game. set. match.

The August sun beats down mercilessly as Taiga steps out of the car, the humid air already clinging to his skin. Beads of sweat form on his brow, but he barely notices, his mind focused solely on the day ahead.

The All-Japan Junior Tennis Tournament — the pinnacle of the junior tennis circuit in Japan. A chance to prove himself, to show the world what Taiga Kyomoto is made of.

As he walks toward the entrance of the Ariake Tennis Park, he can feel the energy in the air, the excitement and anticipation of the fans, the players, the coaches. It’s electric, and he can’t help but feed off it, his own excitement building with each step.

“Taiga!” a voice calls out, and he turns to see his coach, Akanishi Jin, jogging to catch up with him. He’s been with Taiga since he first started playing competitively, guiding him, supporting him, pushing him to be the best he can be.

Taiga owes him a lot.

“You ready?” Jin asks, falling into step beside him.

Taiga nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “Always.”

They make their way through the crowds, the chatter and laughter washing over them. Everywhere Taiga looks, there are people in tennis gear, rackets slung over shoulders, excitement etched on their faces. It’s a familiar sight, one that never fails to ignite a spark inside him.

As they approach the check-in desk, Taiga catches sight of my reflection in a nearby window. Short, dark brown hair frames his face, his doe eyes staring back at him with a determination that surprises even him. At sixteen, he’s still growing into his features, but there’s a sense of purpose in the set of his jaw, the angle of his chin

He’s here to win.

“Taiga Kyomoto, checking in for the second round,” he says to the woman behind the desk, handing over his ID.

She smiles, tapping away at her keyboard before handing Taiga a badge. “Good luck out there,” she says.

Taiga nods his thanks.

He and Jin make their way to the practice courts, the sound of tennis balls being hit growing louder with each step. It’s a familiar rhythm, one that he’s heard countless times before, but it never fails to set his heart racing.

“Your opponent today is Jesse Lewis,” Jin says as they claim an empty court. “He’s a bit of an unknown, but from what I’ve seen, he’s got a lot of potential.”

Taiga nods, taking his racket out of his bag and giving it a few experimental swings. “I watched his first-round match yesterday. He’s spontaneous, unpredictable. But he gets distracted easily. If I can keep him on his toes, I should be able to wear him down.”

Jin nods, a proud smile on his face. “That’s my boy. Always thinking, always strategizing. Just remember, don’t underestimate him. He may be young, but he’s got heart.”

Taiga nods, taking his coach’s words to heart. He’s seen too many players fall victim to their own arrogance, thinking they had the match in the bag only to be blindsided by an unexpected comeback.

He won’t make that mistake.

They spend the next hour practicing, Jin feeding Taiga balls as he works on his footwork, his strokes, his serves. The sun is relentless, the heat oppressive, but he barely notices, lost in the rhythm of the game.

Finally, it's time.

Taiga and Jin make their way to the assigned court, the crowds already gathering in the stands. He can feel their eyes on him, hear the whispers of excitement as they recognize him.

“That’s Taiga Kyomoto,” they murmur. “The prodigy.”

Taiga tries to block it out, to focus on the task at hand. But there’s a part of him that thrills at the attention, at the knowledge that he’s making a difference, that he’s inspiring others to pick up a racket and give it a try.

As he steps onto the court, he catches sight of his opponent across the net.

Jesse Lewis.

He’s tall and lanky, with a mop of dark brown hair and an easy smile. He looks relaxed, almost excited to be here, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for the match to start.

“Kyomoto-senpai!” he calls out as Taiga approaches the net for the pre-match handshake. “It’s an honor to play against you. I’ve been a fan since your debut at Junior Nationals three years ago.”

Taiga can’t help but smile at his opponent’s enthusiasm, even as he reminds himself to stay focused. “Thank you,” he says, shaking Jesse’s hand firmly. “Let’s have a good match.”

They take their positions, the crowd falling silent as the umpire calls for the start of the match. Taiga bounces the ball a few times, feeling the familiar weight in his hand, the texture of the felt against his palm.

Then, with a deep breath, he tosses it up and smashes it across the net.

The match is on.

From the start, it’s clear that Jesse is a wildcard. His shots are unpredictable, his movements erratic. He’ll hit a blistering forehand one moment, then a soft drop shot the next.

It’s maddening, trying to anticipate his next move, but Taiga forces himself to stay calm, to read Jesse’s body language, to trust his instincts.

Taiga takes the first set 6-0, his shots crisp and precise, his footwork flawless.

But Jesse isn't deterred. He comes back in the second set with a vengeance, his shots even more daring, his energy infectious. The crowd is loving it, cheering him on with every point, and Taiga can feel the momentum shifting.

But Taiga refuses to let it rattle him. He’s worked too hard, trained too long to let one set throw him off his game.

He digs deep, tapping into the well of determination that has carried him this far. He starts to mix up his shots, throwing in slices and drop shots to keep Jesse off balance.

It works, and he claims the second set 7-6.

By the third set, they’re both drenched in sweat, their lungs burning with exertion. But neither of them is willing to back down.

Jesse takes an early lead, his shots finding the corners with uncanny accuracy. But Taiga refuses to let him pull away. He fights for every point, chasing down balls that seem impossible to reach, throwing everything he has into every stroke.

It’s a battle of wills, a test of endurance. The crowd is on their feet, shouting themselves hoarse with every rally.

And then, finally, Taiga sees his chance.

Jesse hits a forehand that sails long, and Taiga pounces, smashing a winner down the line to claim the set 7-5.

The fourth set is a blur, both of them running on fumes but refusing to yield. Every point feels like a mini-war, each of them digging deep for one more shot, one more burst of energy.

But in the end, it’s Taiga experience that wins out. He reads Jesse’s shots a split second faster, anticipates his moves a heartbeat sooner.

And with a final, blistering serve, Taiga claims the match 6-4.

The crowd erupts in cheers as Taiga falls to his knees, his chest heaving with exhaustion and elation. He’s done it. He’s won.

One step closer to his goal of winning Nationals, of claiming the title that has eluded him for the past three years.

Taiga looks up to see Jesse standing at the net, his hand outstretched in congratulations. “Great match,” he says, his smile genuine despite the loss. “You really are something special, Taiga Kyomoto.”

He shakes Jesse’s hand, feeling a rush of respect for this young player who pushed him to his limits. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he says with a grin. “I have a feeling this won’t be the last time we meet on the court.”

Jesse laughs, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I sure hope not. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do if I want to beat you next time.”

They make their way off the court, the adrenaline slowly fading as the reality of the win sinks in. Jin is waiting for Taiga, his face split in a proud grin.

“Well done, Taiga,” he says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You showed a lot of grit out there today. Keep playing like that, and you’ll be unstoppable.”

Taiga nods, too exhausted to speak.

But as he gathers his things and heads for the locker room, he can’t help but feel a sense of exhilaration. He’s one step closer to his dream, one match closer to proving to the world that he has what it takes to be the best.

But even as he basks in the glow of victory, he can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning. Jesse may have been an unknown today, but something tells Taiga he won’t stay that way for long. He’s got a fire in him, a hunger that matches Taiga’s own.

And Taiga has a feeling that the next time they meet on the court, it’s going to be one hell of a match.

🎾

It is a pleasant April morning, the sky a soft, hazy blue with wisps of clouds hinting at the chance of rain later in the day. The air carries a delicate floral scent, courtesy of the cherry blossoms in full bloom across the city.

For Taiga, however, the beauty of spring is a distant backdrop as he focuses intently on the tennis match at hand.

The indoor court of the private club is a stark contrast to the gentle colors outside — all gleaming hardwood and crisp white lines. The rhythmic thwack of tennis balls against tightly strung racquets echoes through the space as Taiga and his practice partner, Shime, engage in a fierce rally.

Taiga’s movements are fluid and precise, his lean frame a blur of motion as he darts across the court. His hair is slightly damp with sweat, a few strands clinging to his forehead above his eyes.

Shime, on the other hand, exhibits a more cautious style of play. He patiently returns Taiga's aggressive shots, waiting for the right moment to strike. Though two years younger, Shime’s experience as a professional player is evident in his composed demeanor and calculated moves.

The two have been trading points for the better part of an hour, their contrasting strategies creating a captivating push and pull on the court. Taiga’s lightning-fast reflexes and daring shot placement keep Shime on his toes, forcing him to rely on his defensive prowess and consistency to stay in the game.

As the match wears on, however, Shime’s stamina begins to flag. Taiga seizes the opportunity, his eyes narrowing as he ramps up the intensity of his shots.

A blistering forehand down the line seals the deal, leaving Shime lunging in vain as the ball whizzes past.

“Game, set, match — Kyomoto,” Taiga announces, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He strides to the net to shake Shime’s hand, his grip firm and confident.

Shime, to his credit, seems unfazed by the loss. “Nice game, senpai.” He grins, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with his free hand. “Your reflexes never cease to amaze me.”

Taiga feels a rush of pride at the compliment, his chest swelling with the validation of his skills. Coming from a respected pro like Shime, the praise carries extra weight. “Thanks,” he replies, trying to sound nonchalant despite the giddiness bubbling up inside him. “You put up a great fight, as always.”

The two make their way off the court and toward the locker room, their tennis shoes squeaking against the polished floor. As they walk, Shime chatters animatedly about Taiga’s performance, dissecting specific shots and strategies with the keen eye of a seasoned player.

Taiga basks in the attention, relishing the opportunity to discuss the intricacies of the sport he loves with someone who understands it on a deep level. Too often, he finds himself holding back in conversations with his college teammates, many of whom lack the same passion and dedication to tennis that he and Shime share.

In the locker room, they quickly shower and change into fresh clothes, the humid air heavy with the mingled scents of sweat, soap, and deodorant. Taiga takes his time pulling on his glasses, savoring the last few moments of post-match euphoria before the reality of the day ahead sets in.

As they step out into the club’s lobby, a familiar figure awaits them — Jin, their coach and mentor. He exudes a quiet intensity, his lean frame and striking features bearing the marks of his own successful tennis career, cut short by injury.

“Shime, I’ve got good news,” Jin says by way of greeting, his deep voice cutting through the ambient noise of the lobby. “Your flights and sponsors for the Romanian Open in Bucharest are all set. You’re good to go.”

Shime’s face lights up at the announcement, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Really? That’s fantastic, thank you so much, Coach Jin!” He starts to gush about the upcoming tournament, but quickly catches himself, glancing sideways at Taiga.

Taiga feels a pang of jealousy twist in his gut, his earlier elation fading as the harsh reality of his situation comes crashing back. While Shime, two years his junior, gets to jet off to international competitions and build his professional career, Taiga remains stuck in the amateur ranks, his dreams of going pro stymied by his parents’ insistence that he complete his college degree first.

It's a bitter pill to swallow, especially when Taiga knows he has the skills to compete at the highest levels. He’s a prodigy, damn it, with a game that could rival any player on the pro circuit.

But until he graduates, he’s forced to watch from the sidelines as his peers — including Shime, who, if he’s being honest, isn’t quite at Taiga’s level — chase their dreams without restriction.

Shime, sensing the shift in Taiga’s mood, quickly changes the subject. “Well, I should get going — got a class to catch at the university. Thanks again, Coach. Taiga-senpai, great match today, let’s do it again soon, yeah?" He gives a quick wave and hurries off, his slender frame disappearing through the lobby doors.

And then it’s just Taiga and Jin, an awkward silence hanging between them.

Jin clears his throat, his gaze sympathetic as he takes in Taiga’s clenched jaw and downcast eyes. “Listen, Taiga,” he begins, his voice low and earnest, “I know it’s tough, watching Shime and the others go off to play pro while you're stuck here. But I haven’t given up on convincing your parents to let you play, even just one tournament. You’re too talented to be held back like this.”

Taiga sighs, a heavy, world-weary sound that seems out of place coming from a 21-year-old. “Thanks, Jin, but I’ve pretty much resigned myself to the fact that it’s not going to happen until after graduation. They’re not budging, and I can’t afford to go against their wishes when they’re the ones funding my training and expenses.”

It’s a hard truth, but one that Taiga has had to accept. His parents, while supportive of his tennis ambitions to a point, are adamant that he prioritize his education and earn his degree before pursuing a professional career. They see it as a safety net, a fallback plan in case tennis doesn’t work out.

Taiga, however, sees it as a shackle, holding him back from his true calling.

Jin nods, his expression a mix of understanding and frustration. “I get it, I do. But don’t lose hope just yet. I’ll keep working on them, see if I can’t get them to come around. In the meantime, just keep focusing on your game, stay sharp. Your time will come, Taiga, I know it will.”

Taiga musters a grateful smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Thanks, Jin. I appreciate you going to bat for me. It means a lot.”

Jin claps him on the shoulder, a brief but comforting gesture. “Anytime, kid. Now, what do you say I give you a ride to Waseda? Can’t have you being late for your first class of the term.”

Taiga nods, shouldering his tennis bag as they head out to the parking lot.

The drive to the university is mostly quiet, Taiga lost in thought as he stares out the window at the cherry blossom-lined streets. The beauty of the scene is lost on him, his mind too consumed with the injustice of his situation and the aching desire to be out there on the court, proving himself against the best in the world.

All too soon, they’re pulling up to the Waseda campus, the sprawling grounds already bustling with students hurrying to their morning classes. Taiga thanks Jin for the ride and makes his way toward the lecture hall, his steps heavy with resignation.

As he settles into his seat and pulls out his notebook, Taiga tries to push thoughts of tennis and his thwarted ambitions aside. He knows he needs to focus on his studies, to do well in his classes and maintain his scholarship.

But it’s hard, when his heart is so clearly elsewhere, yearning for the thrill of competition and the rush of victory.

The professor begins to speak, and Taiga forces himself to tune in, scribbling notes and trying to absorb the information being presented. But even as he goes through the motions of being a diligent student, his mind can’t help but wander back to the court, to the feel of a racket in his hand and the satisfying thwack of a well-struck ball.

He thinks of Shime, jetting off to Romania to compete against some of the top players in the world. He thinks of the other up-and-coming stars on the pro circuit, young men his age or even younger who are already making a name for themselves, living the life he so desperately craves.

And he thinks of his own game, the countless hours he’s spent honing his skills, perfecting his technique. The way his body moves on the court, all lightning-quick reflexes and fluid grace. The exhilaration of outmaneuvering an opponent, of seizing control of a match and refusing to let go.

Tennis is more than just a sport to Taiga — it’s a calling, a purpose. It’s the one thing in his life that makes him feel truly alive, truly himself.

And yet, here he is, stuck in a lecture hall, his dreams on hold indefinitely while the world of professional tennis spins on without him.

The professor drones on, but Taiga barely hears a word. His mind is a million miles away, lost in visions of grandeur and glory on the court. He knows he should be paying attention, knows that his education is important.

But at that moment, with the weight of his unfulfilled ambitions pressing down on him, it all feels so terribly, terribly insignificant.

The lecture ends, and Taiga gathers his things, moving on autopilot to his next class. He goes through the motions of the day, taking notes and participating in discussions, but his heart isn’t in it.

As the day wears on, Taiga’s frustration and restlessness grow. He finds himself itching to get back on the court, to lose himself in the rhythms and strategies of the game. But he knows he has responsibilities, obligations that he can’t simply shirk.

It’s a bitter irony, he thinks, that the very thing that brings him the most joy is also the source of his greatest pain and frustration. Tennis is his lifeblood, his reason for being.

And yet, it’s the one thing that seems perpetually out of his grasp, tantalizingly close but always just beyond his reach.

The final class of the day ends, and Taiga makes his way out of the lecture hall, his steps heavy. He knows he should head to the library, get a start on the homework and readings that are already piling up.

But the siren call of the court is too strong to resist.

Almost without conscious thought, he finds himself making his way to the university’s tennis facilities, his fingers itching to wrap around the familiar grip of his racket. The sun is starting to sink lower in the sky, painting the campus in a warm, golden light, but Taiga barely notices. His focus is solely on the prospect of losing himself in the game, of finding some small measure of solace and release on the court.

As he approaches the tennis courts, a familiar figure catches his eye.

Yugo Kochi, the captain of the Waseda University tennis team and one of Taiga’s closest friends.

Yugo is leaning against the fence surrounding the courts, his dark hair tousled by the light breeze, his intense eyes scanning the players on the other side of the chainlink.

Taiga picks up his pace, drawn to Yugo’s calm, steady presence like a moth to a flame. As he draws closer, Yugo turns, a warm smile spreading across his face as he spots Taiga.

“Hey!” Yugo calls out, his voice carrying easily across the short distance between them. “Fancy seeing you here. Thought you’d be buried in the library by now.”

Taiga shrugs, a rueful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, well, you know me — can’t stay away from the court for too long. It’s like an addiction.”

Yugo chuckles, nodding in understanding. “Nothing quite like the feeling of a racket in your hand, is there? Speaking of which …” He trails off, his eyes glinting with a playful challenge. “You up for a game? Might as well make the most of the facilities before it gets busy with tryouts tomorrow.”

Taiga’s heart leaps at the prospect, his earlier weariness and frustration melting away in the face of Yugo’s invitation. “Hell yes,” he replies, already reaching for his tennis bag. “Let me just get changed real quick and I’ll meet you on the court.”

Yugo grins, clapping Taiga on the shoulder as he moves past him toward the clubhouse. “Sounds good. Don’t keep me waiting too long, yeah?”

Taiga shakes his head, a genuine smile spreading across his face for the first time that day. “Wouldn’t dream of it, cap.”

He makes his way into the clubhouse, the familiar scents of sweat and rubber washing over him as he enters. The space is empty, most of the team still in classes or off enjoying the pleasant spring weather. Taiga relishes the solitude, taking his time as he changes into his tennis gear, the ritual of it soothing in its familiarity.

As he pulls on his court shoes and grabs his racquet, Taiga feels a sense of calm settle over him, the worries and frustrations of the day fading into the background. This is where he belongs, he thinks — on the court, with the game thrumming through his veins and the thrill of competition singing in his blood.

He emerges from the clubhouse to find Yugo already on the court, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he warms up. Taiga takes a moment to admire his friend’s form, the easy grace with which he moves. Yugo may not have Taiga’s raw talent or lightning-quick reflexes, but he more than makes up for it with his strategic mind and unshakeable focus.

Taiga joins Yugo on the court, the two of them falling into an easy rhythm as they hit a few practice shots back and forth. The sun is warm on Taiga’s back, the breeze ruffling his hair as he moves, and for a moment, he allows himself to forget about everything else — the pressures of school, the weight of his unfulfilled dreams, the constant ache of longing in his chest.

Right now, there is only this — the satisfying thwack of the ball against his strings, the burn of exertion in his muscles, the pure, uncomplicated joy of the game. Taiga loses himself in it, his mind narrowing to the simple geometry of the court, the instinctive calculations of angle and velocity and spin.

