Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ If Wishes Were Horses ❯ Chapter Three ( Chapter 3 )

AN: Kyaa! I am majorly sorry about the huge wait for this chapter! I meant to write it as soon as I finished Rehabilitation, honest! But gee, it took me over a month to even start it... Being bitten by a huge dog can really throw everything off-kilter.

I promise to try my best to keep updating regularly, even if I have to listen to Evanescence twenty-four / seven to get inspired. Their music is just... awesome. Totally perfect for this story, too. I could easily turn this into a songfic with just their stuff. Play it while you read and I can almost guarantee that you’ll be crying if you weren’t already- which, surprisingly enough, was an awful lot of you reviewers. Wow... I’ve never gotten such a huge response to a single chapter before this story. It makes me so happy that I’m making you so sad! ^_^

Anyway. This chapter was just a pain to write. I wrote the first part in one go, then had writer’s block for over a month. Then I wrote about half the chapter in one sitting, and then I had writer’s block AGAIN. Honestly, I had no idea what to write! There were just so many things that I knew had to wait until chapter four... That’s where I’m really going to pick up the pace a bit and shift forward the plot. But gee, it was like pulling teeth trying to come up with ideas for THIS chapter. Kyaa! It took me over TWO WEEKS to write this single chapter!

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

Warnings: Angst, child abuse, psychological abuse, OOC.

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 Three

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Ding, dong, bell,
Pussy's in the well.
Who put her in?
Little Johnny Green.
Who pulled her out?
Little Tommy Stout.
What a naughty boy was that,
To try to drown poor pussy cat,
Who never did him any harm,
And killed the mice in his father's barn.

-“Ding, Dong, Bell,” a Mother Goose nursery rhyme

---

I’m so confused...

Why do they still want me? Why do they care? I’m nothing important, after all. If I was, then she wouldn’t have done that. She wouldn’t have said those things. She wouldn’t have looked at me that way... as if I was something from the depths of hell, something to be hated and controlled.

I shouldn’t even be here. I’m a monster. A thing to be feared and reviled. A horrible creature that brings nothing but chaos and destruction. She said so...

But he says no, I’m not. I’m special, important. I’m something to be loved and cherished. Something that brings peace and happiness to times of despair. But that can’t be true... or else why would she hurt me?

If that was true, she wouldn’t hate me. She’s supposed to love me, but she doesn’t. So there must be something wrong with me, right?

Right?

I never should have been born. That’s what she told me. He says she’s wrong, and I want to believe him, but I can’t. I just can’t!

I try my best, but it’s never good enough. I’m just mada mada daze. I always will be. I know I will be, because she told me so. And she’s never lied. No matter how ugly the truth is, she always tells it. So I know it’s true, because she said it.

He’s lied. He lies all the time. About little, stupid things, mostly, but about big things, too, sometimes. Why should this be any different?

But what about sempai-tachi? Didn’t they say the same as him? They called me precious... They’ve never lied to me before.

People can change, though. I was in America for over two years. Who’s to say that they wouldn’t lie now? That they wouldn’t lie to me? Fuji-sempai’s a sadist, he likes causing other people pain. Couldn’t he just be trying to trick me? Pretending to want me, only to throw me away later and delight in my agony?

But Tezuka-buchou... Tezuka-buchou’s never lied about anything to anyone. He’s too serious for that. He doesn’t say a lot, but he means what he says. Maybe they were telling the truth...

But how could they be? I’m not special, I’m not precious. The only thing I’m good for is tennis, and I can’t even do that right all the time. Could they... Could they have been lying just so I would play for them? So that they would have their rookie ace and go to Nationals again? Could they?

Would they? Would they really do such a thing? I want to believe in them, to believe in who they used to be.

Kawamura-sempai, shy and kind yet brave and confident.

Kaidoh-sempai, imposing but softhearted.

Inui-sempai, terrifying but well-meaning.

Momo-sempai, lighthearted and thickheaded.

Kikumaru-sempai, energetic and over enthusiastic.

Oishi-fukubuchou, mothering everyone he meets.

Fuji-sempai, smiling and sadistic.

Tezuka-buchou, strong and silent.

Are they still how I remember them? Or am I simply fooling myself, giving myself false hope? I want to believe... but I’m too afraid. Have they changed and I was just too preoccupied to not notice it until now, or have they only now realized how horrible I am? Or have they known all along and only pretended to care?

I’m so confused... I don’t know what to think, what to believe... Who do I listen to?... What is the truth?... I want... I need... I need to...

“Aaaaargh!!!”

---

Na njirou held his face in his hands and cringed as his son let out one anguished scream after another. He wanted to cry, but all of his tears had long since been used. At each terrifying sound he felt his chest tighten as his heart was slowly torn apart piece by piece. He wanted to help, to do something, but there was nothing he could do. So instead he simply sat, waiting for the moment he would be needed, when he would finally be able to aid the broken boy and begin to heal his wounded son.

The situation had appeared to be improving when he, Tezuka, and Fuji all held him on the bridge earlier that day, but some time during the trip home, Ryoma had once again fallen into an uncertain, self-loathing depression. He remained silent despite their attempts at cheering him and coaxing him to speak, and he had locked himself in his bedroom as soon as they all had arrived at the Echizen household. Karupin, wounded and confused by his master’s actions, scratched at the door, crying for Ryoma to allow him inside. In reality all three men sitting in the family room wanted nothing more than to do the same, but they knew that before they could begin to comfort him, Ryoma first needed to sort through his bewildered thoughts and emotions and decide what he was feeling.

Finally, when the tormented yells from above grew hoarse and, eventually, silent, Nanjirou abruptly stood and turned toward the kitchen. “I’m going to make some tea,” he said, not facing the boys seated together on the sofa. “We’ll talk when I get back.”

As he busied himself with the kettle, Nanjirou allowed his thoughts to drift to the young men in the next room. Once Ryoma’s presence had vanished, the three tennis players had been left alone with one another. Nanjirou had silently offered them a seat, and not a word had been uttered between them until a few moments ago. He knew, of course, who they were, from Ryoma’s descriptions of the worthy opponents he had faced before they had left Japan after his first year at Seishun Gakuen.

Tezuka Kunimitsu, the former and current buchou of Seigaku’s tennis club, was one of the few who had defeated his son at the sport. Not long after Ryoma had entered Seishun, the stoic teen had challenged him to a matched and removed the cocky boy from his pedestal. He had inspired Ryoma to improve his tennis, not for the sake of beating his father, but for the sake of tennis alone. He was the one person that Ryoma respected more than anyone else. He had helped transform his son into a man.

Fuji Syuusuke, on the other hand, Seigaku’s resident tensai, had never been able to finish a match with Ryoma. Despite this, however, Nanjirou knew much about the teen from his son’s irritated grumbling. Fuji was, he said, “a sadistic, bipolar, annoying freak.” He projected a kind, innocent personality, but those who had ever crossed him could tell tales to make a frown man quiver with fear. He had several quirks, such as a big brother complex, the ability to disarm a person and extract information without his knowing, and a strange liking of both wasabi and Inui Juice, what Nanjirou knew as “the foulest, most inhuman from of torture ever conceived in the deceiving form of a harmless drink.” Ryoma loathed and yet admired him at the same time. He kept a healthy dose of unpredictability in the boy’s life.

From what he himself had observed of the two boys, however, Nanjirou was able to garner the fact that the relationship between them and his son was more than one between teammates or even simple friendship. No, they way they behaved was much more than that. Fuji’s eyes had blazed in righteous fury at the sight of Ryoma being hurt, and he had not allowed the boy to wander from his gaze since then. Tezuka, ever the responsible captain, had reported to the others that Ryoma had been found and was fine for the time being and that they were to return to their classes immediately. He, meanwhile, had insisted on accompanying the father and son home, effectively skipping the rest of his classes, and had said nothing when Fuji also joined them.

When they had crossed paths with three of the others, the tensai had chased them away with his burning expression before they could close the distance between them. The two had worked in tandem, fiercely protecting Ryoma from becoming overwhelmed by their friends’ reckless emotions. Ryoma looked up to and admired them, and they in return cared for him, sheltered him, and helped him to grow.

Nanjirou was thankful beyond words that his son had two such caring, overprotective older brothers.

The tea kettle whistled, signaling that the water was boiling and shaking him from his musings. Nanjirou turned off the heat and poured the water into three mugs of tea leaves, set the mugs on a tray, and headed once more into the sitting room to inform the young men of the recent family business.

---

Once Echizen Sr. had left the room, Fuji took the opportunity to share his thoughts with Tezuka. “Ne, Kunimitsu,” he said, glancing up at the taller boy, “What do you think of all this?”

Tezuka did not move, choosing to remain in his position with his elbows leaning on his knees and his chin resting on his folded hands, the corners of his mouth turned downward in a scowl. He merely sighed and deepened his scowl, giving a thoughtful “Hn.” Fuji took this as a sign to speak his mind.

