Archive of Our Own ^beta

There's a lot of things people would have guessed about them. Everyone in the tennis circuit in their high school years assumed that either Atobe and Sanada were mortal enemies, were both attempting to rival Tezuka Kunimitsu, or having hate sex in the club room every so often. None of those are quite right. Following Seigaku’s first National win in decades, it wasn't the question of who would follow Echizen Ryoma's lead to debut in the pro tennis circles, it was the question of when.

Yukimura Seiichi had gone after Echizen almost immediately. There were complications about Yukimura's schooling, but he'd been plenty smart regardless of the school system; always at the top of his class and always student council president. Overall, the fear of "if not now, when?" and the uncertainty in the Yukimura family for their young son to never have something past "now" because of his (now cured) illness trumped all other factors. Yukimura was called the Child of God among men for a reason, in tennis. He makes it big and proves the world it was wrong.

After was, surprisingly, Tooyama Kintarou. Though some could call it admirable that the Tooyama family held off for as long as they did (the two years until he graduated from middle school). Anyone could see that Kintarou would only get so far doing something besides tennis. Tennis was what Kintarou was good at, and if that meant happiness and, more worryingly for the Tooyama family, success, then it would be the path Kintarou walked. 

Tezuka Kunimitsu and Chitose Senri and Tachibana Kippei had gone pro next, not together and not even in the same circles, just at the same time. They'd finished high school, maybe as dutiful sons or maybe because they recognized the merits. Either way, Tezuka had debuted in Germany in singles. Chitose and Tachibana had debuted in doubles as the Two Wings of Kyushu, yet again, and their teams couldn't have been prouder.

Then people stopped and waited, always with their ear out on the ground for good news of two certain someone's debuts.

And then, Kirihara Akaya finished high school during the break between his second and what was supposed to be his third year of high school, fueled by determination and spite to prove his seniors wrong. Kirihara debuted with the bang that he always was.

And when the uneasy silence shifted to become radio silence, the tennis circle did what they did best. 

Talk.

"Shishido hasn't stopped calling you since Monday," Yuushi says, lounging on a couch that he knows costs ten times as much as Yuushi’s car. "Ootori tells me he has an alarm for every waking hour."

"It's good that he only has one of my phone numbers then," Keigo says as he shuffles the pages on his desk into a semblance of a pile. 

“You have it turned off,” Yuushi says, not asking, because he knows better than that.

Keigo slaps a packet onto his desk, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Yes, I do. Because I’m a very busy man and I do not have the time to listen to inane ramblings about something that won’t change.”

Yuushi is quiet but Keigo knows that he isn’t going to drop it, at least not yet. Yuushi would much rather make a dramatic exit with a dramatic speech to get the last word. 

Keigo is halfway through skimming a report when Yuushi speaks again. “So, this is it?”

Keigo sets the report down with a sigh, “What is?”

“This is all Atobe Keigo is summed up to be.”

Keigo’s arm goes up first, to stop Munehiro - who had stepped forward, abandoning his post by his side, helping him organize papers. “Leave it, Munehiro,” Keigo says, his voice shaking with hurt pride and anger he should be able to control.

Yuushi scoffs, uncrossing his long legs before he stands up from the couch, waving a flippant hand, “Did I strike a nerve?”

“Oshitari!”

“Munehiro!” Keigo snaps, holding his childhood friend back by the wrist. Keigo can’t remember the last time Munehiro had roared like that.

Yuushi doesn’t seem afraid of Munehiro, more like he’s not even acknowledging the gentle not-so-gentle-now giant. Yuushi just saunters forward, hip jutting with every step, “The spoiled little rich boy who promised revolution and valued skill and ability above all else under his rule - shackled by the blood running through his veins.”

Keigo grits his teeth. If there’s something Keigo has hated about Yuushi, ever since they first met, is how sly Yuushi is. Yuushi can get under someone’s skin easily, but with enough observation, Yuushi can hit where it really hurts.

“Stop this game, Yuushi. It’s not going to work.” 

“Stop stating the obvious?” Yuushi asks with a haughty chuckle, “The Ice King of Hyotei, shackled by the expectations of the Sovereign King of Atobe Conglomerate-”

“Nothing that comes out of your mouth will change the reality of the matter,” Keigo interrupts, head held high as he looks his friend down. “Drop it.”

Yuushi stops then, smug smile dropping, with his hand held up to his face as he pushes up his glasses, similar to the way Keigo uses his Insight. When Yuushi puts his hands down, his face is carefully blank.

Keigo pushes down another sigh that rises up, opting to sit down at his desk. “I’m busy. If you have nothing else to say, have William see you out.”

Keigo doesn’t look up when Yuushi starts to move and doesn’t stop Munehiro from staring Yuushi down as he leaves. 

“I didn’t say it just to get a rise out of you.”

Keigo doesn’t look up.

“I said it because I really didn’t think this is all you’re supposed to be.”

The door closes with a click.

“Keigo-san.”

Keigo flinches, loosening the white-knuckled grip he had on his fountain pen.

Munehiro is holding out a teacup for him.

The tension in Keigo’s shoulders bleed out.

“Thank you, Munehiro.”

“Ossu.”

Seiichi is laughing and Renji is laughing with him. Seiichi’s laugh is warped and cuts off random intervals of “ha”. Sanada Genichirou isn’t laughing.

“Extend my congratulations to Atobe for his win at nationals. It was well fought,” Seiichi says once the laughter dies down. 

Genichirou finds his voice quickly, “I’d rather not feed his ego even more.”

Seiichi laughs again, like he’s imagining the way Atobe would preen at being congratulated and praised.

“It’s highly likely Atobe would just laugh in our faces,” Renji comments from across the table, speaking into the phone that sits on the table between him and Genichirou.

“I watched clips of the match between training. There’s a flattering photo of Genichirou with Atobe raising their arms above their heads,” Seiichi says, voice full of mirth.

Genichirou huffs, crossing his arms and ducking his face behind his cap even though Seiichi isn’t there. Seiichi is in America. Or somewhere in Europe. Genichirou can’t keep track of Seiichi’s comings and goings.

A yawn sounds from the phone.

Renji glances at the time and makes a surprised noise, “It’s late over there. You should sleep.”

Of course, Renji would know where Seiichi is and knows what the time difference is. But it doesn’t make Genichirou feel better that he doesn’t know.

“Indeed,” Genichirou says, gruff, “There’s no need to exhaust yourself.”

Seiichi sighs, sounding forlorn, “I missed you both. Being a little tired tomorrow is worth it if I can talk to you two.”

“You have an early start tomorrow, don’t you?” Renji asks, flipping through his notebook, “Swimming, correct?”

Seiichi groans, “Don’t remind me.”

“Go to sleep, we can talk later.” Genichirou winces at how empty his voice sounds.

Renji sends him a look but Seiichi doesn’t notice - or at least doesn’t comment on it - because in the next minute Renji is putting his phone back into his pocket.

“Have you told him?” 

Genichirou’s warning comes out in a sigh, “Renji.”

“He’s still under the impression you will join him,” Renji says, ignoring the warning. “He thinks you’re being obtusely hesitant and that your perfectionist tendencies are holding you back from telling him the concrete plans behind your professional debut. I can’t keep lying to him.”

“I’ll get to it,” Genichirou snaps, eyes avoiding his friend’s gaze.

Renji hums, unimpressed, “The rest of the team is getting suspicious as well.” Renji pauses, “I believe Yagyuu and Niou have their suspicions. It’s a matter of time before they tell Tamagawa, Marui, and Jackal, who most likely knows but knows to keep his mouth shut, and then Marui will talk to Akaya and Seiichi-”

“I’ll get to it!” Genichirou shouts.

Renji doesn’t even bat an eye. “Seiichi was right about one thing. You’re being obtusely hesitant over something you’re already set on.”

“I get it, Renji,” Genichirou says, feeling exhausted despite not having done much today. They’d taken over the Sanada living room after a brunch together. They’d both taken a lazy day after they had been left with no responsibilities after graduation only a week ago.

Renji closes the notebook as if to close their conversation.

“Atobe announced yesterday that he would not be going pro.”

Genichirou’s head snaps up, jaw slack. “What?”

Renji is frowning now, “He told his regulars in confidence but Shishido and Hiyoshi must have caused a scene. Rumors spread from there.”

Genichirou leans back against his seat, disbelief filling every cell of his being. “But Atobe is-”

“An incredibly talented tennis player? That he’s more than capable of going pro?”

Genichirou’s frown returns, “Don’t make this about me.”

“How can I not?” Renji asks, disappointment clear on his face, “I’ve been feeling the same you feel about Atobe ever since you told me at the beginning of our third year about your plans.”

Genichirou says nothing, just clutches his hands into fists under the table. Out of sight, out of mind.

All anyone seems to want to talk to him about is tennis.

Normally, Keigo wouldn’t mind. Keigo would much rather talk about tennis than the business deals his parents have put together or the scandals that follow his family. Tennis is tennis. There’s a ball that you hit back and forth over a net. You lose if you let the ball bounce twice or if you hit it out of bounds. Simple as that. But now that rumors have spread that Keigo isn’t planning to go pro, people are asking him why. And if he’d reconsider. Or if he knew what he was giving up if he didn’t go pro. 

As if it was that easy. 

He’s got sponsors calling him every chance they get - and if it’s not them it’s Shishido. Keigo’s considers himself lucky that Hiyoshi has decided to ignore his existence. 

He supposed none of the regulars had taken it well. Munehiro had just nodded because Munehiro was like that. He would support Keigo until the end and Keigo would do the same for him. Yuushi had looked shocked, a rare expression for him, and it was in that moment that Keigo realized just how big his revelation had been. 

Jirou had teared up immediately, throwing down a white box he had brought to the restaurant with him. Gakuto had taken the next step to stomp on it and kick it across the private room. He yelled about wasting money on a stupidly expensive cake. They’d apparently thought that Keigo was going to flaunt his professional debut in their face. 