He and Yugo play for an hour, trading points and friendly trash talk as they push each other to new heights. Yugo’s playing style is a perfect foil to Taiga’s — where Taiga is all aggression and risk-taking, Yugo is steady and consistent, relying on his precision and endurance to wear down his opponents.

It’s a contrast that serves them well in doubles, their strengths complementing each other in a way that makes them formidable on the court. But in singles, it’s a different story — a battle of wills and strategies, each trying to outmaneuver and outlast the other.

In the end, it’s Taiga who emerges victorious, his final shot — a blistering forehand down the line — leaving Yugo sprawled on the court, his racket clattering to the ground beside him.

Taiga pumps his fist in triumph, a fierce grin splitting his face as he savors the rush of victory.

Yugo sits up, shaking his head ruefully as he meets Taiga’s gaze. “Damn, vice-cap,” he pants, his chest heaving with exertion. “You don’t mess around, do you? Remind me never to piss you off.”

Taiga laughs, reaching down to haul Yugo to his feet. “Aw, come on, Yugo — you know you love the challenge. Besides, got to keep you on your toes, right?”

Yugo snorts, dusting himself off as they make their way to the bench at the side of the court. “Yeah, yeah, rub it in, why don’t you? Just wait until next time — I’ll get you back for that.”

They collapse onto the bench, their bodies loose and languid with the pleasant ache of a hard-fought match. Yugo reaches into his bag and pulls out two sports drinks, tossing one to Taiga before cracking open his own.

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, sipping their drinks and catching their breath as the last of the day’s warmth fades from the sky. Taiga feels a sense of deep contentment settle over him, the worries and frustrations of earlier seeming distant and unimportant in the face of this simple, perfect moment.

Eventually, Yugo breaks the silence, turning to look at Taiga with a serious expression. “Hey, listen,” he begins, his voice low and earnest. “I know things are tough for you right now, with your parents holding you back from going pro and all. But I just want you to know — I’ve got your back, okay? We all do, the whole team. You’re our vice-cap, our ace. We believe in you, Taiga.”

Taiga swallows hard. He knows his friend means well, knows that he’s trying to offer comfort and support.

But the reminder of his situation, of the dreams that seem forever out of reach, is like a knife twisting in his gut.

He forces a smile, nodding stiffly as he meets Yugo’s gaze. “Thanks, Yugo,” he manages, his voice rough with suppressed feeling. “That … that means a lot.”

Yugo claps him on the shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “Anytime, Taiga. Anytime. Now, what do you say we hit the showers? I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to feel like a walking sweat stain.”

Taiga huffs a laugh, grateful for the change of subject. “Yeah, sounds good.”

They gather their things and head back to the clubhouse. In the locker room, they strip off their sweat-soaked clothes and step into the showers, the hot water soothing their aching muscles and washing away the grime of the day.

As they towel off and change back into their street clothes, Yugo turns to Taiga, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So,” he drawls, his tone deceptively casual. “You ready for tryouts tomorrow? Coach Aiba sent me the list of applicants earlier — looks like we’ve got some promising fresh blood coming in.”

Taiga groans, the prospect of dealing with a bunch of wide-eyed, overeager first-years filling him with a sense of dread. “Don’t remind me,” he grumbles, pulling on his shirt with a bit more force than necessary. “I swear, if I have to deal with one more starry-eyed kid who thinks they’re the next big thing in tennis, I’m going to lose it.”

Yugo chuckles, shaking his head at Taiga’s grumpiness. “Aw, come on, vice-cap — where’s your sense of team spirit? These kids are the future of Waseda tennis! We have to nurture their talent, help them grow and develop.”

Taiga rolls his eyes, but he can't quite suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But do we have to do it with quite so much … enthusiasm? I mean, remember last year? I thought Shizu was going to have a stroke, he was so excited.”

Yugo winces at the memory, a rueful grin spreading across his face. “Okay, fair point. But hey, at least he channeled all that energy into his game, right? Kid’s got a wicked serve now.”

Taiga has to concede the point — Shizu, for all his overexcitement, has indeed become a valuable member of the team.

Still, the thought of dealing with a whole new batch of eager, untested players is enough to make him want to crawl back into bed and hide under the covers.

Yugo, perhaps sensing Taiga’s reluctance, slings an arm around his shoulders, giving him a friendly shake. “Hey, don’t worry, — I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way. We’re in this together, remember?”

Taiga leans into the touch, feeling some of the tension drain out of his body at the reassurance. “Yeah, I know,” he sighs, running a hand through his damp hair. “Thanks, Yugo. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Yugo grins, giving Taiga a final squeeze before releasing him. “Crash and burn, probably,” he teases, dodging the half-hearted swat Taiga aims at his head. His expression turns serious as they step out into the gathering dusk. “Anyway,” he says, his voice low and intent. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about, Taiga. Something important.”

Taiga feels a flicker of unease at Yugo’s tone, his stomach clenching with sudden nerves. “What is it? Something wrong?”

Yugo shakes his head, but the furrow between his brows doesn’t ease. “Not wrong, exactly, but … well, it’s about your training, Taiga. Or rather, the way you’ve been training the team.”

Taiga stiffens, his hackles rising at the implied criticism. “What about it?” he asks, his voice coming out sharper than he intended. “You got a problem with the way I run practice?”

Yugo holds up his hands in a placating gesture, his expression pained. “Easy — I’m not trying to start a fight here. It’s just … well, some of the guys have been talking, and they’re a little … concerned, I guess you could say.”

Taiga narrows his eyes, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Concerned about what, exactly?”

Yugo sighs, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “About the intensity, Taiga. The pressure. I know you’re just trying to push them to be their best, but … well, some of them feel like you’re pushing too hard. Like you’re expecting too much, too fast.”

Taiga feels a surge of defensive anger rise up in his chest, hot and bitter on the back of his tongue. “Too hard?” he scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yugo, this is tennis, not a goddamn knitting circle. If they can’t handle a little pressure, then maybe they don’t belong on this team.”

Yugo flinches at the harshness of Taiga’s words, but he doesn’t back down. “Taiga, come on — you know that’s not fair. These guys are here because they love the game, just like you do. But not everyone is aiming for the pros, you know? For most of them, this is just a hobby, a way to blow off steam and have some fun.”

Taiga feels his anger drain away as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a hollow sense of exhaustion. He knows Yugo is right, knows that he's been pushing the team too hard, expecting too much.

But the thought of easing up, of letting go of his own impossible standards... it feels like a betrayal, somehow. A betrayal of his own dreams, his own ambitions.

“I know,” he says at last, his voice low and defeated. “I know I’ve been riding them too hard. It’s just … it’s hard for me, you know? To see them slacking off, not taking it seriously. When I know how much work it takes, how much sacrifice …”

He trails off, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in his throat.

Yugo’s expression softens, his eyes full of sympathy and understanding. “I get it, Taiga,” he says gently, reaching out to squeeze Taiga’s shoulder. “I really do. But you have to remember — not everyone is like you. Not everyone has your drive, your talent. And that's okay. It doesn’t make them any less valuable to the team.”

Taiga nods. “You’re right,” he manages. “I’m sorry, cap. I’ll try to ease up, I promise. It’s just … it’s hard, you know? Knowing that this is all I have, all I’ll ever have …”

Yugo’s grip tightens on his shoulder, his eyes fierce and determined. “Hey, don’t talk like that,” he says firmly. “This isn’t the end, Taiga. You’ve still got time, still got a chance to make your dreams come true. And until then … you’ve got us, okay? Your team, your friends. We’re here for you, no matter what.”

Taiga feels a rush of gratitude at Yugo’s words. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, knows that he’s been selfish and single-minded in his pursuit of his own goals. But in that moment, Taiga feels a flicker of hope rekindling in his chest.

“Thanks, cap,” he says softly, managing a shaky smile.

Yugo grins, giving Taiga’s shoulder a final squeeze before releasing him. “Always, vice-cap. Always. Now, what do you say we get out of here? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Taiga nods, feeling some of the weight lift from his shoulders as they fall into step beside each other. “Yeah, sounds good.”

As they head toward the university gates, Taiga allows himself a moment to breathe, to savor the simple pleasure of walking beside his friend in the cool evening air. The campus is quiet now, most of the students having long since retreated to their dorms or headed out for the night.

Taiga knows he should be doing the same — he has homework to tackle, strategies to plan for tomorrow's tryouts.

But for now, he’s content to let it all fade into the background, to exist in this moment.

🎾

The scent of freshly cut grass and the rhythmic thwack of tennis balls fill the air as Jesse arrives at the private tennis facility, a canvas duffle bag slung over his shoulder. The sun warms his skin as he steps onto the well-maintained courts, breathing in the familiar aroma of new tennis balls. Cherry blossom petals flutter in the gentle breeze, their soft pink hues a picturesque contrast against the vivid green of the court. 

Jesse begins his warm-up routine, starting with some dynamic stretches to loosen up his muscles. As he reaches down to touch his toes, he notices his best friend Meme strolling into the facility, flashing a charming smile at a group of ladies who pass by.

He chuckles to himself, amused by his friend’s effortless charisma. “Hey, Meme!” he calls out, waving him over. “Glad you could make it.”

Meme grins, setting his own tennis bag down and starting his warm-up exercises. “Wouldn’t miss our practice game for the world, man. Besides, I’ve got to make sure you're ready for your big tryout.”

Jesse laughs, shaking his head. “I think I’ll manage. Though, it’s a good thing you don’t play mixed doubles. Those girls would’ve been swooning over you by now.”

Meme raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his lips. “I don’t know, Jesse. You’re not looking too bad yourself these days. Seems like you've finally outgrown that awkward teenage phase.”

Jesse rolls his eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. It’s true that he’s come a long way from his gangly, self-conscious teenage years. He’s grown taller, lean muscles defining his arms and shoulders from years of tennis practice. His blonde hair, once an unruly mop, is now styled with a slight tousle that frames his gentle features nicely.

“Alright, enough chit-chat,” he says, grabbing his racket. “Let’s see if you can keep up with me today, Meme.”

Meme grins, picking up his own racket and spinning it deftly in his hand. “Oh, it’s on.”

They take their positions on opposite sides of the net, the sun now high in the sky, casting short shadows on the court. Jesse bounces the ball a few times, feeling the familiar texture of the fuzzy, neon-green sphere against his palm. He takes a deep breath, tossing the ball high into the air and arching his back, racket poised to strike.

The ball seems to hang suspended for a moment before Jesse’s racket connects with a satisfying thwack, sending it hurtling across the net toward Meme.

Meme, ever the quick reactor, lunges to his right, his racket meeting the ball with a resounding crack. The ball rockets back towards Jesse, skimming the top of the net before dropping sharply onto his side of the court.

Jesse dashes forward, sliding into a low forehand stroke that sends the ball whizzing down the line past Meme’s outstretched racket.

“15-love,” he calls out, a grin spreading across his face.

Meme shakes his head, chuckling. “Not bad, Jesse. But don’t get too cocky. We’re just getting started.”

The match continues, each player showcasing their unique strengths and styles. Jesse’s game is marked by creativity and adaptability, his shots often catching Meme off guard with their unpredictable trajectories and spin. He moves around the court with a relaxed, almost languid grace, but there’s no mistaking the power behind his strokes when he needs it.

Meme, on the other hand, relies on his lightning-fast reflexes and precise shot placement to keep Jesse on his toes. His movements are sharp and efficient, wasting no energy as he glides across the court, always seeming to be in the right place at the right time. His serves are particularly formidable, rocketing over the net with a speed and spin that make them nearly impossible to return.

As they trade shots back and forth, their banter continues, punctuated by laughter and good-natured ribbing.

“Come on, Meme, is that the best you’ve got?” Jesse taunts as he lobs a ball high over Meme’s head, forcing him to scramble back to the baseline.

Meme grunts as he stretches to reach the ball, barely managing to get his racket on it. The ball floats back over the net, and Jesse is there to meet it, smashing an overhead winner into the corner of the court.

“30-15,” Jesse calls out, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. The sun is beating down on them now, and he can feel his shirt beginning to stick to his back.

Meme takes a moment to catch his breath, hands on his knees. “You’re in rare form today, Jesse. Been practicing in secret?”

Jesse shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Maybe I’m just saving my best moves for Nationals. Wouldn’t want to give away all my secrets too soon.”

The match wears on, each game a hard-fought battle of wills and skill. Jesse can feel his muscles beginning to tire, his lungs burning with each breath, but he pushes through, determined to prove himself.

In the end, it’s a close match, but Jesse emerges victorious, collapsing onto the court in exhaustion and elation.

Meme walks over to him, extending a hand to help him up. “Well played, Jesse. You really gave me a run for my money out there.”

Jesse grins, clasping Meme’s hand and pulling himself to his feet. “Thanks, man. You didn’t make it easy on me, that’s for sure.”

They gather their gear and head off the court towards the locker rooms, the adrenaline of the match still thrumming through their veins. The cool air of the changing room is a welcome relief after the heat of the sun, and they take their time showering and changing into fresh clothes.

“So, where to now?” Meme asks as they exit the facility, squinting in the bright afternoon light. “I’m starving after that workout.”

Jesse nods in agreement, his stomach rumbling at the mention of food. “There’s a great little restaurant just down the street. My treat, since you were kind enough to let me win today.”

Meme laughs, punching Jesse lightly on the shoulder. “Oh, so that’s how it is? I see how it is.”

They stroll down the tree-lined street, cherry blossom petals swirling around their feet in the gentle breeze. The restaurant is a cozy, hole-in-the-wall place, with mismatched chairs and tables crammed into a narrow space. The air is thick with the aroma of grilling meat and simmering soups, and Jesse’s mouth waters in anticipation.

They take a seat at a small table by the window, the sun slanting through the glass and painting everything in a warm, golden light. A waitress approaches, her eyes widening slightly as she takes in Meme’s handsome features.

Jesse suppresses a grin, watching as his friend turns on the charm, complimenting the waitress on her smile and asking for her recommendations.

In the end, they both order hearty bowls of ramen, the steaming broth and tender noodles a perfect post-match meal.

As they slurp away, Meme looks up at Jesse, a serious expression on his face. “So, Jesse, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Jesse pauses, a noodle dangling from his chopsticks. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Meme sets down his bowl, leaning forward slightly. “Why aren’t you planning to go pro? I mean, you’ve got the talent, the drive. You could really make a name for yourself out there.”

Jesse sighs, setting down his own chopsticks. It’s a question he’s been asked many times before, by coaches, teammates, even his own parents. But the answer is always the same.

“I just want to have fun, Meme. I love tennis, but I don’t want it to become a job, you know? The pro circuit … it just seems like it takes all the joy out of the game.”

Meme nods slowly, understanding dawning on his face. “I get it, man. It’s a lot of pressure, a lot of expectations. But still, you could have at least gave Junior Nationals a shot. You could’ve showed everyone what you’re made of.”

Jesse chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve been trying to convince me to compete in Junior Nationals for years, Meme. But I’m happy where I am. Besides, I’m trying out for the Waseda team. That’s enough competition for me.”

Meme leans back in his chair, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Ah, yes. The Waseda team. And I’m sure a certain someone has nothing to do with that decision, right?”

Jesse feels his cheeks heating up, and he quickly takes a sip of water to hide his embarrassment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Meme laughs, wagging a finger at Jesse. “Oh, come on. You’ve had a crush on Kyomoto Taiga since we were kids. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Jesse sputters, nearly choking on his water. “It’s not a crush!” he protests, but he knows his face is giving him away. “I just … I’ve always admired him, ever since we were kids. He’s an incredible player.”

Meme nods, his expression softening. “I remember that match you played against him in Junior Nationals. He won easily, but you put up a good fight.”

Jesse smiles at the memory, bittersweet though it is. He had been so nervous that day, standing across the net from his idol. Taiga had been gracious in victory, shaking Jesse’s hand and offering words of encouragement.

Since then, Jesse had followed Taiga’s career with rapt attention, marveling at his skill and poise on the court.

“I was surprised when he didn’t go pro,” Jesse admits, twirling his straw in his drink. “But when I heard he was playing for Waseda, I knew I had to try out for the team. I worked so hard to get accepted to the university, and now … now I have a chance to play alongside him.”

Meme reaches across the table, clapping Jesse on the shoulder. “Well, here’s your chance to get close to your crush,” he teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just promise me one thing.”

Jesse raises an eyebrow, curious. “What’s that?”

Meme leans back, folding his arms across his chest. “Promise me that we’ll face each other in Nationals. I’m already a shoo-in for the Keio team, and I want to see you on the other side of the net.”

Jesse grins, feeling a thrill of excitement at the prospect. “You’ve got a deal, Meme. But first, I have to make it through these tryouts.”

Meme glances at his watch, his eyes widening. “Speaking of which, we should probably get going. You don’t want to be late.”

They pay for their meal, Jesse insisting on splitting the bill despite Meme’s protests.

As they step out into the bright afternoon sun, Meme jingles his car keys in his hand. “I can give you a ride to campus,” he offers, knowing that Jesse doesn’t drive. “But seriously, Jesse, you need to get your license. You can’t rely on me forever.”

Jesse laughs, punching Meme lightly on the arm. “I know, I know. I’ll get around to it eventually. But for now, I’ll take you up on that ride.”

They climb into Meme’s car, the engine rumbling to life. As they navigate the busy streets of Tokyo, Jesse feels a sense of calm settle over him.

He’s ready for this, ready to take on the challenge of the tryouts and prove himself worthy of a spot on the Waseda team.

The campus comes into view, its sprawling grounds dotted with cherry blossom trees in full bloom. Meme pulls up to the curb, giving Jesse a final thumbs-up.

“Go get ‘em, Jesse,” he says, his voice filled with confidence. “Show them what you're made of.”

Jesse nods, his jaw set with determination. He steps out of the car, his tennis bag slung over his shoulder.

With a final wave to Meme, he turns and strides towards the tennis courts, ready to face whatever comes his way.

🎾

As Jesse approaches the university tennis courts, he sees a crowd of eager applicants already forming, their chatter and laughter filling the air. The cherry blossom trees lining the pathway sway gently in the breeze, their delicate petals drifting lazily to the ground.

Jesse takes a deep breath, inhaling the sweet fragrance of spring mingled with the distinct scent of freshly opened tennis balls.

He’s about to head towards the registration booth when a friendly voice calls out to him. “Hey, man! Just a heads up, your shoelaces are untied.”

Jesse glances down, realizing that the stranger is right. He quickly bends down to tie his laces, a slight flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “Thanks for letting me know,” he says, straightening up to face the guy who had spoken to him.

The young man grins, his dark eyes sparkling with warmth. “No problem! Can’t have you tripping over your own feet during the tryouts, right? I’m Morimoto Shintaro, by the way. First-year, just like you, I’m guessing.”