“Obviously, something is very wrong in the Echizen household. Nanjirou-san seems nice enough, and although Ryoma-chan never speaks highly of him, I doubt that he is the root of the trouble.” No, Nanjirou was far too distraught by the disappearance and subsequent attempted suicide of his son to have caused any trouble for him. Although earlier that day had been the first time he personally had met the man, he could see that he cared deeply for their Ryoma. “His wife, on the other hand, is dangerous.”

Fuji’s eyes snapped open as he glared at the coffee table, infuriated at even the thought of the woman. He had never encountered Echizen Rinko, and the only time Ryoma spoke of her was when he mentioned her hatred for Nanjirou’s magazines. Despite this, though, he knew how to recognize the signs of an abusive mother. The scratch marks on Ryoma’s face were much too thick to have come from his precious spotted Himalayan cat, and Fuji knew that Karupin loved Ryoma just as much as his owner doted upon him. The boy had not referred to her as his Okaasan, instead falling upon last names and unnecessary honorifics. He had believed that his parents could not be happily married because of his mere existence. It was not difficult to fit together the pieces of the puzzle.

His imaginings of Echizen Rinko being tortured to the point of insanity, however, were interrupted as Tezuka spoke. “The problem is,” he said, straightening himself from his hunched position, “we have no idea how long this has been going on.” It was true. They could tell that it had been taking place at least since the Echizens had returned to Japan, but there was no way of knowing when the trouble had first begun. Was it a recent development? Had it been happening in America, too? What if it had started before they had even left Japan, and they had never noticed? It was a highly disconcerting thought.

Their conversation was abruptly put on hold as Nanjirou entered the room, carrying a tray with three steaming mugs of tea. He set it gently on the coffee table, seated himself across from the boys, and took a long draft from his drink. He then looked into the eyes of the two young men and said, “I’m going to tell you everything.”

---

Despite what many people believed, Tezuka Kunimitsu was not an emotionless beast. He was, however, a firm believer of the conviction that wearing one’s heart on one’s sleeve could very well end up getting one killed. As such, he sealed all of his feelings behind his stoic façade in order to avoid the threat of someone taking advantage of them. This was particularly important to him because of his status as a tennis player; tennis is a game that requires both physical and mental strength, and allowing one’s opponent to see that one was becoming frustrated, confused, or exhausted could cost a person the match.

There were times, though, at which it was crucial to allow the mask to slide out of place in order to gain success, especially when they concerned matters of the human heart. This was one such time. Baring this in mind, Tezuka allowed his weariness and concern to be presented in his countenance.

Tezuka could count on one hand the number of people outside of his family who were able to break past his cold exterior and see the man within it. The first was Oishi, his longtime best friend. Oishi had the uncanny ability to know what a person was feeling despite what he projected; perhaps this was a part of the reason the young man was always fretting about the well-being of others. He knew that even though Tezuka rarely let it show, he had a broad range of emotions, none of which he was the least bit ashamed. There were few things about which he was passionate, but those that did catch his attention could cause him to break character and his mask to fall for a slim period of time - and Oishi was always there to catch it.

Fuji, naturally, was the second person to know Tezuka for who he was. The tensai was gifted with keen powers of observation that rivaled Inui’s, another who knew the real Tezuka. The difference between them, however, was the fact that while Inui was content to gain any data presented, if something caught Fuji’s interest, he would latch onto it and never let go. He would dig deep beneath the surface to discover whatever he could, and he was unafraid to go to great extremes for this purpose. Fuji always got what he wanted.

The final one, interestingly enough, was Echizen Ryoma. The prodigy always had a distinct air of disinterest in anything unrelated to tennis, yet he was consistently able to distinguish what Tezuka was feeling at any given moment. He knew when he was irritated, he knew when he was pleasantly surprised, he knew when he was in pain, and he knew when he wanted nothing more than to choke the living daylights out of Inui and Fuji for conspiring against him around the other regulars, particularly Kikumaru and Momoshiro. And Tezuka had no idea of how he did it.

He had known from the very beginning that Ryoma was one of a kind, and he, like Fuji (though he was loathe to admit it), was curiously interested in the boy. He was special in a way that he himself did not know but everyone who encountered him did immediately; he brought out the best in people. Whether he inspired them or prodded it out of them with his annoying frankness, those that he touched were changed forever.

