FIC: "Renji," Sanada x Yanagi, G, Part 1/2
Just got the urge to release this before the Yanagi/Inui match. Started off as gen exploration...then its hormones erupted, and it suffered growing pains. I need to know where this fic is going before it starts making sense.
How is this pairing abbreviated, btw? SanaYana?
Renji
"It's reasonable to believe," a long-haired Japanese boy was saying to his new friend, "that you can't be 'the best' at something if your own standards are all you rely on."
They were sitting side by side on a beach far from their home country. The stars here were bright, the climate warm.
The long-haired 12-year-old had stretched out his legs and was leaning back on his hands. His taller friend, who was the same age, was sitting up, resting his elbows on his knees.
The long-haired boy continued, "If your standards don't evolve, you don't evolve. You can't expect to be able to explore your full potential unless you set a goal for yourself, and adapt your skills in order to attain that goal. So, goals are important for mastery."
His bespectacled friend raised his head and replied, "But mastery in itself can be a goal, can't it? If you constantly focus on raising your own standards, you'll always be in a state of improvement."
"But how will you know when to stop raising them?" the long-haired boy with the half-shut eyes challenged. "How will you know if you've achieved mastery?"
The taller boy smiled knowingly at his companion.
"By beating someone who used to be better than you."
The long-haired boy inclined his head to one side.
"What if you find someone you can't win over, no matter how much you try to improve?"
And his friend snorted.
"Is there really such a person, Renji? Data tennis can win over anything."
The long-haired boy was silent for a while. Then he pronounced in a level voice, almost grimly: "There are some data that can't be collected..."
The taller boy shook his head. And then he looked at his friend again, smiling this time in a condescending manner.
"I think your problem, Renji, is that you're romantic. There's no data that can't be collected."
******************************
From as far back as anyone could remember, Yanagi Renji had displayed a certain arrogance. He kept to himself most of the time, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes shut, like the world bored him.
He had an exceptional memory, and a bent for abstract thinking that one grade school teacher had described as "terrifying." In the grade school he attended, he aced his quizzes and exams consistently, stayed at the top of his class, won one academic competition after another as the sole school representative.
While other ten-year-olds spent their free time with anime, manga and videogames, Renji stayed indoors and buried himself in books on war and ancient history. He seemed fascinated with Japanese and Chinese history, in particular, and devoured volume after volume of classical Chinese literature.
Adults dismissed it as a child's search for identity. His extended family happened to be multi-cultural, with most of them being of US nationality.
But as a sad result of his unique background and abilities, no other child could identify with his interests. No other child understood his need to accumulate information.
He had no social circle. No friends.
None of his teachers, or his peers, ever acknowledged his arrogance as having been brought about by loneliness.
On Renji's part, there were so many new things to learn; there was no time to feel sorry for himself.
******************************
He collected information as if it was his sole purpose for existing. If there was another child who attracted his interest for any reason, he made it a point to know more about them, approaching them only if his data was insufficient.
That was why in fourth grade, when he had just about scanned through all the Sengoku era non-fiction books in the school library, he approached Sanada Genichirou, to confirm the first interesting fact he gathered about this classmate he had long ignored:
"I heard that your father has a dojo?"
Genichirou raised his head from the textbook he was reading, and shot Renji a look that said "So...?"
"I'd like to see it sometime."
Genichirou shut the book hard and suddenly, making a loud sound.
"You can come home with me right now. My parents won't be there tonight. It's just me and my older brother."
Renji was a bit taken aback by how easy that turned out to be. His notes had said this Sanada Genichirou was quite unapproachable.
"...It's really all right?"
Genichirou tossed his book into his school bag, which he shouldered as he stood, completely nonchalant.
"Let's go," he just said, and walked out of the room. Renji followed.
******************************
Genichirou's parents were attending a social function. A ceremony of some sort. Renji would have wanted to know what kind of ceremony, but when he asked, Genichirou irritably shrugged.
Apparently, it was an important affair that he was too young to attend.
When Renji asked, Genichirou told him that his family had been swordsmasters for several generations. It wasn't a big deal for him to have a dojo, since most of his parents' friends also came from ancient families, who had their own martial arts traditions to keep. But he knew it was a big deal to "other kids."