Jesse returns the smile, instantly drawn to Shintaro’s easygoing nature. “Lewis Jesse,” he introduces himself, shaking Shintaro’s outstretched hand. “But I go by Jesse. And yeah, I’m a freshman too. Majoring in human sciences.”

“Science education for me,” Shintaro replies, falling into step beside Jesse as they make their way toward the registration booth. “I’ve been looking forward to these tryouts for weeks. The Waseda team is legendary.”

Jesse nods in agreement, his heart rate picking up at the mention of the team. “They really are. And with Kyomoto Taiga as vice-captain this year, they’re bound to be even stronger.”

Shintaro raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Ah, so you’re a Kyomoto fan, huh? Can’t say I blame you. The guy’s a machine on the court.”

Jesse feels his face heating up, but he can’t help the grin that spreads across his features. “Yeah, I’ve been following his career for years. He's the reason I worked so hard to get into Waseda, actually.”

Shintaro claps him on the back, his laughter ringing out across the courts. “Well, here’s your chance to impress him, then! Let’s go sign up and show these guys what we’re made of.”

They approach the registration booth, where a slender, delicate-looking man is handing out name tags to the applicants. He looks up as Jesse and Shintaro reach the front of the line, a warm smile lighting up his face.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” he greets them, his voice soft and melodic. “I’m Matsumura Hokuto, a second-year and current member of the tennis team. If you’ll just fill out these forms and attach your name tags, you can join the others on the benches over there.”

As he hands them their tags and points out the waiting area, Hokuto’s gaze lingers on Shintaro for a moment, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

“I do hope you’ll both make the team,” he adds, a playful glint in his eye. “We could always use some fresh talent. And who knows, maybe one of you will even become my doubles partner this season.”

Shintaro’s eyes widen, and he nearly drops his pen in his haste to fill out the form. “I’ll do my best, Matsumura-senpai,” he promises, his voice uncharacteristically earnest. “I won’t let you down.”

Jesse hides a grin as they make their way over to the benches, amused by Shintaro’s sudden enthusiasm. “Looks like you’ve got a crush, Morimoto,” he teases, elbowing his new friend gently in the ribs.

Shintaro flushes, but he can’t seem to wipe the silly smile off his face. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for pretty boys with tennis skills. And if it means I get to be Matsumura-senpai’s doubles partner, I’ll do whatever it takes to make this team.”

They take their seats among the other hopefuls, the excitement in the air palpable. Jesse bounces his leg nervously, his eyes scanning the courts for any sign of Taiga. He knows he should be focusing on his own performance, but he can’t help the way his heart leaps at the thought of seeing his idol in person again.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Coach Aiba Masaki strides onto the court, flanked by Kochi Yugo, the captain, and Taiga. Jesse sits up straighter, his breath catching in his throat as he takes in the sight of Taiga in his tennis whites, his dark hair gleaming in the sunlight.

Coach Aiba claps his hands, calling for attention. “Good afternoon, everyone,” he greets them, his voice carrying easily across the courts. “I’m Coach Aiba Masaki, and I’d like to welcome you all to the Waseda University tennis team tryouts. As you know, we have a proud tradition of excellence here, and we’re always on the lookout for new talent to help us maintain that reputation.”

He gestures to the two young men standing beside him. “I’m sure you all recognize Kochi Yugo, our captain, and Kyomoto Taiga, our vice-captain. They’ll be assisting me in evaluating your skills today, so make sure to give it your all out there.”

Jesse barely hears the rest of Coach Aiba’s speech, too busy drinking in every detail of Taiga’s appearance. He looks just as Jesse remembers him from their last encounter seven years ago, his features still delicate and almost feminine, but with a new air of confidence and authority about him.

He wonders if Taiga even remembers that match, the one that had cemented Jesse’s admiration for him. He had been so nervous that day, facing off against the rising star of the junior tennis world.

Taiga had beaten him easily, of course, but he had been kind in his victory, offering Jesse words of encouragement and praise for his efforts.

Jesse is jolted back to the present by Shintaro’s elbow digging into his side. “Earth to Jesse,” his friend whispers, a note of amusement in his voice. “It’s time to start warming up. You can stare at Kyomoto later.”

Jesse flushes, but he nods, rising to his feet and grabbing his racket. He takes a deep breath, trying to center himself and focus on the task at hand. He knows he has the skills to make this team, but he also knows that he’ll be up against some tough competition.

As he goes through his warm-up routine, he can’t help but glance over at Taiga every now and then, watching as he confers with Yugo and Coach Aiba, a serious expression on his face. Taiga seems to be taking his role as vice-captain very seriously, his eyes intent as he studies the other applicants, jotting down notes on a clipboard.

Jesse feels a thrill of nerves and excitement as he steps onto the court for his first drill, determined to give it his all. He loses himself in the familiar rhythm of the game, his body moving on instinct as he chases down balls and fires off shots.

He can hear Shintaro cheering him on from the sidelines, his voice rising above the din of the other applicants. It spurs Jesse on, pushing him to dig deeper and give even more of himself to the game he loves so much.

By the time the tryouts are over, Jesse is drenched in sweat and breathing hard, but he feels a sense of satisfaction and pride in his performance. He knows he gave it everything he had, leaving it all out on the court.

He joins the other applicants as they gather around Coach Aiba, waiting anxiously for the results. Yugo steps forward, a smile on his face as he begins to read out the names of those who made the cut.

“...and finally, Lewis Jesse and Morimoto Shintaro,” he finishes, his eyes twinkling as he looks over at them. “Congratulations, gentlemen. Welcome to the Waseda tennis team.”

Jesse feels a rush of elation, his heart soaring as he exchanges high-fives with Shintaro and the other successful applicants. He can’t believe he actually did it, that he’s one step closer to his dream of playing alongside Taiga.

But Taiga himself steps forward then, his expression serious. “Don’t get too comfortable just yet,” he warns, his voice quiet but firm. “You may have made the team, but you’re still just rookies. You’ll have to prove yourselves in the coming weeks if you want to earn a spot on the starting lineup.”

Jesse nods, his jaw set with determination. He knows Taiga is right, that making the team is only the beginning. He’ll have to work harder than ever to show that he belongs here, that he has what it takes to compete at this level.

As the other new members start to disperse, chatting excitedly amongst themselves, Jesse takes a deep breath and approaches Taiga, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Excuse me, Kyomoto-senpai,” he says, bowing slightly in respect. “I just wanted to say that I’m a huge fan of yours. I’ve been following your career for years, and it’s an honor to be on the same team as you.”

Taiga regards him coolly, his expression unreadable. “Thank you, Lewis,” he replies, his tone polite but distant. “I appreciate your support.”

Jesse hesitates, then plunges ahead, his voice eager. “Actually, we’ve met before. At the Junior Nationals, back in 2011. You probably don’t remember, but...”

“I'm sorry, I don't recall,” Taiga interrupts, his voice firm. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some things to discuss with Coach Aiba.”

He turns and walks away, leaving Jesse standing there, his heart sinking.

He had hoped that Taiga might remember him, might see something special in him. But it seems that to Taiga, he’s just another rookie, another face in the crowd.

Shintaro appears at his side, clapping him on the shoulder. “Tough break, man,” he says sympathetically. “But hey, don’t let it get you down. You’ll have plenty of chances to impress him in practice.”

Jesse nods, forcing a smile. “You're right. I just have to keep working hard and proving myself. Kyomoto-senpai will notice me eventually.”

As they gather their things and head off the court, Jesse can't help but glance back at Taiga one last time. He looks so cool and collected, so focused and driven. Jesse knows he has a long way to go before he can measure up to his idol.

But he also knows that he’s not going to give up. He’s going to do whatever it takes to earn Taiga’s respect and attention, to show him that he's a force to be reckoned with on the court.

With a determined set to his jaw, Jesse follows Shintaro out of the tennis complex. He may be just a rookie now, but he has big dreams and the drive to make them happen.

And one day, he knows, Kyomoto Taiga will look at him and see not just another teammate, but a true rival and equal.

Jesse will make sure of it.

The sun is starting to set as they make their way back to the dorms, the sky painted in shades of orange and pink. Jesse breathes in the cool evening air, feeling a sense of contentment and excitement washing over him.

He's taken the first step on his journey to becoming a true tennis star, and he knows there will be plenty of challenges and obstacles ahead. But with his newfound friends by his side and his unwavering determination, he feels ready to face anything.

As he parts ways with Shintaro and heads to his own room, Jesse's mind is already racing with ideas for how he can improve his game, how he can make himself stand out on the court. He knows he'll have to put in long hours of practice, pushing himself to his limits and beyond.

But he also knows that it will all be worth it in the end, when he's standing across the net from Taiga, their eyes locked in a battle of wills and skill. He can almost feel the thrill of it, the rush of adrenaline and the satisfaction of knowing that he's given his all.

Jesse flops down on his bed, his muscles aching in the best possible way. He stares up at the ceiling, a smile playing on his lips as he replays the day's events in his mind.

He knows there will be setbacks and disappointments along the way, moments when he'll question himself and his abilities. But he also knows that he has the strength and the passion to overcome them, to keep pushing forward no matter what.

Because this is his dream, his calling. And he's going to chase it with everything he has, no matter how long it takes or how hard he has to work.

With that thought in mind, Jesse closes his eyes, letting the exhaustion of the day wash over him. Tomorrow will bring new challenges and new opportunities, but for now, he's content to bask in the glow of his accomplishment, the knowledge that he's one step closer to his ultimate goal.

As he drifts off to sleep, the image of Taiga's face swims before his eyes, that cool, unreadable expression that Jesse is determined to crack. He knows it won't be easy, but he's never been one to back down from a challenge.

And so, with a smile on his face and a fire in his heart, Jesse surrenders to his dreams, ready to face whatever the future may bring. He's a Waseda tennis player now, and he's going to make sure the world knows his name.

🎾

Taiga’s alarm jolts him awake, the soft light of early morning filtering through his bedroom curtains. He blinks sleep from his eyes, taking a moment to orient himself before sitting up and stretching, his muscles still heavy from the lingering warmth of slumber.

He drags himself out of bed, padding across the room to silence his phone before heading to the bathroom to start his morning routine. The shower sputters to life, and Taiga steps under the spray, letting the hot water slide over his skin and chase away the last vestiges of drowsiness.

As he lathers shampoo into his hair, his mind drifts to the day ahead — the morning jog, the practice session with Shime, the endless cycle of classes and homework and training that has come to define his life. It’s a grind, but one he’s grown used to over the past two years, the relentless pursuit of his dreams shaping his every waking moment.

Taiga rinses off and steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist as he moves to the sink to brush his teeth. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the faint creases of worry between his brows.

He looks tired, he thinks, worn down by the constant pressure of juggling his academic and athletic pursuits.

But there’s a determination in his gaze, too, a fierce, unyielding resolve that burns bright despite the exhaustion. He’s come too gar to give up now, fought too hard to let his dreams slip away.

He’ll push through the fatigue, the doubt, the endless obstacles that stand in his way. He has to.

Taiga finishes getting ready, pulling on a lightweight hoodie and a pair of track pants, his trusty sneakers laced tight. He grabs his phone and earbuds, already queuing up his favorite running playlist as he heads downstairs to the kitchen.

The smell of miso soup and grilling fish greets him as he enters, mingling with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. His mother stands at the stove, her apron tied neatly around her waist as she tends to the various dishes. His father sits at the table, a mug of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, no doubt already deep into his work emails.

“Morning,” Taiga mumbles, sliding into his seat at the table and reaches for the pot of tea at the center.

His mother turns from the stove, flashing him a warm smile as she wipes her hands on her apron. “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?” she asks, her voice soft and soothing in the quiet of the morning.

Taiga shrugs, pouring himself a cup of tea and breathing in the fragrant steam. “Well enough, I guess. Got a lot on my mind with the new season coming up,” he replies, taking a sip of the hot liquid. It’s soothing, the warmth spreading through his chest and easing some of the tension in his shoulders.

His mother nods, her expression sympathetic as she begins to plate up the breakfast dishes. “I can imagine. It’s a big responsibility, being vice-captain. But I know you’ll do great, Taiga. You always do.”

Taiga manages a small smile at that. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll do my best.”

His father looks up from his phone, his brow furrowed slightly as he regards Taiga over the rim of his coffee mug. “Speaking of tryouts,” he says, his voice gruff with the early hour, “how did they go last Tuesday? Any promising new talent?”

Taiga hesitates, taking another sip of tea to buy himself a moment to gather his thoughts. “Yeah, a few,” he says at last, shrugging one shoulder. “There’s this one kid, a Lewis Jesse — apparently we played against each other at Junior Nationals a few years back, but I can’t really remember him.”

His mother raises an eyebrow at that, setting a plate of grilled fish and rice in front of Taiga. “Well, he must not have made it very far in the tournament, then,” she muses, a hint of amusement in her voice. “You know how focused you get when competing, Taiga. I doubt you’d forget someone who gave you a real challenge.”

Taiga grimaces, picking up his chopsticks and poking at his food. “Yeah, I guess,” he mutters, feeling a twinge of guilt at the admission. It’s true that he tends to get tunnel vision when he’s on the court, his world narrowing to the split-second calculations of spin and velocity and angle.

But still, the thought that he might have forgotten a worthy opponent sits uneasily in his gut.

His father clears his throat, setting his mug down on the table with a soft clink. “Taiga,” he says, his voice serious, “I want you to tell Jin to stop trying to convince your mother and me to let you play professionally. We’ve been over this — you need to focus on your studies, on building a stable future for yourself.”

Taiga feels a flare of irritation at his father’s words, his grip tightening on his chopsticks as he looks up to meet his gaze. “Dad, come on,” he argues, his voice tight. “I’ve proven myself these past two years, haven’t I? I’ve kept my grades up, even with all the training and competitions. And look at Shime — he’s playing professionally and still maintaining his academic standing. Why can’t I do the same?”

His father sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Taiga, we’ve discussed this. A sports career is a fleeting thing — one injury, one slump in performance, and it can all be over in an instant. You need a fallback, something to rely on when your playing days are done. That’s why we’ve always insisted on you completing your education first.”

Taiga feels his temper rising, his cheeks flushing with the heat of his anger. “But that’s not fair!” he bursts out, his voice louder than he intended. “Why should I have to put my dreams on hold, just because you’re worried about some hypothetical future? I’m good enough to compete at the highest levels, Dad. I know I am. And if you and Mom would just give me a chance, I could prove it to the world.”

His father’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing as he leans forward in his seat. “Enough, Taiga,” he says, his voice low and stern. “We’re not having this discussion again. You’ll finish your degree, and then we can talk about your professional prospects. But until then, your focus needs to be on your studies. End of story.”

Taiga feels a surge of helpless rage wash over him, hot and bitter in the back of his throat. He pushes back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the tile floor as he stands.

“Fine,” he bites out, his voice shaking. “I can see there’s no point in arguing with you. But just know this, Dad — you’re holding me back. You’re keeping me from reaching my full potential, all because of your own fears and doubts. And I’ll never forgive you for that.”

With that, he turns on his heel and storms out of the kitchen, ignoring his mother’s plaintive call of his name as he slams the front door behind him.

The cool morning air hits his face like a slap, and he sucks in a harsh breath, trying to calm the furious pounding of his heart.

He sets off at a jog, his feet pounding against the pavement as he loses himself in the familiar rhythm of the run. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom, their delicate petals drifting on the breeze like pale pink snowflakes. But Taiga barely notices their beauty, too consumed by the turmoil of his thoughts and emotions.

He runs for miles, pushing himself harder and harder until his lungs burn and his muscles scream in protest. But even the physical exertion can’t entirely chase away the frustration, the sense of helpless anger at his situation.

It’s not fair, he thinks, his jaw clenched tight as he rounds a corner and heads into the park near his house. He’s worked so hard, sacrificed so much to get to where he is.

And yet, his parents still treat him like a child, still insist on dictating the course of his life as if he has no say in the matter.

The memory of his father’s stern face, of the unyielding finality in his voice, makes Taiga’s blood boil all over again. He picks up his pace, his feet flying over the gravel path as he pushes himself to the limit. He runs until his vision blurs and his breath comes in ragged gasps, until the fury in his veins has burned itself out, leaving behind nothing but a hollow sense of exhaustion.

Finally, when he can run no more, Taiga staggers to a stop, bracing his hands on his knees as he gulps in great lungfuls of air. His heart is pounding, his shirt drenched with sweat, but the worst of his anger has faded, replaced by a bone-deep weariness that seems to seep into his very marrow.

He straightens up, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand as he looks around, trying to get his bearings. The park is quiet, the early morning light filtering through the leaves of the cherry trees and casting dappled shadows on the ground.

Taiga takes a deep breath, letting the peace of the moment wash over him, soothing his frayed nerves and calming his racing thoughts. He knows he can’t stay out here forever, knows that he’ll have to go back and face his parents eventually.

But for now, he allows himself this small reprieve, this brief escape from the pressures and expectations that weigh so heavily upon him.

He tilts his face up to the sky, closing his eyes against the gentle warmth of the sun on his skin. And for just a moment, he lets himself dream of a different life, a different future — one where he's free to pursue his passions without restraint, to chase his dreams without fear of consequence.

It’s a beautiful fantasy, but one that feels painfully out of reach, a shimmering mirage that disappears the moment he tries to grasp it.

With a heavy sigh, Taiga gets up and heads to the private tennis facility. He slows his pace as he approaches, the familiar sight of the sleek, modern building bringing a sense of calm to his turbulent emotions.

As he nears the entrance, Taiga spots a familiar figure leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and his expression pensive. It’s Jin, looking as if he's been waiting for Taiga’s arrival.

“Hey,” Jin greets him, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside Taiga as he approaches. “Your parents called. They told me what happened.”

Taiga feels a flush of embarrassment heat his cheeks, and he ducks his head, avoiding Jin’s gaze. “Yeah, I … I kind of lost it back there,” he admits, his voice low and sheepish. “I just couldn’t take it anymore, you know? The constant lectures, the disapproval, the way they keep holding me back …”

Jin nods, his expression sympathetic. “I get it, Taiga. I really do. But storming out like that, leaving your gear behind … it’s not going to solve anything. They’re still funding your expenses for the tennis team. What if they decide to cut it off after this?”

Taiga’s eyes widen, and he reaches for his tennis bag, only to realize that it’s not there. “Shit,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t even realize …”

Jin chuckles softly, placing a reassuring hand on Taiga’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I called off your practice match with Shime. Figured you could use a break, maybe take a walk and clear your head.”

Taiga nods gratefully, falling into step beside Jin as they head away from the facility and into the nearby park. The air is fresh and crisp, the scent of cherry blossoms mingling with the earthy aroma of damp soil and new growth.