There were, of course, exceptions to this, as there were with any given on the planet. After all, that was why he, Fuji, and Echizen Nanjirou were sharing tea in Ryoma’s sitting room. Someone had taken advantage of Ryoma’s candid nature and torn him apart piece by piece. In a strange, twisted way, it was a blessing, for it had caused Tezuka to realize just how much he had grown to care for the boy. In the same way, however, it was possibly the worst situation he could ever imagine, for in this revelation his heart was being thrown into the depths of despair the like of which he had never before known.

Someone had badly hurt their prince, and she was going to have felt the wrath of hell by the time he and Fuji were finished with her.

---

Nanjirou set his mug of tea on the small table between himself and the two boys as he broached his explanation. “Before I tell you anything important,” he said, his usually laid-back expression transformed into one of utmost seriousness, “I’m going to make sure that you know exactly why I’m even telling you anything in the first place. From here on out, Ryoma’s got a long, hard journey ahead of him, and he’s going to need all the support he can get. As much as I would like to able to take care of him by myself, I know that I won’t always be able to get through to him or even be with him at all. That’s where you two come in.

“From what I can tell, you both are pretty dependable guys, and I’ve never heard Ryoma say a word against you, at least, Tezuka-kun. And despite all of his complaining, I know that he’s fond of you, too, Fuji-kun; after all, it’s the same way he complains about me.” If Fuji was at all insulted at being compared to the former tennis professional, he hid it well. He and Tezuka remained where they were, drinking in the words that Ryoma cared for them as well as he did anyone. Nanjirou leveled a harsh stare at them before continuing. “I can trust that you both know what tact is and how to use it, and that everything I’m telling you is to remain on a need-to-know basis with the rest of your friends. I’m putting my confidence in you in that I believe you will be discrete about volunteering this information but still giving them enough to understand the situation. But understand that if you ever harm Ryoma in any way, I will hunt you down like dogs and make certain that you both are miserable for the rest of your pathetic lives. Got it?”

Tezuka and Fuji both solemnly nodded their assent and comprehension of his words, and Nanjirou visibly shifted from an overprotective father to a worried parent. He sat with his shoulders hunched, and he fiddled nervously with his hands. Finally, he drew in a deep breath and began his tale.

“As you’ve probably guessed by now, the situation with our family right now is rocky at best. You see, Rinko - Ryoma’s mother - was always jealous of my relationship with Ryoma. Everything was fine, though, until we first came to Japan. She was okay with the change at first, after all, she is half-Japanese, but then she started to get easily irritated and - homesick, I guess. And when she was finally settled in with our life here, we moved back to America.”

Nanjirou carded a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t know exactly when it started,” he sighed, “but I noticed that something was... off with Ryoma. He didn’t make his snarky comments as often, he never came home late, and he minded his manners like-- like-- like some old-fashioned high-society-raised twit!” Tezuka rose an eyebrow at the description, and Fuji chuckled despite himself. “Anyway,” Nanjirou continued, “something was obviously wrong.

“And then one day....” He licked his lips, his nostrils flared, and his eyes burned with a barely contained rage. “One day I walked in on Rinko knocking the stuffing out of Ryoma.” Fuji visibly seethed where he was seated, and the aura dark projected by Tezuka was enough to make Nanjirou shudder in fear. Not a single one of them was at all happy. “I dragged her away from him and into our bedroom, where she had a mental and emotional breakdown and promised to never do it again. I told her that I would give her a chance, but if it happened again, she’d be facing a divorce and charges of child abuse.

“I kept a close eye on her, and I never caught her doing anything to Ryoma until a few months back; you’ll recall it as when he went to school with a black eye after the regional selections. Unfortunately, I didn’t know what had happened until after the fact, so Rinko passed it off as an accident, and Ryoma didn’t say anything against her.” The monk heaved a sigh once again, and a great sadness passed over his face. “I should have know better, but I guess I just didn’t want to own up to reality.

“Last night, I came inside after ringing the temple bell, and I’m pretty sure that she was trying to kill him.” He lapsed into a pensive silence, and the room was filled with a dense killing intent rippling off of the three tennis players gathered. After several moments Nanjirou finished his story. “I pulled her off of him, kicked her out of the house, and cleaned up Ryoma as best as I could. This morning I called the school to let him know he would be absent, checked up on him, and let him sleep. When I went to wake him for lunch, he was gone.”

At last they all knew of the long, horrible history of Ryoma’s abuse. And none of them were pleased.

“I suppose the only question left to ask,” Tezuka concluded, “is what happens now?”

“Saa,” Fuji said. “There’s really no way to tell. All we can do is try to fix the damage caused by that... that onna (woman).”

