CHAPTER SEVEN – THE CHANCES WE TAKE

Since that morning, Ryoma knew that the changes were coming, whether he would like them or not.

All things considered, though, it was not all bad. Though he expected to be barraged with questions from professors about his previous absences, no such incidents happened yet. In fact, the professors did not seem to mind his presence now that he had returned to attend classes more diligently, and he wondered if Kirumi somehow had anything to do with that. And in class, Kaede, Shuichi, Gonta, Keebo and Rantaro Amami talked to him when they could, if only to ask how he was doing. Ryoma responded as best as he could to them, not wanting to sound too reserved or even defensive, though the experience did take some getting used to.

But of course, there were hints of other things that made him feel very self-conscious and wary. Kaito Momota had not yet approached him out of nowhere to give him a pep talk, but Ryoma could sense his glances coming his way whenever he passed him by in class, indicating just how Kaito was raring to ask him again about his current state and his tennis-playing days. And there were those who approached him out of hand as well, such as Angie Yonaga with her flowery rhetoric about her deity Atua and Miu Iruma with her off-color and vulgar nastiness.

Today, as he entered the classroom for their first morning class, he saw that more than half the class was still absent; only Rantaro, Keebo, Miu, Gonta, Angie and Korekiyo were present, idling around as they waited for the rest to arrive. Ryoma walked in silently, anticipating that someone would begin coming up to him soon enough. Indeed, he had barely reached his chair before he was badgered already by Miu.

"You look all runty-disgruntly again, shortstop!" the Ultimate Inventor said from where she sat, her icy blue eyes twinkling with manic glee. "Did you wake up with a wet dipey this morning or what?"

From where she sat praying in utter silence, Angie kept her eyes closed and her lips crossed into a small smile, while Korekiyo shook his head with disdain, flipping through the pages of his notebook as he continued reading. Like him, Rantaro was also reading at one end of the classroom, though he cast a curious sideways glance at the confrontation nonetheless. Keebo looked over at Ryoma apologetically, as if wordlessly imploring him to excuse Miu's standoffish demeanor this early in the morning, while Gonta watched the scene unfold with an innocently puzzled expression. Meanwhile, Ryoma merely chewed on his candy cigarette as he leaned back against his chair; from what he had experienced before, abrasive people like Miu were best countered through stoic silence.

Miu frowned. "Well? Aren't you gonna say anything, you lil' pointy-eared pleb? Or are you too busy trying to daydream about my tits?"

At that, Keebo approached Miu and said, "Miu, it might be too early to bother Ryoma—or anyone—like this. . ."

"Ah, so what? The lil' runt could use the wakeup call," said Miu, laughing. "Always showing up to class with that look on his face like he failed to wake up with a fucking stiffy this morning."

"Hey now, let's not start the day with anything too obnoxious, alright?" said Rantaro in a defusing tone, looking up from the travel catalogue he was reading. "We don't want Kaede starting her day by getting riled up again."

"Pfft. Dudes should just shut up and take their fucking licks!" Miu scoffed, crossing her legs and flaunting more of the black straps on her legs and her knee-high leather boots. "And since when were you so concerned with Miss Dumpy Tits, ya simpy avocado?"

Rantaro merely chuckled at that. "That's a new one," he said, shaking his head. "Anyway, it's just that Kaede's been really working hard recently, and it'd be nice if we don't add to her problems by bickering too much whenever she's not around yet."

"Ah, if Bakamatsu's working hard, it probably just has something to do with the beta of all betas, and trust me, it seems like she and Pooichi are working real hard from the looks of it. I mean, have you seen the way they look at each other? Are we sure that they're not in some broom closet every morning just f—"

"Maybe we shouldn't be making up assumptions like that, Miu," said Keebo, his facial features conveying reproach and a bit of discomfiture now.

"Ah, fuck that! I'm Miu fuckin' Iruma and I'll say whatever I goddamn fuckin' want!" Miu snapped.

Keebo drew back rather anxiously, as if he was trying to wonder what else he could say to rein in Miu posthaste. "Perhaps, but there are always better things to say, right?" he said. "If you'd like, we can discuss our . . . ah, our plans f-for later instead?"

