Morning sunlight cut through the school gym's tall glass windows. The air was thick with the smell of varnished wood and chalk dust.
Aarav stepped inside, his wrist still wrapped in fresh bandages.
He wore the official school jersey — but on the back, stitched just below his name, was the small red-and-blue flag of Nepal. He'd fought to get it approved, explaining that though he was here in Japan only for studies, he had come to chase one dream: to play in this tournament and make his brother proud.
Today was the start of the school's selection mini-tournament — a battle to decide who would represent the academy in the regional qualifiers.
His heartbeat was steady, but his eyes were sharp.
"Looks like everyone's fired up," Daiki said, walking beside him, stretching his shoulders.
Around them, students in the school's white-and-navy sports jerseys were already warming up — some jogging, some shadow swinging their rackets. The buzz in the air felt electric.
But the official matches hadn't started yet.
Coach Takanashi had announced something unexpected — before the real tournament, players could challenge anyone for a friendly warm-up match.
Aarav and Daiki didn't even have to speak. They looked at each other — and knew.
"First to five points?" Daiki said, a grin curling at his lips.
Aarav smirked. "Don't regret it."
The two stepped onto the far court. A few heads turned their way; whispers started. Everyone had seen them train before, but never at full speed against each other.
The shuttle went up — and the match exploded.
Aarav's feet barely touched the ground as he lunged forward, slicing the shuttle so fast it whistled. Daiki answered with a cross-court smash that slammed into the wood like a gunshot.
The sound echoed. Players nearby paused their own warm-ups just to watch.
It wasn't a friendly rally anymore — it was war.
Every shot was calculated, every swing laced with killing intent. Aarav's eyes followed the shuttle like it was prey; Daiki's grin never faded, even as sweat dripped down his jaw.
BANG.
Another smash. Aarav returned it with a jump shot that curved just inside the line.
"2–1," Daiki called.
Points flew by. Rallies stretched so long that the crowd around them grew. The air inside the gym thickened with shouts and the squeak of shoes.
"4–4," the scorer called.
One last point. Aarav tightened his grip, ignoring the ache in his hand. This was just practice, but for them, it was a promise — a taste of the real battle coming.
The final rally felt endless. Both moved at impossible speed, the shuttle a silver blur between them.
Then — Aarav leapt, twisting mid-air, and slammed the shot straight down the line.
The shuttle hit the floor with a thunk. Silence for a split second. Then applause.
Daiki walked over, smirking. "Guess you're ready."
Aarav nodded, panting. "You too."
Before they could shake hands, Coach Takanashi's voice boomed from across the court.
"All players, to your assigned courts! The selection matches begin now!"
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Jokes faded, smiles vanished. The gym was now an arena.
Students gathered into their brackets, holding rackets like weapons. Even the sound of sneakers felt sharper.
Aarav looked at the board. His first opponent's name blinked under his bracket slot.
Daiki glanced at him. "Try not to break your hand in round one."
Aarav smirked. "Try not to lose in round one."
The two walked toward their separate courts.
Aarav bounced the shuttle on his racket, once, twice.
He could feel eyes on him — maybe even hers. The basketball girl.
But that didn't matter right now. Right now, there was only the court, the net, and the battle.
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The referee raised his hand. The crowd
leaned forward.
The whistle was about to blow.
The real fight… starts now.