“But if we overwhelm him all at once,” Nanjirou commented, “we we may only cause more damage.” He frowned and folded his arms across his chest, mimicking Tezuka’s pose. “We have to take this one step at a time. I’ll handle everything with Rinko, so I don’t want you kids to worry about her, understand?” Obviously he had heard tell of Fuji’s infamous appetite for vengeance, for he was taking no unnecessary risks. Reluctantly, both boys nodded their assent, though Fuji more likely than not would still take some action against the woman. Nanjirou relaxed a fraction and continued. “Don’t treat Ryoma any differently than usual. If you act as though he’s fragile and going to break, you’re going to alienate him. I just want you guys to make sure that you’re there for him and giving support to him when he needs it. Got it?”

The two students nodded once more. “I’ll make certain that the others treat him the same,” Tezuka assured. He then narrowed his eyes and fixed the man before him with a searching stare. “What I would like to know,” he said, “is how you know what to do in this situation?”

Nanjirou uncrossed his arms and finished the rest of his tea in one gulp. “It’s kind of a long story,” he answered, “but here’s the short version. I’ve actually been through this before - don’t look at me like that, shorty, that’s not what I meant! When I was Ryoma’s age one of my friends had the same thing happen to him. I learned this all from trial and error, but let me tell you, it’s a heck of a lot harder to cope when it’s your own child going through it - not that either of you would know.” He sighed once more, rested his elbows on his knees, and pulled at his hair with both of his hands. “Why didn’t I see this coming?”

Fuji allowed his eyes to close lazily, and a wistful smile melted onto his face. “We all are blind fools when it comes to those we care about,” he said sadly. “The only thing we can ever do is correct our mistakes as quickly and efficiently as possible.”

The older man slowly straightened and relaxed into his seat, leaning against the soft cushions. He smirked slightly and chuckled wryly as he withdrew a cigarette from the folds of his robes and lit it, deeply inhaling the sweet tobacco. “There is that,” he said, resting his eyes as smoke began to curl around him. “There is that.”

---

“Kikumaru!”

“Unyaa!”

Kikumaru Eiji jumped out of his chair with a clatter, bumping into the desk and nearly knocking it over. He hastily grabbed his falling textbook and notes as the other students tittered with laughter. Once he had collected his items, Eiji straightened and sheepishly scratched the back of his head. His teacher, Iruka-sensei, was tapping his foot impatiently, arms crossed in front of him. “Ahaha,” Eiji chuckled nervously. “Gomen, sensei. What was the question again?”

Iruka sighed, resigned to the fact that the boy would not be participating in his lesson. “That’s the third time I’ve caught you staring out the window, Kikumaru. At least pretend to pay attention, will you?”

Eiji blushed and nodded. “Hai, sensei.” He bowed before returning to his seat. As Iruka continued his lesson (after giving his student a reproachful stare), Eiji sighed and propped his head in his hand, laying his other arm across the desk. He sincerely did try to listen to his teacher’s lecture on Japanese History, but it was not long before his eyes drifted once more to the growing storm outside. It had begun to rain just as he, Oishi, and Momoshiro had returned to the school in time for the day’s final lesson. Eiji and Momo had wanted to simply skip class and go straight to the clubroom where, hopefully, they would learn what had become of Ryoma. Unfortunately, Oishi had insisted that they attend and had even gone as far as escorting him and Momo to their classrooms to make certain that they did not play hooky. That did not, however, insure that their attention would be inside the classroom.

Why, Eiji wondered, does it always rain when something bad happens? By all means he should have been relieved that Ryoma had been found before he found ended up in trouble, but what he had seen of him was not at all reassuring. What happened to Ochibi? Why was he so banged up? Was he being bullied? Did he get kidnapped? Eiji shook his head, trying to clear his mind of all his troubling thoughts. I’m starting to act like Oishi-kun. Everything’s probably fine.

But if everything’s fine, then why did Fujiko glare at me like that? The redhead pouted laid his head over his crossed arms on the desk. I know Fujiko’s Fujiko, but I haven’t seen him that mad since Mizuki taught Yuuta-kun the Twist Spin Shot! It was true; when Eiji and the others had met Fuji’s group and Ryoma, the combination of Eiji’s distress and Ryoma’s depressed appearance had caused him to immediately burst into tears and move to take the boy into an enormous bear hug. Before he could even near his kouhai, however, Fuji had released a miasma filled with enough killing intent to make Eiji wonder if the effeminate boy was part demon as he hurried away from the scene. He shuddered in remembrance. Fujiko sure is scary sometimes....

“Kikumaru!”

& #8220;Unyaa!”