For a while, they walk in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Taiga’s mind is still reeling from the confrontation with his father, the words echoing in his head like a bitter refrain.

Finally, Jin speaks, his voice gentle but firm. “Taiga, I know you’re frustrated. I know you feel like your parents are holding you back, like they don’t believe in your dreams. But you have to understand their perspective, too.”

Taiga opens his mouth to protest, but Jin holds up a hand, silencing him. “Just hear me out, okay? I didn’t go over the dark side, but if your parents don’t budge until after graduation … I’m just giving you a new perspective.”

Taiga feels a twinge of guilt at that, his stomach clenching uncomfortably. “I know what you want to say,” he admits, his voice low and rough. “That they love me and I’m lucky that they’re supporting me at all. But Jin, I'm good enough to go pro. I know I am. And every day that I'm stuck here, every tournament that I miss... it feels like I'm falling further and further behind."

Jin nods, his expression understanding. “I get that, Taiga. I really do. But you have to remember, collegiate tennis is still tennis. It’s still a chance to compete, to hone your skills and prepare for the pro circuit. And you have two years of college left. That’s not far off.”

Taiga huffs out a breath, kicking at a stray pebble on the path. “It feels like a decade,” he mutters. “And I love my team, I really do. But no one’s going pro. Everyone thinks of tennis as a hobby, not a future career. They work hard for Nationals, but they’re not gonna drop out the moment they get an offer to go pro.”

Jin is quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed. “I know it’s tough, kid,” he says at last, his voice serious. “But the best thing I can tell you is that you have to tough it out for another two years. But I’ll tell you this much: I believe in you, Taiga. I always have. And I’ll support you, pro or no pro.”

Taiga feels a lump form in his throat, and he swallows hard. “Thanks, Jin,” he manages, his voice rough with emotion. “That … that means a lot.”

They walk in silence for a while longer, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath their feet and the distant chirping of birds.

As they round a bend in the path and the tennis facility comes back into view, Taiga’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, glancing at the screen to see a message from his mother.

“Please come home, Taiga,” it reads. “We need to talk.”

Taiga stares at the message for a long moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He looks up at Jin, who gives him a small, encouraging smile.

“Go,” Jin says, nodding toward the phone. “Talk to them. Work it out.”

Taiga nods, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. “Okay,” he says, his voice steady and resolved. “I’ll … I’ll see you at practice on Monday.”

With that, he turns and heads back toward the park entrance.

🎾

As Taiga makes his way home, his mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, his stomach churning with a mix of anxiety and resolve. He knows that this conversation with his parents won’t be easy, that there will be more arguments and misunderstandings and hurt feelings.

But he also knows that he can't keep running from this, that he needs to face them head-on and find a way to make them understand his passion, his drive, his need to pursue his dreams no matter the cost.

He takes a deep breath as he approaches his house, the familiar sight of the tidy garden and the well-maintained exterior doing little to calm his nerves. He can see his parents waiting for him in the living room, their expressions a mix of concern and disappointment as they spot him walking up the path.

“Taiga,” his mother says, her voice soft and trembling as she gestures for him to take a seat on the couch. “We’re glad you came home.”

Taiga nods stiffly, settling himself on the cushions and bracing himself for the inevitable lecture. But to his surprise, his parents remain silent, an awkward tension hanging in the air between them.

Finally, his father clears his throat, his voice gruff as he speaks. “Taiga, your mother and I have been talking, and we’ve come to a decision.”

Taiga feels his heart skip a beat, his palms growing clammy with anticipation. “What kind of decision?” he asks, his voice tight with apprehension. Are they going to cut off his funding after his outburst?

His father sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “We know how much tennis means to you, Taiga. We’ve seen how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed to get to where you are. And we’re proud of you, son. Really.”

Taiga blinks, feeling a flicker of hope kindle in his chest. “You are?”

His mother nods, reaching out to take his hand in hers. “Of course we are, sweetheart. You’ve accomplished so much already — making it to the semi-finals of Nationals last year, finishing at the top of your class last year. We know how dedicated you are, how much you want to succeed.”

Taiga swallows hard, his throat tight. “Then why won’t you let me go pro?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you keep holding me back?”

His father leans forward, his expression serious. “Taiga, we’ve been thinking a lot about what you said this morning, about how you feel like we don’t believe in your dreams. And we realize now that we’ve been too rigid, too inflexible in our expectations for you.”

Taiga feels a flicker of hope spark in his chest, his heart pounding as he waits for his father to continue.

“So, we’ve decided to make a deal with you,” his father says, his voice firm but not unkind. “If you can lead your team to Nationals this year, and if you can keep your grades up … then we’ll allow you to play in one professional tournament.”

Taiga’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open. “Really?” he manages, his voice choked with disbelief. “You mean it?”

His mother nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “We do, Taiga. We know how much this means to you, and we want to support you in pursuing your dreams. But we also want you to understand the importance of balance, of not putting all your eggs in one basket.”

Taiga nods, feeling a rush of gratitude and determination wash over him. “I understand, Mom. And I promise, I won’t let you down. I’ll work harder than ever, both on the court and in the classroom. I’ll make you proud.”

His father reaches out, placing a hand on Taiga’s shoulder. “You already have, son. More than you know.”

Taiga feels a lump form in his throat. “Thank you,” he manages, his voice rough with emotion.

His father clears his throat, his expression turning serious once more. “Now, there are a few conditions to this deal, Taiga. First and foremost, your grades cannot slip. You need to maintain your academic standing, no matter how intense your training becomes.”

Taiga nods, his jaw set. “I understand, Dad. I won’t let my studies suffer, I promise.”

His mother chimes in, her voice gentle but firm. “And Taiga, we want you to remember that your health and well-being come first, always. If at any point you feel like you’re pushing yourself too hard, like you’re sacrificing your physical or mental health for the sake of your goals … we will ask you to step back. We’re here to support you, but we won’t stand by and watch you run yourself into the ground.”

Taiga feels a twinge of guilt at that, remembering the countless late nights spent training, the missed meals and skipped rest days in pursuit of perfection. “I know, Mom. I’ll be more mindful of my limits, I promise.”

His parents nod, their expressions softening with relief and understanding.

“We know you will, Taiga,” his father says, his voice gruff with emotion. “You’re a smart, capable young man, and we trust you to make the right choices for yourself.”

Taiga feels a rush of warmth at his father’s words. “Thank you, Dad. I won’t let you down.”

With that, the tension in the room seems to dissipate, replaced by a tentative sense of hope and excitement. Taiga’s mother rises from the couch, smoothing her skirt as she declares that she is making tonkatsu curry for lunch.

Meanwhile, Taiga excuses himself to head up to his room. He bounds up the steps to his room, his heart pounding with excitement as he settles himself at his desk and pulls out the folder containing the team’s roster and stats.

He spreads the papers out in front of him, his eyes scanning the names and numbers with a critical eye. There are five new faces this year, first-years with raw talent and untapped potential. Taiga makes a mental note to spend some extra time working with them, helping them hone their skills and build their confidence on the court.

But it’s the returning players that really catch his attention, the core group of teammates who have been with him through thick and thin. There’s Yugo, of course, his steady presence and unwavering support a constant source of strength. With Yuma, they’re a formidable doubles team.

And then there’s Juri, the quiet, unassuming second-year with a wicked serve and a keen strategic mind. Taiga also knows they will need to find his doubles partner for Hokuto from the first-years.

He spends the next hour poring over the data, analyzing each player’s strengths and weaknesses and brainstorming ways to maximize their potential as a team. He sketches out drills and practice matches, his pen flying across the page as he maps out a grueling training regimen designed to push them all to their limits.

But even as he works, Taiga can feel a sense of excitement building in his chest, a bubbling anticipation that threatens to overflow. This is what he lives for, he realizes — the thrill of competition, the rush of adrenaline that comes with pushing himself and his team to be the best they can be.

And with the added incentive of his parents’ promise, the knowledge that a strong showing at Nationals could be his ticket to the pro circuit …

Taiga feels like he could take on the world.

🎾

The afternoon sun hangs high in the sky, its warmth tempered by a cool breeze. Jesse emerges from the humanities building, his backpack slung over one shoulder, a spring in his step as he heads towards the tennis courts. The campus is alive with activity, students milling about between classes or lounging on the grass, enjoying the pleasant weather.

As he walks, Jesse's mind races with anticipation. It’s his first official practice as a member of the Waseda University tennis team, and he can barely contain his excitement. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to calm his nerves.

“Hey, Jesse!” a familiar voice calls out.

Jesse turns to see Shintaro jogging towards him, a wide grin on his face. “Shintaro! Ready for our first practice?”

“You bet!” Shintaro falls into step beside Jesse, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “I can’t believe we actually made it onto the team. It feels like a dream.”

Jesse nods, a smile playing on his lips. “I know what you mean. It’s still sinking in for me too.”

As they walk, the conversation flows easily between them. Jesse is relieved that he and Shintaro hit it off right away. He knows he’ll have to do some socializing with the team eventually — not that he’s opposed to that  — but it feels great to make a friend right away.

“So,” Shintaro says, a mischievous glint in his eye, “are you going to be aiming for a position to compete at Nationals?”

Jesse feels a flush creep up his neck, but he nods firmly. “Absolutely. I wanna prove myself, show everyone what I’m capable of.” He pauses, then adds in a quieter voice, “And … I wanna get noticed by Kyomoto-senpai. Maybe make him eventually remember we played against each other before.”

Shintaro lets out a low whistle. “Ah, the infamous crush rears its head. You’ve got it bad, my dude.”

Jesse elbows him playfully. “Oh, like you’re one to talk. I saw the way you were looking at Matsumura-senpai during tryouts. Planning to make a play for his doubles partner position?”

Now it's Shintaro’s turn to blush, his cheeks turning a deep shade of pink. “Is it that obvious?” he groans, running a hand through his hair.

“Only to anyone with eyes,” Jesse teases. “But hey, at least you have a shot at actually partnering with him. Me? I’m just hoping Kyomoto-senpai will remember my name.”

They round the corner, and the tennis courts come into view. The familiar sight of the green courts and white lines sends a thrill of excitement through Jesse.

But as they approach, they realize that the courts aren’t empty. Two figures are engaged in an intense rally on the center court

Jesse’s breath catches in his throat as he recognizes one of them — Kyomoto Taiga, moving with fluid grace as he returns each shot with precision and power.

“Whoa,” Shintaro breathes, coming to a stop beside Jesse. “Is that Kyomoto-senpai?”

Jesse nods, unable to tear his eyes away from the match. “Yeah, and that’s Tanaka Juri-senpai he’s playing against. He’s one of the regular players, a third-year.”

They watch in awe as Taiga and Juri battle it out on the court. Juri’s playing style is creative and unpredictable, his wiry frame allowing him to reach shots that seem impossible.

But Taiga … Taiga is on another level entirely. Every movement Taiga makes is deliberate and efficient. His footwork is impeccable, allowing him to cover the court with ease. His shots are a perfect blend of power and precision, keeping Juri constantly on the defensive.

Jesse drinks in every detail, from the way Taiga’s dark hair falls across his forehead as he moves, to the intense focus in his eyes as he tracks the ball. It’s like watching a master artist at work, and Jesse feels his admiration for Taiga growing with every passing second.

“He’s amazing,” Jesse murmurs, more to himself than to Shintaro.

“You can say that again,” a new voice chimes in, making both Jesse and Shintaro jump.

They turn to find Kochi Yugo standing beside them, a knowing smile on his face as he watches the match. “Taiga’s something else, isn't he? A real monster, both on and off the court.”

Jesse's eyes widen at Yugo’s words. “Off the court too, senpai?”

Yugo nods, his expression turning thoughtful. “Taiga’s drive is … intense. His dream is different from everyone else on the team. He’s the only one who’s dead set on going pro. For him, making it to Nationals isn’t just a goal — it’s an expectation.”

Jesse feels a mix of admiration and intimidation at Yugo’s words. He knew Taiga was dedicated, but hearing it put like that … it’s almost overwhelming.

“Is that why he seems so … distant?” Shintaro asks hesitantly.

Yugo chuckles, but there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Partly. Taiga’s always been focused, but lately … well, let’s just say you two might need to be patient with him. He’s got a lot on his mind.”

Before Jesse can ask what Yugo means by that, a sharp voice cuts through the air.

“You three! If you’re done gossiping, it's time to warm up.”

They turn to see Taiga standing at the net, his match with Juri apparently finished. His eyes are sharp as he looks at them, and Jesse feels a shiver run down his spine.

“You heard the man,” Yugo says with a grin. “Better get moving before he decides to make you run laps.”

Jesse and Shintaro exchange a panicked look before rushing towards the locker room. They change into their practice gear in record time, emerging onto the courts just as Coach Aiba begins to address the team.

The entire team is assembled — the regular players, the seniors, and the newly admitted freshmen like Jesse and Shintaro. There’s an electric energy in the air, a sense of anticipation that has Jesse's heart racing.

Coach Aiba clears his throat, his usually laid-back demeanor replaced by a more serious expression. “Alright, everyone, listen up. As you all know, the Sectionals are coming up fast. That means it’s time for us to start thinking about our line-up — three singles players and two doubles teams.”

A murmur runs through the group at this announcement. Jesse feels a mix of excitement and nervousness churning in his stomach. Could he possibly have a shot at making the line-up as a freshman?

“To our seniors and regular players,” Coach Aiba continues, his gaze sweeping over the more experienced members of the team, “don’t let your guard down. Your positions aren’t guaranteed.” His eyes then move to the freshmen, including Jesse and Shintaro. “And to our newcomers — this is your chance to step up. Show us what you’re made of.”

Jesse straightens his posture, determination flooding through him. This is his opportunity to prove himself, to show Taiga and everyone else that he deserves to be here.

Coach Aiba nods to Yugo. “Kochi, take it away. Lead the warm-up.”

As Yugo begins to guide the team through their warm-up routine, Jesse finds his eyes drawn once again to Taiga. The vice-captain’s focus is absolute, his movements precise as he stretches and prepares his body for practice.

Jesse tries to mimic Taiga’s form, pushing his body to match the older player’s flexibility and control. He’s so engrossed in his observation that he almost misses Shintaro’s not-so-subtle glances towards Hokuto.

A small smile tugs at Jesse’s lips as he watches his friend’s obvious admiration. Hokuto is graceful in his movements, his lithe form bending and stretching with an ease that speaks to years of practice. Jesse can understand why Shintaro is so captivated.

Suddenly, a sharp voice cuts through Jesse’s thoughts. “Lewis! Morimoto! Eyes forward. Focus on your own form.”

Jesse’s head snaps up to find Taiga staring at them, his gaze intense and slightly disapproving. Heat rushes to his cheeks as he realizes he’s been caught staring.

“Sorry, senpai!” he and Shintaro chorus, quickly returning their attention to their warm-up.

As the warm-up concludes, a hush falls over the group. Taiga steps forward, his presence commanding attention without a word spoken. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the court, highlighting the determined set of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes.

“Alright, everyone,” Taiga begins, his voice carrying easily across the courts. “Today’s drills are going to push you to your limits. We’re focusing on endurance and precision.”

He outlines a series of exercises that have the regulars groaning under their breath. Jesse catches Juri rolling his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips, as if he’s secretly looking forward to the challenge.

“First, we’ll start with suicides,” Taiga continues, seemingly oblivious to the collective wince that ripples through the team. “Then we'll move on to rapid-fire volleys, followed by a backhand accuracy drill.”

Jesse listens intently, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and nervousness. The drills sound grueling, but he’s determined to prove himself. He notices Shintaro beside him, bouncing on the balls of his feet, unable to contain his energy.

As they line up for the suicides, Jesse can feel the tension in the air. The regulars take their positions with practiced ease, while the freshmen, including himself, try to mimic their stance.

The sharp blast of Taiga’s whistle cuts through the air, and they’re off.

The first few rounds aren’t too bad. Jesse’s long legs give him an advantage, and he finds himself keeping pace with some of the more experienced players.

But as they continue, the strain begins to show. His lungs burn, and his legs feel like lead. Sweat drips into his eyes, and he blinks it away furiously, refusing to slow down.

Through the haze of exertion, Jesse catches glimpses of Taiga watching them, his eyes sharp and assessing. He pushes himself harder, desperate to make a good impression.

By the time they finish the suicides, Jesse’s shirt is soaked through, and he’s gasping for breath.

But there’s no time to rest. They move straight into the volley drill, the rapid-fire thwack of balls against rackets filling the air.

Jesse’s arms ache as he returns shot after shot, but he grits his teeth and pushes through. He can see Shintaro a few courts over, his face set in fierce concentration as he volleys with Hokuto. Despite his exhaustion, Jesse can’t help but smile at his friend’s obvious delight in partnering with his crush.

Finally, they reach the backhand drill. Jesse’s relief at moving to something more technical is short-lived as Taiga announces the pairings.

“Lewis, you’re with Tanaka,” Taiga calls out, his eyes meeting Jesse’s for a brief moment.

Jesse’s heart leaps, both at being singled out and at the prospect of working with one of the team’s top players.

Juri saunters over, a lazy grin on his face. “Ready to work on that backhand, rookie?” he asks, spinning his racket with practiced ease.

Jesse nods eagerly. “Absolutely, senpai. I’m all ears.”

They take their positions, and Juri begins feeding balls to Jesse. At first, Jesse struggles, his backhand shots lacking power and accuracy. But Juri is patient, offering tips and adjustments with each swing.

“Try rotating your hips more,” Juri suggests, demonstrating the motion. “It’ll give you more power and control.”

Jesse attempts to mimic Juri’s form, feeling an immediate improvement in his shot. He grins, excited by the progress, but his celebration is short-lived.

“Lewis!” Taiga’s sharp voice cuts across the court.

Jesse freezes, his heart sinking as the vice-captain approaches.

“Your form is still off. Watch closely.”

Taiga steps in, taking Jesse’s place. With fluid grace, he demonstrates the proper backhand technique. Jesse watches in awe, drinking in every detail — the precise angle of Taiga’s racket, the smooth rotation of his body, the perfect follow-through.

“Now you try,” Taiga instructs, stepping back.

Jesse takes a deep breath, hyper-aware of Taiga’s scrutiny. He sets up, trying to replicate what he’s just seen. As Juri feeds him the ball, Jesse swings, feeling the satisfying connection of racket to ball.

“Better.” Taiga nods, his expression unreadable. “Keep practicing. Juri, make sure he maintains proper form.”

As Taiga walks away, Jesse feels a mix of disappointment and determination. He’s grateful for the instruction but can’t help feeling like he’s let Taiga down somehow. He turns back to Juri, ready to continue.

“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Juri says, reading Jesse’s expression. “Kyomo’s tough on everyone. It means he sees potential in you.”

Jesse brightens at this, throwing himself back into the drill with renewed vigor.

