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koshimaeSo this was the school known as The Strongest.
It's not his father's school. Ryoma remembers bickering with that geezer about it after relocating. Reading that article in Pro Tennis Monthly about the junior high circuit and then the announcement he was going to Seishun Gakuen.
"Hmmm?" Ryoma sounded dubiously.
"What? You got a problem with that?"
He held up the magazine. "If they're the best tennis school, why is only one of them strong enough to beat Rikkai?"
His father stared at the page as though he'd never seen a magazine with words inside, which was probably correct.
"According to this article, Rikkai Dai Fuzoku Chūgakkō has won the Kanto region every year since before I was born. Seishun Gakuen is barely mentioned. I want to know what makes that school better."
"Listen, boy, winning record isn't everything that makes a good school-- though it certainly is nice!" He took a moment to laugh at his own joke. "But Seigaku is where your growth will become a rocket."
"Then at Rikkai, it should become even more than a rocket."
"Give it up. We're not even in the right prefecture for that school."
Ryoma scowled. "After moving from another continent to attend Seigaku, that excuse somehow seems weak."
"He has a point, dear," his mother (bless her) chimed in with a polite level of amusement. "Well? How do you know he'll grow more at Seigaku? He sounds quite motivated to see this Rikkai school instead. Maybe we can arrange a visit."
It looks normal enough at first sight. The grounds are clean and orderly. Students calmly file in through the north gate in the cinderblock wall encircling the perimeter. Twin buildings flank the front walk, connected on each floor by a breezeway. Ryoma notices a building with a curved roof in front to the right and a sunken fenced area with street lamps around it to the left.
Huh. That's unusual. He wonders what's down there. From where he stands, he doesn't have an angle in. After a moment's pause, he quietly steers off from the crowd towards the structure, drawn by a force he wouldn't be able to articulate in words.
Once he realizes what it is, it brings the smallest smile to his face. The tennis courts. No wonder this was where his feet led him.
He doesn't approach. It's enough to have found them, and to spend half a minute getting lost in watching their morning practice. They don't waste time, do they? No wonder they have the reputation they do.
"Are you serious? This club is run like an army. Ryoma, you're gonna be miserable here."
"I'm not like you..."
He can handle strict and intense. Bring it on. He has a goal to reach.
School is uneventful. Introductions and orientations, cubby assignments and first lessons. When the final bell rings, Ryoma trades out his schoolbooks for his tennis bag and walks to the courts.
"Okay, okay!" A cheerful redhead calls out. "Registering first years over here. Get in a line." Guess that means him. Him and about forty others, from the looks of it. He doesn't notice he's the only new student with a tennis bag.
It's not his father's school. Ryoma remembers bickering with that geezer about it after relocating. Reading that article in Pro Tennis Monthly about the junior high circuit and then the announcement he was going to Seishun Gakuen.
"Hmmm?" Ryoma sounded dubiously.
"What? You got a problem with that?"
He held up the magazine. "If they're the best tennis school, why is only one of them strong enough to beat Rikkai?"
His father stared at the page as though he'd never seen a magazine with words inside, which was probably correct.
"According to this article, Rikkai Dai Fuzoku Chūgakkō has won the Kanto region every year since before I was born. Seishun Gakuen is barely mentioned. I want to know what makes that school better."
"Listen, boy, winning record isn't everything that makes a good school-- though it certainly is nice!" He took a moment to laugh at his own joke. "But Seigaku is where your growth will become a rocket."
"Then at Rikkai, it should become even more than a rocket."
"Give it up. We're not even in the right prefecture for that school."
Ryoma scowled. "After moving from another continent to attend Seigaku, that excuse somehow seems weak."
"He has a point, dear," his mother (bless her) chimed in with a polite level of amusement. "Well? How do you know he'll grow more at Seigaku? He sounds quite motivated to see this Rikkai school instead. Maybe we can arrange a visit."
It looks normal enough at first sight. The grounds are clean and orderly. Students calmly file in through the north gate in the cinderblock wall encircling the perimeter. Twin buildings flank the front walk, connected on each floor by a breezeway. Ryoma notices a building with a curved roof in front to the right and a sunken fenced area with street lamps around it to the left.
Huh. That's unusual. He wonders what's down there. From where he stands, he doesn't have an angle in. After a moment's pause, he quietly steers off from the crowd towards the structure, drawn by a force he wouldn't be able to articulate in words.
Once he realizes what it is, it brings the smallest smile to his face. The tennis courts. No wonder this was where his feet led him.
He doesn't approach. It's enough to have found them, and to spend half a minute getting lost in watching their morning practice. They don't waste time, do they? No wonder they have the reputation they do.
"Are you serious? This club is run like an army. Ryoma, you're gonna be miserable here."
"I'm not like you..."
He can handle strict and intense. Bring it on. He has a goal to reach.
School is uneventful. Introductions and orientations, cubby assignments and first lessons. When the final bell rings, Ryoma trades out his schoolbooks for his tennis bag and walks to the courts.
"Okay, okay!" A cheerful redhead calls out. "Registering first years over here. Get in a line." Guess that means him. Him and about forty others, from the looks of it. He doesn't notice he's the only new student with a tennis bag.
