Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ If Wishes Were Horses ❯ Chapter Four ( Chapter 4 )

AN: Yatta! I finally have cable internet, and I’ve spent the last few days watching episodes of Tenipuri online (since it was taken off television after ten episodes!), and I think I’ve definitely gotten a grasp on everyone’s personality. It wasn’t nearly as easy to do with only the manga as a reference.

Mildly interesting yet totally useless fact about the title: No, I did not spend hours upon hours agonizingly searching through nursery rhymes to find something title-worthy, as I have with all chapters but the first. You know that saying “life’s not fair” that all mothers seem irritatingly fond of? Well, my dad’s a strong proponent of the “if wishes were horses, beggars would ride” party. Never ever say anything that includes the words “I wish” around him.

Ever.

Oh, yeah! One last note! Please don't get on my back about grammar. I know how to use proper grammar; I aced every class on it that I ever took! All grammatical errors are intentional for stylistic purposes.

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 Four

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When the wind lies in the east,
'Tis neither good for man nor beast;
When the wind lies in the north,
The skillful fisher goes not forth;
When the wind lies in the south,
It blows the bait in fishes’ mouths;
When the wind lies in the west,
Then 'tis at the very best.

-“When the Wind Lies in the East,” a Mother Goose nursery rhyme

---

Tezuka Kunimitsu shifted slightly as he stood outside the school gates, waiting for his friend Fuji Syuusuke to arrive. The two had agreed the night before to meet there before the other regulars turned up for practice in order to speak with Ryuuzaki-sensei and figure out what exactly they were going to tell the rest of the team. They knew that it was highly unlikely that they would be able to escape from practice -- or to even start practice, for that matter -- without first explaining to them what had happened when they had found Ryoma the day before, especially since they had run into Oishi, Kikumaru, and Momo. And if Tezuka was to be perfectly honest with himself, he was dreading both the confrontation with his friends and their reactions to the situation at hand.

Inui, of course, most likely already knew. He and his data were nearly infallible, after all, and he had had plenty of opportunities to gather what he needed to draw the correct conclusion.

Oishi... might faint. He wasn’t trying to sell his best friend short, so to speak, but really, the boy had a bad habit of jumping to conclusions and worrying over every little thing. Such big news might very well overload the mother hen’s systems.

Kawamura’s reaction truly depended on whether or not the boy was holding a tennis racquet. If he was not, he would probably be likely to faint as well; he was normally meek and nearly as sensitive as Oishi. If he was, however, holding his racquet, then he was more likely than not going to -- as usual -- fly off the handle and rant and rave about the unfairness and wrongness of it all.

Actually, Momoshiro was going to rant and rave about the wrongness of it all and the evils of Rinko Echizen whether or not Kawamura joined him.

Kikumaru would probably help Momo. Kami-sama (god), please don’t let Kawamura be holding his racquet! He wouldn’t be able to handle all three of them and Fuji’s vengeance!

Kaidoh... To be honest, Tezuka wasn’t really sure what Kaidoh was going to do. Hiss, maybe? Whatever he does, he could only hope that he has enough sense to avoid an argument with Momo. There was going to be more than enough chaos without one of their infamous squabbles.

Tezuka closed his eyes, lifted his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose to dissipate the headache he could feels growing at the edges of his mind. Good grief, what a migraine he was going to have by the end of practice!

“Having a bad morning?”

Tezuka opened his eyes and peered through his glasses at his honey-haired friend. For all intents and purposes, he should have been happy to see him; he was after all, going to aid him in his strenuous task. Despite this, however, all he could feel was an impending sense of doom, for when he had been predicting his teammates’ reactions, he had forgotten to keep in mind one very important detail: The Fuji FactorTM.

The Fuji FactorTM was actually an addendum to Murphy's Law. The Fuji FactorTM was simple: Anything that can go wrong will go wrong at the worst possible moment because Fuji will make it so. The Fuji FactorTM had a one hundred percent success rate. And The Fuji FactorTM was a living, breathing migraine.

“Something like that.”

Fuji’s smile widened. “So,” he started as the pair began their trek through the school grounds, “what’s our strategy for this morning?”

Tezuka spared the tensai a glance and raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. “You speak as if we’re facing an opponent on the tennis court.”

“Aren’t we?”

The stoic teen felt an obligation to give credit where it was due; Fuji did have a point quite worthy of consideration. Professional tennis players, along with the many amateurs who were enamored with the sport, believed that tennis could be applied to every aspect of life. Any difficult situation was simply a talented opponent, and any difficulty was simply a challenging technique to overcome. Perhaps if he was to approach the upcoming discussion as a tennis match, then he would be less likely to obtain a migraine from the stress. Perhaps...

Out of the corner of his eye, Tezuka observed Fuji’s smile, and he put an end to his current train of thoughts. He had once again conveniently forgotten to add in the The Fuji FactorTM. No, he was going to end his day with a migraine one way or another.

“Hn.” He chose to answer Fuji’s question with a noncommittal response, although he probably had a good idea of what he was thinking anyway. Fuji was like that. “First things first,” he said, replying to his first query. “We need to meet with Ryuuzaki-sensei and find out what she knows of the situation. Hopefully she will be able to help up decide what we should and should not tell the others.”

Fuji raised a hand to his chin and tapped a finger thoughtfully against the side of his face. “Saa,” he said, “I don’t think we’ll be able to escape without telling them mostly everything. Oh, we won’t go into the nitty-gritty details, of course,” he added as Tezuka frowned and turned to contradict him, “but we’ll definitely need to let them know that Ryoma-chan’s mother has been hitting him and then some.”

Tezuka’s frown did not leave his visage, but he was once again compelled to agree with his friend. He wasn’t called a tensai for no reason, and his genius was not limited to the tennis courts. The Seigaku regulars were a closely knit group, and if one was in trouble, then the others would do everything in their power to help him. They were their own little family, in a way; there was Mother Oishi, crazy Uncle Inui, and six brothers. And Tezuka himself would be the father, he supposed. Any way he looked at it, he knew that the others would not be satisfied unless they knew exactly what was going on with their precious Ochibi; but honestly, he couldn’t blame him, for had he and Fuji not acted exactly the same way?

