Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ Hourglasses ❯ Decisions ( Chapter 4 )

Hourglasses

 

Chapter IV

 

Tezuka had endured an hour of taunts and torture from one arrogant, ex-pro tennis player. He had ran, he had served, he had volleyed, and now he was exhausted whereas Ryoma looked as if he was ready for a few hundred more rounds. And the incorrigible young man still maintained his game with his right hand. Tezuka grew slightly annoyed at this fact.

 

“Five games to three—have you really been practicing, Kunimitsu?”

 

The older man narrowed his gaze slightly. There were few that were courageous enough to tease him and Ryoma had just landed himself on that very limited list which originally carried only Fuji. Only with Ryoma the teasing was far more blatant and thus, more ingratiating on Tezuka's nerves.

 

Ryoma served elegantly and Tezuka found himself too distracted to properly react. One point to Echizen, his mind automatically calculated. He knew he was going to lose, but that did not mean he would let Ryoma go so easily.

 

“So how's the pharmaceutical life going for you?”

 

“You know?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Tezuka hid a smile. “Fine,” he replied.

 

Ryoma tilted his head up to look at him in the eye. “It's very you,” he commented before serving.

 

Instinct took over and found Tezuka hitting the ball back with just as much force as Ryoma put into it. The latter smiled as he reciprocated the challenge with a hard slice on the ball. Tezuka watched slowly as it came towards him before adjusting his position slightly to meet the ball. Another hard round had begun.

 

“But what else are you going to do? What about your social life?”

 

Tezuka arched an eyebrow. “What about yours?” he shot back.

 

Ryoma smirked as he launched his infamous Drive A straight into the other's face. Tezuka had barely dodged out of reflex as Ryoma took the point. “Mine? Didn't I establish that a few days ago?” he inquired smartly, gently tapping his racket against his shoulder. “You are my social life.”

 

An uncanny feeling of discomfort swept through Tezuka's system, yet at the same time he found himself quite flattered if not baffled. “You can't possibly use all your time on me,” he stated as a matter-of-factly.

 

“No? You'd be surprised at how one-tracked my mind can be. Oyaji says so all the time, though I choose to ignore him.”

 

Ryoma gave a slight smile. “It's match point,” he said.

 

The ball swept past Tezuka in a flash. Ryoma had finally used his left hand—and finished off the game with a Twist Serve nonetheless. Tezuka had forgotten the impact of that serve, and Ryoma had refined and polished the move to its greatest potential. He was not disappointed with the game. In fact he felt a distinct sense of pride in knowing that he was one of the few that helped guide Ryoma to his current level of achievement.

 

“Are you through with tennis entirely?” he found himself asking suddenly.

 

Ryoma watched him for a moment. “I told you before. Tennis isn't living,” he replied laconically. He took off his cap and fanned himself for several moments. “And I'm through with it. I'll do it for fun still—maybe compete once in a while—but I'm looking for something else to do now. I went, I conquered, and now I'm moving on.”

 

“To what?”

 

A strange glint entered Ryoma's eyes. “Maybe another sport,” he answered.

 

Tezuka's curiosity grew despite himself. “Another sport?” he repeated.

 

“Like surfing.”

 

“Surfing?”

 

He had not meant to sound so incredulous, but Tezuka had been unable to hide his astonishment. From tennis to surfing—Ryoma never did seem to follow any exact pattern. Inui had pointed that out once while they watched one of his games on television. In the beginning the boy could be expected to follow some sort of pattern, but as the years progressed he started becoming more and more unpredictable—both in his tennis style and choices. Now the only thing Tezuka could do was stare at him dumbfoundedly.

 

“See, shounen? I'm not the only one who thinks you're insane,” quipped a new voice—Nanjiroh.

 

Ryoma looked back at his approaching father. “Your opinion is irrelevant, Oyaji,” he said dismissively.

 

Nanjiroh smacked his son over the head. “No respect nowadays! Don't become too cocky now that you retired as the best,” he chided.

 

“Why surfing?” asked Tezuka finally.

 

The amber-eyed man looked at him carefully. “I like it. I went to Hawaii a few times during my vacation over the years and I took up surfing as a hobby. I think I'd like to go into it competitively,” he replied.

