A/N: Oh yeah, remember that time I promised you faster updates – that thing that never happened? Blurg. Need. More. Coffeeeeeee. I was up until three this weekend cramming for a math competition, and haven't gotten a decent amount of sleep since. Thank you all for reviewing though! I finally checked on this fanfic and realized that I had gotten 100 reviews, which I seriously don't deserve, but oh well. I'm not complaining. (:

Thank you also for prompting me to write. I just want to shove you all in my pocket, and then you can make me stop procrastinat – I mean, um, feeling lost and confused. Heh…no.

Disclaimer: I'm just going to make this short and sweet – Prince of Tennis does not belong to me.

- thaumaturge, /noun/

1. a performer of miracles; magician.

Rin refused to believe that this was happening to her. She wanted to pull a Houdini out of that limo. Unfortunately, the vehicle was already in motion. Atobe and Fuji, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease – well, it was Atobe's limo after all, so it made sense that he was at ease. They began engaging in animated chatter.

"So, Atobe, I hear that your tennis team is one of the top competitors for Nationals this year – first seeded in the regional tournament, yes?"

Atobe looked smug. "Well, with the great Ore-sama leading them to victory, naturally Hyotei will be victorious this year – "

" – if you can snatch away the title from Rikkaidai, that is," Fuji finished quietly.

"Exactly. And it is entirely impossible for the most talented Ore-sama to be defeated by plebeians of that degree. I suppose they will all have to be amazed at my prowess."

Fuji chuckled lowly. "I suppose so. Speaking of Rikkaidai, were you aware that Rin here is a student at that school?

Looking down, Rin muttered lowly to herself, "Ignore them, ignore them," over and over again like a mantra.

"Hmm," Atobe mused. At least that drove his attention away from himself. "I suppose that will furthermore increase the chance of Rikkaidai stealing away the win again – no matter. It isn't as if they will be able to defeat Ore-sama. Not if the awe-striking Ore-sama is able to see each and every one of their weaknesses!"

Fuji only smiled serenely. If the world ended right there and then, he would still be smiling in exactly the same non-caring way, Rin was sure.

"But, Atobe mused, with an odd sort of hungry gleam in his eye, "if the uncouthness of those Rikkaidai tennis players gets to Rin, she would be welcome to join the Hyotei tennis team instead."

She quirked a brow, incredulous. This sounded nothing like the prideful Atobe that she remembered. Shrewd and calculating, perhaps, but never would she have imagined him having sunk so low as to try and recruit her.

"Of course, Ore-sama's offer only stands because of Ore-sama's extreme generosity and benevolence – nothing else. Is that clear, ahn?" He scrutinized them for a few moments with a challenging stare, as if daring them to state otherwise. After a few moments, as only silence reigned, his usual smirk returned.

"Yes, well I will keep that in mind, as Rin's manager," Fuji replied calmly. "It's a more challenging task than it seems." Fuji paused for dramatic effect. "Have I ever had the pleasure of telling you how she got herself stuck in that vending machine for the sake of some grape soda – I can't exactly remember the name, but – "

"Chauffeur-san, could you please drive faster?" she said, eager to interrupt. Fuji wasn't helping her maintain her cool and cocky demeanor.

Fuji's smile widened a fraction of a degree, looking less quiescent than usual and more malevolent. "Well, how very rude of you Rin," he chastised. "Atobe generously offered us the use of his limo, and here you are trying to escape his company – which I for one at least enjoy."

Atobe fingered the collar of his purple shirt absentmindedly, not even trying to conceal his amused smirk. "Continue Fuji. Stuck in a vending machine?" He chuckled, and Rin – looking out the window – simultaneously scowled. They seemed to be in some sort of a secret conspiracy dedicated to sadistic activities.

She tried her very best to act entirely unengaged in the conversation, but with her easily angered and cocky disposition, it was very difficult to do so as her wounded pride was further probed mercilessly.

A few torturous minutes later, just when it seemed that Fuji had told just about every even slightly embarrassing story there was to tell about her, the car ride ended. Fuji brought a close to the conversation.

