Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ If Wishes Were Horses ❯ Chapter Two ( Chapter 2 )

AN: Wow. I’ve never been called a Golden God before...

Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! I’m glad that someone likes my story. Chapter one was only an introductory chapter; I’ll be going into a lot more detail about background in this one. You’ll get to learn the story of how all of this happened.

Dedication: This story was inspired by chapter 48 of expendable’s Changechildren.

Warnings: Angst, child abuse, psychological abuse, attempted suicide, OOC. Nothing too bad other than the psychological abuse.

Standard Disclaimer: Sugarpony does not own Tennis no Ohjisama. It belongs to the brilliant Takeshi Konomi. No copyright infringement is intended.

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If Wishes Were Horses

Chapter Two

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One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver,
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret
Never to be told.

-“One for Sorrow,” a Mother Goose nursery rhyme

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One for sorrow...

---

The first time his mother hit him was a year after they had returned to America.

Ryoma walked into the kitchen, tired and sweaty from a match with his father. Rinko was at the counter, chopping vegetables in order to make a salad to be eaten with dinner. The young tennis champion crossed the room to the refrigerator and pulled open the door, looking inside for something to quench his thirst. After several moments, he decided on a grape soda and pulled the tab on the can as he let the door fall shut. Rinko gave her son a disapproving stare. “Ryoma, no sugary drinks before dinner.”

Her son ignored her, grumbling under his breath. “Stupid America,” he muttered. “Dumb country doesn’t have Ponta.”

“Ryoma.” His mother paused at her cutting board, turning to the young teenager. “Are you listening to me? I said no sugary drinks before dinner, so put that away.”

Still, the boy did nothing more than stand in the doorway and give a short “Yadda.”

Suddenly, the woman strode across the floor and slapped her son across the face. Ryoma dropped his drink in shock, brought a hand to touch his stinging cheek, and stared at his mother. Her face was frustrated and very angry. He suddenly realized that, in his post-game sulking, he had not remembered the fact that Rinko only made salad when she had had a particularly tiring day and was best left alone on these occasions. He tugged his hat over his face, softly whispering, “Gomen (Sorry).”

The woman returned to her chopping, apparently somewhat calmer. “Clean up this mess,” she snapped, and her son hurried to obey her orders.

Ryoma never had sugar before dinner again.

---

Ryoma lie awake in bed, absent-mindedly petting Karupin. His father had brought breakfast into his room an hour ago as he pretended to sleep, but he had yet to touch it. His mind was full of thoughts of the previous night. He was used to it, he supposed, his mother’s actions. And yet... every time she hit him, a little more of his heart was torn away. He had tried to be a good son, he truly had, but he supposed that it hadn’t been enough. Maybe something’s wrong with me, he thought. Maybe that’s why nothing I do is ever good enough. I’m not even good enough at tennis...

It was true, too. He was a champion, yes, but he still had a lot to achieve. His father had forever given up professional tennis in order to train him, but Ryoma was still unable to defeat his teacher. He had activated the Teni Muhou no Kiwami (Pinnacle of Perfection), but it had no where near the power that Echizen Nanjirou’s did. He had been learning tennis since before he was able to properly hold a racquet, but he still struggled to win a single game against his father. Perhaps Nanjirou knew that his son would never match his level of play. Perhaps this was why, despite teaching him how to play the game, Nanjirou never taught Ryoma any of his specialty tricks. Everything he knew about Nitoryu and the Twist Serve Ryoma had learned by mimicking his father. He had yet to master these, let alone to begin to understand how to perform the Echizen Zone. Nanjirou had left his tennis days behind him only to be failed by his son.

I’ll always be mada mada dane... (not there yet)

Ryoma glanced at the glaring numbers on his clock which read ten thirty before moving to his desk and resolutely writing a letter.

---

...Two for joy...

---

Echizen Ryoma had been overjoyed the first time he scored a game off of his father.

