Entry tags:

fanfic series: prince cafe, fanfic: tenipuri

The Prince Cafe - Chapter 01
Title: The Prince Cafe

Chapter: 01

Fandom: Tenipuri

Pairings: Mentions of the Golden Pair. If you squint really hard and look sideways, you can probably make out TezukaxFuji.

Disclaimer: Original series belong to Konomi-sensei. I take absolutely zero claim for this.

Idea for this story was inspired by the newest set of clear cards with "The Prince Cafe" theme.

Author's Note: Yes, I am recovering from my hike through the rain and the cold medicine is doing wonders for my creativity. Also? Feedback makes me write faster.

===

Chapter 01 – Opening Day

“Irrashaimase!” Oishi bowed to the first customer that stepped into Seigaku tennis club’s café. He was still sore from the earlier practice match, but plastered on a welcoming smile nonetheless, as any good receptionist would. Silently he cursed Tezuka for agreeing to Ryuzaki sensei’s harebrained plan.

Last evening he had insisted that Tezuka over come his taciturn personality and explain just what he’d been thinking to allow the Seigaku Regulars be subjected to this new form of torturous embarrassment. After much harassing, Tezuka finally revealed Ryuzaki sensei’s logic in a terse explanation, which extrapolated to something about building character and working on self-adjustment. While Oishi still had his reservations, there was little he could argue when Tezuka pointed out that Eiji would benefit from working independently of his doubles partner in a position that required him to be responsible.

Which led to his current predicament as the receptionist-cum-cashier in a café run by junior high teenagers. Still smiling with fake warmth, he seated their first customer at a small table on Echizen’s side of the room. Somehow, he didn’t think allowing their first customer to be served by Fuji was a great idea.

“Our waiter will be with you shortly,” he announced before leaving their customer to turn to the rather large crowd waiting outside the café’s door.

Sometime between yesterday afternoon and this morning, news had spread through Seishun Gakuen that the tennis club Regulars were opening a café serving the public. When the Regulars arrived for work/training that afternoon, they found the entrance flooded with squealing fan girls, who attempted to mob them as soon as they showed their faces. Unanimously, the team had fled for the back door for safety, led by their stoic buchou – who had enough sense of self-preservation to give up his stoic demeanor in the name of survival.

With great consternation, Oishi trod leadenly to the entrance to seat their next customer.

Meanwhile, Echizen had arrived at the table of their seated customer, armed with pen and notepad, to take her order. As usual, his face was the epitome of apathy, as whenever he is forced to participate in activities that are not tennis. Pen poised, he yawned, “May I take your order?”

“Ah, Ryoma-sama! I came to wish you good luck on opening day! Ganbatte!” their customer screeched.

Echizen blinked blankly at the squealing girl before him. He was sure she looked familiar, but his brain was having a hard time remembering now that he was off the courts. So instead of responding, he repeated his question again, hoping to finish as quickly as possible as he picked up on the startling speed at which the tables were filling up with waiting customers.

“What would you suggest, Ryoma-sama? I’m sure you’ll have the best suggestions!” The girl nodded fervently, making her pigtails bob.

“Uh, the carrot cake is quite good,” Echizen offered mindlessly, selecting the first entry on the menu.

“Then carrot cake it is!” the customer enthused.

“Would that be all?”

“Hai!”

Scribbling down the order and table number, he ripped the page out and quickly crossed to the back of the room to place the paper in the order slot. On his way, he met Fuji who was walking back with his first order with a scowl on his normally smiling face. Echizen felt a jolt of sympathy for whomever Fuji was serving. Nodding in acknowledgement, they passed, both silently agreeing that it was going to be a long three hours before the café closed.

*


In the kitchen, the order slips were floating left and right, since Kikumaru, in a fit of acrobatic coordination, managed to knock over the stack balanced on the ledge of the small order window.

“Agh! Which order came first again?” Kikumaru despaired loudly as he grabbed as many order slips as he could.

“Eiji-kun, calm down,” his co-chef placated, while busily sorting through his own pile of orders. “Let’s just start with what we have and worry about the others later.”

“Hoi!” Kikumaru agreed, suddenly chirpy now that he had a “strategy” to deal with the chaos. Grabbing the nearest form, which happened to be his Omelet Special, he began to gather the ingredients. Jumping over the freshmen trio that were bent over a tub peeling potatoes, he arrived at the shiny metallic refrigerator. Quickly he gathered eggs, ham, peas, and, after a double check of his order form, hot sauce. It didn’t even occur to the red-headed chef to question the tacked on “customize: extra hot sauce” when the top of the slip clearly stated “Waiter: Fuji Syuusuke.”