 

“You think you're ready to get off the ground? You've barely even begun to walk,” stated Nanjiroh calmly, crossing his arms.

 

Ryoma smiled slightly. “I want to take to the sky, Oyaji, but first I have to go through the waters,” he said.

 

The father and son shared knowing glances and Tezuka could only watch them in slight confusion. It was obvious the two were referring to something beyond his knowing. Their secret language only proved to Tezuka that they were indeed closer than they appeared. It brought on a sense of warmth in him. Somehow, as dysfunctional as Ryoma's family was, they worked. They each understood one another and that was all that mattered. It made Tezuka realize sadly how distant he was to his family. He loved them dearly, but he could never achieve the type of relationship Ryoma had with his family. But they were still functional in their own subtle way.

 

“He wants to take over the world by going through each sport one at a time. What a crazy boy I've raised!”

 

Tezuka snapped out of his reverie to see Ryoma folding his arms stubbornly. “It's not funny, Oyaji,” he retorted crossly.

 

Nanjiroh laughed gaily and patted his hand on Tezuka's shoulder for support. “Ah, but I can't blame him! He inherited his craziness from me after all. We're both just big dreamers it seems. But unlike me, this shounen's got more guts and actually will carry out his goals no matter how insane they are,” he proclaimed loudly.

 

“Stupid Oyaji, you can't do anything,” remarked Ryoma calmly.

 

“Oi, Ryoma, that's not very nice. Think you're so much better, huh?”

 

“I won't go into this again.”

 

“OI!”

 

“You think I can do it, Kunimitsu?”

 

The question took Tezuka by surprise. Ryoma stared at him patiently. “If it's what you want… I see no reason why you can't,” he replied finally.

 

That answer made Ryoma smile slightly before he took both his and Tezuka's rackets and abruptly threw it onto the cart beside the court. “Come on. Let's get out of here. You can pick up your stuff later,” he declared resolutely before dragging Tezuka away.

 

“Hey, don't think you can escape that easily, shounen!”

 

Ryoma gave a careless wave behind his back. “Later, Oyaji!” he called back as he threw Tezuka's coat to him unceremoniously. “Hurry up,” he ordered shortly.

 

“Where are we going?” Tezuka asked quietly before finding himself pushed out the doorway and back into the blistering cold.

 

The younger man smirked. “Don't trust me?”

 

Tezuka pursed his lips and remained silent. Ryoma smiled slightly and the two walked through the snowy streets. It was now late afternoon and nearing dinnertime. A faint grumbling sounded from his stomach as he remembered how hungry he was. Tezuka glanced at Ryoma and noticed that the younger man seemed oblivious to all save his one goal—a goal of which Tezuka still did not know as he was led down the various stores and restaurants that plagued their neighborhood. He barely even looked at them to avoid being tempted and opted for staring at the sky and, occasionally, Ryoma.

 

He had forgotten how curious his eyes were. That spectacular mixture of gold and green hues made Ryoma's eyes hard to ignore—especially when he had a knack for staring people down like a wild cat on the verge of pouncing its prey. It was those same eyes that made Tezuka feel slightly flustered when focused too long on his own. Normally, he would have endured it calmly—almost nonchalantly. But now that he knew of Ryoma's intentions for him…it became downright disturbing. He knew the younger man meant well, but Tezuka did not take to attention very well. Generally, the attention he received was of admiration and respect—this, he could tolerate almost to the point of indifference—but this sort of attention was suffocating—uncomfortable—foreign.

 

After all, he could not very well ignore Ryoma when the man was standing right beside him. And he was a friend—which made it even more uncomfortable.

 

“I feel like having some sushi.”

 

Glancing upwards at the store they stopped before, Tezuka's eyes widened slightly. “Kawamura's…? You took us here?” he asked with some wonder. He was becoming more and more distracted in the presence of Ryoma nowadays. This was decidedly not a good thing.

 

Ryoma tilted his head to the side. “Is that bad?” he replied, his tone genuine as he looked at Tezuka for approval.

 

Finding himself shaking his head, Tezuka let it slip. “No, it's all right. Let's go.”