It was a chilly day in November, not quite cold enough for snow, but the Samurai had been bored and challenged his son to a tennis match, who had eagerly accepted, having been equally as bored himself. The Nanjirou Zone was already in affect, and both players had activated the Teni Muhou no Kiwami (Nanjirou, once learning of his son’s ability, had become increasingly serious when the two played one another). Growing bored of chasing the ball around the court while his father stood in one spot, Ryoma had used his newly perfected Snake Shot, courtesy of Kaidoh Kaoru. Nanjirou, who had never seen his son use this ability, was promptly thrown off balance, believing that his son had finally defeated the Zone, only to be amazed when it zoomed to where he had been standing seconds later. Far from becoming discouraged by this turn of events, however, Nanjirou simply smirked at his son and finished the match six games to one in less than five minutes. Ryoma, though, was ecstatic, and he strut around the house with a smirk on his face for the remainder of the day.

His good mood rapidly deflated when his mother arrived home.

Rinko stormed into the house at seven o’ clock that evening like she had been in all-day a conference with the devil himself. She threw her purse to the floor, hurled her keys at the wall, and began her tirade. “We lost another client today,” she yelled, face alight with fury, “and do you know what those idiots are doing? They’re trying to blame me for everything! They say that our clients keep leaving because of my poor abilities! Those jerks just don’t want to admit that it’s their fault for insulting the clients!”

It was at this point that Ryoma walked down the stairs into the room, smirk still upon his face. Rinko glared at him and demanded, “What are you so proud of, young man?”

Her son’s smirk became a hint of a smile, and he happily told her, “I scored a game off of Oyaji (the old man) in our match today.”

Whatever form of pride in her son Ryoma was expecting never came. Instead, his mother positively growled at him, her glare increasing. “I don’t care if you score a hundred games from anata! Compared to him, you’ll always be mada mada daze (not good enough)!”

Rinko stormed away, and Ryoma’s smile disappeared.

---

Echizen Nanjirou entered his son’s bedroom carrying a lunch tray, eyes tired from a long, sleepless night, only to be greeted by a furiously meowing Karupin and an empty bed. The covers were neatly folded, and on top of the pillow was a piece of paper. His heart clenched as if under the pressure of a vice, and he read.

Echizen-sama,

I’m sorry for having caused you so much trouble. I truly respect you with all my heart,
and it is for this reason that I have decided to leave. Please go to Echizen-san and be with
her. You never need to think of me again. Thank you for teaching me tennis, giving me
a good home, and allowing me to use your name. I’m sorry that I was unable to live up to
your expectations.

-Echizen Ryoma

Nanjirou fell to his knees, and his heart broke.

---

...Three for a girl...

---

On Ryoma’s fourteenth birthday, Nanjirou had taken his son to meet one of his friends from his professional days. He was treated to a rare gift, a tennis match between Samurai Echizen and an equally talented player. He had watched his father’s professional tennis matches many times over, but one must admit that there was a certain thrill in seeing something firsthand that cannot be found in replaying a videotape. The two returned home that evening after eating dinner at the only Japanese restaurant for miles around.

Once Nanjirou retired for the night, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, Rinko presented her gift to Ryoma. “I hope you’re happy,” she told him, “because your Otousan chose to spend the day with you today and left me to find you a present for tomorrow. (1) Don’t expect much, because you’re spoiled enough without my help.”

The next morning, Ryoma received a framed picture of the Seishun Gakuen tennis club. Tucked between the photograph and the inside of the frame was a short note in tidy English.

They must not know how ungrateful you are.

---

Kaidoh Kaoru and Momoshiro Takeshi walked together to Ryuuzaki-sensei’s office. With Ryoma’s return to Seigaku, their coach had transferred from Seishun Gakuen (Seighun Jr. High) to Seigaku Koto Gakkou (Seishun High School), and the two now argued back and forth about what they possibly could have done to get on her bad side that would be worth calling them out of class. They would have continued their fight until they reached their destination had they not been interrupted by the appearance of Oishi Syuichirou and Kikumaru Eiji.

“Nya! Ne (Hey), Oishi,” the catlike player called, “it’s Momo-chan and Kaidoh-kun! Do you think Ryuuzaki-sensei called for them, too?”

The mother hen of Seigaku rubbed the back of his head in response. “Aa (Yeah),” he said. “She probably wants to speak to all of the regulars about something.”

