Youthful Days (Book 1)

17. Father & Son

The man picked a sheltered spot under a cherry blossom tree after buying two cans of grape Ponta. Files of players continued to arrive and they watched throngs of people pass by in silence. Cracking open the top of the first can, the man took a gulp of soda and released a long, satisfying sigh.

"Ah! Nothing beats a Ponta on a hot day like this. Tastes just like youth!" Taking another swig, he kicked off his wooden sandals and leaned back, seemingly getting ready for a siesta.

Ayuna examined him quizzically, rolling the bottle of untouched green tea in her lap. "Mister, I thought you're here for a tennis tournament?"

"It's not time yet."

"What are you waiting for?"

"Well, I'm going to let you in on a secret," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper as if to deliver the world's most important message. "I'm here to see my son's match."

"I see..."

"But he doesn't know I'm here. And he can't know I'm here, either."

"Why not?"

"Because he thinks I don't care."

Stunned, Ayuna asked, "Isn't that bad?"

"Of course not! It's good," he said emphatically. "That brat needs to tough it out on his own. The only way he can improve in tennis is to get his butt kicked in the real world." Narrowing his eyes, he continued, "But he'd better not lose today. He'd better drive his opponent into the ground..."

"But isn't sports about learning through victories and failures instead of crushing each other?"

"Today's a special day." The man muttered something else unintelligible under his breath before taking a vengeful gulp of Ponta. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he eyed Ayuna with blatant curiosity. "By the way, what's a young girl like you doing at the boys' tennis tournament? Are you a tennis player?"

Ayuna shook her head.

He smirked. "I see. Then you must be cheering on some boy you like, right?"

Ayuna balked at this. She wanted to say that she was merely accompanying a friend. Though as she leafed through the events of this morning, she wondered if there was another reason for her continued stay.

Receiving no answer, he pressed, "Which school are you from?"

"I'm from Seishun Academy."

"What a coincidence!" The man clapped his hands together. "Could it be that you're here to cheer for the brat?!"

"Are you referring to your son?"

"That's right. Looks like the midget's getting popular..."

She took a closer look at the man's stubbled chin, unruly hair and the unmistakable razor-sharp eyes. Meeting his gaze, she smiled knowingly, "I get it—you're Ryoma's 'old man'. You're here to see his game against Yamabuki, isn't that right?"

Echizen Nanjiro was amazed. It was the first time somebody identified him formally as Ryoma's father instead of "Samurai Nanjiro". Since relocating to Japan, he lived in constant fear of being recognized and badgered. There was nothing more he hated than being a celebrity. It was his primary reason for shaving his head and renouncing himself as the perverted, yukata-wearing recluse. He didn't like being labeled by his career and getting interrogated about why he quit tennis right before earning the Grand Slam title.

His life consisted of a handful of purposes and a few people that mattered. Outside this circle of zen, everything else was meaningless. After gaining this insight, being questioned for his life choices became the most troublesome aspect of living.