Shishido had moved next, lunging, and it was Ootori that moved after, frantically to hold his doubles partner back. Shishido had been shouting about what a bastard Keigo was. Keigo had been surprised nothing about “being lame” had come up. Apparently Keigo had surpassed that.

Hiyoshi had moved next, deceptively calm, and managed to get a good hit in on Keigo’s face before Munehiro pinned him down to the ground in a hold. Hiyoshi had escaped a couple times, clawing for Keigo who hadn’t moved an inch since his announcement, which was a testament to Hiyoshi’s anger and strength. 

“Why are you lot so surprised?” He’d asked, voice barely reaching over the cacophony of noise the Hyotei regulars had created.

They all whirled at him and stared.

For the first time in a long time, Keigo had felt stupid for saying something. 

Apparently, all their noise was audible from outside and before Keigo could think about leaving the restaurant, a crowd had formed outside. 

Since then, Keigo’s social life has been nonexistent. He sees Munehiro when Munehiro comes over, but he’d been busy helping his sister who had just given birth to her first child. Munehiro had been overjoyed about becoming an uncle and Keigo wasn’t going to take away from that. He’d seen Yuushi after the restaurant disaster, but Yuushi had stopped visiting after Keigo shut him down about changing his mind. 

Keigo looks over business documents. He studies languages. He looks at the activities at his university. Keigo distracts himself.

“Bocchan, there is a guest for you.”

Keigo doesn’t hope, he refuses to hope. He straightens his shirt self-consciously. He clears his throat, “Who is it?”

William, his caretaker ever since he was a child, looks hesitant, “He introduced himself as Sanada Genichirou.”

“Black cap? Stoic? Yellow uniform?” 

William looks amused, probably because Keigo had just rattled out the three significant features that defined his mental image of Sanada Genichirou in disbelief. “He was holding his cap in his hand and was wearing a white t-shirt, jeans, and a sensible jacket. Though, I will admit that he didn’t smile when I greeted him. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable.”

Keigo couldn’t imagine Sanada in normal clothes, but it made sense, they weren't in school anymore. He stood up to see with his own two eyes if Sanada had really come to see him. The few times they had talked, truly, were about tennis and their clashing pride. 

It takes Keigo a short walk to find the sitting room Sanada had been led to and he pushes the door open without hesitation to see a man who is supposed to be Sanada Genichirou sitting stiffly upright on the ornate sofa. 

The man sitting on his sofa has the face of Sanada Genichirou, those narrow brown eyes that could kill someone if wielded well enough. Keigo could hardly recognize the man’s fringe because the times he had seen Sanada Genichirou without a hat were few. Keigo never would have pegged Sanada the type of person to wear ankle boots or jeans but here he was - with the shirt and jacket William had described. There was also some sort of chord visible hanging around the man’s neck, sliding down to slip beneath the collar of the white shirt. Keigo thought the only accessory Sanada owned was the hat placed on the couch next to the man’s thigh.

Sanada shifts in his seat, clearing his throat, “Atobe.”

Keigo’s smile comes to his lips automatically, something smug and irritating. He holds his arms out, “Sanada. I never thought I’d see the day that you’d come to visit me.”

Sanada looks briefly irritated, but the expression is wiped away quickly, “Ah. Honestly, I thought you would send me away.”

Keigo rolls the thought in his mind as he moves to sit at the couch across from Sanada. Maybe he should’ve turned Sanada away. Maybe, he thinks belatedly, Sanada is here to somehow convince him to change his mind. Sanada surely knows, all of Rikkaidai surely knows because of Yanagi Renji. Though, it seems everyone and their mother knows at this point.

Keigo crosses one leg over the other and leans back, placing his hands in his lap elegantly. “I thought I would hear you out. You did make the effort to come out here, after all. Aren’t I so generous?”

Sanada huffs, something like a smothered snort, but doesn’t acknowledge Keigo’s question.

Now, Keigo is confused. Sanada is a straightforward kind of person - at least from what Keigo has observed from the past. If you looked closely enough, you’d realize that Sanada wore his heart on his sleeve. 

Keigo leans forward now, “Although, if you’re here because of the rumors, I-”

“No,” Sanada says quickly, as if knowing what Keigo was going to say. “It’s not about that.” Sanada starts to frown, “Ah, I mean- that’s not-”

“Are you here to somehow convince me to go pro?” Keigo asks to hurry this possibly inane conversation across.

“No!” Sanada says firmly. He bends over, rubbing a frustrated hand through his short hair. “I just-”

“If it’s about the rumors, but you’re not here to convince me, I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t need your approval, nor do I need you to flaunt in my face about your own debut-”

“Can you just give me a moment to gather my thoughts?” Sanada snaps.

Keigo shuts his mouth dutifully, but he doesn’t stop frowning.

Sanada lifts his head so his hair is out of reach from his hands and his fingers flex in his lap. Sanada takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly and it’s then that Keigo remembers that Sanada comes from a family of Kendo practitioners. 

“How did you tell your team that you were not going to play professional tennis?”

In a million years, Keigo would’ve never thought that Sanada would ask him a question like that.

Keigo bristles, “I had them gather at a restaurant. Jirou and Ootori cried. Yuushi was speechless, for once. Gakuto yelled at me. Shishido tried to lunge at me. Hiyoshi actually got a hit in. Is that what you wanted to hear? The inside details of how my team turned on me?”

Sanada somehow looks more tense than he did before, “No, of course not.”

“Then what is it?” Keigo snaps, losing his cool. “You’ve been obtuse with me since the moment I walked in. I didn’t think you were someone to beat around the bush!”

Sanada’s frown deepens, “I don’t know-”

“Out with it,” Keigo demands. “Clearly, you’re here for something you want from me. Either you spit it out or you’ll find yourself with the front door in your face.”

Sanada grips his hands suddenly before slowly letting go, screwing up his expression and letting it go lax at the same time. He runs a hand down his face.

“I will not be making my professional tennis debut.”

Keigo stops. His mouth works before his brain does. 

“If you need help with sponsors-”

Sanada slams his fist onto the coffee table Keigo had once bumped his head against while playing with Munehiro when they were children. “I will never debut as a professional tennis player,” the man reiterates, fire burning in his eyes like when he hits “Ka” of his Fu Rin Ka In Zan Rai.

Slowly, Keigo’s mind is catching up on the situation. He doesn’t know what expression he’s making but his voice sounds terribly blank as he says, “...you won’t be playing professional tennis.”

Sanada looks away as soon as he realizes that Keigo has understood his point. Sanada draws his hand back slowly, “That’s right.”

“Who knows?” Keigo asks, because the only reason Sanada would ask how Hyotei reacted was because Rikkaidai didn’t know Sanada would not be going pro.

Sanada looks exhausted suddenly, “Renji.”

Keigo waits for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, Keigo lets out a noise in surprise, “Yukimura doesn’t?”

Sanada glares briefly but the heat cools quickly, “No.”

Suddenly, the room feels incredibly awkward.

Keigo clears his throat, “Clearly, I’m not one to ask how to break such news. I have the bruise to prove it.” When Sanada peers to look at Keigo’s face, he waves a hand, “Makeup.”

Sanada looks away then, fiddling with his thumbs. “Ah. It seems I bothered you for nothing.”

Keigo wouldn’t exactly say that it’s nothing.

Sanada starts to stand, playing with the bill of his cap as he does, “Sorry for taking up your time.”

Keigo doesn’t look when Sanada heads for the door. There’s nothing for him to say.

“Why didn’t you ask me why I’m not going pro?” Sanada asks as he stands by the door.

Keigo looks up then, a bitter smile on his lips. “You didn’t ask me either.”

Sanada looks as grim as Keigo feels. He slips his cap on his head and nods at Keigo before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. 

Keigo doesn’t hear from Sanada after that, but within the week rumors have spread that the Emperor of Rikkaidai will not make a professional debut.

Hiyoshi Wakashi debuts as a professional tennis player shortly after his graduation from high school. He is the last of his peers to make a professional debut. 

Hiyoshi refuses Keigo’s offer to sponsor him.

Rikkaidai's reaction to Genichirou’s announcement goes something like this:

It's Renji, Niou, Yagyuu, Jackal, Marui, and Tamagawa gathered in one room, the Kuwahara Residence. Reactions are muted and grim, but more than anything, like they'd already known. 

Renji, of course, knew. Niou - and by extension Yagyuu - was a trickster. If he was going to imitate and fool people, it was with his observational skills. The trickster-gentleman pair had clearly discussed it. They had barely reacted, but no reaction from Niou was telling of his disapproval. Yagyuu, despite Niou's influence, was still much too polite to criticize one's life choices.

Jackal was the most emotionally observant out of everyone in Rikkai, (maybe) barring Renji, and he'd picked up on Genichirou’s wariness early on. Clearly, he and Marui had talked because Jackal had just nodded and Marui just continued to pop his gum, unimpressed.

Tamagawa had been the first to speak, face blank, "Akaya has been bothering me about your plans for quite a while. When it was never brought up, I made some assumptions. I distracted him the best I could."

Obviously, Genichirou hadn't done a very good job of hiding.

Telling Akaya and Seiichi had been different.

It was easier to lie to people that were only involved in a fraction of your life.

Akaya had gotten angry first, his voice edged with the Devil that Genichirou hadn't seen in quite a while. Which was just a testament to how much the news was getting to Akaya. Akaya threatened to take a flight back to Japan - not that Genichirou knew exactly where his junior was. Akaya had bargained - that if Genichirou lost a match he’d have to go pro; that it was proof that Genichirou needed to go pro. Genichirou had refused, claiming to have already given his rackets to his nephew to use. Akaya had hung up and didn’t return any calls that Genichirou made. He hears from Renji, later, that Akaya had called Renji, sobbing. 

Seiichi had at least heard Genichirou out. His responses were sparse, quick, and devoid of emotion; but he’d listened. He hadn’t argued either. The phone call had ended awkwardly and anti-dramatically. Genichirou was almost disappointed. 

And then Seiichi never called back. 

