The overtime rally stretched into its third minute.
Sweat rained down Ren's temples, his shirt plastered to his back. Every return was a gamble—his vision tunneling, muscles screaming for oxygen.
The scoreboard pulsed red: 6–6, Deuce.
A match that should've ended an hour ago had turned into a war of attrition.
"Ren!" Shizuka barked. "Stay sharp!"
Her voice was clipped, urgent—but even she looked close to breaking.
The crowd's roar was a wall of sound. Reporters were already calling it the Messiah's collapse match.
Ren's grip faltered. His serve toss was sloppy, the ball hitting the net with a dull thud. He bit his lip hard.
No... not now. Not like this.
And then—
A voice. Low. Dry. Cynical.
"Don't choke, kid. If you can't breathe, buy yourself a second with a lob. If you can't stand, crouch lower. Live one more ball. That's all padel ever is—one more ball."
Ren's eyes snapped wide. He whipped his head around.
The bench was empty. Daigo wasn't there. He was still under suspension.
But the voice hadn't felt imagined. It was carved in his memory—Daigo's way of grumbling when Ren almost gave up during training.
Another serve. Another rally. The rivals pounded volleys to his feet.
Ren dropped his stance lower than ever before, racket scraping sand, and scooped a lob that barely cleared the glass.
The crowd gasped—Shizuka surged forward, intercepting the smash with a counter-volley. Point saved.
Ren exhaled, trembling.
"See? Buy time. Reset. You don't win with glory shots—you win by surviving your own panic."
He almost laughed mid-point. Even suspended, Daigo still haunted him.
[System Notice: Remote Guidance — Phantom Coach effect triggered. Mental Focus +3% during extended rallies.]
The rally pressed on. Each exchange felt impossible, yet the ghost of Daigo kept whispering: "One more ball. One more ball."
And when the rival finally overhit, sending the ball into the glass, the stadium erupted. Ren staggered to the bench, chest heaving.
Shizuka slapped his shoulder. "You're still standing, idiot."
Ren grinned through exhaustion. "Not alone. I think... he's still watching."
She frowned, then softened for half a breath. "...Then make him proud."
Ren's HUD flickered, glitching static across his vision.
[ACCESS KEY 2/5 — UNLOCKED]
Two fell before you.
The mural's phantom light stretched across the stadium wall. Nobody else seemed to see it. Only Ren. Only the Substitute.