Hi everyone, and welcome to my very first PoT fanfiction. I've written a few other things, but this is my first foray into writing other people's characters, so please be sure to point out any blunders and OOC moments to me! I've played a little tennis, but never to the level of being a serious contestant in a tournament, and mixed doubles only, so excuse me if anything sounds weird or incorrect, and feel free to point me towards the correct information!

Since I grew up all over the world (spending no more than two years in a certain place) I've always wondered how someone who has apparently spent his whole life in another country and culture could adapt so easily to a switch… and I've come to construct this story around it.

This story will have some MalexMale content in the second half, however, this first half is safe for those not inclined towards yaoi as I'm going to keep it general for now. I'll adjust the ratings and post warnings once we get to the second half.

This is just an introductory chapter which has run away from me a little so...

Hopefully, you'll be a little entertained!

Chapter 01: Breaking the cycle

Ryoma returned to Japan declared a national hero. The twelve year-old was looking forward to finally having his grape Ponta in the right concentration of sweetness, to seeing his cousin, Meino Nakano, and to finally cuddling Karupin, his Himalayan cat again. The US Open had taken up most of his summer break, and even though he'd been happy to meet and greet his American friends and acquaintances again (chief among them Kevin Smith, the only player his age in the States who could at least challenge him a little) he'd been quite exhausted by the time the tournament finally started. He'd had too many photo shoots, interviews and marketing requests to count (among which he had only agreed to shooting a few commercials for Ponta, which had turned out to be five TV spots and one huge, world-wide ad campaign that turned him into Ponta's face of the year)- thankfully, his mom, who had taken a break from her work as an attorney had taken over his management for the time of his professional debut had kept the stress to a minimum. And that was before the tournament, when the only ones really interested in him were the Japanese media and companies as he hadn't even played a single match in the series before his Open debut due to his wildcard status.

It had been amazing, the way the crowd reacted to him after he had won the first rounds in straight sets. Glad to be on the courts again, against an opponent other than his dad, Ryoma had not even realized when he had fallen into the state of Ten'i muhou no kiwami, the Pinnacle of Perfection. After he had pulverized the third player, the rest of the world had taken notice of the tiny preteen. He could not even step out of his hotel without being mobbed by a rabid swarm of reporters, shoving microphones into his face and shouting questions in every imaginable language. Not even his trusted FILA cap had helped against them- on the contrary, white FILA caps had turned into bestsellers among the under-18s. Ryoma tried his best to ignore the diversions and annoyances, but he was only a teenager, and when one especially tenacious reporter from a major American newspaper had gained entry into the Echizen family's suite disguised as a room service employee he had snapped. His face set in stone he had verbally thrown the man from his room (which the reporter had been zealously photographing) and had announced his absolute withdrawal from any and all publicity work.

No more interviews, no more photo shoots, no more chants of "Echizen! What do you think your chances are in today's match against Kiefer?" - or so Ryoma thought. All his efforts were in vain, since now every single scoop-hungry paparazzo took to dogging his every step.

His only freedom was when he stood on the courts, and so his game improved and improved, until he had finally reached the final 16. He was going up against his first seeded player in David Nalbandian, and he demolished him spectacularly in front of 9.000 spectators on the DecoTurf of Armstrong stadium. His skills had grown exponentially with each opponent he had defeated, and not even one of the best ten tennis players in the world took more than four games a set from him. Ibu Shinji's Spot technique had been particularly useful against the Argentine player, offering him more than his fair amount of chances to score with a deceptively easy return.

The psychological effect this match had on his next opponent, the Serbian Novak Djokovic could not be estimated, but eventually Ryoma won against him in another match of straight sets- 6-2. 7-5, 6-0, drawing even with Bill Scanlon's Golden Set record. That love set had been the straw to break the camel's back, especially since it was accompanied by Ryoma's custom "mada mada dane", the impassive face and the cap drawn to hide his eyes. He had not been a popular contestant before, but his apparent lack of manners made it worse. He was labeled an 'impolite upstart' and criticized for a lack of sportsmanship, something that made him fume inside as he had never ever been anything but a fair player.