Seiichi was trending over social media within the week. He’d crushed a well-known tennis player from Canada, a man a couple years his senior in the pro circles. It was brutal, like they had all once been in middle school. No senses. A match that was borderline violent. All in silent fury. But Seiichi hadn’t trended for the match, per say, it had been because of his comments in a post-match interview. 

He’d been asked if he was having a bad day or had received bad news.

Seiichi’s response was what Niou and Marui would call “iconic”. 

“I found out the person who was always by my side would not follow after me. So, yes, you could say I received some bad news.”

The media had gone wild about a past lover or an ex. 

Everyone who played tennis with Seiichi, and by extension Genichirou, had known it was about Genichirou.

Genichirou didn’t have to ask Niou to put the rumor out there discreetly, like he had planned. Seiichi had done all the work for him.

In the weeks that followed, Genichirou had been approached by strangers, people he barely recognized. Some he did, like Mizuki from St. Rudolph or Sengoku from Yamabuki. If they were brave enough to be direct, they asked Genichirou why. If they weren’t, they beat around the bush. 

Regardless, Genichirou wasn’t one to have it. 

His members had been approached too, if Niou’s cheshire grin and Marui’s grumbling was to be believed. They’d found it annoying. (Or found new victims, if you were Niou.)

Tamagawa, when Genichirou had visited a summer practice with Renji, had told him he’d shut down the team’s questions and if they had the courage to ask Genichirou, they would be running laps until they dropped dead.

Eventually, it quiets.

No one talks to him about tennis anymore.

Keigo is studying business and economics while also shadowing his father, mother, and their trusted employees in their work. He works, studies, and goes to class - he rinses and repeats each day. 

He sees his friends, who had eventually come around, occasionally. They’d come along to his house with stubborn apologies for their reactions, which they were sure to insist were not overreactions. 

Ootori studies music. Munehiro studies childcare. Oshitari studies medicine, obviously. Gakuto studies at a community college, but his main focus in life is as a budding stunt double. Shishido studies medicine, too, but his goal is as a physical therapist. Hiyoshi came around after everyone else, still refusing Keigo’s offer of a sponsor. Keigo’s more stubborn than Hiyoshi, though. He’ll come around. Jirou becomes internet famous, as a figurehead of people with narcolepsy, but also because of his fun and bright personality. 

Keigo studies. Keigo works. Keigo goes to class.

Tennis becomes the sport it was always intended to be in Keigo’s life - the way his parents wanted when they’d first introduced him to the sport - a way to make connections with other businessmen and businesswomen. He plays casual matches that are somehow more torturous than not playing tennis.

He spends most of his days behind desks, smiling politely. There is no one to cheer his name. No one to cry his anthem. 

Keigo studies. Keigo works. Keigo goes to class.

Keigo, simply, exists. 

Here's the only lie Genichirou ever told about the debacle: Genichirou didn't give Sasuke his rackets.

He wouldn't dare dream of it. The rackets that stayed with him through his losses and victories - rackets that are more than just so. They’re his symbol. His life’s treasure. The imagery of his youth. Sasuke wouldn't be able to appreciate it.

Plus, as his nephew grew up, Sasuke became fond of Kyudo.

Sanada Genichirou is many things. Genichirou is smart. Genichirou is capable. Genichirou is competitive. But one could not call Genichirou ambitious. 

Genichirou has a good life, he would argue. He has a loving family. He’s been quite healthy - both physically and mentally. He’s always been studious. He has great friends. There isn’t anything else he could ask for. So, he doesn’t seek or ask for anything else.

So, when his grandfather asks Genichirou if he’d be willing, or wanting, to be the successor to the Sanada Kendo dojo, Genichirou acquiesces without much thought. It’s not a decision to be made, it’s simply a natural progression of his life. 

So, Genichirou doesn’t apply to any universities. He devotes himself to Kendo, to Iaido and Zazen. He devotes himself to learning what it means to run a dojo. His older brother and sister-in-law, parents to Sasuke, step down from their jobs and use their business experience to help the gradual transition of leadership from Gen’emon to Genichirou. His tennis rackets gather dust in the back of his closet, where no one will see. 

In reality, quite little changes in Genichirou’s life.

Niou gets casted off the street and his mimicry ability apparently works wonders on camera - he’s in all the movies and tv shows that Genichirou sees gets advertised in posters and internet ads. Yagyuu, always one to do good, studies to be a social worker. Jackal is studying to be a teacher and is currently a student teacher, to gain experience, at Rikkaidai’s elementary division. Marui leans into his baking hobby and is currently studying at a culinary baking school. Tamagawa goes to university, still undecided with his career choice but enjoying life nonetheless. Renji double majors in data analytics and Japanese literature, has a part time job with a local literature magazine, and has a platform to receive commissions for his skill with data. They are mostly in the same area, at most an hour away from each other and make the effort to meet up bi-weekly. In between those two weeks, Genichirou’s phone is always filled with messages.

Akaya drops by the Sanada house when he comes to visit family. Genichirou hadn’t even known his kouhai was back in the country. Genichirou has the time to sputter out a shocked “A-Akaya?” before Akaya punches Genichirou in the face. After that, it’s a chaotic mess of shouting when his brother and nephew hold Akaya back. Genichirou stands up, after he’s knocked off his feet, and he repeats what he tells Akaya before, over the phone. And gets to make his case when Akaya wouldn’t listen.

Akaya stops, seething in the arms of two Sanadas. And then he stops, slumping, tears pouring down his face without noise.

For the first time, that Genichirou can remember, he holds Akaya close to his chest and lets the younger man cry.

Seiichi is less dramatic than Akaya when he comes back. Instead, Seiichi is much more intimidating. They have a private meeting at the Yukimura household - the invitation suddenly sent after so much radio silence. 

For a long time, they sit across from each other without saying anything. Tea grows cold between them, something that Renji would scold them both about.

“You should have told me earlier.”

Genichirou doesn’t know what to say to that because it’s true. He should’ve said something earlier. It doesn’t change the fact that-

“I didn’t know how to say it.”

Seiichi isn’t smiling. He’s dressed comfortably, opposed to the fancy clothes his sponsors have him wear. Seiichi was always much more of a simple person. Genichirou is too. Their relationship was simple.

“You made a fool of me.”

“Are you trying to make a fool of me?”

Seiichi’s expression flickers at the question. He huffs, “I thought you were going to beat me, Genichirou.”

If there’s one key characteristic of Sanada Genichirou, it’s his competitiveness.

Genichirou’s grip on his knees tightens, “You will make a fool of yourself if you continue on this subject.”

Seiichi frowns now, his arms crossed, “What happened to you, Genichirou?”

Genichirou looks at his friend now, his face lax, “I don’t think… anything has changed.”

Seiichi stares at him and Genichirou meets his gaze head on.

“You won’t be changing your mind. You won’t regret this.”

It’s not a question.

Seiichi sighs then, “You’re a stubborn fool, Sanada Genichirou.”

Genichirou flashes Seiichi a smile, “Hypocrite.”

Despite it all, Seiichi smiles back. 

Akaya and Seiichi talk to him again, after their conversations and after they leave Japan again. He’s looped back into their lives, learning about where they come and go. See who they compete against. Akaya loses an extremely close match against Hyotei Alumnus Hiyoshi - an echo of the promise Hiyoshi made years ago to beat Akaya. Seiichi beats Shitenhouji Alumnus Tooyama and is preparing for an impending match with Seigaku Alumnus Echizen.

Genichirou trains in Kendo. Genichirou learns business. Genichirou devotes himself to the dojo.

Genichirou exists. 

That doesn’t mean his competitiveness goes away. 

When it finally happens, Keigo wonders how he had been so blind. How he couldn’t have seen it before?

Admitting to wanting to play tennis again is the admittance of lingering regrets of not going pro. At least, that’s what that is to the rest of the world. Keigo doesn’t know if he regrets that decision or not - nevertheless - the urge to play an actual, invigorating match of tennis is always clawing away inside him. 

There isn’t anyone to ask. Hiyoshi, having finally been convinced to take Keigo’s sponsorship, would cheekily tell Keigo “I told you so” and all the work over the years Keigo put into to convincing Hiyoshi to let Keigo sponsor him would go down the drain. Yuushi would be annoyingly smug about it, as would Gakuto and Shishido. Asking Ootori was out of the question, not only could the musician not risk injury but the man was also hard to get a hold of. Jirou was even harder to get a hold of - his internet fame skyrocketing. Asking Munehiro would be the easiest and, yes, the younger man would heed his request, but Keigo couldn’t muster himself to ask him for a match. He wouldn’t go back on his word, not even to his best friend.

That is why, meeting Sanada Genichirou, by random happenstance, years after the tense conversation in Keigo’s sitting room, is the greatest blessing he could ever ask for.

One of Genichirou’s greatest qualities is his creed - his code of honor. He sticks by his words, by his decisions, by his life’s motto.

But along with that, is Genichirou’s law of absolute victory. 

Now, there is no one to win against.

He practices and teaches Kendo. He’s had multiple matches with people from the police force. He has competed, on occasion. But the thrill he used to get from playing tennis is not there. There’s no action-packed matches. There is no one on the other side to taunt and no one to taunt him. In Kendo, he keeps his mind clear. In Kendo, his focus never wavers.

His focus wavers, for the first time, in a long time, when he sees Atobe Keigo five years after that day, when they were eighteen. The time they’d declared to each other that they wouldn’t play tennis professionally.

“Atobe,” Sanada greets, and Keigo takes the moment to marvel at how much and how little a man could change in five years. 

Sanada is dressed in trousers and a button up shirt that strains across his chest and shoulders. Sanda is without a hat. The lines of Sanada’s face have grown less stern over the years. Sanada is almost smiling at Keigo. Sanada is stepping out of the local police precinct with a sports bag over his shoulder, hair still slightly wet and face slightly flushed from a post-workout shower. His voice is deeper and yet the rumble and the way he denotes Keigo’s family name is the same as it used to be.

