Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Konomi Takeshi does. I'm merely playing with them for the moment.

A/N: When I first wrote The Three Samurai, it was mainly to illustrate a crack theory. However, ever since I wrote the sort-of-sequel, Merry Birthday, and started playing with the thought of more fics in the same universe, I've been wishing it wasn't such a tiny little badfic. Yesterday, I finally got a beginning, and sat down to write. ...Today, I finished what turned out to be three chapters and an epilogue, totalling at exactly 20,000 words altogether. Not bad, considering the original was barely over 1,000 words.

Prequel to Merry Birthday, rewrite/revamp of The Three Samurai. Any future fics in the universe will follow this version instead of the original.

Sons of a Samurai

Chapter 1

Instinct

Ryoma would have been the first to admit that he didn't have a particularly close bond with either of his parents. He assumed they cared about him well enough, but then, his mother had never been the type to slave over the perfect school lunches and make sure he had a snack waiting when he came home. She was rather focused on her career, so much so that she chose to stay behind in America when Nanjirou decided to bring Ryoma to Japan to attend his own old school. Nanjirou, on the other hand, was rather obviously involved in his life – too much so, Ryoma might have said – but they really only ever bonded over tennis. When they talked, they talked about tennis, when they spent time together, they were playing tennis, even when they were doing apparently unrelated things like eating one or the other would usually bring up tennis before long. It was a strange thing, and sometimes even kind of annoying, but it was what he had grown used to over the years.

Ryoma had never imagined what it would be like to be without his parents. His mother was away so it really wouldn't have changed much, while his father was such an annoying, ever-present figure that it was impossible to even think about his life without the smug voice cackling right behind the corner and the sight of dark monk robes somewhere in the corner of his eye. It just wasn't a possibility.

Ryoga, of course, was another matter entirely. He was a bit fuzzy on the details, it wasn't exactly something to be discussed over a family dinner after all, but he was fairly sure there was more of a connection between his older brother and his father than just a couple of adoption papers. His mother never made a mention of it, treating Ryoga with the same kind of detached fondness she gave to Ryoma, so he supposed it wasn't too much of a scandal at least. With Nanjirou, it was somewhat different. When he had been younger, Ryoma had sometimes been jealous of the attention Ryoga got for being older and better at tennis; then he had grown and gotten better and his brother had run away from home, so there had been no reason for jealousy whatsoever. Nowadays Ryoga sometimes came for a visit, staying a day or two, never saying too much about where he was or what he was doing when he wasn't there. Nanjirou sometimes made some mentions about school and proper education that Ryoga pretended not to hear, not that they were ever made with too serious a tone. It was rather obvious Nanjirou expected both of his sons to go on a professional career to live out the dream he had once abandoned.

It was during a late night chat with Ryoga during one of those strange visits, lying on the roof and looking up to the sky where the stars were almost drowned out by the lights of the city nearby, that Ryoma first realized that might not happen.

"I just don't know," Ryoga said, taking another lick of one of the popsicles he had snatched from the freezer for a midnight snack to battle the summer heat. "I mean... I'm not as good as you, am I? We both know it. You got the better genes or whatever. So maybe you should just become the next big Samurai and I'll just... do whatever."

"But what else could you do?" Ryoma frowned, licking his own icy treat. What Ryoga was suggesting was strange, almost... blasphemous. "Sure, I beat you, but that doesn't mean anything. You can still go out and beat everyone else, right?"

"That's what you think," Ryoga said, chuckling. "...I'm a high schooler, Chibisuke. Well, would be if I ever bothered to go to school, but you get my drift. You were in your first year of middle school. If you could beat me, there's no way I could manage to get anywhere in the pro circles."

"Oh, shut up." Ryoma reached his foot to the side just enough to kick his brother lightly on the shin, drawing a slight chuckle from Ryoga. "That's just because I'm so awesome and perfect and undefeatable."

"Says you." Ryoga laughed, moving his leg just in time to avoid another kick. "...Why'd you come here, anyway? America, I mean. I thought you were doing pretty well over in Japan?"