Renji felt a little slighted here. He had never before been ranked among the nameless children, like the "other kids"...at least not to his face. And Genichirou didn't seem to like the "other kids" much...
Still, it was a trivial matter. He was the one who'd asked to be taken to this marvelous place, and he had to stay deferential.
The Sanada dojo was just a small building, with several small rooms. But in the eyes of a ten-year-old, it was something huge. Like a palace, or a museum. Renji took each step gingerly.
Genichirou's voice broke through his thoughts: "This is my father's sword. I can only use it when he's around."
Renji took the weapon from the other boy's hands and unsheathed it carefully, reverently, the way he imagined olden-day samurai would.
"Father says he's going to give that sword to me when I come of age." The boy spoke as if reciting something from a book...each word solid, steady, firmly imprinted on his mind.
"When do you come of age?" Renji asked.
"Thirteen, I think," Genichirou replied, brows knitting. "My brother's thirteen. Father says he should have gotten the sword by now."
Renji looked up into the other boy's eyes...at the cold, hard look in them that brought up mental images of fox demons and wind sprites.
"My brother doesn't deserve it. He doesn't understand the art."
Genichirou held out his hand, and Renji deposited the sword in it, thinking he should kneel.
"I'll show you how to use it sometime."
That sentence made Renji's heart skip a beat. He wasn't entirely sure how, but it did. He had never fancied himself as a swordsman...at the most, he imagined himself as a scholar, a war strategist.
Still, the promise -- or perhaps how it sounded coming from the other boy's lips -- struck him as something to look forward to.
"Do you... like learning martial arts?"
Genichirou snorted. "It's all right. I have to learn it. And it makes it easier for me to play tennis."
Renji fell still. This was something else that wasn't in his notes.
"Tennis? You play tennis?"
******************************
It became a fact soon afterwards that Renji's obscure, relatively unnoticed classmate Genichirou was an active participant in grade school level tennis tournaments all over the country.
He didn't like to flaunt his achievements, so no one in campus knew -- or if anybody knew, they didn't care. Nobody in grade school cared about tennis.
...And Renji realized, neither did he. That was how he was able to overlook the other boy's extracurricular achievements while gathering data.
That night, though, Renji was interested in it. He didn't really know why, because as far as he knew, he had just come to see the Sanadas' dojo. Not the solitary tennis court in the Sanadas' immense backyard.
It was just that anything Sanada Genichirou liked...managed to become interesting. Like something worth studying.
Renji didn't think he had ever met anyone who could turn his head like this...
"Just hold the racket and hit the ball." Genichirou demonstrated. Renji watched him closely and emulated. "Try to aim it so the ball doesn't go into the net, or out of those lines -- there."
He pointed to the court's boundary, tracing its path around his side of the court. Renji followed the path with his gaze, then nodded.
"The first hit is called the 'serve.' I have the ball, so I get to serve. Ready?"
Renji stood straight up, holding the racket in both hands. He had never played tennis before...but then he had never visited a real dojo before. He had reserved this night for new experiences.
Sanada Genichirou served without using much strength. He wanted the beginner on the other side of the court to hit the ball.
All the same, the beginner missed.
"It's all right," he assured the other boy. "You're still getting used to the racket. Try again."
Renji was able to hit the ball at the next strike, but it shot straight into the net. Renji stood watching the ball roll back toward him. "What happens if it hits the net?"
"If you're the one serving, it's called a 'fault,' you get to try one more time. If you're not the one serving, it counts as a loss."
"So the game count is 1-0?"
"No, 15-0, in my favor. And 'zero' in tennis is called 'love.' But we don't have to keep score."
The way he said it made it all seem so simple. It didn't really make sense to Renji, it was just The Way Things Were. Genichirou sounded so sure, so confident of his words.
"No. It's all right," Renji announced, crouching down in preparation for the next serve. "Let's keep score."
So they kept score. 15-0 turned to 30-0. And 30-0 turned to 40-0. Genichirou asked if he wanted to quit. Renji simply said no.
