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“You should start dating someone soon.”
Ryoma immediately looked up from his Ponta.
“No.”
His manager pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You didn't even think about it.”
“Didn't need to.”
“I could set you up with a cute girl.”
“Not interested.”
His manager let out a long sigh.
“Ryoma, tennis isn't everything in life.”
“Karupin is part of my life.”
“Karupin is a cat.”
“He still counts.”
“A cat does not count.”
“Tezuka-buchou says he does.”
Ryoma took another sip of his Ponta.
“He even brings Karupin gifts sometimes. Fish that he hand caught himself, Karupin likes those.”
His manager stared.
“I don't think that's relevant.”
“It is to Karupin.”
His manager resisted the urge to bang his head against the table.
“Well, when you get a girlfriend—”
Ryoma's eye twitched.
“I'm not getting a girlfriend.”
His manager gave him the same look one might give a stubborn child insisting vegetables were poisonous.
“You say that now.”
Before Ryoma could escape, his manager pulled out his phone.
“What about her? She's an actress.”
“No.”
Swipe.
“Olympic swimmer. Five gold medals.”
“No.”
Swipe.
“Your old middle school classmate?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“She has a girlfriend.”
His manager blinked.
“Oh.”
Swipe.
“What about another tennis player?”
“No.”
“Then what exactly is your type?”
Ryoma exhaled slowly, already regretting answering.
“Tall.”
“Okay.”
“Wears glasses.”
“Reasonable.”
“Responsible.”
“Good.”
“Former captain of their middle school tennis club.”
His manager paused briefly before continuing to type.
“Anything else?”
“Plays for Germany.”
The typing stopped.
“Germany?”
“Yes.”
“That seems oddly specific.”
Ryoma shrugged.
“Likes fishing.”
His manager's eyes narrowed.
“Anything else?”
“Mountain climbing.”
The manager slowly lowered his phone.
“You've thought about this a lot.”
“Not really.”
“So which woman from Germany caught your eye?”
Ryoma stared at him for several seconds.
Several very long seconds.
Then he stood up.
“Where are you going?”
Ryoma picked up his Ponta.
“To practice.”
“Ryoma, I asked a question.”
The tennis player walked toward the door without looking back.
“Mada mada dane.”
The door shut behind him.
His manager stared after him.
Then he looked down at the list on his phone.
Tall.
Glasses.
German.
Former middle school captain.
Responsible.
Fishing.
Mountain climbing.
A horrible realization almost surfaced before immediately slipping away.
“...There can't possibly be a woman that specific.”
Ryoma had agreed to meet Kikumaru-senpai at a restaurant near the station.
For once in his life, Ryoma arrived first.
He had barely finished half of his Ponta when a familiar voice echoed across the restaurant.
“Ochibiii!”
A second later Kikumaru appeared and promptly wrapped himself around Ryoma from behind.
“Kikumaru Senpai.”
Kikumaru grinned and slid into the seat across from him, placing an envelope on the table.
“Me and Shuuichirou are getting married! You have to come!”
Ryoma picked up the invitation and glanced through it.
“Okay.”
It wasn't the most enthusiastic response, but Kikumaru knew him well enough by now.
“Aww, Ochibi's happy for us!”
Ryoma looked away.
“Yeah.”
Kikumaru's grin somehow widened.
Then he leaned forward conspiratorially.
“You should bring a girl. Maybe Sakuno-chan!”
Ryoma immediately shook his head.
“She and Tomo are dating.”
“Oh.”
Kikumaru paused for all of two seconds.
“Then we'll find you another girlfriend!”
Ryoma frowned.
“Why?”
“Because you're single.”
“No I'm not.”
Kikumaru blinked.
“You aren't?”
“No.”
“You have a girlfriend?”
Ryoma took a sip of his Ponta.
“Not exactly.”
The answer only confused Kikumaru further.
“How long have you been dating?”
“Just a little over a year.”
Kikumaru nearly fell out of his chair.
“ ONE YEAR?!”
Several people turned to stare.
Ryoma pretended not to notice.
“Something like that.”
“Ochibi! You've been hiding a relationship for one year?!”
“I wasn't hiding it.”
Kikumaru stared.
“Then why don't I know about it?”
Ryoma looked genuinely puzzled by the question.
“You never asked.”
Kikumaru opened and closed his mouth several times before shoving the RSVP card across the table.
“Fine! Whatever! Write their name down.”
He pointed dramatically at the blank line.
Guest: Echizen Ryoma
Plus One: __________
Ryoma pulled a pen from his bag.
Without hesitation, he wrote:
TEZUKA KUNIMITSU
Then he slid the card back.
Kikumaru glanced down.
Then glanced down again.
Then a third time.
“Ochibi.”
“Hm?”
“You wrote Tezuka.”
“Yeah.”
Kikumaru nodded slowly.
“Tezuka gets his own invitation.”
Another sip of Ponta.
“Okay.”
“...So who's your plus one?”
Ryoma stared at him.
Kikumaru stared back.
The silence stretched.
And stretched.
And stretched.
Slowly, very slowly, Kikumaru's eyes widened.
“Ochibi.”
“Hm?”
“Are you dating Tezuka?”
Ryoma looked genuinely confused.
“That's what I said.”
Kikumaru let out a strangled noise loud enough to make half the restaurant turn and stare.
Another post-match interview.
Ryoma had long since mastered the art of surviving them.
Usually the questions were about tennis.
Unfortunately, today was not one of those days.
A reporter near the front raised her hand.
“Echizen-san, do you think you'll get married someday?”
“Eventually.”
The answer immediately caused several reporters to perk up.
