Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ The Games We Play ❯ Chapter Three ( Chapter 3 )

Chapter Three

 

 

 

Ryoma led Tezuka into a hole-in-the-wall tavern a block from the stadium. Despite Buchou's stony expression, Ryoma could tell the older man felt unsure about the place.

 

A beefy man with a gray halo of hair appeared from the back. As soon as he spotted Ryoma, the man beamed. “Hey, Samurai Boy!” The guy wiped his hands across the front of the apron and limped over. “I was wondering when you'd show up.”

 

“I just got in yesterday,” Ryoma argued.

 

“No excuse!” Still smiling, the man grabbed Ryoma and enveloped him in a bear hug. Ryoma's feet dangled several inches off the floor. When the man finally let go, Ryoma had to readjust his shirt and grab his cap off the floor. He glanced at Tezuka and nearly laughed out loud. Both of Tezuka's eyebrows had run for cover under his bangs. His eyes widened even more when the barkeep turned to him. “I've never seen you around here before. You a pro, too?”

 

“Yes,” Tezuka replied stiffly.

 

Ryoma winced. “Sorry about that. Buchou, this is Jim Harding. He owns this place. Jim,” Ryoma continued, “this Kunimitsu Tezuka.”

 

“No shit!” The man grabbed Tezuka's hand and shook it so hard even Buchou swayed. “So I finally get to meet the Mr. Tezuka. Samurai Boy used to talk about you all the time!” Jim paused. “You know, I thought you'd be younger…”

 

Ryoma cleared his throat and hid his embarrassment. “Do we get to eat sometime today?”

 

“Well then don't dawdle, boy. You and your friend can have a seat anywhere you like. And order what you want - it's on the house!” The old man motioned around the empty room before rushing back behind the counter. “I'll get you set up.” Ryoma led Tezuka to a corner table.

 

“Interesting man,” Tezuka said, looking around.

 

“Yeah, well, Jim's son is the manager of a drug store in New York. I shopped there while I was staying at the hotel before the first US Open.”

 

“The first US Open?” Tezuka repeated, although it sounded more like he was trying to digest information rather than ask a question.

 

“Yeah. His son even watched my cat for me when I went back to Japan to play you before the finals.”

 

Jim reappeared with a glass of water in each hand. “By the way,” he asked, looking out the window, “where's Blondie? You didn't ditch him, did you?”

 

Tezuka's eyebrows shot up once again; his gaze rested squarely on Ryoma.

 

Ryoma pretended not to notice. “He went to check on Karupin before our game this afternoon.”

 

“You two playing doubles again?”

 

Ryoma shrugged. “It's an exhibition game.”

 

Jim laughed. “You two ought to think about doing that at the Open this year. Wouldn't be another pair that could beat you two.”

 

Ryoma glanced at Tezuka. “Jim used to play tennis,” he explained, “so he thinks he's an expert.”

 

“Hey, I know a good pair when I see one. You boys would sweep for sure!”

 

“I'll sweep it anyway,” Ryoma countered matter-of-factly.

 

“If you intend to win another US Open,” Tezuka interjected with equal confidence, “perhaps you should reconsider playing doubles.”

 

Had anyone else said it, Ryoma would have smirked and bit back, or perhaps he would have simply taken the guy to a court and shown him how real tennis was played. But Tezuka-buchou wasn't just anybody. And Ryoma realized, surprisingly and to his own bemusement, that a part of him believed his former tennis captain.

 

He decided to revisit his videos when he got back to the hotel, because he had no intention of losing at this exhibition or at the US Open. Even if his final opponent was Tezuka-buchou.

 

Without looking at a menu Ryoma ordered the special, and he grinned when Tezuka said he would have the same. He almost lost his composure entirely when he saw Tezuka's expression as two heaping double chili-cheeseburger and onion ring platters were dropped onto the table in front of them ten minutes later.

 

“Should you eat something like that before a match?” Tezuka asked.

 

Since he had been genuinely hungry when he invited Tezuka-buchou, Ryoma chose omission and dug into his plate. After a few moments, Tezuka muttered, “Itadakimasu,” and took a tentative bite of his hamburger.