Eiji pumped his fists, ever the eager one. “Hoi, hoi! I wonder if it’s about a new competition!”

“Saa, I doubt it. If it was, she would have just told us during practice, as always.”

The acrobat jumped over a foot off of the ground, startled by the new voice. “Ne, Fujiko,” he said, frowning at the smiling face, “don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Fuji Syuusuke, the mysterious, sadistic tensai (tennis genius), joined the group along with Tezuka Kunimitsu, the tennis club captain. Not far behind them were the final two senpai, Kawamura Takashi and Inui Sadaharu. The stoic captain moved them along, reprimanding them for loitering in the halls. “Let’s go,” he said. “Ryuuzaki-sensei (Coach Ryuuzaki) is waiting for us.”

None of them were prepared for what awaited them inside the office.

A monk dressed in black whom the tennis team recognized as Echizen Nanjirou was pacing restlessly across the floor. Ryuuzaki Sumire sat behind her desk, her face wrinkled in worry. As the regulars entered the room, Nanjirou paused in his pacing and looked up. “Finally! Can we please go now?”

Eiji, ever the curious one, inquired about his words. “Go? Where are we going, sensei (teacher)?”

Ryuuzaki gave her students a serious stare before releasing a long, suffering sigh. “Ryoma ran away this morning. We need your help in looking for him.”

The room elapsed into silence before exploding with noise. Each of the boys attempted to speak at once.

“UNYA? Ochibi (Kiddo)’s gone?”

“Echizen’s missing? But it’s dangerous to be on your own in the city! He could get hurt!”

“Nani (What)? But he seemed fine when I saw him last night...”

“Why would Echizen run away?”

“Fshuu!”

“Saa, this is troubling...”

“What could Echizen be thinking?”

“There is no data indicating what could have caused this turn in events.”

“ENOUGH!”

At their coach’s shout, all eight of them quieted. Ryuuzaki stood, walked around her desk, and turned to each of her students. Every face was fixed with fear for their kouhai, their friend, their Ochibi. “That’s not important at the moment,” she began. When she saw that the boys were about to speak once more, she continued. “What is important is finding Ryoma before something happens to him. Inui,” she turned to the data tennis player, “do you know of any places he might go to?”

Inui hastily adjusted his glasses and pulled out his infamous green notebook. He flipped through the pages, barely giving any of them a second glance, before coming to a halt near the middle of the book. “There is a ten percent chance that Echizen will have already left town. Forty-eight percent chance that he will have first visited the street courts, thirty-two percent chance that he will have visited Kato-san’s tennis club, twenty-seven percent he will have stopped at the burger place, twenty-two percent the sports shop, fifteen percent the pet store, and thirteen percent the footbridge. Sixty-three percent chance that he will have left something for us at Kawamura Sushi. However, the data is inconclusive because motivation for leaving is unknown.”

The woman nodded at this information, glad to at least have a few leads to the whereabouts of her star rookie. “Good. We’ll split up; you all have been excused from classes for the rest of the day. Tezuka, Fuji, you two check the street courts. Kikumaru, Oishi, check the tennis club. Inui, Kaidoh, take the sports shop. Momoshiro, Kawamura, the burger place. Nanjirou and I will go ahead to Kawamura Sushi; everyone meet us there when you’re finished regardless of whether or not you’ve found him yet.”

“Hai (Yes)!”

Not a single face was smiling as they began their search, and Fuji’s electric blue eyes were wide open.

---

...Four for a boy...

---

One evening, Ryoma and Rinko were sitting at the dinner table. Nanjirou had been dragged to a bar by one of his friends and gotten himself completely smashed earlier that afternoon, and he was currently passed out in his and his wife’s bedroom. They ate in relative silence, each one keeping to him or herself. The boy was afraid to say anything that might anger his mother, for she had been exceptionally tense and easily frustrated with him for several weeks. Finally, when he could no longer stand the stifling quiet, Ryoma spoke. “Western food again? Why don’t we ever have Eastern?”

