Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is not mine, no matter how much I wish otherwise...

Summary: People often wondered what kind of school Akaya Kirihara attended when he was beaten to a pulp and worried what excuse to give his vice-captain.

This piece was actually inspired by a scene in the movie: Prince of Tennis Eikokushiki Teikyuu Shiro Kessen! The movie was highly over-the-top but an enjoyable addition to the franchise. And honestly, it was so much better that the first.

N.B./ Some japanese terms into the mix:

fukubuchou - vice-captain

buchou - captain

mada mada da na - you still have lots more to learn

His body arched in the air as the older boy with dreadlocks threw his clenched fist into his victim's abdomen. With a decisive thud, Akaya Kirihara fell and skated upon the gravel that lined the dusty and unpaved road. His bright yellow uniform was no longer its luminescent colour but whatever was left of the ripped mess of tatters was smudged with mud, grass and blood stains.

His red tennis racket was strewn into the nearby bushes and quickly scavenged by another high schooler with bandages wrapped all around his right arm. Akaya made a valiant effort to raise himself from the humiliating position he was in but all he could manage was to spit the dirt that washed his mouth. And did people really have to wonder why he was such a violent person?

This was terrible, Akaya thought as he watched the bandaged jerk approach him, cracking his knuckles with a sickening look of anticipation. His clothes were ruined! And this was the second pair of sweats Sanada-fukubuchou had ordered for him. Fuck it all. What was he going to tell him? That those two idiots beat him for money to buy their usual filth? Please, he scoffed mentally, like Sanada-fukubuchou would believe that.

The bandaged boy called out to his accomplice with the dreadlocks, "Dreads!" Great, contemplated Akaya as he shifted his shoulder – was it supposed to bend like that? - to keep an eye on his red tennis racket. His attacker just had to have a name like 'Dreads'. He could just imagine the skeptical look on Sanada-fukubuchou's face in his defense.

"Oh," Sanada-fukubuchou starts dangerously in that sarcastic hilt in his voice, "So you were attacked by a boy with dreadlocks named, 'Dreads'?" Akaya can see the exchange of disbelieving looks between Yukimura-buchou and Sanada-fukubuchou. "Cut the shit, Kirihara! Two hundred laps! Now!"

His groan escaped him unknowingly and his bandaged assailant smirked thinking that he was the cause of the curly-haired boy's pain. He called again, "Dreads! We're not done yet, are we? Got to teach seaweed head here a lesson on respect and money."

Sneering back at him, Dreads answered back as he flipped his sharpened weapon out of his pocket, "Of course, Dai." Goddammit, thought Akaya. Couldn't he catch a bloody break? He shakily moved his hand in front of his face and wiped the dripping blood that blinded his view. When did that get there? But more importantly, what were those monsters going to do with that penknife and his racket?

Then it came to him in a vision so clear that pitiful whimpers dripped from him with no abandon. The two older boys snickered in sickened happiness never realizing that Akaya never even had them in his sight.

"Oh," Sanada-fukubuchou starts dangerously in that sarcastic hilt in his voice, "So you were mugged on your way home from practice and your 'attackers' pulled out a penknife and sliced your tennis racket strings." Akaya can see his fingers shaking. Or maybe his eyes were blurring. Sanada-fukubuchou waves his tennis racket suspiciously like a katana, "Wasn't that racket a present from Yukimura-buchou on your initiation as a regular on the Rikkaidai Tennis Team?"

Akaya can see his bloodless lips whisper a slow and painful 'yes'. He can see the twitch from above his vice-captain's eyes and his heart beat starts to fade into the background. Sanada-fukubuchou takes a deep, calming breath that fails and reprimands him in the loudest of tones, "So why didn't you throw yourself in front of that racket and protect those strings with that useless body of yours?" Words fail him as the fear has choked him. "Cut the shit, Kirihara! Four hundred laps! Now!"

No, he mentally screamed, not the racket! Not the racket that Yukimura-buchou gave him! With all his reserves of energy, he dug his knees into the hard ground below him and propped himself up. "No," he mumbled. "No. No! NO!" His voice grew louder and louder before a steel-tipped boot kicked him in his ribs and he collapsed once more to the ground without another sound.

Dai laughed roughly and largely, "It's just a little blade. Dreads just gonna carve some flesh from your body." Oh, thought Akaya dizzily and somewhat in relief. He sighed mentally. His racket was safe. He was safe. Thank God. Dai stroked the penknife in Dreads' hand, "I'm gonna make you a little lighter, you cheeky punk." He froze. No.