Tezuka put a halt on his musings for the time being, for he and Fuji had arrived at Ryuuzaki-sensei’s office. His raised his fist and knocked on the door, and they were greeted with a weary “Come in.”

The tennis coach’s office was a small six foot by six foot room with one window, in front of which sat a wooden desk. Ryuuzaki was seated behind her desk, resting her elbows upon it tiredly. “Ohayo (Good morning), Tezuka, Fuji,” she greeted them and gestured to two chairs across from her. “Please, have a seat.”

Once everyone was reasonably comfortable, Ryuuzaki wasted no time in getting right down to business. “I spoke with Nanjirou over the phone last night, and he told me everything.” The elderly woman had never looked more her age than she did at the moment, dark circles under her eyes and her brow furrowed in anxiety. She gently massaged her temples with the tips of her fingers as she continued. “Echizen is returning to school today, although he may or may not be here for morning practice. We’ll need to meet with the other regulars before he arrives, and we’ll need to make sure that they don’t scare him off when he does get here.”

Tezuka nodded in agreement and folded his arms across his chest. “The question is,” he pointed out, “what do we tell them?”

Ryuuzaki sighed and folded her hands on her desk. Apparently, she had been agonizing over this as well. “We mustn’t forget,” she began, “that everything that has happened is a private affair, and it will turn into a scandal that reaches across the entire worldwide tennis community if the media gets even a whiff of this. Also, we all know that Echizen is a very introverted person, and with the state of mind he’s in right now, it could quite possibly overwhelm him if all of a sudden the majority of his friends are knowledgeable about the more gruesome details of his home life.”

A very good point. At the moment Ryoma’s trust was minimal, and his self-confidence was nearly nonexistent. How would he react if everyone around him abruptly changed their attitudes toward him? They were trying to convince him that they were his friends and would not treat him any differently because of what... Tezuka could not bring himself to call her his mother... because of what that woman said or believed about him. If the other regulars had an adverse reaction to the news, they might lose Ryoma for good.

“What I propose,” his sensei continued, straightening and looking directly at her students for the first time that morning, “is that we just tell the others that Echizen’s parents are divorcing and he’s having a hard time with it. That way we can avoid most of the more -- shall we say extreme? -- reactions that we’d likely be forced to deal with if we tell the the whole story.”

“Hn.” Avoiding the inevitable chaos for as long as possible was extremely appealing to Tezuka, and yet he knew that he and Ryuuzaki-sensei were both overlooking (purposely, actually) two very important facts. Fuji, of course, was the one to point them out.

“Saa, it’s a good plan in theory,” he said, entering the conversation, “but I can’t really see it working. For one thing, Oishi, Eiji, and Momo passed us on the way back to school yesterday, so they know that there is definitely something big going on; Ryoma-chan was in pretty rough shape when we found him. And for another thing, even if we had been able to avoid coming across anyone after we left the bridge, there’s still the matter of that note that he left us to take into account. I highly doubt that there isn’t a single one who hasn’t come up with some sort of conspiracy theory by now.” Fuji leaned back in his chair, seemingly amused by the thought.

Ryuuzaki sighed once more and slumped in her chair. “You’re right, of course,” she said, defeated. Resigned to their fate, she placed her hands on the desk and stood, moving toward the door. “We’ll just have to tell them the basics -- there’s no need to go into great detail -- and hope for the best.”

Ten minutes later they and the rest of the regulars (sans Ryoma) were gathered in the tennis club locker room. The tension in the room was nearly palpable. The others had already changed into their tennis clothes and were either sitting on the the benches or leaning against the lockers. Oishi was pacing worriedly, and Kikumaru and Momoshiro were both unusually silent. Oishi stilled as Tezuka and Fuji joined their ranks, and he looked at his captain beseechingly. Tezuka said nothing, however; he merely turned his attention to Ryuuzaki-sensei, and the others followed his lead as she stood in front of her students and cleared her throat.

The aged woman fixed the boys with a solemn gaze, and she took a deep, steadying breath before she began to speak with no preamble. “All of you are wanting to know what happened yesterday afternoon, ne?” She paused, gathering the various yet unanimous nods that passed between her players. “Let me say, though, that everything said in this room remains strictly confidential. You will tell no one, not even your families, and if you can’t keep your mouths shut then I want you to leave now.” Ryuuzaki waited for several long moments, but she continued when every one of the boys remained seated without so much as a twitch.

“Echizen is in a bad place right now,” she began. “His parents are splitting up, and there are a lot of issues that he’s dealing with. I want you to keep quiet about this because Echizen is a very private person, as I’m sure that you all know. More than that, though,” the coach gave her students a stern gaze as several of them opened their mouths to question the necessity of keeping this information in confidence, “is the fact that Nanjirou is a very famous tennis player, and of course Echizen’s tennis has also been in the spotlight lately, and if a reporter hears any slight mention of this, it will turn into -- at the least -- a nationwide scandal.”

Kawamura breathed a sigh of relief, and Kaidoh visibly relaxed. The others, however, stayed silent, a dissatisfied frown on each of their faces. Inui was the first to question his sensei’s story. “What you say sounds plausible, and I am inclined to believe you,” he said, closing his ever-present notebook and adjusting his glasses. “However,” he continued, suspiciously, “there is something you are not telling. All the data I have on Echizen Ryoma suggests that, while he may be put out of sorts by his parents divorcing, it is not nearly enough to drive him to kill himself. Let’s face it,” he elaborated at his teammates’ horrified expressions, “what Echizen left for us at Kawamura Sushi yesterday could only be classified as a suicide note.”

There was a silence, and then Fuji chuckled softly. “Ever the observant one, aren’t you, Inui?” He turned to Ryuuzaki, a knowing look on his face. “I did warn you that this wouldn’t be so simple, ne?”

