Phew! This is the first fic I'm posting here in... seven years!

For Mariel, who suggested that I write a Kindergarten AU for Kin-chan's birthday. The title comes from the first Prince of Tennis ending song.

Enjoy!

YOU GOT GAME

~ kittykittyhunter ~

His darling wife could be incredibly cynical at times. "Dear," said Rinko, her gaze raking over Nanjirou's baseball cap, sunglasses, surgical mask, dark robes and wooden sandals, "anyone could recognise you from a mile away."

"Nonsense, Rinko-san!" Nanjirou inspected his reflection in the hallway mirror. He twitched the mask so that it covered more of his dashing, manly, powerful jaw. He really was a catch. "Well, I'm off to pick up the boy. Do you want anything?"

"Drive safely. And actually use the booster seat!"

Pah. He always used the booster seat.

...

He arrived at Ryoma's kindergarten in good time. After parking up, Nanjirou waited in the sprawling playground with the other parents. A few women tittered and whispered to each other behind their hands – adoring fans, no doubt.

The door burst open and a roaring child exploded into the sunlight. He had the wildest hair and the widest smile Nanjirou had ever seen. Behind him, a fatigued teacher cried, "Kin-chan, wait!" The child paid no attention, bounding along to his mother and immediately presenting her with a painting. From where he was standing, Nanjirou could make out two colourful stick figures, one with red hair, the other with a neon green mane.

"He always gets the shade completely wrong," murmured Nanjirou.

He stood in line and collected his own son a few minutes later. Having first wrinkled his nose at Nanjirou's appearance ("You're so embarrassing Daddy!"), Ryoma slipped his hand into his father's, strangely smug. As they ambled to the car, the five-year-old announced, "I found out something good today."

"And what's that?"

Ryoma's chest swelled. "Kin can play tennis, but I can do that and I can read!"

Nanjirou plonked Ryoma on the booster seat and secured the belt. "You have your mother to thank for that."

…

Rinko was the one who'd suggested moving back to Japan for the boy's education. "I have a feeling he'd more comfortable there," she'd said, gently smoothing out his fringe. Ryoma smiled in his sleep and nuzzled into Karupin, the small cat tucked under his neck. She went on, "But we have to think about what works for you."

"We have to think about what works for all of us. You'd need to read up on Japanese law all over again." Nanjiroh scratched the skin around a small scab on his forearm. "I thought we could go back after retirement. I want that old hag to teach Ryoma a thing or two."

"That is a terrible way to talk about your coach. Be grateful." Rinko got up. She stood close to Nanjirou, studying him by the dim glow of the racquet-shaped nightlight. Her voice softened. "You're nowhere near your peak, my love. Don't just give up, now that you're number one. Show him how much fun it can be."

He drew Rinko closer, resting his chin on top of her head, inhaling her scent. "It keeps me from him."

"I know. But it also gives you something that's for you two – and no one else."

…

"I don't wanna move! I LIKE it here!"

"Come on boy – stop complaining! When we live in Japan, you can eat okonomiyaki and yakitori every single day!"

"Honey, could you please stop making ridiculous promises!"

Tears had run from his eyes; snot had dribbled from his nose. Ryoma pointed one chubby finger at the arched window, towards the orange grove. The fruits were resplendent at this time of year, surrounded by crowds of emerald leaves. "I don't wanna leave!" he wailed again. "I want my oranges! I want my Karupin!"

Rinko said, "Oh sweetheart! Of course we're taking Karupin!"

He stopped howling and held the cat to his chest. His tiny mouth quivered. "We are?"

Nanjirou held his breath and nodded.

"Okay. We're allowed to go."

The samurai ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks for giving us your blessing."

…

He had a hectic schedule. The tennis season was too long. The ATP Tour kept him flying from country to country, even though Nanjirou limited the number of competitions he entered while maintaining his ranking. Travel forced him to communicate with his sons – one in Japan, one in America – through video calls. Conversations with Ryoga never lasted more than twenty minutes; he always squirmed, eventually losing composure and ducking behind his mother or aunt. By contrast, Ryoma would press his face to the screen, trying to reach Nanjirou through the glass, eyes shining. "You were very cool today, Daddy," he beamed. "I like it when you win."

