The gym was tense, the earlier cheers fading into a charged silence. Aarav flexed his fingers, ignoring the flare of pain in his wrist. Across the court, Renjiro Sakamoto stood casually, racket in hand, eyes half-lidded, expression perfectly bored.
Daiki leaned over from the bench, whispering, "You're screwed, bro. This guy doesn't even break a sweat."
Aarav didn't answer. His jaw clenched. This wasn't just a match—it was a statement.
The referee blew the whistle. Aarav gripped his racket tightly, bouncing lightly on his feet. Renjiro's smirk didn't falter.
The first few rallies were a blur of precision and speed. Renjiro anticipated every move, countering Aarav's attacks with uncanny timing. Aarav's wrist throbbed, each smash testing his limit—but he refused to give ground.
Daiki muttered, "I've never seen anyone read him this well…except maybe me, but still."
Psychological warfare began mid-rally. Renjiro taunted, "Your power… impressive. But predictable. Like a roaring lion blinded by anger."
Aarav's grip tightened. Rage sharpened his focus. Every smash, drop, and feint was a message: I'm not losing here.
The crowd leaned forward, the shuttlecock thudding against the floor like a heartbeat of tension.
Halfway through, Aarav executed a lightning-fast smash that Renjiro barely returned. The court shook with intensity.
"Not bad," Renjiro said, a flicker of respect hidden behind his smirk. "But are you fast enough to survive my next move?"
Aarav's eyes burned. He shifted stance, ready for the counter that could push both players beyond their limits.
From the bleachers, the badminton girl watched quietly. She didn't say a word, just a subtle nod—an unspoken acknowledgment of Aarav's skill and determination. Her presence, brief but piercing, sparked something in him: a reminder of why he fought.
Daiki, meanwhile, shouted: "Yo! Don't die out there, Nepalese Beast! I need you alive for lunch!"
Aarav smacked him on the shoulder, ignoring the joke, focusing entirely on Renjiro.
Renjiro unleashed a relentless series of smashes and drop shots, each faster than the last. Aarav's wrist screamed, but he countered, exploiting tiny openings. The match became a blur—power, speed, strategy—all fused into raw intensity.
The scoreboard flickered. Points neck-and-neck. Every rally felt like a war won or lost.
Minutes stretched into eternity. Sweat poured, breaths came in ragged gasps, but neither yielded.
Aarav remembered the badminton girl's words: "Don't lose before the finals."
He drew on that spark. Fire coursed through him—not just anger, but focus, strategy, instinct. Every move sharper, faster, more calculated.
Finally, with a flawless combination of speed, precision, and instinct, Aarav smashed the shuttlecock past Renjiro's defense. Silence. Then…
The buzzer blared. Victory.
Renjiro's eyes widened slightly, a rare crack in his composed mask. "Interesting…" he muttered.
Daiki erupted, jumping and screaming, "YES! Nepalese Beast lives to fight another round!"
Aarav didn't celebrate. He wiped sweat from his brow, already thinking ahead. This was only the beginning.
As Aarav walked off the court, he spotted the badminton girl again in the hallway. She smirked, holding her racket like a silent challenge.
"You didn't lose," she said simply.
A small grin broke on Aarav's face. "Not yet."
Their eyes met for a moment, charged with silent acknowledgment, before she walked away, leaving him alone with the echoes of the match—and the looming shadow of the tournament ahead.
The gym buzzed with excitement. Aarav's victory was celebrated, but somewhere deep, a new tension simmered. Renjiro wasn't done. This tournament was far from over.
And in the distance, a new riv
al watched, unseen by Aarav, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.