This story will be set in the future when both Ryoma and Sakuno are seventeen. Let's pretend Ryoma left for America unannounced. Rewritten - june 07

chapter one

The rhythm of the club music pounded in his ears and after a while, his heart became one with the beat of the surround-sound stereos systems. Loud and fast. Strobe lights flashed maniacally while bodies grinded on the backlit dance floor.

Seventeen-year-old Echizen Ryoma sat away from the fray of lights and sound, leaning onto the bar counter with his head bent. A shady looking bartender watched enviously as women tried to catch the young man's eye, walking by him slowly and flashing their tanned legs in their flirty skirts. He didn't look up for any of them.

It was Saturday night, the last few hours of personal freedom he had before he was whisked away on the earliest flight to Seattle. He had an interview the next day and his manager would have a fit if he missed it. But in all honesty, Ryoma didn't give a damn. Despite his immense love for tennis, he was starting to get bored of it. A few months ago, this was unthinkable. No one would have guessed that the young man on the court who had full-heartedly strived to return all of his opponents' counters would be the same guy sitting in a downtown nightclub in Boston.

But a few months ago, Ryoma had opponents to beat. After winning Wimbledon, and the headlines of nearly every sports magazine, the only opposition left to smooth out was his father, Echizen Nanjirou. And he resided in Japan.

That's where Ryoma wanted to be more than anywhere. He looked up, licking his lips slightly, and motioned for the bartender.

"One cup of beer?" The bartender asked gruffly. His gaze wondered, trying to catch some ladies of his own.

Ryoma rolled his eyes. "No." He knew what one cup of beer would lead to and he had no intention of getting drunk in public. "Do you have any carbonated drinks?"

The bartender looked confused and then chuckled hoarsely. "Like soda? Sorry, we don't carry that kind of stuff. How about some wine instead?"

"No."

The bartender's eyes caught some females looking in their direction. "I've got some champagne saved for special occasions, but if you want--"

"No." Ryoma closed his eyes. He wasn't stupid; he knew he was being used.

The bartender drummed his fingers on the counter nervously. "Might I interest you in a free martini? Hey, maybe you could help--?"

"I'm leaving." Ryoma got up too quickly, causing tiny, dizzy spots to appear and dance. Rubbing his eyes, he made a mental note to eat better, even though he preferred Japanese cooking.

He wound his way through the crowds of people, finally leaning against a wall and exhaling deeply to clear his head.

After the interview the next day, he would ask his manager if he could return to Japan… and his manager would have to agree because there were no important matches ahead in his schedule. In fact, except a few sponsor signings, there was really nothing.

Ryoma smirked at his good luck and raised his arms above his head in a stretch. A brown-haired girl walking by turned around and unconsciously gaped at how fine he was. She nearly choked when she saw a thin slice of skin exposed around his waist when his shirt pulled up.

Stopping in his stretch, he looked at her and acting on his high, he asked, "Want to dance?"

Oh, he's bilingual! She nearly fainted.

Ryoma smirked. He had always been irresistible, as he had learned when he hit puberty and started noticing that strange female species. He had never had trouble approaching them; they had always come to him. Now older and towering at 5'10, he could easily avert their attention to him just by raking through his dark hair with his fingers, showing off his perfect green highlights.

This dazed brunette was no exception. She could feel the envious glares of the other girls around her and she felt strangely desirable. And by an exotic beauty like him too. Why was he at a low-class club like this?

"You coming?" He held out his hand. She didn't care, as long as she had his attention.

She took his hand and followed him.

Especially in the fast rhythm of the music and presence of an incredibly good-looking guy, the girl felt painfully awkward and timid. She would have much rather just admired him from a distance because she had always been the shy type. Her legs were slow and stiff; it was embarrassing. She felt exposed in his company and was relieved when he didn't seem to mind her lameness.

He could have easily gotten any girl from the club, but frankly, he liked this held-back personality. It was a natural hard-to-get act. So shy and easily flustered… long, brown hair… extremely sweet and innocent. He let her scent wash over him.

Only when she heaved a sigh and decided to be bolder and step closer did he back out of the way. Thinking it was a coincidence, she spun closer, trying to hold his hand. He pulled away again. Immediately, another girl jumped in and started grinding her hips low and suggestively against him. He turned and more girls appeared, all trying to capture his attention. Soon he was surrounded.

'So this is why I don't like dances', Ryoma thought dryly. He was just starting to enjoy himself when these girls ruined it. How annoying.

He excused himself and tried walking away from the circle of female predators. One of them grabbed his arm and followed him, thinking herself so coy and special. When they were away from the crowd, she snaked her arms up to his neck and pulled his head down to hers less than gently. What a winner.

She leaned up and whispered, "I can give you what you want."

"Really," Ryoma breathed, his lips just inches from hers. "You'll do what I want you to?"

She smiled deeply. "Anything."

Ryoma pulled away and deadpanned, "Then get the hell away from me."

He turned and walked away briskly.

Mada mada dane.

Somewhere in Seattle the next day, a piercing yell was heard from behind a large wooden door, followed by a lower, muffled voice. The exchange was passed back and forth until there was just the lower voice speaking calmly. A minute later, Ryoma emerged from the door, wearing a picture-perfect smirk of triumph.

