"Huff, Huff, Huff, Huff. This is not what I signed up for." The first thing heard was the tired groans of Kiseki, followed by an annoyed complaint. For the past hour, he has been circling the school's track field along with the other tryout participants. An endless hell loop was all that it was for someone like Kiseki, aka an unathletic kid who had never played a sport in his life. Sweat slowly dripped down his face as his body slowly began to halt. Falling to his knees, he uncontrollably gasped for air. His breathing patterns altered wildly, his vision began to blur, and a strange sensation emerged from his stomach. "I'm gonna hurl." Kiseki managed to squeeze out while frantically breathing.
Kiseki lay there on the ground after only jogging for two simple laps. He was passed continually by his fellow participants. Even as he belittled him, Kiseki felt like nothing more than trash polluting the runway. Suddenly, a tap was felt on the top of the boy's head. Knock, knock, knock. " Hello? Anyone home? You seem kind of winded, Kiseki; maybe that American blood isn't beneficial after all." Eiji pounded on his head as if it were a door; he sadistically mocked Kiseki for resting on the ground. "We'll, I've got to get going. Since I'm actually qualified to make the team, y'know. Cya mutt, " Eiji laughed as he ran off, leaving Kiseki ashamed on his knees.
"Goddamn bastard." Kiseki muttered after a distance had been established between himself and Eiji. His teeth grinded together in pure rage; there was nothing more that he wanted than to beat that bastard. It was something that he desired, maybe even more than the girl of his dreams. Kiseki rose to his feet, struggling with every inch that he raised himself. A lump of steam released from his lungs as he let out a deep sigh. "Come on! If I want to make this team, I'll need to... PUSH MYSELF!! " Kiseki yelled out, disturbing the examinees, causing them to look at him as if he were some kind of weirdo. But that didn't affect him in the slightest; he slammed his fist against his legs. WORK! WORK! WORK! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! This was the first time that he required his body to push itself. Push past the expectations set for it. Push past the overwhelming fatigue it faced. Push past its LIMITS! Kiseki, a boy hated by the world, pushed on to achieve something greater. The muscles in his legs tightened, his arms swung in the air, and his eyes were set on the road ahead of him. With speed and ferocity, he sprinted down the track, chasing his desires. Something that he had never done before until this very moment.
Divided by the gate of a tennis court, a man observed the triumph of Kiseki. He could only grin, as he could only imagine the vast determination of the boy. The man gripped the tip of his cap. Mr. Lawrence really loved an underdog story.
"Finally, it's over." Kiseki groaned, collapsing at the side of the track alongside other participants, huffing and puffing. Clap! Clap! Two claps rang out throughout the surrounding area. The once-exhausted players quickly perked up with a sudden surge of energy. Their eyes all locked in on a figure emerging from the nearby tennis court. " Congratulations. It seems like all of you fellas have some grit. But if you want to make the West Shinjuku High Tennis Team, you'll need more than stamina. You'll need skill, talent, strength, speed, and most importantly, potential." Mister, or now Coach Lawrence's tone changed to a more serious one. "I refuse to support players with no future ahead of them. No matter how good you are, if you stagnate, even for a second, you're done. Got it? Good. Start your warm-ups. Now! Goddamn runts! " With a snap of his fingers, the participants rose to their feet as they all raced to the tennis court. Their bodies were charged with inspiration to make this infamous. Determinatives would not fail. Behind the bunch was Kiseki. "Even getting back up was a struggle; how the hell am I going to do something like warming up? Even if it is simple?!" He began to rant away, complaining about the predicament that he had found himself in.
That was before a hand reached out to him, just as it did on the fateful day. Coach Lawrence pulled Kiseki onto his feet as the coach gave him a sympathetic look. "You look like shit, runt," Coach Lawrence greeted his fellow 'American' with a rather typical insult. " Thanks? I guess. "He scratched his head at the odd way that the man chose to greet him. "Listen, runt. If you're serious about becoming a member of our tennis team, Then you'll need flair, talent, and the ability to compete against the best. Without that, I'm afraid to say you'll never make this team. You understand, runt??" Coach Lawrence asked. "OSSUUU!!!" Kiseki screamed out at the top of his lungs, agreeing that he would forge enough talent to compete on the team.
"It's over." A tear dropped down Kiseki's face after his recent discovery of his tennis abilities. A few seconds after his first attempt at hitting the ball, it was safe to say that he was horrible. "Wait! That was only my first try. Even the greats had to fail on their first try." Kiseki tried to play off his failure as nothing more than an error; he had to do better on his second try. He tossed a tennis ball into the air, the starting form of a basic serve. He grasped his racket with all of his strength, then swung his arm uncontrollably. This ballistic swing would obviously result in a miss and the disappointment of Kiseki. Three, four, five, six, and even seven attempts had passed before he even managed to knick the ball. A crowd began to form around him, and within a few minutes, the entire court was filled with laughter.
A mixed bastard and a shitty tennis player—what a person he turned out to be. "Man, these guys are annoying." He had dealt with large groups of people poking fun at him many times before, but this was a new level. But before Kiseki could continue to embarrass himself, the participants were alerted by a familiar sound. Clap! Clap! "Listen up! Everyone! Coach Lawrence has directed me to give you this notice. Today, you all will be competing in a one-on-one battle with another person attempting to try out. This will judge your abilities as a tennis player. It's possible for the losing player to not make the team, or the opposite. It's likely that neither player will make it. Only the best of the best can make the West Shinjuku High Tennis Team," a young man said with a gentle voice. He was clearly a third-year student, and his name came to the attention of Kiseki. Countless participants gossiped about a 'Tajima Kōmatsu' though his role in this team was unknown to Kiseki.
"Now for the first matchup on Court A: Eiji Shimizu versus... Kiseki Yamazaki."