Keigo feels like he’s just a teen again, wearing his Hyotei sweats, staring at the man who used to be his unsaid rival. Keigo, in reality, is still his 23-year-old self, with his long hair in a neat bun, fancy designer and fitted outfit, stopped on the street on his way to his car because he saw a familiar face leave the police precinct. 

“Sanada,” Keigo responds, nodding his head slightly.

Sanada is definitely smiling now, and it’s such a foreign image that Keigo’s brain takes a moment to reboot. “It’s been quite a while.”

Keigo can slowly start to feel his face return the man’s smile, “Indeed. I trust you are doing well?”

Sanada shifts his bag on his shoulder, “Ah, I couldn’t complain.”

Complain. Keigo could. About the urge to play tennis. The way the feeling clawed at him.

“Good,” is Keigo’s simple reply. “I am doing quite well myself.”

Sanada chuckles now, a low rumble, “I expect nothing less from you.”

Ah. That’s not something Keigo has ever heard before. Expectations, that’s something Keigo has always drowned in.

Expectations.

Sanada probably understands that well.

Wait.

Keigo’s mind is whirling before he can help it. He probably looks like an idiot, gaze focused stupidly on the other man’s face. Keigo is aware, can read the tell-tale signs of Sanada starting to say something. His brain doesn’t let Sanada start his sentence first.

“Play a match with me.”

“Play a match with me.”

If there’s something Atobe Keigo was always good at, it was doing the most outrageous things.

Atobe was, by nature, royalty - forever a King. He reigns over himself, over his own kingdom. Which means the only enemy he has to overcome, to advance, is himself. 

Never, in a million years would he have expected Atobe Keigo to demand a match with him. 

True, at the moment when he saw Atobe’s face, he immediately thought of the matches he had - not only with Atobe but with everyone he had faced in memorable matches. Matches he had to fight for. Matches he had to crawl to victory for. 

Genichirou’s always been straightforward. He understands his place. He understands that Atobe doesn’t want to talk about tennis. But tennis is their past.

Atobe is doing well. He doesn’t have that empty feeling gnawing at him, like Genichirou does when he lays at bed at night, unable to sleep. 

Atobe was always the most observant person he knew.

Atobe was always someone that could shake him to his core. 

The demand makes him realize that he may be looking in a mirror. It’s distorted, yes, but the desire he sees is reflected back at him.

It’s what makes Genichirou answer the man quickly, without pause and without hesitation.

“Let’s go.”

It’s as simple as that.

Atobe’s greedy grin is matched by Genichirou’s menacing one.

With only a few words exchanged, they coordinate. They drop by the Sanada household to pick up Genichirou’s equipment. They drive to the Atobe estate with tennis courts for miles.

They play into the early morning, feeling more exhilarated than they have felt in years. 

“What’s got you so happy lately?”

Genichirou startles out of his thoughts. He’s walking with Renji, dropping by the man’s apartment to borrow a book that Renji recommended after their bi-weekly meeting with the rest of their team, when the man drops the question. 

Genichirou frowns immediately, “What?”

Renji chuckles, “Don’t be so defensive. Everyone’s already noticed. Though, I’m not surprised that you didn’t notice the way they’d been egging you on.”

“What?”

Renji looks mischievous as he walks just a bit faster, “Marui and Niou are betting that you’ve finally fallen in love. Who’s the lucky person?”

Genichirou strides forward to catch up, “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nothing like that.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that something has changed. What is it?” Curse Renji and his pursuit of knowledge. Data players really are the worst gossips he’s ever known. 

“Like I said, it’s nothing like that.” Genichirou prefaces. He hesitates, “It’s… It’s Atobe.”

“You’re finally together?”

Genichirou very nearly trips over himself. 

When he recovers, Renji is grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“Renji,” he growls, brushing himself off, his ears burning. He coughs into his fist, “We’ve been playing matches every week for a while now.”

It was supposed to be a one time thing. That’s what Genichirou had assumed. It was a lapse of judgment. His focus was supposed to be stronger than that. 

And yet. 

It’d been so cathartic. Like Genichirou was finally breathing - doing something more beyond existing. After that first time, they’d left amicably. With a handshake. Silently.

It was just tennis. It was tennis. 

And there was never a moment that either of them doubted that they were going to tell anyone else about what they had done. They were both prideful men. They were both honorable men.

In the month that followed, however, the urge had come back. It was ridiculous. He’d lasted five years, he could last more than a measly month. Genichirou had felt ashamed for the first time in a long time. 

Atobe called after another month of misery. He’d called through the dojo and Genichirou’s sister-in-law had been confused and flustered that the Atobe Keigo was calling their humble dojo. 

They’d played again that night. The next month, Genichirou called with the number he had gotten in exchange for his own. And then the next. And the next.

Somehow, the time between their matches whittled down to a mere week.

However, these matches, which had gotten better and just as thrilling as they had been when they were children, were affecting his mood. His family had noticed; Sasuke had gotten pinned to the dojo floor because of his taunts.

If these matches were so significant to his life that his former teammates that he only sees off and on again could notice, it was time to fess up. At least, to Renji.

“Is that what they’re calling it now?”

Genichirou coughs on his spit, appalled by his friend’s innuendo.

Renji is smiling when Genichirou recovers, “These matches are doing you good, Genichirou.”

“Ah.”

“All we ever wanted was you to be happy.”

“I am happy.”

“You’re happier like this,” Renji corrects.

Genichirou frowns, “With tennis?”

Renji smiles wider, “Sure.”

When Sanada approaches the court, Keigo can see his steps falter when he sees the child that is clinging to Keigo’s leg.

Keigo wiggles his fingers in his direction and Sanada nods his head in greeting. His attention, however, is mostly on the child.

“Hello there,” Sanada rumbles as he approaches, squatting down to the child’s level. “I’m Sanada Genichirou.”

Mieko, ever the shy child, is half hiding behind Keigo’s leg, but she waves, nonetheless.

Sanada raises a brow at Keigo when he stands up, a silent question.

Keigo ruffles his bangs, “This is Munehiro’s niece. I’d forgotten I promised to babysit for the evening.” And this was the night that they usually played tennis, kept secret like it was something forbidden, so Keigo couldn’t come up with a good excuse for Munehiro.

“Kabaji Munehiro, correct?” Sanada asks with clear recognition of the name, “His niece has strong eyes.”

Keigo ruffles with pride despite himself, because anyone precious to Munehiro is precious to him as well. 

Something catches Sanada’s eyes and he looks between the item placed on the bench and Mieko in mini athletic clothing.

Sanada bends again, “You play tennis?”

Mieko’s expression comes alive, “Yes!”

Sanada’s smile is fond as he looks at the little girl, “Would you care for a match?”

Mieko's grin is almost feral, “You’re going down, old man!”

Ah, Keigo was wondering when the girl would come out of her shell. Keigo steps forward, ready to deter the former Emperor’s temper.

But Sanada throws his head back and laughs from his stomach. When he stops, he matches her grin with the reckless immaturity Keigo didn’t know Sanada still possessed, “I expect nothing less, brat!”

“I didn’t know you were good with children.”

Genichirou startles, his crossed arms coming away from his chest. In all honesty, he’d forgotten Atobe was there, watching their match. Mieko was quite good for her age, probably the level of good he’d been at that age. He’d pushed her to do exercises after their matches that could help her improve and she’d happily obliged, having gained respect for him after he’d shown he was quite the tennis player himself.

“Ah, well my nephew used to be her age when we were just teens,” Genichirou replies, feeling like he’d overstepped, “And the dojo does have classes for young children.”

Atobe hums in acknowledgement, “Does your nephew play tennis too?”

“Kyudo, originally, however, he transitioned to archery. He plans on going to the Olympics.”

Atobe chuckles, “Are all Sanada’s so hard-working?”

“The better half of the family call us all bull-headed idiots.”

Atobe barks a laugh at that, and Mieko must be used to it because she doesn’t even bat an eye.

“Thank you.”

Genichirou startles at the sudden gratitude, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Atobe flips his hair, “Maybe the better half of your family has a point.”

This is something beyond their normal banter.

“Atobe,” he prompts.

“Sanada,” Atobe responds with the same intonation.

It’s moments like these that Genichirou wished he had Atobe’s Insight.

“Thank you,” is what he says in the silence that follows.

“Hangh?” is Atobe’s usual expression of confusion.

Genichirou flashes a smile, “If you don’t get it, then we’re even.”

Atobe looks as frustrated as Genichirou had felt earlier.

“You’re playing tennis with Sanada?”

Very little has changed with Keigo’s and Munehiro’s relationship over the years. They’re loyal friends to each other and Munehiro has a job at a daycare nearby that allows Munehiro to visit Keigo often. On the days that Keigo has off, he’d much rather spend it with the people he cares about, like Munehiro. Today is one of those days. 

Keigo whirls around, “Mieko told you that?” 

Munehiro frowns visibly to show just how hurt he is, “If you wanted to play-”

“I know, I could have asked you,” Keigo dismisses quickly, “I know.”

“...You didn’t want to?”

“I couldn’t, in good faith, because I betrayed you.”

“Keigo-san-”

“No, don’t make excuses for me,” Keigo interrupts. “You expected me to go pro as well. I betrayed that dream. I betrayed your expectations.” In reality, Keigo had betrayed himself. 

Munehiro doesn’t say anything for a moment, continuing to drink the tea that was served to him and Mieko. Mieko is out in the yard, playing with Beat away from their tense conversation.

“Why Sanada-san?”

Keigo’s answer is immediate. 

“He betrayed everyone too.”

Their weekly meetings don’t increase in number nor does the time between their meetings decrease. They meet, discreetly, play tennis, discreetly, and then separate, discreetly.

There’s nothing discrete about being an Atobe. 

It’s actually just a matter of time for the tabloids to catch a glimpse of Sanada. The news spread and they’ve grossly misinterpreted their relationship. The Atobe’s heir’s secret lover. Ridiculous. That would never be something Keigo kept secret - if Keigo truly loved someone.

(And if his lover wanted to remain anonymous, he would do everything in his power to never let anyone photograph them together. But the world would know that Atobe Keigo was in love.)

