The night grew colder, the wind rustling through the leaves with a soft shhh.
On the park rooftop, Yoru and Ralph leaned against the railing, the city lights stretching out below them.
After dinner, Yoru had noticed Ralph still had something to say, so he'd sent Ryoma home first.
"So you're really set on Japan, huh?" Ralph asked, his tone uncharacteristically serious.
"Yeah."
Yoru nodded.
Japan was where the story began. Even if the main plot was still a ways off, he wanted to scout the future key players early.
"Actually…" Ralph exhaled, his breath fogging in the chilly air. "The reason I came to see you tonight was to ask you to join the U.S. U-17 team with me."
Yoru raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.
In the original series, the U.S. team was the only one without much backstory—no past achievements, no legacy players.
By Ralph's generation, they'd become the core, carrying the team all the way to the Australian World Cup.
Ralph continued, "Because of their mediocre results, the U.S. Tennis Association is rebuilding the U-17 squad from scratch. They approached me to scout twenty players this year."
He turned to face Yoru fully. "They should've contacted you first, but since you're technically Chinese with residency in both Japan and the U.S., they asked me to sound you out."
A pause. Then, with rare intensity:
"Nan. At your level, no one in the U.S. your age can touch you. Join me. We'll rebuild the team together—I'll even let you take the captain spot. Then we'll dominate the French U-17 World Cup next year."
The French World Cup.
Yoru's mind flashed to the monsters of that tournament: Medanore, Volk, Camus, and the older generation of legends.
The idea was tempting.
He'd already considered which country's team he'd represent. Japan was out—but China, Germany, Switzerland, Spain, and the U.S. were all options.
"I can't give you an answer yet," Yoru finally said. "But by next year, before World Cup qualifiers, I'll have a decision."
If possible, he wanted to check out China's tennis scene first. He knew nothing about it in this world—whether it could be a viable launchpad for his ambitions.
Ralph grinned, clapping him on the back. "Then I'll spend the year gathering the best damn U.S. squad ever—and wait for you."
A beat. Then, teasing: "Don't go losing to some random in Japan, though. The only one allowed to beat you is me."
"You'd better not slack off either," Yoru shot back.
They bumped fists under the moonlight before parting ways, the rustling leaves the only witness.
---
### Next Morning: Airport
Ryoma stood silently as Nanjiroh and Yoru checked their luggage.
At the security line, Yoru paused, glancing at a support pillar—then scanned his ticket and walked through.
Only once the plane leveled out above the clouds did he speak.
"Old man. Ryoga was there earlier, wasn't he?"
Nanjiroh smirked, sipping his whiskey. "Why else would I leave Ryoma alone?"
"Fair."
If Nanjiroh had arranged it, Yoru could relax. The man was a clown 99% of the time—but the 1%? Deadly reliable.
"So," Nanjiroh drawled, flagging down a flight attendant. "Got a school in mind for Japan?"
"Sake, please~"
"Of course, sir." The attendant turned to Yoru. "And for you, young master?"
"Milk. Plain."
As she left, Yoru gazed out the window. "I assume you've already picked one."
"Seishun Academy. My alma mater." Nanjiroh's grin turned sharp. "They've got a national tournament. Think you can take 'em all the way?"
Yoru wasn't surprised. In the original story, Ryoma had been funneled there too.
"I'll try," he said mildly.
Nanjiroh's eyes gleamed. "It's a team competition, brat. Being strong alone won't cut it."
"..."
Yeah. That's the problem.
Right now, Seigaku was garbage.
The only notable player was Yamato Yuudai—who, in the original, hadn't even made the U-17 elite squad.
Tezuka and the others wouldn't enroll until next year.
Carrying this team to nationals?
Harder than taking a shit upside down without it landing on your face.
---
### Tokyo: Homecoming
Ten hours later, their plane touched down.
Four suitcases in tow, Yoru and Nanjiroh marched into the Echizen residence—
—where a girl in an apron was sweeping the courtyard.
"N-Nan? Uncle?!"
Nanako.
Yoru smiled. Way prettier than the anime.
At seventeen, her curves were dangerous, even hidden under that apron.
"You've gotten even handsomer~" she cooed, cheeks pink.
(Not that Yoru noticed. At 13, he was already 170cm—taller than her—with looks sharp enough to cut glass.)
"Nanako, you feeling hot?" Nanjiroh waggled his eyebrows.
"N-No!"
Before she could combust, Yoru changed the subject. "Where's Mom?"
"In the kitchen! She's been cooking all morning for you two!"
Inside, Rinko Echizen nearly dropped her ladle.
"MY BABY!"
She doted on Yoru. More than Ryoma, honestly.
(What can I say? Between the stoic prodigy and the bratty shrimp, the choice was obvious.)
"I'm staying in Japan for school now," Yoru said, letting her fuss over him. "You'll see me every day."
Rinko teared up—then instantly switched to scolding mode, jabbing a finger at Nanjiroh.
"YOU! Take the bags upstairs!"
"Yes, ma'am..."
And so, with chaos and curry in the air, Yoru's new life in Japan began.
---