The rest of the practice passes in a blur of sweat, exertion, and the satisfying thwack of well-hit balls. By the time Coach Aiba blows the final whistle, Jesse feels like he’s been put through a wringer. His muscles ache, and he's pretty sure he’s never sweat so much in his life.

But underneath the exhaustion is a deep sense of satisfaction. He’s survived his first real practice with the Waseda tennis team.

As they trudge towards the locker room, Jesse falls into step beside Shintaro, who looks equally worn out but grinning from ear to ear.

“Man, that was intense,” Shintaro pants, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “But kinda amazing, right?”

Jesse nods, a tired smile spreading across his face. “Definitely. I think I’m gonna sleep for a week, though.”

They push open the locker room door, the cool air inside a welcome relief after the heat of the courts. The room is filled with the chatter of their teammates, a mix of exhausted groans and excited recaps of the day’s practice.

As Jesse pulls off his sweat-soaked shirt, he notices Juri and Hokuto approaching. Juri’s easy grin is in place, while Hokuto offers a shy smile.

“Nice work out there, freshmen,” Juri says, clapping both Jesse and Shintaro on the shoulder. “You guys held your own pretty well.”

“Thanks, senpai,” Jesse replies, feeling a warmth in his chest at the praise.

Hokuto nods in agreement. “You both showed a lot of potential today. Especially you, Morimoto-kun. Your net play was quite impressive.”

Shintaro’s face lights up at the compliment, a blush creeping up his neck. “Th-thank you, Matsumura-senpai! I really enjoyed partnering with you for the volley drill.”

Jesse hides a smile at his friend’s obvious crush, turning back to his locker to give Shintaro a moment to compose himself.

“Hey,” Juri says, leaning against the lockers. “A bunch of us usually grab dinner after practice. You two wanna join?”

Jesse and Shintaro exchange excited glances. “We’d love to!” Jesse replies, trying not to sound too eager.

As they continue chatting and changing, a commotion from outside the locker room catches their attention. Angry voices filter through the door, growing louder by the second.

“This is ridiculous, Kyomoto!” a deep voice shouts. “Your training regimen is insane. We’re not professionals, you know!”

The locker room falls silent, everyone straining to hear. Jesse recognizes the angry voice as belonging to Suzuki, a third-year he’d seen at tryouts.

“The regimen is designed to prepare us for Nationals,” Taiga’s cool voice replies, a stark contrast to Suzuki’s heated tone. “If you can’t handle it—”

“Handle it?” Suzuki interrupts. “It’s not about handling it. It’s about having a life outside of tennis. Some of us have other priorities, you know.”

There’s a pause, and when Taiga speaks again, his voice is low and dangerous.

“Other priorities? Is that why we lost our shot at the semi-finals last year, Suzuki? Because you had other priorities?”

The silence that follows is deafening. Jesse exchanges a wide-eyed look with Shintaro, both of them frozen in place.

“You know what?” Suzuki’s voice breaks the silence, trembling with anger. “I’m done. I quit. Find someone else to torture with your insane drills.”

Footsteps storm away, followed by another tense silence.

Then, Taiga’s voice, closer to the door now.

“I know you’re all listening. Practice starts at 6 AM tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

The locker room door swings open, and Taiga steps inside. His face is a mask of calm, but there’s a storm brewing in his eyes. He walks to his locker as if nothing has happened, the other players scrambling to look busy.

Jesse watches Taiga from the corner of his eye, a mixture of awe and trepidation swirling in his gut. He’s just witnessed firsthand the intensity that Yugo had warned them about, the single-minded focus that makes Taiga both admired and feared.

As he finishes changing, Jesse can’t help but wonder what he's gotten himself into. The path to impressing Taiga and earning a spot in the starting lineup suddenly seems much steeper than he’d imagined.

The tension in the locker room slowly dissipates as players finish changing and start to filter out. Jesse can hear snippets of hushed conversations, most of them centered around Suzuki’s dramatic exit and what it might mean for the team.

“I can’t believe Suzuki-senpai actually quit,” one second-year whispers to his friend. “He was one of our best doubles players.”

“Yeah, but you heard what Kyomoto-senpai said about the semi-finals,” his friend replies. “He did lose our chance to move to Nationals last year. Maybe it’s for the best.”

Jesse tries not to eavesdrop, but it’s hard to ignore the buzz of speculation around him. He catches Shintaro’s eye, and they share a look of mingled excitement and apprehension. They’ve stepped into a team with a lot of history and high stakes, and Jesse can feel the weight of expectation settling on his shoulders.

As he shoulders his bag, Jesse notices Taiga still at his locker, methodically packing his things. The vice-captain’s face is impassive, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that suggests the confrontation with Suzuki affected him more than he’s letting on.

For a moment, Jesse considers approaching Taiga, maybe offering a word of support or just acknowledging the difficult situation. But before he can gather his courage, Juri appears at his side, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“Ready for dinner, rookie?” Juri asks, his easy grin a welcome distraction from the lingering tension. “I know a great ramen place just off campus.”

Jesse nods, grateful for the change of subject. “Sounds perfect. I’m starving after that practice.”

They make their way out of the locker room, Shintaro and Hokuto falling into step beside them. As they exit the sports complex, the early evening air is cool on Jesse’s skin, a gentle breeze carrying the sweet scent of cherry blossoms.

The campus is quieter now, most students having headed home or to the library to study. The setting sun paints the sky in vibrant shades of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the grounds. It’s a beautiful evening, at odds with the drama that just unfolded in the locker room.

As they walk, the conversation flows easily between the four of them. Juri regales them with stories from his first year on the team, his animated gestures and infectious laugh soon having them all in stitches. Even Hokuto, who Jesse had pegged as the quiet type, chimes in with dry comments that leave them howling.

“So there I was,” Juri says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, “stuck in the equipment shed with nothing but a tennis racket and a bottle of sunscreen, trying to fend off this massive spider. And then who should walk in but Coach Aiba!”

Shintaro clutches his sides, barely able to breathe through his laughter. “What did you do?”

Juri grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What else? I struck a pose and told him I was practicing my forehand. He just looked at me, shook his head, and walked right back out. To this day, I don’t think he’s ever mentioned it.”

As their laughter subsides, Jesse feels a warmth spreading through his chest that has nothing to do with the exertion from practice. This, he realizes, is what he’s always loved about tennis — not just the game itself, but the camaraderie, the shared experiences, the friendships forged through sweat and determination.

They round a corner, and the ramen shop comes into view. It’s a small, cozy-looking place, with paper lanterns hanging outside and the rich aroma of broth wafting through the air.

Jesse’s stomach growls in anticipation.

They place their orders — Jesse opting for a hearty tonkotsu ramen that Juri swears by — and fall into easy conversation once more.

As they wait for their food, Hokuto leans forward, his expression turning slightly more serious. “So, what did you two think of your first real practice?” he asks, his gaze moving between Jesse and Shintaro. “I know Kyomo’s training regimen can be … intense.”

Jesse considers the question, absently twirling his chopsticks between his fingers. “It was tough,” he admits. “Tougher than I expected, honestly. But also kinda exhilarating, you know?”

Shintaro nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! I mean, I’m pretty sure every muscle in my body is screaming right now, but it felt good to be pushed like that.”

Juri leans back, a knowing smile on his face. “That’s the thing about Kyomo’s training. It’s brutal, no doubt about it. But if you stick with it, you’ll see results faster than you can imagine.”

“Is he always so …” Jesse trails off, searching for the right word.

“Intense? Demanding? Terrifying?” Juri supplies with a chuckle. “Pretty much, yeah. But here’s the thing – Kyomo pushes us so hard because he truly believes in our potential. He sees things in us that we don’t see in ourselves sometimes.”

Hokuto nods in agreement. “It’s true. I remember when I first joined the team, I was this scrawny, uncoordinated mess. But Kyomoto saw something in me, and he refused to let me give up on myself. It was hard, and there were days I wanted to quit, but …” He smiles softly. “Well, I wouldn’t be half the player I am now without his coaching.”

Jesse absorbs this information, feeling a renewed sense of determination. He thinks back to the moment on the court when Taiga corrected his backhand. At the time, he’d felt embarrassed and a bit discouraged.

But now, hearing Juri and Hokuto’s perspectives, he sees it in a new light. Taiga had taken the time to personally correct his form — maybe that really did mean he saw potential in Jesse.

Their food arrives, steaming bowls of ramen placed before them. The rich aroma makes Jesse’s mouth water, and for a few minutes, conversation ceases as they dig in. The ramen is every bit as delicious as Juri promised, the perfect comfort food after a grueling practice.

As they eat, the conversation turns to their upcoming matches. The Sectionals are still a few weeks away, but there’s a practice match scheduled against a nearby university next week.

“It’s a good opportunity for Coach Aiba and Kyomoto to see how we perform under pressure,” Hokuto explains, deftly picking up a slice of chashu with his chopsticks. “Especially for you newcomers. If you impress them there, you might have a shot at playing in the Sectionals.”

Jesse feels a flutter of excitement in his stomach that has nothing to do with the ramen. A chance to prove himself, to show Taiga what he’s capable of in a real match setting — it’s exactly what he's been hoping for.

“Any advice for us newbies?” Shintaro asks, leaning forward eagerly.

Juri grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Just one – don’t let Kyomo’s death glare psych you out. He looks like he wants to murder you when you’re on the court, but it’s just his way of showing he cares.”

As they finish their meal, the sky outside has darkened to a deep indigo, the first stars twinkling into view. The cherry blossom petals continue their gentle dance in the evening breeze.

Walking back to their dorms, Jesse feels a sense of calm determination settle over him. The path ahead won’t be easy, but he’s ready for the challenge. He feels more certain of his goal — to prove himself on the court, to earn his place on the team.

And maybe, just maybe, to gain the recognition of the enigmatic Kyomoto Taiga.

As they part ways for the night, Shintaro gives Jesse a friendly punch on the arm. “Get some rest, partner. Something tells me tomorrow’s practice is going to be even tougher.”

Jesse grins, returning the gesture. “Bring it on. I’m ready for whatever Kyomoto-senpai throws at us.”

With a final wave, Jesse heads to his room, his mind already racing with plans for improvement.

Tomorrow is another day, another chance to prove himself on the sun-drenched courts.

🎾

The fluorescent lights of the library hum softly overhead as Taiga stares at his laptop screen, his brow furrowed in concentration. The quiet rustle of turning pages and the muffled tapping of keyboards create a soothing backdrop to his thoughts. He’s been here for hours, the worn leather of the chair molding to his form as he pores over his schedule for his third-year research project.

Taiga pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, blinking rapidly to refocus his tired eyes. The screen before him is a maze of color-coded blocks and notes, each representing a task or deadline for the coming months.

He’s always prided himself on his ability to balance his academic and athletic pursuits, but this year feels different. The weight of his parents’ ultimatum hangs heavy on his shoulders, adding an extra layer of pressure to every decision he makes.

A soft growl emanates from his stomach, breaking his concentration. Taiga glances at the time display in the corner of his screen and realizes with a start that it’s well past noon. He hasn’t eaten since his hurried breakfast before his morning practice match with Shime.

“Crap,” he mutters under his breath, earning a sharp look from a nearby student. Taiga offers an apologetic smile and begins to gather his things, his movements quick and efficient.

Just as he’s about to close his laptop, a soft ping alerts him to a new email. Taiga’s finger hovers over the trackpad, debating whether to check it now or wait until after he’s eaten.

Curiosity wins out, and he clicks on the notification.

The email is from Coach Aiba, with Yugo cc’d. Taiga’s eyes scan the message quickly, his heart sinking as he reads the reminder to finalize the lineup for their upcoming practice match with Ochanomizu University.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Taiga groans, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He can feel the initial tendrils of panic starting to creep in, his breath coming a bit faster as he mentally adds this task to his already overwhelming to-do list.

For a moment, Taiga feels like he’s drowning, caught in a riptide of responsibilities and expectations. The familiar voice of self-doubt whispers in his ear, telling him he’s not good enough, that he can’t possibly manage it all.

But then, almost instinctively, Taiga closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He focuses on the air filling his lungs, on the steady beat of his heart. It’s a grounding technique that Jin taught him years ago, a way to center himself when the world feels like it’s spinning out of control.

“One thing at a time,” Taiga murmurs to himself, opening his eyes and feeling a bit more settled.

He quickly types out a message to Yugo, asking to meet after his class to discuss the lineup.

With that done, Taiga turns his attention back to the task at hand. He opens the team roster file, the familiar names and stats bringing a small smile to his face despite his stress. This, at least, is familiar territory.

As he scans through the list, Taiga’s mind automatically begins to categorize and strategize. He needs three singles players and two pairs teams.

Some choices are obvious – he’ll take one of the singles spots, and Yugo and Yuma are a lock for the first doubles team. That leaves two singles spots and one doubles team to fill.

Taiga’s cursor hovers over Juri’s name, and he can't help but chuckle softly. Juri’s practice attendance might be spotty at best, but his natural talent and impressive win-loss record make him an easy choice for the second singles spot.

The third singles spot is trickier. Taiga’s eyes land on Lewis Jesse’s file, and he feels a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. The freshman is still rough around the edges, his aggressive net play often overshadowing his somewhat shaky basics.

But there’s potential there, a raw talent that Taiga can't ignore.

“Alright, Lewis,” Taiga murmurs, making a note next to Jesse’s name. “Let’s see what you can do.”

That leaves the second doubles team. Taiga’s fingers tap a restless rhythm on the table as he considers his options.

His thoughts turn to Hokuto, and he feels a surge of affection for the sophomore. Hokuto’s improvement over the past year has been nothing short of remarkable, a testament to his dedication and hard work.

But Hokuto needs a partner, someone to complement his strategic, adaptable style. Taiga’s gaze falls on Morimoto Shintaro’s name, and he tilts his head thoughtfully. The freshman’s aggressive net play could be just what Hokuto needs to round out their game.

“Worth a shot,” Taiga decides, making a note to run some trial drills with the pair.

As he looks over his selections, Taiga feels a mix of excitement and trepidation. It’s a solid lineup, he thinks, but there’s always room for improvement. His mind drifts to the players who aren’t on the list – the ones who graduated or quit the team.

A pang of guilt twists in his gut as he remembers the harsh words and grueling practices that drove some of them away.

“No use dwelling on it now,” Taiga tells himself firmly, closing the file with a decisive click. He’s learned from his mistakes, he hopes, and this year will be different.

It has to be.

Satisfied with his choices for now, Taiga finally packs up his belongings. As he slings his bag over his shoulder, his stomach gives another loud growl, reminding him of his original mission.

“Right,” he mutters, patting his pocket to make sure he has his wallet. “Food. Definitely food.”

The library’s automatic doors whoosh open as Taiga steps out into the afternoon air. The sky above is a patchwork of gray clouds, hinting at the possibility of rain later. A cool breeze ruffles Taiga’s hair, carrying with it the faint scent of cherry blossoms from the nearby trees.

As he makes his way across campus, Taiga’s mind is already racing ahead to his next tasks. He needs to meet with his research supervisor, run those trial drills with Hokuto and Shintaro, review Jesse’s recent performance metrics …

But first, lunch.

One step at a time, he reminds himself, just like on the court.

🎾

“You know, I’m starting to think Coach Aiba might be psychic,” Taiga muses, his eyes scanning the email on his phone as he and Yugo stroll across the sun-dappled campus toward the tennis courts.

Yugo chuckles. “What makes you say that? Did he predict another one of your crazy training regimens?”

Taiga shakes his head, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Nah, even better. He approved our lineup for the practice match against Ochanomizu without any changes. It’s like he read our minds.”

“Great minds think alike, I guess,” Yugo grins, bumping his shoulder against Taiga’s. “Though in this case, it might just be that we know our team better than anyone else.”

As they walk, the familiar sounds of the campus fade into the background — the chatter of students, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant chime of the clock tower. The air is thick with the scent of spring, a heady mixture of fresh grass and blooming flowers that seems to energize everything it touches.

Suddenly, Taiga’s phone buzzes again, this time with a text message. His brow furrows as he reads it, a small sigh escaping his lips.

“Everything okay?” Yugo asks, concern evident in his voice.

Taiga nods, but his expression remains troubled. “Yeah, it’s just my research professor. He wants to meet about my research topic over video call tonight.” He sighs again. “I’m starting to feel like I’m juggling chainsaws here, Yugo. Between the team, my classes, and trying to keep my parents happy …”

Yugo’s expression softens, and he places a comforting hand on Taiga’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ve got an idea — why don’t you let me handle the logistics for the training camp? That’ll take at least one thing off your plate.”

Taiga hesitates, his natural inclination to control every aspect of the team’s preparation warring with the logical part of his brain that knows he's stretched too thin. “I don’t know, Yugo. Vice-captains usually organize the training camp. It’s a big responsibility—"

“Which is exactly why the captain should handle it,” Yugo interjects, his tone light but firm. “Come on, Taiga. Let me help. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is.”

After a moment's consideration, Taiga nods, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. “Alright, you win. Thanks, Yugo. I owe you one.”

As they approach the tennis courts, the familiar sounds of squeaking shoes and thwacking balls fill the air. The courts are a hive of activity, with various players engaged in matches or drills. But it’s the match on the center court that catches their attention.

Jesse and Shintaro are locked in a fierce doubles match against Hokuto and Juri. The contrasting styles of play are immediately apparent — Jesse and Shintaro’s aggressive net plays make for an interesting dynamic, though it’s clear they’re still learning to work together.

“Well, would you look at that,” Yugo murmurs, his eyes tracking the ball as it zips back and forth across the net. “Looks like our hunches about those two were right on the money.”

Taiga nods, his mind already dissecting the strengths and weaknesses of each player. “Lewis’ got raw talent, that’s for sure. But clearly, he’s not much of a doubles player. Too focused on his own game, not enough awareness of his partner.”

As they watch, Jesse makes a spectacular diving save, but the ball sails past Shintaro, who was caught off guard by his partner’s sudden move. Hokuto, ever the strategist, capitalizes on the miscommunication, placing a perfect drop shot just over the net.

“Morimoto’s got potential, though,” Yugo observes. “He’s adaptive, always trying to complement Lewis’ style. With some work, they could both be solid additions to the lineup.”

The match concludes with Hokuto and Juri emerging victorious, though it’s clear that all four players have given their all. As they shake hands at the net, Taiga can’t help but feel a surge of pride and excitement for the future of the team.

“I’ll focus on getting Hokuto and Morimoto ready for doubles,” Yugo says, already formulating training plans in his head. “You take care of Lewis’ singles game. That kid’s got a lot of potential, but he needs some fine-tuning.”

Taiga nods, a determined glint in his eye. “Agreed. Let’s go break the news to them.”

