When it was announced that he would be attending Seigaku junior high in
Japan, Ryuu was mildly concerned but not surprised. It would be strange not to have his grandparents only a few minutes
walk away. His father, although frequently away for tournaments, had been held up for years as a shining example of a
single parent but still struggled with a few basics. Cooking, for one. Ryuu could foresee a lot of rice and takeaway
meals in the coming months. Still, his father occasionally got misty-eyed (metaphorically speaking) as he reminisced
about Japanese tennis in his own junior high days, so it couldn’t be all bad. After all, it produced the first
two members of what looked like an Echizen dynasty sweeping international tennis. Well, sweeping it until they got bored
– Nanjiroh at twenty, Ryoma at twenty eight, having topped the world rankings for ten continuous years.
They arrived mid-afternoon a week
or so before the school year began. Long enough, in his grandmother’s words, to get over the jet-lag and long enough,
in his grandfather’s words, to scout out all the decent courts. Deposited in the street by the taxi, they looked
at the house.
“Well,
it looks okay,” his father said at last. Even from the outside the differences from houses in New York were immediately
apparent, the nameplate proudly displayed by the gate being one of them. “At any rate, the garden is big enough
for a tennis court and we’re only five minutes walk from the street courts. Fuji says they’re much improved
since I was last here; I might go thrash a few people later.”
“Che,” Ryuu said and
walked past him up to the house, tennis bag on his shoulder, it being one of the few things not shipped over earlier.
“Mada mada,” his father
said smirking, as he is forced to stop at the locked door. As they moved into the house, he put their bags down and started
to unpack. “I asked Fuji-senpai to pick up some food for us – so long as you watch out for anything not pre-packaged,
you could get yourself a snack and then sort your room.”
Ryuu winced at the reminder of
the time he stole some of Fuji-jisan’s lunch that time he’d been commissioned to photograph the US Open for Tennis
Pro Monthly. He’d felt like he’d lost layers of his tongue. There probably hadn’t been anyone
else his father had kept in touch with well enough to ask or else he’d never have trusted Fuji. Probably not, anyway.
In the end, there wasn’t much
that needed doing. After years of following his father to tournaments, Ryuu had much less by way of clutter than most
kids his age. It didn’t seem necessary really to carry around more than a bare minimum of clothes and his tennis
things.
Even so, it was early evening before
he headed out, intending to find the street courts. There probably wouldn’t be anyone interesting there –
there rarely was in such informal places as top players would have scheduled training to attend – but his father still
had some work to do before they had a court and after the long flight he was itching to play a match.
* * * * * * * *
After asking directions only a couple
of times, Ryuu made it to the courts and stopped halfway down the steps in surprise. He’d been expecting two, maybe
four at most, rundown courts in a deserted corner of the park. In fact there was a block of eight courts, all occupied
by a variety of singles and doubles matches. They weren’t on at the time but there were spotlights ready by each
of the courts and seating at each end. It was possible that his father was right about Japanese tennis.
As he moved into the area where people
were spectating, he unconsciously pulled his cap lower over his eyes. He seemed to be one of the youngest there. Most
of the players were boys, though there was an enthusiastic game of ladies’ doubles happening on one of the nearer courts,
and they seemed to range from about his own age right up to guys who were probably older than his father.
He moved over to get a good look at
the games. The standard was mixed but there was one court of older guys at the far end who looked quite competent for
amateurs.
“Yo, is
it your first time here?”
The speaker was a slender teenager
probably a couple of years older than him. Ryuu looked him over appraisingly: his racket was good, the grip tape looked
like it would need replacing soon, the clothes were nice but not flashy.
“Aa.”
“Now we have
eight courts, we play one set matches. The end court over there is for warming up. Once a game finishes, the court
is open for anyone but generally the people who’ve been waiting the longest go on.”
“Simple
enough.”
“Since
you’re new, someone will probably challenge you to a game soon to see where you stand. You’re fairly young
to be coming here, which school are you at?”
