Sunday mornings were Sakuno's favorite time of the week. While many disliked waking up early on the single day of rest they got, Ryuzaki Sakuno was different. She'd bound out of bed on Sundays with an eager smile to face the world. Though a cheerful girl by nature and a morning person as well, the main reason Sakuno looked forward to Sundays was because on those mornings, she received coveted one on one time with Echizen Ryoma, tennis prodigy.
Why he coached her was muddled and unclear, something about 'payback of long due favors' or some such having to do with her obachan and Ryoma's father. Sakuno didn't really understand as neither bothered to explain it to her, but it didn't matter. She would receive personal tennis lessons from Ryoma, and that was good enough for her.
With a smile, she braided her hair with extra care, smoothed down her pleated skirt, and went downstairs to grab a quick breakfast before their meet.
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Ryoma didn't understand why he had to pay for his father's sins, but here he was anyways, getting ready to coach the clumsy, navigationally challenged girl once more. His stupid old man told him he couldn't get out of these Sunday obligations until Sakuno's tennis got better. Just when he was about to argue, Nanjiroh promised
'If you can improve her tennis, I'll play you a serious game.'
It would be just like that no good father of his to coerce him like that. Ryoma was no fool and could see the lure for what it was, but the promise of a serious game was too good to pass up. Granted, he'd have to perform a miracle to transform the coach's granddaughter, but since when did he run away from a challenge?
And it wasn't like he held anything against her anyway. She was an eager student, and though a tad on the klutzy side, he supposed she was alright. Maybe her hair was too long and her hips too wobbly, but he could have been stuck with worse.
The cat-eyed boy yawned as he sat down to tug on his sneakers. With a glance at the clock, he strolled out the door. He normally didn't care if he was prompt or tardy, but last time he had kept her waiting. His senpai-tachi had somehow found out and scolded him about it. Ryoma quickened his pace just a notch. If it would stop the nagging, then the slight effort would be worth it.
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She was late.
He tapped his foot in impatience. He had jogged the last few blocks to get here on time, and the dratted girl was late. Ryoma frowned in displeasure. Five minutes, he told himself. He was only going to wait five minutes, and if she wasn't here by then, too bad.
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Sakuno bit her lip as she wandered through the park. Distracted by a talkative passenger, she had taken the wrong stop off the bus, and had to enter the park through the far entrance.
Now she was lost. Reddish brown eyes scanned the area, searching for a cap-adorned boy. There wasn't another person in sight.
"Mou," Sakuno muttered, looking everywhere. Why did this park have to have so many trees?
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It was ten minutes now.
Ryoma's face deadpanned. He stuck his hands in his pockets, the epitome of grumpy male.
Five more minutes he told himself. He'd only wait five more minutes.
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Sakuno's face brightened when she rounded the path and saw him. With a trot, she came forward.
"Gomen, Ryoma-kun, I was—"
"Twenty laps," he interrupted without so much as a blink of an eye. He had waited twenty minutes for the chit, and he was going to punish her accordingly. One lap for every minute she kept him waiting. That would teach her to waste his time.
"Eh?"
Twenty laps? Twenty laps were how much the regulars were required to run everyday. But Sakuno was not a regular. Moreover, half of the boy's tennis team still had difficulty completing that many laps, especially the first years. Sakuno could understand that this was Ryoma's way of punishing her, but twenty was out and out sadistic.
Her mouth parted in dismay. She knew he had valid cause to be stern with her, but he was being a total ogre ordering twenty laps.
"B-but that's too much, Ryoma-kun…"
"You're slacking off, Ryuzaki. Now, hit it." Ryoma emphasized his demand by jerking his thumb in a no-nonsense gesture. If he was going to be bothered out of bed every Sunday morning to teach the girl, she had better exercise the valiance of punctuality.
Besides, running laps improved one's stamina, conditioned the muscles, and made one more aware of body movement. One had to coordinate one's limbs to run smoothly.
