Chapter One
Six years had passed.
Six years since Ryoma Echizen left Japan behind—along with the familiar halls of Seigaku, the lingering scent of cherry blossoms, and everything he didn't have the courage—or interest—to confront.
In that time, he had become a legend.
A world-renowned tennis player, and completely unstoppable. His name uttered with reverence in locker rooms, cheered in sold-out stadiums, and headlined across sports networks. He had lifted trophies, traveled the world, and won matches most players only dreamed of. Every step he took had been toward one goal:
To be number one.
And he was almost there.
Now, with a rare break in his schedule, Ryoma had returned to Japan—not for long, just a brief visit. No press, and no interviews. He planned to check in on Coach Ryuzaki, maybe visit his former Seigaku teammates, and sneak in a bowl of sushi from Kawamura senpai's restaurant.
He didn't think anyone would notice.
He should've known better.
The second he stepped out of the car near his old school, he heard the scream. Then another. It was quickly followed by the unmistakable shuffle of camera phones and frantic footsteps.
"There he is!"
"Echizen-sama! Just one picture!"
"Over here! Ryoma-sama!"
So here he was—sprinting down a narrow street in Tokyo, ducking between vending machines and garbage bins, being chased by a crowd of fangirls like prey.
"How the hell—" he huffed, narrowly avoiding a cyclist, "—do they always find me?"
He darted left, then right, sweat clinging to his collar. His heart pounded, lungs burning. He could dodge serves at 200 km/h, but this? This was insanity.
Turning sharply into a smaller side street, he collided—hard—into someone.
The impact knocked the stranger off balance, and the person let out a soft gasp. He didn't think. He just reacted.
He grabbed the person's wrist and yanked them behind a row of thick hedges, crouching low. His hand instinctively covered their mouth as he pressed them both into the shadows.
Footsteps pounded past, accompanied by screeching voices—high and eager.
"Where'd he go?!"
"He was just here!"
"Find him—he can't be far!"
Ryoma held his breath until the last heel-click faded down the block.
Only then did he pull back.
"Sorry," he muttered, brushing leaves from his sleeve. "Didn't mean to grab you like that—just trying to survive."
He looked up—and froze.
Soft, delicate features. Long auburn hair cascading past her shoulders. A quiet calm in her expression. Even without her signature pigtails, he would recognize her anywhere.
"Sak—Ryuzaki?"
The girl turned toward his voice slowly. Her eyes—those warm, brown eyes—didn't land on him. They drifted slightly off, not seeing but searching.
Then she tilted her head slightly. "Ano… do I know you?"
Ryoma blinked.
Her voice was soft and polite. But there was no hint of recognition. No surprise. Not even a tremor of familiarity.
But that wasn't what left Ryoma frozen on the spot, an icy chill spreading through his body. It was her eyes. He couldn't look away from them. Her once sparkling auburn eyes, always filled with giddiness and life, were… blank now. Sightless.
His gaze dropped—swept over her carefully. And then he saw it:
The thin white cane looped loosely around her wrist. The way her fingers brushed the fabric of her coat for orientation. The way her head subtly angled toward the sound of his breathing.
He couldn't deny it any longer. All the evidence was slapping him directly in the face.
Ryuzaki Sakuno was blind.
And she seemed unable to recall even his voice. In the past, she would immediately recognize him—wherever and whenever—and even his whispers.
Ryoma's throat tightened. For a long, stretched second, he couldn't move. Couldn't think. His heartbeat roared in his ears.
She was standing right in front of him—the girl who used to wait for him after tennis practice, who made him lunch every day for two years. The girl he had asked out on a whim.
And she looked right through him.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
He knew he had made a mistake back then. He knew he was a selfish, pompous brat. The day he asked her out, he had done it without feelings. It was a stupid thing—something his senpai teased him about endlessly after they noticed the way she looked at him. He figured that asking Ryuzaki out would also help push away the fangirls once they heard he had a girlfriend. It all became convenient for him.
So he asked her out.
And she said yes—with tears in her eyes, no less.
Ryoma hadn't thought much of it. He treated her the same as always. They walked to school together, she waited after practice, they had lunch. It was quiet, easy, and routine. He didn't put much into it. But she never complained.
He thought it was enough.
Then high school ended—and his world opened.
His goal had always been tennis. To be the best of the best and finally defeat his old man.
And then came the opportunity: a full sponsorship, international travel, and elite coaching. Everything he needed to take the next step. The only catch?
He had to date Alexandra Jones.
Her family offered to cover every cost—every tournament, every flight. All he had to do was publicly date her—for the publicity, and for the brand.
He agreed without hesitation.
He didn't even give Sakuno an explanation. Just ended things and walked away.
At the time, it didn't feel cruel. It felt like moving forward.
Now, watching her brush the hair from her face, her sightless eyes staring somewhere over his shoulder—
He felt regret and fear begin to consume him.
What had happened to Ryuzaki Sakuno after they broke up? Why did she become like… this?
"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, sensing the silence. "I didn't mean to be in your way."
She stood, brushing off her coat. The white cane dropped from her wrist to her hand with practiced ease.
"I hope you're alright," she added with a small bow. "Please take care."
Then she turned and walked away.
Ryoma didn't stop her. He didn't even try to call out her name again.
He just stood there, rooted in the hedges like a ghost, watching her disappear again—quietly and unknowingly.
To be Continued…