The tabloids catching wind of Keigo’s and Sanada’s alleged relationship is not the problem. The problem is that the tennis rumor mill has caught wind of it, and they’ll never forget the “bitter star crossed” rivalry the King and the Emperor used to have. 

For the first time in a long, long, time; people are talking to Keigo about tennis.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been on the cover of Tennis Monthly.”

“Thank you, Yuushi, that is very helpful to the problem at hand,” Keigo snaps, not turning his head away from the magazine that’s on his desk.

Yuushi has the nerve to laugh in his face.

It’s not actually Keigo that’s on the cover. It’s a picture of Sanada stepping out of the gates of what is unmistakably the Atobe estate with a bag that is too obviously a bag for tennis rackets. For once in his life, Keigo wished Sanada had taken to wearing that stupid hat of his. 

“When did this start?”

Keigo knows what Yuushi is asking. Yuushi’s teasing, poking fun at the tabloids’ claim of their little “relationship”, but Yuushi has an unhealthy obsession with subpar romantic novels - he’s asking because he wants to know all about the “drama”.

“You were right.”

Yuushi startles, taken aback, Keigo’s sure. Even in the years that had gone by, Keigo’s never swallowed his pride to admit his wrong doings, because in the end he makes the end result become what he promised them to be - that is the essence of Atobe Keigo.

Yuushi recovers with a smile, pushing up those ridiculous fake glasses of his, “Of course I am.” In the silence that follows, Yuushi coughs into his fist, “And what am I right about, again?”

Keigo’s smile is bitter, looking down at Sanada’s satisfied grin, captured at just the right moment, “I am more than this.”

Niou has the nerve to slap the table for attention, like a delinquent, and demand everyone to pay up, like, well, a delinquent. And reluctantly - surprisingly - they all do. 

Genichirou watches his team pull bills out of their pockets and throw them at Niou, “What in the-”

“Puh-lease, Sanada,” Niou interjects with a wicked grin, “By the time we graduated from middle school, you and his royal highness were practically eye-fucking each other at every tournament.” Niou leans back as he pockets his money, “Gotta admit though, none of us thought it’d’ve taken you guys this long. Do you know how many times we had to make a new bet?”

Renji’s cough suspiciously sounds like a gruff, “five.”

Genichirou bristles, “All of you-!”

“Maa, we actually kind of forgot about it by the time we graduated,” Marui says with a dejected pout, his chin resting on the table. “It was Tamagawa who reminded us.”

When Genichirou turns to Tamagawa, who holds his hands up defensively, it’s Jackal that cuts off Genichirou’s shout, “He’d refused to bet out of respect.”

Tamagawa nods rapidly, “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I let it slip to Akaya when he asked me about the rumors. It was either me reminding everyone else, or it was Akaya.”

Genichirou turns to the rest of the table, “And the rest of you bet?”

Yagyuu has the dignity to look ashamed of himself, but the rest send him pointed looks. 

“We’ve been waiting for this day for years, Sanada,” Niou says with a drawl. “I’m just glad that I made the bet that you’d get your heads out of your asses and get your dicks in there instead before you turned thirty.”

Genichirou can’t stop the offended noise that leaves his throat, “Atobe and I are not secret lovers.”

Jackal whistles, “Not much of a secret anymore.”

The glare Genichirou sends is practically scathing, “We play tennis.”

The surprise that flickers across the former members of Rikkaidai’s tennis team is amusing - Renji’s chuckle attests to that.

“Hold on-” Marui starts, halfway out of his seat, “So, I don’t owe Niou ten thousand yen?”

Genichirou is incredulous, “You bet ten thousand yen?”

Marui slams his hands on the table, “No! Don’t change the subject about stupid bets I made in high school! You’re telling me that the only thing you do when you sneak into Atobe’s mansion every week is play tennis?” Ah, yes, the issue of Tennis Monthly had been clear to address is that tabloids had spotted a mysterious figure leaving the Atobe Estate for months, every week, but it was the first time they’d gotten a clear picture of Genichirou. It was just a matter of time. 

“We play a couple matches,” Genichirou says with his arms crossed across his chest. “There isn’t anything else.”

“I thought you said you were done with tennis.” Heads turn to Yagyuu who pushes up his glasses with an interested glint in his eye - ever the mischievous gentleman. 

“I was,” Genichirou says, his voice weak. “I was.”

“What changed?” Tamagawa asks.

Genichirou glances at all the faces that are turned to him, the faces of his friends who look at him without judgement.

“I don’t know.”

“How do you want me to go about this?”

The news had broke overnight, so the allotted week between their tennis matches had barely begun. It’s strange, really, to have a conversation with Atobe over the phone - they don’t talk otherwise. 

Atobe continues when Genichirou doesn’t respond immediately. “We can tell everyone we’re just friends that recently reconnected.”

“They won’t buy that,” Genichirou says with a snort he can’t stifle, “They’ve caught me ‘sneaking around’ for months, or so they claim.”

“So, what do you suggest we do, pretend we’re lovers?” Atobe asks sarcastically from the other side.

“Is that what you prefer to tell the world, rather than admit we’re playing tennis matches?” 

It’s blunt. Genichirou’s always been the blunt, straight forward kind of guy. It’s effective.

Atobe is silent for a moment. 

“Is that what you want to tell them?”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” Genichirou asks. “I may not keep up with rumors like Niou or Renji, but I know they’re vultures. They’ll try to twist the story into something else, no matter what we say. What’s the harm in telling them the truth if they aren’t going to believe it anyways?”

“...What happened to your pride?”

Genichirou scoffs now. Right. Pride. It’s not that Genichirou ever lost his pride - Sanada’s have always been prideful. It was his pride that helped him lead “Never Lose Rikkaidai”. It was pride that helped him turn down the tennis scouts. It was pride that helped him run the Sanada Dojo.

“I still have my pride, Atobe,” Genichirou replies confidently. “My pride has simply evolved beyond the shame of playing tennis like I’m hiding alcoholic beverages as an adolescent teen.”

The laughter that comes through the speakers of his phone starts small, but quickly turns into something that borders on hysterical.

“I never pegged you the type to drink underage, Sanada Genichirou,” Atobe says with what Genichirou is sure is a cocky smirk.

Genichirou’s reply is succinct, “I never pegged you the type to let what anyone says bother you, Atobe Keigo.”

Atobe’s laugh is brilliant in his ears. 

“Very well, Emperor! The King will show the world our pride! Be in awe at the sight of my prowess!”

“No need to hold back. Come at me with everything you’ve got.”

When Atobe’s people make the statement, the first person to race back to Japan and show up on the Sanada Dojo’s doorstep, demanding a match, is surprisingly Echizen Ryoma.

Genichirou had thought, maybe foolishly, that nothing would change. The world would continue to talk about the nature of the relationship Genichirou and Atobe cultivated after reuniting, but life would continue as it would. Genichirou would wake up, go to work, teach classes, clean up, and return to his bed for the cycle to continue. 

“Chisu, Sanada-san,” twenty-one-year-old Echizen Ryoma says, a tennis bag slung over his shoulder, like he doesn’t have multiple grand slam titles and many other achievements under his belt, “Play a match with me.”

Genichirou recognizes Echizen, even if they haven’t seen each other since the U-17 camp fiasco which was over nine years ago, because he has kept up with professional tennis despite “abandoning” the sport. And if you keep up with professional tennis, it is impossible to not know Echizen Ryoma.

Genichirou stands before the professional tennis player and says, “I’m working, Echizen.”

Echizen’s frown is reminiscent of the pout he used to show when he was just a first-year middle schooler from Seigaku, “Skip.”

Genichirou sighs now, “You’re here because you’ve heard rumors that I play casually with Atobe in the evenings every now and then. I have a life with responsibilities outside of tennis. What you’re looking for here, from me, is something I seriously doubt you’ll find.”

“Tch,” the younger man clicks his tongue, still the brat he used to be when Genichirou did know Echizen.

“Leave, Echizen,” Genichirou says with a tone of finality, “Your whims are far less important to me than my responsibilities here.”

For a moment, Genichirou thinks Echizen will stubbornly camp out on the front steps of the dojo, refusing to leave until they play a match that satisfies him. Genichirou’s already thinking about who he can contact on the force to collect Echizen. He’s already seeing headlines that will make his head spin.

“Fine,” Echizen says after a long moment. “But I think you’re wrong.”

Genichirou bristles. Because who is this man who has only known Genichirou for a couple months out of their lives to say anything about him? But the electric spark in Echizen’s eyes silences him.

The man’s golden cat-like eyes are as terrifying as the first time Genichirou had seen them like this and he feels like he’s on a tennis court, cornered.

“If it’s you and that Monkey King playing, I doubt it’s anything but casual.” He says the last word mockingly, as if to express how ridiculous Genichirou’s claim had been. Echizen turns on his heel and waves his hand as he calls out, “I’m going to bother Monkey King for a match. I’ll be in the country until you make time for me, Sanada-san. Don’t keep me waiting.”

And like that, he’s gone.

“I forgot you used to play with that guy. He’s, like, what? One of the best tennis players of this generation?”

Genichirou startles, looking at Sasuke, who leans against the doorway to the dojo, with wide eyes, “What are you still doing here? You have school.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes, “Chill, old man, morning practice is canceled for some kind of inspection.” Sasuke instead juts his thumb towards the spot Echizen was standing at, “I forgot you used to be a monster like him.”

Genichirou frowns, “I’ve never beaten him.”

Sasuke snorts, “Like that matters. It says enough that he’s here asking you for a match.” Sasuke turns back towards the dojo, “Come on. Kaa-san said she made us breakfast.”

Genichirou doesn’t move, rooted to his spot, refusing to look back to the spot Echizen had stood in, afraid a mirage of the man would remain and say the unsaid words that are echoing in his ears.

I’m here for you.

It takes Echizen Ryoma two weeks, sticking it out in Japan, before his manager forces him on a plane somewhere else for an exhibition match. The Prince is grumbling all the while, promising to return and return until he gets the match he wanted from both Keigo and Sanada. 

