The ramen shop smelled like broth and burnt soy. Ren sat hunched over a chipped counter, nursing the cheapest bowl he could afford. His body ached from drills and defeats, but hunger gnawed harder.
"Oi, Hopeless Messiah!"
Ren froze, chopsticks midair. He turned.
A boy with unruly hair and a smile too wide for the dim shop plopped onto the stool beside him. His tracksuit was mismatched, his racket strapped to his back with what looked like a belt instead of a case.
"Me?" Ren asked, wary.
"Of course you!" the boy said, slurping noisily from his own bowl. "Who else got famous for losing twice in one week?"
Ren grimaced. He says it like a compliment.
The boy grinned, hand out. "Name's Haru. Street League benchwarmer, part-time noodle runner, full-time legend in my own head. And now..." He jabbed his thumb proudly at his chest. "...your new best friend."
Ren blinked. "What?"
"Didn't you hear?" Haru leaned close, whispering conspiratorially. "Crowd's buzzing. You lose with style. That means you're marketable." He winked. "And losers attract losers. So here I am."
That evening, the two of them ended up back on the alley court. Haru waved to the small gathering of spectators as if he were already champion.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Witness the rise of Team—uh..." He snapped his fingers. "Team Hopeless Plus One!"
Ren buried his face in his hand. Why am I here...
Their opponents—another mid-rank pair—looked unimpressed. "Great. Two clowns instead of one."
The match began. Chaos followed.
Haru dove recklessly at balls, sometimes hitting, sometimes tripping. His serves were unorthodox—half lobs, half prayers. Ren scrambled to cover the gaps, sweat flying.
And yet, somehow, they strung together rallies.
On match point against them, Haru leapt, racket flailing. The ball clipped the tape, tumbled just over the net, and died. The crowd howled with laughter.
Ren could only stare. That... counted?
They lost 4–6. But it wasn't ugly. The crowd clapped, some even cheering their ridiculous saves.
Ren bent double, exhausted. The HUD blinked faintly:
[Mental +1]
Haru slapped his back with a grin wide enough to split his face. "See?! We didn't just lose. We lost gloriously!"
Ren groaned. Why does it feel like I've recruited a stray dog...
As they left the court, Ren spotted a familiar figure leaning in the shadows near the archway. Arms crossed, eyes cold. Shizuka Amane.
Her gaze flicked to Haru, then back to him, a frown creasing her face. She turned without a word and vanished into the crowd.
Ren's chest tightened. She saw that?
Haru elbowed him. "Oi, Messiah, don't sulk. Next time, we'll make 'em cry with style!"
Ren sighed, half in despair, half in reluctant amusement.
Why does it feel like my life just got noisier...
Padel Knowledge Break #3 — Gear 101
Rackets in padel have nostrings—just a solid perforated face, shaped like a teardrop or diamond.Control players prefer round heads for precision, while power hitters choosediamond heads for extra smash weight. Balls are pressurized, like tennis balls butwith less bounce, making rallies last longer. And shoes? Padel-specific solesgrip better on glass + artificial turf, so players don't slide out on suddendirection changes. In a world where padel decides everything, even gear feelslike destiny.