'That sting…'
The thought pulsed in Rito's head as he bent forward, one hand braced on his knee, sweat dripping steadily onto the court. His chest heaved, lungs burning from the relentless pace.
The scoreline hung in the air like a cruel reminder: 6–1.
He had lost. Badly.
Every rally replayed in his mind. His serve was broken three times in a row. His returns were barely scraping by when they weren't outright crushed by Takuma's follow-ups. Each exchange had been like slamming into a wall of iron—unforgiving, immovable.
The sting wasn't just in his muscles. It was in his pride.
Rito clenched his fist, feeling the faint tremble in his arm. 'I could see it. Every motion, every serve, every shift of his weight—I could read it all. And yet…'
His gaze dropped to his racket, the frame heavy in his grip. 'My body couldn't keep up. My legs lagged, my arms faltered, and my serve had no bite.'
Compared to Takuma's explosive power, his own shots were like soft taps on glass. Even with [Dynamic Vision Max], even with [Tennis Lv. 5], his body simply wasn't ready to channel the information into results.
It wasn't the system's fault. It wasn't the template's fault.
It was his.
Straightening slowly, he exhaled, sweat cooling against his skin as determination flared in his chest. Ei-chan at this stage… he had already trained his body day and night. 'If I want to stand here seriously, then I can't just lean on skills. I need the foundation too.'
The idea settled into him like a stone sinking into water, with ripples spreading outward.
'I have to train my physique. Build my stamina. Strength. Agility. If I don't, I'll never catch up—not to Takuma, not to anyone at this level.'
On the other hand, Takuma remained silent, his racket resting loosely in his hand. His expression was calm on the surface, but his eyes lingered on Rito with a sharp edge.
That sting of irritation refused to leave him.
No matter how many times he'd crushed a point, there had been those moments—fleeting, but undeniable—where Rito had returned his serve cleanly. Perfectly, even. Returns that should have been impossible for a newcomer, that his peers would have missed without question. Takuma gritted his teeth. 'If his body could actually keep up… those shots might have landed where I couldn't reach.'
"Rito! You did great!"
Natsu's cheerful voice broke the tension as she bounded over, patting Rito on the shoulder. Her smile was bright, but her eyes told another story. Hidden behind her grin was a flicker of unease.
She'd seen his growth already—how easily he'd adapted, how naturally his movements matched the flow of the game. And now, watching him hold his ground even against Takuma's overwhelming serve… she felt it again. That uncomfortable pressure in her chest.
The same pressure she'd felt once before.
Back when Ike, her childhood friend, had started leaving her behind on the court.
And now… was Rito going to do the same?
Rito forced out a breath, dragging himself upright. His body screamed in protest, but his eyes were steady. He managed a faint smile at Natsu's encouragement. "Not at all. I was completely crushed there. But—" he exhaled sharply, "—I know what I need to work on."
A voice cut in from behind.
"Well said."
Rito turned to see an older man approaching, arms folded behind his back, expression calm yet sharp—the kind of presence that could quiet a court without raising his voice. Yusaku Miura, one of the respected coaches of STC.
Miura studied Rito for a moment, then gave a small approving nod. "That was fine play, boy. You've got the eye, no doubt about it. But…" He gestured at Rito's trembling legs and unsteady grip. "Your body lagged behind. That's all."
The words hit with pinpoint precision, but instead of discouragement, they stirred something in Rito.
Miura's lips curled into a faint smile. "Say, why don't you join seriously? If you're willing to put in the work, I'll train your body from the ground up. With muscle behind that vision of yours, you could deliver serves fast enough to rival even Takuma." His gaze flicked toward the tall server, a glint of challenge in his eye. "And who knows? You might even push him down one day."
The offer hung in the air like a spark waiting for kindling.
Rito's heart thumped in his chest. To be trained by Miura… to actually build the physique needed to match his vision… this could be his chance.
And yet, he felt Takuma's glare, heavy and unyielding. The rivalry was already etched into the court.
Thinking it over, Rito nodded. "Alright… I'll do it. After school, I'll come here and practice."
His voice was low but steady, and the moment he said it, something seemed to settle inside him.
Coach Miura's smile widened, satisfied. "Good. That's the spirit. For now, don't worry about fees—I'll let you train free for this month. After that, we'll see how serious you are."
Free. That word alone should have felt like luck beyond reason, but Rito barely registered it. His body was still trembling from head to toe, legs aching as if he'd run a marathon, and arms heavy like lead. Sweat dripped down his chin and fell to the court. He tried to straighten his back, but his muscles screamed in protest.
"Then I… should get a racket," Rito muttered, half to himself. "Something of my own…" The thought flitted across his mind, but it was just that—an afterthought.
Because right now, there was a much more pressing concern.
How the hell was he going to walk home like this?
His knees buckled slightly as he tried to move, and he caught himself with a sharp inhale. Every step sent little shocks of pain through his thighs, reminders of how untrained his body was compared to his sharpened vision and borrowed skill. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to move forward, one step at a time.
He wasn't going to collapse here. Not in front of Takuma. Not in front of Natsu.
'If I can't even drag myself home after one match, how am I supposed to face guys like him?'
That thought alone kept his legs moving, even as they trembled like jelly beneath him.
"Rito, welcome back—" Mikan's cheerful voice trailed off into a startled pause. Her eyes widened. "Eh? What happened to you?"
Rito stood at the doorway, shoulders slumped, shirt damp with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. He tried to grin, but it came out more like a grimace.
"Just… a little spent. Played some game for too long," he muttered, waving his hand casually as if it were nothing.
Mikan blinked, then pressed her lips into a thin line. The sight of her brother wobbling on his feet like an old man made her want to scold him, but the faint determination in his eyes softened her mood.
"Honestly… you're hopeless," she sighed, stepping forward. She ducked under his arm and guided him to the sofa in the living room. "If you push yourself so hard over just a game, you're going to break before long."
"Sorry, sorry," Rito chuckled weakly, lowering himself onto the cushions. His body immediately sagged into the soft fabric, every muscle grateful for the support.
Mikan crossed her arms, sulking a little, though her eyes betrayed her concern. "You always say 'it's nothing' and then come back like this. Do you want me to start hiding the controller from you or something?"
Rito rubbed the back of his neck, laughing sheepishly. 'If only it was really just a game,' he thought, but he didn't dare voice it.