Ryoma would have shrugged except shrugging while lying down was just all kinds of awkward, so he just rolled his eyes. "It's the old man, of course. He's the one who dragged me off to Japan in the first place, you know? And then apparently one year was enough since I managed to help his old school become the champions, which is what he didn't do in his time. Bet he was just afraid I'd be more awesome than he is."

"Would make sense, that." Ryoma could just hear the smirk in Ryoga's voice. "But... it's kind of nasty to you, isn't it? I mean, you probably made all kind of friends over there and everything... Didn't he even ask you before hauling you off for the next place?"

"When does he ever ask me about doing anything?" Ryoma asked dryly. "And yeah, well, I guess... I mean, I'm a big boy, right? It's not like I'll be crying after them or anything." Though he had to admit he could have spent a little more time with Momo-senpai. And he was curious to see how far all his senpai would go, and his opponents, and even what had become of that strange Yamabuki kid who had tripped over his feet and panicked about going blind when the headband had fallen over his eyes. A lot of strange people, over in Japan... A lot of really impressive people, too. He was yet to see an opponent as stubborn as Atobe, for example. He doubted he would, not until he got to battle the Monkey King himself all over again. Now wouldn't that be an awesome match... It would probably make him feel just as giddy as that final match against Yukimura, he was sure Atobe had also gotten better in the last year, maybe he could...

"...Oi, Chibisuke." Blinking, Ryoma realized that Ryoga was leaning over him, looking down with a somewhat concerned frown on his face. "You all right?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah. I'm all right. I was just... thinking." Ryoma shook his head to clear it. Stupid thoughts. "It's just... there were some really great opponents in Japan, you know? I had some of my best matches over there..."

"...Heh. Always thinking about tennis. You're hopeless, aren't you?" Ryoga sat up, shaking his head. "The man's completely ruined you..." He glanced at Ryoma again. He looked strangely big in the moonlight, a looming shadow against the arching sky. "Oi. Your popsicle's melting."

Oh. Right. Catching a drop flowing down his fingers with the tip of his tongue, sticky and sweet and cold, Ryoma proceeded to cleaning up all of the melted juice off the popsicle. Finally, he glanced at Ryoga. "...You ever lived in Japan? Properly?" After all, aside from that whole mess on Sakurafubuki's ship, it was hardly like he knew anything about what Ryoga had done during all that time he had spent away from home.

At that, Ryoga actually laughed. "Me? Hardly. Sure, on one of those tourist trips they took us on when we were kids, to see grandparents and stuff, but... no, never really lived there. Might want to try it some day, though. Could be interesting." He grinned. "You could come stay over, too. Play against those great opponents of yours."

Ryoma had a sneaking suspicion his eyes lit up at the thought of that possibility, not that he'd have ever admitted it. "You totally should, you know," he said. "Get in touch with your roots or something."

"Oi." Ryoga rapped Ryoma's head with his knuckles, as light as Ryoma's earlier kick had been but still enough to make him grimace. "Technically, my only known roots are deep in Florida soil. My mother was born, raised and buried there."

"...Buried?" Ryoma echoed, looking over to Ryoga, frowning. He... didn't like Ryoga's tone. "That's news to me..."

"Yeah, well, it was kind of news to me, too." Ryoga sighed, sticking the end of his own popsicle into his mouth and sucking. Somehow, he managed to make such a childish gesture look almost... sad. "I kinda lost touch with her back when I... came here. Tried to find her again around last Christmas... figured it might be interesting to know what's going on with her. I did manage to find her parents, not that they wanted a whole lot to do with me." After a long lick of his quickly diminishing treat, he added, "Turns out, she died less than a year after I was adopted. Nobody ever thought to let me know."

"Oh. That's... that's just... oh." What was he supposed to say, anyway? Ryoma wasn't good with this stuff. Not with all these... emotions and such. It just wasn't his field of expertise. His field of expertise was... well. "...Wanna play tennis?"