Nanjiroh was ecstatic, watching Ryoma climb higher and higher with each match he won. Their training sessions had grown in intensity, and his dad was almost using his full strength against Ryoma now- in full five-set matches, since neither he nor Ryoma could ever take straight sets from one another. The anger the almost-teenager felt over his treatment by the other players, his rage at being unable to speak out for himself (for anything he said would immediately be twisted beyond recognition by the media) and the feeling of helplessness in a world where only the best tennis should count, yet everything but that did were transferred into sharp corner shots, devastating smashes and devious drop-shots. Nanjiroh dragged him to a court every minute he could (which was when neither Rinko dragged her son away for some business talks and mother-son time or Ryoma escaped to who-knows-where), insisting on playing every single tie break to the bitter end (they managed to get to 76-74 in Nanjiroh's favor once).

His dad seeing nothing but his tennis, his mom busy fending off the vultures and Karupin staying with Nanako in Japan nobody noticed Ryoma withdrawing more and more into himself. Faced with a crisis he had no idea how to overcome (since it involved neither schoolwork nor tennis but unreasonable people), he took to closing himself off from any irritation. Kevin, his one friend in New York tried coaxing him out of the silent shell he had shut himself in, but Ryoma would just give in to his nagging and badgering and play a match with him on the public courts near Meadow Lake, not too far from the stadiums. Ryoma took care to never show his Pinnacle of Perfection there, and he and Kevin even lost a few doubles matches against the Griffey brothers who were in town for the Arthur Ashe Kids' Day. It was comforting to know that Kevin, at least, possessed about as much doubles sense as Ryoma himself.

The Griffey brothers told of their attempts at getting a wildcard for the boys' doubles matches which had been unsuccessful since their old manager's ways had been too well-known among ATP officials. They took their misfortune in good stride, though, focusing on the tennis scholarships to a prestigious East Coast school they had gained. Ryoma talked to them a little, and Kevin took it as a sign that his "therapy" was working.

The days before the finals, Ryoma trained to exhaustion against every player he could goad into playing him. If there was no human to train against he booked a couple of ball machines and used Sanada's training method. He ignored the growing aches in his bones and muscles, the chronic fatigue that pervaded his mind every second he didn't play, and the sleeplessness that came with his anticipation of the final Sunday.

テニプリ

His finals match against Roger Federer was one for the history books. In the end, Ryoma could only prevail because Federer had expended too much energy against his eternal rival Rafael Nadal in his own semi-final match. Still, they traded games and sets until Ryoma finally managed to break Federer's serve in the tenth game of the fifth set. The elation he felt at finally being able to gain at least a little ground in the hardest-fought match of his life carried him to a 6-4 victory that set, and to a final match score of 7-6, 7-5, 4-6, 7-9 and 6-4.(1)

Ryoma realized nothing but his exhaustion as he shook his opponent's hand after an incredible six-hour match that had barely evaded postponing due to the late hour. His legs shook badly enough that he had to almost be carried from the court in Arthur Ashe stadium. Nanjiroh was waiting for him on the sidelines, his trainer-face discarded for the prideful look of an ecstatic father. Ryoma's energy had been so spent that he had collapsed as soon as he had walked off the court, he didn't even make it to the changing room. The media outcry that followed he thankfully couldn't even register in his exhausted state, and when he had finally been able to somehow realize that he had become the youngest winner ever of a Grand Slam tournament he had just shrugged it off with a laconic "mada mada sune".

His father had been the one to receive the trophy in his stead as Ryoma had to be treated by one of the tournament physicians for severe dehydration and over-stressed muscles. His small body and teenage physique would allow him to recover; had he been fully grown, the damage might have been exponentially worse. He was prohibited from playing a full match against top-strength players for at least a month while going through light rehabilitation training, though. The doctor had been the first to recognize the onset of depression the young player faced, treating Ryoma to honest assessments and kind reassurances throughout his disoriented awakening after the big match. He was the one that recommended some rest and relaxation for the family, suggesting a mountain retreat upstate which he himself had frequented over the years.

"You're quite probably the best tennis player the world has ever seen," he had told Ryoma who, thinking of Yukimura, Tezuka, Atobe and Sanada back in Japan shook his head. "No, you are," he said, laying a hand on Ryoma's blanket-covered knee while the young tennis prodigy sipped some (too sweet) grape Ponta from a can Kevin had gifted him with.

"If I am, then why couldn't I even go get my trophy?" Ryoma asked, slightly bitter.

"You were playing against athletes in their prime, and you won," the doctor said, shaking his head. "You're twelve, not even a teenager yet. You should be able to relax and enjoy your life, not play professional sports with all that entails. I've researched you a little- you won your fourth consecutive All-American junior tennis tournament just last year. You've played the best game the world has ever seen against the world's number two this year. If that isn't a career, I don't know what is." Ryoma was silent, wishing he were wearing his cap to tug down over his embarrassed face.