While he was being beaten mercilessly, Genichirou dispensed various bits of information. A match is made up of games. A game is made up of sets. If you hit the ball before it hits the ground, it's called a 'volley.' If you hit it so it makes an arc, it's called a 'lob.'
Renji's gears were turning; so this was tennis.
It was a strange sport, and not Asian in origin, but it was still enjoyable -- besides being the first real sport he had ever willingly tried to play.
He retained, processed, calculated...unaware that he had begun to think aloud.
Genichirou stopped playing and stood up straight. Alarmed, Renji did the same.
"What were you doing just now?" the other boy demanded, more curious then unfriendly.
"...What?"
"You were saying something to yourself."
"I was...calculating the odds."
"Of what?"
"Of where your shots were going."
Genichirou planted one hand on his hip, brought his racket up so its head rested on his shoulder. He tilted his head slightly, looking a puzzled sort of amused.
"That sounds a lot like data tennis."
Renji wondered what the other boy had to look so pleased about.
"Data tennis...?"
******************************
Genichirou put away their rackets and led Renji to his father's reading room, in which was stored -- among many other things -- stack upon stack of sports magazines. Those were something Renji's father's library didn't have.
"Look. Here." He pointed to a particular spread. "This is data tennis."
He handed the magazine to Renji. Renji stared at the spread, face expressionless.
Then he leaned against the wall and turned the page.
Genichirou looked back at the stacks, searching for other magazines he could show. After little more than a minute, Renji carefully shut the leaves.
"Done reading?" Genichirou reached for the magazine, and Renji handed it back.
"Is that all?" It was hard to tell emotion from the sound of his voice alone. "Is there anything else on data tennis?"
NOTES:
1. Subtitled: The Fic That Kicks Off With Erudition. I need to edit this baby, bad. But really, didn't everybody talk like this when they were 12??
2. Both Inui and Renji strike me as idealists of the romantic sort...Inui just less so, if only because he doesn't have something like the old-style bamboo parasol thing going on. Also, they're emotional on different levels, with Inui more compassionate and Renji more driven.
3. We've all seen and accepted that little Renji had long hair. But can you imagine little Genichirou not wearing that John Purcell baseball cap? Neither can I.
bbl.
How is this pairing abbreviated, btw? SanaYana?
Renji
"It's reasonable to believe," a long-haired Japanese boy was saying to his new friend, "that you can't be 'the best' at something if your own standards are all you rely on."
They were sitting side by side on a beach far from their home country. The stars here were bright, the climate warm.
The long-haired 12-year-old had stretched out his legs and was leaning back on his hands. His taller friend, who was the same age, was sitting up, resting his elbows on his knees.
The long-haired boy continued, "If your standards don't evolve, you don't evolve. You can't expect to be able to explore your full potential unless you set a goal for yourself, and adapt your skills in order to attain that goal. So, goals are important for mastery."
His bespectacled friend raised his head and replied, "But mastery in itself can be a goal, can't it? If you constantly focus on raising your own standards, you'll always be in a state of improvement."
"But how will you know when to stop raising them?" the long-haired boy with the half-shut eyes challenged. "How will you know if you've achieved mastery?"
The taller boy smiled knowingly at his companion.
"By beating someone who used to be better than you."
The long-haired boy inclined his head to one side.
"What if you find someone you can't win over, no matter how much you try to improve?"
And his friend snorted.
"Is there really such a person, Renji? Data tennis can win over anything."
The long-haired boy was silent for a while. Then he pronounced in a level voice, almost grimly: "There are some data that can't be collected..."
The taller boy shook his head. And then he looked at his friend again, smiling this time in a condescending manner.
"I think your problem, Renji, is that you're romantic. There's no data that can't be collected."
******************************
From as far back as anyone could remember, Yanagi Renji had displayed a certain arrogance. He kept to himself most of the time, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes shut, like the world bored him.
He had an exceptional memory, and a bent for abstract thinking that one grade school teacher had described as "terrifying." In the grade school he attended, he aced his quizzes and exams consistently, stayed at the top of his class, won one academic competition after another as the sole school representative.