 

Where was this strange consideration coming from? Tezuka frowned slightly to himself as they entered the warm restaurant. It was not overly crowded since it was still touching the evening, but there were plenty of patrons lurking about, laughing and eating. At once Tezuka spotted Kawamura and the latter looked briefly surprised before greeting them with a cheerful grin.

 

“Tezuka, Echizen! This is a surprise!”

 

Tezuka nodded slightly while Ryoma looked around the crowded floor. “Got any room?” he inquired bluntly.

 

Kawamura chuckled before nodding. “Yeah, come on over! It's on the house,” he said as he began directing them to a faintly quiet corner.

 

Ryoma shook his head as they sat down by the low table. “No, we're paying—or rather, I'm paying. But thanks for the offer, Taka-san,” he replied, addressing Kawamura in his more affectionate nickname. This surprised Tezuka somewhat since he knew the two never really spoke that much.

 

But by the way Kawamura slugged Ryoma's arm playfully and the ease in which they spoke to each other in—Tezuka thought maybe he was incorrect on the matter. When the other man finally left after taking their orders—which they did not even have to give since Kawamura knew their tastes—they resumed in silence. Tezuka folded his hands in his lap and regarded Ryoma carefully. The latter stared off to the side with his chin resting in his hand with a distinctly bored expression on his face.

 

“You think I'm insane?”

 

Blinking, Tezuka stared at Ryoma for a moment. “About?”

 

Amber eyes flew to him. “The surfing,” he said tonelessly.

 

“I already told you my opinions.”

 

Ryoma gave a half smile. “But you think it's surprising, no?” he challenged.

 

Tezuka was never one to lie. “Yes.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It's a drastic change.”

 

“But it's not impossible.”

 

“I never said it wasn't.”

 

It was remarkably simple the way they slipped back into these one-sentenced conversations. And for a few seconds Tezuka was reminded of their junior high years where the same sort of debates went on between them. Some things never changed it seemed. That was a reassuring thought, though.

 

Ryoma folded his arms and watched Tezuka for a while before their meals suddenly appeared in front of them on elaborately decorated trays. The sushi looked delectable and utterly picturesque while sitting innocently on its platters. Kawamura winked at them both before leaving them alone again.

 

They began to eat silently. Tezuka lapsed into his normal routine and treasured the brief peace he had while eating his meal. There was a slight tension in the air—he could feel it—but he could not comprehend it. He did not understand Ryoma's reason for bringing up this certain topic as well. He was surprised at the younger man's choice for career, but there was nothing he could do about it. And he did not want to do anything about it. Ryoma lived his own life. It was respectable in a way, too—the way he could so suddenly turn around and do something drastic when most people would be grateful for a stable lifestyle. That was what Tezuka wanted. He had no desire for any outrageousness.

 

Then it dawned on him. Perhaps this was why Fuji had been so insistent on him in dealing with Atobe and Ryoma. If there was any outrageousness to be had, these two were it.

 

“Hey, Kunimitsu…do you ever fear waking up one day and realizing with horror that you never did anything worthwhile in your life?”

 

Tezuka paused in his eating before eyeing Ryoma slowly. The golden-eyed man, it seemed, had a specialty when it came to reading people's thoughts. “No, I can't say I have,” he answered evenly.

 

Ryoma narrowed his eyes slightly. “Why did you choose to study pharmaceuticals? I thought you would become a pro as well,” he asked.

 

“I changed my mind.”

 

This was something Tezuka would rather not be spoken about. Making that decision had been a difficult one—and sometimes, sometimes he would wonder if it had been the right one to make. But fortunately those incidents happened rarely and lasted for the briefest of seconds. He politely wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin before looking at Ryoma again, who was still staring intently at him.

 

“Why do I not believe you?”

 

“It's up to you to believe me or not. I won't try to convince you.”

 

Ryoma calmly put down his chopsticks and stared at Tezuka. “What happened four years ago?” he suddenly asked.

 

Tezuka froze. He looked into his cup of tea and watched his own reflection as it gazed back tauntingly at him. It took him a few seconds to regain his normal composure as he took a sip from the drink before eyeing Ryoma severely. “What makes you ask?” he shot back.

 

“I know. I saw it in your eyes at our match. You still have the love of tennis—and the passion. Why did you give it up for pharmaceuticals? I said before that it suited you but now…I think I'll have to correct that mistake. It's not you. So what happened four years ago? Fuji told me that was when you changed career plans.”