Boy, did she need help in that department – coordination. Why the girl sucked so bad at it boggled him. She was fine against the wall (when she wasn't smacking him upside the head with an errant tennis ball, Ryoma was still a little bitter about that), but when he was feeding her balls across the net, she was absolutely appalling. Her form, which was commendable, crumbled to pieces on the court. Her hips would wobble, her swing would be too stiff, and she'd trip all over the place.
Running would help. And the faster she'd improve in tennis, the sooner he'd have his Sundays all to himself again. Ryoma smiled at the pleasant thought.
In the meanwhile, he'd make the most out of his weekly suffering by nursing a cool can of Ponta. Drinking the cola while supervising the girl was always the highlight of their practice sessions for him. Ryoma was already fingering the coins tucked away in his pockets when she clasped her hands together in a pretty plea.
"Can I do ten instead?" Her smile was blinding.
Ryoma stood there for a second, just staring at her. What was he, a bargain basement? This wasn't negotiable. She had to be kidding.
Another second passed. She wasn't.
Ryoma tried to remain unfazed. His stoic façade remained in place, but his stance gave in. Damnit, this was unfair. Buchou would've issued 30 laps to any peon who dared to disagree. But no, this was Wobbly Hips. And damn him, but she was really cute. Especially when she begged like that.
He turned his head away so she wouldn't see how much the wretched words cost him. "Fine. 10 laps then." He couldn't believe he actually relented.
You're too lenient on the girl, his mind reprimanded his conscience.
Shut up.
But it wasn't over. She was begging again, requesting meekly in that soft voice of hers.
"Um… W-would you run with me?" Her eyes were downcast, the tips of her index fingers tapping together in a display of nervous energy. "I-it's a little embarrassing by myself so…"
Ryoma's expression deadpanned. It was a good thing she wasn't looking. Great. Now she wanted him to run laps too. With an inaudible sigh, Ryoma took off, carelessly tossing his reply over his shoulder.
"Can't be helped. C'mon." With his luck, she'd get lost again. At least this way he could keep an eye on her. Ryoma frowned in mild irritation. The Ponta would have to wait, he supposed.
The patter of footsteps caught up with him even though he had a head start. Not that catching up was difficult; Ryoma's pace was moderate and easy. He only raced through a twenty-lap marathon when the threat of Inui juice was on the line.
Hmm, maybe threatening Wobbly Hips with Inui juice would improve her tennis…
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Sakuno beamed to herself, reveling in the moment. Although his face was set in a stern expression, he was being nice, running with her like this. It warmed her heart knowing that he did it for her. Sakuno's eyes closed for a moment as she smiled, soft and content.
Ryoma-kun, I'm glad I get to do this with you.
Running along side him, the caress of the sun's rays on her skin, the refreshing cool breeze in her hair, buoyed up by pleasant thoughts of spending time with the boy she admired, Sakuno didn't see the uneven segment of concrete that jutted out and snagged her toe.
"Uwaaah!!!"
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It happened so quickly. One second, she was running beside him, the next, she was swan diving chin first into the sidewalk. The rush of air that followed her descending passage blew up the back of her skirt. It was only a brief glimpse, but it was enough.
Pink.
Wobbly Hip's panties were pink. A light blush blossomed over Ryoma's cheeks as his hormones reacted to the unexpected peepshow.
Pink.
Ryoma's body switched to autopilot as his brain became filled with unwholesome images.
Pink.
He ran harder, trying to get away from the uncharacteristic thoughts.
Pink.
His strides lengthened, covering more ground.
Pink.[i/i]
The scenery flashed by on either side of him, unseen, unappreciated.
Pink.
With his head down and his eyes clenched tight, all the boy could see was images of Sakuno's pink, pink panties.
Pink.
They were the pale carnation color too. A little swatch of material that covered her—
Pink.
That covered her—
Pink.
Her—
Pink, pink— BAM!
Ryoma collided into a street post. The thin, metallic sign vibrated from the harsh velocity of the impact, but was otherwise fine. Unfortunately, Ryoma could not claim the same.
Sitting on the cold, hard concrete, covering his abused face, one thought ran through his mind.
Damnit! Was clumsiness contagious?
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