At that, all bravado and daring seemed to drain from Miu's face, to be replaced by indignation. Dropping her arrogance, she looked at Keebo with a mixture of petulance and embarrassment. "H-Hey, we had a deal, right? I thought we agreed never to tell anyone anything about . . . t-that?!" she stammered.

Looking as if he had boxed himself into a corner, Keebo opened his mouth to reply, but his words seemingly failed him as Miu suddenly began to blush, worsening his own discomfiture. As Ryoma observed them in silence, he felt a bit of amusement well up in him as he wondered who looked more nervous and embarrassed between the two of them at the moment. Rantaro, on the other hand, raised his eyebrows in surprise and leaned forward.

"What's this now? That sounds like a date right there," he quipped.

"Ah, no! It's nothing of the sort!" Keebo exclaimed. "M-Miu is just helping me with—"

But quite suddenly, Miu stood up and hurried out of the classroom, her face now beet-red underneath her strawberry blonde hair. Looking even more agitated now, Keebo excused himself with a bow and rushed after her, his metallic feet clanking against the floor as he ran. Angie, Gonta and Korekiyo stared at them as they went, looking mildly surprised.

"That took an interesting turn," Rantaro said with a facetious tone after a while. He looked over at Ryoma, chuckling again. "Anyway, don't sweat it too much, Ryoma," he told him. "I know it goes without saying, but encountering Miu every morning just takes some getting used to. Same deal with the likes of Kokichi and Tenko, and Angie as well," he added in an undertone, glancing over at Angie nearby. "Once you get used to the threats, insults, sermons and jokes, it's all good."

Ryoma grunted, marveling a little at how laid-back Rantaro sounded despite the dysfunctional nature of their class. "It's fine," he said. "You seem to be taking it pretty well too."

"Well, when you've got twelve little sisters who love to bicker and play jokes on you and each other, you just get used to a scenario like this," said Rantaro lightly. "Makes me feel more at home, to be honest, what with being away from my folks all the time."

"I suppose so. Being the Ultimate Adventurer doesn't sound easy."

"It has its pros. You get to see a lot of the world and meet a whole bunch of people, and it's all quite an experience. But being at home with your family is something you can never forget, and you just miss them when you're out at sea or in another country by yourself."

Ryoma could only nod at that. From the way Rantaro spoke about family, it was obvious just how close he was with them, and he found himself hearkening back to his memories of his own parents and siblings as well—all distant memories now after where he had been. Sorrow and bitterness tugged at his heart briefly, though Ryoma knew Rantaro could hardly be faulted for that; no one else knew about it other than him, after all.

"Anyway, I'm sure I've said it around a hundred times already, but I'm really glad you're spending a lot more time with us now, Ryoma," Rantaro went on. "At least you can start enjoying the things that you've been missing out on. The others will get you accustomed to it all in no time."

Again, Ryoma nodded, feeling the heaviness in him fade somewhat. "I can only hope so," he muttered in reply. "Thanks."

Rantaro grinned, turning back to his travel catalogue and reading in silence once again. Looking outside the windows of their classroom, Ryoma let out a quiet sigh, trying to remember the faces he had almost forgotten now as his gaze rested upon the distorted reflections upon the windowpanes. Only Isabella's amber-eyed visage seemed to stare back at him, bathed in the morning sun as it seeped through the glass.

Kirumi arrived with Kaede, Shuichi, Kaito and Maki shortly after, with Kaede holding a small stack of what appeared to be pamphlets in her hands. Ryoma looked up as soon as he noticed Kirumi enter the room with the others; as if on instinct, Kirumi glanced over at his seat in return, smiling when she saw that he had already shown up. Ryoma could only nod back. The two of them rarely interacted in class, but whenever they met up for their afternoon workouts at the gym and for lunch—which Ryoma still had in the privacy of his dorm room —they talked to their hearts' content, away from the rumors that were starting to surround their growing closeness. Ever since he had taken her up on her wish to have him attend classes more, Kirumi seemed happier and more genial, and Ryoma was pleased to know that if anything, at least his renewed presence in their class helped put her worries about him and her duties at ease.

