Most of the time, Ryouma agreed with Kikumaru-senpai. They could do without the scouts and sponsors crawling all over team practice time. It wasn’t like most of them had any real business with junior high students, no matter how talented. Only an idiot would consider going pro straight out of junior high.

After all, all the really fun competition was still going to be in high school.

And the high school scouts were wasting their time, as far as Ryouma could see. None of his senpai looked likely to give so much as a first thought to choosing high schools until Nationals were over. This one, though, had at least brought along an interesting hook. An example.

The example also seemed to think this would be interesting, going by the way he—Takeuchi, wasn’t it?—was eyeing the Regulars. After considering the third-years, though, his gaze settled on Ryouma.

“That’s right,” he said, as if thoughtfully, “this is the team with the first-year prodigy, isn’t it?”

Ryouma could hear the mocking undertone perfectly well, and stifled a grin. It wasn’t quite time to grin at this one, yet. Not until Ryouma had him on the court. He swung his racquet up to his shoulder, and gave the interloper a Yeah, so? look from under his cap.

“Well, that would make a good place to start, wouldn’t it?” Takeuchi asked, lightly.

“Takeuchi-kun,” the scout started.

“An example, Ishida-san. Isn’t that why I’m here?” Takeuchi cut in, without looking away from Ryouma.

Yep, definitely a first class jerk. Just the kind Ryouma liked taking down, when he stumbled across one. He stepped forward.

“No.”

Ryouma checked, and looked around, sharply. His captain had his arms folded, and a particularly unyielding expression on his face. The visitors both sputtered a bit under that forbidding stare. Ryouma felt like sputtering himself. This was a challenge!

Tezuka-buchou’s eyes turned to meet his, and Ryouma stiffened. There was a clear command in that look, and no compromise whatsoever. But he couldn’t really want Ryouma to back down, could he? Not from this, this—Ryouma could only fall back on his childhood vocabulary—this poser! Could he?

“Buchou…” Ryouma trailed off, leaving the appeal hanging.

Still no hint of persuadability. His captain really was ordering him to back down. After a long, disbelieving moment Ryouma took a deep breath, turned on his heel and stalked away.

“Echizen…” Oishi-senpai started to call out, and then stopped. Perhaps Tezuka-buchou had told him to let Ryouma go. Just as well. Ryouma wouldn’t argue in front of visitors, but he wasn’t much in the mood to be polite to his senpai, right now, either.

He found an out of the way corner and took his frustration out on the wall.

It calmed him down some, but he was still in a bad mood when practice ended. This was not helped when he heard his captain’s voice behind him.

“Echizen.”

“What is it?” Ryouma muttered, paying unnecessary attention to packing his racquets.

“I don’t want you playing Takeuchi outside of school, either, if he challenges you again.”

That got Ryouma to look around, wide-eyed. Tezuka-buchou looked serious. This was just a day for firsts, because his captain had never said anything about who Ryouma played in his off time, any more than he had ever expected Ryouma to stand down from a match. Ryouma wrenched his gaze back to his bag, and bit his lip, but it was more than his self control could take.

“Buchou,” he said, and stopped to take a breath and try to moderate his tone. His captain waited. “Why?” he asked, at last, only a little strained. “Why won’t you let me play him? Do you really think I can’t do it?!” Despite his attempts, he couldn’t keep the edge of indignant incredulity out of his voice.

“I’m sure you can.” The even response pulled Ryouma’s eyes back to his captain. “But that kind of game isn’t good for you to get into the habit of.”

Ryouma blinked at him. That kind of game? What was Tezuka-buchou talking about? Apparently the question got through without needing to be verbalized, because his captain sighed faintly.

“The more widely your skill becomes known the less that kind of match will be an object lesson and the more it will be simple bullying,” Tezuka-buchou pointed out. “Does your game need that?”

Ryouma almost winced under the cool question. He wasn’t… was he? But he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know what his captain was talking about, because he did. “No, Buchou,” he muttered, looking aside. He shouldered his bag with a sigh of his own and turned for the door.

“Echizen.” Tezuka-buchou’s voice stopped him again, and Ryouma looked up, questioning. A question looked back at him, unvoiced because his captain would never ask it out loud, but still present. Would Ryouma do as Tezuka-buchou said? Ryouma’s mouth tightened with irritation, and maybe even a little hurt. Of course he would. He wasn’t about to be gracious about doing something he didn’t want to, or not doing something he did, but he would do it.

Ryouma certainly hoped his captain appreciated this.

Tezuka-buchou nodded, accepting that silent assurance, and let him go.