The old woman sighed in reluctant acceptance. “Hai, Fuji, you did,” she acknowledged, rubbing her temples to dissipate an oncoming headache. “Inui is right on both accounts. The important missing piece of data is the reason why Nanjirou is divorcing his wife.”

“She’s been hurting Ochibi, hasn’t she?”

Every head in the room but one swiveled to face Kikumaru. He was sitting hunched on the bench, resting his elbows on his knees, expression grim. He was not known to be the most insightful or the most serious of the boys on the tennis team; he was quite the opposite, in fact. That day, however, there was neither any laughter in his voice nor any bounce in his step. It was very strange and more than a little disconcerting for the others to see him this way, and it only added to the depressing atmosphere. “Ochibi was scratched up and hurt when we Oishi and Momo and me saw him. It’s because of her, isn’t it?” Ryuuzaki nodded solemnly, and Kikumaru bowed his head to hide his face.

The others’ reactions were just as Tezuka had predicted: Inui had known; Oishi swooned, and Kawamura looked as if he might be sick; Kaidoh hissed and glowered in a suppressed rage, and Momoshiro leapt from his seat and exploded in fury. Kikumaru was the odd man out, for he simply remained seated, shaking slightly. Once Momoshiro had let off enough steam to relatively calm himself, the redhead spoke softly as his friend seated himself next to him.

“Why,” he asked, voice quivering in indignation, “did it have to be Ochibi?” None could answer, so all remained bleakly silent. “What did he ever do to deserve this? What did he do to her?” His volume raised steadily as he stood, face alight with ire. He remained uninterrupted, so he continued to rave, barely pausing for breath. “A mother is supposed to love her child! Why would she ever want to hurt him? Sure, he’s got a cocky attitude, but anyone who knows him knows that he doesn’t really mean anything by it! It can’t be karma; he’s only ever hurt anyone in tennis, and that’s just because he’s so good that he can beat people without even trying! He never really injures anyone! So why? Why? It’s just not fair!”

He stood, heaving deep breaths, and no one said a word. They all knew that every word of what he had said was true, and only one person dared so speak against it.

“Life’s not fair, Kikumaru.”

The acrobat frowned and turned to his captain. “Demo, buchou!”

“It’s true, Eiji.”

“Fujiko, nya! Not you, too!”

The smiling tensai merely shook his head at his hyperactive friend. “Life’s not fair,” he said, repeating Tezuka’s words. “Everyone gets screwed over every now and then; it just so happens that Ryoma-chan has it worse that others. There’s nothing anyone can do about it, even though we all wish that there was.” It was the truth, of course; what’s more, it was absolute and indisputable. And none of them even tried to go against it.

Now that her players were subdued once again, Ryuuzaki-sensei cleared her throat to gain their attention. “Now that you know about this,” she told them, “you know why it absolutely must remain a secret. It is extremely rare for a case of child abuse to be exposed here in Japan. If any of you let even one thing slip, Echizen and Nanjirou’s personal lives will all over the news for who knows how long.

“But,” the woman continued, the edge in her tone softening a bit, “there’s something even more important that you need to do.”

Momoshiro spoke first, but all agreed with him when he said, “Just tell us what to do. We’ll do anything we can to help.”

Ryuuzaki crossed her arms beneath her chest and stared at each young man in the room directly in the eyes. There was a warmth for her students in them, but there was also an exacting and tenacious feeling in them that let them know that she was Serious, and they would be in Trouble if they disregarded her next words. Only when she appeared satisfied that the boys grasped this did she give her instructions.

“No matter what,” she said, her elderly voice as strong as it had ever been in her youth, “you must not treat Ryoma any differently than you have in the past.” Several of the boys opened their mouths to protest, she held up a hand to still them. “No, don’t give me any ‘but’s. I said it when we started, and I’ll say it again now: We all know that Echizen is a very private person. If he wants to talk to you about this, he will. If you start treating him like he’s going to break, you may very well drive him to do just that. He doesn’t need eight nursemaids; he needs his friends. Be there when he comes to you, but otherwise, don’t act any differently.

“I know that it’s going to be difficult for all of us. There’s no getting around it. But if we want to help, then this is what we need to do. Understand?”

There were several tense minutes as the boys sat in silence, mulling over their coach’s words. Tezuka was not worried, though, despite the fact that others in his place may have been. He had faith in his teammates. He knew that, eventually, they would accept the fact that this was the best course of action -- the only course of action, really -- just as he and Fuji had. And, slowly but surely, each of them nodded in agreement, one by one.

Finally, Momoshiro broke the silence. “I’ll do everything you told us to,” he said, annoyance prevalent in his tone, “but I’m still not happy about this. What kind of person hurts their kid?”

“We can discuss this later,” Tezuka told him, assuming control of his players, “but right now we need to practice. It won’t be long before we’ll have to postpone club meetings until spring, so we need to get as much work done now as possible.”

Kikumaru groaned. “Oh, come on, buchou,” he whined, “it’s getting cold outside -- the ice cream stand closed up over two weeks ago -- and it’s not as if we have any opponents!”

Tezuka, however, was adamant. “Yudan sezu ni ikkou.”

Kawamura laughed. “That’s our buchou! Always right down to business.”

The tension was broken, and the boys grabbed their tennis bags and filed out of the clubroom. At last, when only Tezuka, Fuji, and Ryuuzaki-sensei remained, the old woman sighed and turned to her two students. “Well,” she said, “it’s going to be very interesting around here for a while, I think. I wish you both the best.” She left to join the others on the court, and Fuji turned to his friend as they stepped outside into the wind.

“Ne, Kunimitsu,” he said, allowing his smile to drop in their privacy, “There is a cold wind blowing in the east.”

“Hn.” Tezuka shook his head and readjusted his tennis bag on his shoulder as Fuji followed their coach. The wind lies in the east, indeed. I only wonder what misfortune it will bring to us...

