2004 - 2014 AlseGold

Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is created by Konomi Takeshi. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-san or any other entity holding any legal right associated with and arising out of Prince of Tennis. It was written purely out of fanservice and it is not to be used for profit or any false association with Konomi-san or aforesaid entities.

Title: My Beloved Friend – not exactly Part 2.

Pairing: Not quite MomoRyo, because it did not happen.

Rating: K+

Notes:

1. This is the original (eighty per cent of it, anyway) version of My Beloved Friend. The other version was written in a strange fit after I abandoned this version. I think the story asked to be written, then, in that not-quite verse, not-quite-prose style. This version is in a different style altogether, more my usual style, I suppose. I've finally finished the remaining one-quarter. It's not perfect, but if the story asks to be told in a different way, then the story gets what it wants. Even if it's years later.

2. If you came looking for MomoRyo, oh dear. I basically wrote a story where it failed to materialise, a reflection of reality. And the most innocent person is Ryuzaki Sakuno. That is the real lesson to be learned, I feel.

It was early April, and the cherry trees were heavy with the blossoms of spring, the smooth branches so o'erladen with the ripe sweetness of pink and white that the merest puff of breeze was enough to bury the paths in the fragrant, fragile petals. He had been all over the world, and cherry trees were not found in Japan alone. But none of them had the scent of home, of a quiet town in the Tokyo suburbs, and a simple life tucked away, far from the glare of fame and fortune. How long had it been? Twenty years? …

…no, more.

Twenty-two years.

And if he concentrated a little harder—he could almost hear—almost, beyond the gate, the sound of a bicycle bell ringing—

"Oi, Echizen, late for school again?"

The voice was both clear and strident, with a bright, cheeky inflection—a voice that was all sunny weather and smiles—a voice that reminded him—

"It takes one to know one, Momo-sempai!"

Momo-sempai?

Momo…

…sempai…

She liked to look at them from a distance, so she often made sure that she was the last at the table, although the meal would not begin without her presence. But every day, at breakfast, lunch and dinner, she waited until they were already seated, so that she could see them as they were—a real family, together. There was her husband, his handsome face softening slightly as he looked at the meal she had set before them. He loved the food of his home country, she remembered; it was a strange thing for a man who had spent nearly three decades of his life in foreign lands, but clearly preferred the teriyaki or soy sauces and miso-flavoured dishes of Japan to the salads, grilled meat and potatoes, and cream-based soups of his American childhood.

"Domo."

Some people called him rude, and others sneered at his arrogance, but they did not see the true him. Underneath that taciturn, sometimes morose attitude was the boy love of her childhood—her first love, really. He was very little changed from the Echizen Ryoma she had known when she was a little girl, and they had been at school together. The short, slightly wavy black hair with its odd way of falling across his forehead in an unruly fashion was still there; the smile that she treasured so highly flashed out rarely, but it was just as she remembered. She saw the gentleness in his eyes, and in his actions, and to her, he did not need to say anything, because she could understand him so easily.

Their son was just like his father had been at that age, just as tiny, with the same glossy black hair tumbling untidily over his forehead, big, dark-gold eyes, and a decided preference for remaining silent even when spoken to. To be sure, it made for very quiet family meals, but none of them had ever found that a problem.

Her heart was full as she quietly took her place at the perfectly round table, seated between her husband and son.

"How was school today?"

He mumbled something that she understood to mean "all right".

She carefully added some more slices of chicken to his bowl. He was, after all, a growing boy. "I'm so glad. Your father and I were from Seigaku."

"I know."

Like father, like son, she thought, with a slightly rueful smile. It was exactly what her husband would have said.

And then—

"This morning—"

She glanced in surprise at her husband, who rarely spoke during meals (and rarely spoke, to be honest).

"Who was it outside the gate this morning?"

"No one."

Her husband stopped eating, chopsticks poised in mid-air. He seemed to be studying their son very carefully. "Who is she?"

She? Their son? – A girlfriend? Was that what her husband was implying?

Their son shrugged his shoulders, dark-gold eyes flashing with annoyance. "A sempai."

Oh. A senior.

She could not help joining in the conversation. "What's her name?"

"Momo-sempai."

She was a tall girl, at least three heads above their son, with long black hair pulled back into a ponytail. Years ago, the Seigaku girls' tennis uniform had been distinctively different from the boys, but it was now the same design – the same blue and white, with narrow red bands. She had a large tennis bag slung across one shoulder and was busy strangling their son with one long, slimly muscled, capable arm whilst laughing uproariously.

And violet eyes.

She had familiar violet eyes that shone brightly, matching the wide grin on her face—although the grin eventually turned both embarrassed and sheepish when she realized that they were being watched.

"What's your name?"

The words had flown abruptly from his mouth; he had said them without thinking, and she unhooked her arm from around his son's neck, and stood straight, eyes still bright and intelligent, the laughter dancing on the edges.

"Kawamura Momoko, second year, Seishun Gakuen Junior High."

Kawamura.

Momoko.

Momo-sempai.

But not his name.

"Can you be – are you Kawamura Takashi-san's daughter?"

It was the woman next to him who had spoken— his wife.

"Yes." Violet eyes widened in surprise and a wide, painfully familiar grin burst out, larger than life, and twice as brilliant as sunlight. "You know my father?"

His wife laughed a little. "Um, yes. He was our sempai at Seigaku… Kawamura-sempai was one of the best tennis players in Seigaku… he and my husband were both on the Seigaku tennis team."

His son's friend's eyes brightened further. "Really? My father was with you at school? Then—ah! You—you must be Echizen Ryoma-sama? And you are Ryuzaki Sakuno-san!" She blushed suddenly and bowed deeply. "Oops! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be so rude!"

