The practice court was empty, long past curfew. Ren bounced a ball against the wall, trying to focus, but every echo felt wrong tonight.
Daigo's words... the match that rewrote the world. If that mural wasn't me, why did it look exactly like me?
He served again. The ball struck the glass—and the wall hummed.
Ren froze. The vibration spread through the floor, faint light rippling across the panels. Then—he saw it.
Not this court, but another. Cracks spiderwebbing across the glass. Rallies traced in trails of white fire, two shadows trading impossible shots. The sound was deafening—like thunder trapped in a bottle.
Ren dropped to one knee, clutching his racket. What... is this?
His HUD glitched, text scrambling:
[Lost Court: Echo Playback]
[Access Key Progress — 1/5]
The vision blurred—one player lunged, face obscured, but the silhouette's stance... identical to his own. The ball smashed into the glass, shattering the world to pieces.
Ren gasped, heart pounding. Am I... seeing the past? Or the future?
"Brat."
Ren jerked his head up. Daigo stood at the door, cigarette ember glowing. He'd been watching.
"You saw it, didn't you?" the old champion muttered.
Ren's voice cracked. "What is it?!"
Daigo's expression darkened. "Echoes. Memories of a match that was never supposed to end. They haunt every court built after. That's why we call it the Lost Court—because it refuses to stay buried."
Ren's grip tightened on the Fallen Star. The racket pulsed faintly, as if resonating with the echoes.
"...And if I reach it?"
Daigo turned away, shadows cutting deep across his scarred face. "Then pray you're stronger than the last brat who stood there. Because he never walked back out."
Ren swallowed, chest heavy. The echoes still rang in his ears—rallies he couldn't unhear, as if daring him to step onto that broken glass.
Ren kneeling on the glowing panel, Fallen Star humming, while behind him the mural figure's eyes seem to flicker alive, watching.
I thought the league was my battlefield. But maybe the real match hasn't even begun.