---

As soon as his son was out of sight on his way to school, Echizen Nanjirou made a beeline for the telephone. Honestly, it was a relief that Ryoma had insisted on returning to classes that morning. There were a lot of things that Nanjirou needed to deal with as soon as possible that he did not want the boy to be involved with; there was enough on his mind as it was. And unfortunately, the first thing he needed to do was call his wife.

He dialed Rinko’s cell phone number and waited for her to answer, trying to sort out what he was going to say to her. What could he say to her after what had happened the other night? She had betrayed both him and Ryoma, and he had betrayed her in a way, too, he supposed. She had needed help, help that she should have been given when he had first caught her in the act of abusing their son. But no, he had not seen that she had changed, what she was going through; he had not wanted to see. He had not wanted things to change, but it was too late, for certain irreversible, life changing events had already been set into motion and begun to spiral out of control.

“Anata?”

Nanjirou was pulled from his musings as his wife answered his call. He did not respond at once, doubting if this was the right thing to be doing after all. He could always forge the paperwork if need be, couldn’t he?

“Are you there, Anata?”

He shook his head, ridding himself of the though. No, Rinko deserved to have the closure of signing the appropriate documents. And so did he. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise.

“Aa, it’s me.”

There was silence, and for a moment Nanjirou wondered if she had hung up the phone. After several long, tense seconds, however, she answered him once more.

“Anata, it’s so good to hear your voice again! I was afraid that that demon had brainwashed you, but it seems that you’ve finally come to your senses. Now you can get out of there and come be with me once more!”

“Iie.” (3) Nanjirou gathered his wits and put and end to her misconception before it could carry on any further. “Rinko, I need you to come downtown with me so that we can sign divorce papers.”

Rinko paused in her exaltations, shocked by her husband’s words. Her voice was harsh when she next spoke. “So he has brainwashed you, after all,” she spat. Nanjirou heard her snort on her end of the telephone line. “Very well, then. I’ll meet you at the ward office at noon.” (1) She hesitated then, before uncertainly saying, “Nanjirou, aishiteru.”

Nanjirou sighed sadly before replying in kind. “Aishiteru, Rinko. But this is the way it has to be. Gomen nasai.” There was silence and then a soft click, signaling that their telephone conversation was over. He replaced the receiver onto its cradle and collapsed into a chair beside it. How had he allowed things to come to this? Oh, how he wished things could be different... That they could return to normal...

Unbidden, a child’s song arose from the recesses of his memory. He remembered, when Ryoma was little, that their small family would gather each night to read a book and spend time together (at the insistence of Rinko, naturally). One of the books that they had read was entitled Holes, written by Louis Sachaar. In it was penned a short tune, and Rinko had taken to singing it as a lullaby. Now, in his solitude, Nanjirou softly sang it to himself.

“ ‘If only, if only,’ the woodpecker cries,
‘the bark on the tree was as soft as the skies.’
While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely,
he cries to the moon,
‘If only, if only.’ ” (2)

---

Ryoma sighed and rested his head on his desk. Really, now, he was beginning to think that he should have stayed at home instead of attending classes. I would have just stayed in bed if I’d known that we would be spending the day planning a booth for the Fall Festival. But then again, maybe it was best that he knew what he was going to be forced into. After all, by being in class he could at least refuse the more outrageous ideas. I can’t believe Osakada wanted me to be in a kissing booth! Then again, he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, Osakada Tomoka had been the president of his fan club since he was a freshman at Seishun Gakuen Middle School.

“Ano, maybe we could set up a goldfish game?”

Ah, wonderful Ryuuzaki. The voice of reason. Ryoma felt eternally grateful to her for interrupting Tomoka’s monologue suggesting that they center their class booth around the rising tennis star, charging money for photographs with him and signed pictures of him in action on the tennis courts. Honestly, he was beginning to truly doubt that girl’s sanity, which was saying something considering all of the strange people he had met through tennis, the least of which were the other Seigaku regulars.

Horio scoffed. “A goldfish game?” He raised his unibrow, an incredulous expression on his face. “Oh, some on! Could you get any more lame?”

Ryuuzaki blushed and shifted lower into her seat. Osakada, however, stood abruptly, knocking her chair onto the floor in the process, and rose to her friend’s defense. “Oh, like you’re one to talk, Horio,” she exclaimed, angrily pointing a finger at him. “When I talked about Ryoma-sama giving autographs and taking pictures, you said that you’d be glad to do it in his place!” Her point made, she snorted crossed her arms over her chest. “At least Sakuno-chan’s idea was realistic! Yours would have driven people away from our booth!”

Horio scowled and stood as well, growling in the girl’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I have six years of tennis experience, and I’m going to be a regular when the season starts up again!”

Ryoma groaned and slammed his hands over his ears, though it did little to drown out the argument between the two biggest loudmouths in Seigaku. He still had a headache from the previous night, and so far his day had done nothing but add to it. The good news was that because of his headache, he was unable to think about anything that had happened at home recently; every time a stray thought wandered through his mind, he was filled with a splitting pain. Demo, Kami-sama, what I wouldn’t give for some peace and quiet!

Luckily, it seemed that someone had heard his prayers, for at that moment the school bell rang to signal the beginning of lunch period. Ryoma wasted no time in grabbing his bag and racing out the door, heading for the roof to escape the noise and a well deserved nap. Unfortunately, when he arrived at the top of the building, it was not empty as he had been hoping for it to be. Leaning against the metal fence, facing the entrance and apparently waiting for him, was none other than Fuji Syuusuke. Ryoma mentally ran through his options, and although finding a place away from Fuji to relax sounded tempting, it would probably be an impossible task. Resigning himself to whatever fate the tensai had in mind for him, the freshman shrugged his bag off his shoulder and laid down on the ground, resting his head upon his things.

There was silence as Ryoma felt Fuji walking across the rooftop and crouch beside him. He remained there for several minutes, not saying a word, before he unnerved his kouhai enough for him to crack open and peer through one eye at him. “Did you want something?” he asked tiredly, more than slightly annoyed at not being allowed to sleep.

Fuji’s smile widened a bit, and he hummed a little. “Aa, I did.”

