full potential. Will I derive some measure of fulfillment from all this? Perhaps, but neither is it for my personal gain nor pleasure. This is what my principle of selfless devotion stands upon: the ability to give my all to those who require my assistance, so that I may see them through regardless of what I might draw from it.

"But of course, that does not mean I will impose this upon you against your will," she went on, holding herself up with a formal demeanor once again. "As difficult as it is for me to let your potential go to waste, if you do not feel at ease, I will respect your sentiments and refrain from helping you with it. As a maid, I can merely give my opinions, and as you have given me leave to express them freely, I have done so. Any more than that is out of the question without your consent. My services will remain free for you to call upon, but I will make no more mention of what we are discussing right now, nor will I overstep any of your boundaries ever again. You merely have to give the word."

Again, Ryoma could only lock gazes with Kirumi, virtually at a loss for words. Here she was, explaining everything as objectively as she could in spite of her obvious wish to help him, even offering him the chance to command her to never bring up such a prospect ever again. Yet here I am feeling reluctant all over again, he mused inwardly with indignation, wondering what exactly it was that was causing his cold resolve to falter. Was it the regret that he could sense in Kirumi's voice that was compelling him to stop short of expressing his approval? Was it the feeling that he might have simply intimidated Kirumi into sacrificing her ideals with the sheer amount of bitterness he displayed as he disparaged himself? Or, the universe be damned, was it the thought that in spite of how undeserving he deemed himself to be, in spite of how much he loathed himself for the blood that still stained his hands after all these years, a small part of him clung onto the hope that Kirumi had mentioned as she declared her intentions to support him?

". . . I'll think about it." Even with the ambiguous nature of his words, Ryoma knew that they were merely an indirect nod towards affirmation. Guilt, regret and shame racked him all at once, the remnants of a decision that meant burdening someone with problems only he should bear, and yet somehow he found himself wanting to see how this particular prospect would end.

"I don't know what will happen, nor do I know how you're gonna go about this or if I'll respond with anything more than what I'm showing you right now," he went on quietly, "but who knows? Maybe you're right. Maybe the universe will prove me wrong in some way, or that it'll miraculously change my mind, I don't know. Just know that if you really want to do this, you're gonna have a hard time convincing me that it's not all meaningless. Still, I won't use that as an excuse to trample on your principles and whatnot. If this is what selfless devotion is to you as the Ultimate Maid, I'll respect that."

Kirumi listened to him in total silence, her beautiful features betraying no hint of further surprise or any other emotion. As he finished speaking, Ryoma could only sit back and wait for her next course of action. It was like a game of chess where he had just backed himself into a certain position—whether it was a precarious one or not, that was up to fate to decide now—and he was merely waiting for Kirumi to cap it off with her final move as well.

"Very well," said Kirumi with a dutiful bow; though there was no explicit expression to be seen on her face, Ryoma could tell how pleased she seemed. "I shall do my very best to help you, Ryoma. I thank you for giving me this opportunity to support you."

"Likewise," Ryoma muttered with a nod. "Now, I guess I should be finishing up this curry before it grows stone cold. Wouldn't want to be stuck here all day eating. . ."

"Of course," said Kirumi, smiling this time.

The rest of the hour went by without incident. Kirumi kept drinking tea for herself and pouring some for him whenever he would run out, until at last the teapot was drained. Ryoma himself finished eating not long afterwards, his mind still too focused on the decision he had just made in order to eat more quickly. Though he still felt shamed by the idea that Kirumi would have to bear the weight that he was carrying in order for her to help him, he wanted to look at things on the bright side instead of simply being the constant naysayer in their new dynamic.

"So what's gonna happen now?" he asked her after a while.

"Most of that is up to you," Kirumi replied as she arranged everything neatly atop the tray she had brought. "However, I will strive to give you what advice I could on what you can do to help yourself. From what I've seen, you are not participating in any activities involving tennis, yes?"

"Yeah. I hope you're not gonna ask me to start playing again immediately."

"No, don't worry. That is not part of what I was thinking of." Kirumi gazed around his room, as if appraising the surroundings alongside her thoughts. "You still exercise daily, correct?"