Kaede moved up to the teacher's desk and placed the pamphlets there. "We're still short a few people, huh?" she said, looking around at the class.

"Ooh, pamphlets!" said Angie, who had just finished praying. "We used to distribute pamphlets like those outside my island, but Atua became displeased when people just started littering with them."

"Those look important," said Korekiyo from where he sat. "What are they about?"

"It's for the first upcoming school event," said Shuichi in reply, standing some distance away from Kaede, his pale face contrasting noticeably with his dark hair and hat. "Kaede will explain everything in a moment. We just have to wait for the others first."

"Wait, didn't Miu and Keebo show up early too?" asked Kaede. "Where are they?"

"Something . . . happened," said Rantaro, laughing a little. "They should be back soon, though."

Kaede sighed, as if the vagueness of Rantaro's reply was already enough to convey anything involving Miu. "Alright, let's just wait for them. I'll brief you guys on this once we're all here. I just hope Kokichi doesn't show up late intentionally. . ."

Thankfully, Kokichi arrived not long after Tenko, Tsumugi and Himiko did. Keebo and Miu showed up last, embarrassment still evident on both of their faces. Before Kokichi could say anything to tease them about this noticeable development, however, Kaede beat him to the punch. She began explaining what the pamphlets were once everyone had taken one from the table.

"Preparatory evaluations?" asked Tenko. "You mean, about our talents?"

"Yes," replied Kaede as the rest of the class stared at her, some with anticipation, others with apprehension. "Basically, we'll be doing these preparatory evaluations before the major practical exam on September. The pamphlets show the schedule we'll be following as well as the guidelines for how everything will go. I've read a bit about it, and apparently the evaluations are done during school festivals where students are encouraged to participate and demonstrate their talents. Teachers are gonna be going around assessing things, and students are free to watch and explore as well."

"That actually sounds pretty fun," said Kaito. "If there's any reason for us to start doing our best, it'll be this."

"But wouldn't it be a bit of a problem for those who, ah . . . don't really have a practical talent that we can demonstrate up front?" asked Rantaro. "I mean, I don't think any teachers or experts are gonna just follow me on my next trips across the world just to see if I'm really the Ultimate Adventurer."

"Apparently, if a student doesn't have a proper way to fully demonstrate their talent for the evaluations, they can just show what they have through an exhibit of their own making," said Kaede, reading through one of the pamphlets. "That, and by participating in the festivals with their respective classes."

"An exhibit, huh?" Rantaro mused as he perused his own pamphlet. "Hmm. . . Sounds like I'm gonna have to document my next travels with photos and essays, and maybe put them in some sort of display, like an art gallery? Yeah, sounds about right. . ."

"Hah! The world's gonna be in for a fuckin' treat!" Miu exclaimed, regaining her usual bombastic bluster. "It's not every day that virgin plebs and scruffy geezers get to witness the sheer genius behind my inventions! My exhibit's gonna make them all cream in their pants, I'll make sure of that!"

"As long as your ugly bitch face isn't around, I'm sure they won't mind taking a look," Kokichi quipped flatly, causing Miu to recoil as she glared sourly at him.

"I'm sure you will do just fine, Miu," Keebo proffered, his eyes shining with an air of encouragement, as if he was trying to make up for putting her on the spot earlier. Miu blushed like she did before, her face contorting into another attempt at haughtiness in the form of a smile, but she said nothing else.

"This would be a perfect time to demonstrate my Neo-Aikido firsthand," said Tenko excitedly. "I'll start training immediately! How about you, Himiko? A magic show sounds really great for this too!"

"Maybe," said Himiko, her eyes a cross between thoughtful and sleepy. "Though it'd be nice if kids had a chance to come and watch too. Either way, I guess I'll start recharging my MP and brushing up on my skills tonight. . ."

"Ooh, I can't wait to watch what tricks you'll show the school, Himiko," said Kaede, smiling.

"Nyeeh. How many times do I have to repeat it to you guys? They're not tricks. It's real magic," said Himiko sullenly.