Ryoma waited for his senpai to continue, but he simply crouched where he was, humming softly. Growing impatient, he tried another approach. “What do you want, Fuji-senpai?”

“Yadda! Syuusuke-kun!”

Ryoma shut his eye, sighed, and complied with his wishes. “What do you want, Syuusuke?”

Fuji chuckled and sat on the ground, leaning against the wall. Ryoma flinched when he placed a hand on his head, tensing as the older boy carded his fingers through his dark hair, but he eventually forced himself to relax. Actually, he thought, that’s kind of nice. Not that I’d ever tell him that. Several moments passed like this before the honey-haired boy spoke his mind.

“I was waiting for, Ryoma-chan,” he explained, not pausing his ministrations, “because I wanted to invite you to go for sushi with Kun-kun and me this evening.”

Ryoma’s eyes shot open, his countenance adopting a confused appearance. “Nani?” he asked, bewildered. Perhaps he had misunderstood. After all, why would Fuji and Tezuka want go anywhere with him? They had no obligation to spend any time with him beyond tennis club, and yet... and yet yesterday they had escorted him home, held him when he needed comfort, and done their best to reassure them that, should he ever need their assistance, they would readily offer it to him. But why would they do that? They only needed him to play tennis; why would it matter if he was depressed as long as he was in top form? They had said that they were his friends, but why would they want to friends with him? After all, he was nothing important, nothing worthwhile.

But there was no trace of insincerity on his face, nor any sign that he was unwanted. Fuji elaborated, perhaps sensing his thoughts. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends go out and have fun together. And besides,” he grew less lighthearted, and his smile grew more serious, “after yesterday, you could really use a night on the town, ne?”

Yes, he most definitely could. He really needed a distraction, something that wouldn’t remind him of his mother and soon to be lack thereof. Ryoma gave the tensai a calculated stare, trying to discern whether or not he was simply writing him into a sadistic plot, but he could not detect anything either way. He closed his eyes and leaned into his soothing touch, deciding to take a chance and say yes. Even if he was just playing with him, he doubted that things would get much worse than they already were.

“I’ll need to see what Oyaji says,” he answered at last, beginning to relax once more. He could not see Fuji face, but he had a feeling that there was a broad smile stretched across it.

“Go to sleep, Ryoma-chan,” Fuji told him, pulling out a book with his unoccupied hand. “I’ll wake you when lunch is over.”

The younger boy needed no further prompting, for with his senpai still running soft, delicate fingers through his hair, he quickly found himself ensconced in a deep, peaceful sleep.

---

Nanjirou reread the divorce papers his wife had handed to him, desperately hoping that he was imagining things. There was no way possible that Rinko had filed for full custody of Ryoma, was there? Not when she resented the boy’s very existence! But no, he was not mistaken. Grimacing, Nanjirou tightened his grip on the papers and glanced over top of them at the woman before him. “Rinko,” he said, voice taught, “I am not giving you custody of Ryoma.”

Rinko appeared to be unperturbed. She smiled at her husband indulgently. “Anata,” she told him softly, “I’m doing this for you. For us,” she added at his incredulous look. “You need time away from his influence so that you can remember what is important. Once you can see him from afar, you will realize that he really is nothing more than demon in disguise.”

Nanjirou’s eyes narrowed into a glare, and he tore the papers in his hands to shreds. “I will not,” he spat, “let you take my son and hurt him again!” He paused, quieting his voice so that he would not attract any unwanted attention. “We are not leaving this office until you sign over all custody of Ryoma to me.”

Rinko stepped back defiantly. “No,” she insisted. “I won’t let you stay caught in his trap. He will be coming with me until you find yourself once more.”

Nanjirou closed his eyes wearily, also taking a step away from his wife. “Nothing I can say or do will change your mind?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she declared.

He sighed and opened his eyes, which were now blazing with unyielding resolve. “Then I have no other choice.” He turned around and clenched his fists, steeling himself for what he must do. “If you won’t leave us alone, then I have to bring you up on charges for child abuse. What you’ve done has gone on for much too long. I tried to give you another chance, I tried to reason with you, but it obviously hasn’t worked.” He started for the door, saddened that it had come to this.

“I’ll see you in court.” (3)

---

After classes, Ryoma arrived at the tennis club locker room before anyone else. He hurriedly changed before walking toward the courts. He stopped and stood in front of an empty wall, taking his racket in his right hand and drilling a tennis ball against the bricks. He relaxed, allowing himself to clear his mind and lose himself in simple repetition of the activity. He remained where he was for at least a good fifteen minutes before he was abruptly pulled out of his peaceful state.

“Oi, gaki (brat)!” Momoshiro suddenly appeared behind him, grabbing him in a headlock and scaring him out of his wits. “Who do you think you are, skipping morning practice? Do you think you’re too good for us?”

Ryoma heard his words, but they barely registered in his mind. He was home again, pinned against the wall, and--

“Oi, Echizen, you okay? I didn’t mean it, you know.”

--her hands were around his neck, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t--

“Ne, Momo, are you coming?”

--he couldn’t breathe, and her nails were digging into his skin, there was such pain, and--

“Ne, Momo, what’s wrong with Ochibi?”

--oh, kami-sama, he couldn’t breath, he--

“I don’t know, he just froze up and--”

--had to get away, he had to breathe, he--

“Momoshiro, let go of Ryoma!”

He was back on the tennis court, the hands were gone, kami, he could breathe again! Ryoma unzipped the collar of his jacket and scratched at his throat, opening the angry cuts that had partially healed, trying to rid himself of the phantom pain caused by the memory. His knees collapsed underneath him, and he fell to the ground, coughing harshly. Dimly, he recognized three figures in blue and while Seigaku jerseys huddled around him. One of them stretched an arm out to rest a hand on his shoulder, and Ryoma shuddered, his breath caught in his throat, he couldn’t breathe anymore--

“Give him some air!”