“Seishun
Gakuen, as of next term.”
“A
good choice. A word of advice: stay down this end of the courts – most of the guys here are either at Seigaku or
were in the past. The far end is all Hyotei and they can get . . . nasty on occasion.”
He fell silent and Ryuu took the opportunity
to look down towards the end the other boy had labelled Seigaku. None of the boys seemed to be wearing team kits, which
was probably why he hadn’t noticed before, maybe because it was the holidays. The exception was the group of men
that he had noticed before. There were six of them there – two playing a singles game and the rest sitting on the
bench by the court, in the shade of the trees behind them. As he watched, one of them stood up and walked over to speak
with a boy closer to Ryuu’s age. The boy bowed slightly and wandered around the courts towards him.
“Evening,
Sato-senpai,” he said before turning to Ryuu. “Hi, I’m Tanaka Yusuke. Do you want a game? The
game on court 7 is just about to finish.”
“Sure.”
Ryuu deposited his bag on the bench
by the court and began stretching while the match currently playing drew to a conclusion. That done, he pulled out a
racket and prepared to play. After a short rally to warm up, they met at the net.
“Which?”
Tanaka asked, lowering the head of his racket to the ground.
“Rough.”
“Rough
it is. Your serve.”
Ryuu took the ball handed to him and
moved back to the base line. From what Sato said, this match would determine his initial ranking at the street court,
so he had to play fairly seriously. His opponent was right-handed, so he squeezed the ball in his left hand, threw it
and hit a twist serve.
Tanaka dodged the ball headed for
his face and looked over with a great deal more interest. There were murmurs already starting around the court.
“Was that a
counter-revolution serve?”
“That kid can’t be more than twelve!”
He smirked and served a second
ace.
By the fourth serve, his opponent
worked out the timing and managed to return the ball. Not bad, for someone facing it for the first time but a quick return
and he took the game.
Through the next few games, it became
apparent that while this boy was good he wasn’t up to Ryuu’s standard and he took the set 6-2.
Now comfortably warmed up, Ryuu joined
Sato again at the side of the courts.
“Well
played,” the older boy said but he didn’t sound overly impressed.
“Che,
he’s still mada mada dane.”
To his surprise, a return came
straight back at him.
“Not really. Tanaka-kun
is a doubles specialist; you’re clearly a singles player. It’s a different game. Momo-sensei gave you
an opponent who’s a good tennis player but only a decent singles player.”
“Sensei?”
“Aa. The
tall guy just going on court there on court 4 in the old style Seigaku jersey. He coaches our junior high team.”
By silent consensus, they moved along
to watch court 4. Both players were much stronger than anyone else Ryuu had seen so far. If Momo-san could coach
as well as he played, it would be an interesting year.
“Enjoying yourself,
Ryuu-kun?”
“Fuji-jisan,”
he acknowledged. To his surprise, Fuji was wearing the same style jacket as the others on this court.
“I’m a
little late tonight. I called by your house on my way down; your dad says he’ll be along later. The courts
are good, ne?”
“Not
bad.”
Fuji smiled at him.
“Excuse me, Ryuu-kun, Sato-kun.”
With that, he ambled past them to
slip into the group around the court as if he had been there all along.
“So how do you
know Fuji-san?” Sato asked curiously.
“He’s
a friend of my father’s. You?”
“Everyone knows him around here;
he’s something of a legend. It’s rare to see him play seriously but when he does . . . That’s
really something to watch.”
“Aa.” Ryuu
knew exactly what he meant. He’d seen Fuji play his father once or twice and he was easily good enough to have
gone pro, though not good enough to beat his father. As a technician, he was perfect. It was the sort of
tennis that anyone would enjoy watching.