"Seriously, how do they want me to show my talent?" Maki muttered from one side, more to herself than to anyone.

"Maybe you can bring some kids over to take care of?" Kaito suggested, stooping down as he stared at her pamphlet from above her shoulder.

Startled, Maki drew away from him with a glare and, surprisingly, a faint flush on her cheeks. "Distance, Momota," she hissed. "I keep telling you that."

But even as the debates and questions began popping up around him, Ryoma read through his pamphlet with increasing grimness, the candy cigarette in between his teeth twirling and shaking as he chewed at it. It was as if fate had decided to wait for him to take his biggest step yet before suddenly—and almost mockingly—sending a major challenge his way in the form of this new development. Though he knew that he should have expected it to come sooner or later in a prestigious school expecting only the best from its students, he had no idea how he could go about what Hope's Peak was asking of him. Naturally, there was no other way for him to display his talent other than through a tennis game—it seemed foolish and out of place for him to create an exhibit about his old tennis skills, or even to give a simple practical demonstration on the basics of tennis—but he was still very far from being the tennis ace he used to be, both in physical and mental terms.

Soon, the discussion around him died down, and the class began settling down in preparation for their first class for the day. Ryoma folded his pamphlet and put it in his pocket, the thoughts still weighing on his mind. He rubbed his eyes with a sigh and gazed at the nearby windows again. Some students had occupied the open field in the distance, engaging in sports such as track and field, football and softball for their morning classes. Though they were little more than stick figures from where he watched them, Ryoma could see the enthusiasm and dedication they showed as they played and ran around and scored.

For a moment, his right hand twitched, as if itching to hold on to something. Ryoma glanced down at it, frowning. When nothing else came, he dismissed the erstwhile tic with a flex of his fingers.

Later that lunchtime, as he waited in the confines of his room for Kirumi to show up, Ryoma wondered if she would ask him about the matter at hand or not. Their paths had not crossed at all that morning, denying either of them a chance to discuss the topic. Nonetheless, he glimpsed a meaningful gleam beneath her eyes when their gazes had briefly connected a number of times that morning.

Unagi was the fare that Kirumi had prepared for him when she arrived a little while later, with the smell of grilled eel and pickled vegetables mingling together in a tantalizing vapor as she set the bowl down along with their customary pot of tea and their matching teacups. Ryoma was glad to see as well that Kirumi had brought along some of the snacks he had bought for her only last Tuesday after their gym session that day—three packs of sweet anpan, or bean buns, which went well with the green tea and helped keep Kirumi from getting too hungry as she kept him company.

The first minutes passed by rather quietly, with the two of them punctuating their eating with a few side topics. No one seemed to want to touch on the subject of the impending trials the pamphlets earlier had presented, though Ryoma could sense that Kirumi was drawing ever closer to asking him about it, and that she was only holding back out of respect for his peace of mind.

He decided to take the step for her and let her in. "Sounds like those upcoming evaluations are gonna make things pretty interesting for everyone, eh?" he muttered, mixing up his grilled eel, vegetables and rice with his chopsticks.

Kirumi regarded him for a moment with a bit of surprise as she chewed on a bite of anpan. "Quite," she said when she had swallowed her food. "I could sense the anticipation from all the Ultimates at the cafeteria earlier."

"There's dread too."

". . . From you as well?"

Ryoma shrugged, chewing his food slowly. "I don't know if it's dread I'm feeling or what. Either way, I'm not looking forward to it that much."

"I see." Kirumi finished her anpan and sipped some green tea. "That's understandable, considering where you've been thus far. You haven't been able to play tennis for a very long time now, so training for the evaluation and the eventual exam on September would take quite a bit of work."

"But it's not like I have any other choice," Ryoma went on. "The pamphlets made it clear that it's part of a major school requirement. Failure to comply or pass would mean getting kicked out."

Kirumi said nothing in return. Ryoma looked at her again and knew that she was choosing her words carefully. Still, even as she kept silent, he did not have to think too hard on what her opinions were about all this. He decided to trudge on, knowing that by showing that he was open to discussing the matter openly, she could say whatever it is that she wanted to tell him.