Nanjirou's heart swelled, threatening to break his ribs.

At 32, he was far past the age most professional players stepped away from the game. But he'd been blessed with good luck, miraculously avoiding the injuries that dented his adversaries' careers. He'd remained undefeated for years and years, winning countless tournaments. He was the only player in modern history to have achieved a calendar Grand Slam. He toyed with the idea of entering the Olympics. It was, he admitted, one of the few goals left.

To give him a sense of normality, they'd enrolled Ryoma in a perfectly ordinary kindergarten, where he'd met a perfectly extraordinary boy.

…

"Ryo!" Kintarou patted his dungarees. Grinning, he pulled a chocolate cookie from one of his pockets and handed it to his best friend. "For you!"

Ryoma stared at the gift. "S'got fluff on it."

"So what? That makes it better."

"Does not," answered Ryoma sullenly. He gingerly pinched the fluff and pulled it off the cookie. Then, he broke the snack in half and handed Kintarou the piece with fewer chocolate chips. Kintarou munched noisily. Ryoma gobbled up his own share of the cookie, only remembering to mumble, "Thank you," when it had disappeared.

Kintarou wanted to play with the wooden trucks. They crouched, pushing the vehicles around on a felt mat marked with roads and an assortment of buildings. When Ryoma was waiting for a traffic light to turn green, Kintarou began, "Y'know, Sugi said you're gonna be real strong one day. Maybe even as strong as me!"

"Sugi-san," insisted Ryoma, frowning at Kintarou's lack of propriety. He was so rude! Ryoma stayed silent after that, ashamed that it was only input he could give. As much as he hated it, he had to admit that Kintarou really was stronger and faster than everybody else… and he was definitely better at tennis.

Ryoma practised with his father whenever Nanjirou was home. They'd spend hours on the court, Nanjirou showing Ryoma the best way to hold a racquet and how to make sure that his serves went into the other player's box. Yet, no matter how many yucky vegetables Ryoma ate, no matter how many cups of cold milk he drank, he couldn't get close to Kintarou's raw talent.

It made his tummy hurt, sometimes. Tennis was Nanjirou's favourite thing. And if Kin-chan was that good, wouldn't he become Nanjirou's favourite person?

"The light changed. You can go now."

He pushed the truck along, making small growling noises.

…

On the first day, the parents had been invited inside to take part in circle time with their kids. Rinko sat on a chair while Ryoma sat on the floor, nervously chewing the side of his thumb, the back of his head resting against his mother's legs. Each child said their name and told the rest of the class something interesting. Haruto, for example, had four pet stag beetles: North, South, East and West. Shina was going to be the first person to fly to the moon.

"My name's Ryoma." Then, noticing that his peers were waiting for more information – "I like tennis."

The other parents had grinned at that. Naturally. But one boy had rocketed to his feet. "REALLY?" he bellowed, springing up and down. "Me too! Let's play!"

They'd had a match that very afternoon.

Ryoma's whole world had changed.

…

"I owe a lot to Sugi-san," Nanjirou said, slipping a small shirt onto a small hanger. "Without her to pave the way, I'd never have got to where I am now. Hey, Rinko-san – isn't this one too titchy? Surely the boy's not this tiny?"

"He is that tiny," Rinko returned. She glanced up from the pile of clothes and made a face at the shirt in question. "Is that chocolate stain still there? I thought I got it out!"

It was Nanjirou's turn to make a face. "I really hope it is chocolate." He took the green shirt off the hanger and set it aside. "Despite that, do you know what she said when I asked her to have a session with Ryoma?"

Rinko was curious. "What happened?"

He groaned theatrically. "Turned me down, forcefully. Apparently, Kin-chan took up enough of her time. He's my responsibility now. Really! Does that sound like a sensible adult to you?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't get to spend much time with sensible adults."

Nanjirou wailed and chased Rinko around. She avoided him at first, ducking away from his outstretched arms, but the samurai was wily and caught up. He expressed his grief by tickling Rinko ruthlessly. She shrieked with laughter. The sound carried and, in the next room, Tooyama Kintarou woke in the middle of a secure pillow fort.

He sat up and prodded Ryoma, who was gently snoring beside him. Ryoma pouted and pulled the blanket over his head.