Of course, Echizen’s actions garners attention from Tennis Monthly and the gossips of the tennis circuit. And then it’s just a matter of time for Hiyoshi, who remained in Japan, to make time to come to Keigo and demand a match.

“Honestly, Hiyoshi, do you really think I have the time for this?”

Hiyoshi is surprisingly calm in front of him, “You make time for Sanada-san.”

Keigo sighs, “We play because we’re both players that haven’t played in years. We’re not going to play like we did in high school.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Hiyoshi says with a greedy glint in his eyes.

Keigo wants nothing more to beat into everyone’s heads that his tennis has probably gotten worse, without admitting the somewhat shameful fact himself.

Keigo rubs at his temples, “Drop it, Hiyoshi.”

“Then I drop you.”

Keigo pauses. “What?”

Hiyoshi’s face is completely impassive, “I will drop you as my sponsor.”

Keigo can feel his face go hot, “You want to drop Atobe Conglomerate? Your biggest sponsor?”

“I’ll drop you, Atobe-san,” Hiyoshi says calmly, “If I don’t get that match.”

Keigo grits his teeth, “You can’t-”

“Of course I can. I’ve risen to the point where I don’t need you, Atobe-san. I can survive without your money.” Hiyoshi's grin is blood-thirsty, “How does it feel? Being thrown away like that?”

Keigo’s mouth goes dry.

Hiyoshi quirks a brow, “So?”

The mere fact that Hiyoshi and Keigo had a match spreads by the end of the day.

Akaya takes a while to come back to Japan, compared to how fast Echizen and Hiyoshi had moved, but he’s once again at the Sanada Dojo. He doesn’t throw a fist, this time, but he does barge in and throw Genichirou’s rackets at him.

“We’re having a match, Sanada-san,” and Genichirou swears Akaya is tapping into the Pinnacle of Perfection despite not being in-match, “I won’t leave without one.”

“Akaya,” Genichirou sighs, feeling like he’s had this conversation before, “I have work in the morning.”

It’s late, nearing midnight, and it’s clear that Akaya has literally just arrived in this country. He’s got bags on his shoulders and under his eyes, yet he’s bouncing around with overexcitement. “You don’t have work now.”

Genichirou scowls, “I need to sleep.”

Akaya winces, “You still waking up at 4:30?”

“Not anymore,” Genichirou grumbles, having been roused from his sleep by Sasuke who had stayed up studying for some sort of exam. Really, Akaya’s lucky Sasuke recognized Akaya as Genichirou’s former teammate because he’d been so close to calling the police.

“So?” Akaya asks, still bouncing, “I bet the court nearby is empty.”

“Of course it’s empty, it’s nearly midnight,” Genichirou snaps.

Akaya snorts now, “You really haven’t changed, fuku-buchou. Still cranky as ever when sleep deprived.”

“May I remind you that you’re depriving me of sleep?”

Akaya leans forward with glowing eyes, “It’s now or never, isn’t it?”

Genichirou stares at the young man he used to know, or the young man he only really knows over texts from the group chat and occasional facetime calls they have at their meetings. 

He sighs.

“Let me get changed.”

“YES!” Akaya cheers.

The slap he gives Akaya’s shoulder to shut up before he wakes the rest of the household is a familiar motion.

And they play a match.

And Genichirou is baffled at just how many people in their early twenties will come out to a random street tennis court in Kanagawa at midnight to watch a tennis match between a professional and a casual player.

The answer of how many people came out to watch their match is too many.

They trend on Twitter for the next day.

The match that Yukimura Seiichi requests is something both Sanada and Keigo expect, but it comes in the form of a formal request for a match. It’s sent through the business email of Yukimura’s manager with a request of the two men to make time for the three days that Yukimura will be in Japan for. Yukimura will cover the cost of the tennis court they reserve - all they have to do is show up and play. 

The day that day arrives, Keigo pulls up to the tennis court that’s been bought out with a crowd gathered up front. Staff is desperately holding reporters and spectators back as Keigo enters the empty indoor tennis court. It’s just the Child of God, sitting there, serenely.

“Atobe,” Yukimura greets with a smile, “Thank you for indulging me.” 

Keigo smirks, “Well, you were so polite about it.”

Yukimura chuckles, “I must admit, I didn’t think you were going to accept.” His gaze turns sharp, “You did reject Ryoma.”

Keigo scoffs, “The brat tried to rampage through my home, demanding a match from ‘Monkey King,’ of course I wasn’t going to indulge him.”

“So, you would have accepted my invitation earlier if I had merely sent a well-worded email?” Yukimura smiles smugly, because he knows that if not for the way others, such as Hiyoshi or Kirihara, had slowly broken Keigo down, Keigo would have rejected the invitation. 

Which was the root of the problem, really. If Keigo had been as stubborn as Hiyoshi had been, and opted to not take any requests for matches, none of this would have happened. This domino effect of matches that Keigo had declared to the world that he would never play. And yet, here he was, the very definition of a hypocrite. And for what? His pride? His pride that was already being questioned anyways?

Keigo refuses to answer Yukimura, looking away in stubborn silence to wait for Sanada. He’s never really understood Yukimura, if he was being honest. Yukimura has suffered more than most in his lifetime, nearly losing his life to a rare neurological disorder with a name most of the population had never heard, and with a “cure” that would risk his life as well. To Keigo’s knowledge, when Yukimura was a third year in middle school, he’d pushed ahead with a risky surgery with little preparation in order to be able to play, only a month after his operation, tennis on a national level. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was just one match out of many. Looking back at Yukimura’s tennis history, it was barely a blip among all the man’s achievements. It was a tennis match, yes on a national level, but only among middle schoolers. There would’ve been plenty of time, if Yukimura had taken his time, to prove himself later. Yukimura was more than just brilliant. And he knew that. 

Why risk it all, rushing into a recovery that may or may not stick?  

The door at the end of the tennis court opens, the noise echoing around the near empty room.

Yukimura stands this time, a more genuine smile on his face. “Genichirou,” he says, voice fond and warm.

Sanada stops as the door closes behind him, eyes looking between Yukimura and Keigo, taking them in. “Seiichi,” Sanada says, voice dipping into a tone Keigo’s never heard before. “Atobe,” Sanada says next, the same lilt that he always has when he says Keigo’s name in greeting.

“Sanada,” Atobe says back.

A silence follows their greeting. Within that silence, Sanada walks closer, setting his bag down on the other side of the bench that Yukimura is sitting at.

Sanada clears his throat, “How was your flight?”

Yukimura smiles pleasantly at his friend. “As good as it could be. I’m just glad there weren’t any delays this time. I wanted to be well rested for this.”

Sanada scoffs, “As opposed to the way you stay up despite having a full day of practice ahead of you.”

Yukimura chuckles, “Well, we can’t all be like you. Sasuke-kun was right, you have the sleep schedule of an old man.”

It’s strange watching Sanada and Yukimura interact like this, though maybe it has something to do with the fact that Sanada and Keigo aren’t friends - they’re rivals. On the tennis court, especially at the U-17 world cup, Sanada and Yukimura always treated each other as rivals, at least to the eyes of others. In a private area like this, where it’s just them (and Keigo) they treat each other as friends. Friends who haven’t seen each other for a long time but easily fall into conversation, taking jabs at each other. Sanada is far more sarcastic than Keigo had first thought.

“Well,” Yukimura says with a clap of his hands, slipping his jacket off his shoulders, “Should we get started?”

Immediately, Sanada turns to Keigo, as if to ask if he’d prefer to go first. Quite honestly, Keigo doesn’t have a real preference - though the thought of taking on Yukimura at full strength, again, is appealing - but with this new understanding of Yukimura and Sanada’s relationship, he wants to see how that translates to their match.

“By all means,” Keigo says, gesturing with his hand.

Yukimura smiles from behind Sanada, at Keigo, like he understands what Keigo’s thinking. Again, one of the other reasons he doesn’t understand Yukimura.

Something shifts with Sanada as he steps on the court, opposite of Yukimura. It’s the expression that Keigo hasn’t seen before, the tension in his shoulders, and the tightness of his initial stance. Yukimura changes as well, something sharp and dangerous in his eyes, but that’s expected of Yukimura; who is cold and brutal on the tennis court. 

As expected, the match starts off intense from the very start. Keigo captures every moment with his sharp eyes, watching the way the two men pour everything they have into this single moment. 

And no one speaks, because there are no words to be said. Just grunts of effort and huffs of breath. 

It’s an exceedingly private moment. A moment of vulnerability that no one should ever witness from either man. But Keigo is watching and knows this match is more than just rehashing an old rivalry.

Keigo feels exhausted after their match concludes, feeling raw. Feeling almost like he isn’t in the condition to do much of anything, despite not moving a step from the place he’d been watching.

But sharp eyes turn to him almost immediately after the match ends. They don’t take a moment to breathe in the moment, to talk about their match, because the whole match was their moment. And they’re eagerly looking for a new target.

A thrill runs through Keigo and a wicked grin comes to face.

He feels like he’s fourteen again, at the top of the world.

He snaps but follows with nothing else.

The two men on the court understand anyways.

They leave the private tennis court, as a trio, hours after they had first gone in, and the group outside has only grown. They make news not only nationally, but internationally as well. 

The Two Wings of Kyushu make a request for a doubles match on social media shortly after Yukimura trends on Twitter for his matches with Atobe and Genichirou.

Contrary to popular belief, Genichirou does have social media accounts on most platforms. Though, it’s mostly because of the combined insistence of Marui, Niou, and Akaya. Furthermore, there are fan accounts that he follows that keep track of Seiichi and Akaya better than he can by simply calling them. Overall, he considers social media useful - and entertaining when his friends send him memes.

In this case, he sees the evils of social media.

“Doubles, huh? When was the last time you played doubles?”

Genichirou sends Atobe a glare from across the bench, “Just because I prefer singles, doesn’t mean I can’t play doubles.” He looks away with a huff, “Besides, I could say the same to you.”