As they approach the four players, still catching their breath and chatting animatedly about the match, Taiga can't help but notice the way Shintaro’s eyes keep darting toward Hokuto, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. It’s an odd detail, and Taiga files it away, unsure of its significance but feeling like it might be important somehow.

“Great match, guys,” Yugo calls out, his easy smile putting everyone at ease. “We’ve got some news for you.”

Jesse and Shintaro exchange nervous glances, while Hokuto and Juri look on with interest.

“You’ve both made the lineup for the practice match against Ochanomizu,” Taiga announces, his tone businesslike but not unkind. “Lewis, you’ll be playing singles. Morimoto, you’ll be paired with Hokuto for doubles.”

The reaction is immediate — Jesse’s face lights up with unbridled joy, while Shintaro somehow looks both excited and terrified for reasons unknown to Taiga. Hokuto nods approvingly, seemingly already considering strategies, while Juri gives a lazy thumbs-up.

“This is just for the practice match,” Yugo adds, tempering their excitement with a dose of reality. “But if you perform well, there’s a good chance you could make the lineup for Nationals.”

Jesse’s eyes widen at this, his gaze darting to Taiga with a mix of admiration and nervousness. “R-really? That’s … wow. Thank you for the opportunity, senpai!”

Taiga nods, his expression serious. “Don’t thank us yet. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. Jesse, you and I will be doing some private coaching sessions to work on your singles game.”

At this, Jesse’s nervousness seems to increase tenfold, but he nods determinedly. “I won’t let you down, senpai!”

Before Taiga can respond, the sound of a whistle cuts through the air. They turn to see Coach Aiba approaching, wearing his ever-present.

“Alright, team!” he calls out, clapping his hands together. “Time to get this practice started. I hope you’re all ready to sweat!”

🎾

Taiga stands at the edge of the court, his eyes scanning the bustling scene before him. The team is spread out across the complex, their forms blurring into a sea of white and green as they go through their warm-up routines. He takes a deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs and steadying his nerves.

“Alright, let’s get started!” Coach Aiba’s voice booms across the courts, cutting through the ambient noise. “Yugo, Taiga, you know what to do.”

Taiga nods, his gaze immediately locking onto Jesse. The first-year is bouncing on the balls of his feet, his blonde hair catching the light as he chatters animatedly with Shintaro. Taiga can’t help but notice the way Jesse’s eyes keep darting in his direction, a mixture of nervousness and excitement evident in his expression.

“Lewis!” Taiga calls out, his voice crisp and authoritative. “With me.”

Jesse’s head snaps up, his eyes widening slightly. He gives Shintaro a quick fist bump before jogging over to Taiga, his sneakers kicking up small puffs of red clay.

“Yes, senpai?” Jesse asks, slightly out of breath. His cheeks are flushed, whether from exertion or anticipation, Taiga can’t quite tell.

Taiga jerks his head toward an empty court at the far end of the complex. “We’re gonna have a one-set match,” he explains as they walk. “I want to see where you’re at, get a feel for your playing style.”

Jesse nods eagerly, his grip tightening on his racket. “O-okay, senpai. I’ll do my best!”

As they reach the court, Taiga can feel the tension radiating off Jesse in waves. The first-year’s movements are jittery, his usual fluid grace replaced by an awkward stiffness as he takes his position at the baseline.

“Relax, Lewis,” Taiga calls out as he bounces the ball, preparing to serve. “It’s just a practice match.”

Jesse nods, but his stance remains rigid, his eyes fixed on Taiga with an intensity that’s almost unnerving.

Taiga shakes his head slightly, then tosses the ball high into the air.

The serve is a beauty, arcing gracefully before slicing down towards Jesse’s forehand. It’s not Taiga’s fastest or most aggressive serve, but it’s placed perfectly, designed to test Jesse’s reflexes and control.

Jesse’s reaction is a beat too slow. He lunges for the ball, his racket connecting with a solid thwack, but the return sails wide, landing well outside the sideline.

“Fifteen-love!” Taiga calls out, already preparing for his next serve.

The pattern continues for the next few points. Jesse’s movements are frantic, his usually creative shots replaced by safe, predictable returns that Taiga easily anticipates and counters. It’s a far cry from the dynamic, unpredictable player Taiga had observed during the first few weeks of practice.

As Taiga effortlessly claims the first game, he feels a twinge of frustration. This isn’t the challenge he’d been hoping for, and it certainly isn’t going to help Jesse improve.

“Time out!” Taiga calls, gesturing for Jesse to approach the net.

The first-year jogs over, his head hanging low, blonde fringe obscuring his eyes.

“What’s going on, Lewis?” Taiga asks, keeping his voice low and level. “This isn’t the player I saw during the first few weeks of practice. Where’s that creativity, that unpredictability?”

Jesse’s head snaps up, his cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. “I-I’m sorry, senpai,” he stammers, his fingers fidgeting with the strings of his racket. “It’s just … it’s not every day I get to play against my idol, you know?”

Taiga blinks, taken aback by the admission. He knows he should feel flattered, but instead, he feels a surge of irritation.

“Lewis,” he says, his voice taking on a stern edge. “We’re teammates now. Your admiration for me or anyone else on this team can’t get in the way of your performance. Do you understand?”

Jesse nods vigorously, his eyes wide. “Y-yes, senpai. I’m sorry, I’ll do better.”

Taiga softens his tone slightly, recognizing the genuine distress in Jesse’s expression. “Look, I appreciate the sentiment, but on this court, I’m not your idol. I’m your vice-captain and your teammate. I need you to show me what you can really do, okay?”

A determined glint appears in Jesse’s eyes, and he nods once, firmly. “Understood, senpai. I won’t hold back anymore.”

As they retake their positions, Taiga can see a visible change in Jesse’s demeanor. The nervous energy is still there, but it’s channeled differently now, manifesting as a coiled readiness rather than jittery anxiety.

Taiga serves again, another well-placed shot that skims the center line. This time, Jesse’s response is lightning-quick. He meets the ball with a forceful backhand, sending it screaming down the line past a surprised Taiga.

“Fifteen-all!” Jesse calls out, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Taiga can’t help but grin in response. This is more like it.

The rest of the set unfolds in a flurry of increasingly creative shots and long, grueling rallies. Jesse’s true playing style emerges in full force — unpredictable, energetic, and wildly inventive. He pulls off shots that Taiga’s never seen before, contorting his body in ways that seem to defy physics.

It’s not enough to win the set — Taiga’s experience and technical mastery see him through to a 6-4 victory — but it's a far cry from the one-sided affair of the first game.

As they shake hands at the net, both breathing heavily, Taiga can see the sparkle of excitement in Jesse’s eyes. “That was amazing, senpai!” Jesse exclaims, his earlier nervousness seemingly forgotten. “I’ve never played a match like that before!”

Taiga allows himself a small smile. “You did well, Lewis,” he says, then pauses, considering his next words carefully. “But there’s still a lot of room for improvement.”

Jesse nods eagerly, leaning in as if to physically absorb Taiga’s words. “What should I work on, senpai?”

Taiga spends the next half hour breaking down Jesse’s performance, pointing out areas where his footwork could be tightened, his shot selection refined. Jesse listens intently, his brow furrowed in concentration as he occasionally mimics the movements Taiga describes.

“Your creativity is your biggest strength,” Taiga concludes, “but it can also be a weakness if you rely on it too heavily. You need to build a solid foundation of basics to support those flashy shots.”

Jesse nods, his expression serious. “I understand, senpai. I’ll work hard to improve.”

As they wrap up their session, Taiga can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Despite the rocky start, he can see the potential in Jesse, the raw talent that, with proper guidance, could develop into something truly remarkable.

The rest of practice flies by in a blur of drills and matches. Taiga finds himself constantly in motion, offering advice here, demonstrating a technique there, all while keeping one eye on Jesse’s progress.

As the sun begins to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange, Coach Aiba’s whistle signals the end of practice. The team gathers at the center court, a collection of sweaty, tired, but satisfied faces.

“Good work today, everyone,” Coach Aiba says, his usual easygoing smile in place. “I’m seeing some real progress. Keep it up, and we’ll be ready for Nationals in no time.”

As the team begins to disperse, heading towards the locker rooms, Taiga feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns to see Yugo, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Hey,” Yugo says, his voice low and conspiratorial. “A bunch of us are heading to the izakaya down the street. You know, to welcome the new recruits properly. You in?”

Taiga hesitates, his mind immediately jumping to the pile of textbooks waiting for him at home, the lecture notes he needs to review for next week. “I don’t know, Yugo,” he starts, already formulating his excuse. “I’ve got a lot of studying to do, and—"

"Oh, come on!" Juri's voice cuts in, and suddenly Taiga finds himself sandwiched between his two teammates. "All work and no play makes Kyomo a dull boy, you know."

“But—" Taiga tries to protest, but he’s already being steered towards the exit, Yugo on one side and Juri on the other.

“No buts,” Yugo says firmly. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone lately. One night out won’t kill you.”

As they step out into the cool evening air, the first drops of a light drizzle beginning to fall, Taiga finds his resolve weakening. The thought of a cold beer and some good food does sound appealing, and it has been a while since he’s spent time with the team outside of practice …

“Fine,” he sighs, unable to keep the small smile from his face as Yugo and Juri cheer triumphantly. “But just for a little while.”

An hour, maybe, Taiga resolves as Yugo and Juri pull him back to the locker rooms. He could use some relaxing, but responsibilities still come first.

It will all be worth it when they finally make it to Nationals.

🎾

The warm glow of paper lanterns casts a soft light over the izakaya as Jesse steps inside, the familiar smell of grilled meat and alcohol enveloping him. The low hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills the air, creating an atmosphere of cozy intimacy despite the boisterous energy of the tennis club filling in behind him.

Jesse takes a deep breath, trying to calm the flutter of excitement in his stomach. It’s not just the prospect of celebrating with his new teammates that has him on edge; it’s the knowledge that he’s made the lineup for the practice match against Ochanomizu University.

The realization still feels surreal, like a dream he’s afraid he might wake up from at any moment.

As they make their way to a large table in the corner, Jesse can’t help but steal glances at Taiga. The vice-captain looks different outside of the tennis court, softer somehow in his plain black clothes and glasses. It’s a stark contrast to the intense, laser-focused presence he exudes during practice, and Jesse finds himself intrigued by this new side of his idol.

“Hey, Jesse!” Shintaro’s cheerful voice breaks through his reverie. “Come on, I saved you a seat!”

Jesse grins. He slides into the spot next to Shintaro, who has not-so-subtly positioned himself next to Hokuto. The second-year looks slightly flustered by Shintaro’s proximity, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

As Jesse settles in, he suddenly realizes that Taiga has taken the seat directly across from him. His heart does a little somersault in his chest, a mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through him.

He tries to catch Taiga’s eye, to offer a smile or a nod of acknowledgment, but the vice-captain seems absorbed in studying the menu, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The table quickly fills up with the rest of the team, the air buzzing with excitement and camaraderie. Jesse finds himself swept up in the energy, laughing at Juri’s stories and joining in the good-natured ribbing between teammates.

But even as he engages with the others, he can’t help but be hyper-aware of Taiga’s presence across from him.

As the conversation flows around him, Jesse’s mind drifts back to their private session earlier that day. The memory is still vivid, tinged with a mixture of embarrassment and determination.

Jesse let his nerves getting the better of him. His usually fluid movements felt stiff and awkward, his shots lacking their usual precision. He knew he was capable of so much more, but under Taiga’s scrutiny, he felt like a beginner all over again.

Taiga had reprimanded him, but it definitely jolted him out of his nervousness.

He still felt the weight of Taiga’s gaze, but it no longer paralyzed him. Instead, it spurred him on, pushing him to dig deeper, to reach for shots he might have hesitated to attempt before.

In the end, Taiga had still won handily, but Jesse had managed to take a few games off him – more than he had ever dreamed possible. When they shook hands at the net, Jesse had seen a glimmer of approval in Taiga's eyes.

He definitely won’t be letting Taiga — and the team — down next time.

Now, sitting across from Taiga in the warm, bustling izakaya, Jesse feels that same determination coursing through him.

He’s pulled from his memories by Juri’s voice, loud and jovial as he leans across the table.

“Hey, Jesse! What are you having? It’s not every day we get Kyomo to come out drinking with us, so we’ve got to make it count!”

Jesse blinks, realizing he hasn’t even looked at the menu yet. “Oh, um …”

“Don’t get any ideas, Tanaka,” Taiga interjects, his voice dry. “I’m not staying long. I have studying to do.”

Juri rolls his eyes dramatically. “Come on, Kyomo! Live a little! We’re celebrating our new recruits and the upcoming practice match. You can afford to loosen up for one night.”

Jesse watches this exchange with fascination, struck by the easy banter between the two upperclassmen. It’s a side of Taiga he’s never seen before, and he finds himself hanging on every word, eager to learn more about this off-court version of his idol.

“I’ll have whatever Kyomoto-senpai is having,” Jesse blurts out, immediately feeling his face heat up as all eyes turn to him.

Taiga raises an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement passing over his features. “I’m just having green tea, Lewis. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Jesse falters for a moment, caught between his desire to emulate Taiga and the realization that he might be coming on too strong.

But before he can backtrack, Juri lets out a bark of laughter.

“Oh no, we can’t have that! Come on, Jesse, live a little! How about we start you off with a nice cold beer? It’s a celebration, after all!”

Jesse nods gratefully, relieved to have been saved from his own awkwardness. “That sounds great, thanks, Tanaka-senpai.”

As Juri flags down a waiter to place their drink orders, Jesse sneaks another glance at Taiga. To his surprise, he finds the vice-captain looking back at him, a thoughtful expression on his face. For a moment, their eyes lock, and Jesse feels a jolt of electricity run through him.

Then Taiga looks away, turning to answer a question from Yugo, and the moment is gone.

The drinks arrive quickly, frosted mugs of beer for everyone. Taiga looks like he’s about to protest his order when Juri stands up, raising his glass high.

“Alright, everyone! Let’s hear it for our newest members, especially Jesse and Shintaro, who’ve already made the lineup for the practice match!” There’s a chorus of cheers and clinking glasses. “And here’s to making it all the way to Nationals this year!”

As Jesse raises his glass to join the toast, his eyes once again find Taiga’s across the table. To his amazement, he sees a small smile playing on the vice-captain's lips as their glasses clink together.

It’s a fleeting expression, there and gone in an instant, but it sends a warm rush through Jesse’s body that has nothing to do with the beer.

🎾

The night unfolds in a blur of laughter, stories, and increasingly enthusiastic toasts. Jesse finds himself caught up in the camaraderie, his initial nervousness melting away as he listens to tales of past victories and hilarious mishaps. The upperclassmen, their tongues loosened by alcohol, regale the newcomers with stories of club traditions and legendary matches.

“Oh, oh!” Yugo exclaims, his cheeks flushed with excitement and beer. “You guys have to hear about the summer training camp! It’s like … like tennis boot camp, but with more mosquitoes and less sleep!”

Jesse leans in, eager to hear more. The idea of a training camp, of days filled with nothing but tennis and team bonding, sends a thrill of excitement through him.

“Last year,” Yugo continues, his eyes glazing over slightly as he recalls the memory, “we had this crazy idea to do midnight practice. You know, to ‘build endurance’ or something. Anyway, we’re all out there, swinging at shadows, when suddenly—"

“When suddenly,” Juri cuts in, a mischievous grin on his face, “Kochi here serves a ball straight into a hornet’s nest! You’ve never seen a bunch of tennis players run so fast in your life!”

The table erupts in laughter, and Jesse finds himself joining in, imagining the scene. He glances at Taiga, wondering how the serious vice-captain fits into these wild stories.

To his surprise, he sees a small smile playing on Taiga’s lips, a hint of fondness in his eyes as he watches his teammates.

As the night wears on, Jesse notices the effects of alcohol becoming more pronounced in his teammates. Hokuto, usually so composed, begins apologizing profusely for increasingly trivial things.

“I’m so sorry,” he slurs, leaning heavily on Shintaro’s shoulder. “I think I breathed too loudly just now. I hope I didn’t disturb anyone. I’m really, really sorry …”

Shintaro, looking both amused and slightly flustered, pats Hokuto’s hand reassuringly. “It’s okay, Matsumura-senpai. Your breathing is perfect, I promise.”

Jesse hides a grin behind his beer, enjoying this new side of his usually reserved senpai.

His eyes drift to Juri, expecting another outrageous story, but to his surprise, the usually boisterous third-year has gone quiet. Juri sits with his chin propped on his hand, staring into his drink with a faraway look in his eyes.

“You okay, Tanaka-senpai?” Jesse asks, concerned by this sudden change.

Juri looks up, his eyes slightly unfocused. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles. “Just thinking, you know? About life and stuff. Like, why are we here? What’s the meaning of it all? Is tennis just a metaphor for the endless struggle of existence?”

Jesse blinks, taken aback by this sudden philosophical turn. Before he can formulate a response, Yugo’s voice rises above the din, loud and slightly slurred.

“Guys, guys!” he calls out, waving his arms for attention. “I just want you all to know … I love you. Like, really love you. You’re the best team a captain could ask for. Even you, Kyomo, you grumpy bastard.”

Taiga rolls his eyes, but Jesse catches a hint of affection in the gesture.

“Alright, I think it’s time we called it a night,” Taiga announces, his voice cutting through the noise. “We have practice tomorrow, remember?”

A chorus of groans meets this declaration, but Jesse finds himself nodding in agreement. As much as he’s enjoying the night, the responsible part of him knows he, Shintaro, and Taiga — the only sober ones in the group — have to make sure everyone gets home safe.

As everyone reluctantly begins to gather their things and fish out wallets to split the bill, Taiga’s eyes land on Jesse and Shintaro. “You two,” he says, his voice authoritative even after several drinks. “Help me make sure everyone gets home safe, alright?”

Jesse nods eagerly, a warmth spreading through his chest at being entrusted with this responsibility. “Of course, senpai. We’ve got this, right, Shintaro?”

Shintaro, who’s been hovering protectively near an increasingly wobbly Hokuto, gives a thumbs up. “Leave it to us!”

The process of shepherding their tipsy teammates out of the izakaya and towards their respective homes is a challenge that Jesse hadn’t quite anticipated. Juri, still in his introspective mood, keeps stopping to stare at street lamps and mutter about the fleeting nature of light. Yugo, on the other hand, seems determined to hug every teammate goodbye, even if they’re heading in the same direction.

“Kochi-senpai, please,” Jesse pleads, gently prying Yugo’s arms from around a bemused Taiga for the third time. “You’ll see Kyomoto-senpai tomorrow at practice, I promise.”

Finally, after what feels like hours of cajoling, redirecting, and occasionally physically steering their senpais in the right direction, they manage to get most of the team safely on their way home. Shintaro, with a mix of excitement and nervousness visible on his face, volunteers to make sure Hokuto gets back to their dormitory safely.