The images shuffled into his sight blinding him again. Or was that more blood? Where the hell was all that blood coming from? But moving on, his unsteady breathing destabilized more and his limbs started to convolute in panic. He could just hear his admonishment.

"Oh," Sanada-fukubuchou starts dangerously in that sarcastic hilt in his voice, "you lost weight because two older boys decided to cut away your flesh from your body?" Akaya can picture the scrounging of Sanada-fukubuchou's eyebrows as he turns deadly eyes to him. "Didn't Yukimura-buchou give implicit instructions to gain more weight over the vacation to counteract your height growth?" Akaya can see himself freeze under his scrutiny. With a fatal glint in his eyes, he can see his vice-captain shout, "Cut the shit, Kirihara! One thousand laps! Now!"

No, Akaya cried silently. Why was this happening to him? What was he going to do? Sanada-fukubuchou was going to kill him. But wait a minute; Sanada-fukubuchou wouldn't find out if there were no evidence. Evil laughter echoed in the recesses of his mind. And no evidence meant that Sanada-fukubuchou couldn't find out about his clothes, or his racket, or his cut flesh. And that meant… no attackers could be found. It was perfect. He was a genius. All he had to do was to get rid of Bandages and Dreads. Simple. Perfect.

Dai and Dreads surrounded their fallen prey and watched as the boy began to shake. Sweet pain, Dai thought, was that much sweeter when he brought it to others. This wimpy middle schooler didn't stand a chance against them. Never had from the first place. It was so simple, hiding in the bushes and tackling him to the ground. He had to admit, the brat did put up a fight but Dreads snuck up behind and lashed his seaweed head with that broken branch. It was unfair but who cared? But the brat didn't have any money, just that stupid racket. He smirked. He wondered how the brat would like getting beaten by his own racket.

Dai was startled out of his thoughts as the boy began to convolute. A deep, almost maniacal laugh was freed from the brat and he turned his neck to face them. Dai shuffled back with a jolt and Dreads dropped the penknife. The brat was a fucking freak! He watched as the boy's hair turned white and the blood fill his eyes. Holy mother of God! The freak bared his teeth at them and distorted his body to sit up from his broken place.

The giggles were accompanied by the sounds of his nails digging into the ground and the crack of his joints that sounded uneasily and unnatural. With a swift movement, almost unseen by the eye, the racket was snatched from his hand and the freak smirked horribly. He looked like a demon. No, he looked worse, like a devil. Shuffling his feet forward, the brat picked up the fallen penknife and laughed louder. "Evidence number one," he announced and dropped it to his feet.

Dai watched in unmoving horror as the middle schooler grabbed a handful of stones from the ground with his bruised arm. With a sharp flick of his wrist, the first stone was launched precisely at the blade and chipped the metal. Successive shots kept hitting the knife until its broken handle was left in the dirt. The high schoolers couldn't move. It was frightening.

With unblinking eyes, the devil turned to them and said emotionlessly, "Evidence numbers two and three. You need to disappear." The boy's eyes widened and Dai could only hear the faints mumbles of, "Sanada-fukubuchou… death… laps…"

Need to disappear, Dreads repeated in his head. No fucking way, he screamed in his head and turned to run. That fucking freak was going to kill him and he wasn't going to die because of that asshole Dai. No fucking way.

Akaya bent his neck to the side and watched the one with dreadlocks run away. "That won't do," he smiled widely and used the last stone to fell the boy in a powerful knuckle serve. The dying scream accompanied by the lovely halt of his prey caused him to sigh in comfort. Two down and one more piece to go, he thought happily.

He turned to Bandages who stumbled back just as quickly and tripped backwards falling on his backside. His lips were bloodied from the way his teeth had gnawed into them during the transformation of the middle schooler. What the fuck was he? Akaya felt the world tilt and his reddened vision began to haze more. There was thud and then nothingness.

Bandages watched with relief as the boy finally fainted from blood loss from the open head wound the branch had caused. Finally, Dreads had done something good. Dai grinned. Such good luck. He wondered what he should do with the boy. He knew his face and that never went well with the police, now did it?

Before he could crawl over to the fallen boy, a stray blur of yellow shuddered past the air and crushed the bones in his right hand. He screamed in pain and watched through watery eyes as a short figure in the distance stood idly while drinking a can of purple Ponta. Who the hell was he?

He saw the tennis racket and paused. Another one? Were they teammates or something? Shit, now the tables were turned and it was two against him. But, wait just a goddamn second. He could take out that short piece of shit and then deal with the freak.