"You shouldn't have to do that, though," the doctor continued, "you're still a child. Your body isn't made for constant stress like that- it has years of training to go through before it is. I don't want you to ruin all your chances before you could use them."

"But-" Ryoma tried to interject.

"No. I know junior tennis can be intense, but there is still a difference between a shot from a fifteen year-old and the serve of a twenty year-old. Your bones and ligaments will not be able to withstand the shocks of returning adult players' shots for long, and you will end up being unable to play any tennis at all. Is that what you want? Are you sure there's nobody at your level among your peers?"

"No," Ryoma admitted sullenly, thinking of Japan, and Kevin, Arnold and the other players he had matched up against over the last year.

"I want you to take a two-month break. You will not play any competitive matches during that time- not even with your father. I cautioned him against doing anything but light hitting already, and I informed your mother, too." Ryoma's eyes widened in shock. If anybody would be able to make sure the rules were observed it was his mother.

"You've managed to shock your intervertebral disks by returning Federer's smashes with that body-twisting smash of yours. You've seriously overstressed the ligaments in your left wrist- I'd like to recommend you only use your right hand for two weeks and immobilize your left. I understand that you are ambidextrous?" Ryoma shook his head.

"In tennis only," he said.

"Well, you're going to be with your parents, so it's not going to be as difficult. I'm going to show you how to bandage your wrist in a moment." Ryoma nodded. He did not want to give up tennis; it was his one saving grace in an increasingly puzzling world. Just earlier that day, when Nanjiroh had brought his Open trophy to his room he had heard his mother fend off a hoard of well-wishers and reporters citing child-protection laws. Not even the threat of a lawsuit had dissuaded the two nurses who had brought his lunch from taking pictures of him with a brightly flashing digital camera. And last but not least he had found his bed inundated by letters of congratulations and begs for an autograph after returning from a short walk to the balcony at the end of the hall his room was in.

"Are you alright?" The doctor asked his patient when the puzzled frown seemed to overtake his whole expression. "It's not that bad. Two weeks are going to be gone before you real… oh, I see. It's what happened earlier, right?" The old man's face twisted into a kind smile. "Don't worry, the circus will die down soon. They'll find another victim to hound…" He trailed off, watching Ryoma's closed-off and guarded expression.

"You're still worried about what will happen now, right?"Almost imperceptibly, Ryoma nodded. He had learned over the time he had spent in this doctor's care that it was no use lying to the unusually perceptive old man.

"It will all blow over soon. No doubt you'll read the occasional article about yourself in the local or sports papers, but after those two months, the hype will have died down. You'll see- you'll be able to lead a normal life again. Of course there will be expectations if you enter a tennis competition, but those will be either outlandish or measured against your real skill, so you should just ignore them all the same."

"Hrmpf," Ryoma shrugged.

"About those accusations of foul play… don't worry. These people haven't walked in your shoes. They're jealous, plain and simple."

"I'm going back to Japan once the two months are up," Ryoma announced. The doctor nodded.

"You won the national championships there with your team, right?"

"Not my team- Tezuka-buchou's." The correction needed no explanation, even as Ryoma hid his eyes behind closed lids.

"You'd like to go back to this team, right?" Ryoma's doctor enquired gently.

"Not going to happen," Ryoma said.

"Why not?"

"Graduation's in March. It's September now. By the time I return, it'll be November. The Seniors will be busy preparing for their High School entrance exams. There will be a new team captain chosen in January… to give Tezuka-buchou time to teach him the ropes."

"You're not as indifferent as you try to make yourself be."

"I haven't had a lot of contact with the Seniors outside the tennis club. I'm not sure why, but apparently their juniors are not supposed to talk to them at school. I don't really get the whole system there. It's just the way it is."

"Aren't you concerned about moving there more permanently?"

"Not really."

"Why?"

"School's boring, tennis is good."

"Ah." The two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence.

"Well, I have to be off now," the doctor finally sighed, getting up and petting Ryoma's knee again. "I'll be by later to teach you how to bandage your hand."

"Thank you," the young tennis player said honestly. He would miss this, adults treating him as an equal and not as someone of lower intelligence and status simply because of his age.