"Hey, Ryo, wake up! I gotta pee!"

"So go to the toilet, stupid."

"Your mom said you're not s'posed to call me stupid," Kintarou remonstrated. When Ryoma made no reply, Kintarou poked him again, threatening, "Ryo, you gotta take me. I dunno where the toilet is. Your house is too big! If you don't take me right now, I'm gonna go right here!"

Ryoma huffed and sat up, throwing the blanket aside. His eyes were red and puffy. Grumbling, "Come on, then," he grabbed Kintarou's sweaty palm and led him into the corridor's harsh glare. "Right there," said Ryoma, indicating the bathroom. "Close the door in case Karupin goes in."

"'Kay!"

Kintarou took his time – Ryoma nearly fell asleep. When his rival returned at last, Ryoma demanded, "D'you wash your hands?"

Kintarou nodded, holding up his soapy fingers as proof.

"You're s'posed to dry 'em too, genius."

…

Kintarou possessed the force of a tsunami and a hurricane in one. Ryoma was caught up in his rhythm.

In the summer, when the two families went camping together, Kintarou demonstrated that he could swim further than Ryoma, climb taller trees, eat more marshmallows… by the firelight, Nanjirou saw his son's face contort, a mess of sadness and fury. But the boy's emotions shifted a moment later, when Kintarou cuddled him from behind and said that he wanted to show Ryoma a really cool bug. Reaching over his shoulder, Ryoma awkwardly patted Kintarou's head, saying that he'd found some nice rocks.

"I know my Kin's a lot of trouble," said the senior Tooyama sheepishly, when the boys had gone to bed. "I can't thank you enough for taking him under your wing, Nanjirou-san."

"Don't worry about it." Nanjirou took a swig of his drink. The fire crackled, throwing mercurial shadows across his face. "I have more fun with the two of them than I do out there."

"R-Really?"

"Without a doubt." Nanjirou yawned. "They're good for each other. I can't wait to see how far they go."

Rinko said something similar the next morning. Kintarou was standing by, his mouth agape as he watched Ryoma fry an egg in a miniscule pan. She touched Nanjirou's arm, whispering, "I think those two were destined to meet."

…

To meet – and to fight. Ryoma was ahead academically, at least. He strutted around the class, showing off his knowledge, haughty because he could already multiply some numbers by two, smirking because he could write 'cat' and 'dog' and 'apple' and 'tennis'! Kintarou would stare in wonder, impressed by Ryoma's unparalleled intellect. Then he'd toddle over to the book box, pick up a fairy tale and shove it into Ryoma's hands.

They liked to squash themselves into the big red chair in the corner. Ryoma would fumble through a few sentences before he surrendered and made up events based on the pictures. If Kintarou realised that he was being hoodwinked, he didn't care.

When it came to tennis, however, Kintarou was superior.

The boys played almost every day. Ryoma was improving and, under Nanjirou's tutelage, Kintarou was getting better, too. He was the sort of prodigious talent who hadn't been seen since… well. Nanjirou scratched his chin.

Himself, probably.

In September, a frustrated Ryoma buried his face in his father's stomach and swore, "I'm gonna make him cry!" And two weeks later, Kintarou sent a ball past Nanjirou for the first time.

Ryoma crept indoors, weeping. He'd been surpassed again.

To the world's astonishment, Nanjirou announced his retirement in December.

…

That was how things were.

They were constantly beside one another, both in school and outside of it, helping each other, besting each other. Whenever Kintarou won a tournament, Ryoma replied by winning the next. And vice versa. They met in the finals so often that umpires joked about the boys' respective collections of gold and silver medals. Fuelled by their endless challenges, Ryoma's and Kintarou's skills evened out as time went on. Each recognised the other as his equal.

It was… a little difficult to keep Ryoma out of the public eye. People were intrusive. Samurai Nanjirou's attempts to fade into obscurity were ignored – how could anyone forget the man who'd enjoyed such an illustrious run? He'd duck away from fans in the supermarket, whining, "I'm not Nanjirou!" in a high-pitched voice.

There was a kidnap attempt.

Once.