Before he could move, the table had been upended. His mother stood fuming over him. Slowly, deliberately, she strode to his side and bent down to his level where he lay on the floor, covered in food. “If you don’t like the food that I cook,” she yelled, not moving an inch to help her son, “then don’t eat here! I don’t ever want to hear you complain again, you ungrateful little brat! You’re worthless, and you don’t deserve everything we graciously give you! I wish you were never born, you little shit!” With no more words, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.

---

Nanjirou raced into Kawamura Sushi like a bat out of hell, Ryuuzaki on his heels. He rushed the bar, shoving away anyone unfortunate enough to be in his path, and practically jumped over the counter to reach the poor, startled man behind it. “Tell me,” he asked, a frantic expression on his face, “did a boy come in here at all today? He has green hair, gold eyes, usually wears a Fila cap, and may have left something for the Seigaku tennis regulars.”

Raising his hands to placate the worried father, the bartender calmly answered him. “Aa, a kid left a package for Seigaku a little bit ago.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a box from a local clothing store, gesturing to the red-haired woman. “You’re Ryuuzaki-sensei, the coach, ne (right)?” She quickly nodded her assent, and she wasted no time in opening the box when the man handed it to her. As she gazed at its contents, however, she was forced to pause and stare in shock.

Inside, neatly folded, was Ryoma’s regular jacket. Nanjirou joined his former coach, stunned, as she lifted the blue and white jacket from the box. “Nanjirou,” she said, “Ryoma... He would never quit tennis...” The monk said nothing. There was nothing that he could say. After all, what is there to say when a man’s only son runs away from home, leaving behind everything important to him? Gently, he took the jacket from Ryuuzaki and held it up in all its glory. Despite all the times his son had worn it, he himself had never seen it on Ryoma. The closest he had ever come was glancing at the framed picture of the Seigaku tennis club which, having once stood in a place of pride on Ryoma’s bedside table, now lie inside of the box in Ryuuzaki’s hands. He had never attended any of the boy’s practices or matches, not wanting to steal the attention away from the court because some nosy reporter recognized him. Now, he truly regretted this with all of his heart as he brought the jacket to his chest in a tight hug.

He was brought out of his reverie, however, by the older woman’s exclamation. Tucked underneath the precious picture fame, barely visible, was a small, neatly folded piece of paper. Hands shaking, Nanjirou lain down the jacket, picked up the note, and read.

---

...Five for silver...

---

Ryoma lie in bed, pillow held firmly over his ears, trying to black out the sounds of his parents’ fighting. When the boy had returned from tennis practice that afternoon, his mother had been waiting for him, a look of fury upon her face. Without a word, she had slapped him, well-manicured fingernails raking across his face and leaving long, thin cuts. “You idiot,” she had screamed. “Don’t you know anything?”

Ryoma had looked up at her with hurt golden eyes, confused. “I don’t understand,” he had said. “What did I do?”

He had been answered with another harsh slap to the face. “Don’t pretend you don’t know!” She had balled both of her hands into fists, barely controlling her anger. “Your teacher called home today,” she had said in a forced calmness. “You failed your history test, Ryoma.”

The boy had turned his gaze to the floor, shame evident upon his face. “Gomen nasai,” he had whispered. “I really did try! I studied all week!”

His protests had been cut off abruptly by his mother’s voice and a fist in his stomach. “Liar!” She had begun to hit him continually, kicking him when he fell to the floor. “Do! Not! Lie! To! Me,” she had yelled, accentuating each word with a sharp kick to the chest. Ryoma had curled upon himself into a fetal position, vainly attempting to protect himself as his mother continued her onslaught, striking out at any part of him she could reach. Then, suddenly, without any warning, it had stopped. Slowly, cautiously, Ryoma had unfolded himself to see his father holding Rinko tightly.

“What,” he had asked, his voice shaking with barely concealed rage, “are you doing?”

The woman had tugged at her arm, trying to free herself from her husband’s grip, casually saying, “Teaching our son a lesson.”

Nanjirou had then narrowed his eyes at his wife, sharply pulling her towards their bedroom, growling, “We need to talk.”

