Game

This is fan fiction for the anime Prince of Tennis, enjoy:

Ryoma Echizen loved tennis. He loved the way the handle of his racket fitted perfectly in his hand. He love the way the ball bulged in his pocket or the solid "thunk" of the ball when it hits the racket squarely in the center. He loved the smell of burnt rubber when a ball gets worn out by the hard smashes. Ryoma also loved the courts, the rectangle within the reactangle, the way the white lines bordered on the edge of his vision, the way the world world seem to revolve around him and his opponent when they played.

Tezuga Kunimitsu loved tennis. He loved the way his focus is always drawn to the ball, a blurred spot that seem to sharpen his awareness of it. He loved the way the movement, hard or soft, rough or graceful, all merge together to form a work of art, a dance between opponents. Tezuga loved the way his mind absorbed the style of his opponent and allowed him to read the language of tennis. He loved creating his own brand of perfect tennis, but most of all he loved leading the Seigaku team to further and higher than they ever had.

Ryoma had never had such an opponent as his captain. His father, a pro tennis player, had always tried to make his defeats into a learning point, and Ryoma had never met a player besides his father that could beat him... until now. Tezuga was his buchou, the one person he looked up to even more than his father. As he stood across the net, facing his own defeat, he felt fear burn across his chest, and something else, something that felt very much like dissapointment, like shame, left a sour taste in his mouth. It was then that he realized it. He did not want to lose. He did not want to disapoint the sandy-haired youth that stood facing him from across the net. The same youth that had competed with the top professionals in the Nationals. His captain. He wanted to win.

Tezuga noticed a change in the ball he had just recieved. It was subtle, a little more weight in the hit, a little more spin to the side and a little faster serve. Ryoma rallied the ball back at him. This ball was seemingly average, coming right at him in the center of court. He pulled back his racket and swung. Tezuga's sharp eyes widened. The muscles in his arm strained. The ball was heavy! Still tezuga managed to hit a cross-sourt with the speed and precision he was so wll known for. However he miscalculated and the return ball slammed into the opposite side of his court, winning Ryoma his match point.

The game resumed in earnest now. Whoever won this final point would be the best player in Seigaku and perhaps someday, in the world. Ryoma gripped his racket in his left palm. Tezuga shifted his weight onto his right leg and hunched his back into the ready position. It was a fight to the finish.