Atobe barks out a laugh, wiping the sweat from his face. They’re resting after their weekly match, which had been put on hold for quite a while because of the public attention. It had been relaxing, to say the very least.

“I quite like playing doubles, for your information,” Atobe retorts, head held high. “It’s just difficult finding someone who can keep up with me.”

Genichirou scoffs. Typical of Atobe. Arrogance is his middle name.

Atobe’s expression hardens into something sinister, “Though those two are quite sly, asking in a public space, knowing we can’t very well reject them after our other matches with other pro tennis players have gotten quite a bit of attention.”

Tell him about it. Genichirou can’t go a day at the dojo without someone asking him about tennis. Most of them had been surprised that he had talent in tennis, especially when he was so talented at kendo. Though, some had been hardcore tennis fans and wanted autographs. 

Genichirou hadn’t fallen so low to ask the people he competed with in middle school for autographs.

“When are you free?” Genichirou asks with a resigned sigh, standing up to do some light stretching.

“Send me your schedule and I’ll have my people contact Tachibana and Chitose,” Atobe says flippantly, standing up as well, stretching his arm across his body. 

Atobe’s people work quickly, and the Two Wings of Kyushu work just as quickly. Within two days, they have a match date set for next week and have rented out a private tennis court for the match.

Again, Genichirou finds himself trending with Atobe on Twitter after their match when Tachibana Kippei and Chitose Senri publicly thank them for complying with their request for a match. 

“SCARY-FACE-ONII-SAN! PLAY WITH A MATCH WITH ME!”

“Uh… Sanada-kenshi, who’s your…friend?”

Genichirou can feel his head throb. “He’s not a friend,” he hisses through his teeth.

He knows that everyone is skeptical of what relationship Genichirou has with this poor excuse of a grown adult, but he doesn't care. He is adamantly ignoring this issue, reputation be damned.

"COME ON, JUST ONE MAAAAAAATCH!"

"Come on, Genichirou," his sister-in-law says with a hand over her face, clearly irritated, "He's been screaming his lungs out for the past thirty minutes. Can't you at least hear him out?"

"I refuse," Genichirou spits out, despite all the respect he has for his sister-in-law. This is a line he refuses to cross. Out of principle.

"COME ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!"

Jesus Christ. Is there no off button on this thing? 

Genichirou would never admit it out loud, but he'd prefer if Echizen, sass and all, was the one right here asking him a match, persistently. 

"Sanada-sensei! Is that really Tooyama Kintarou, in the flesh?!!" An overenthusiastic high schooler says with a slight squeal in his voice, pointing at the red headed man flailing on the ground next to Genichirou.

Unfortunately for Genichirou, the former super rookie of the west is currently whining at Genichirou's feet to get a match. 

Genichirou groans, rubbing a hand down his face. He takes a deep breathe and turns to Tooyama with a defeated expression, ignoring the crowd of Kendo practitioners around them. "Tooyama, how did you even find me?"

Tooyama stops flailing when he's acknowledged for the first time, an innocent grin on his face, "Yukimura-san told me your address."

Rage sparks in Genichirou quickly.

"YUKIMURAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

To say the least, a video of Tooyama's tantrum and Genichirou’s roar of anger gets uploaded on social media by one of the Kendo students and goes viral. 

Genichirou's only solace is that Tooyama's forced entrance through all of the security of Atobe's mansion is captured on video and the highlights are posted by Atobe's publicity team for kicks. 

Legends say, Tooyama did get the matches he wanted because he returned to Europe quickly after his viral stunts.

"So, when's your match with Tezuka happening?"

Keigo snaps his flip smartphone shut, raising a brow at Gakuto, "Excuse me?"

Gakuto rolls his eyes, "You've been going down the list, right? Echizen, Hiyoshi, Yukimura, Tachibana and Chitose, and Tooyama. The only one who's left is Tezuka."

"Technically, he didn't have his match with Echizen," Shishido corrects, unhelpfully, scrolling through social media on his phone.

Gakuto rolls his eyes at Shishido this time, "Fine. But the kid started all of this in the first place, right? All that's left is Tezuka."

Tezuka. The person everyone was always trying to beat. Tezuka Kunimitsu with a ragtag group of tennis players, living off the legacy of legendary Samurai Nanjiro. Tezuka Kunimitsu who lived and breathed tennis and played every match like it was his last.

Keigo won't ever say it out loud, but his match with Tezuka, right before Keigo destroyed his arm and Tezuka took a break to recover from his arm injury, was one of the most exhilarating matches of his life. Keigo would do anything to experience that again, especially with how skilled Tezuka has become now.

On a regional level, it was always about Tezuka. Tezuka who played without hesitation. Tezuka who played with his heart on his sleeve. Tezuka who played always with everything that he was. It wasn't wrong to say that there was a slight obsession that Keigo had with the symbol that was known as Tezuka Kunimitsu.

"Do you really think Tezuka is going to request a match like everyone else?" Yuushi interrupts with a bored drawl in his voice. "He barely even reacted when he was asked about Atobe's decision not to go pro."

Choutarou lets out a small "eep," verbalizing the apprehension on everyone else's faces when the taboo is brought up.

Ah. That incident.

It'd been barely ten seconds in the press conference for the German nationals. Somehow, Inoue Mamoru, from Tennis Monthly had been there, coincidentally around the time both Keigo and Sanada had revealed to the world that they would not be going pro. Tezuka, recognizing the reporter from Japan, had called on him to ask a question. Inoue hadn't been specific, but he had asked if Tezuka has become aware of certain people's announcements to not go pro and how he felt about it. 

Tezuka's answer was brief. He had heard about it, and it was none of his concern. The press conference had moved along quickly after, asking other questions. 

What compelled Inoue to ask such an idiotic question like that was unbeknownst to Keigo, but he'd thrown the phone, he'd opened the article on, across the room and it had shattered. 

After that, it became taboo to even mention the press conference to Keigo. Yuushi, of course, just wants to push his buttons.

Keigo starts to laugh in the silence that follows Yuushi's jab. It grows and grows until his chest hurts, and he's bent at the waist from exertion. He cuts off his laughter suddenly, "I very much doubt Tezuka is even aware of what's been going on over here. He's off in Germany, doing God knows what, playing tennis like his life depends on it. Don't keep your hopes up, Gakuto." Keigo gives his former teammates a feral grin, "It'd take more than this for Tezuka to request a match."

Tezuka Kunimitsu always had the air that he was above everyone, even in middle school. He had no clear rival, despite all the national-level players around him. Echizen was a bratty and cocky first year that made a rival out of everyone he ever played. Some of the more notable people of Echizen's rivals were Tooyama, Yukimura, Atobe, and Genichirou, himself. There was clearly some kind of grudge held against Shiraishi and Fuji Syuusuke after Fuji's first official lost at nationals, but even then, Fuji didn’t hold a candle to Tezuka. Even Chitose didn't stand a chance against Tezuka. In a similar vein, Atobe and Genichirou were not considered worthy enough to be Tezuka's rivals. In fact, because Atobe and Genichirou seemed to hold a grudge against Tezuka, it was more often for Atobe and Genichirou to be considered rivals to each other. Never mind that Genichirou couldn't ever remember having an official match against Atobe, ever. 

Whether it was because everyone put Tezuka on a pedestal or because Tezuka truly believed there was no one to rival him in Japan, and thus left for Germany, but Genichirou never even stopped to wonder if Tezuka would reach out for a match, all these years later. It was unfathomable, really. Tezuka wasn't so rude to completely disregard and ignore the people he used to play with, surely, but it was more like his time couldn't be bothered to be wasted on people who used to play tennis well enough to give Tezuka a challenge. He was being challenged enough in professional circuits.

So Genichirou waits around, mostly for Echizen to come back and finally get the match he demanded months earlier and set off all of this, but also for all of this to pass by. So Genichirou can get back to his normal life, where no one pesters him about tennis and making his life everyone’s business.

The word comes over from a phone number he doesn't recognize, on a day that everything was normal, and nothing was out of place. The text says something he can't believe.

042XXXXXXX: Sanada-kun, this is Tezuka Kunikazu, a friend of your grandfather. I asked for your phone number because of my grandson. He expressed interest in catching up with you and someone called Atobe Keigo. He's in the country for this week only, visiting family. Are you two free any time soon?

Genichirou stares at the text, unsure of what to do or even say in response. Should he respond? Is this some sort of prank? But it's true that Genichirou's grandfather is friends with Tezuka's grandfather. No one should be aware of that. And it would be very much like his grandfather to hand out his phone number without regard.

042XXXXXXX: I see that you've read my message. Is this what it's like to be "left on read"?

Genichirou panics, typing into his phone immediately. He regrets his response as soon as he sends it, scolding himself for letting his panic overtake him.

Me: I apologize for the delayed response, Tezuka-san. I was simply surprised that you reached out to me. I would be more than happy to reconnect with your grandson. I will ask Atobe when he's free.

Crap. Genichirou can't believe that he responded without even consulting Atobe. Furthermore, Tezuka expressed interest in catching up with them. This is purely a scheme set up by Tezuka's grandfather, and maybe others, without Tezuka's knowledge. What if it was said only out of courtesy, in passing, and he didn't mean any of it at all. What would they even talk about? How they're playing tennis again? What would that even mean to Tezuka? It's not like Tezuka doesn't have people lining up to have matches with him.

042XXXXXXX: Perfect. Kunimitsu and I will be going fishing in the morning for the next two days, but he should be free after those days. Let me know if you two can make it. I'll send you our address then.

Fuck. Genichirou is screwed. 

"I can't believe I agreed to this."

"At least you had a choice," Keigo hisses at Sanada, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, "You practically agreed for me."

Sanada's face goes pink in shame, "I panicked. He's an old friend of my grandfather and he thought I was leaving him on read."

Keigo snorts as they approach the front door of the Tezuka household, "I'm surprised you know what that means."

Sanada glowers, voice barely above a whisper, "I may not be caught up in all the slang, but I at least know that much. Hell, even Tezuka-san knew what it meant."

