The crowd's roar still rang in Aarav's ears as he walked off the court, sweat dripping down his temple. His wrist throbbed harder now, every nerve screaming — but he kept his face unreadable.
Daiki was waiting by the benches, arms crossed, smirking like he'd been the one to win.
"Not bad," he said. "For someone who almost snapped his hand in practice."
Aarav shot him a glare. "Don't start."
"Start? Bro, you're trending in the school group chat already. Nepalese Beast clears first round. Hashtag foreign threat." Daiki grinned wider.
Aarav rolled his eyes and grabbed a towel. He hated attention. But somewhere deep inside… a flicker of pride warmed his chest.
His fingers traced the edge of the stitched Nepal flag on his jersey. This wasn't just a game. It never was.
Before he could sink deeper into thought, a voice cut through the noise — soft, feminine, but sharp enough to hook his attention.
"You played well."
Aarav turned.
She stood a few feet away — the basketball girl. Her hair tied in a messy ponytail, still in her own practice gear, a basketball under one arm. Sweat glistened on her forehead, but her gaze didn't waver.
"Your smashes," she said, tapping the ball lightly against the floor, "fast enough to scare my team."
Aarav blinked, caught off guard. "...Thanks," he muttered.
For a second, neither spoke. Then she smirked. "Don't lose before the finals. I want to see how far you go."
And just like that, she walked away — sneakers echoing on the wooden floor.
Daiki sidled up, grinning like a devil.
"Oh-ho. Someone's popular."
"Shut up."
"Relax. I'm just saying… if you choke next round, you're gonna break a heart. Maybe two."
Aarav smacked him with the towel.
The moment broke when Coach Takanashi's voice boomed across the gym.
"All players! Round Two bracket is up! Check your match slots!"
The digital board flickered, updating the names. Aarav scanned it — and froze.
His next opponent wasn't just anyone. It was a name he knew. A name Daiki cursed under his breath when he saw it.
Page 6
Renjiro Sakamoto.
Captain of Class 3-A.
Regional semi-finalist. The guy who had crushed Daiki in last year's qualifiers without breaking a sweat.
Renjiro wasn't even warming up. He stood near the far court, hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded like he was bored of existence.
But the moment his gaze lifted and locked onto Aarav… a slow, cold smirk curled on his lips.
Page 7
"Damn," Daiki muttered. "You pulled the devil card."
Aarav said nothing. His grip tightened around the racket. Pain flared in his wrist — but so did something else.
Fire.
The next battle
wasn't just another match. It was a warzone waiting to happen.