The final bell rang twenty minutes later. Eiji grunted as his classmates filed past him, hefting the buckets of water dangling from his hands as he leaned against the wall. The fourth time he had been singled out by Iruka-sensei, the teacher had sent him into the hallway, seeing that he was not going to learn anything from his lecture. Once the other students had vacated the area, he was called back inside. Eiji walked through the door and set his burden on the nearest desk. He stretched his arms, rubbing the sore muscles, and then turned to his history teacher.

Iruka finished instructing the two students on cleanup duty before addressing the day’s delinquent. “You’re free to go,” he said, but grabbed Eiji’s shoulder before the boy could race out the door. “I’m not giving you detention,” he continued, “but I do want you to listen in class from now on. Understood?” Eiji nodded vehemently and made to leave, but Iruka held tight. “One more thing before you go,” he said. “There’s no homework, but Ryuuzaki-sensei called to let you know that the tennis club is canceled for this afternoon because of the rain. The regulars will meet in the club room before practice tomorrow morning.”

Eiji visibly deflated, but all the same he nodded, bowed to Iruka, and started towards his shoe locker to make his way home. Mou, he thought, pouting as he shoved his hands in his pockets, once more glancing out the window at the stormy sky, today really can’t get any worse.

---

Thunder crashed as lightning blazed through the sky, causing unearthly shadows to bounce back and fourth on the walls and floor. The noise of the storm masked the sounds of a door opening and closing and the soft patter of footsteps moving down the stairs and through the hallway. Ryoma hesitated at the entrance to the sitting room, Karupin winding his way between his master’s legs. He lurked in the doorway, watching his father and two classmates drink tea and sit in silence, uncertain if he should enter and interrupt them. He haltingly moved forward before pausing mid-step, belatedly changing his decision; before he could shuffle out of view, Nanjirou caught sight of him and hastily stood, stamping out his cigarette on and ashtray on the coffee table. The man opened and closed his mouth several times, no sound emitting from it, before clearing his throat and speaking to his son. “Ah, Ryoma,” he said, voice tight, “Why don’t you come in and sit down with us?”

Hesitantly, Ryoma muddled into the room and sat nervously in one of the chairs as his cat curled up on his lap. He teetered cautiously on the edge of the cushion, anxiously wondering what would happen next.

They all sat still, listening to the sounds of the storm, for a long time. Ryoma began to fidget, uncomfortable with the others’ eyes on his form, staring at him for no reason in particular. No one spoke, and no one moved but to sip at his cooling tea. Finally, when he could no longer stand to be under the scrutiny of the others, Ryoma broke the dense silence. “I’ll leave, if you want me to.” His voice was rough from its earlier misuse, and his gaze was focused on his cat. “All you have to do is say so. I can still play tennis for Seigaku, I don’t have to stay here if you don’t want me.”

The three in the room with him jerked where they sat, looking decidedly distressed and dismayed. Nanjirou heaved a weary sigh, an indescribable emotion in his countenance. “Of course I want you to stay,” he said. “I told you this earlier. I don’t care what your Okaasan has said, you’re my son and you belong here.

“Rinko, on the other hand...” He sighed again, bringing a hand to his head to pull gently at the short tufts of hair. He closed his eyes in thought as he rubbed at his scalp, apparently trying to decide to best way to word what he wanted to say. When he reopened them, they were blazing with determination. “Rinko is no longer going to be a part of this family. It’s going to be tough, but it’s something that needs to be done.” He paused and swallowed a lump in his throat, his face turning forlorn. “She betrayed the both of us.”

Ryoma frowned and petted Karupin, who began to purr in response. “I don’t understand,” he said, eyebrows furrowed. “She didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one who--”

“Don’t even finish that thought!” Ryoma flinched as Fuji slammed his empty mug on the coffee table, rising angrily, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Ryoma-chan! You are a strong, confident young man, and you are entitled to any mistakes you’ve made because you’re still just a teenager! You could never pick up a racket again for the rest of your life, and we wouldn’t even care; your tennis does not define you! Anything anyone else tells you is a bold-faced lie!”

Despite his teammate’s - no, his friend’s - rant, Ryoma kept his head bowed, and his face remained sorrowful. “Demo,” he whispered, his voice shaking a bit, “demo, if that’s true, then why--” He swallowed a lump in his throat with some difficulty and continued. “Why would she... Why would Okaasan...” His face contorted and twisted, as if in pain, and his golden eyes glazed over. The others easily guessed of what he was thinking... remembering.