At the bar, Inui watched the room with an analytical eye as he mixed his drink orders. Fuji had been groped by 13 female customers – a whopping 100% groppage, while Echizen managed to keep his mauling to a mere 38%. That was, unless you counted repeat offenders, which would then increase Echizen’s inappropriate bodily contact to 55%. The average rotation of customers at the tables was clocked at 13 minutes; 34 minutes if one excluded the non-Seigaku customers. Momoshiro had dropped 4 plates and 13 pieces of silverware in the last hour. Kaidoh faired far better and only managed to drop 2 forks and no plates. He did, however, knock over Fuji while he was carrying back an order for miso soup at table 16.

“Ne, Tezuka,” Inui queried their buchou who was currently leaning against the side of the bar, keeping one eye on his team members and the other eye on Inui’s multi-colored concoctions. “Was this the result Ryuzaki sensei had hoped for in this special training?”

Before Tezuka could answer, a faint yell of “I’m burning!” traveled from the kitchen. Distracted, Inui wondered aloud, “Who gave Taka-san his racquet?”

Without a word, the stoic buchou marched into the kitchen, braving two puddles of melted chocolate and a stack of flour. Upon arrival, he saw Kawamura flailing about with his shirt aflame while Kikumaru attempted to put out the fire with the first liquid substance his hand contacted. Before Tezuka could yell a word of warning that the bottle had oil, Kikumaru had already poured its contents on the burning chef.

The results were rather immediate.

With a great holler, Kawamura collapsed into a tub of dishwater, saving him from the fiery death. Kikumaru, in his shock, stumbled over the freshman trio and in his contortions at attempting to remain upright, knocked over a three pans and a pot of noodles. The upended noodles landed on Horio’s head.

“Kikumaru! Clean up the kitchen and get to your orders,” Tezuka boomed into the formerly spacious kitchen. The errant chef looked up guiltily and answered meekly, “Hai.”

After checking on Kawamura, affirming that his chef’s shirt received the brunt of the damage and receiving verbal assurance that yes, Tezuka, he’s fine and uninjured, Tezuka headed back to the front room, wondering what other disasters occurred in his absence. With mental preparation for the worst scenario, he was, therefore, unsurprised when a flustered Oishi ran up to him, announcing that one of their customers was demanding to speak to the manager.

*


Fuji, in an uncharacteristic display of anger, glared openly at his customer, who was giving as good as she got. The two were so thoroughly engaged in a battle of wills that neither saw Tezuka’s approach and were, therefore, startled at the clearing of throat.

“Is there a problem, ma’am?” Tezuka asked politely albeit not without injecting some of his steeling annoyance into the question.

To the customer’s credit, instead of cowering in fear at Tezuka’s intimidating presence, she simply nodded. “Hai,” she gritted through clenched teeth, “this waiter mistook my order.” She pointed at the slop in her plate to emphasize the point without taking her eyes from the offending waiter. “He is clearly trying to poison me.”

Fuji stared back.

“Fuji,” Tezuka called for the wayward waiter’s attention. “Please correct the order and bring our customer the right dish this time.” A silent threat of or else it’s 20 laps around the court hanged between the buchou and tensai. Recognizing defeat, Fuji finally pasted a smile on his face and affirmed, “Hai.”

Grabbing the plate, Fuji executed a sharp about-turn and marched off to the kitchens. His knuckles turned white from the force of his grip. As he approached the order window, he sensed Tezuka’s presence behind him and asked, “Was there something else you wished to tell me, Tezuka?”

“Fuji, remember that they are the customers.”

“I know.” The plate clinked loudly against the window counter.

“Then act appropriately.”

Fuji remained silent and gritted his teeth. As though sensing his irritation, Tezuka continued, “This is why Ryuzaki sensei assigned you as a waiter. You need to learn to perform as expected even if your heart isn’t in it.” To further make his case, Tezuka added, “So does Echizen.”

“Hai,” Fuji sighed, his anger momentarily abated, and waited for Tezuka to go reprimand the other members. He needn’t have waited long.

A loud crash was heard near the kitchen doors. Followed by the distinct quarrelsome voices of the two second year Regulars.

“Baka! Watch where you’re going.”

“Me? Why don’t you use your eyes, Mamushi?”

“Fsssssh.”

The quiet swish announced Tezuka’s departure, no doubt to give the two busboys a stern reprimand and likely 20 laps each for tomorrow’s early practice. Fuji smiled in sadistic satisfaction.