 

“This is surprisingly good,” Tezuka said before taking another bite.

 

Ryoma tried not to feel too pleased with himself but failed. “Try one of those.” He pointed to the onion rings. “They're the best in the city.”

 

Ryoma took the opportunity to observe Tezuka-buchou more closely. The man had hardly changed; even his glasses looked the same. The confident air of inherent authority and imbued charisma remained as well. Ryoma once thought perhaps his perception of Tezuka-buchou back then had been an over-inflated byproduct of childhood, but now he knew better. Even now, Tezuka Kunimitsu appeared infallible, untouchable, utterly perfect.

 

However Ryoma had to admit he never thought he'd see Buchou eat something as humble as a burger and onion rings. He nearly fell out of his chair when Tezuka ordered a draft beer to go with it. Then it occurred to him that Tezuka nursing a beer with lunch shouldn't seem all that strange. Tezuka was twenty-two now, plus he'd spent several years in Europe. But it was strange, and Ryoma couldn't help but contemplate what else about Buchou might be different now.

 

They remained quiet for the rest of the meal. Ryoma swallowed his last bite when Tezuka finally broke the silence. “You seem to be doing fairly well, Echizen.”

 

“I'm undefeated this year,” Ryoma said, grabbing a paper napkin from the table dispenser.

 

Tezuka frowned. “Although that's good to hear, I wasn't talking about tennis.”

 

Tezuka-buchou wasn't talking about tennis? Wow, things really had changed…

 

“I was talking about you,” Tezuka said. “You seem to be doing fairly well.”

 

Ryoma sat for a moment, unsure how he should respond. His favorite platitudes felt unfit for Tezuka-buchou, but he damn sure wasn't going to tell him the truth either. “I play tennis for a living, and I win most of the time. What else is there?”

 

Buchou still looked dissatisfied. “That's what I would like to know. What else is there for you?”

 

Despite his desire to return the question back unanswered and posing a similar one of his own, Ryoma's willpower failed him against Tezuka-buchou's unspoken demand for an explanation. He found himself telling Buchou various things about his life after Seigaku: home school teachers that migrated with him so he could graduate, investments made to ensure his financial security after retirement, acquaintances living in various cities around the world. He told Buchou about gaining dual citizenship between the US and Japan. He called both an apartment in Tokyo and a house in Queens home. In his absence, his parents resided in the big house in New York; his cousin stayed in the flat in Tokyo.

 

“That about sums it up,” he concluded, shrugging. “Of course I've seen a few familiar faces over the years.”

 

Buchou nodded. “Oishi told me you attended the ceremony in Italy.”

 

Ryoma snickered as the memory came back to him. “Yeah, it's too bad you couldn't make it. Actually, I was a little disappointed with the whole thing.” At Tezuka's unspoken query, he smirked. “Somehow I though I'd get to see Kikumaru-senpai in a wedding dress.”

 

Even Buchou's mouth quirked upward. “Indeed.” The amusement disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “You spent a bit of time traveling with Fuji afterward, didn't you?”

 

Right, of course Buchou knew about that part too. He too had kept in touch with many of his old Regulars. All of them actually, except him. Pushing that thought aside, Ryoma chose to keep the details of his adventure with Fuji-senpai to himself. “It was just a quick road trip. I hadn't done much sightseeing, and it was Golden Week, so Fuji-senpai had some time.”

 

Apparently satisfied, Buchou left it at that. He glanced at his watch. “We should leave. You'll need time to prepare properly.”

 

Leave it to Buchou to drag information out of him and then tell him to get warmed up for his next match. “We still have some time. You haven't even told me what you've been doing.”

 

“We'll talk more at dinner tonight.” Tezuka-buchou stood up, leaving Ryoma no choice but to follow suit. “I assume you're staying at the hotel next to the arena.” When Ryoma acknowledged he was, Tezuka nodded. “I'll meet you in the lobby at eight.”

 

Well…that settled that, didn't it?