The alley outside the tournament hall was blinding with camera flashes. Reporters swarmed the exit, shoving mics toward Ren as he stumbled out with Shizuka at his side.
"Substitute Messiah! How did you predict Minase's traps?"
"Was it luck, or do you have a special ability?"
"Shizuka, how do you feel about partnering with a benchwarmer?"
Ren's mouth opened, but no words came. The crowd pressed closer, lights stabbing his eyes.
Shizuka brushed past them with icy calm. "He answers on court," she said flatly.
The noise faltered for a moment, then surged again, louder.
Ren's chest pounded. They're not laughing this time... They're watching. All of them are watching.
By the time he escaped back to the academy, his head throbbed with the memory of flashing lights and shouting voices. Daigo stood waiting by the gate, arms crossed, face unreadable.
Ren managed a shaky grin. "We... we won."
Daigo didn't smile. He tossed a ball at Ren's chest. "Anchor it before it drifts."
"What—now? I can barely—"
"Now."
The drills were merciless. Footwork triangles until his calves screamed, volley blocks until his palms burned, shadow rallies against invisible lobs.
Ren gasped between swings. "Why—right after—?"
Daigo's voice was gravel. "Because nothing is heavier than a win you think you deserve."
The words stabbed deeper than any jeer.
By the end, Ren collapsed to his knees, body trembling. The HUD flickered faintly:
[Rally Control +2]
Ren lay there, sweat dripping, lungs aflame. Yet beneath the exhaustion, something sharper thrummed in his chest. If I anchor this... if I hold on... I won't just be a substitute.
The next morning, the tournament board announced: Finals Canceled. Trophy Awarded by Default.
Their opponents had withdrawn due to injury.
Shizuka tossed the modest cup onto the bench, unimpressed. "Anti-climactic."
Ren stared at the cup, chest hollow. We won... but it doesn't feel like winning.