He grabbed the latest letter from Horio in Japan that still sat unopened on the nightstand beside his bed. His mother had brought it to him at the time his father had been at the trophy ceremony, reporting that it had arrived at the hotel before the semi-finals. Ryoma's classmate had taken it upon himself to report about the whereabouts of the Seigaku regulars and freshmen, taking care to devote a paragraph to each of his "friends". Apart from Momo-senpai, Ryoma wasn't sure if any of them really were his friends or if they just saw him as a means to win the Nationals, but it was interesting nonetheless.

Fuji had been busy photographing an in-house ad campaign for a major shopping center that summer. Tezuka had gone hiking with his grandfather, and Oishi's family had taken a trip to Hawaii to celebrate their son's success in tennis. Kikumaru-senpai had tagged along, earning the money by teaching beginners' classes at the tennis club Kachirou's father worked for. Taka-san had been up early every day to go to the fish markets with his father. Kaidou had participated in a marathon race together with Momo-senpai, and Inui had done an internship in a pharmaceutical company. Horio, Katsuo and Kachirou had all taken tennis classes with Kachirou's father, and Horio boasted about being able to master the twist serve soon.

"Mada mada dane," Ryoma muttered, but one of the corners of his mouth quirked up just a little.

テニプリ

Late at night he was bundled into a limousine, a huge hooded sweatshirt obscuring his face and body. His dad and mom took turns driving them towards the Adirondack. The hotel the doctor had recommended was small, quaint and welcoming, exuding a log cabin kind of homey feeling.

The stay there still felt like a dream to Ryoma. Between hour-long walks and hikes with both his dad and his mom, the wonderful cooking of the hotel's portly chef, Anna, and the calmness of his surroundings the rest of Ryoma's stress simply bled away, leaving behind the heavy kind of satisfied exhaustion that turns you muscles to pudding and your mind into a calm lake.

Towards their second month there, the stress found little cracks to intrude through. The first one was that Ryoma was given notice that he wouldn't be allowed to compete in the Australian Open in January; the committee had decided that his age was more of a limiting factor than originally figured. He wouldn't have wanted to anyway, his mother, the doctor and Ryoma himself already made it clear that his US Open debut was going to be a one-time occurrence for now (his dad was still whining about it). The direct refusal hurt nonetheless, but Ryoma tried to put on his game face and simply shrug it all off with his trademark phrase.

The second intrusion into their peaceful life was the onset of winter. Indian Summer had been a wonderful time to stay in the mountains, but as the nights grew longer and the days colder Ryoma found himself low on energy and missing the warmer climates of Florida, the state he had grown up in. (2)

"I think it's time to leave," Nanjiroh suddenly announced one night, when Rinko and Ryoma were miserably huddled in front of the roaring fire. They were both better suited to warmer weather and, much like Ryoma's beloved Karupin let their activity level gladly drop to zero if the weather outside looked uncomfortable and no tennis match (or case) was begging.

"I think so too," Rinko agreed, leaving the shelter of her blanket to cuddle against her husband. Ryoma just yawned.

"I'll go call Nanako-chan," Nanjiroh said. Rinko held him back.

"Remember the time difference, dear," she said. "It's early enough tomorrow. Let's say we'll leave in a week or so."

The decision made, Ryoma's unrest vanished. He wanted to go back again, back to having grilled fish and miso soup for breakfast and Karupin to warm his feet during the night.

He was sent ahead on a flight from New York City's JFK to Narita. There hadn't been three free business class seats on the flight, so the decision to send Ryoma ahead as for him to have more time to overcome his jetlag had been made. Rinko and Nanjiroh both didn't like letting him leave alone (and Ryoma didn't like the embarrassing Unaccompanied Minor sign he had to wear as well as the lack of protection against reporters and their ilk or the flight attendant who started cooing over him the minute she got her claws into him) but their goodbyes were said with a minimum of fuss, due to Ryoma's stoic nature and Nanjiroh's antics, that drew a heartfelt "Baka Oyaji!" from Ryoma.

"We'll arrive two days after you," Rinko promised, "and I've told Nanako to come fetch you from the airport."

"It's OK, mom," Ryoma said, blushing a little. He was a US Open champion and still got his hair ruffled by his dad.

"See you soon, seishounen," his dad promised and Ryoma simply pulled his cap deeper onto his face.

"OK," he said. "Bye."

"Travel safely!" His parents called after him as he passed security, trying to get away from the flight attendant accompanying him who was trying to get him to hold her hand and sign an autograph.