“Are you sure?” Jesse asks, eyeing the way Hokuto is clinging to Shintaro’s arm, a dopey smile on his face.

Shintaro nods, his cheeks slightly flushed. “Yeah, we’re apparently in the same building anyway. I’ll make sure he drinks some water and gets to bed safely.”

As Shintaro leads a still-apologizing Hokuto away, Jesse finds himself suddenly alone with Taiga.

The realization hits him like a serve to the chest, and he feels his heart rate pick up.

“Well,” Taiga says, breaking the silence that has fallen between them. “Shall we head back? I believe we’re going in the same direction.”

Jesse nods, not trusting himself to speak.

They fall into step together, the night air cool against Jesse’s flushed skin. The streets are quieter now, the only sounds the distant hum of traffic and the soft scuff of their shoes against the pavement.

As they walk, Jesse sneaks glances at Taiga out of the corner of his eye. The vice-captain’s face is illuminated by the warm glow of street lamps, his features softer in this light. Jesse is struck again by how different Taiga looks outside of the tennis court — still intense, still focused, but somehow more … human.

The silence stretches between them, not uncomfortable but charged with an energy that makes Jesse’s skin tingle. He wants to say something, to break this strange tension, but he’s afraid of shattering the moment.

Finally, emboldened by the lingering effects of the beer in his system, Jesse speaks up.

“Kyomoto-senpai,” he begins, his voice sounding too loud in the quiet street. “Can I ask you something? With all due respect, of course.”

Taiga turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “Go ahead, Lewis.”

Jesse takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Don’t you ever... I mean, it seems like you don’t really have a life outside of tennis. Doesn’t that ever bother you?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Jesse wants to take them back. He braces himself for Taiga’s anger, for a sharp rebuke about minding his own business.

But to his surprise, Taiga’s lips quirk up in a small, wry smile.

“You’re not the first person to say that to me, Lewis,” he says, his voice tinged with amusement. “Those comments don’t faze me anymore. Tennis is my life.”

Jesse blinks, surprised by this response. “But … don’t you think tennis should be fun? I mean, it’s a game, after all.”

Taiga's eyes flash with something – passion, maybe, or frustration. “Tennis is fun for me,” he says, his voice intense. “But it’s more than that. It’s my dream, my goal. The team has to reach Nationals, Lewis. I have to prove myself.”

There’s a weight to Taiga’s words that makes Jesse fall silent, pondering.

After a moment, Taiga continues, his voice softer now. “My parents and I … we made a deal. If I can bring the team to Nationals while keeping my grades up, they’ll let me play in a pro tournament this summer.”

Jesse’s eyes widen at this revelation. No wonder Taiga remained in the collegiate circuit even if everyone kept saying that he had the potential to go pro. “Really? That’s amazing, senpai! Is that … is that what you want? To go pro?”

Taiga nods, a determined set to his jaw. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. But what about you, Lewis? Do you have plans to go pro?”

Jesse shakes his head, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “No, I … I just want to have fun, you know? I love tennis, but I don’t think I want to make it my whole life.”

He sees a flicker of disappointment cross Taiga’s face, and his heart sinks. “I see,” Taiga says, his voice neutral. “You’re different from the others on the team, Lewis. I thought—”

“It’s not that I don’t take it seriously,” Jesse hurries to explain. “It’s just … for me, tennis is pure fun. The winning is just a bonus, you know?”

Taiga opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Jesse’s keen ears pick up the sound of an approaching bicycle.

Without thinking, he reaches out and pulls Taiga close to him, just as the cyclist whizzes past, far too close for comfort.

For a moment, they stand frozen, Jesse’s arm around Taiga’s waist, their faces inches apart. Jesse can feel the warmth of Taiga’s body, can smell the faint scent of his shampoo. His heart is pounding, and not just from the near-miss with the bicycle.

Taiga seems equally stunned, his eyes wide behind his glasses. A faint blush creeps across his cheeks, visible even in the dim street light

Jesse realizes he’s still holding onto Taiga and quickly lets go, stepping back. “I’m sorry,” he stammers, feeling his own face heat up. “I just … the bike …”

Taiga clears his throat, straightening his shirt. “No, it’s … thank you, Lewis. That was quick thinking.”

They resume walking, the air between them now charged with a different kind of tension. Jesse’s mind is racing, replaying the feeling of Taiga in his arms, the look in his eyes in that brief moment of closeness.

All too soon, they reach the point where their paths diverge. They stand awkwardly for a moment, neither seeming to know quite what to say.

“Well,” Taiga finally breaks the silence. “This is me. Thank you for your help tonight, Lewis. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

Jesse nods, trying to ignore the disappointment settling in his chest. “Of course, senpai. Goodnight.”

As he watches Taiga walk away, disappearing into the shadows between street lamps, Jesse can’t help but feel a mix of emotions swirling in his chest.

Getting to know his idol, it seems, isn’t quite the bright, shining experience he had imagined.

🎾

The soft chime of Jesse’s phone rouses him from sleep, the pale morning light filtering through his curtains. He fumbles for his device, squinting at the bright screen.

A message from the tennis club group chat catches his eye, from Yugo, and he can’t help but chuckle as he reads it.

“Due to unforeseen circumstances, today’s practice is cancelled. Please use this time to rest and prepare for tomorrow’s session.”

Jesse can almost hear the collective sigh of relief from his teammates, most of whom are likely nursing impressive hangovers. He stretches languidly, feeling grateful for his high alcohol tolerance. While he’s a bit disappointed about missing practice, he can’t deny the appeal of a free day.

Glancing at his clock, Jesse realizes his only class isn’t until late afternoon. A rare luxury of time stretches before him, and he decides to tackle some long-overdue errands.

First on the list: laundry.

The laundromat is mercifully quiet when Jesse arrives, arms laden with an overflowing basket of clothes. The rhythmic hum of washing machines fills the air as he sorts his clothes, trying to remember his mother’s instructions about separating colors. He’s still not entirely confident in his domestic skills, living alone for the first time.

As he waits for his laundry, Jesse pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he finds his mother’s number.

Her cheerful voice answers after a few rings. “Jesse! How are you, sweetheart? Is everything alright?”

Jesse smiles, feeling a wave of warmth at her concern. “Everything’s fine, Mom. I just … well, I wanted to make sure I’m doing this laundry thing right. I separated the colors, but …”

His mother’s laugh rings through the phone. “Oh, Jesse. You’re doing fine. Just remember, cold water for darks and colors, warm for whites. And don’t forget to empty your pockets!”

They chat for a while longer, Jesse soaking in her advice and the comforting sound of her voice. By the time he hangs up, his clothes are clean and ready for drying.

He feels a small sense of accomplishment as he folds his freshly laundered shirts and pants. It’s a mundane task, but it makes him feel a bit more grown-up, a bit more capable of handling this new, independent life.

With laundry conquered, Jesse heads to the nearby grocery store. The aisles are a maze of options, and he finds himself slightly overwhelmed.

Cooking is still a mystery to him, so he focuses on items that are easy to prepare. Instant ramen, pre-made salads, and an assortment of fruits find their way into his basket. He pauses in front of the vegetable section, his sister’s voice echoing in his head about the importance of “eating green things.”

Tentatively, he selects a bag of pre-washed spinach and a cucumber. He’s not entirely sure what he’ll do with them, but it feels like a step in the right direction.

As he checks out, Jesse makes a mental note to call his sister later for some simple recipe ideas.

Back at his apartment, Jesse puts away his groceries and gets ready for his afternoon class. He has some time to spare, so he decides to head to the library. A bit of studying wouldn’t hurt, especially with the practice match coming up.

The library is a haven of quiet studiousness, the air filled with the soft rustle of turning pages and the muted tapping of laptop keys. Jesse finds a spot at one of the large study tables, spreading out his books and notes.

As he settles in, a familiar figure catches his eye.

There, a few tables away, is Taiga.

The vice-captain is slumped over his desk, fast asleep amidst a fortress of textbooks and papers. His laptop sits open before him, the screen dark.

Jesse’s heart does a little flip at the sight of Taiga looking so … vulnerable. It’s such a stark contrast to his usual intense demeanor on the court.

His mind wanders back to their conversation from the previous night. Taiga’s words echo in his head: “If I can bring the team to Nationals while keeping my grades up, they’ll let me play in a pro tournament this summer.”

Suddenly, Taiga’s strict coaching style and relentless dedication make more sense. He's not just pushing the team — he’s racing against his own ticking clock, trying to prove himself worthy of his dream.

A wave of admiration washes over Jesse, tinged with a hint of concern. Taiga’s drive is impressive, but the toll it’s taking is evident in the dark circles under his eyes and the exhaustion that's pulled him into sleep right here in the library.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Jesse stands and makes his way to the library’s small coffee shop. He orders an iced coffee — unsure when Taiga might wake up — and a flaky croissant.

Carefully balancing his purchases, he approaches Taiga’s table.

Up close, Jesse is struck anew by Taiga’s delicate features. His lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks, and a few strands of dark hair have fallen across his forehead.

The word “pretty” flits through Jesse’s mind before he can stop it, and he feels a blush creep up his neck.

Shaking off these distracting thoughts, Jesse gently sets the coffee and croissant on the table, careful not to disturb any of Taiga’s materials. The vice-captain doesn’t stir, his breathing deep and even.

For a moment, Jesse is tempted to wake him, to make sure he’s okay. But the peaceful expression on Taiga’s face stops him. Lord knows the guy probably needs the rest.

With one last glance at Taiga's sleeping form, Jesse returns to his own table. He tries to focus on his studies, but his eyes keep drifting back to the vice-captain.

He wonders what Taiga dreams about. Tennis, probably.

Or maybe, in his dreams, he’s already a pro, standing on center court at a grand slam tournament.

🎾

Taiga arrives at campus parking lot, the familiar sight of the tennis courts coming into view. He’s early, as usual, but the anticipation of the practice match against Ochanomizu University buzzes under his skin. His footsteps crunch softly on the gravel path leading to the courts, the sound mingling with the distant chirping of birds awakening to the new day.

As he approaches the nearby benches, Taiga adjusts the strap of his tennis bag on his shoulder, feeling the familiar weight of his rackets and gear. He settles onto the cool metal of the bench, the slight chill seeping through his clothes and helping to wake him up fully. The campus is still quiet at this early hour, with only the occasional sound of a car passing on the nearby street breaking the peaceful silence.

Taiga unzips his bag, the sound sharp in the stillness of the morning. He pulls out his tablet, the screen reflecting the soft light of the rising sun. As he powers it on, he can’t help but let out a small sigh, his mind already racing with the many tasks he needs to accomplish. The weight of his responsibilities settles on his shoulders like a heavy cloak, but he straightens his spine, determined to make the most of every moment.

Opening his sports psychology notes on the tablet, Taiga’s eyes scan the dense text, his brow furrowing in concentration. The subject matter is complex, filled with theories and concepts that seem to slip through his fingers like sand.

He rubs his temples, feeling a headache beginning to form behind his eyes. The pressure to excel in both his studies and on the tennis court feels overwhelming at times, but Taiga pushes the feeling aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Taiga’s eyes glaze over as he stares at the incomprehensible text on his tablet. His mind wanders, drifting away from the confusing theories and towards a memory that’s been nagging at him for weeks.

He recalls waking up in the library, his cheek pressed against the cool surface of a textbook. The familiar ache in his neck from an awkward sleeping position.

But what stood out was the unexpected sight before him: a steaming cup of coffee and a flaky croissant, placed carefully next to his sprawled arms.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee had tickled his nose, pulling him fully into consciousness. Taiga remembers blinking in confusion, looking around the quiet library for any sign of the mysterious benefactor.

But there was no one nearby, just the usual scattered students buried in their studies.

He’d picked up the coffee cup, its warmth seeping into his palms, and taken a sip. It was strong and black, and he preferred it with milk and sugar, but it did the job of waking him up. The croissant, too, was his favorite kind from the campus café.

Taiga’s brow furrows as he tries to piece together who might have left him this small act of kindness. It couldn’t have been Yugo — his best friend always had class during that time.

The thought of someone noticing him, caring enough to bring him a pick-me-up, makes something warm bloom in his chest.

He wonders if it was one of his teammates, or perhaps a classmate he’d helped with notes. Maybe even a secret admirer?

Taiga shakes his head, dismissing the fanciful notion. Still, he can’t help but feel a twinge of regret that he never found out who it was.

Taiga’s reverie is broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. He looks up, squinting against the early morning sun, to see Jesse walking towards him.

A strange feeling washes over him as he remembers their close encounter a few weeks ago, when Jesse saved him from an oncoming bicycle. The memory of Jesse’s arms around him, their faces inches apart, sends an unexpected jolt through his body.

Shaking off the sensation, Taiga schools his features into a neutral expression. “Morning, Lewis,” he says, his voice level and controlled.

Jesse beams at him, far too cheerful for this ungodly hour. “Good morning, Kyomoto-senpai! Beautiful day for tennis, isn’t it?”

Taiga raises an eyebrow. “You’re early. That’s … unexpected.”

Jesse laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. I’m usually the king of tardiness. But I’m trying to turn over a new leaf, you know? Can’t slack off if I want to keep my spot on the team.”

“Hmm,” Taiga grunts, unimpressed. “Just don’t make a habit of being late for competitions. Or you’ll be running laps until your legs fall off.”

Jesse’s grin only widens at the threat. “Aw, come on, senpai. You wouldn’t really do that to your star rookie, would you?”

Taiga narrows his eyes, but he can’t help feeling a twinge of amusement at Jesse’s audacity. The first-year’s enthusiasm is infectious, even if Taiga would never admit it out loud.

Taiga notices Jesse’s gaze drift to the tablet in his hands. A playful smirk tugs at the corner of Jesse’s mouth.

“Studying before a practice match? Talk about dedication, senpai.”

Taiga rolls his eyes, fighting the urge to snap the tablet shut. “Every dead time counts,” he says, his tone clipped. “Some of us have responsibilities beyond just showing up to practice.”

Jesse’s expression softens, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something that looks suspiciously like concern. “I get it, but … don’t you ever worry about burning out? You deserve a breather too, you know.”

The comment catches Taiga off guard. Something warm ignites in his chest, a feeling he can’t quite name.

It’s … nice, he realizes with surprise, to have someone worry about him. To be seen as more than just the demanding vice-captain or the tennis prodigy.

But Taiga doesn’t let his mask slip. He arches an eyebrow, keeping his voice cool and controlled. “Those are some wise words coming from a first-year. Didn’t realize you were so insightful, Lewis.”

Jesse laughs, the sound bright and unrestrained. He takes Taiga’s subtle jab in stride, his grin never faltering. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

Taiga finds himself fighting back a smile of his own. There’s something disarming about Jesse’s easy-going nature, a stark contrast to Taiga’s own intensity.

The rest of the team trickles in, their chatter filling the air as they board the bus to Ochanomizu University. Taiga watches as Yugo settles next to Yuma, their heads already bent together in deep discussion about doubles strategies. Coach Aiba takes his seat next to Juri, while Shintaro and Hokuto huddle close, whispering animatedly.

Taiga’s eyes scan the bus, noting the filled seats. The only empty spot left is next to Jesse.

He sighs inwardly, steeling himself for the inevitable proximity to the first-year who seems to constantly throw him off balance.

As Taiga moves to sit down, the bus engine roars to life. The sudden lurch sends him stumbling forward, his usual grace abandoning him.

He braces for impact, but instead feels strong hands gripping his hips, steadying him.

Taiga finds himself sprawled across Jesse’s lap, their faces mere inches apart.

For a moment, Taiga forgets to breathe. He’s never been this close to Jesse before, never noticed the flecks of gold in his brown eyes or the light dusting of freckles across his nose.

There’s something about Jesse's face that Taiga can't quite look away from — the curve of his jaw, the softness of his lips, the warmth in his eyes. It’s a strange, unfamiliar feeling that blooms in Taiga's chest, a mix of nervousness and … something else he can’t quite name.

Realizing he's been staring, Taiga quickly pushes himself off Jesse, his cheeks burning. He slides into the seat, desperately trying to regain his composure. “Thanks for the save, Lewis,” he mutters, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Jesse grins, seemingly unaffected by their close encounter. “No problem, senpai. Guess this makes it twice I’ve kept you from harm, huh?”

The comment, spoken loud enough for others to hear, immediately catches the attention of their teammates. A chorus of curious voices fills the bus.

“What? When was this?”

“Jesse, you’ve saved Kyomo before?”

“Come on, spill the details!”

Taiga feels his embarrassment deepen as the questions fly. He wants nothing more than to disappear into his seat, away from the prying eyes and curious voices of his teammates.

Just as he’s considering the possibility of jumping out of the moving bus, Coach Aiba’s voice cuts through the chatter.

“Alright, cut Kyomoto some slack! Settle down, all of you. We have a practice match to focus on.”

As the noise dies down, Taiga steals a glance at Jesse. The first-year is still smiling, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Taiga quickly looks away, his heart racing. He’s never been this flustered before, especially not over another person. Tennis has always been his sole focus, leaving no room for …

Whatever this is.

🎾

The bus rumbles to a stop inside the grounds of Ochanomizu University, and Taiga feels a familiar thrill course through him. This is it — the start of another challenge, another chance to test his skills against worthy opponents.

He stands, shaking off the lingering unease from the bus ride. Now is not the time for distractions. He needs to focus, to channel all his energy into the upcoming match.

Coach Aiba disembarks first, his face set in its usual cheerful expression. Yugo follows close behind, shooting Taiga an encouraging grin before stepping off the bus.

Taiga takes a deep breath and moves to join them.

As soon as his feet hit the pavement, a commotion catches his attention. A gaggle of girls — no, more like a swarm — comes buzzing toward them, high-pitched squeals filling the air.

Taiga’s brow furrows until he spots the source of the frenzy.

Yamada Ryosuke, Ochanomizu’s star player and vice-captain. The pretty-boy is wearing a smug grin, clearly relishing in the attention from his loyal fan club.

Taiga fights the urge to roll his eyes. Yamada’s celebrity status on campus is well-known both in the university and beyond, but it’s still an annoying distraction. How is anyone supposed to take tennis seriously with that kind of circus surrounding them?

Thankfully, Yugo steps in to handle the greetings, his diplomacy keeping the situation under control. He exchanges warm handshakes with Takaki, Ochanomizu’s captain, while Taiga hangs back, letting his gaze drift across the familiar tennis courts.

The well-maintained hard courts, lined with fresh paint. The crisp white lines marking the boundaries. The sleek metal nets, taut and unforgiving.

Just being here, surrounded by the sights and smells of the game he loves, is enough to steady Taiga’s nerves.

This is his domain, his element. All the stress and confusion from earlier melts away, replaced by a laser-sharp focus.