It was now two hours later. Ryoma had dragged himself up the stairs and to his bedroom after cleaning his wounds, collapsing on his bed. His parents had been yelling at one another constantly, and although their words were muffled by the walls, he knew exactly about what they were arguing.

This is all my fault, he thought. All my fault...

---

Half an hour passed before the eight boys entered Kawamura Sushi, all looking sufficiently worried. They sat around a large table, a platter of sushi lain out in front of them. No one moved to touch it, not even Momoshiro. Nanjirou was ignoring everyone and everything around him, having grown more and more depressed each time a pair walked in empty-handed. He held Ryoma’s jacket to his chest, clinging to it like a lifeline, looking for all the world as if he would like nothing more than to be swallowed by the earth. None of the regulars had the heart to disturb him in order to ask him where the jacket had come from.

Finally, after several minutes of tense silence while each person was sipping at some tea, Ryuuzaki spoke. “All right,” she said, “none of you found him. Did anyone learn anything, though?”

Tezuka, ever the cool, calm, and collected captain, began. “Fuji and I found nothing at the street courts. However, we did run into a man who said he had seen a boy matching Echizen’s description.” At these words the entire table seemed to become brighter, but it once again dimmed as Tezuka finished. “He said that he was standing on the other side of the fence during one of his games, watching him play. He appeared to be sad, he said, and did not have a racquet with him.”

“Kato-san said that he passed by the tennis club earlier,” Oishi informed. He looked troubled, and Kikumaru continued for him.

“He said that he called out to him, but he kept walking as if he didn’t hear him, nya.” The carrot top was decidedly downcast, and his trademark “Nya” held no enthusiasm. He took Oishi’s hand in his, both seeking comfort from the boy and giving some to him in return.

“There was no sign of him in the sports shop,” Inui informed. Kaidoh hissed in worried agreement.

“Nothing at the burger place, either,” Momoshiro said. “He hasn’t been seen in that part of town all day.”

Kawamura asked the question to which the answer they were all eager to hear. “Did Echizen leave anything for us here?”

Ryuuzaki sighed, her gaze lowered. “Aa,” she said, nodding. “He left his jacket, as you can see,” she gestured to Nanjirou, “and this picture.”

The woman placed the photograph at which she had been staring sadly until the others had arrived in the middle of the table, and it was slowly passed around to each of the young boys. They each looked fondly at it, and Kikumaru burst into tears when it reached him. Fuji held it, gently tracing Ryoma’s annoyed features. He could remember that day clearly. At the end of practice, Ryoma had announced his return to America for the US Open. Ever the photographer, Fuji himself had suggested they take a picture so that he would have something by which to remember the other regulars. The boy had been adamant about not having his picture taken, and Momoshiro had needed to hold him in a headlock for him to stay still long enough for Ryuuzaki-sensei to take the picture. Fuji wished he could have done it himself, but he had felt that he needed to be in front of the camera instead of behind it this one time before Ryoma left. Looking up at his coach, he asked, “Is this it?”

Hesitantly, she shook her head and pulled a folded piece of paper from her coat pocket. “It’s addressed to all of you,” she said, and as she handed it to Tezuka, Fuji realized that she had never looked her age more than she did at that moment. The kid-captain opened the note, cleared his throat, and began to read.

“Senpai-tachi,

By the time you read this letter I will be long gone. I do not plan to ever return. As such, I
feel that I must give to you my final words.

Kawamura-senpai, I apologize for taking advantage of you while running laps.

Oishi-fukubuchou (Co-Captain Oishi), I’m sorry for worrying you all the time.

Kikumaru-senpai, I’m sorry that I was always rude to you when you have been nothing
but kind to me.

Inui-senpai, thank you for your help in improving my tennis. Regretfully, your work was
all for naught.

Momoshiro-senpai, thank you for being my first real friend despite my arrogance and
attitude.

Kaidoh-senpai, I ask you to please take care of Karupin for me. I know that you like him
despite how you try to hide it.

Fuji-senpai, I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger.

Tezuka-buchou--” Here, his voice faltered, although no one noticed it. “--I’m sorry
that I disappointed you. I cannot be Seigaku’s pillar of support, for it seems that I am
unable to support even myself.