Ryoma nodded, musing with some dark amusement at how Kirumi's questions sounded so similar to a cross-examination. "Whatever you might have seen me doing so far is what I do every single day," he said. "Just hanging around in class, walking around the school, and exercising for the hell of it."

"Do you want me to establish a better routine for you outside of your room?" Kirumi offered. "It might be even more optimal for your wellness if you managed to make the most out of it in a different environment. I can devise a schedule that will not clash with your daily undertakings, and I will ensure that you are able to follow it without being disturbed by other students, if that is what you wish."

"You mean working out in the gym, right?"

"Not just the gymnasium, but around the school as well. There are many prospects that I can help you identify, so that the plan I formulate will fit your standards and comforts. We can also discuss it some other time if you wish."

"We'll see. Right now, I think I should just wrap up what I've been doing so far before I transition to the gym or anywhere else." Ryoma stared down at his small build, knowing that after shunning tennis and taking on only static exercises like he had been doing in jail, his body was bound to feel the wear and tear of a more rigorous workout regimen. Still, it was better than simply living with the figurative rust of his stagnancy, especially since he had three years to make the most out of.

Kirumi bowed. "Very well. If you want to, I can also prepare a diet plan for you in case you wish to accompany your exercises with the right food," she offered. "If you also require certain supplements, I would be glad to procure some."

"Just the food will do," Ryoma commented. "Anyway, I think that's enough for now. I don't want you to take up too much of your time planning all this immediately. We can just take care of the other stuff as we go."

"Of course. Do you need anything else before I go?" asked Kirumi.

Ryoma shook his head. "I'm just gonna spend the rest of the break resting. If you have other people you need to help, don't let me stop you."

"All the requests I have received for lunchtime have been taken care of. More will come later, I presume, but do not hesitate to approach me if you also have a request of your own." With that, Kirumi stood up and made her way over to the door, her gait undisturbed by the tray she was carrying. Before she left, however, she turned back and looked upon him again.

"Once again, I thank you for giving me the chance to help you, Ryoma," she said earnestly. "I hope I do not let you down."

"Don't worry, I don't think you will," said Ryoma. "I just hope I don't let you down.

Kirumi smiled, dispelling the professional seriousness on her face for a moment. Saying nothing more, she left his room, closing the door behind her quietly.

As soon as she was gone, Ryoma heaved a sigh. After taking the first step into this new dynamic, he knew he had to honor it in spite of his constant doubts and the shame of his past. After all, Kirumi was not the first one to accompany him in his undertakings; memories of his tennis buddies and past managers and trainers had come flooding back to him when she spoke to him of exercise routines and diets, bringing him back to better days. In that regard, she might not be the last whom he will disappoint just like he had done with the rest of them. I hope you don't make her regret this, you small fool. Shaking his head, he grabbed a nearby towel and made his way to his bathroom.

The post-lunchtime bell rang out in the corridors by the time Ryoma exited the shower, wiping any remaining moisture from his chest and shoulders and stretching his arms back; the push-ups he had been doing earlier had taken their toll. The coldness of the room bit into his freshly bathed skin, though it was not as bothersome as the figurative heaviness in him that made his shoulders sag. He walked over to the nearby dresser, taking out a fresh pair of prison clothes and putting them on in complete silence.

Outside, there were very few students still wandering around, none of which Ryoma recognized as he left the dorms. Popping a fresh candy cigarette in his mouth, he walked with nary a glance at them, keeping his beanie low over his eyes. Granted, his attire served to make him stand out instead of offering him some discretion, but none of the students he passed seemed to even notice him as he moved. Feeling somewhat comforted by this, Ryoma made his way up to the main building's second floor, wondering where he could go without having to go back to his room in defeat for being unable to find something else to do.

A quick glance at a map next to the main staircase told him more about the main building's facilities, such as a swimming pool on the second floor and a recreational room on the same floor where the 80-A classroom was. Wondering if the swimming pool area was devoid of people and would thus give him a suitable place to pass the time undisturbed, Ryoma decided to check it out for himself.