"– played dress-up in her mother's business suits. The pictures were the cutest things in the world, and perfect blackmail material. Oh, time to go already?" It was remarkable how genuinely regretful he could make his voice sound. The theater had lost a great actor when Fuji chose to focus on his more athletic talents rather than artistic.

The call could not have come soon enough. Without waiting to be dismissed, she bolted from the limousine like it had a putrid odor, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste. Rin might have, had she not been almost a divinely coordinated being.

Then she remembered that – once again – she would be alone in her mansion. Or rather, she would have liked to be alone. Alone sounded a thousand times better than with Fuji and Ryoga. Though Fuji was formally the babysitter, sometimes Rin felt that she had taken on the duty instead.

It took only a few seconds for her manager to glide over and join her in her graceful flight from the limo. "Well, that was nice seeing Atobe again, wasn't it?" he remarked breathily as they ascended the front steps of her mansion – no matter how much Fuji corrected her, it was most definitely not a hotel.

Rin gaped at him for a fraction of a second, and then dismissed it as some virus he had contracted in Atobe's limo. She should have realized earlier.

"No." Like normal, her answer was short and blunt. But then again, she had never been a particularly voluble person.

"But he is your childhood acquaintance – "

"Yes, childhood perhaps, but not in the present. And it's going to stay that way." She scowled. Not in a million years would she willingly be seen with that vociferous, pompous bastard. It was as if he were trying to become a pariah, from his every sumptuous belonging to his arrogant figures of speech. Not over her dead body.

"But," Fuji persisted, ever the unremitting irritancy, "even you'll have to admit, Rin, that Atobe is an adroit tennis player. Why, I remember that one time that you actually lost – "

"Fuji." Rin's face looked as if she would like to decapitate him with her tennis racket right then and there. And even the insufferable Fuji knew not to push it any longer. This, however, did not mean that he had enough common sense to hold back his tinkering laugh.

The worst part was that Rin knew there was nothing she could do but wait for revenge. Lurking in the shadows. Then, a smile worthy of Fuji crept up her face.

Perhaps she could arrange an accident for his extensive collection of items reserved for blackmail. Fuji dotingly called it a stress relieving hobby. Rin called it the first step in becoming a serial killer.

She could recall this one incident, after one of Fuji's more maniacal comments, Rin had casually asked, "Tell me, how many people do you keep in your basement?" (In reflection, it was a poorly asked question. After all, it was Fuji.)

And he had replied – it still gave her the shivers sometimes at night –, in all seriousness, "I don't know. It's been a long time since I've checked."

Shimizu-sensei had finally received her fill of this treatment. Harassment. And from one of her top scoring students on tests, to think.

Echizen Rin was dead to the world again on her desk, only waking up once in a while to make some snide comment to her tablemate about his pronunciation. Even in sleep, Echizen seemed to demonstrate even more perfection, something that annoyed Shimizu-sensei to an unspeakable extent.

She swelled up in indignation. This would continue no longer. Shimizu had always been an adequate teacher, with a degree from one of the top universities in Japan, but could be easily described by any one of her students as short-tempered and prideful. To her, tests and assessments were the best method of measuring success, and her motto was "There's only one right answer for everything." So, it came to her as a great surprise that this transfer student could so effortlessly pass her class.

It kindled a malicious inferno within her. Hurrying over to her desk in the corner, she fumbled with the cover of a book. The Tempest, the book read. A Shakespearean play, thought Shimizu-sensei, would surely show that girl her place.

The students were suddenly distracted by the shrill screech of chalk on blackboard as the teacher scrawled a question onto the dark surface. The passage of ancient English looked like some code in the middle of warfare as each attempted to decipher the symbols. A healthy chatter began to fill the room as the conferred with their classmates, but to no avail.

"Echizen Rin," bellowed the teacher. "Since you seem to take my class so lightly, stand up and answer the question." A nudge from Akaya was needed to wake the unknowing Rin up.

A sudden hush fell upon the students. Though Echizen-san was talented, their confidence in their hero was toppled by the sudden appearance of the overwhelming task. Rin was the heroic underdog to them. She was the advocate for their oppression, the bane of the despotic dictator known as their resident English teacher. It would be even more crushing to them if she were to be defeated.