Thank all of you for being kind to me and treating me like a good friend. I’m sorry that I
let you all down.

-Echizen Ryoma”

There was complete silence around the table once Tezuka finished reading. They all sat, listening to the conversations and clatter of dishes around them, wanting to think about anything but the depressing note. What he had written... No one wanted to believe what it implied.

“Ochibi--” Eiji’s voice broke off, and he stopped to clear his throat. “Ochibi thinks he failed us?”

Stunned, confused, no one spoke. Slowly, their minds began to focus. Oishi was the next to break the quiet. “Echizen... How could we not have noticed? We’re a terrible senpai-tachi! We’re supposed to watch out for our kouhai (underclassman)!”

“Why would Echizen ever think that,” Momoshiro asked. “What did we do to make him feel that way?”

Inui crossed his arms, notebook nowhere in sight. “I have no idea. There is no data that suggests that any of this is possible.” The others looked up, disconcerted. After all, if Inui didn’t know what to do, who did?

Finally, Ryuuzaki stood. “That’s enough,” she said. “We need to stop dwelling on the past and think about the present. Now, there are still two places we haven’t checked. Inui, Kawamura, and Kaidoh, you’re coming to the pet shop with me.” The three nodded determinedly. “Oishi, you, Kikumaru, and Momoshiro stay here in case something turns up.” Tearfully, Eiji nodded his assent, and Oishi continued to comfort him. Momoshiro gave a thumbs up. “Tezuka, Fuji, you go with Nanjirou to the footbridge.” Fuji once again became the avenging angel and acknowledged his and Tezuka’s orders. “We’ll meet back here in an hour. That should give us enough time to search the immediate area and follow up on any leads.”

“Hai!”

---

...Six for gold...

---

Ryoma was in his room, packing all of his belongings. Or he was attempting to pack them, at least. Karupin was playing with everything he moved to place in a box or suitcase, doing his very best to gain his owner’s attention. Ryoma sighed. “Karupin,” he said, dislodging the cat’s claws from one of his shirts, “I’ll play with you later. I really need to finish this!” Karupin looked up at him, his tail swaying from side to side, and meowed.

“Nya!”

“You still haven’t finished yet?” Ryoma spun around at the sharp voice, nearly dropping the Himalayan cat. Standing in his doorway, hands on her hips, was Echizen Rinko. “We’re leaving for Japan tomorrow,” she said. “Our family is once again being uprooted and moved to a different continent because of you! The least you could do is act like you actually want this! Or do you not want togo? Because if so, I’m sure your father would have no problem staying here!”

“Yadda! I do want to go! I’m almost finished, Okaasan!”

Ever since the argument between his parents, Rinko had been violent to her son less and less, and never when Nanjirou was home. When she did hit him, she was sure to do nothing extremely damaging or that would leave a visible mark. Despite this, though, Ryoma was unwilling to take any chance of upsetting his mother. The woman narrowed her eyes at her son. “Good,” she said. “You had better be done when I come back, or else...”

The boy sighed as she walked out the door, relieved that he had dodged another bullet, one that could have been damaging to his plans of returning to Seigaku. He had been looking forward to moving back to the place he most considered home ever since his father had mentioned it to him two months ago, and he would be devastated if anything prevented the trip. Hurriedly, he continued to pack his remaining possessions.

Karupin meowed and began to purr, winding through his master’s legs, trying to give him the comfort that he so desperately needed.

---

Ryoma sat on the railing of the footbridge, legs dangling above the busy streets below. This had become his favorite spot in the entire city in the past two months, and he was extremely proud to be able say that even Inui did not know this. He loved to come up here and watch the people below, each person consumed in his or her own worries, and forget about his own problems, even if only for a moment. It was his sanctuary.

He allowed his legs to sway gently in the breeze, wondering when everything had become so complicated. He had been overjoyed when he had finally returned home to find that nothing had changed at Seigaku; Inui was still a data-freak, Tezuka was still strong and dependable, Oishi still worried over everything. He had been pleasantly surprised to find Kawamura still playing tennis. It had seemed as if everything was supposed to be this way, as if he was meant to have one last, happy year with his senpai-tachi before the seniors graduated. Apparently, though, it was not meant to last. He dreaded the return home from school every day, even going as far as staying awake in English class to make the hours stretch. He stayed out with Momoshiro as long as he felt was safe and refused his offers to ride him home. He had grown closer to the regulars in the two short months than he had ever thought was possible; they were his family. So why was it all so wrong?