After a bit, Sato was called off to
join a doubles match and Ryuu continued to watch Fuji’s court. The singles game had finished and Fuji was warming
up with one of the other players, a southpaw this time. They ran through their strokes with the ease of long familiarity
and when Fuji bowed out smiling, the court cleared. Before he knew it, the other man had come over to where Ryuu is standing. He
looked down at him appraisingly; the sharp eyes seemed unimpressed by his previous display.
“Echizen-kun, play a match
with me.”
Ryuu’s eyes widened slightly. Who
was this guy? Okay, so maybe he did look quite like his father but why was he making a point of noticing it? Still,
he’d do for an opponent.
He shrugged and moved past the man
towards the vacant court, racket resting nonchalantly on his shoulder. If he was offended, the man gave no sign. One
of the other men took a position by the net to umpire.
“A one set match. You
can serve.”
Ryuu took the ball, surprised. It
was usually an advantage to serve first. The fact that he’d been given it so easily either meant that this guy
was hugely confident in his own skills or that he’d severely underestimated Ryuu. It was normally the second: he’d
lost track of the number of adults who’d had some idea of ‘going easy on him’.
“Echizen-Tezuka, one set match. Echizen
to serve.”
Switching his racket to his marginally
weaker left hand, Ryuu sent his twist serve flying at the opponent. Tezuka smashed it straight down the line. He
didn’t even have a chance to move and stared after it in disbelief. True, the twist wasn’t unreturnable,
but hardly anyone could return it that easily. Had he played against a counter-revolution serve before?
“Come, Echizen,” Tezuka
said, already in position for the next serve. Ryuu blinked and moved across.
A crowd had already started to gather
around the court.
“This
brings back memories, ne Oishi?” Fuji said, smiling as they moved forward to where they could get a good view, the others
around the court parting to let them through. “It will be interesting to see how Ryuu-kun is doing.”
“I’m just concerned that
Tezuka is planning on treating this Echizen as he treated Ryoma. Their first match was an overwhelming defeat and Tezuka
didn’t even need the Zone.”
“The situation is much the
same,” Momo said thoughtfully. “Ryuu’s probably been taught in much the same way as Ryoma was, so he’s
probably at a similar stage. That’s what his game looks like, anyway.”
“And Tezuka, of course, is much
stronger than he was in middle school. The game that will be really interesting is Tezuka against Echizen Ryoma,”
Inui, said, eyes fixed on the court as he started a new page of his notebook. “It will be interesting to see if
Tezuka can still hold his own.”
“Honestly Inui, have you
ever seen Tezuka flattened?” Kikumaru said. “Ochibi’s not bad but Tezuka’s still improved. When
did he last lose? That match against Fujiko, what, five years back?”
“I believe it was the Yukimura
game four years ago this September - Tezuka having won the succeeding three matches. Still, I wouldn’t worry about
it. A match against Tezuka isn’t something Ryoma’s ever been able to resist.”
On court, Ryuu finally reached the
return and was rewarded with a curt nod as the man sent it whizzing across to the opposite corner, beyond what he could reach.
“Heh, not bad,”
Ryuu conceded. So the guy could return a twist serve, that didn’t mean much. Still, he would have to start
playing seriously. He switched his racket into his right hand. Murmurs began around the court.
“Isn’t the kid a southpaw?”
“Does he think that changing
hands will help him beat Tezuka? He‘ll have to come up with something a bit better than that.”
Fuji-jisan and his friends didn’t
even blink. Maybe Fuji had mentioned it or maybe they were all aware of his relation to Echizen Ryoma, who was well known
to switch hands depending on the way the game was going.
“Love-40,” the referee
announced. “Tezuka leads.”
Ryuu served a fast slice serve straight
down the centre, catching the edge of the box. In terms of accuracy it was textbook perfect. His opponent didn’t
seem to have realised that he was supposed to struggle to return such a serve and, as Ryuu had half expected, returned the
ball easily. This time, though, he was already moving.
“A one-footed split step,”
came the prompt comment from one of Fuji’s friends. “Interesting, it seems that Echizen Ryuu’s development
is currently a couple of months ahead of what I had predicted.”
