POV: Kenji – Game 1, Set 1 (Opponent's Serve)
Score: 0–0.
Ryota stepped up to the baseline, spinning the ball once, twice. His posture was textbook. So was his confidence—like the universe conspired to give him good angles.
Kenji readied himself. Ryota serves T most often when starting. Less likely to risk a wide angle this early. Expect pace.
Toss. Snap.
The ball screamed down the centerline.
Kenji shifted his weight fast, slicing the return with a short, low trajectory to Hana's forehand.
Force an approach. Draw her in.
She took the bait—rushed the net.
Ayumi, out of nowhere, darted diagonally and smacked a clean, cheeky forehand into the opposite corner of the court. Not planned. Not expected. Definitely effective.
15–0. Their point.
Kenji blinked. That was… not the strategy.
He adjusted his grip. "You read that?"
Ayumi shrugged. "It spoke to me."
Next serve. Ryota smirked and served at Ayumi this time—low and slicing wide.
She caught it a fraction too late, popping it high and center.
Too shallow. Risky. Kenji moved back, bracing.
Ryota punished it with a cross-court rocket that scorched the line between them.
15–15.
Kenji didn't say anything. Mistakes were fine—if they adjusted.
Ayumi made a "whoops" face and whispered, "Okay, that one was karma."
Third serve.
Kenji observed Ryota's angle. Back to centerline. Flat trajectory. He's trying to bait a rushed return.
Kenji caught it early, redirecting with a compact backhand.
Hana sprinted for it—but Ayumi was already sprinting in, calling nothing, just trusting chaos.
She didn't even set her feet—just flicked the ball with some absurd, spin-heavy drop shot that died near the net post.
30–15.
Kenji blinked again. What kind of geometry—
"Sheer madness," he muttered.
"What?" Ayumi asked, bouncing like she had too many thoughts and not enough filter.
"Nothing. Keep doing it."
Fourth point.
Ryota served with venom—flat and straight at Kenji's body.
Kenji neutralized the pace, reset the rally, got it back deep. Ryota returned, high and heavy topspin. Kenji sidestepped, caught it late.
Ayumi tried to volley it mid-air.
She missed.
Clean smash. Hana ended it with a downward cannonball.
30–30.
Ayumi winced. "Misjudged it by a fraction. Or five."
Kenji didn't reply. Just inhaled.
Still even. Reset again.
Fifth point. Ryota went wide.
Kenji chased—just barely got it back deep.
Hana hesitated. Kenji noticed. Split-second opening.
He charged the net, and when Hana finally volleyed, it came in too soft.
Kenji volleyed low and sharp to the sideline. Winner.
40–30. Break point.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Ayumi fist-pump like she'd just won a festival game. "Let's break their souls!"
He let that pass.
One more point.
Last serve of the game.
Ryota stood still longer than usual. Tension. Cracks.
He tossed high—higher than normal. Mistake?
Kenji locked in. The serve came hard, flat.
Ayumi got it clean and fast. Ryota's return was shallow—just off-balance enough.
Kenji attacked the short ball with a powerful approach shot down the line.
Hana chased—barely got her racquet on it.
The ball floated.
Kenji jumped, turned, and slammed it home.
Game, Ayumi and Kenji. 1–0.
As they crossed to the other side, Ayumi practically hopped beside him. "Kenji. You. Me. Fireworks."
He just said, "One game."
"But a very demoralizing game."
He didn't answer, but internally, he noted:
Ryota is more rattled by Ayumi than he lets on.
Hana's coverage is strong, but she hesitates if her rhythm's broken.
Ayumi's unpredictability is real—chaotic, reckless—but it works.
And somehow… he was adapting to it.
Not understanding.
Not controlling.
Just moving with it.
Next serve: his.
He adjusted the strings of his racquet like he was tuning a piano.
No mistakes. Start strong. Match the tempo. Control the court.
Ayumi pointed her racquet like a sword. "Operation: Unholy Serve Incoming."
Kenji exhaled slowly.
Game 2 was about to begin.