The shuttle flew again. Aarav's knees bent, muscles coiled like a spring. He swung.
Kchhh!
The shuttle clipped the net and dropped dead on his side.
"0–2," the referee called quietly.
Aarav exhaled, the taste of dust and sweat filling his mouth.
"No. I can't lose this fast… not here."
Kenta's expression never changed. Cold, unreadable. His silver eyes were the same as the first serve—merciless.
"You don't belong here. Go back to Nepal."
Aarav's grip tightened until his knuckles turned white.
"He doesn't know… he doesn't know what I left behind."
Flashbacks burned in: his small village, the cracked courts, his brother handing him the worn racket.
> "No matter where you go, Aarav… make one shot that matters."
Third serve. Aarav crouched lower, heart hammering.
The shuttle flew. Kenta's arm blurred, a whip-crack smash aimed straight at Aarav's feet.
But this time, Aarav's body moved first. His racket scraped the floor as he lunged, the impact vibrating through his arm.
The shuttle arced high into the air.
A small murmur rippled through the watching players.
Kenta leapt. His body twisted mid-air, the sound of strings slicing wind as he delivered another smash.
BOOM!
The shuttle hit the court again. Aarav's legs burned from the dive. His chest heaved, lungs screaming.
"0–3," the referee called.
Coach Fukuda's arms remained folded, his face unreadable.
Aarav stared at the floor. His breath came in harsh gasps.
"Three points down. One chance left. One point to live."
He wiped his sweat with the back of his hand.
"Coach, what happens if I win a point?"
Coach Fukuda's eyes narrowed. "Then you stay."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you don't exist here."
The fourth serve. Aarav closed his eyes for a split second. He could hear Nepal—the rusted court, the laughter of his brother, the promise.
The shuttle flew.
Aarav stepped in, muscles screaming, and met the smash mid-air. The sound cracked like lightning.
The shuttle zipped past Kenta's shoulder. It hit the white line.
The gym froze. For one second, the entire world stopped breathing.
"1–3."
The referee's voice cut through the silence. Aarav collapsed to his knees, chest pounding, a laugh escaping his lips.
"I'm… staying."
Kenta's silver eyes narrowed for the first time, a flicker of emotion breaking the ice.
Coach Fukuda finally spoke. "Enough." His voice was low, but it carried power.
Aarav stood shakily, gripping the old racket like a lifeline.
Kenta walked past him, shoulders brushing. "Don't think one point makes you special."
Aarav smiled faintly, ey
es burning with fire. "One point's all I need."
> "Bhai… I did it. One feather at a time."