"What is the theme of the fourth act of The Tempest?" read Rin out loud, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, still in perfect but slightly slurred English.

She won't be able to answer this one, thought the teacher savagely. After all, it is a college level question and she's still half asleep!

"Well," drawled Rin, "as you can see from the Act V, Ferdinand said,

'Though the seas threaten, they are merciful;
I have curs'd them without cause.'

Therefore, the ultimate meaning of this act should be the concept of forgiveness, and that forgiving, no matter how desperate the situation may seem, will always be able to salvage the soul from harm." Rin seated herself once more and promptly adopted a bored expression.

Shimizu-sensei fell back into her seat like a withered marigold. There was no response from her for the remainder of the period.

"Not bad," whispered Akaya. "But don't expect me to go 'round worshiping you just 'cause you can answer one difficult question."

His comment was met with silence, as Rin was already asleep – again.

"What?" A loud and raucous voice could be heard from across the entire length of tennis courts. Since it was Rikkaidai, that was saying something.

"Akaya," Yagyuu criticized, ever the gentleman. "Don't yell."

"But – but Yagyuu-sempai," Akaya said. "This is ridiculous. Rikkaidai does not have room for a freshman regular, let alone a – a girl." He spat the last word out as if it were appalling to even taste on his tongue.

"I'm sure Yukimura-buchou has a reason for it. He always does." But even Yagyuu sounded unsure.

"Besides," Sanada added gruffly, who was getting a migraine from all of Akaya's whining, "you have no right to question Yukimura's judgement in the first place. Ten laps."

Akaya ran them without question. He knew from experience by now to never, ever challenge fuku-buchou.

They gathered around the scintillating piece of paper on the corkboard in front of the storage room, among some of the earliest. That was, of course, because they were regulars. The others were afraid to approach with them there, generally giving them a wide berth in their idolization.

"Speaking of Yukimura-buchou, where is he?" inquired Marui, popping a new piece of green gum into his mouth. "Haven't seen him all day, not even in math class."

"He's gone for the day," replied Sanada vaguely.

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Akaya, returning from his laps with a fine layer of perspiration on his brow. "Where exactly is he?" Then, with a start, he realized who he was talking to, and then amended his answer. "I mean… er… do you know where Yukimura-buchou is, oh kind and benevolent fuku-buchou?"

"Nice try," chucked Niou, "but no."

As if on cue, Sanada robotically said, "Ten laps, Akaya," out of habit. Akaya groaned but shambled off without any other words.

"There is a 56% chance that something unexpected is going to happen today," said Yanagi. "And there's a 74% chance that it'll happen in the next five minutes or so."

They all silently wondered how he derived such random and spontaneous data, but were much too used to it to question Yanagi. Even though they were not data masters, each and every Rikkaidai regular was able to safely say that he was right 99.3% of the time."

Suddenly, a small figure with a tennis bag strapped to its back nearly half of its size wormed its way to the paper with the names of the regulars agilely. It stared at the paper for a few seconds, and then turned to leave.

Sanada clapped a hand on the person's shoulder roughly, and their cap slid off to reveal a more feminine face than he had expected. She had a smirk on her face, as if she were in control of the entire situation.

"So, you must be the famed female regular," said Yagyuu politely to break the silence. "I will be very interested in watching you play later on."

The praise seemed not to please nor anger her. Yagyuu continued on. "My name is Yagyuu Hiroshi. And you?"

After a pause, she said "Echizen. Echizen Rin."

"Well," said Sanada, this event snapping him out of his absentmindedness. (Tarundoru, he thought to himself.) He finally noticed the sheer amount of people at the tennis courts – tennis was Rikkai's most popular sport, after all. "Practice shall commence now. Everyone, run eighty laps!"

All of the regulars jogged off towards the track, while the newcomers looked at each other anxiously. Eighty laps was such a large number, and one lap was a vast distance in itself. Sanada silently nodded in approval to himself. Such slackers needed to be weeded out from the Rikkaidai tennis club; such filth would pollute the discipline of the skilled players.