Ryuu could feel a smirk spreading
across his face: it was always nice to have a knowledgeable audience. It usually took people a lot longer to notice that
his split step was a bit different from the norm. With it, he was finding that Tezuka’s shots were more easily
reachable.
He skidded forward to return a low
volley with a Drive B, one of his father’s signature moves and usually a safe winner against most opponents Ryuu had
played. What he didn’t expect was for Tezuka to move precisely to smash it backwards. That took incredible
judgement of the speed and spin on the ball.
“Game Tezuka. Tezuka
leads, one game to love. Change courts.”
Ryuu moved around the court more thoughtfully. This
guy wasn’t just an average court’s local ace, he was genuinely good. Other than his father, no one had broken
him in a love game in years. He’d have to pick up his pace if he wanted to win this.
He wasn’t prepared for the serve
that whistled straight past his ear as he stood, rooted to the ground. That serve felt as fast as his dads, maybe even
faster! Tezuka was already on the other side as he prepared to serve again. Ryuu narrowed his eyes, readying himself
to move. This one he caught, though only enough for a weak return which was neatly put away.
“That won’t be enough
to beat me,” Tezuka said, face completely serious. “Show me your tennis: Echizen Ryuu’s tennis,
not Echizen Ryoma’s.”
Ryuu scowled at him. His dad’s
tennis was good enough to win a Grand Slam, why shouldn’t he use it? And who was this guy to tell him?
“I’m not going to
let it end like this, you know,” he said, determined to at least take a game.
His next return was particularly vicious
and followed up by a perfect drop volley. Tezuka almost seemed to smile as he stepped forward to take it early on his
backhand. Sensing the drop shot coming, Ryuu dove for the net, ready for the bounce. Instead he stared, sprawled
across the court, as the ball landed, spun in place and then rolled back into the net.
“Zero shiki drop,”
Ryuu said ruefully. He could never have anticipated that: even his dad couldn’t hit that one perfectly and it was
always obvious when he was about to try.
“A zero-shiki,”
came the murmurs from around the court. “Tezuka’s taking the kid seriously.”
Fifteen minutes later had him on his
knees, sweat pouring down his face, as the score was called
“Game and set Tezuka. Tezuka
wins, six games to love.”
Tezuka looked at him, face still
inscrutable.
“You will never be able to perform
to your potential until you overcome that barrier. You have the talent, though. I want you to become Seigaku‘s
pillar of support this season,” he said and walked back over to his bench.
Ryuu struggled to his feet and
found Fuji waiting for him at the edge of the court with a towel and a bottle of water.
“Thanks, oji-san.”
“You played
well.”
“Hardly.”
“There aren’t many
opponents that can make Tezuka show all of his skill. I haven’t beaten him in five years now.”
“Oyaji could beat him, no
problem,” Ryuu said, depressed at the thought. Someday he was going to beat him but at the moment that day seemed
a long way away.
“I’m not so sure.”
Ryuu stared at him.
“What?”
“Ryoma sails through most
matches without thinking much about it. Since I met him, he’s only ever lost seven people. Of those, there
are only three he’s lost to more than once. One of those is your grandfather and another is Yukimura-san, who was
captain at Rikkai Dai for five years straight. Ryoma spent the best part of three years going to Kanagawa every weekend
to pester him or Sanada-san for a game.”
“Oyaji doesn’t like
losing. He has a reputation to maintain. He’ll be down soon, I guess.”
“Didn’t
you notice? He arrived during the fourth game of your match.”
“I embarrassed him too much
for him to come over, I guess.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Look.”
Ryuu looked to where Fuji indicated. His
father was in fact there, walking across the courts towards them, racket bag over his shoulder and hands in his pockets. He
didn’t look disappointed, more like he was building up towards a good match. As he passed them, he lifted Ryuu’s
cap onto his own head and ruffled his hair.