"It ain't gonna be easy, that I'm sure of," he said. "Our workouts at the gym are a big help in keeping me physically and mentally fit, but for tennis? I've still got a ways to go. And it's not just the rust on the court that I'm worried about. . ."

Kirumi regarded him meaningfully for a moment. "Yes, I think I have an idea of what you mean."

Ryoma nodded, though he wondered if Kirumi did know what he was talking about. Though people would expect him to quickly get back in his old groove on the court, like he had said, it was not just his long break from the sport that had affected his experiences with a tennis racket and a ball. Again, like it had done earlier that morning, his hand twitched instinctively, and this time a phantom sensation formed at his fingertips to go with the brief paroxysm.

The feel of a metal ball, the same size as an ordinary tennis ball, cold to the touch.

Ryoma set down his food and looked away momentarily, the memories creeping in and eliciting a heavy sigh from him. He closed his eyes, feeling a telltale chill run down his spine, not unlike the one he had experienced on his first day exercising at the gymnasium. Willfully, almost desperately, he tried steering his mind away from the sensation.

Sensing his brief distress, Kirumi leaned over the table towards him. "Ryoma? Are you okay?" she asked, concern instantly lacing her voice.

Ryoma breathed deeply, trying to soothe his stress. Relax, Hoshi. It's just another bad memory, that's all. Just focus. Think of her instead. Remember her. But the feeling of that cold, unforgiving metal ball lingered alongside the chill coursing through his back, and adding Isabella into the mix only made him remember worse things.

He opened his eyes and gazed upon Kirumi, and for a split second he was taken aback; focusing so hard on his memory of Isabella, he saw some of her in Kirumi's beautiful face as well. The sight of it startled him out of his wits for a moment, but as Isabella faded and Kirumi returned, his mind found something to anchor upon. Gradually, the anxiety passed, the memories receding into ominous but distant strokes, and he felt himself calming down at last.

"I'm fine," he grunted, clenching and unclenching his hand again to completely ward off the feeling on his fingertips. "Bad memories, that's all."

Kirumi's gaze was one of sympathetic understanding now. Not for the first time, Ryoma wondered if she sensed more than she showed, and how difficult it could be for her to hold back from asking him about it. Part of him was sorry that he could not tell her just yet; given how much he was starting to trust her, it felt wrong to hold back on his part.

After a few moments of grave silence, Kirumi asked no questions about what he had just experienced and remembered. Instead, she said in an earnest, sincere tone, "You can get through this, Ryoma. I will make sure of that. Whatever support or help you need, I will give."

As she spoke, her eyes shone with a certain degree of serious resolve that Ryoma had never seen from her before. Of course, that was not to say Kirumi was not serious at any other time; indeed, she often served with formal determination, never going beyond the boundaries of how a proper maid would act and behave, responding to the reactions and whims of others with a mixture of cordiality and primness. But this time, within the privacy of his room, she seemed to show more of that other side of hers. More serious and grave, yes, but also more . . . familiar, more like a friend rather than a maid, a friend who would go through great lengths to help a companion in need. It was what made Ryoma appreciate her so greatly—and also what kept him up at night sometimes.

"You'll need to focus on your own work as well, though," he pointed out. It seemed rather foolish to assume that Kirumi would have her hands full with someone like him when she was fully capable of addressing the needs of the academy's student body as well. But given how personal it seemed for Kirumi to help him in his journey to get back on his feet, he was somehow worried about how it may fare for her in the long run, their growing closeness and progress notwithstanding.

Kirumi, on the other hand, merely smiled at him. "I will be able to take care of myself, don't worry."

Ryoma sighed, looking back at her. Though the chill on his back was still lingering like some sort of spectral caress, he drew comfort and reassurance from her pale green eyes, as if somehow, as long as her words affirmed to him that everything was fine, then it was fine.

"Alright then," he said gravely. "Let's just see and hope for the best come September. I think we'll do better if we just trust the process and let things happen instead of worrying too much about it right now."