He had successfully snubbed his manager of a three month vacation. He could honestly give himself a pat on the back.

After a sixteen-hour flight, Ryoma stepped into the Tokyo International Airport, feeling more awake and at home than ever. He was back in Japan.

The only thing wrong with the picture was that he was decked out in an ancient trench coat, a Boston Red Sox cap, and aviator sunglasses, leaving him with second thoughts about hiding his identity so "well". People, especially young girls, were eying him suspiciously.

"What's with that guy flying first class?"

"I know, he's definitely way too poor for it!"

"Where'd he even get the money?"

"Is he like, a mugger?"

It was annoying as hell listening to all these accusations. Ryoma walked rapidly through the airport, ignoring the whispers with a strained patience.

Instead, he tried thinking about his flight from Seattle to Tokyo. He had sat in the window seat of a two-person row next to a Japanese girl around 16 or 17. She wore a cap with a brim that hid her eyes in shadows but it didn't hide her long, chestnut-brown wavy hair. Each rolling curl hung around her perfectly. The smell of her sophisticated, subtle shampoo was enticing.

She had doodled in her sketchpad the whole flight while listened to her MP3 player, not bothering to spare him a glance. Slightly annoyed by this, Ryoma thought of talking to her, but first, he didn't want to disturb her in her peace, and second, that was prohibited. Well in any case, he liked watching the way her pencil skimmed across the paper lightly, producing accurate, firm lines. He hid his observing by pretending to sleep with his hat enveloping his eyes. He didn't want her shooting him weird looks.

He liked what he saw.

As fascinating as her pencil was, she was without a doubt much more interesting. It wasn't like he had never seen a girl so cute, because he had. It was more like he had never seen a girl look so pure.

She made a good picture: the sunlight streaming through the window caught her hair and tinted it golden red. Her profile was young, like a schoolgirl's, and her nose gently curved up and then down to meet her lips… her pale, soft-looking lips that curled up in a secretive smile.

Her white hat looked like his tennis cap, but over her river-like, maple hair, it looks so… Ryoma paused. Familiar.

This girl reminded him of the other brown-haired girl from the night club who had danced with him. She struck him as different. He didn't know anything about this girl but he knew that he was curious about her.

When they were near their destination, he had decided to risk it, and asked, "What are you drawing?"

She had her eyes closed and was drawing blindly when he asked. Her eyes open fluidly and she turned around to locate the voice. He took this chance to observe her face. Her eyes were the color of melted chocolate, but so much lighter and almost iridescent. Not only that, but they seemed alert and attentive, not at all like the normal zombie-like, hungry stare of his average fan girls'. Framed with thick yet delicate, dark eyelashes, he found himself feeling nostalgic at the sight.

Why was he thinking of nothing but her? He had to know. But at the same time, he felt afraid of finding out the answer to this mystery.

Unfortunately, when these mysterious eyes spotted him, they didn't see Ryoma, the hot-shot tennis star. Instead they took in Ryoma, the mugger. Needless to say, she was a bit freaked out.

"Um… I'm just doodling, nothing special."

She had looked away quickly and defiantly stared at her sketchpad the rest of the flight.

When they were asked to leave the plane, she had gathered her belongings in lightspeed. He looked up in time only to see her distant legs swinging hurriedly away from him. She really needed to get a longer skirt. Old guys might try to hit on her.

Right, she thought he was one of those old guys.

'How could I be repulsive?' Ryoma had thought bitterly as he walked away from his lost battle. But he refused to accept defeat. 'If I took off my hat and glasses, she'd be all over me.' He had reached up to take his hat off when he stopped and felt stupid.

To think that he had actually wanted to risk his identity just to impress one girl. Or rather, to prove that he wasn't a mugger, and then possibly rub it in her face that he was actually a famous, rather-good-looking celebrity.

But he had decided against it. She wasn't worth it. Deep down, all girls are just annoying. Already, the image of her face was draining from his mind.

Ryoma strode through the sliding doors of the exit and walked over to his arranged chauffeur waiting beside a cab.

"Oi," he raised a hand to the driver.

Obviously he hadn't recognized Ryoma because he gave a start and exclaimed in a hushed voice, "Oh, Mr. Echizen!" Immediately, he pulled the door open for Ryoma. Once he got into the cab himself, he asked, "Where to, sir?"

Ryoma smiled. "Just drop me off downtown. I want to walk around."

"Of course."

ooh la!

(A/N): My first attempt at a multi-chapter story. Still not entirely sure of the plot. Reviews would be extremely helpful :)

Edit: Hahaha oh do I have a plot now… (run for your life!) Sorry I had to rewrite everything. I had to take out the part about Gus, the lame manager, and the fan girl attack. I felt it was seriously irrelevant. Sorry if you actually liked those parts (haha)

Edit2: 3/22/08 - I just reread this, and I definitely want to finish this, though it'll prob be only 6-7 chapters long (hopefully). Truthfully, I spent so much time editing the first four chapters that I don't think any chapters following will be as detailed.