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
“Maybe.”
“What kind of woman is your type?”
Ryoma frowned slightly.
The questions were coming too fast.
“Would you follow in your father's footsteps and retire early to raise children?”
“No.”
“Then what would your future wife think about your travel schedule?”
Ryoma took a sip of water before answering.
“It wouldn't be a problem.”
Several pens immediately started scribbling.
“Oh?”
“We both travel a lot.”
The reporters exchanged excited looks.
“So she understands the demands of a professional tennis career?”
“Yeah.”
“What's she like?”
Ryoma looked genuinely confused.
“Not a woman.”
The room fell silent.
A dozen reporters stared at him.
Ryoma stared back.
"..."
"..."
One reporter nervously cleared his throat.
“Could you elaborate?”
“No.”
More silence.
“Is this person also a professional athlete ?”
“Yes.”
“Are they on the tour?”
“Yes.”
“Do they travel internationally?”
“Yes.”
The reporters became increasingly excited.
“Are they someone the public would know?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell us their name?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Ryoma shrugged.
“You didn't ask for it before.”
The moderator immediately announced the end of the interview.
As security ushered him away, Ryoma could still hear reporters shouting questions.
“Echizen-san!”
“Is it another tennis player?”
“Are you engaged?”
“Is it someone from Japan?”
“Is it someone from America?”
Ryoma pulled his cap lower over his eyes.
Honestly, he didn't understand what all the fuss was about.
“Have you ever celebrated an anniversary?”
“Last month.”
The interviewer smiled.
“With whom?”
“Tezuka-buchou.”
“Ah, I see.” The interviewer nodded knowingly. “You've been friends for over ten years, after all.”
Ryoma frowned.
“No.”
The interviewer blinked.
“No?”
“It was our anniversary.”
A brief silence settled over the room.
“Your... anniversary?”
“Yeah.”
Ryoma took a sip from his water bottle.
“We couldn't celebrate on the actual day because of a tournament.”
Several reporters suddenly looked up from their notes.
“So how did you celebrate?”
“We played tennis.”
The reporters visibly relaxed.
“Ah, a friendly match?”
“I guess.”
Ryoma adjusted his cap.
“We went back to the underpass where we first played tennis together and where I fell in love with him.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Pens stopped moving.
One reporter nearly dropped his notebook.
The interviewer stared at him.
“You... what?”
Ryoma looked mildly confused.
“The underpass.”
“No, the other part.”
“The tennis?”
“The part before that.”
“Oh.”
Ryoma shrugged.
“I said I fell in love with him.”
The room somehow became even quieter.
“...Tezuka-buchou?”
“Yeah.”
“Tezuka Kunimitsu?”
“There's only one Tezuka-buchou.”
The moderator immediately announced the end of the interview.
As reporters erupted into questions, Ryoma stood up and picked up his racket bag.
Honestly, he wasn't sure why everyone was making such a big deal out of it.
Ryoma was unsure whether coming back to his childhood home was comforting or exhausting.
He suspected it was both.
Dinner had barely started before Nanjirou leaned back dramatically.
“I’d like grandchildren someday.”
Ryoma didn’t even look up from his food.
“Ask Tezuka-buchou. He’d probably take them fishing with their Great-grandpa.”
Nanjirou waved a hand like that was a perfectly normal response.
“Of course, after you find a nice girl—”
Ryoma paused mid-bite.
Slowly looked up.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“I’ve been dating Tezuka-buchou for a year.”
Nanjirou nodded.
“Yes, yes. Very nice.”
Ryoma continued, tone flat.
“And I’ve been in love with him for years before that.”
“Mm-hm.”
A beat.
Nanjirou reached for the sauce.
“Anyway—”
“Dad.”
“What now?”
Ryoma stared at him for a moment.
No frustration. No disbelief.
Just tired acceptance.
“I’m not marrying a girl.”
Nanjirou finally looked at him properly.
“…Right.”
Pause.
Then, as if nothing had changed at all:
“So when do you think you’ll settle down?”
Ryoma set his fork down slowly.
“…You didn’t hear a single word I just said.”
Nanjirou laughed.
“That’s not true.”
Ryoma waited.
Nanjirou added:
“I heard ‘settle down and I don’t care if it’s a girl as long as you’re happy.”
Rinko chimed in “we’ve kinda suspected since middle school.”
Silence.
Ryoma exhaled through his nose and picked his fork back up.
“…Mada mada dane
A reporter, of course, had managed to corner them after the tournament.
“So is it true? You and Tezuka are truly dating?”
Tezuka didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
Simple. Direct. Final.
The reporter blinked, clearly thrown off by the lack of drama.
“Then—how does it feel to be defeated by the one you love?”
Ryoma exhaled through his nose like the question itself was unnecessary.
He shifted slightly closer to Tezuka, slouching in a way that was almost comfortable rather than defensive.
“It’s just a tennis competition at the end of the day.”
A pause.
Then, more matter-of-fact:
“I’ll beat him next time.”
The reporter frowned, expecting something more emotional.
“And if your relationship is affected by losses?”
Ryoma glanced up, genuinely confused by the premise.
“Then it wouldn’t work anyway.”
Tezuka looked at him briefly at that, calm as ever, not correcting him—just acknowledging it.
Ryoma took a sip from his Ponta, as if that settled the matter.
“Besides,” he added, “he wins sometimes too.”
A beat.
“And I don’t lose that often. Nobody (barely anyone) beats me at tennis.”
Tezuka’s mouth twitched slightly—almost a smile.
The reporter quickly realized there was nothing dramatic to extract here.
Just two people who had already decided what they were, long before anyone asked.