---

Ryouma had suggested to Momo that they stop by the park courts, hoping that a good game or two would put him in a better mood. Momo had been obliging and played an all out match with him, much to the gratification of the spectators, and Ryouma was finally shaking out enough of his tension to grin back properly at his friend, when he heard a newly familiar voice from the sidelines.

Takeuchi. Ryouma almost groaned out loud. Was some kami ticked off at him, or something?

“What a wonderful coincidence, Echizen, wasn’t it?” Takeuchi sauntered toward them, and Ryouma spared a spiteful moment to note that Atobe did it better. “Now that your babysitters are gone, how about that match?”

“No,” Ryouma snapped.

“Why not? Surely the prodigy isn’t scared?” Takeuchi wasn’t sneering, and somehow that made it even more offensive.

“I don’t know what discipline is like for your team, Takeuchi-san,” Momo said, hard and quiet, “but our captain forbid any matches with you. That’s all there is to it.”

“Ah, so there is still a babysitter,” Takeuchi said, eyeing Momo. “Well, perhaps another time, then.”

Ryouma breathed deeply, fighting down the urge to send a ball flying for some sensitive body part on the jerk. “Was there anyone else around who wanted to play?” he asked, tightly.

“Yeah, but how about one more round with me, just to calm you down enough that you don’t kill them?” Momo suggested with a wry smile.

Ryouma snorted. “Yeah. Thanks, Momo-senpai.”

---

The next day, at practice, Ryouma came to where his captain was leaning against the fence and leaned, silently, beside him for a few moments.

“Are you sure?” he asked, at last. “It would be a public service, honest.”

His captain looked down at him, sternly.

“Just asking,” Ryouma sighed, and slouched off again. He paused to look back. “Positive?” he pressed, widening his eyes hopefully. He grinned, feeling slightly more pleased over Tezuka-buchou’s rare expression of exasperation, and stepped off more quickly, before his insolence gained him any laps.

Even getting a rise out of his captain didn’t really help his mood for long, though, and when Momo asked whether he wanted to hit a different street court than the one up by the park, he growled. Momo grinned.

“Now, how did I know you would feel that way?” he teased. Ryouma glared at his friend, but had to admit that he would probably be grateful for Momo’s presence. He had no intention of crossing an actual order, but having his friend around might just keep him from trying to throttle Takeuchi, either.

He had second thoughts about whether this was a good thing when Takeuchi proved to be there ahead of them, tonight.

“And still with the babysitter, Echizen?” he asked with a raised brow. “Or is it a bodyguard? I’m really starting to wonder.”

That got him a glare from both of them.

“Maybe he really thinks you can’t handle me,” Takeuchi prodded.

“Hardly,” a deep voice said, repressively, from behind him.

Ryouma’s eyes widened, as Tezuka-buchou pushed away from the lamp post he’d been leaning quietly against. Takeuchi looked rather startled, too, but recovered quickly enough.

“So, has the captain come to deal with me, instead?” he smiled.

Tezuka-buchou paused, just past him, and spoke without turning. “Neither I nor any of my team will play the likes of you,” he stated, crisply. “Echizen.”

“Buchou?” Ryouma’s good mood was entirely restored.

His captain looked down to meet his gaze. “Come play a match with me.”

Small irritants were completely swallowed in the hot glitter of excitement. “Whatever you say, Buchou,” Ryouma agreed, grinning.

A murmur swept through the watchers, two parts Tezuka-buchou’s name and one part shock. Two players hastily declared their match finished and cleared a court for them. Ryouma took the intensely annoyed look on Takeuchi’s face, tucked it away to treasure later, and forgot about him. Even if he hadn’t been able to focus tightly on his own, Tezuka-buchou’s presence pushed everything else from his awareness when he played his captain.

It was like drowning, if your goal was to live underwater. Exhilarating, infuriating, overwhelming. Still overwhelming. Ryouma could do it, now, could hit shots that his captain couldn’t return. Just not enough. He couldn’t break past that well of stillness yet.

He was getting closer, though, and if this game, too, left him on his knees, he could return his captain’s gaze straight on and read approval there.

As Ryouma sprawled on a bench to catch his breath, he noticed Takeuchi fading back through the buzzing onlookers with a rather shell shocked expression. Ryouma made no effort to suppress his wicked smirk. Momo noticed, too.

“Doubt we’ll have any more problems with him,” he murmured, sounding deeply satisfied.

“Mm.” That reminded Ryouma, actually. He slipped around the corner of the courts, to where Tezuka-buchou was just slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Buchou?” he said, softly.

His captain glanced at him with a raised brow. Ryouma glanced down.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

Tezuka-buchou was still for a moment, watching him. And then he nodded, and moved off, a hand resting on Ryouma’s shoulder in passing. Ryouma watched him go before shoving his hands in his pockets and turning back to find Momo.

End