Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Konomi Takeshi does. I'm merely playing with them for the moment.

Another Kind of Dream

It wasn't that Taka-san didn't have ambitions at all. This seemed to be a common misconception held by his friends, the idea that he just didn't believe in himself, didn't believe in his own potential to reach new heights. This was rather untrue – well, for the most part it was, anyway. He did admit it was quite clear he could never surpass some of his friends, could never shine the way Fujiko or Tezuka or Echizen could. However, he did have ambitions of his own. They just weren't focused on tennis.

It seemed so strange to some of them that he could truly want to concentrate on such an everyday profession, could himself want to take over the restaurant without being forced to. Their dreams and ambitions were so much higher, so much more glamorous. They aimed for the top of the world, for new opponents and thrilling battles. Those were such huge dreams, such clear ambitions, and they suited his friends so well.

He just wanted to be the best sushi chef he could be and keep Kawamura Sushi in business. It would take work, but he didn't think it was too much for him. He was somewhat upset that he had to give up tennis, but he simply did not have enough time for both. It was a matter of priorities, and he'd made his decision.

Honestly, he'd been surprised at how freely his father had let him make his own decision. Sure, he'd always thought of him as the next generation of the restaurant, but he'd also been very supportive of his tennis ambitions. Knowing his father, Taka-san was fairly sure there wouldn't have been too many protests had he chosen to pursue a tennis career instead.

He hadn't, though. He'd chosen sushi and his father's footsteps. One moment, he'd been the number one power player in the circuit – his own little moment of glory. The next, he'd chosen to let go, and he refused to let himself look back.

It wasn't that he didn't have ambitions or dreams or plans. It was simply that his plans fit in a much smaller space. He didn't need the courts of the world, didn't need the thrill and the pain and the triumphs involved, didn't need to force himself up to his feet again and again despite the bitter taste of blood and defeat. Not anymore, anyway. He'd fought his battles; now it was the time for others to pursue those battles without him. It was his friends' battlefield, not his.

He'd watch them, though, his friends, he'd watch them every step of the way as they climbed to the top of the world just as he knew they would, and he'd be the first one to congratulate them as they finally reached it. And whether they were defeated or triumphant, he'd still be there, he'd be there to comfort them in their disappointment or celebrate their victories in the simple way of his own dreams.