The hand disappeared, the figures backed away, and Ryoma mentally thanked his buchou for his quick thinking as air returned to his lungs once more. He stayed where he was for several minutes, breathing deeply, his awareness slowly returning. He could see, now, that there were four of them: Momoshiro, looking intensely guilty and remorseful; Oishi, who had placed his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to help, overcome with worry; Kikumaru, bouncing up and down, a frown on his face; and Tezuka, scowling, arms crossed, a concerned gleam in his eyes.

Finally, Ryoma’s trembling ceased, and he stood, pulling down his cap to cover the embarrassed blush on his cheeks. “Gomen (Sorry),” he apologized, turning to walk onto the court where the rest of the team had already gathered. “Daijoubu (I’m fine).”

But he was only able to move a few feet away from where he had stood, for the others had bypassed him and were now blocking his path. He glared up at them, red still visible on his face. “Did you want something?” he asked irritably.

Oishi fidgeted as if he wanted to give him a comforting touch like he tried to do before, but much to Ryoma’s relief he refrained. Instead, he simply asked, “Echizen, are you sure you’re all right?”

The freshman scowled, and his glare deepened. “Daijoubu,” he repeated, shifting his weight on his feet uneasily, and gazed pointedly at the tennis courts ahead of him. “Are you going to let me through?”

Oishi glanced at Tezuka. The bespectacled young man moved aside, and the others shortly, if a bit hesitantly, followed his example. Ryoma continued forward, not sparing a glance back.

Throughout practice, his mind was racing. Although he able to play decently while distracted, his game was noticeably lacking its usual intensity. At the moment, though, tennis was the least of his worries. He was lost in thought, lost in memories, once again questioning his very existence.

Should he really be here, enjoying himself?

Should he have lived through his mother’s attempt to strangle him?

Why did his father save him?

Why did his mother try to kill him in the first place?

Was his birth really a horrible mistake?

At last, Ryuuzaki-sensei called all of her players to attention and dismissed them with a few short words. Ryoma absentmindedly returned to the locker room and changed out of his sweaty clothes, attempting to ignore the stares he was bound to get because of his bruises. The constant questions, however, were more difficult to disregard -- especially the ones coming from Horio’s big mouth.

“Ne, Echizen, where did you get that ugly bruise? It looks like someone kicked you in the gut!”

Kachirou and Katsuo, naturally, were right behind him. “Ne, Ryoma-kun,” Kachirou asked, not as rude as Horio yet not as unobtrusive as Katsuo, “Where did you get those marks on your arms and neck? I didn’t see them before because of your jacket, but they look kind of like hand prints.”

Yes, fortunately, Ryoma had been able to wear his full regular uniform because of the cold weather, sparing him the awkward glances and incessant inquiries. It seemed, though, that despite his best attempts at avoiding these, his evasion had been futile. In fact, considering the fact that Horio was one of the biggest gossipers at Seishun (second only to Osakada Tomoka), the entire freshman class -- if not the entire school -- would know about his troubles at home.

Katsuo timidly entered the conversation. “Are you being bullied by other players again, Ryoma-kun?” he asked. “If so, then you should probably talk to senpai-tachi and Ryuuzaki-sensei about it.”

“Actually, there’s no need.”

The freshman trio abruptly jumped spun around to face the entrance to the locker room, where Fuji stood blocking the doorway, smiling innocently. “It’s being taken care of as we speak,” he said. “Saa, if you three are going to stay here a while, Inui’s in the chemistry lab working on his new juice. I’m sure he would appreciate you’re input on it. I would do it myself, but I’m afraid that I have somewhere to be.”

Horio, Kachirou, and Katsuo steadily turned green as Fuji spoke, and they were all looking decidedly ill by the time he was finished. Hastily, they each made an excuse and passed their senpai, exiting the room. Fuji looked rather satisfied as they left. Ryoma finished dressing himself and then turned to his teammate, who had yet to depart. “Did you need something, Fuji-senpai?” he asked.

“Syuusuke-kun.”

“Syuusuke . Well?”

Fuji smiled brightly and hitched his tennis bag higher onto his shoulder. “We’re going out with Kunimitsu tonight, remember? I thought we could go to a movie of something before dinner.”

Ryoma frowned and bent down to pick up his things. “Fu-- Syuusuke, I don’t even know if I can go for sushi yet. I still have to check with Oyaji, remember?”

The honey-haired boy’s smile did not falter. Instead, he moved forward to place his arm around his kouhai’s shoulders, making certain that he was able to see his every move. “In that case,” he said, “why don’t we go get Kun-kun and do that right now?” And with that he walked out the door, taking the younger boy with him. When they reached the school gates they met up with Tezuka, who was waiting patiently for them just outside the entrance. Together, the three boys began the walk to the temple where Ryoma lived.

Unsurprisingly, Fuji carried most of the conversation during the journey. He talked about his most recent photographs, about how Yuuta was doing in his new school, and about the book he was reading in his Western Literature class. He even spent several minutes expressing how he was looking forward to testing Inui’s new juice and speculating what it might taste like. By the time the were nearing the top of the hill upon which Ryoma’s house sat, both the freshman and his captain were looking rather green around the gills, so to speak.

As they passed through the temple gates and passed through the grounds, Fuji smiled down at Ryoma, whose shoulders he still had wrapped in his arm. “I hope you don’t mind us coming in with you,” he told him, although his face and voice indicated that they would be escorting him inside if he did.

Ryoma simply gave a soft “Che” and said, “Do whatever you want,” walking into the house and out of his friend’s grasp. Tezuka frowned disapprovingly at Fuji for his brusqueness, but the tensai merely smirked at him.

“Tadaima,” Ryoma called through the house as he paused in the doorway to remove his shoes. He then stepped inside and climbed the stairs, going straight to his bedroom. Dimly, he realized that he was being followed by the other boys, but he ignored them as he tossed his bag on the floor and flopped himself onto his bed. Karupin jumped next to him and purred, nuzzling his master’s hand in the hopes of receiving a scratch behind the ears, and he was not disappointed. Ryoma picked up his cat and placed him on his stomach, where Karupin curled into a giant ball of fur.