“Taiga? You coming?”

Yugo’s voice breaks through Taiga's reverie. He blinks, realizing the rest of the team has already started making their way toward the courts, leaving him standing alone.

With one last deep breath, Taiga follows. It’s time to play.

🎾

They arrive at the courts, and Yugo and Takaki meet at the center court as they prepare to draw lots. Taiga watches from a distance, his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against his thigh. The rest of the team mills around, some stretching, others chatting quietly, all waiting for the lineup to be announced.

After what feels like an eternity, but is really only a few minutes, the captains return. Yugo gathers the team, his voice carrying over the low murmur of conversation.

“Alright, everyone, listen up. Here’s the lineup of today’s matches.”

As Yugo reads out the order of play, Taiga’s breath catches in his throat. The lineup is solid, but he can’t shake a nagging worry about the final singles match.

Jesse will be facing Yamada.

His eyes flick to Jesse, who’s listening intently, his face a mask of concentration.

Yamada Ryosuke is undoubtedly Ochanomizu’s strongest singles player — a fact made abundantly clear by the shrill cries of his fan club already gathering courtside. Taiga resists the urge to glare at the giggling girls, focusing instead on Jesse warming up a few courts away.

There's no denying the first-year has immense potential, but going up against Yamada? That’s a daunting task for even the most seasoned veteran. Taiga knows he needs to properly prepare Jesse if he wants to give him a fighting chance.

“Lewis!” he calls out, beckoning the blonde over with a wave of his hand.

Jesse jogs up, sweat already glistening on his brow from the warm-up drills.

“What’s up, senpai?” Jesse’s eyes are bright, yet his hands fidget with the hems of his shirt.

Taiga cuts right to the chase. “You’re playing Yamada in singles. His defensive skills are top-notch — he can turn defense into offense like nobody else. Flexibility, baseline play, hitting winners from nowhere …” He shakes his head. “The guy’s a machine out there.”

Jesse’s expression doesn't falter, an easy grin still playing at his lips. Good — he's unfazed so far.

Taiga presses on.

“He’s got mental toughness too. Loves using drop shots and strategic serving to control rallies. You’ll need to disrupt his rhythm by mixing things up. Creativity, spontaneity — that’s your biggest weapon against him.”

Taiga leans in, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “Vary your shot selection, the pace, the spins. Keep him guessing. Use those wild angles and surprise him at the net. If you let Yamada settle into his groove, he’ll pick you apart.”

Jesse’s eyes widen slightly at Taiga’s proximity, but he nods again, soaking in every word. Taiga can practically see the gears turning in that blonde head of his, formulating a gameplan.

“Got it, senpai. I’m ready to throw everything I’ve got at Pretty Boy.” A mischievous grin spreads across Jesse's face.

Taiga can't help but smirk at the nickname before his gaze drifts back to the squealing mob of Yamada’s fans. With a scowl, he adds, “And don’t let that circus get in your head, yeah? Just tune them out.”

“You got it.” Jesse flashes him a thumbs up before turning to rejoin the warm-up drills, that boundless energy propelling his every movement.

As he watches Jesse go, Taiga feels a surge of …  something. Confidence? Protectiveness?

He’s not quite sure.

🎾

The first doubles match begins with an electrifying energy that sets the tone for the entire practice match. Yugo and Yuma, Waseda’s veteran doubles pair for this season, step onto the court with a synchronicity that speaks of countless hours of practice together.

Their opponents from Ochanomizu, Yaotome and Arioka, mirror their movements, the tension tangible as they take their positions.

Taiga’s fingers dig into his knees as he leans forward, his gaze locked on the court. Every muscle twitch, every whispered strategy between opponents—nothing escapes his notice.

Beside him, Jesse’s leg bounces in a staccato rhythm, the bench vibrating slightly with each movement. Taiga can practically feel the electricity radiating off the first-year, matching the buzzing tension in his own chest.

The rest of the team is a tableau of frozen anticipation. Some grip the edge of their seats. Others hold their breath.

The match unfolds like a carefully choreographed dance, each team trying to outmaneuver the other. Yugo’s powerful serves and Yuma’s quick reflexes at the net give Waseda an early advantage.

But Ochanomizu's pair is not to be underestimated. Yaotome’s precise baseline shots and Arioka’s agile court coverage keep the match close.

As the games progress, Taiga finds himself leaning forward, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He can hear the rest of the team cheering, their voices a distant roar in his ears.

But his focus remains unwavering, analyzing each point, each rally, looking for weaknesses to exploit in future matches.

The first set goes to Waseda, 6-4. But Ochanomizu claws back, point by grueling point.

Taiga’s heart pounds in his chest, each serve feeling like it takes an eternity. He watches a bead of sweat trace its way down Yugo’s face, dropping to the court as he crouches into position.

In the end, it’s a brilliant cross-court volley from Yuma that seals the match for Waseda. The team erupts in cheers, the sound washing over Taiga like a wave. He allows himself a small smile, satisfaction blooming in his chest.

It’s a good start, but there's still a long way to go.

Yugo and Yuma make their way back to the bench, sweat glistening on their brows. Despite their heaving chests, their faces are split with wide grins.

As they approach the bench, Taiga rises slowly. “Well played,” he says, handing them towels and water bottles.

The team’s energy is high as they prepare for the next match. Juri, looking more focused than Taiga has seen him in a while, steps up for his singles match against Chinen Yuri.

As Juri takes a step towards the court, Taiga reaches out, his hand catching Juri's arm. Juri turns, eyebrows raised in silent question. Taiga leans in close, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Remember, Juri,” he says, his voice low and intense. “Chinen’s backhand is his weakness. Push him there, and don’t let him dictate the pace.”

Juri’s eyes meet Taiga’s. For a moment, the mask of concentration cracks, and the corner of Juri’s mouth twitches upward. It’s a ghost of his trademark grin, there and gone in an instant, but it sends a wave of relief through Taiga’s chest.

“Got it, Kyomo. Time to show these Ochanomizu guys what Waseda’s made of.”

The match between Juri and Chinen is a hard-fought battle, with both players pushing each other to their limits. Juri’s racket slices through the air, sending the ball careening in unpredictable arcs, while Chinen's steady footwork keeps him one step ahead, returning each shot with machine-like precision.

As the final point is played, Juri's attempted drop shot lands just short of the net, giving Chinen the victory. The Ochanomizu team erupts in cheers while a hush falls over the Waseda bench.

Juri walks back to the team, his usual carefree demeanor subdued.

Taiga stands to meet him, his expression neutral. “Juri,” Taiga says, his voice level and without heat. “Your focus wavered in the second set. You let Chinen dictate the pace of the game.”

Juri nods, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “Yeah, I know. I got too confident after the first set. Won’t happen again, Kyomo.”

Taiga studies him for a moment then gives a curt nod. “Make sure it doesn’t. We’ll work on your endurance in the next practice.”

At this, a spark reignites in Juri’s eyes. His lips quirk upwards, not quite a full smile, but a ghost of his usual grin. “Looking forward to it, vice-cap.”

Then Taiga’s eyes narrow, his gaze already fixed on the court where the next match would take place. His fingers tap an impatient rhythm against his thigh as Hokuto and Shintaro step onto the playing surface, their newly formed doubles pair about to face Yabu and Takaki from Ochanomizu.

As the match unfolds, Taiga’s jaw clenches tighter with each missed opportunity. He watches Hokuto’s backhand sail long, sees Shintaro hesitate a fraction too long before approaching the net. Flashes of brilliance punctuate their play, but the lack of cohesion is painfully apparent.

Across the net, Yabu and Takaki move in perfect synchronization, anticipating each other's moves with an ease born of long practice. They pounce on every misstep, every moment of uncertainty from the Waseda pair.

The final point lands with a thud of finality. Hokuto’s shoulders slump as if a great weight has settled upon them. Beside him, Shintaro’s smile is a brittle thing, threatening to crack at any moment.

As they trudge back to the bench, Taiga feels a twinge in his chest. He takes a deep breath, pushing aside his frustration. “Matsumura,” he calls, his voice softer than he intended.

Hokuto’s head snaps up, eyes wide with surprise.

“Your net play showed promise. Good instincts out there.”

Taiga watches as Hokuto blinks rapidly, processing the unexpected praise. A small spark reignites in the younger player's eyes.

“Both of you,” Taiga continues, including Shintaro with a nod, “have potential as a pair. This loss … it’s just the beginning. We’ll drill your coordination until it’s second nature.”

Hokuto’s spine straightens almost imperceptibly. “Thank you, Kyomoto-san,” he says, a new determination creeping into his voice. “We won’t let you down.”

Shintaro nods so vigorously that Taiga half-expects his head to come loose. “We’ll make you proud, senpai!”

As Taiga turns away, satisfied, he catches Jesse’s gaze. His teammate’s lips are quirked in a knowing smile.

Taiga feels heat creep up the back of his neck and quickly averts his eyes, focusing instead on the scoreboard. The numbers glare back at him: 1-2, Ochanomizu’s favor.

With these losses, the pressure on Taiga for his upcoming match intensifies. The weight of expectation settles heavily on his shoulders as he realizes his upcoming match could make or break Waseda’s chances.

🎾

Taiga’s fingers drum against his thigh as he approaches the baseline, each step kicking up a small puff of clay. The sun beats down mercilessly, but the chill of anticipation runs along his spine.

Across the net, Nakajima’s eyes bore into him, unwavering and intense.

Taiga’s chest tightens as he surveys the sidelines. His teammates lean forward, their bodies tense coils of nervous energy. Jesse’s gaze locks onto him, a mixture of concern and belief etched across his features.

Taiga’s heart skips a beat, and he quickly averts his eyes, focusing on the ball in his hand. He bounces it once, twice, three times – a rhythm as familiar as his own heartbeat. The rough texture of the ball grounds him, pulling his scattered thoughts into sharp focus.

With a deep inhale, Taiga tosses the ball high into the air.

Time slows. The ball hangs suspended for a moment, a perfect arc against the blue sky. Taiga’s muscles coil, then explode into action. The satisfying crack of his racket meeting the ball sends a jolt through his arm.

The serve rockets across the net, catching the corner with pinpoint precision. Nakajima lunges, but his racket only grazes air.

A whisper of a smile tugs at Taiga's lips as the umpire's voice rings out, “15-love!”

But the brief flicker of satisfaction is quickly doused. Nakajima’s eyes narrow, his stance widening as he prepares to receive the next serve. Taiga’s grip tightens on his racket, knuckles white against the handle. This is just the beginning.

As the set progresses, sweat trickles down Taiga’s back, his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his skin. Every muscle in his body screams for rest, but he pushes the fatigue aside.

At 4-4, he finds himself facing triple break point, Nakajima’s relentless assault finally breaking through.

Taiga’s chest heaves as he stares down at the ball in his hand. The murmur of the crowd swells, pressing in on him from all sides. He catches a glimpse of his teammates – faces drawn, bodies leaning forward as if their very will could influence the game.

Something shifts inside Taiga. The pressure doesn’t crush him; instead, it crystallizes his resolve. His jaw sets, eyes narrowing with renewed determination. He takes a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs, steadying his racing heart.

With each saved break point, Taiga’s confidence grows. His serves find their mark with laser precision, his volleys crisp and decisive. As he clinches the game, the tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction.

The set barrels towards its climax, neither player yielding an inch. In the tiebreak, Taiga’s laser focus contrasts sharply with Nakajima’s growing frustration. While his opponent’s shots become erratic, Taiga’s find their mark with unerring accuracy.

At 6-5, with set point on his racket, time seems to slow once more. Taiga’s world narrows to the ball, the racket, the court. The satisfying crack of his serve, Nakajima’s desperate lunge, and then …

“Game, set, Kyomoto. 7-6.”

A small fist pump escapes Taiga as he walks to his chair, the weight of the set victory settling over him. His legs tremble slightly as he sits, the adrenaline slowly ebbing. He takes a long drink of water, the cool liquid a stark contrast to the fire burning in his veins.

One set down, but Taiga’s eyes are already fixed on the court, mind racing with strategies for the battles yet to come. The match is far from over.

As they change ends, Taiga’s eyes flick towards Nakajima. His opponent’s gaze lingers, a peculiar mix of emotions playing across his face.

Taiga’s brow furrows slightly, unable to decipher the look, before he shakes his head, refocusing on the court ahead.

The familiar rhythm of serve and return lulls Taiga into a sense of security. But at 2-2, his world tilts. A sudden misstep sends a jolt of pain through his ankle.

Taiga’s breath catches, his usually fluid motion faltering for just a moment.

Across the net, Nakajima’s posture changes. He leans forward, eyes gleaming with newfound intensity.

The ball whizzes past Taiga’s outstretched racket. Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Nakajima’s fist pumps the air, a contrast to Taiga’s clenched jaw and white-knuckled grip on his racket. Taiga limps slightly as he makes his way to the bench, each step a reminder of his mistake.

The cool metal of the bench seeps through Taiga’s shorts as he slumps down. His teammates’ worried whispers reach his ears, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the ground.

Coach Aiba’s shoes appear in his line of sight. “Taiga, your ankle—”

Taiga's head snaps up, eyes blazing. “I’m fine.” The words come out harsher than intended. He takes a breath, softening his tone. “The pain’s already fading. I can play through it.”

Coach Aiba’s concern doesn’t fade, but he nods, stepping back.

Taiga closes his eyes, shutting out the world. In his mind, he sees himself serving, the ball arcing perfectly over the net. His imaginary forehand slices through the air, unreturnable.

When his eyes open, there’s a steely glint in them. He rises, testing his weight on the ankle. It holds.

As he turns back to the court, movement in the stands catches his eye. Jesse leans forward in his seat, hands clasped tightly together. His eyes never leave Taiga, filled with a mixture of worry and unwavering belief.

Something flutters in Taiga’s chest, a warmth spreading through him that has nothing to do with the afternoon sun.

Taiga squares his shoulders, chin lifting slightly. His grip on the racket relaxes, finding that perfect balance between control and power.

As he walks back onto the court, there’s a new purpose in his stride. The match isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Taiga’s muscles coil as he crouches at the baseline, ready to receive. The scoreboard’s harsh light burns into his retinas: 5-4, second set. His tongue darts out, tasting salt on his upper lip. Every fiber of his being vibrates with anticipation.

Nakajima’s serve whistles through the air. Taiga’s arm moves on instinct, his backhand slicing through the humid afternoon. The familiar thwack of ball on strings sets off a rally that sends both players scrambling.

Taiga’s lungs burn as he pushes himself to the edge of his limits. His shoes scrape against the clay, leaving ghostly impressions of his desperation. A bead of sweat trickles down his spine, but he barely notices, his entire world narrowed to the yellow blur arcing back and forth across the net.

Then – a gift. Nakajima’s shot falls short.

Time slows. Taiga's eyes widen, pupils dilating as he recognizes the opportunity. His body moves before his mind can catch up, stepping in, racket pulling back. The satisfying crack as he connects sends a jolt up his arm.

The ball skims the line, a yellow streak too fast for Nakajima’s outstretched racket.

“15-30!”

Taiga’s chin lifts a fraction, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply. The tiniest quirk of his lips betrays his growing confidence. His grip on the racket relaxes, finding that perfect balance between control and power.

Two more points. The thought pulses in his mind, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat.

The next rally stretches on, neither player yielding. Taiga’s calves scream in protest as he lunges for another shot, but he grits his teeth, pushing the discomfort aside. His eyes never leave the ball, even as he catches glimpses of Nakajima’s increasingly frantic movements.

When Nakajima’s backhand sails long, Taiga’s exhale is audible.

“15-40!”

Double break point. Taiga’s fingers flex around the racket’s grip, the familiar ridges grounding him. His eyes lock onto Nakajima, reading the tension in his opponent’s shoulders, the slight hesitation in his service motion.

The serve comes in fast, but Taiga’s ready. His return is deep and purposeful, forcing Nakajima back.

Seeing his opponent backpedal, something clicks in Taiga’s mind. His body surges forward without conscious thought.

Nakajima’s lob hangs in the air. Taiga's arm extends, racket meeting ball in a perfect arc. As the ball sails over Nakajima's head, Taiga’s breath catches in his throat.

For a moment, the world stands still.

The ball bounces just inside the baseline.

“Game, Kyomoto. 5-5!”

A rush of adrenaline floods Taiga’s system. His next service game passes in a blur of aces and unreturnable serves.

As they change ends at 6-5, Taiga catches sight of Nakajima. His opponent’s shoulders slump slightly, fingers fidgeting with his racket strings. A stark contrast to the controlled energy humming through Taiga’s own body.

In the final game, Taiga’s world narrows to a pinpoint focus. Each movement is deliberate, each shot precisely placed. When his crosscourt backhand whizzes past a flat-footed Nakajima, sealing the match, Taiga’s fist clenches at his side.

As the final point registers, Taiga allows himself a small fist pump. The sound of his teammates cheering washes over him, a mixture of relief and joy that mirrors his own emotions.

They’re back in the game, the overall score now tied at 2-2.

Taiga’s chest heaves as he approaches the net, his legs slightly unsteady from exertion. He extends his hand, meeting Nakajima’s firm grip. Their palms remain connected a beat longer than usual, and Taiga’s brow furrows slightly as he notices an unfamiliar glint in Nakajima’s eyes.

“Great match, Kyomoto-san,” Nakajima says, his words coming out in short bursts. “I was wondering if you’d like to grab a coffee sometime? Maybe we could discuss tennis strategies?”

Taiga blinks, caught off guard by the unexpected invitation. He’s never been one for socializing outside of tennis practice, and the idea of meeting up with an opponent from another university seems strange to him.

“Oh, um …” Taiga's free hand moves to the back of his neck, rubbing it absently. His gaze flicks to the ground, then back to Nakajima. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m pretty busy with training and studies. Maybe we can chat more at the next practice match?”

Nakajima’s shoulders slump imperceptibly, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, a familiar voice cuts through the air.

“Hey, senpai! Great match!”

Taiga’s head swivels towards the sound, his posture visibly relaxing as he spots Jesse jogging toward them.

“Do you mind if we use the court now? I wanna warm up before my match.”

Taiga’s lips quirk into a small smile. “Sure, Lewis. The court’s all yours.”

As Taiga gathers his belongings, his movements become more fluid, the tension in his shoulders easing. His gaze is already fixed on the far end of the court, mind clearly elsewhere. He strides off, racket bag slung over his shoulder, oblivious to the silent exchange happening behind him.

Nakajima’s eyes linger on Taiga’s retreating form, a mix of disappointment and something softer in his gaze. Jesse’s eyes narrow slightly as they flick between Nakajima and Taiga, his usual easy smile tightening at the corners.

Taiga, unaware of the unspoken tension, continues walking. His fingers tap an absent rhythm against his thigh, mind already dissecting his performance and looking for points of improvement.