 

Fuji. Tezuka should have known. And even then he could not bring himself to begrudge the other man. He had not mentioned anything else other than that apparently—but Ryoma was smart enough to figure it out for himself. Four years ago… That much time had passed already, and yet to Tezuka, he felt like he was still living that moment—that moment of despair and broken dreams. In a single instant his life had changed. And he found himself wondering why he had devoted so much time in the first place to such a dangerous and unsteady goal.

 

“Kunimitsu.”

 

Tezuka narrowed his eyes. “I made a hard decision, Echizen. That was it,” he said coldly.

 

Ryoma blinked several times before leaning back slowly. Echizen. The fact that Tezuka had addressed him so formally was proof that he had elicited some anger in him. He sighed inwardly to himself. Well, Fuji had given him proper warning on bringing up this subject with him. Ryoma just never was one to take warnings very seriously. But it seemed he had foolishly dove into this situation too roughly.

 

“Do you not like me?”

 

Now surprise entered Tezuka's eyes. “What?”

 

Ryoma shifted his arms until the elbows were resting on the table, head held up by his hands. “You are not interested in me at all. Would you prefer Keigo?” he said, his tone so inexplicably blasé that Tezuka was taken aback.

 

“I…”

 

The first thing that registered in Tezuka's head was that Ryoma had used Atobe's first name—hinting at a more informal relationship between the two. But then again, they had been pros at the same time and competed against each other at Wimbledon. They had probably moved past the insults and teasing they exchanged as younger adolescents.

 

But how to answer Ryoma's question? Tezuka was stuck in a corner.

 

“I'm not…interested in either of you.”

 

When said out loud, Tezuka realized how bratty it made him sound. He cringed inwardly as Ryoma's expression became even more impassive as he arched a single eyebrow.

 

“Oh? Are you quite sure about that, Kunimitsu? Somehow I think you're lying.”

 

Tezuka was suddenly hit by a strong wave of annoyance. Nobody had ever spoken to him so bluntly, so…insolently. Even Fuji knew where to stop before Tezuka lost his patience. And now Ryoma was coming very close to the breaking point. Tezuka was torn between irritation and slight awe at the younger man's tenacity.

 

“Ryoma…just let it drop,” he said slowly.

 

It was brought them back to their days at Seigaku when the first or second years were messing around and Tezuka would order them to desist immediately. There was no fighting back that tone of authority. And even now, a decade later, Ryoma still could not bring himself to challenge this famed notion. Tezuka still had absolute control over every situation. Ryoma did not like it—and the beginnings of a plan on how to break that control was taking up shape in his mind.

 

“You can't hide forever. You're not so efficient at masking your emotions as you think you are.”

 

Tezuka allowed that one to pass him by. He had deserved the chaste remark after all. But he still could not help but shudder inwardly at the hard tone in Ryoma's voice. There was as innate fear within him when it came to disclosing himself to other people—even those such as his family and close friends. He trusted them, of course, but that did stop him from keeping to himself. There was something about baring your heart out to people that Tezuka found unappealing and had henceforth, never done. The fact that Ryoma could read him now so easily disconcerted him immensely.

 

“Kunimitsu…if you really don't want anything to do with me…then I'll leave.”

 

Suddenly Tezuka shifted his attention back on Ryoma. The latter was staring at him calmly, patiently. “What do you mean?”

 

“I don't want you to force yourself. If you really have no interest in me I'll let you go. Maybe Keigo's more your type, I don't know. But I'll go back to the States—start on my next career,” explained Ryoma before smiling slyly, “I only stayed here in Japan for so long because of you. But even I can see when my efforts are failing. I'll give up on you…if you genuinely don't care for me at all other than as a friend.”

 

Tezuka stared at him blankly as Ryoma stood up, placing some money on the table. “This is for the meal and the rest is tip. Tell Taka-san I had an appointment and give him my regards,” he directed as he put on his coat. He began to walk away when he turned around halfway, a faint smile on his face. “I'll give you a week to decide. And yes, this is an ultimatum. Don't think I won't keep my word, Kunimitsu. `Night.”

 

And then he was gone.

 

TBC

 

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