"Again, I'm surprised you know what it meant," Keigo says snidely as he rings the doorbell.

Sanada's eyes go wide in fury, "Atobe, I swear to-"

The door opens with a click and a smiling face greets them, "Perfect! You two are just in time. Come in, come in! Thank you two so much for coming. Kunimitsu has told us a lot about you!" Tezuka's mother cheerfully welcomes them as she motions them inside, a smile wide on her face. Or so Keigo assumes this is Tezuka's mother. There isn't a trace of Tezuka anywhere, maybe except for the glasses. 

Sanada bows to his waist, "It's very nice to meet you. Thank you for invitation, Tezuka-san."

"Indeed," Keigo says, bowing as well. "It's an honor."

The mother waves her hand in front of her face, "No, no, like I said, thank you both! Kunimitsu seemed to be somewhat down lately and I'm sure you'll help improve his mood."

Tezuka? Being down? It's strange to imagine but the man is human too, of course there are times he may feel down.

As they step into the genkan, the first thing Keigo notices is the abundance of shoes.

"Excuse me for asking, but are we not the only ones here?" Sanada asks, making the same connection Keigo does.

The mother chuckles to herself, "Oh, yes. This is a bit of a surprise party for my son. He insisted that he didn't want to make a fuss during his visit, but we knew we had to do something. So, we invited anyone he's been talking about over the years. I hope you don't mind."

Keigo’s mind whirls into action, trying to discern who these shoes may belong to, trying to connect them to anyone who has been significant in Tezuka's life as Sanada quickly reassures the Tezuka matriarch that they don't mind in the slightest. Which isn't true, he's just trying to be polite.

In truth, despite Keigo and Sanada having both considered Tezuka to be their rival all those years ago, there isn't much they actually know about the man. All they know about is Tezuka's dedication to tennis, so they don't really know what to expect in a casual setting.

Especially when they haven't contacted each other since middle school.

"Monkey King, Sanada-san, what are you doing here?"

Keigo feels like a deer in headlights when he turns his head and peers past the Tezuka matriarch to match eyes with Echizen Ryoma, with a gaping Momoshiro Takeshi behind him.

"Echizen," Momoshiro calls in a whispered shout, "You can't keep calling Atobe-san that."

Echizen barely blinks, "Why not? A Monkey King is a monkey king."

Keigo feels his vein pop.

"I apologize for him, Atobe-san, Sanada-san," Momoshiro says as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "This brat hasn't changed despite everything, you know?"

"We see that," Sanada says with a sigh. "I presume all of Seigaku is here, then?" he asks, changing the subject.

"That's right!" Momoshiro says cheerfully, clearly not losing his easy-going personality over the years. "We wouldn't miss out on the chance to have a reunion with everyone."

"So," Echizen says without preamble, "You're going to have a match with me, right? You can't say no after having matches with everyone else."

"Echizen!" Momoshiro says with a groan, running a hand down his face. "When are you going to learn some tact?"

The younger man took the words right out of Keigo's mouth.

"My manager dragged me back to America last time, but I'm not leaving without a match this time. So? When is it gonna be?" Echizen asks with a glint in his eye.

Keigo's eye twitches. Why he oughta-

"Echizen!" A voice snaps, "Ten laps!"

Echizen quite literally jumps, eyes going wide in fear as he turns to the newcomer, "Laps? Laps around what?"

Tezuka Kunimitsu approaches and crosses his arms, "The block."

For a moment, Echizen doesn't move, looking away. "You aren't my captain anymore."

"Twenty laps," Tezuka shoots back with a glare.

Echizen still doesn't move, refusing to meet anyone's gaze.

"Now, now!" Keigo flinches when he is suddenly reminded of Tezuka's mother's presence. She claps her hands twice to get everyone's attention, "Ryoma-kun, could I ask you to pick up some groceries from the market down the road? I need a few things for dinner tonight." Suddenly, Keigo sees the resemblance between her and her son. She has the same steely tone and gaze that her son has. It leaves no room for any argument.

Echizen springs into action immediately, "What do you need?" It seems Echizen isn't bratty enough to cross mothers.

She holds onto Echizen by the shoulders, steering him away from where Tezuka had come from. But before she leaves, she looks at her son with a bright smile and says, "Mitsu, your friends Atobe-kun and Sanada-kun are here. Make sure they feel welcome."

After she and Echizen disappear off deeper into the house, Momoshiro scratches at his head awkwardly before making an excuse and walking away and out of sight.

Keigo and Sanada are still barely in the Tezuka genkan, and they've already been through a whirlwind.

"Atobe. Sanada. I didn't expect to see you." The first thing Tezuka says after not seeing them for nearly a decade. How typically boring of Tezuka.

"Well, this was all set up without your knowledge," Keigo says with crossed arms, looking smugly at Tezuka.

"Your grandfather said you mentioned us," Sanada replies, less snidely. 

Tezuka barely reacts to the statement, a brief "ah" leaving his mouth. 

Keigo knew he shouldn't have come.

"I apologize for Echizen's behavior. I am aware of what his actions have caused. It seems he caused you a lot of trouble for the past couple of months."

"You're not responsible for anything that that brat does anymore, so leave it. It's already been done," Sanada responds dryly while Keigo stays silent, trying to figure out how much Tezuka actually knows about this situation.

Tezuka looks at them stoically. "Truth be told, I don't blame Echizen for wanting to play a match with you two. I'm sure you've not lost your touch over the years."

"Don't tell me you're asking for a match?" Keigo asks before he can stop himself.

There is a part of him that doesn't want Tezuka to answer, because he doesn't want to know the answer. He doesn't want to be disappointed or shamed by the man he considered his rival. There isn't a point to bringing that upon himself. But it had left his mouth without his will, and he couldn't stop from voicing the loud thoughts inside his head.

Tezuka shifts slightly, "I am not."

The silence that follows after is similar to the silence that follows after a judge bangs his gavel, as if sentencing a prisoner to their miserable fate. 

"Are we not worthy for the great Tezuka Kunimitsu?" Keigo says sharply, anger rising within him.

"Atobe," Sanada warns, but Keigo knows Sanada well enough to know that he's just as offended as Keigo. Damn hypocrite.

"You misunderstand me," Tezuka says calmly, as if he had not been goaded. "I will not request a match of you two because it doesn't matter what I desire."

Keigo freezes in his place.

"What?" Sanada voices from beside him.

Tezuka barely bats an eye, "You both made a choice to not pursue professional tennis years ago. For whatever those reasons are, it is none of my concern nor my business. Furthermore, it seems you both went to great lengths to hide the fact that you were playing tennis together again. I will not insult you or your decisions by brazenly asking for a match just because I want to have the opportunity to play against players I admired."

There is no way that any one person can be so perfect. Tezuka Kunimitsu is virtuous, saying the one thing that he wished to hear all those years ago when he first came out with the decision to not play professional tennis. 

And he understands what Tezuka meant in response to Inoue about how Keigo and Sanada's decision was not of his concern. Because it was their decision. Their lives. Their relationship. It was truly none of Tezuka's concern. And he could do nothing to stop them.

Keigo laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs because he can't help it.

Years. It takes literal years to feel vindication. To receive the response he wanted from people all those years ago, from someone other than Sanada, who was in the same position as him.

When Keigo manages to stop laughing, they've amassed quite the audience. Members of the Tezuka family watching with curious eyes and former Seigaku Alumnus peeking around the corner in an attempt to be sneaky.

Sanada. Sanada is smiling for once in his life, outside of a tennis match, and he looks content. Happy, almost.

Keigo belatedly realizes the smile on his face isn't forced at all.

"Tezuka, would you like to have a match?"

"Hold it, Sanada," Keigo snaps, both with his voice and his fingers, "I want to have at him first."

Sanada turns to him sharply, "I asked first, get in line."

"I believe royalty has first dibs, no?" Keigo shoots back.

Tezuka looks resigned to his fate, but he doesn't fool anyone. There is an intensity in his eyes that his glasses can't hide.

"...so, are they dating or not? Cuz Inui owes me 100,000 yen if they are."

"Eiji! Quiet!"

"Ow! Oishiiii! That huuurt!"

"Eiji's got a point. I've got 300,000 yen riding on this."

"Fujiko, not you too…"

Keigo snorts loudly as Tezuka's face goes red in embarrassment.

"FIFTY LAPS, ALL OF YOU!"

Some things never change.

It leaks to no one that he and Atobe had private matches with Tezuka. The only witnesses were Seigaku and they were sworn to secrecy under the threat of Inui Juice, whatever that means.

It takes a little bit, but everything calms down. No longer are Genichirou’s and Atobe's names in Tennis Monthly and no one is poking into their business to ask if they still play matches, how any of their matches go, and what their relationship is. 

As a plus, their conversation with Tezuka seems to have stuck with Echizen because he goes back to America without preamble and they don't hear anything from him.

Life has returned to relative peace, sprinkled by the occasional tennis match that they no longer have to hide.

All of this has shown how similar he and Atobe really are, despite their clashing personalities and play styles. And despite it all, Genichirou is glad all of this has happened. 

Because, who else would have really understood him and his struggles over the years? Tezuka may have sympathized and respected their choices, but it was only Atobe that understood.

And that was the point of their matches in the first place, finding solace in someone else who understood. Justification for their choices. Proof from the world that they hadn't made the wrong choice.

Atobe's smash knocks Genichirou's racket from his hand and the ball goes up in a high lob. Genichirou grins wickedly when the ball is smashed down again, going in between his legs as his racket clatters to the ground.

"Getting distracted, ahn?" Atobe mocks from across the way, pointing at him provocatively. "Get your act together, Sanada, or I may have to find a new partner."

Empty words, but they both know that.

"You're 1000 years too early to be saying that to me, Atobe," Genichriou says with a sneer, putting all his feeling into it. "May I remind you who's leading?"

Atobe barks out a laugh, "Not for long. Be in awe of my prowess!"

And yes, Genichirou wouldn't have it any other way. Despite Atobe's nasty personality.

Because he feels free. 

And tennis?

Tennis is fun.