"Thank you for the concern," Ryoga laughed, reaching his non-popsicle-holding hand to ruffle Ryoma's hair as though in apology for the earlier knuckle-rap. "Let's finish these first, 'kay? Then I might actually consider getting my ass kicked by a midget in the middle of the night."

Ryoma might have taken offense at that midget comment, but just for now, he let it slide. Instead, he grinned. "You can bet your butt on it."

"At least it's a sexier butt than yours."

"Yeah, well, anyone considering a thirteen-year-old sexy should be jailed anyway." Ryoma rolled his eyes. "Anyone who's not thirteen themselves, that is." Not that he believed any of those squealing little girls actually knew anything about sexiness.

"Oh, come on. You're legal in Japan, aren't you?" Ryoga laughed at Ryoma's grimace. "Sorry, sorry... guess I really owe you that match after that comment, eh?"

"You bet you do." Ryoma frowned deeply, licking at his popsicle furiously as though trying to make it perish in place of his brother.

He had no particular desire to lick Ryoga, after all. Just kick his ass on the court. Hard.

The idiot.

"And why can't I go back to Japan?"

"It's too cold up there," Nanjirou replied, not even looking up from his newspaper. "I like warmth better."

"You're the one who first dragged me off there," Ryoma pointed out a bit snappishly. "You grew up there! I should think you'd know if it's too cold for you in the first place!"

"Yeah, well, I needed to show that old hag Ryuuzaki," his father said non-chalantly. So much for respecting his elders, apparently. "It'd mess up your school and all."

"Then you should have let me stay there in the first place," protested Ryoma. "Bringing me back to America was just another stupid change!" Transferring between schools was always such a pain. Especially when it involved two entirely different school systems.

"Now what's this sudden enthusiasm?" Finally, Nanjirou actually managed to tear his eyes away from the newspaper. "When I first took you to Japan, you were complaining that you wanted to stay here."

"Yeah, well... I didn't know how great opponents Japan has." At least he knew what strings to pull with his father, if nothing else. "I wanna play against them again."

"You can always wait until you meet them in the pro circuit." Yeah, right, talk about planning your kids' life in advance. "Isn't that enough?"

"And if they don't plan to go pro?" Ryoma didn't even mention the possibility of himself not doing so. Mainly because, well, it was not a possibility at all.

"Then they're not really very worthwhile opponents, are they?" Nanjirou shook his head. "A no's a no. I don't want to go there anymore." A pause. "You should be practising."

"Don't go too hard on the kid," a somewhat sleepy voice said from behind them. Turning to look, they both saw Ryoga standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking pretty much like he just climbed out of bed. Running a hand through his already thoroughly messed-up hair, Ryoga added, "We played some night tennis last night. 'T was fun."

"Really?" Now, Nanjirou actually seemed interested. "And why wasn't I informed?"

"Because you were snoring hard enough to bring the roof down, maybe?" Ryoma suggested dryly. "Ryoga, did you know Mr. Japan here doesn't want to go up there because it's too cold?"

"Oh? Then he shouldn't go." Ryoga wandered over to the table and poured himself a cup of coffee, apparently completely oblivious to Ryoma's glare and Nanjirou's approving gaze. "Doesn't mean you can't go, though, does it?"

"Of course it does," Nanjirou cut in just before Ryoma managed to say, 'Of course it doesn't.' "He's just a little kid! He could hardly even manage a short trip there, and from the sounds of it he wants to go back to living over there. It's not like he can do that all alone."

"I never said alone." Ryoga raised his eyebrows before taking a sip of his coffee. "I can always go there with him."

Ryoma's eyes widened even as Nanjirou frowned. "What? You? What would you be doing in Japan?"

"Going to school, of course." Ryoga gave him a mischievous smirk that Ryoma was sure he recognized from some old photographs of Nanjirou as a young man, or a milder form of it from himself, sometimes. Adopted, sure. "I mean, I do speak Japanese, you know. Sure, my kanji could use a bit of brushing up, but I'm sure that's not too much of a stretch. And it might be fun, going to school in Japan, right? Get back to my roots and all."