While other ten-year-olds spent their free time with anime, manga and videogames, Renji stayed indoors and buried himself in books on war and ancient history. He seemed fascinated with Japanese and Chinese history, in particular, and devoured volume after volume of classical Chinese literature.
Adults dismissed it as a child's search for identity. His extended family happened to be multi-cultural, with most of them being of US nationality.
But as a sad result of his unique background and abilities, no other child could identify with his interests. No other child understood his need to accumulate information.
He had no social circle. No friends.
None of his teachers, or his peers, ever acknowledged his arrogance as having been brought about by loneliness.
On Renji's part, there were so many new things to learn; there was no time to feel sorry for himself.
******************************
He collected information as if it was his sole purpose for existing. If there was another child who attracted his interest for any reason, he made it a point to know more about them, approaching them only if his data was insufficient.
That was why in fourth grade, when he had just about scanned through all the Sengoku era non-fiction books in the school library, he approached Sanada Genichirou, to confirm the first interesting fact he gathered about this classmate he had long ignored:
"I heard that your father has a dojo?"
Genichirou raised his head from the textbook he was reading, and shot Renji a look that said "So...?"
"I'd like to see it sometime."
Genichirou shut the book hard and suddenly, making a loud sound.
"You can come home with me right now. My parents won't be there tonight. It's just me and my older brother."
Renji was a bit taken aback by how easy that turned out to be. His notes had said this Sanada Genichirou was quite unapproachable.
"...It's really all right?"
Genichirou tossed his book into his school bag, which he shouldered as he stood, completely nonchalant.
"Let's go," he just said, and walked out of the room. Renji followed.
******************************
Genichirou's parents were attending a social function. A ceremony of some sort. Renji would have wanted to know what kind of ceremony, but when he asked, Genichirou irritably shrugged.
Apparently, it was an important affair that he was too young to attend.
When Renji asked, Genichirou told him that his family had been swordsmasters for several generations. It wasn't a big deal for him to have a dojo, since most of his parents' friends also came from ancient families, who had their own martial arts traditions to keep. But he knew it was a big deal to "other kids."
Renji felt a little slighted here. He had never before been ranked among the nameless children, like the "other kids"...at least not to his face. And Genichirou didn't seem to like the "other kids" much...
Still, it was a trivial matter. He was the one who'd asked to be taken to this marvelous place, and he had to stay deferential.
The Sanada dojo was just a small building, with several small rooms. But in the eyes of a ten-year-old, it was something huge. Like a palace, or a museum. Renji took each step gingerly.
Genichirou's voice broke through his thoughts: "This is my father's sword. I can only use it when he's around."
Renji took the weapon from the other boy's hands and unsheathed it carefully, reverently, the way he imagined olden-day samurai would.
"Father says he's going to give that sword to me when I come of age." The boy spoke as if reciting something from a book...each word solid, steady, firmly imprinted on his mind.
"When do you come of age?" Renji asked.
"Thirteen, I think," Genichirou replied, brows knitting. "My brother's thirteen. Father says he should have gotten the sword by now."
Renji looked up into the other boy's eyes...at the cold, hard look in them that brought up mental images of fox demons and wind sprites.
"My brother doesn't deserve it. He doesn't understand the art."
Genichirou held out his hand, and Renji deposited the sword in it, thinking he should kneel.
"I'll show you how to use it sometime."
That sentence made Renji's heart skip a beat. He wasn't entirely sure how, but it did. He had never fancied himself as a swordsman...at the most, he imagined himself as a scholar, a war strategist.
Still, the promise -- or perhaps how it sounded coming from the other boy's lips -- struck him as something to look forward to.
"Do you... like learning martial arts?"
Genichirou snorted. "It's all right. I have to learn it. And it makes it easier for me to play tennis."
Renji fell still. This was something else that wasn't in his notes.
"Tennis? You play tennis?"
******************************
It became a fact soon afterwards that Renji's obscure, relatively unnoticed classmate Genichirou was an active participant in grade school level tennis tournaments all over the country.
He didn't like to flaunt his achievements, so no one in campus knew -- or if anybody knew, they didn't care. Nobody in grade school cared about tennis.