Everyone knew of the infamous declination of the tennis club. It was rumored that in one week alone, three-fourths of the club was known to quit. The next week, a mere sixteenth of its original glory and splendor would be left. But those that did remain were said to be among some of the toughest and most adept tennis players in the country, some destined to become professional tennis players.

He decided to run the eighty laps alongside the other regulars, just as a light warm-up. But then again, that wasn't nearly enough. He would probably have to double that amount.

As he was running, Sanada thought, because running laps just relaxed him that much. Yukimura, it seemed, would have trouble returning even for Nationals, perhaps. The doctors said that there was a chance – rare as it as – that he had gotten some terrible disease that may prevent him from playing tennis ever again.

Sanada shuddered. Even the mere thought was frightening to him. He was undaunted by most of humankind, or by any challenge overall, but taking away tennis terrified him like the Boogeyman did to a toddler.

Then again, they did have the new arrival, that Yukimura somehow thought was worthy of becoming a Rikkaidai regular. Sanada himself didn't know what to think about a girl joining his team, but he trusted Yukimura with every atom in his body. There must be something special about that girl, he thought. Something that I don't know, maybe that Yanagi doesn't even know. Yukimura did always have a gift for spotting potential tennis players.

He sighed audibly. He would have to visit Yukimura in the hospital later, and despite the blue-haired youth's attempts to maintain a strong facet in front of his team, even the densest of people would be able to tell that he was under immense stress. After all, the prospect of losing bothered Yukimura more than anyone in Rikkaidai, because Yukimura had never lost.

Sanada had lost before to Tezuka, and had hypothetically lost to Atobe, and countless times to Yukimura, so he was less disappointed when he lost. But when Yukimura finally lost a game – if that would ever happen, Sanada was not sure –, the resulting shock could cause some major destruction. Yukimura had an Achilles Heel, but how long it would take to expose it was a mystery still.

But worrying was not characteristic of him. Shaking his head, he sped up his pace to catch up with the others, who had left him behind in the dust in his pondering.

Somehow, this entire fiasco had left him gaining gray hairs in the absence of his captain. It surprised him that no one else seemed the slightest bit aware of what was happening.

"Sanada-kun," the doctor had said. "I believe you are a straightforward, honest person, so I'll just tell you the truth."

Sanada leaned forward in anticipation. Yukimura hadn't told anyone but Sanada that he had been feeling … off recently. There was no other way to put it. Though his friend had brushed it off as most likely just a minor cold, Sanada had a sneaking feeling that it was something much more sinister than that.

"Your friend, Yukimura-kun, may have contracted a very rare disease. We have no official name for it, but from some symptoms we've seen so far, it seems to be something akin to the Guillean-Barre Syndrome. For convenience, we will just classify it under that name."

"What?" spluttered Sanada in surprise. "Does - does Yukimura know yet?"

"Yes, we have told him; he seemed to take it moderately well. Now, this may be a false alarm. We will need to conduct some tests before we are sure that it is Guillean-Barre Syndrome."

"And what will happen to Yukimura, if he does have this disease? Will he still be able to play tennis?"

"Paralysis, respiratory problems, and perhaps sensory loss, if the case proves to be severe. Again, we are not sure if these risks exist," the doctor said.

It seemed ironic to him that Yukimura – who was consistently stealing the senses of others through tennis – would have his own stolen away by this disease. It was times like these that caused Sanada to believe in karma.

"It should be treatable, if he has the disease," said the doctor, furrowing his brow. Sanada exhaled in relief. "However, the operation will be risky, with about a 50% chance of success."

Just when he thought that everything might be okay, the doctor would give him some other statistic reversing the emotion.

"We'll talk about this further, Sanada-kun, in further appointments. For now, there is nothing we can do but wait."

Sanada stood up and shook the doctor's hand firmly. "Thank you." On the exterior, his façade seemed to be unchanged. But in truth, he could hardly keep his voice from wavering. For Yukimura's sake, and for the sake of winning at Nationals, he would need to at least pretend to be strong.

Feeling the cool breeze on his face, Sanada walked shakily from the doctor's office. With all of his heart, he wished that this was just a false alarm, and that Yukimura would be back in a week, leading them off to another win. He really did.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Sorry for the late update. Leave suggestions in your reviews, perhaps?

-ES