The morning light poured into the gymnasium, filtered through the narrow windows that lined the upper wall. The wooden court shimmered faintly from last night's cleaning. It was quiet. Still.
Aarav stood alone, breathing slowly.
He wrapped his right hand — now bruised and trembling — in tape, layer after layer. Every turn of the wrap burned against his skin. Yet he didn't flinch.
His fingers couldn't curl properly. But he wasn't here to rest. Not today.
"This pain… it's not new."
He gripped his racket. It slipped slightly, but he held tighter.
With no one watching, Aarav tossed the shuttle into the air.
His body moved on instinct. Feet shifted, shoulders aligned, muscles tightened. The swing was sharp, like a sword cut through silence.
But—
CLANG.
The racket flew from his hand and landed near the net.
He froze. Then, slowly, his eyes drifted to his fingers. The middle one had gone numb again.
"Not now," he muttered under his breath.
He knelt down to pick up the racket — and failed. His fingers didn't respond.
A breath escaped him, half sigh, half silent scream.
The court echoed with new footsteps.
He turned slightly. A tall man in a black training coat stood in the doorway. Coach Takanashi. Sharp-eyed. Cold-hearted. Legendary former Olympian.
Aarav's lips tightened.
"You shouldn't be here," the coach said. Not a greeting. A judgment.
"I'm fine," Aarav replied, standing up slowly.
"You're not." Coach Takanashi walked across the court and picked up the racket. He didn't hand it back.
"You can't even close your fist. You think pushing through pain makes you stronger?"
Aarav didn't answer. He hated how small his voice felt in front of this man.
"You've ruined your tempo," the coach snapped. "You trained like a lunatic yesterday. You ignored the rest day. You ignored your limit."
He threw the racket on the ground between them.
"You want to impress me? Then survive till the Nationals. Not until your wrist snaps!"
Aarav clenched his teeth. His hands stayed at his sides, fists trembling from more than just pain.
Coach Takanashi turned. "Don't step on this court again until you've recovered."
Then he left. Without waiting for a reply.
Silence returned. The gym seemed larger than ever.
Is this it? Aarav thought.
He walked to the bench and sat down, staring at the white ceiling.
His breathing was heavy. His eyes stung. Not from tears — but from holding them back.
"This isn't weakness," he whispered to himself. "It's just temporary. Just a pause."
But his voice cracked on the word pause.
He hated it.
Minutes passed. He didn't move.
Then came another sound — softer steps this time.
Daiki.
He leaned against the doorframe, holding a towel and water bottle.
"You're the only idiot I know who trains after being told not to," he said.
Aarav didn't reply. He didn't even look at him.
Daiki walked closer and sat down on the bench beside him.
The silence between them wasn't awkward — it was heavy.
"You've got spirit, Aarav," Daiki finally said. "But even a lion knows when to rest."
Aarav looked up, eyes dim but steady. "I can't afford to stop."
Daiki handed him the water. "If you break, you'll stop forever."
He said it plainly, without drama. That was what made it sting more.
"I'll heal," Aarav said.
"Only if you stop hurting yourself first."
The two sat like that for a while.
Daiki, eyes forward. Aarav, lost in thoughts.
"I saw your rally with Kazuo yesterday," Daiki said.
Aarav's lips twitched.
"He's faster than I expected," Aarav muttered.
"He's third-ranked nationally. And you still took a set off him with one good hand."
That surprised Aarav.
Daiki smiled faintly. "Coach won't say it. But everyone noticed."
Aarav tightened the bandage.
"What if I fall behind now?" he asked.
Daiki shrugged. "Then catch up smarter."
"Smarter?"
"Study. Watch footage. Heal. Talk strategy. Find another way."
Aarav laughed — bitterly. "That sounds too easy."
"It isn't," Daiki said. "But neither is bleeding every morning in an empty court."
Aarav stood up. His knees felt weak, but his spirit a little lighter.
"Thanks."
"For what?"
"For saying that without sounding like a therapist."
Daiki chuckled. "I'm not here to save you. I'm here to beat you at regionals."
Aarav smiled.
"Bring it on."
As they walked out of the gym, light spilled across the polished floor.
For the first time in days, Aarav didn't feel ashamed of limping.
The wound still hurt. The hand still shook. But his pride — his fire — was alive.
Pain is not glory, he thought.
But what comes after… maybe that is.
Outside,
the cherry blossoms had started to bloom.
Students were arriving. The air was fresh. Spring had finally reached Tokyo.
Aarav looked at his hand.
"I'm not done yet."
Not even close.