...And Renji realized, neither did he. That was how he was able to overlook the other boy's extracurricular achievements while gathering data.
That night, though, Renji was interested in it. He didn't really know why, because as far as he knew, he had just come to see the Sanadas' dojo. Not the solitary tennis court in the Sanadas' immense backyard.
It was just that anything Sanada Genichirou liked...managed to become interesting. Like something worth studying.
Renji didn't think he had ever met anyone who could turn his head like this...
"Just hold the racket and hit the ball." Genichirou demonstrated. Renji watched him closely and emulated. "Try to aim it so the ball doesn't go into the net, or out of those lines -- there."
He pointed to the court's boundary, tracing its path around his side of the court. Renji followed the path with his gaze, then nodded.
"The first hit is called the 'serve.' I have the ball, so I get to serve. Ready?"
Renji stood straight up, holding the racket in both hands. He had never played tennis before...but then he had never visited a real dojo before. He had reserved this night for new experiences.
Sanada Genichirou served without using much strength. He wanted the beginner on the other side of the court to hit the ball.
All the same, the beginner missed.
"It's all right," he assured the other boy. "You're still getting used to the racket. Try again."
Renji was able to hit the ball at the next strike, but it shot straight into the net. Renji stood watching the ball roll back toward him. "What happens if it hits the net?"
"If you're the one serving, it's called a 'fault,' you get to try one more time. If you're not the one serving, it counts as a loss."
"So the game count is 1-0?"
"No, 15-0, in my favor. And 'zero' in tennis is called 'love.' But we don't have to keep score."
The way he said it made it all seem so simple. It didn't really make sense to Renji, it was just The Way Things Were. Genichirou sounded so sure, so confident of his words.
"No. It's all right," Renji announced, crouching down in preparation for the next serve. "Let's keep score."
So they kept score. 15-0 turned to 30-0. And 30-0 turned to 40-0. Genichirou asked if he wanted to quit. Renji simply said no.
While he was being beaten mercilessly, Genichirou dispensed various bits of information. A match is made up of games. A game is made up of sets. If you hit the ball before it hits the ground, it's called a 'volley.' If you hit it so it makes an arc, it's called a 'lob.'
Renji's gears were turning; so this was tennis.
It was a strange sport, and not Asian in origin, but it was still enjoyable -- besides being the first real sport he had ever willingly tried to play.
He retained, processed, calculated...unaware that he had begun to think aloud.
Genichirou stopped playing and stood up straight. Alarmed, Renji did the same.
"What were you doing just now?" the other boy demanded, more curious then unfriendly.
"...What?"
"You were saying something to yourself."
"I was...calculating the odds."
"Of what?"
"Of where your shots were going."
Genichirou planted one hand on his hip, brought his racket up so its head rested on his shoulder. He tilted his head slightly, looking a puzzled sort of amused.
"That sounds a lot like data tennis."
Renji wondered what the other boy had to look so pleased about.
"Data tennis...?"
******************************
Genichirou put away their rackets and led Renji to his father's reading room, in which was stored -- among many other things -- stack upon stack of sports magazines. Those were something Renji's father's library didn't have.
"Look. Here." He pointed to a particular spread. "This is data tennis."
He handed the magazine to Renji. Renji stared at the spread, face expressionless.
Then he leaned against the wall and turned the page.
Genichirou looked back at the stacks, searching for other magazines he could show. After little more than a minute, Renji carefully shut the leaves.
"Done reading?" Genichirou reached for the magazine, and Renji handed it back.
"Is that all?" It was hard to tell emotion from the sound of his voice alone. "Is there anything else on data tennis?"
NOTES:
1. Subtitled: The Fic That Kicks Off With Erudition. I need to edit this baby, bad. But really, didn't everybody talk like this when they were 12??
2. Both Inui and Renji strike me as idealists of the romantic sort...Inui just less so, if only because he doesn't have something like the old-style bamboo parasol thing going on. Also, they're emotional on different levels, with Inui more compassionate and Renji more driven.
3. We've all seen and accepted that little Renji had long hair. But can you imagine little Genichirou not wearing that John Purcell baseball cap? Neither can I.
bbl.