Another tennis ball slammed through the air before him and twisted upright to soundly hit him in the face. He cried out as his eye took the blunt of the hit. The figure was closer now and so fucking relaxed. "Ne," came the drawl, "Do you know who you just beat up?"

He growled out something undecipherable and spat out blood. Fucking brat!

The capped boy smirked under the lid of his hat, "I feel a bit regretful for you. But sorry…" He lobbed the ball directly into his stomach and Dai didn't feel anything but the sweet oblivion as the pain overthrew his body. He only heard the last words before the world blacked out before him, "Mada mada da ne."

Akaya woke up in a panic. Oh shit, he thought, there was still one more piece of evidence. He struggled to raise his battered body from the white bed and looked down to see tubes and wires attached to his arm. What the hell? Where was he? He had visited Yukimura-buchou enough to recognize the hospital room and sighed impatiently. This was going to take forever.

He sat back and contemplated his mental list of things-to-do. First, he had to get checked out and he needed to heal quickly so that Sanada-fukubuchou didn't see anything wrong with his performance. That was going to be a bitch, especially with his shoulder at the moment. Secondly, he had to find that jackass and shut him up. He couldn't have Sanada-fukubuchou finding out about this mess. Goddamn it, he moaned, why him? Why couldn't they have taken Bunta-sempai? That would have been funny. Or why not Sanada-fukubuchou? That would have been hilarious. Those gorillas would have been killed. He laughed joyously and missed the entrance of his captain and vice-captain.

Akaya was broken away from his drug-induced laughter by the stern yet simple passing remark from Sanada-fukubuchou. "Glad to see you're so happy, Kirihara-kun."

His laugh stuck in his throat and he turned his head in slow motion. Before him stood his deceptively gentle-looking captain and black-capped vice-captain in their bright yellow uniforms worn in pristine condition. His eyes bulged and he cried out in shock as he realized a huge flaw in his plan. What about his uniform?

With a huge whimper of pain, he bent on his knees on the mattress and started bowing low. He was just going to accept his punishment. It was all too much. "Sorry, buchou. Sorry, fukubuchou. Uniform… attackers… stick… stones… rips… dreadlocks…" His explanations came in mumbles as apologies flew from his mouth like water.

Sanada-fukubuchou raised his hand to his head and rubbed it as he shook his head. "Akaya, enough." Akaya stopped. Oh crap, Sanada-fukubuchou just used his first name. He was a dead, dead man. He left himself bent when his muscles stopped listening to him. "What are you doing now? Lie down properly."

He chuckled shakily, "Love to, Sanada-fukubuchou but I can't move."

He heard the laugh from Yukimura-buchou and cringed as Sanada-fukubuchou exhaled sharply. Slim fingers pulled him up and lay him down properly on the bed. He watched in awaiting anticipation for the next blow but Yukimura-buchou smoothed his fringe over his head and he felt the heavy weight of bandages around his skull.

Shit, he thought panicky, they knew. Fucking bandages. He pushed back into his pillows and avoided Sanada's eyes who exhaled heavily again. Was this the final blow? But he still didn't defeat the Big Three yet. Was this how he would go? He made up his mind. He would abandon his pride and self-respect if only to get the chance to defeat them.

Without a further ounce of shame, he stated quite clearly, "Yukimura-buchou, Sanada-fukubuchou. A bear that tore my clothes to threads attacked me. I managed to fend him off but he knocked me unconscious. I'm sorry. Have mercy on me." He lowered his head and smiled. That should do it. Sanada-fukubuchou couldn't expect him to win against a bear.

He heard Yukimura-buchou whisper to Sanada-fukubuchou, "I think he's still high on the morphine."

But he didn't actually comprehend it for more images sprouted before his eyes. This was Sanada-fukubuchou. Of course, he would expect him to win against a bear. That was small fry to the vice-captain. Oh shit, think Kirihara, think.

Raising his head once more, "Sorry, it wasn't a bear but a highly trained American military man."

Sanada-fukubuchou met his eyes. "A highly trained American military man saw it fit to attack a young and harmless Japanese school boy?" That sounded fine, thought Akaya as he smiled and nodded once. He was safe. Phew.

He saw Yukimura-buchou twitch and look at Sanada-fukubuchou who stood frighteningly still. A faint laugh escaped his captain who clapped his hand to his mouth and turned away from him. Did he believe him? Was he shaking with anger at the American who beat him to shit? Perfect, he smirked.

