A/N: This story was edited (the final edit, I suspect) 09/13/2011 and originally published 12/04/2007. Only two sentences in the fic itself were slightly edited, mainly I just took out old author's notes. This is my personal favorite fiction that I have up on this site to date. I appreciate your reading and, if you like RyoSaku, your sharing of this fic. Thank you.

Notes: Prince of Tennis anime based (gasp!), some tennis involved (gasp!), Ryoma is about 16 or so, I suppose. Not related to any other fics, short oneshot. This is not a realistic situation because regulation tennis balls are required and provided in tourneys and also for misbehaviour he'd probably be in big trouble. And if we're going into the technicalities, he's too young to be in the US Open... but in any case, it's a fanfic so it all works out : )

Ryoma took his hat off and wiped away the sweat rolling down his forehead. He looked up past the net, past the other player, past the masses of fans in the stands to the sky. The nice, wide open blue sky… he wished some of that fresh air would waft down to him.

It was his fourth year in the US Open. The first couple of years he'd done pretty well, then last year was even better, but this year he was determined to go all the way and win it. Sometimes he wondered if he could have gone farther the previous years if he were more determined. No, he'd realized even then that his opponents were better, and that was ok. It just made him want to work even harder.

Ryoma sighed and pulled his cap back on after momentarily fanning himself with it. This guy he definitely had to beat. He'd seen him play a little and it had looked dirty, but against Ryoma he'd pulled out all the stops. This guy, Ryoma decided, was actually trying to hurt him. But it wasn't as if Ryoma had come so far only to loose to a person like that. He wasn't stupid enough to get hurt.

Still, Ryoma found it hard to play at his best while trying to protect himself. His opponent may have been dirty, but he was good. It would have been easier if he returned his opponent's shot right to his face. He remembered doing things like that before… no, he'd grown since then. If someone got hurt on the court it was usually their own fault, but he wasn't going to try for it. Some people thought his twist serve was dirty since the ball headed directly for the body, but Ryoma hadn't met anyone whom he had deemed worthy to use the twist serve against that couldn't avoid injury from it…

Ryoma could remember one time… ok, a few times… when he was younger and he did get angry and did play to hurt. He had realized, though, that it wasn't a respectable way to play. He saw his teammates face off against dirty players sometimes and realized just how low it was. There was that, and… well, sometimes she would be upset about it if he played a less than honorable game. It wasn't often that she said anything, no, just that when everyone else was cheering for his victory, seeing that look on her face didn't make it feel like a victory at all.

Ryoma sometimes wondered why he thought about her at first, but eventually it had stopped bothering him. It was a pleasant feeling, after all, so at some point he just stopped wondering why it was… Sakuno… and just accepted it.

The next few serves were hard to return but Ryoma finally scored and made it to his service game. His first serve lasted forever. Ryoma wished it hadn't been returnable but unfortunately it was flying back and forth almost too quickly for the audience to keep track of. This was getting hard and Ryoma was getting tired. Even so, Ryoma loved these kinds of matches. Finally the ball was returned and Ryoma hit it with all his force. It made it just inside the bounds.

It was time for another serve and Ryoma was trying to catch his breath. The ball boy tossed him a ball but Ryoma shook his head and tossed it back. He unzipped his jacket pocket and took out another ball which was now a lot fuzzier than it had been when it was brand new. Luckily it was still regulation- barely.

He felt a little more confident just holding it. He had no idea why. He cracked a smile- a cocky one of course- as he saw a flash of black marker and tossed the ball in the air to serve.

It wasn't until his opponent hit the ball at full force that Ryoma ever thought that ball could make him feel weaker. He cringed. He didn't mean to. But his opponent saw it. Ryoma hit the ball back more carefully. Then there was another extremely rough return. Ryoma cursed under his breath. Since he'd seen Ryoma… he must have figured it was important. He was trying to destroy the ball. Ryoma wished someone would score soon but it looked like this would go on. He thought about just reaching out and grabbing the ball but it would have broken his hand. And he couldn't just loose this on purpose- he promised her he'd do his best.

Finally his opponent hit the ball so hard it soared above the fence around the court and into the crowd. The fans went crazy and flocked to get at it.

Ryoma had the presence of mind to call time as he ran off of the court and opened the gate that he never wanted opened, the gate that separated him from the crowd. He entered the stands. He was moving fast through the crowd so at first he didn't get too bogged down by fans, but eventually he had to push past some of them.

Finally he reached his destination. A little boy had been looking down at his new tennis prize but was now staring wide eyed at Ryoma.

Ryoma bit his lip… crap. What to do now? All these years he walked around with an interpreter. It was just easier for him if people didn't know he spoke English.

No, what was he worried about? This was just a little boy. No one would really believe him over Ryoma's years of "complete English ignorance" …probably.

Ryoma attempted to smile.

"Please," he said quietly in his kid-friendly voice, "can I have that back?"

They little boy continued staring but did not return the ball.

"Please," Ryoma said, the smile now gone from his face, "I'll sign ten tennis balls for you or anything you want."

Ryoma must have sounded upset because the child's father patted the kid's shoulder and nodded. The kid smiled and held the ball back out to Ryoma. Ryoma returned his smile and took it. He let out a deep breath- thank goodness he got it back.

Ryoma headed back down to the courts. He stored it safely in his bag. He was going over on time but with him going in to the stands like that the station would definitely get their ratings and he wouldn't be in too much trouble.

Ryoma stared at his opponent- who was looking as mean as ever- and closed his eyes. He couldn't play with that ball any more. It had helped him out so much in the past, but now he realized he could never play with it again. Still, Ryoma really needed some kind of boost.

The ball boy threw Ryoma another ball and he got an idea. This would definitely blow his cover.

"Hey."

Upon hearing Ryoma the crowd quieted down a little.

"Hey!"

Silence.

"I… I need a black marker."

No one moved. No one did anything.

"Could somebody toss me a black marker?"

Ryoma was surprised when people started digging around in their belongings and a few actually found markers and tossed them down. There weren't that many, but the ball boys still looked a bit annoyed that they had to pick them up.

Ryoma scribbled something on the ball and sighed. His cover was blown… he'd probably be in a little bit of trouble with the tournament officials… he hoped this would do. He hoped this would make it all worth it.

Once the court was cleared they finished their game. Only one thing was running through Ryoma's head the whole time. There's no way he can beat me, I'll win… I have to win.

Finally the game was set. Ryoma sighed and dropped the ball as the announcer proclaimed loudly that he'd made it to the finals.

Ryoma tiredly walked over and collected his things, then pushed his way through the crowd of reporters blocking his way to the locker rooms. It was amazing how he could totally act like there was no one there as he made his way without a word through the huge mass of people.

Knowing they weren't going to get anything out of Ryoma, the media turned their attention to the ball boy running up with the marked ball and Ryoma's interpreter.

"It's in Japanese, right? What does it say?" They all asked.

"I believe its read 'Ryuuzaki.'"

"What does it mean?"

"Hmm… I'm not sure."