"Yes, you're right," said Kirumi. "Becoming better is what we should be focusing on instead."

That much was true, Ryoma mused with a wordless nod. The road to September would be rife with doubt, tension and pain, he knew, and if his negative recollections were any indication, it was bound to get even worse. Still, with Kirumi by his side, and his memory of Isabella enduring with him all the while, he imagined actually seeing things through.

When their gym session ended later that afternoon, Kirumi excused herself rather early, stating that she was needed by some of Class 78's denizens to assist with their transfer to a new classroom after their current one needed repairs following a small incident. Though he wanted to stay awhile and talk to Kirumi before he went back to his dorm room, Ryoma let her be, musing that he could spend his time instead wandering somewhere else instead of lingering at the gymnasium; Kaito's visits there with Shuichi and Maki were starting to increase, always before evening without fail, and the last thing Ryoma wanted was to run into the Ultimate Astronaut before he could leave.

Having changed back into his traditional prison garb, he left the gymnasium and made his way to the school's convenience store, intending to buy himself another drink. His duffel bag hung from his small frame, almost as large as he was, and Ryoma often sensed that it might make for a comical sight for those who were unfamiliar with him. Still, he pressed on, not minding any stares that might come his way. The only thing about it that always made him feel self-conscious was the fact that, ignoring the prison clothes he wore, he looked as if he was still the old athlete he had been, carrying his tennis gear with him, attending a new match or another training session somewhere in the academy. And with September inching towards them, he knew that this thought could soon become a reality. Not for the first time that day, he felt pressure well up at the back of his mind as he imagined what would come—and what horrible memories he would have to relive along the way.

Feeling burdened now, he decided to stop by the school's convenience store and the vending machines adjacent to it, intending to soothe his thoughts with a good drink. Kirumi's stock earlier had run out when Class 77-B's Akane Owari drained ten bottles of sports drinks for herself during her fierce training session with her classmate and self-proclaimed coach, Nekomaru Nidai. It was a sight that Ryoma would not soon forget given the ferocity and sheer palpable intensity of the two's loud and boisterous dynamic, and he found himself envying their enthusiasm and determination from afar. After their own training session, Kirumi had expressed her intention to procure another drink for him, but Ryoma waved her off so that she could attend to her duties with Class 78 posthaste.

Once he had chosen a specific drink, he reached into his duffel bag to see if he had brought any spare change. However, as he rummaged through the bag's pockets, he soon saw that he had run out of the correct denominations for the vending machines. Disappointed even more now, he turned away with the intention of going somewhere else instead when he almost collided with someone standing right behind him.

He grunted, taking a step backwards before he could walk straight into the person's legs. He looked up and saw that he was a Reserve Course student, judging from the black uniform he was wearing, with spiky brown hair and green eyes that reminded him vaguely of Kirumi. He looked down at Ryoma with a surprised expression.

"Sorry about that," Ryoma said quietly. "I should've watched where I was going there."

"That's okay," said the boy, whose shadow loomed over him like everyone else's. Ryoma stepped aside to let him pass. The boy went forward, but looked back at him as he stopped in front of the vending machines.

"Aren't you going to get anything?" he asked Ryoma, who looked up at him again.

"Don't have the right coins for it," he said in reply. "I've only got a few bills with me."

"Oh, I can help you break them if you want," the boy offered. "I've got a bit of spare change right here."

Ryoma raised his eyebrows. "Is that okay with you?"

"Yes, of course," said the boy with a smile. "What do you need?"

Surprised at the boy's readiness to help him, Ryoma checked his duffel bag's pockets again rather reluctantly. "I've got a two hundred yen bill here," he said. "I need a hundred and twenty in coins if I'm gonna get a drink."

The boy rummaged in his own pockets for a moment, taking out a small fistful of coins and counting them in the vending machines' light. "Perfect," he said after a short while. "I've got a hundred here, and I can swap the other hundred for five twenties."

"Yeah, that'll do nicely."

After swapping denominations, Ryoma stood aside to let the boy go first as his way of showing his thanks. The boy was finished in under a minute, bearing with him two bottles of chocolate soy milk and pocketing one of them. As he stepped forward now to get the grape soda that he had wanted to buy, Ryoma looked back at the boy over his shoulder.