テニプリ

More than a day of travelling later, Ryoma stepped back onto Japanese soil among a symphony of shutters and chatters, happy family reunions and harassed-looking business people hastily making their way out of the baggage claim.

Nanako awaited him at his exit, and the two of them hastily grabbed his tennis bag (any other luggage was going to travel with his parents) and rushed into the closest taxi, upsetting a few others waiting in line. They managed to bang the door shut just missing crushing one insistent media person's camera. Their driver asked them for their destination, and they were off.

"Desperate times call for desperate measure, ne, Ryoma-san?" Nanako asked, laughing a little.

"Che," Ryoma said, wishing she would stop using honorifics already. They were family, after all, and all this insisting it was only proper since she was a girl and he the first son got on his nerves. "You still not ready to call me by my name?" he asked. She blushed.

"You've won a Grand Slam now. It wouldn't be…"

"We're family. Please, call me Ryoma, Nanako-san," he told her. She smiled at him, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.

"I'll try." She asked the driver to turn up the volume of the radio.

"He came out of nowhere and went on to become the US Open champion, ending Federer's consecutive winning streak. Rumors are that prodigy tennis player Echizen Ryoma has come back to Japan! Sagara-san, do you have any news for us?" Ryoma flinched and tried to hide his face.

"Of course I do! A few colleagues of mine and I have just spotted our young national hero leaving the airport with an attractive young woman, purportedly his cousin Meino Nanako, for destination unknown. Echizen was not available for comment."

"So he's back! What could his plans be, Sagara-san?"

"Following his unprecedented win of the US Open, Echizen can only be here for training, experts agree."

"What about the rumors that he's going to finish school here? He has, after all, won the Nationals with his Seishun Gakuen Middle School team…"

"I don't believe there is any substance to them. After all, what could a player of Echizen's caliber find in Middle School tennis?"

"Ne, could you please switch that off?" Ryoma asked in a low voice. Their driver nodded, toggling a button on the radio. Blaring J-pop music filled the car.

"That better, Sir?" he asked. Ryoma nodded.

"Thanks a lot."

The rest of the drive to the house underneath the shrine was spent in silence. Ryoma was very tired; feeling wrung out and beat from his long journey. He was looking forward to seeing Karupin, whom Nanako hadn't brought to the airport.

Nanako made sure to put on her best 'innocent, helpless female' face while paying the driver and begging him to not give out their address to the media- it was not exactly a secret, but even though the name on the entrance spelled 'Echizen' it was registered as belonging to "Nanjiroh Brown". Brown was Rinko's maiden name and the perfect alias for the media-shy "Samurai".

"Don't worry, Miss," the driver assured her, "after seeing how little he really is… I have a son his age who wants to go into showbiz, you know. Johnny's here, Johnny's there… I can't stand hearing it anymore! I wouldn't wish that circus on anybody!" He shuddered dramatically and wished the two cousins a good night.

"He was nice, wasn't he, Ryoma-san?"

"Uisu," Ryoma said, a little put-out at the formality. "Where's Karupin?"

He had not even had time to place his tennis bag onto the floor before a cream-and-brown fuzzball attached itself to his legs, purring loudly. Karupin had finally gotten his human servant back!

"Have you missed me?" Ryoma cuddled his pet, speaking to him in English. Nanako sighed.

"There's food in the kitchen if you want some, Ryoma-san," she informed him. Ryoma nodded.

"I'm going up." He picked up Karupin and his bag. His bed was dancing like a vision in his mind, and he hid a yawn behind his hand. "I won't eat tonight, sorry."

"Have a good rest," Nanako said. "I'm going to make Japanese breakfast tomorrow to celebrate your return."

"Thanks, Nanako-san," Ryoma muttered, already half asleep. "I'll see if anybody's at the street tennis courts tomorrow… maybe see Momo-senpai…"

… tbc …

(1) I obviously took quite some liberties with the US Open schedules…

(2)I thought the oranges in Futari no Samurai were kind of an obvious hint, but feel free to disagree.

ATP (author's thought processes) can be found in my profile- I didn't want to clutter the story up with my useless talks!

Next chapter (tentatively) titled Breaking News!: Returning in the middle of a term leads to more problems than anticipated. Also: A reunion.

I don't know if it will be as long as this one, but I'll try my best. This story is my NaNo project after all! As I'm currently without a beta, please PM me or write it in a review if you could help me out. I'd love having a beta reader for this story!

See you soon!