The alley court smelled of fried oil and damp concrete. Neon signs buzzed above the chain-link walls, throwing uneven light onto the glass panels. A dozen people leaned against the fence, betting slips in hand, voices rowdy and sharp.
Ren tightened the grip on his racket. His palms were raw under the athletic tape, each blister stinging from Daigo's morning drills.
"Relax," his partner muttered—a wiry academy sub Daigo had thrown at him last minute. The guy barely introduced himself before stepping onto the baseline.
Across the net stood two mid-ranked street players. Their jerseys bore faded sponsor patches, but their grins were bright and hungry.
"Target the rookie," one said loud enough for the crowd to hear.
The other smirked. "Six-love in ten minutes."
Laughter rippled around the court.
Ren's throat dried. They already know I'm weak...
The match started ugly. Serves screamed low, angled cruelly at Ren's feet. He flinched, late every time. Rallies collapsed before his partner could even move.
"Move up, kid!" the sub barked.
Ren forced his legs forward, racket trembling. Another serve skidded toward him—then the HUD flickered. A faint red dot pulsed near the server's shoulder.
That angle again... body shot.
"Body!" Ren shouted.
The ball came where he predicted. His partner stepped in, volley clean to the corner. The crowd gasped as the point landed.
"Lucky!" the opponent spat, but Ren's chest jolted. No... I saw it. Just for a second, I really saw it.
They still lost. The scoreline bled fast: 1–6, 2–6. The crowd jeered, though a few lingered on that strange rally where the rookie called the shot.
Ren bent double, sweat dripping off his chin. His partner shook his head. "You're raw. But you've got an eye. Train it." He left without another word.
Ren stared at the scuffed court, body aching. The HUD blinked faintly:
[Rally Control +1]
The crowd began to disperse, their laughter fading into the alley hum. Ren dragged himself toward the exit, humiliation weighing heavy.
That's when a woman's voice called from behind the fence.
"Not bad—for a scorekeeper."
Ren's head snapped up. Ayaka, the sideline commentator he'd seen on the media walls, leaned lazily against the chain-link. A small camera drone hovered near her shoulder, red light blinking.
She smirked. "That point you stole? Already trending. 'Hopeless Messiah calls a shot.'"
Ren's cheeks burned. Trending? For losing?
Ayaka's smile sharpened. "Keep failing loudly, rookie. The world loves an underdog clip."
She waved and vanished into the neon crowd, leaving Ren frozen in place, HUD still glowing faintly.
Fail loudly...?