"Welcome to anger management. I'd like to start off by saying we are allequal and no one in this room is here to judge. Now, let's all start by getting to know each other. Why don't we all go around in a circle and tell everyone why we are here. I'll start first. My name is Makagawa-sensei and I'm here to help all of you."

Oh, how did Ryoma manage to land himself in this place? It was a very misunderstood situation. After Momoshiro wouldn't wake up Tezuka had to call an ambulance because Ryoma might have broken something in his head. The IQ of the human race was lower point by point every day. Of course something was bound to be wrong. He was hit on the head by a ball going at least thirty miles per hour, for cripes sake! Then, everyone on the tennis team went crazy and pinned him to the ground. How was that supposed to help any? It wouldn't get Momo out of his coma. Now a week later he was ordered by the school to attend group anger management therapy. Damn Momo.

"Aizawa-chan, why don't you start?" Aizawa was the girl who volunteered to sit on sensei's right side.

"My name is Aizaka Saruko and I'm here because I pushed my boyfriend down the stairs." It went down the line. All the "I slapped my girlfriend until she went half-blind"s and "I hit my mom on the head with a frying pan"s. These were crazy people! Ryoma was not crazy. He was as far from crazy as possible—no he was probably the only not-crazy person in this room!

"Ryoma, do you want to share something with the class?"

No, sensei. No, I do not want to share anything with this group of crazy people. On the contrary, I want to strangle you and everybody who put me in here. "My name is Echizen Ryoma and I'm here because I hit my best friend unconscious with a tennis ball going thirty miles per hour." Well, when you put it that way…

No!

Momo was being annoying like he always was and Ryoma simply played a prank that went too far. He'll probably snap out of it any day now. Besides, thirty miles isn't that fast. It's like a really slow car right?

When the group had finished bragging about their Guinness-record low high tempers, sensei had "suggested" they do an activity on "recognizing the problem" and "positive thought." Well, thought Ryoma, you'll probably be dead before the sessions up. Or not. The security guard was running late and managed to sneak inside without being noticed by anyone besides Ryoma because he had nothing better to do than pay attention to security guards that were running late.

"There are two types of people," sensei explained, "The first type is the person that can't control himself. He loses his temper at everyone the second he gets angry. The opposite is type two, the person that never reacts and holds everything until he explodes and hurts his loved ones and himself. For this activity, let's all stay in this circle and describe what makes us angry. I'll start. It makes me really angry when I get stuck in a traffic jam when I know I have to be at work. Ryoma?"

Two more hours of this shit.

"Tough, eh?" Uncle remarked at home while Ryoma spilled the contents of his closet all over his bed and floor. It was a strange impulse, Ryoma didn't know where it came from, but all of a sudden there were all if these things he wanted to be rid of. What agitated the him the most was that he seemed to possess nothing that didn't have to do with tennis. Tennis balls, tennis rackets, tennis magazines, tennis pillows, that's all he had and he hated it. He was sure that two days ago this thought would never even have occurred to him, but now it did so he would have to act upon it. He would have to rid himself of this lack of identity.

Ryoma decided he would burn all his tennis belongs. Well, not all of them. He would leave two rackets and two balls. He didn't really need more, did he? They were starting to pile up. Wouldn't this be helping the environment too? The paper in the magazines wouldn't be thrown in a landfill somewhere.

Nanjirou had picked up his racket to challenge, well not a challenge for him, Ryoma to a round of tennis when he saw the apocalypse. Ryoma was setting the backyard on fire. Or, at least that's what he thought. And when he looked closer, he wished that was really what he had seen.

At first glance those only appeared to be old junkmail and catalogues. But when he got closer, he could make out the "I" in "Tips for a great twist shot" and the resilience of a small yellow ball catching on fire. It took Nanjirou several seconds to put two and two together.

Ryoma was too busy venting out his sudden displeasure of having lived the past twelve years with nothing but tennis, bath salts, and Karupin (well he didn't mind the last two so much, to be honest he still loved them as always) by taking delight at watching almost all his tennis related gear burn to ash, that he did not notice his father fly out from behind the building from which he was spying on Ryoma and try to grab the match in his hand. Unfortunately for Nanjirou, Ryoma's surprise caused him to drop the match and take a step backwards, and the impact of Nanjirou's fall caused the small bottle of gasoline that was next to Ryoma (he had a lot of tennis stuff) to spill as he fell into the fire.

Ryoma watched his father perform the Stop Drop and Roll technique with disgust. Now there would be medical costs on top of anger management!