No. Not like him at all. He would never have said that—never have said it like that—

The girl with the laughing violet eyes scratched her head sheepishly, and then abruptly whirled round to smack the head of the small boy standing next to her. "Echizen Takeshi, you never told me that your father is Echizen Ryoma!"

"Itai, Momo-sempai! You didn't ask me!" retorted the boy, nursing his head tenderly.

"That's not the point, not the point at all!"

"…"

The woman next to him, his wife, touched him gently on the arm. He turned and found that she was smiling gently up at him. "Doesn't she… doesn't she remind you of … of Momoshiro-sempai…"

Momoshiro…

…Momo-sempai…

The man behind the counter looked up when he entered and called out—

"Ah, sorry, we're not open yet—"

And then there was the sound of a knife clattering on the counter-top.

"Eh?! Echizen?!"

He bowed. "Kawamura-sempai."

Kawamura Takashi's voice was warm. "Echizen-kun, it really is you. Come, quick, sit down, have a seat…"

He sat quietly at the counter, and turned automatically so that he was now sitting sideways on the stool, and his eyes fell on the tables behind him. And up on the wall, hanging proudly—the flag of Seishun Gakuen.

"Our juniors still come here to celebrate, you know." Kawamura Takashi's voice was filled with pride. "They asked the school to let them put the flag here. I told Inui—"

His head snapped around. "Inui-sempai?"

Kawamura blinked. "Why, yes. Oh—I forgot—you didn't know. Inui is now the coach of Seishun Gakuen's boys' tennis teams. He coaches both the senior and junior high divisions."

"… Inui-sempai…?" Both the schools? Inui-sempai?

His son hadn't mentioned that. But it did explain the long practices (long even for Seigaku) and the nights when Takeshi came home looking washed out and green to the gills. After all, he himself had looked like that a long time ago, a fairly typical side-effect of too much Inui Jiru…

Kawamura set a glass tumbler before him, half-filled with ice. "How have you been, Echizen-kun? The newspapers said that you were coming back here to live, but we didn't know when. But I'm very happy to see you here. And…" His voice trailed off as he shyly held out a familiar-looking can...

… of grape-flavoured Ponta.

Something seemed to catch in his throat. "Kawamura-sempai…"

Kawamura Takashi just smiled. "I always keep some cans here. Welcome home, Echizen-kun."

He did not know what to say, but he hoped that Kawamura understood. Thank you.

"Takashi? There you are. Momo-chan says she—"

The newcomer stopped in surprise. "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't know there was someone else here …"

She was tall, with waves of straight, sleek brown hair that fell around her shoulders, and eyes that he had just seen that morning, the laughing violet eyes of the girl who was his son's sempai.

Momoko's mother—

—Kawamura-sempai's wife—

"Echizen, this is my wife, Hiroko. Hiroko, this is Echizen Ryoma. Echizen, Hiroko is also… um…"

—Momoshiro Takeshi's younger sister.

"I'm honoured to meet you, Echizen-kun."

Echizen Takeshi did not come home for dinner that evening. He called to let his mother know that he was going to play tennis with Momo-sempai at the street courts. They would go together for dinner later.

The doorbell, when it rang that evening, was answered by his wife.

There were soft footsteps and then there was a light knock on the open door. His wife was painfully polite.

"Ah, Ryoma-kun, there's someone here to see you."

He looked up.

"It's Kawamura-sempai's wife, Hiroko-san. She said she met you this morning at the sushi shop."

He got up silently and made his way to the living room.

"I've always wanted to meet you." She fidgeted slightly, glancing nervously at him.

She looked like her brother, but her manner was different. Very different.

"I was hoping that you might know what happened to my older brother."

What?

She swallowed. "You see, onii-chan has been missing for twenty-two years."

There was a chance meeting.

A young man, small for his age and slender, with mouse-brown hair and large, distinctively almost-dark-gold eyes… in his hands was a little white cap, the crimson 'R' standing out for miles around…

Something, deep inside him, stood very still. "Where did you – who gave you… this…?"

Almost-dark-gold eyes dropped down at the little white cap and then flashed up at him. "Is this yours?"

Once, it might have been. In fleeting memories of long ago, under blue skies, when they first met –

"…where I can find him?"

A long pause.

"Please." His voice cracked on the last syllable. Please.

Another long pause.

The young man said, fiercely and almost reluctantly: "I promised him. I can't go to see him until I've fulfilled my promise. But I think – if you are who I think you are… I don't think he would want you to see him. But I know that he would want to see you."

So they found him at last, in a tiny alcove all covered with dust. In a humble urn was all that remained of the boy with laughing violet eyes that had lost all laughter forever when his best friend broke his heart all those years ago. There was no photograph of him, only a simple name etched into the rusty metal nameplate set into the alcove:

Momoshiro Takeshi.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

For, though all hope is dead and love is buried…

… yet the living must still endure.

They would marry, ten years later.

His son, his niece.

She was tall, but his son was taller still, half a head above her. She was a year and a little bit older, his son's bride, and she had laughing violet eyes that had captured his son's heart. But nobody cared that she was older. For this was a world grown wiser and sadder, wrought by the sacrifices of those who had gone before.

If many years ago…

…if they had defied the world together then…

…where would they be now?

Would he be alive today?

Momo-sempai. I wish I could see you now.

But I know what you'd say.

"Echizen! What do you think you're DOING!"

My time isn't up yet.

So I'll wait as long as it takes.

That's what you'd want me to do.

It's all I can do for you.

…for the living must endure.

Owari