While the freshman was absentmindedly pampering his precious purring pet, Fuji was taking the liberty to observe his young friend’s living space. Posters of professional tennis players adorned the walls, and the floor was littered with abused tennis balls. There was a small shelf filled with schoolbooks and a few novels, written in English and Japanese alike, and a several empty Ponta cans were in the waste basket. And perched on the wooden desk was a framed photograph of the Seishun Gakuen tennis regulars, the very same one that he had left for his friends at Kawamura Sushi with his jacket and -- as Inui had so eloquently put it -- suicide note.

“Ryoma-kun,” Tezuka said, bringing the boy from his daze and Fuji from his snooping, “where is Echizen-san?”

Ryoma shrugged, moving Karupin and turning onto his side to face the wall. “I dunno,” he told him, curling in on himself and his cat. “Maybe he wised up, went to join Rinko-san, and isn’t coming back.”

Fuji frowned, his eyebrows drawing together in dissatisfaction. “Saa, Ryoma-chan,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the desk, “you need to be less pessimistic. I’m sure that he would never do that.”

Tezuka nodded in agreement. “Echizen-san is a good man.” Ryoma, however, merely sighed doubtfully.

The captain’s question, however, was answered shortly as they heard the opening and closing of the sliding wooden doors and a call of “Tadaima” rang throughout the house. Several minutes later Nanjirou poked his head through the doorway. “Ah, there you are,” he said, glancing around the room. “Oh, konnichi wa (hello), Tezuka-kun, Fuji-kun. How’re you doing?”

Fuji smiled brightly at the monk. “Daijoubu, sankyuu (thanks), Echizen-san.”

Nanjirou frowned in displeasure. “Mou,” he complained, “what’s with this ‘Echizen-san’? You make me sound like an old man!”

The tensai tilted his head to the side and smiled innocently. “Oh? Then what would you rather I call you? Oyaji, maybe? Or how about hentai-san (Mr. Pervert)?”

The older man balked, both surprised and insulted by Fuji’s audacity. “Che! Youth,” he exclaimed, scratching at his head and avoiding the boy’s gaze. “So uncute these days. Nah, just Nanjirou’ll do. I never did like all that formality here in Japan.”

Tezuka gave his friend a reproachful stare, and Fuji chuckled. “Saa, Nanjirou-san,” he began, reclaiming the man’s attention, “Kunimitsu and I would like to take Ryoma-chan out to dinner, if that’s all right with you.”

Nanjirou paused and scratched at his whiskery chin, muttering quietly to himself as he contemplated the idea. Honestly, Ryoma still did not understand why the two wanted to treat him to dinner in the first place; after all, he could eat just as well at home as he could at some restaurant. He knew, though, that there was little to no chance of dissuading his seniors, so he simply laid on his bed, listening to them ask his father for his permission. At last the Samurai snapped his fingers and nodded, folding his arms inside his robes. “It’s fine with me,” he approved, leaning against the door frame, “but I’d like to come with you. I need to talk to you guys, and besides,” his mouth stretched into an embarrassed grin, “if I tried to cook for myself I’d burn down the house.”

Ryoma couldn’t help himself; he snorted in mirth and rolled his eyes. I’ll say, he thought to himself, considering that the last time you tried to cook, you set your clothes on fire.

Tezuka nodded, somehow unsurprised by Nanjirou’s admission. “Very well,” he agreed, and with a glance to his watch he said, “shall we be on our way?”

Twenty minutes later the unlikely group was waiting to be seated at a sushi and hibachi place that Ryoma had never seen. Puzzled as to why they had gone out of their way to come to this specific sushi bar, he turned and asked why they weren’t eating at Kawamura’s. Fuji answered his question as they were led to a hibachi table by a young waitress. “Saa, we might have run into a lot of people at Taka-san’s place,” he said. “I figured that we could use some privacy, especially since Nanjirou-san is with us.”

“A-arigato (T-thank you).” The small tennis champion stuttered slightly, taken aback by his senpai’s thoughtfulness. Fuji smiled down at him.

“Betsuni (It’s nothing),” he told him, slinging an arm around his kouhai’s shoulders. “Besides, the chefs here always give me extra wasabi with my food.”

Ryoma twitched slightly at the thought of the spicy paste, and he pushed the arm off him as he sat at the table. “Just don’t get any in my food, okay Fu- ah, Syuusuke?”

The brown-haired boy smiled innocently at him.

They were all seated and given menus, and Nanjirou immediately settled himself in his chair and scanned the choices offered. “Ne, Tezuka-kun, you’ve eaten here before, haven’t you? What’s good?”

Tezuka folded his menu after a precursory glance for any new items before answering the question asked of him. He fixed the glasses on his face and gazed seriously at the man next to him. “Don’t eat anything Fuji orders.” Fuji looked affronted at his friend’s words, and Ryoma chuckled.

Soon enough they had all ordered, and their food was prepared in a dazzling display of flashing knives and blazing fire. Once it was served the chef set small dish of extra wasabi in front of Fuji, bowed, and returned to the kitchen. The four sampled their meals, and when they decided that they were satisfied with the taste, they began to eat at a relaxed pace.

Fuji, happily gobbling a wasabi roll, raised a query to the others. “Nanjirou-san,” he asked, “what is it that you needed to speak with us about?”

Nanjirou, having a mouth full of fish and rice, did not answer at once. He swallowed with some difficulty and took a sip of sake before wiping his mouth with a napkin. Then the monk sighed. “Ano, where to start?” he contemplated, scratching his head in thought. “Well, I went to the ward office to meet Rinko and fill out some paperwork, but things didn’t exactly go as planned...” And so he told the three teenagers of how Rinko had filed for full custody of Ryoma, how he had protested and destroyed her papers, how she had refused to give full custody to her husband, and how Nanjirou had promised to bring her up on charges. At the end of his tale, all was silent.

Tezuka and Fuji were both frowning. “We were half expecting something like this to happen,” the tensai admitted, “although we were hoping that it wouldn’t.” Tezuka “hn”ed in agreement.