Rinko found it in her heart to pity the would-be abductors. They'd attempted to ambush the boys when they were walking home from the arcade. According to Ryoma (who'd told the story over dinner), he'd watched on, bewildered, as Kintarou pulverised the six men, threw them into the river – and then dived in so he could continue thrashing them underwater. Ryoma had concluded the tale by saying fondly, "He's a monster."

They got in touch with the Atobe security firm, shoring up their defences.

…

Two against one. It was the only way they could get three consecutive points past Nanjirou: the stupid old man had only become even stronger after reducing his opponents from the whole world to two nine-year-old brats. Ryoma and Kintarou lay on the court, limbs spread out, breathing hard. Birds cackled at their plight. From where he loitered by the net, Nanjirou said, "You're not there yet."

Kintarou laughed. It slipped out as a rasp. "You never stop getting tougher. It's so cool."

Ryoma straightened and rubbed his head. He didn't know why he bothered trying to play doubles with Kintarou – his best friend (best rival, best everything) sucked as a partner, always returning all the shots by himself, forever forgetting that Ryoma existed as a concept. It was as if part of Kintarou's brain couldn't accept that they were on the same side of the court. It was ridiculous!

When they'd staggered up, Nanjirou said quietly, "There's a lesson that both of you still need to learn. There are more people in the world than just the two of you."

Ryoma inhaled sharply and glanced at Kintarou. He was grinning, his face smudged with dirt and sweat. The sun outlined his profile with golden light.

Ryoma's brow creased. He couldn't imagine ever needing or wanting anyone else.

…

"The old man said it'll be good for my tennis."

Kintarou hopped from foot to foot. Thunder rumbled through the clouds. It was going to rain. Thankfully, the temple's sloping roof would shield them from the worst of the storm. They could wait it out. "I get that, Koshimae, but –"

"Why do you call me that?"

The older boy's smile wavered. "It's kind of funny." His shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry. Ryoma. Why now? We're having a great time."

That was the worst part, Ryoma thought sourly. The moments with Kintarou were so special. Their fates were tied together. He'd heard his parents say it, more than once, and felt the same thing on the court thousands of times. They'd stumbled towards the Pinnacle of Perfection together, achieved Flawless Unity, understood that tennis meant more to them than either boy could have imagined. Meeting Tooyama Kintarou had restructured his entire being. Kin-chan was incredible.

Ryoma tossed his head. "You know how sentimental my dad can get. He wants me to go to his old middle school, in Tokyo. Something about taking them to the Nationals. It's not the worst idea, I guess." He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. "It'll be way better if you come too."

"Huh? How would I do that?"

"Easy! Live with us. We have the room."

Kintarou shook his head. "I'd miss Kinjirou."

"He doesn't fight with Karupin! You can bring your dog, you know."

"I'd miss my mom and dad, Ryoma."

"More than you'd miss me?"

Lightning tore the sky in two. The trees creaked, their branches twisting in the wind. Kintarou used his sleeve to wipe his face. "I'm going to Shitenhouji," he said, after a beat. "Sugi said I'd like it there. Before she died."

"Okay," Ryoma said, closing his eyes. "Make sure your team's strong enough to meet us at the finals."

Kintarou choked, "Y-Yeah. 'Course."

He hadn't wanted to make him cry like this.

…

He sat on the veranda, bare legs sticking to the wooden slats. Spring hung in the air, tantalising. Karupin lay curled in his lap. Echizen Nanjirou sat a short distance away, peering at their new home's expansive garden.

"I was lucky to meet Kintarou when I did."

"What makes you say that?"

Ryoma ran his fingers down Karupin's back. "Kintarou's the strongest person I know. He's the only one who matches me. He's the only one who gives me a hard time." Ryoma's mouth tightened; Nanjirou crushed the fabric of his robe in a clenched fist – "Can you imagine," Ryoma continued wryly, "if there'd been no Kin? If there'd been no one to understand me? I would have been so lonely."

He buried his face in Karupin, shoulders shaking.

Nanjirou wrapped his arms around his son and waited for the sobbing to cease. When Ryoma was still, he said, "You and Kintarou will always be part of each other's lives. That's how it is, with things like this. But you made a promise, Ryoma. If you want to keep it, there's work to dos."

The boy lifted his head. Though his face was red, his hazel eyes were burning.

"Alright," said Ryoma. "Let's see what Seishun Gakuen's got to offer."