After that last hit, there were no more words to be said. Ayaka just nodded slightly before packing her racket and bag, then walked away without looking back. Rai stood in the middle of the empty court with his breath still heavy, staring at the traces of his smashes that etched the ground.
It wasn't a victory. It wasn't a defeat. But it was enough.
The next morning, before the first bell rang, Rai was already standing behind the gym. The place was barely used; the outer walls were covered in moss, and the leaking roof gave off a pungent, damp smell. But there Ayaka was waiting, sitting on a wooden box with a clipboard in hand and a stopwatch hanging around her neck.
"Here you are," she said without looking up.
Rai snorted. "Promised to practice, right?"
Ayaka stood up, then snapped her fingers towards the ground in front of her.
"Drop the racket."
Rai frowned. "Why, aren't we starting with technique?"
"That's precisely why," Ayaka replied. "You have the energy. You have the instincts. But your body? It's a mess. Your stamina is bad, your balance is messed up. Let's start from the basics."
Rai shrugged and put down his racket.
"What first?"
Ayaka smiled thinly. "Walk around the court. Twenty laps. But this isn't just running. This is posture technique. Feet slightly spread, hips low. Body ready to catch the ball. Like you're going to keep rallying for half an hour."
Rai opened his mouth, wanting to protest. But Ayaka had already pressed the stopwatch.
"Walk."
He followed, albeit with a frown. His first steps were stiff, full of resistance. But as he circled the damp, deserted court, his body slowly began to follow. Ayaka didn't say anything for ten minutes. She just stood there, watching every step, the angle of her shoulders, the direction of her feet.
After the sixth lap, sweat began to drip down Rai's chin. His back felt heavy. But there was something in Ayaka's silence that kept him going. As if he knew, if he stopped now, he would lose to someone who wasn't even running.
Behind the main building, Tama crouched behind a small, partially broken window. His breath caught. He never expected to actually see that: Raihan Aksara, that stubborn kid, training like someone who was preparing for a national match.
"Crazy... you're really training in secret..." he muttered.
Tama took out a small notebook, scribbling something on the middle page with a blunt pencil: Rai = potential club asset = stubborn = weird = OP?
The following days went by like an organized nightmare. Rai came early every morning, before school started, for a private training session with Ayaka. There were never any smashes. None. Just basic movements: footwork, hand position, shoulder rotation, heel balance.
In class, he started to attract attention, though not because of his style. The name "Aksara" started to circulate, whispered from one mouth to another like a forbidden secret.
"Hey, do you know whose kid he is?"
"They said his father was a national athlete who was suspended..."
"Some say he was with his father when the incident happened..."
"That's why he hit me like he was really angry..."
Rai heard it all, but didn't respond. He had lived in the shadow of the scandal too often.
One morning, after practice was over, Ayaka threw a small towel at Rai who was sitting limply on the sidelines.
"I'll start wearing it tomorrow," she said.
Rai turned his head, his eyebrows raised.
Ayaka lowered her head slightly, her voice softer.
"You lasted longer than I thought. Your posture is still bad. But your spirit... you're not the type to die easily."
Rai wiped the sweat from his forehead, then stood up slowly. His legs were shaking.
"I don't want to lose. That's all."
Ayaka stared at him.
"From who?"
Rai didn't answer. But his gaze stared far across the field, as if through the school walls and towards something darker out there.
That night, in the small boarding room he shared with his mother, Rai turned on his old laptop. He typed his father's name into the search engine, as he sometimes did when his insomnia was too much.
"Reza Aksara – former national badminton athlete – suspended 6 years ago on match-fixing charges."
His father's face appeared in the blurry photo: tall body, cynical smile, and blank stare. Rai sighed. He didn't know if he wanted to prove something to his father… or to compete with him.
The laptop screen reflected light onto his face. Beside him, a used racket from school leaned against the wall, as if silently watching him.