Ryoma snapped his chopsticks open and shut, playing with the rice and vegetables on his plate. Despite having ordered his favorite grilled fish, he no longer had any appetite. Yes, he had desperately wanted to avoid any sort of confrontation between his mother and father; after all, wasn’t that what had created this entire situation in the first place? He didn’t know if he would be able to handle seeing his parents fighting -- and over him!

And if they went to court, wouldn’t he have to testify against his mother? That was how things worked in America, anyway. Could he do that? Could he really do that, knowing that not only would he be putting his own mother in jail, and admitting that she wanted him dead, but that there was also a chance that the media would catch the story and tell it to every person in Japan? He wasn’t sure.

Maybe things would have been better if Fuji-senpai hadn’t caught me on that bridge...

“--oma-chan?”

Ryoma was brought out of his musings, ironically, by the person he was thinking about at that very moment. He shook he head, clearing his thoughts. “Ano, gomen, demo, what was the question?”

Fuji smiled indulgently as he repeated his query. “Daijoubu, Ryoma-chan? After what happened this afternoon at practice, I mean. I don’t believe I asked you yet.”

Nanjirou frowned and glanced quizzically at the boys. “And what, exactly, happened this afternoon at practice?” he asked, more than a little suspicion evident in his voice.

“Betsuni. Daijoubu.” His son, obviously, was reluctant to speak about the event from earlier and tried to downplay the event as much as possible. It was a fresh wound, in more ways than one. It had been terrifying to relive his mother’s attempt on his life, but to know that he would likely experience it again, possibly many times over, perhaps for the remainder of his life... It chilled him to the core to even think about it. Unfortunately, the others refused to take his rather blunt hint and let the topic die.

Tezuka, ever the dutiful buchou, relayed what had occurred to the concerned father. “I believe Ryoma had a flashback,” he told him.

Nanjirou furrowed his brow, pensive. He sighed, and Ryoma wondered if he had disappointed him in some way. “I was afraid that this might happen,” he said, reaching into his robes for a cigarette only to have it snatched away from him by Tezuka; they were in a restaurant, after all. He rubbed the back of his neck in annoyance. “Seishounen, you and me are going to get some advice about all of this on Sunday.”

Ryoma frowned. He knew what he meant by this, and he didn’t like it, not one bit. “I don’t need to see a shrink,” he protested, giving his fish a vicious stab, spearing it on his chopsticks before taking a large bite and chewing it with vigor. He was purposefully ignoring Nanjirou for even suggesting such a thing, and he continued to do so for the rest of the evening. So his father thought he was insane... and maybe I am, he realized. After all, what sane person would chuck himself off a bridge? Maybe that’s why Okaasan hates me so much -- because I took away her chance of having a normal child and a normal family... But still, he thought, stabbing a mushroom this time, that doesn’t mean that I want to talk to total stranger about my feelings!

Nanjirou bated Ryoma several times throughout the remainder of dinner, trying to elicit a response -- any response -- from his son. The boy was persistent, though, and he either pretended that he didn’t exist all together or made a scathing remark to Fuji, earning a reprimand from Tezuka. Gradually, the food disappeared, and it was eventually time to leave and part ways for the night. The Echizens thanked the two seniors for dinner, to which Fuji simply ruffled Ryoma’s hair and replied, “Betsuni.” As they said their goodbyes, Tezuka fixed Ryoma with a stern look.

“Take care of yourself,” he told him, and Ryoma knew that this was as much an order as any given on the tennis court. He nodded.

“Hai, buchou.” I’ll try, even if I don’t understand why you all care so much.

Fuji waved, Nanjirou lazily brought a hand up in farewell, and the four parted ways. The sky was dark as father and son headed home, but their path was well lit by street lamps. The lamps, though, were not bright enough to block out the light of the glimmering stars above. Ryoma gazed up at them, pulling his coat tight against his body as a particularly cold wind blew through him. There was less than a week left in October, and snow had been predicted for the beginning of November. There was only one day of practice left until the tennis club was postponed until spring. Winter was on its way, and it was bringing with it many changes. What changes, exactly, Ryoma did not know. Only time would tell.

---

“Keigo-bocchama (Young Master Keigo), I have a report that you may want to see.”

Atobe Keigo looked up from his paperwork and elegantly raised an eyebrow at the servant across from his desk. “Oh?”

“Hai. As you have instructed, I have been keeping tabs on certain employees, and this request was filed this afternoon.”

Keigo scanned the file handed to him, and his second eyebrow joined the first. His eyes narrowed as he read further, and then he abruptly snapped the file shut and tossed it back to the servant, who dutifully bowed and left the office. The young Atobe heir schooled his expression, folding his hands and leaning back in his chair. “Well, then,” he said quietly to himself, eyes gleaming, “it seems that I have some unexpected work ahead of me.”

---

Story Notes:

(1) Ward office: This is where couples in Japan go to file for divorce. They need only to fill out, sign, stamp, and turn in paperwork.
(2) If Only, If Only: This actually is a hauntingly beautiful song in the book (and movie) Holes, written by Louis Sachaar. Please forgive me, I don’t have the book and can’t give the exact MLA information.
(3) “I’ll see you in court.”: Kyaa! Please forgive me for using such a cliché line! It was the best thing I could think of, and it seemed to be appropriate and work well. -Sigh- My muse has been watching too much daytime television.

---

AN: Finally, the chapter’s finished! Hmm... the ending seems to be a bit rushed, though. That’s probably because I was writing and getting kicked off the computer back and forth between paragraphs, though. Anyway, more of the plot is coming through! Yay! The romance factor is still undecided, but at this point I don’t think that there will be any. There’s always a chance, though.

I know that Ryoma’s attitude is really ambiguous right now, but I’m trying to stay true to his character. He’s trying to put up a front and act like nothing’s wrong, but in reality he’s extremely bothered by everything. After all, who wouldn’t be in his position?

So another chapter is finished. I hope you all liked it! Please review and let me know!

-Sugarpony

---

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