Again, Nanjirou sighed. Undoubtedly, there would be much of the same in the long journey ahead of them. “How to put this...” He trailed off, apparently searching for the best way to explain the situation. “Rinko,” he started, choosing his words carefully, “is not angry at you.” Ryoma was confused. If she wasn’t angry at him, then why did she say and do all of those things to him? He opened his mouth to ask as much, but his father held up a hand to still his question. “Rinko,” he continued, “is angry at her situation. She is a middle-aged woman working a job that brings a steady income but is highly stressful and not at all enjoyable for her while also being married to a man who pays more attention to their son than to her, mostly because she is rarely home to see her husband. She feels the need to blame something or someone or else go insane, and who better than the son who she thinks is stealing the affection of her husband from her? Which, by the way, is not the least bit true, but that’s what her state of mind has led her to believe.”

Ryoma simply sat where he was, stroking his cat for comfort, staring openmouthed at his father for a long time after he finished speaking. Never in his entire life had he witnessed him being as serious as he was at that moment, and it was both surprising and more than a little unnerving. Was this what it was like for the Samurai’s opponents when they first witnessed his incredible abilities in tennis? Ryoma was cowed. He realized, too, that despite his father’s unusual attitude, what he had said made a lot of sense - not to mention the fact that it eased his mind much more by believing this explanation. Even knowing this, however, it was difficult to accept that his mother would hurt him simply because she was looking for someone to blame for her troubles. Finally, though, he licked his lips, swallowed, tilted his head downward and fixed his gaze to the floor, and said, “I- I think I get it... so... so I didn’t do anything wrong?” He looked hesitantly at his father, and he looked back straight into his eyes.

“No,” he said, “absolutely nothing.”

“And you won’t be burdened if I stay with you?”

“Zettai yadda (Never, no way in hell)!”

Ryoma reached up to pull his hat over his face, but upon grasping nothing but thin air, he realized that he was not wearing anything on his head. Instead, he dipped his chin and stared at his cat, scratching behind Karupin’s ears as tears began to form, unbidden, in his eyes. He stilled and stiffened as he felt arms around him, but he slowly relaxed and leaned into his father’s firm, loving embrace.

Eventually, Nanjirou withdrew from his son, and Ryoma sat up straight and discreetly wiped his face, gently rubbing his red, puffy eyes. He suddenly realized that Tezuka and Fuji were still seated on the sofa next to him and had witnessed the moment with his father, and he felt his face flush as he turned away from them. Fuji chuckled at this, and Ryoma heated up even more.

“Saa, Ryoma-chan,” the ever-smiling tensai said, “it’s no disgrace to show your emotions, especially when you’re among friends.”

Blushingly, Ryoma said, “Hai, Fuji-senpai.”

Fuji frowned. “Mou,” he complained, pouting, “are we back to this again? It’s Syuusuke-kun!”

“Ah, hai,” Ryoma replied, pleasantly surprised, sparing his friend a small, shy smile. “Syuusuke.”

“Ryoma-kun.” The younger boy turned to the source of the deep, steady voice. His golden eyes met warm brown, and Tezuka continued. “We, your teammates, are more than just tennis opponents. We are your senpai-tachi, and we are your friends. You can always come to us if you are in need of advice or assistance.” He fixed his kouhai with a steady, solemn gaze. “Please let us know if you are in trouble or have any problem.”

Ryoma blinked, once more pleasantly surprised. “Hai, buchou,” he said.

Tezuka’s expression softened, and he smiled ever so slightly. “Call me Kunimitsu,” he offered.

Ryoma softly smiled in return. “Aa, Kunimitsu.”

A crash of thunder suddenly shook the house, and a flash of lightning streaked across the sky, shaking the four tennis players out of their reverie. Nanjirou jumped slightly and looked at his watch, checking the time. “Well,” he said, looking at the two third-years, “it’s about the time that you’d be getting home from school. I’ll show you where the phone is, and you can call your parents to tell them that you’ll be staying here until this storm is over.” He stood from his chair, gathered the tea mugs and placed them on the tray, and left the room, the seniors in tow.

Thirty minutes later they all were gathered around the coffee table once more, eating a reheated dinner as the storm raged outside. Karupin wound his way around each of their legs, purring and begging for table scraps. Ryoma sat quietly, nibbling at his food, before placing his chopsticks on his plate. “So,” he asked cautiously, “what happens now?”

Nanjirou finished his dinner, set down his own chopsticks, and crossed his arms pensively. “Well,” he began, “first of all, I’m going to divorce Rinko. And second, I’m going to bring up charges on her for child abuse.”