"...Your roots are in America." Ryoma wasn't even sure what he should have been more amused at, the very similar route the discussion was taking to their chat on the roof the night before, or the way Nanjirou and Ryoga sounded exactly alike. He wondered just who their father thought he was fooling, anyway.

"Not anymore." Ryoga raised his eyebrows. "My Mom's dead, you know. Not Rinko-mom, obviously, but my real Mom." Ignoring Nanjirou's slightly taken aback expression, he continued, "Her parents don't want anything to do with me... so I figured, you're the only family I have, ne?" Again that very much Echizen smirk. "So it's only appropriate that I'd go to Japan to find out more about that side of my family. And it's even more important to Chibisuke, obviously. He has to get in proper touch with Japan or he'll feel all... rootless."

"You can very well go to school here," Nanjirou said. "The Japanese school would be too strict for a slacker like you. You wouldn't survive a day."

"All the more reason for me to shape up, right? And besides, Chibisuke told me you left Nanako-chan all alone in that big house. Sure, it's good because she doesn't have to pay for it, but it must be an awful lot of work to keep the house clean and everything."

"That's it, isn't it?" Nanjirou frowned in a mock-serious manner that was far too over the top to be actually taken seriously. "You're just after Nanako! That's your true plan, you vile and horrible dirty young man!"

"Better than a dirty old man," Ryoma murmured. Not that either of them was listening. Apparently he'd been dropped out of the discussion entirely at this point. Not that he was really complaining. The discussions between Ryoga and Nanjirou tended to be either very awkward or very entertaining, and this one was thankfully one of the latter ones.

"Oh, sure, I'm falling head over heels over a girl I last saw when I was ten." Ryoga rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "But hey, all the same to me, right? I can just as well go and die in a ditch somewhere. Less of an effort to me."

"That's not an option," Nanjirou said. "...Can't you go without Ryoma?"

"What exactly are you afraid of?" Ryoga looked at him questioningly. "That he'll actually have some fun? That there's somewhere he feels like he belongs? Oh, the horror..." Then, just before the discussion slipped over to awkward, he smirked. "Oh, no, I know. You're just afraid because you know he'll find someone better than you to play against."

"Preposterous!" Nanjirou declared somewhat more dramatically than was strictly necessary. "Nobody can be better than me!"

"Then what's the problem? Obviously you didn't think it too bad for him the first time around or you wouldn't have taken him there." Ryoma was rather wondering the same thing, too. Nanjirou was often eccentric, but this vehement an opposition was just strange even for him. "Between Nanako and me I'm sure we'd be able to make sure the kid's not starving or going to school naked because he forgot to eat and dress himself between tennis practices."

"I already said he's not going to Japan," Nanjirou said firmly. "I can hardly stop you if you're that stupid, but Ryoma's still a kid. And he's not going anywhere without me."

"I'd probably be better off without you," Ryoma said, finally deciding to put in his own two cents again. "You're embarrassing, old man."

"You shut up, boy." Nanjirou glared at him. "End of discussion."

"Oh, Hell." Ryoma sighed, standing up from the table, completely ignoring Nanjirou's reprimanding gaze for his language. The hypocrite. "Oi, Ryoga. Inui-senpai sent me some more videos the other day. Want to watch them with me?"

"Sure." Ryoga snatched a bun from the basket on the table, throwing one last glance at Nanjirou. "Let's let Mr. Sourpuss here stew all by himself."

"Damn straight."

"So that's Atobe," Ryoga said, looking at the computer screen with a tiny smirk. "I... see. I can see how you'd want to play against him."

"He's almost as frustrating as data players," Ryoma murmured. "Damn guy's almost impossible to take down... and without the Zone, he keeps scoring free hits just because he's somehow more insightful than others." He couldn't help but feel his own lips also twitching at the corners. "Gives one Hell of a match, though. It's really worth all the frustration."

