"Prince of Tennis" Tsuka Fuji TF fan
Fuji knew that he had lost nothing.
The meager chill of late autumn and the exposed and mottled branches and leaves have disappeared even in the repeated annual rings, but they have always been their own.
However, I occasionally linger at Mizuno's specialty counter, even though Prince's racket is easier to use; occasionally I want to drink eel tea, although the taste is not something I admire.
Everything seemed so natural, as if it had been this way from the beginning, even though everyone knew it wasn't.
I have never thought about tracing back to the origin of all this, there is nothing to recall, right? Just boring stuff.
Unconsciously, I stood in front of the Mizuno counter again.
Intention: