Ayumi woke up ten minutes before her alarm, stared at the ceiling, and immediately sensed a disturbance in the universe.
"Either I've achieved maturity," she murmured, "or the timeline has split."
She threw off her blanket, got tangled in it, and fell sideways off the bed. From the floor, she declared to no one, "Today is the day we glitch the tennis matrix."
Neutral Court, Biased Atmosphere
The tournament venue was a glossy, too-shiny sort of place—like a corporate gym with ambition. Overhead lights buzzed faintly, and everything smelled like fresh polish and barely-contained pressure.
The crowd leaned heavily Hana-Ryota, all polite applause and sleek banners with ominously well-designed fonts. Someone even wore a shirt that said Symmetry Always Wins.
Kenji stood near their bench in full warm-up gear, earbuds in, quietly stretching. His expression: unreadable. His energy: coiled spring.
Ayumi arrived dressed like a motivational speech delivered by a tornado—layers of bright warmers, shoes slightly unmatched, and three energy drinks stuffed in her racquet bag.
"Today," she said, collapsing next to him, "I am running entirely on sugar, spite, and unearned confidence."
Kenji took out one earbud. "How many?"
"Three. But one was matcha-flavored so I'm counting it as emotional support."
He gave her a long look. "Try not to vibrate through the court."
Warmups and Warnings
Ryota was already gliding through drills like a human highlight reel. Every serve looked rehearsed. Every step, staged. Like a movie character with a better soundtrack.
Hana did small, efficient stretches near the net, earbuds in, eyes flicking across the court like a chess player spotting weaknesses.
Ayumi tried to copy her stretch, then immediately lost balance and used Kenji's arm as a crutch. "They're like clockwork," she muttered.
Kenji handed her a resistance band. "Clockwork breaks."
She glanced at him. "Is that a threat or a pep talk?"
"Hopefully both."
Coach Itou gathered them briefly. A few nods, a small strategy reminder, a stoic hand on each of their shoulders. Ayumi felt herself buzzing—not from caffeine, but from something else. Something closer to belief.
The Net Line: Civil Tension
They met at the net.
Ryota offered his handshake with the confidence of someone who had never known chaos. "Let's keep it clean," he said, voice smooth like a knife in a silk case.
Ayumi shook it with an overly enthusiastic grip. "Define 'clean.'"
Hana nodded once at Kenji. "Good luck."
Kenji returned the nod, steady as ever. "Same to you."
They turned away. Ryota muttered something low to Hana. Ayumi caught it. Something about "energy over strategy." She stuck her tongue out when they weren't looking.
Positions
They stood across from each other now. Opposite ends of the same court, but not the same story.
Ryota bounced the ball with perfect rhythm.
Kenji adjusted his wristband. Exhaled slowly. Focused.
Ayumi twirled her racquet once, eyes wide and electric. This was it.
"Hey," she whispered over her shoulder.
Kenji looked up.
She smiled. "Let's ruin their narrative."
He almost—almost—smiled back.
The whistle blew. The ball rose.
And the match began.