"I can imagine." Ryoga chuckled, then watched on until they got to the end of the video. Ryoma hated to admit it but Atobe seemed to be in even better condition than before. A match against him would certainly have been very interesting. Too bad one of them was over in Japan and the other was... not. "What next?"

"Let's see..." Ryoma scanned over the list of short recordings Inui had sent him in the latest e-mail. The dataist kept him fairly well updated on the development of most of the players he had played against. Ryoma supposed it was an attempt to get him back to Japan, or something. If only he'd had a choice... He'd already watched most of them, some of them several times, even. There were still some that he hadn't gone through yet. "...Hey, here. Let's have some lighter stuff for a chance."

"Lighter stuff?" Ryoga asked, taking a bite of the remains of his bun and chewing before he added, "What do you mean?"

"Well, those others are all older guys," Ryoma explained, indicating the list. "Well, aside from Tooyama, but then I think that guy was born with a racquet in his mouth or something." Not that he had been much different, but. "But this one," he clicked on another file, "well... let's say the guy's played tennis for about a year, now."

"Oh?" Ryoga's eyebrows flew high. "And why'd you be interested in him, then?"

"Because two months after he started," Ryoma smirked, "he came up to Seigaku and challenged me." He ignored Ryoga's flaggerbastered expression and srambled back to the bed they were sitting on while watching the videos on his computer, leaning against the wall to get into a more comfortable position. "Here."

He had to admit, there had been some developement since the last bit Inui sent. He usually saved the Dan videos for last in every batch, as a 'lighter stuff' like he had put it, but he had to admit they were becoming less and less of a joke. When he'd first heard the kid was actually leading his team this year, he'd been rather surprised. By now, he had to admit it wasn't entirely amiss. For one thing, Dan had actually gotten rid of that overly large headband... well, not entirely, but he'd now wrapped it around his wrist instead of wearing it on his head. Ryoma was almost sure he'd grown just a bit taller, too, not that it was easy to tell from the video. That, or he'd simply grown more comfortable with his body, go figure. Certainly he'd managed to shed the almost fragile awkwardness of his first attempts on an actual court.

Ryoga watched the video with the same mild interest he had reserved for the others. "Good focus," he mentioned at some point, then just continued watching with the same detached interest. Not that Ryoma could really blame him for not being entirely immersed. Aside from the old Seigaku members, Ryoga had never actually met any of the people in the videos, though somehow he apparently found them interesting enough to watch along with Ryoma. A part of it was thanks to Inui, Ryoma supposed. He didn't know if it was the data or what, but somehow he actually managed to make videos of playing tennis even more interesting than usual by picking only the best bits. Like now this. Apparently Dan had gotten a proper grasp on the Twist Serve at last, judging by how he was practically running circles around his opponent in this service game. In fact, Ryoma wasn't even sure it was the Twist Serve anymore; it appeared to be some slightly evolved version. Figured the kid might have developed something in a year. He'd have to try that at some point.

Ryoga, he noticed, was... frowning. Why? "Something wrong?" Ryoma asked, glancing at him.

"Nothing... he copied this from you, right?" Ryoga asked.

"Well, yeah, the basic thing. Never taught him how to hit it quite like that, though. Gotta say it's more efficient, saves the trouble of changing hands." Not that playing with his right hand wasn't great for some smug showing-off when he made his little reveal, but it was still sometimes annoying that he could only use his left hand for a Twist Serve against so few players. It was so much more satisfying to hit it properly, with his dominant hand.

"The problem is... I've seen that serve before." Ryoga was still frowning. "The handedness, and that extra bit of spin at the end..."

"Oh?" Ryoma blinked. Now this was news to him. Sure, Ryoga was good at playing, too, but his tennis career was still quite a bit less diverse than Ryoma's own. "Where?"

"You really want to know?" Ryoga raised his eyebrows. "You've played against the guy."

Now that did narrow things down quite a bit. There weren't that many players they had both faced, being so far apart in age. "You mean, the old man?" As Ryoga nodded, Ryoma clicked his tongue. "Huh. Weird. Kinda strange for him to evolve it in the same direction on his own."

"...Indeed." Slowly, Ryoga's frown turned into a smirk. "This is a bit far-fetched, but..." He leant forward towards the desk, reaching over to tap the mouse to pause the video. Dan froze on the screen, his eyes locked on the ball coming towards him, his form awfully... familiar. And not only from the video so far. "I think I just found your ticket to Japan."

Ryoma's eyes widened as he looked at his brother. "You can't mean…"

"Oi, oi. I said absolutely nothing." Ryoga's smirk got wider. "But… even the possibility alone is pretty delicious, don't you think?" He crawled away from the bed, crossing over to the desk. Taking a snapshot of the video, he then went on to open the new picture file and click on the printing button. "…How old is this kid, anyway?"

"Dan? Same year as me. Don't know his exact age, but he was a bit of a shrimp." Not that Ryoma himself was small at all. No, Heaven forbid.

"Better and better." Ryoga waited until the printer finished, then took the still warm printout in his hands. "Nice," he said, whistling a bit. "Almost too perfect."

"You want a less perfect pose, go ask Dan," Ryoma pointed out dryly. "Of course, to do that you'd have to go to Japan."

"Oh, believe me… I do plan to." Ryoga winked at him. "Go to Japan, that is."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Ryoma was startled to hear the sharpness of Nanjirou's tone. Most of the time when he claimed they were lying, he would speak in his usual overly exaggerated tones, as though everything was just a part of some big play. This time, he just sounded… serious. Serious, and rather offended.

"I'm not," he heard Ryoga's voice replying. "It's obvious! He looks like Chibisuke, he moves like Chibisuke, and he's even evolved the Twist Serve into your further version of it!"

"Even if that were true, moves don't go in genes," Nanjirou replied. "And in any case, it's just plain ridiculous. Why would I have a son in Japan?"

"Well, you have me, don't you?" …Then, it was rather rare to hear such a sharp tone coming from Ryoga, either. Ryoma almost wanted to shudder; instead, he just pressed his ear closer to the door. He'd been rather unceremoniously shoved right out of the room as the current conversation – current argument, rather – had started. "I hardly see why you couldn't have other kids running around as well!"

"…You have nothing to do with this." …Well. Wow. That was the closest he had ever heard Nanjirou come to actually admitting he was Ryoga's father, even if it was really more an absence of denial than an actual confirmation. Probably because he wasn't in the room… "And whatever you may think of my morals… it's impossible."

"What do you mean, impossible?" Ryoga asked. "It hardly takes that much of an effort for a lecher like you to fuck a woman, right?"

"Clean your mouth while you're under my roof." Not that Nanjirou himself was usually very careful with his language. "See, the kid is Japanese, right? And you said he's Ryoma's age." After a tiny pause, during which Ryoga probably nodded or something, he continued, "Most of the year before the one Ryoma was born in, I was in America. The only time I went to Japan was when I showed Rinko off to my parents after we'd just gotten married, and if you think I'm rotten enough to cheat on my wife on my honey moon, well, you're wrong."

"And the year he was born in?" Ryoga still insisted. "What about that?"

"…You forget when Ryoma was born." Ryoma could hear Nanjirou tsking even through the door. "Sure, the Japanese school year cuts off differently, but there's still not much wiggle room there. I did visit Japan that year, but not early enough to have another kid in the same school year."

"…You're not denying you might have cheated on Rinko-mom then." Ryoga voiced Ryoma's thoughts perfectly.

"Would you believe me even if I tried?" Nanjirou chuckled with an almost… sad… tone. "You've already made up your mind about me. I get it. I probably deserve it, too. But this time, what you're suggesting is just physically impossible."

"Then what is it that makes you keep Chibisuke here?" Ryoga snapped. "Obviously there's some reason you don't want him to go to Japan. If it's not to keep him from discovering another half-brother through the tennis circuit, what is it?"

