Setting: Evening. Their private indoor court. Spotless floors. Bright, sterile lighting. The air smells like rubber and quiet control.
Ryota's serve hit the corner like it had been programmed.
Hana returned it just as cleanly, without breaking form.
Twenty-three shots passed in silence. Perfect angles. No wasted motion.
Then Ryota caught the ball mid-air. Held it.
"They're not playing like before," he said.
Hana's racquet rested lightly on her shoulder. "No."
His eyes narrowed. "Ayumi's energy's different. Less… chaos for chaos' sake."
"She's learning how to aim the chaos."
Ryota let out a short laugh. "She's still a walking fire drill."
Hana didn't smile. "That's the thing. She's starting to be a fire drill with strategy."
He tossed the ball again. Faster serve. A little sharper.
Hana returned it—but her timing was half a second off. The ball clipped the top of the net and spun out.
Uncharacteristic.
Ryota frowned. "You okay?"
"Grip slipped." She bent down to adjust it. "Humidity."
He knew it wasn't the grip.
But he didn't press. Yet.
Locker Room — Twenty Minutes Later
Ryota rewound the same rally on his phone again. Ayumi hit a shot with her back turned—Kenji was already there for the save before it even landed. Improvised rhythm. Ugly, but functional.
"They're still messy," he said.
Hana was at her locker, regripping her racquet with that surgical calm of hers. "Messy doesn't mean weak."
"They're not consistent."
"No. But they're alive out there."
He turned to look at her. "So now we're admiring their unpredictability?"
"No," she said simply. "I'm acknowledging it."
He leaned back against the bench, phone in hand. "Do you think we're going to lose?"
Hana didn't look up. "I think they believe they can beat us."
Ryota scoffed. "So?"
"It matters," she said, tightening the grip on her racquet. "That belief. It's not coming from nowhere anymore."
He hated how quiet her voice was when she was serious. It meant she wasn't speculating—she'd already noticed something real. Something he missed.
Ryota slid his phone into his bag. "We haven't dropped a set this season."
"That's why it'll matter more if we do."
He looked at her. Really looked. Hana never talked about losing. She talked about variables. Scenarios. Margins.
But not like this.
"You're not saying they'll win."
"No," she said, still calm. "But we're no longer the only team evolving."
Back on the empty court — Lights dimmed
Ryota stood at the baseline again. The court suddenly felt colder. Not in temperature. In certainty.
He bounced the ball twice, tossed it, served.
It was perfect.
Still, he had the strangest thought as the echo faded—
What if that's not enough anymore?