Sanada-fukubuchou took off his cap and walked over to his bed. He held up three fingers in front of his face and asked seriously, "How many fingers am I holding up, Akaya?"

He answered correctly and saw his captain excuse himself from the room. The door shut silently and he heard sharp and almost hysterical laughter from the hallway. He wondered what the nurses were laughing about?

Sanada-fukubuchou rested his large hand on his undamaged shoulder and said seriously, "We know what really happened Akaya."

Fuck, he exhaled. Wing it, Kirihara, just wing it. "What are you talking about, fukubuchou?"

Sanada-fukubuchou stated quite clearly, "Two high schoolers: Daisuke and Darren cornered and beat you this afternoon after practice for money."

Goddammit. Breathe. Just wing it. "Huh?" came the safe reply.

Sanada-fukubuchou continued as though he hadn't spoken, "Echizen was buying drinks for his team when he found you when you fainted from blood loss and called an ambulance and his Tezuka-buchou for instructions." Blood drained from his face. That damn Echizen! "Tezuka called to inform us of the situation. And then Echizen told us exactly what happened out there."

He was going to kill that damn shorty. He had no right. Why couldn't he have just left him to bleed on the ground? He was so apathetic about everything and he just had to choose today to start caring about people. Fucking unreliable enemy.

Akaya gave up, "Fine. Punish me then."

Sanada-fukubuchou looked puzzled, "Punish you?"

Akaya shrugged and then whimpered. "How many laps, fukubuchou?"

"Laps?"

Akaya looked at his vice-captain who looked like he forgot this part and thanked his lucky stars. "Never mind, Sanada-fukubuchou. Never mind." He cackled madly in his head. No laps, he danced in his mind. No laps. Woo-hoo!

Sanada looked at his kouhai and shook his head. He would never understand Akaya Kirihara. Instead, he brushed the boy's hair back like Yukimura and tucked the boy in his bed properly. But he did make everything more interesting, didn't he? He stood to leave the room with a last parting remark, "Yukimura has a replacement uniform already ordered for your safe return. I shall see you tomorrow, Kirihara-kun. Rest well."

Akaya was already dancing his way to sleep as the huge weight on his shoulders was immediately lifted and thrown away. Little did he know that his captain had taken the burden and was going to use it wisely.

Sometimes, when he attended some of Rikkaidai matches, Ryoma Echizen found himself hearing the stray whispers from the Kanagawa prefecture's residents.

"Did you hear about that poor boy with the curly hair? And how those boys mugged him on his way home?"

"That's old news. Did you see the condition of those boys?"

"Forget that! I think someone should check the boy's mental health."

"Aren't you a nurse at the local hospital?"

"Kirihara-kun was our patient but he had such nightmares about his vice-captain."

"His vice-captain? Not his attackers?"

"That boy with the black cap? I wouldn't blame him that much. If only he would smile…"

"What kind of school does Kirihara-kun attend when his own vice-captain terrifies him more than two muggers?"

"Poor Kirihara-kun!"

And on and on it went. Ryoma usually passed through the outskirts of the crowds and sipped his Ponta, smirking all the way. Unlike these outsiders, he knew that Kirihara had all the right in the world to fear his vice-captain more than those two jokers. After all, they weren't there when he pointed Sanada to the direction of the unconscious boys.

Sanada almost growled, "Behind the trees, huh? Cowards!" Ryoma didn't correct him. There was no need. What Sanada didn't know was his father's failed attempts of making him a wilderness boy in America. The two boys were bound and gagged with tough, rubber cable that was discarded on the side of the road along with some remaining strips of the Rikkaidai tennis uniform.

Time stopped for Ryoma as he stood in the shade and watched the infamous Sanada-fukubuchou work his magic. Awakening the unconscious, crushing their consciousness again and again in a beautiful circle of never-ending violence using the old racket and ball technique. Well, that's what you get when you pick up a racket with unworthy hands.

"Mada mada da ne."

Few weeks later, a newly recovered Kirihara stepped onto the court and asked innocently, "Say Sanada-fukubuchou. Echizen told me that you beat up those two boys for me the other day. Thank-"

Sanada-fukubuchou cut him off and turned around as the harsh blush crossed his face. Yukimura-buchou laughed like those nurses in the hospital but all he could hear was the inevitable "Cut the shit, Kirihara! Forty laps! Now!"

A.N. First attempt at the PoT fandom. Just watched the entire anime, read the entire manga and I'm still in shock over how long it took me to find this jewel. Hope you guys liked it.