Disclaimer: I, of course, do NOT own Prince of Tennis. No money is made out of this so please don't sue me!

A/N: This will be a short-ish story that I *needed* to write in order to: 1) Get it out of my system; 2) Get back into writing since it's been a while. To whoever is waiting for an update to my unfinished Initial D story, it'll come right after I finish this. I promise! To those reading this one, thank you very much for your time! Also, please note that the storyline I'm following is the manga one not the anime, so things like the Hyotei vs Seigaku matches from the training camp never happened, ok?

Now, moving on to…

Match Point

Prologue

There were days, in which Keigo Atobe felt more grateful than usual for having the very quiet Munehiro Kabaji as his best friend; the Captain of the Hyotei Tennis Club mused while observing the big second year. Kabaji was, as always, playing with Beat, Keigo's white fluffy dog, while Keigo himself sat by the pool, enjoying one of the exotic fruit juices he liked so much.

He would have to congratulate the chef for, once again, getting the mix just right because today he needed the pick up drink more than ever: just twenty four hours earlier, Keigo's team had seen their dreams of going to the All-Japan Tennis Tournament cut short by the mighty players of Seishun Gakuen. Sensitive Kabaji knew well that while Keigo didn't want to be bothered by anybody, his Captain still wanted to have him around.

Hyotei's defeat was mostly his own fault, Keigo reflected. Never mind the fact that he had beaten Kunimitsu Tezuka, a friend and formidable tennis player, injuring him in the process, (Keigo was trying very hard to push that to the back of his mind, lest he'd get even more depressed by the thought), his biggest mistake had been to underestimate that first year called Ryoma Echizen.

The way he'd soundly beat Wakashi Hiyoshi, the very man Keigo had handpicked to take over him after his graduation, had come as a huge shock to everyone but that didn't help Keigo feel any less guilty. He really should have foreseen that Tezuka would have never left the fate of Seigaku in the hands of anyone below his very high standards.

Keigo was sure of one thing: he would most definitely keep an eye on that first year because, unless both Tezuka and himself were very much mistaken, the little guy would, sooner or later, break all the existing records, maybe even those set by his father, the Samurai Nanjiroh. Keigo briefly amused himself thinking that he could exert his revenge on Seigaku by trying to get Echizen to enrol into Hyotei Gakuen.

Before he could let out a chuckle, he saw one of his butlers approach him with one of the mansion's cordless in his hand. Since Keigo wasn't in the mood to talk to anybody, he waved his hand dismissively.

'Keigo-bocchama,' the butler insisted, 'you might want to take this call: it's Keisei-kaichou-sama.'

That made Keigo's eyes dart up towards the butler. His parents spent most of the year away from the family home and the very few times they got in touch with him, it was always his mother who called. The fact that his own father, the owner of Atobe Holdings, had bothered to pick up the phone and place the call could only mean one thing: very bad news.

'I'll take the call in my room,' Keigo announced, getting up from his chair, forcing himself to keep a cool appearance while his insides were beginning to cringe in panic. He started racking his brain, trying to think of something he'd messed up so badly as to make his father go through the trouble of calling him.

The only thing he could think of was Hyotei's recent defeat but, again, his father had never cared all that much about his extra-curricular activities but Keigo really didn't know what else to think of, even more so because he was positive he had always behaved the way his father would approve of.

By the time Keigo reached the heavy double door behind which was his room, he resigned himself to his fate and, opening the door resolutely, he crossed the room and picked up the receiver from the antique white and gold phone he had on top of a mahogany stand.

'Father,' he just said.

'Keigo,' his father's voice was as deep and authoritarian-sounding as Keigo remembered, 'you'll be home tomorrow.'

Keigo didn't fool himself: this wasn't a question, it was an order.

'Of course,' he replied nevertheless. Keigo tried not to think of the fact that, despite not having seen or talked to each other in over six months, his father had not even bothered to ask him if he was alright. Unsurprisingly, Keisei Atobe just went straight to the point. That's the way the man dealt with business and in the rare occasions he spoke to his son.

'Good,' his father said next, 'tomorrow, the daughter of the Watanabes will be coming to stay in Tokyo for a month. I trust you know what I expect from you.'

Keigo's panic went up a notch.

'O-of course,' he somehow managed to reply, 'Father…'

'That's all,' his father interrupted, 'my secretary will be in touch soon to give you the details.'

With this, the line went dead leaving Keigo too stunned to do anything useful. He really ought to be used to it by now, after all, at nearly thirty seconds, this had been one of the longest conversations he'd had with his father in the past three years. That, however, didn't make Keigo feel any better.

Coming out of his reverie, he replaced the receiver and dropping himself onto the nearest armchair, for the first time, Keigo allowed himself to think of what his father had just told him: the daughter of the Watanabes was coming to stay at the mansion for a month.

Of all the people who could be bothering him with their presence, it had to be the only person he knew of who was even more spoilt than he was. If Hyotei's defeat hadn't done the trick, this most definitely had:

Keigo Atobe was officially depressed.

To be continued…