A group of four large white swing doors sitting side by side pointed him in the right direction as he touched down on the second floor. Some of the classrooms here had their doors wide open, with students conversing in groups as they stood in the doorways or sat at the floor of the corridors. In any case, Ryoma managed to slip by unnoticed as he opened one of the swing doors by an inch, peeking inside in case there were people inside. Thankfully, the coast seemed clear as Ryoma gazed around, and the noise from the corridors died down as he went in, closing the doors quietly.

Though not as spacious as the gymnasium, the swimming pool was still a large facility by any means, with the pool itself covering a large section of the area in the middle. The floors were a mixture of blue tiles and white concrete, with the latter forming certain walkways to give students some space to walk on without slipping and sliding on any wet tiles. The walls were painted with blue and white as well to match the floors, with a large print of the school's coat of arms at the farthest wall for all to see. All around the pool were bleachers segmented by balustrades and stairs. Lights were suspended from the high ceiling, their glow reflecting off of the pool's calm surface.

Ryoma walked towards the pool, his shoes tapping against the tiles and concrete, his chains clinking almost deafeningly with every other step as the sounds reverberated off the area's cavernous walls. When he reached the edge of the swimming pool, he looked at his reflection in the water for a moment, catching a glimpse of how somber he looked and felt as his eyes stared back at him from the pool's surface. Pairing Kirumi's sentiments about who he was and what he looked like now, it was as if the Ryoma Hoshi she had been talking about was another person entirely.

"Who's there?"

Ryoma looked up, momentarily startled. The voice had come from the farthest corner of the area, its terse and rather harsh tone betraying the speaker's irritation at having been disturbed. Ryoma tensed, cursing the clanking of his chains for giving him away and wondering if he should leave posthaste before he was found out. However, before he could decide on what to do, a figure stepped out from the shadows behind the bleachers at the opposite end of the facility.

The speaker was a short, blonde teenaged boy, shorter than even Shuichi or Keebo. Like the rest of the Ultimates, he was wearing a brown uniform minus the jacket, which he carried over his shoulder. Ryoma would have regarded him as an ordinary student had he not recognized the boy's hairstyle—a dusty blonde crew-cut, with curved lines shaved on the sides of his head, a trademark found only among certain groups throughout the country—and a familiar pin that shone on his shirt's left lapel.

Yakuza.

The boy stopped short of calling out again as he spotted him. A flash of recognition also flitted across his face.

"You?" he said. The shortness of his utterance spoke volumes to Ryoma.

Next to him, another figure also stepped out in the open—a girl, Ryoma saw, judging from her build and the twin silver braids and black ribbons that swung around her shoulders as she made a silent but determined exit from the scene. Like the boy, she was wearing an Ultimate's uniform without the blazer, and Ryoma glimpsed something long strapped on her back like a sword, wrapped in a dark cloth decorated with silver markings. Within moments, she had ducked into a back door without a word, as if nothing had happened.

Ryoma decided that it would be wise to emulate her, turning away from the scene and walking back to the facility's entrance, his chains rattling once again with every other quick footstep he made. Behind him, however, the boy called out again.

"Hey, wait a minute!"

Ryoma stopped and looked back for a moment, pulling his beanie low over his eyes. "I don't want any trouble with you," he stated quietly. "I was just looking for somewhere quiet to go to."

A deafening hush fell between them, the Ultimate Tennis Pro and this young yakuza, standing far apart from one another like it was a standoff straight out of an action movie. And with each ticking second, Ryoma wondered if something as tense as that was actually about to go down. Part of him sensed that moving as quickly as he had done earlier with Gonta was a sound choice, though something told Ryoma that such action was not needed this time around. Meanwhile, the boy simply stood there staring at him, and while he could not make out any of his expressions, Ryoma sensed that he, too, was hesitant about approaching him and potentially causing an incident to break out, whether willingly or indirectly.

At last, daring to break this stalemate of silence, Ryoma turned back to the door and exited the area, his chains rattling almost defiantly as he left. Behind him, the boy did not call out again, though Ryoma knew that it could not be the last that he saw of him. After all, being recognized as a former tennis ace by teenagers and adults alike was one thing, and being recognized as a prisoner with a past by a member of the yakuza was quite another.