"Thanks for that," he muttered as the can of soda fell to the vending machine's pickup slot with a clatter. "It's kinda surprising that you'd help out a total stranger."

"It's nothing," said the boy, smiling again. "And to be honest, well, you're not exactly a total stranger to me and a lot of people. You're Ryoma Hoshi, right? The tennis champion?"

Ryoma nodded curtly. "Former," he corrected, opening the soda can and taking a refreshing sip. "It's been a long time since I competed. You know that."

"Ah, yes, of course," said the boy. "Oh, I should introduce myself before I forget again. My name is Hajime Hinata."

He held out his hand, which Ryoma shook briefly. "So you're from the Reserve Course?" he asked him.

"Yes," Hajime replied. "It's my first year here."

"Sounds nice," said Ryoma. "It's the first time I talked to anyone from your batch."

"Same. I mean, there's this one Ultimate student that I'm friends with, and I do get to talk to her classmates as well, but you're probably the first one I've talked to that's not part of her class. I've seen you a few times around the school grounds and near the gym, and I have to admit, I've always wanted to talk to you."

"About tennis, I presume?"

"Well, yes." Hajime seemed relieved at the fact that Ryoma was responding rather openly to him. "My friends and I used to watch your matches back in middle school. Some of them even started playing tennis because of you."

Ryoma nodded again, though privately he did not know what to feel. That he had inspired many young people like him for being such a good tennis player back then had always felt normal, like it was a given, but after his fall from grace and the harsh lessons it brought him, he found himself wondering if those young men and women who had looked up to him as fans of the sport still felt the same way. Looking up at Hajime, he could sense that he was part of those who still remembered him as an athlete instead of a criminal.

"Those days are long gone, though," he told Hajime. "I just hope your friends don't make the same mistakes I did. Then again, I doubt anyone would create a blunder as big as throwing their entire life away."

Taken aback by his sudden grimness, Hajime looked unsure as to what to say. Gazing up at him again, Ryoma decided to take some of the weight away from his words before Hajime could think that his momentary melancholy was somehow his fault. "Either way, I still ended up here in spite of that, so that's gotta mean something, right?" he went on. "And if I want to keep staying here as a student like the rest of you, I've got to start doing something about it."

"Ah, yes," said Hajime, his anxious reluctance gradually being dispelled at Ryoma's change of tack. "To tell you the truth, I've also been telling myself something like that after I managed to enroll here. It's tough, and it's bound to get even harder from here, but I knew that getting here in the first place was a good sign—that I should do my best to make sure I can keep going and reach my dreams."

"It's admirable of you to see it like that," Ryoma acknowledged. "Whatever the case, I hope things go well for you and other students like you."

"Thank you," said Hajime. "I hope that the same goes for you too."

"We'll see," Ryoma told him. "Anyway, don't you have somewhere to go?"

"Oh, right, I should be getting back to my friends now," said Hajime, glancing down at the corridor to his right for a moment. He looked back at him and smiled cordially. "Thanks for your time, by the way. It was nice talking to you."

"Likewise," said Ryoma, tipping his beanie at him.

When he had gotten back to his dorm room around twenty minutes later, Ryoma stretched his strained arms briefly, relishing in silence the fruits of today's workouts. He deposited his duffel bag next to his bed, wondering what to eat for dinner later. Ever since he had chosen to rejoin the class regularly, Kirumi had invited him to join them for dinner every evening in the cafeteria, a prospect echoed by Rantaro, Kaede and Shuichi, though Ryoma knew that such a prospect would take some getting used to before he could actually take them up on the offer. For now, as he gradually climbed back up the rungs and out of his physical and mental lethargy, he was content with taking it slow and steady.

But of course, such a meager pace seemed contradictory to what he should be doing to prepare for September's ominous shadow, looming slowly and inexorably towards them all. Ryoma remained at the foot of his bed, and as he dwelt on September's coming difficulties, he began to feel the lethargy returning in his countenance like perpetual malaise, the anxiety and depression threatening to take hold of him and dampen his spirits for the rest of the evening. It was a tiresome, sickening feeling, the same kind he always felt when he was forced to relive his memories of tennis in front of people who did not know the harsher, darker side to his story.