There was a long pause. Much longer than Ryoma would have liked. Then, Nanjirou spoke, louder than before. "…Get away from the door, Ryoma."

Ryoma froze. He was sure he hadn't made any kind of a sound or anything. Maybe Nanjirou was just testing…

"I told you to get away, boy." Again that frightfully serious tone, so grave it was almost foreign coming from his father. And, as Ryoma found, he was unable to disobey it.

"…All right, all right." Stepping away from the door, he made sure his steps could be heard leaving. Standing further in the hallway, he could barely catch hints of the discussion continuing behind the door, but not much else. He was tempted to sneak back to hear some of it, but something kept him from doing so. Something about that deeply serious tone just halted him when he as much as even thought about walking to the door.

Finally, the voices died out. Shortly after that, the door opened and Ryoga walked out. He had a strange expression, walking past Ryoma regardless of his questioning gaze. "Sorry, Chibisuke," he said, pausing to reach a hand to ruffle Ryoma's hair. "Guess I'll have to take you to Japan some other time." Then, without any other explanation, he continued walking down the hall.

Ryoma looked after him for a moment, puzzled. Then he turned his gaze towards the still open door. Their father was still standing in the room, looking at the picture Ryoga had apparently left behind. A bit hesitantly, Ryoma walked closer.

"…This kid." Nanjirou waved towards the picture, not turning to see Ryoma being startled at his sudden words. "What's his name?"

"…Dan Taichi, I think." Ryoma walked further, pausing at the doorway.

"I see." Nanjirou nodded slowly. "Any good?" He didn't need to elaborate on that. They both knew exactly what he meant anyway.

"Passable, I guess." Ryoma shrugged. "Really good if you consider he only started playing a year ago."

"Only a year ago? That's… pretty late compared with you." Nanjirou continued looking at the picture in a somewhat unnerving manner.

"Ano… old man?" As Nanjirou's eyes flickered towards him, Ryoma asked, "Are you sure he's not… you know…"

"Another bastard of mine?" Nanjirou finished dryly for him. "I'm sure you heard what I told Ryoga. The earliest I went to Japan that year was a short trip in early June. Even if you're Hell bent on thinking I'm a cheating pervert, that's still quite a stretch for me to have another kid in your school year."

"…Hey." Ryoma frowned. "Is everything all right? You're… acting strange."

"Well, sure I'm acting strange," Nanjirou huffed. "My sons are ganging up on frail old me and calling me all kinds of bad things. Can you blame me for acting strange?" He shook his head. "One day you two will be the death of me…"

"Sorry." Ryoma wasn't sure exactly what he was apologizing for. However, for some reason, he was currently actually feeling much more sorry for his behaviour than he ever did when Nanjirou put up a big show about being abused by his sons. "…Guess Japan's out, then." He hoped he didn't sound quite as forlorn as he felt. Why was he feeling like this, anyway?

"For now at least. Maybe when you're older I'll actually let you go with Ryoga. His idea wasn't half bad, actually. At least it'd get him back to school." Nanjirou shook his head. "…Though I might be up to making a little trip there some time soon. You know, so you can meet all those great opponents of yours who can't even hold a candle to your old father. If we time it right, we might even catch the Nationals."

"Really?" Ryoma's eyes widened. Sure, it wasn't the same as actually going back to his friends, but it was certainly better than nothing. "You mean that?"

"Am I the type of a cruel father who'd go about giving you false hopes like that?" Nanjirou asked, then paused. "…Wait, don't answer that."

Ryoma actually laughed. "Hey, that's great! Just… great. I say that's a promise, okay?" He grinned. "And Ryoga can come too, right?"

"If he wants to, sure." Nanjirou waved his hand. "He can even stay there to try making his advances on poor little Nanako. And then he calls me the lecher… The nerve of that boy!"

"Guess we all know where he gets that from," Ryoma murmured, and as Nanjirou gave him a sharp glance, he just grinned.

After a moment, Nanjirou returned his grin.