Ryoma looked up, alarmed. “No,” he protested. “There’s no need to do that! We can just leave Okaasan alone, can’t we?”

Tezuka frowned. “Ryoma-kun, what your mother did was very wrong and highly illegal. This needs to be taken care of before it has the chance to go any further.”

Still, the golden-eyed boy protested. “But if Otousan is going to divorce her, then there won’t be any chance for it go any further.”

Tezuka opened his mouth to insist, but Nanjirou sighed and cut him off, recognizing his son’s stubborn, immovable personality rising to the surface once more. “All right,” he acquiesced, “but only if I’m able to get full custody of you. Anything less and I’m bringing it up to keep her away from you, understand?”

Ryoma nodded his consent, realizing that this was the best offer he was going to get; after all, his stubbornness had originally come from his father. “Hai, Otousan.” At his reply, however, Nanjirou frowned.

“Mou,” he said, pouting as Fuji had done earlier. “What’s with this ‘Otousan’ junk, seishounen (little boy)? I thought I was just your baka Oyaji!”

His son said nothing at first; he simply stared at him, surprised. Then, slowly, he smirked and chuckled. “You’re right,” he said. “After all, why would I respect a lazy, perverted monk like you?”

“Ah, youth.” Nanjirou shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. “You are so uncute.”

Fuji laughed.

---

By the time the storm had subsided, it was completely dark. Nanjirou had offered to board Tezuka and Fuji for the night, but they both had refused and called home for a ride instead. The two were waiting outside the temple grounds together, having already bid a goodbye to Ryoma and his father. Tezuka turned to his friend, a question burning inside of him.

“Syuusuke-kun, there’s something that’s been bothering me,” he said, frowning a bit. “Why didn’t you insist that Ryoma-kun’s mother be brought up on charges? I would have thought that you would want nothing less.”

Fuji quirked his head to the side, tilting it as if considering Tezuka’s query. “Saa,” he began, “if it eased Ryoma-chan’s mind, I think that it was worth it.” He paused for a moment before continuing.

“And besides,” he said, “that onna is going to suffer either way. I’ll make certain of that.” Sharp, electric blue eyes flashed dangerously, and as Fuji’s sister Yumiko pulled up beside them and he climbed inside the car, Tezuka had no doubt that his statement would bring a disastrous fate to Echizen Rinko.

No, Tezuka thought as his mother drove him home several minutes later, I do not envy her at all.

---

Ryoma sat on his bed, completely drained from the day’s events. Things were happening extremely quickly, and it was very difficult to keep up with them. He still had his doubts about who to believe, his mother or the others, but for now at least he would trust his father and his senpai-tachi - his friends. After all, hadn’t they gone after him that afternoon? If they didn’t care about him, they wouldn’t be taking the time to make sure that he wasn’t depressed. They had even been encouraging his rudeness and cockiness!

Of course, it could all be a trap... Fuji-senpai is cunning enough and sadistic enough to put something like that together. As buchou says, yudan sezu ni ikkou (Let’s not get careless).

For now, though, he would take what they say to be true. For now, he would trust them.

Ryoma sighed as he curled up under his blankets and switched off his lights, Karupin jumping on the bed and cuddling with him. He and his father had already discussed his return to school, and while Nanjirou was willing to allow his son to stay at home for as long as he needed, Ryoma felt the need to return to his daily routine. The monotony of classes would calm his nerves and give him something other than his family situation on which to focus. Despite this, he was also dreading resuming his position in the tennis club. Although the season had already ended (it was, after all, nearly November) and only the most dedicated (or stubborn, depending on the person) of students were now participating in club activities, the regulars were still required to gather for morning practice three times a week. And while Ryoma was able to lose himself in tennis more completely than anything else, he was not at all looking forward to meeting with the rest of his senpai-tachi; they would no doubt have many questions for him that he did not want to answer. Hopefully Kunimitsu and Syuusuke would be able to protect him from their interrogation, or at the very least help him explain things to them.

Ryoma sighed once more and pushed these troubling thoughts to the back of his mind. He could worry about these things in the morning. Right now, he desperately needed to sleep....

---

AN: Voilà! Finally, chapter three is finished! Good grief, it took me over two weeks to write this thing! But I’m happy with it. Explanation scenes are a pain for me to write, but I think that it turned out nicely. I’ve been extremely busy as of late, and I will continue to be until the end of the month, but I promise that the next chapter will be up in less than six months this time!

I hope that it was well worth the wait. Thank you for reading! Please review and let me know what you think!

-Sugarpony

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Edited: 2/09/08
Second Edit: 3/25/08