Ryoma sighed and stared up at the clear blue sky. How he wished that he could be one of the white fluffy clouds, floating along without a care in the world! For the first time in a long while, the boy closed his eyes and allowed himself to fully relax. Nothing mattered anymore. His legs stopped swaying, his grip on the railing loosened, and he was suddenly falling freely through the air.

---

...Seven for a secret...

---

The first day of practice after the regional tournament was tense. When Ryoma had met Momoshiro for their daily bike ride to school, his friend had sputtered in concern. “Echizen,” he exclaimed. “What happened to your eye?” Indeed, his right eye was blackened so that he resembled a panda bear. He had returned home a few minutes later than he should have the previous evening, and his mother had decided that his offense was punishable with a punch to the face. His father had been furious afterwards, and he had not let Ryoma out of his sight for the rest of the evening.

To Momo, he said, “Baka Oyaji (stupid Old Man) hit me with a tennis ball.”

Momoshiro laughed the entire way to school.

Ryoma was extremely annoyed with his friend, and he showed no sympathy when Inui administered his Penal Tea version 3.0 when he was the last to finish their afternoon laps.

Unfortunately, his wound had caught the interest of Fuji even though Momoshiro had blurted the story of the tennis ball to the entire team. Much to the freshman’s dismay, the two were paired together for a practice match, and as they were hitting a rally back and forth, Fuji casually asked, “Ne, Ryoma-chan, what happened to your eye?”

Careful to not falter in the rally, he answered just as casually, “Tennis ball.”

The tensai’s eyes opened for the briefest of moments, and he then replied, “Tennis ball, ne?” Ryoma did not notice him share a concerned look with Tezuka.

After practice Ryoma was the last to leave the club room. Momoshiro had turned down his offer of burgers, for he had scheduled a date with Tachibana Ann that afternoon. He took his time as he changed back into his school uniform. He was tying his shoes when Tezuka entered the room. “Buchou (Captain),” he greeted, surprised; he had thought that everyone else had gone home already. Even the freshmen had finished picking up the balls from the courts. He looked around, noticing Fuji in the doorway. “Fuji-senpai.”

The older boy continued smiling, saying, “Saa, Ryoma-chan, you can call me Syuusuke. After all, we’re friends, ne?”

“Aa,” he said, “Syuusuke-senpai.” The words felt foreign yet comforting on his tongue.

“Ryoma,” Tezuka said, eyes never leaving his kouhai. The boy once again turned his attention to his captain in time to be handed a small jar of ointment. At Ryoma’s questioning look, Tezuka continued. “For your bruise,” he said. “Let me know the next time you’re injured.” Slowly, he nodded, and one crease disappeared from the bespectacled teen’s brow.

Together, the three walked out of the school grounds. As they reached the gate and Ryoma moved to return home, Fuji called out to him. “Ne, Ryoma-chan,” he said, “would you care to get some ice cream with me and Mitsu-kun?”

Surprised at the offer as much as the nickname for the stoic captain, Ryoma nodded. “Aa, arigato (thank you), Syuusuke-senpai.”

“Yadda!” The tensai frowned. “Syuusuke-kun, or just Syuusuke. And call buchou Mitsu-kun, or just Kunimitsu!”

When Tezuka made no move to correct the effeminate boy, he hesitantly nodded. “Aa, Syuusuke, Kunimitsu. Arigato.”

Fuji beamed, and Tezuka’s lips curved upward ever so slightly.

---

Fuji’s heart dropped into his stomach as he saw Ryoma let go of the railing. Without a thought he raced to the edge of the bridge, threw himself over the rail, and wrapped himself around the small boy in a tight hug as Tezuka stopped their decent with one hand on Fuji’s jacket and the other on the rail. Nanjirou hurried to the three boys, and together he and Tezuka pulled them back onto the safety of the bridge.

