RAINDROPS

A Prince of Tennis Fanfic

By: weirdcoffeeholic

Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis. (How I wish I did.)

Author's Note: This is my very first attempt at writing a Prince of Tennis story – no, scratch that – a fanfic. Reviewers please go easy on me. I'm just a newbie. I hope you guys like it. :)

Story Summary: He was a man worthy of lifetime imprisonment — a rebel on the loose, with his future along with his past ruthlessly taken from him. He was nobody left with nothing, until he comes across a woman who would undoubtedly make everything right again. [Ryo x Saku Completely AU and everyone is totally OC.

EPILOGUE

To Each Their Own Lives

Her eyes were burning, her fingers stiff, and her head heavy. She hadn't had a wink of sleep since the past week and she felt like she was on the verge of throwing up on her laptop screen. The sight of it made her sick, especially when she was running on caffeine and a couple of breadsticks that she had almost half a day ago.

But, what the heck, she needed this promotion like how a normal person would need air to breathe. The rent was due in two weeks, the bills were starting to pile up, the car needed tuning up again, and her credit cards were maxed out —

Stop it, a tired voice ringed in her throbbing head. She ran a shaky hand through her long, brown hair. Just concentrate. This is due tomorrow. Just two more paragraphs to go and you can get that sleep and that damn promotion you need…

She took in air in a vain attempt to fill her head with more words to type and stared at the seemingly derisive cursor blinking on her word processor screen, but to no effect. It was writer's block, and it had caught her at such a bad time that she was blinking back tears of frustration.

That's good, just cry it out. It takes out the sleepiness, she told herself. But the tears didn't come.

Out of habit, her eyes darted towards her bedside table, to the digital clock blinking green against the darkness of the room. Her heart sank a little more. 3:58HRS. Just a couple more hours and she'd be off to work.

Scratch that sleep, then, she thought, completely annoyed. She hasn't been taking note of the time, too busy with one article after another.

She let out a soft, defeated sigh and began rereading her work.


HEIR, MISSING WITHOUT A TRACE

By: Sakuno Ryuuzaki

Nanjirou Echizen (age 57), CEO of a world-renowned tennis company based in Japan, has recently ordered an all-out, world-wide search for his son, Ryoma Echizen (age 24), who was reported missing one month prior.

The young heir was confirmed to be last seen at the Echizen's Reunion Party in Tokyo, Japan before mysteriously disappearing after the said occasion. No witnesses have come up, although his black Civic Sedan was seen along the bank of a nearby creek about 10 miles away from the 101 freeway. LAPD has taken in the vehicle for a complete and thorough investigation.

"I and this whole family will not rest until we find or find out what has happened to our only heir," Mr. Echizen stated during a press conference held in Osaka yesterday. "We don't care how much or how long it takes," he added.

The last person the "Prince" was said to be with was his close cousin Nanako Meino (age 32), who has been staying with his family for the past years...


Sakuno bit the eraser of her pencil, a habit she couldn't quite get over ever since second grade. Damn, I need his picture. She was beyond irritated. He's the heir to a world-famous company for God's sake, and people like him like to be the center of attention. What kind of rich and famous, young guy would avoid a camera? she added as an afterthought while mentally cursing the Internet for not having any source on whoever this guy was.

I'll just have to ask Tomoka to look up any picture of him, Sakuno thought hopelessly, typing rapidly on her worn-out keyboard. The sound of her fingers hitting the keys hit a nerve and a vein started twitching on her forehead. Her brown eyes suddenly lit up with newfound determination.

Fine, she thought. Whatever this is, I have to finish this, or else I have to kiss the Editor-in-Chief spot goodbye.


"Give me your purse, now."

The woman was trembling, frightened. He could sense it even in the blinding darkness of the early morning. Soft cries spilled out from her lips as he drove the sharp edge of a rusty pocket knife closer to her neck. The cold rain stung their faces as they stood, unseen, in a closed, abandoned alleyway.

"There's no use in calling for help," he whispered dangerously in a deep, low voice, taking a few steps nearer his victim. "I don't want to hurt you. But if you don't comply with me, things aren't going to get pretty."

She suppressed another sob. "P-Please," she begged; her voice was cracking. "This is the o-only money I have. M-my son's in the hospital—"

"I don't give a damn," the man cut her off, clearly exasperated. He took another step closer so that his face hovered mere centimeters from hers. He smirked, but she wouldn't have seen that. "Do you want to see your son again?" he asked her.

She started crying again, clutching her purse as if it was life-support. In this case, it was. "Y-yes, please—"

"Then give me your purse so I can let you go in peace." He grabbed the small, leather bag and tried to pry it from her fingers, careful not to let the knife slip away from the hollow of her neck. But she wouldn't budge.

"P-please—"

"Shit," he cursed as he heard the quiet, incoming siren of police on patrol duty. His senses heightened, so did his adrenalin.

I don't have any choice, his thought was stark-blank, blinded by his sudden urge to flee. I need this more than she does.

He gave one last look on the terrified woman against the brick wall before landing a right hook on her jaw, instantly knocking her out. He watched with nonchalant eyes as her unconscious body slumped towards the ground, her purse flying out of her grip and into a small puddle. He grabbed it without hesitation.

She's not dead, he was trying to convince himself. He suddenly felt like he was the victim now. It happened every time he did this.

Slipping the knife carefully into his pocket, he sprinted back into the unlit street. His face and hands felt numb. His mind was on the brink of panic, trying to block out the graveness of what he had just done.

The siren got louder as his legs beneath him pumped faster, the soles of his sneakers hitting the wet pavement painfully. His lungs felt like they were breathing in water.

He rounded a corner and disappeared out of sight.


Author's Note: So there. That was kind of short. But I put a lot of effort into it so I hope you guys like it. Coming up: Chapter One – Trapped.