But he also remembered his efforts, his changing thoughts—and Isabella too. The ache in his muscles chased away the cold feeling running down his spine, just as his brief conversation with Hajime seemed to give him purpose similar to what Kirumi inspired in him through her efforts. He channeled the thoughts and sensations in silence until nothing remained of the momentary heaviness he felt—nothing except the telltale sensation of that cold metal ball against his palm and fingertips.

With a grunt, he stood up and walked over to the only corner of his room that he had not yet approached.

The tennis bag was still there, lying on the floor in the same position it had landed in when Ryoma threw it there during his first day at Hope's Peak. He stared down at it for a few moments, flexing his fingers slowly. With a resigned sigh, he bent down and picked it up from the floor, patting it clean as he walked back to his bed. He placed the bag there and, with a hint of reluctance, opened it.

He drew in a small, sharp breath. Befitting Hope's Peak Academy's standards and its all-out way of tending to the Ultimates' needs, the three tennis rackets inside the bag were of superb quality indeed, with a name brand that Ryoma immediately recognized as a regular sponsor in prestigious tennis matches and tournaments across the globe. Gingerly, he reached in and took one out from the bag, gripping it as a warrior would grip a blade, a warrior who was only starting to regain the feel of a weapon after years of abstinence from combat. He adjusted his hand around it, acknowledging the feel of its rubber-gripped handle, observing the quality of its strings. For a fleeting moment, he remembered the last time he had ever gripped a tennis racket, and he closed his eyes briefly as a spasm of pain and sorrow overtook him.

When he looked down, that was when he saw what else was in the bag: two cans of tennis balls, which were just as high-quality as the racket that accompanied them. Feeling drawn to them, Ryoma placed the racket down on the bed, reached out towards one can, peeled its lid off and took out one ball from it. Almost immediately, as he curled his fingers around it, he remembered the metallic ball that kept haunting his thoughts. He expected another hurt-filled sting to course through him, brought by his darkest memories as always, but the tennis ball's coarse, warm feel seemed to blot out the phantom sensation of metal in his mind.

For a long moment, he could only stare, adjusting to the tennis ball's sight and feel. As if to try something else, he picked up the racket from the bed once more, positioned it against the ball, and began dribbling. It was slow-going at first, tentative, as if he was gauging the feel and force of his moves, while the ball tapped dully against the floor of his room. And then, the pace slowly picked up, gradually, inevitably, the sound rising into a steady cadence of tapping and thudding as the ball collided with the floor over and over. And as Ryoma was swept up with familiar instinct, he was almost overcome with the urge to smash the ball forward in a serve. But instead, he settled for one last dribble, striking the ball down to the floor with a last burst of force before catching it deftly in a sweeping motion with his right hand.

Just like that, the intensity ebbed away. Ryoma stood there for a long moment, savoring the feel of the familiar exercise, and he turned to see his reflection in the nearby mirror. Briefly, he was seized by a sudden impulse to laugh, to give in to some self-deprecating mirth at how comical he must have looked dribbling the ball like it was nobody's business. But even as he stared at himself in the mirror, the tiny convict in prison clothes clutching a tennis ball and a racket for the first time in years, he saw understanding and even solidarity in his reflection.

September, he mused with a nod.

A/N: FINALLY. TAKE THAT, WRITER'S BLOCK.

But for real, I'm glad that I managed to find that last burst of inspiration to turn in this chapter at long last. I hope it'll be worth the read for you guys. Usually, I take one week off from writing after an upload as a sort of break before I get back into the next chapter with two weeks' worth of planning and writing, with a week or two of writer's block just sauntering in between like it's nobody's business. Hopefully that gives you an idea on how my writing process works, and why there are delays like this. Nonetheless, no matter how tough it becomes, rest assured that new chapters will come out one way or another.

Anyways, I'll see you in the next chapter. Take care, stay safe!