Fuji let go of the boy as his father rushed forward and gathered him into a hug. He was beyond stunned by what had almost happened. Ryoma... Proud, sweet, lovable little Ryoma... had nearly killed himself. He was their prince, their pride and joy, their baby boy that everyone wanted to protect. It was incomprehensible that something had broken him to such an extent without them knowing. What had happened? How long had he been hurting? And then, Fuji remembered... He remembered the bruises, and he remembered his diminished attitude, and he remembered his shyness, and he realized. Oh, he realized.

The avenging angel’s eyes opened, blazing in righteous fury. Echizen Rinko would pay. She would feel all of the hurt she had inflicted upon their Ryoma-chan a hundred fold. He was at the point of running off to find the woman, of hunting her down like and animal and giving her a slow, painfully drawn-out death when Tezuka placed his hand on his shoulder.

Fuji’s eyes were drawn to the father and son collapsed on the ground, the man sick with sadness, the boy unresisting. He gazed into the haunted, deadened eyes of a boy who desperately needed him, whether he knew it or not, and the avenging angel disappeared. And Fuji locked eyes with Tezuka, and he knew. Before they could punish the woman, before they could seek revenge for the broken boy before them, they needed to help him.

Nanjirou held his son, his everything, afraid that he would disappear. “Why,” he croaked, sobbing, “why did you do that?”

His answer was whispered, but they all heard it, and they all shivered. “So that you could be happy.”

Nanjirou abruptly pulled away from the hug, looking into his son’s expressive eyes. “But I’m already happy, Ryoma!”

“Demo,” he said, confused, “you can’t be with your wife anymore.”

“She’s not my wife,” the man spat, anger dominant in his voice. “Not anymore, at least. She’s not the woman she was when I married her.”

Any doubts Tezuka and Fuji had about their kouhai’s home life evaporated, and they both needed to restrain their emotions and refocus on the situation at hand.

“Don’t you see,” Nanjirou continued, “that you make me happy?”

“Gomen nasai,” he whispered, as if afraid to raise his voice. “Demo... who would want a broken pillar?”

Tezuka gasped sharply. This is my fault, he thought.

Fuji, seeing his captain’s indecisiveness, moved to console the younger boy. He placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Ryoma-chan,” he said, “even a pillar can become overwhelmed. Too much pressure can cause one to crumble, but only if it does not have help.”

Tezuka joined the trio, placing a hand on his other shoulder. “I apologize,” he began, “if I placed too much pressure on you. Please, Ryoma,” he said, allowing his eyes to portray his emotions, “let us be pillars for you. As you support Seigaku, allow us to support you. Everyone needs someone to depend on.”

Ryoma looked at the three men around him, looking into each of their eyes. Fuji had them open for him, and he was able to lose himself in the clear blue pools full of affection and concern. Behind Tezuka’s glasses the young man’s eyes held more emotion than he had ever let show on his face. In his father’s half-lidded eyes, eyes very much like his own, he saw a myriad of feelings-- worry, sorrow, confusion, love, fear. Fear of losing him. Of losing him. He broke eye contact, looking at the pavement below them but not really seeing, heaved a heavy sigh, and nodded.

At that moment they all knew that they had a long, difficult journey together ahead of them, but they knew that at least they would be together.

And at that moment, that was all that mattered.


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...Never to be told.

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AN: And thus it chapter two of If Wishes Were Horses. Fifteen full pages, nearly four times longer than chapter one.

So. Admit it. How many of you thought I had killed Ryoma? Kukuku... I can be so evil! But honestly, I would never kill Ryoma-sama. He’s my favorite character! Of course, that also means that he’s right in the line of fire for major torture...

I hope you’ve all enjoyed the story so far. Please review and let me know what you think.

-Sugarpony

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Story Notes:

(1) Ryoma’s birthday is December 24, Christmas Eve.

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Completed: 4/28/07
Edited: 6/19/07
Second Edit: 10/07/07
Third Edit: 2/09/08
Fourth Edit: 3/21/08
Fifth Edit: 3/25/08