The ball bounced once… twice… then fell still.
"Game, Rizen!" Leo called from the umpire's chair. "1–0 in sets!"
Rizen could barely believe it. He'd won his first set.
Sweat drenched his shirt, his legs burned, and his grip trembled—yet a faint smile tugged at his lips.
Across the net, the humanoid avatar turned mechanically and reset its position, silent and precise, joints moving like clockwork.
"Unreal," Leo thought, marveling. "Rizen's spatial awareness, his reflexes… he's a natural."
The second set erupted fiercely. The avatar seized control, its opening crosscourt serve catching Rizen off guard.
"0–15!"
Rizen gritted his teeth. He refused to lose momentum.
The next point was a grueling eight-shot rally, ending with Rizen smashing a forehand… only for the avatar to volley it back flawlessly.
"0–30!"
"Tsk…"
With each point, the avatar grew sharper, adapting to Rizen's style. Rizen lunged for every ball, but the bot played error-free.
Leo watched silently, mentally noting the avatar's clinical precision—a "perfect beginner" executing textbook shots.
The set ended 6–1, avatar.
"Sets tied!" Leo announced. "Decider next!"
Rizen hunched over, gasping.
"Not… giving up… ever," he panted.
The final set was a slugfest.
The avatar took the first game.
Rizen clawed back the second with a surprise crosscourt lob.
The third went to deuce before Rizen's double fault cost him.
The fourth he won with a wide serve and a body-line forehand.
2–2.
Rizen stopped thinking. His body moved on instinct, sweat streaming, breath ragged—but his eyes blazed.
"Come on!" he roared, swinging wildly.
The avatar returned. Rizen volleyed. The avatar lobbed. Rizen scrambled… and missed.
"3–2, avatar!"
Rizen dropped to his knees.
"Damn it…!"
Leo descended as the match ended: 6–4 in the final set. Avatar, 2–1.
"Solid work," he said, tossing Rizen a water bottle. "You lost, but fought like a knight. Your strokes improved tenfold today."
"Still… not enough."
"Not yet," Leo grinned. "But close. You've got fire. Control'll come."
As they spoke, an invisible tremor rippled around Rizen—a faint shimmer in the air. His aura hummed.
Leo noticed but stayed silent, eyes gleaming like he'd unearthed raw ore.
"Coming back tomorrow?" he asked.
"Depends… still charging?"
"Obviously!" Leo laughed. "Today was a promo. Tomorrow's full price."
Rizen groaned, but his gaze flickered with something new.
"Then… maybe I'll be back."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Noble Curiosity"
The city glowed under the soft amber hues of dusk.
In a plaza of golden cobblestones, a group of young nobles laughed, clutching trophies, sheathed swords, and beast pelts. Their voices brimmed with pride over a recent hunt.
"We cornered it in under three minutes!" one boasted, waving a fang. "Beat Arianna's record for sure!"
"You're delusional," another snorted. "That girl took down two beasts solo in four minutes."
The group erupted in laughter—all but one.
He walked in silence. Dark cropped hair, wine-dark eyes, a jaw set in mild disdain. His noble attire was slightly disheveled, as if protocol bored him.
Derek Valemond. Second son of House Valemond, a lineage revered for its strategists and diplomats.
"Again with this?" he muttered as the others prattled about Arianna and recycled glories. "The same hunts, the same beasts… so predictable."
When the group paused to plan their next outing, Derek raised a hand in farewell.
"Leaving already?" a companion asked.
"Things to do," Derek lied.
He had nothing to do. Just boredom.
He'd sampled every noble pastime—hunting, fencing, theater, feasts—all tasting of the same stale power plays. He craved something new. Something that wasn't about status or strength.
So he wandered. Beyond the noble quarters, beyond the "acceptable," into streets where shops hummed with authenticity and prices weren't inflated by titles. A world most nobles avoided… but one Derek found strangely magnetic.
Then he saw it.
A small, crisp sign above a refurbished storefront. Bold black letters on white:
"Leo's Sports"
"'Sports'?" he read aloud, brow arched. "Sounds… otherworldly."
Driven by curiosity—and desperate boredom—he pushed the door open.
Cling!
A bell chimed. Inside, a tidy foyer: a desk with papers, chairs, a potted plant, and a tousled-haired man organizing documents.
Leo glanced up.
"Oh—welcome! One sec…" He shuffled the papers. "There. How can I help?"
Derek blinked.
"You're… Leo?"
"The one and only."
"First time here?"
"First time hearing the word. 'Sports.' What is this?"
Leo gestured to a chair.
"Hard to sum up, but… let's call it competitive training. You improve, you compete, you have fun."
Derek tilted his head.
"Does it make you stronger?"
"Depends. But sharper? Faster? Absolutely. Stick with it, and you might outgrow yourself."
Derek studied him. No merchant's flattery here—just blunt honesty. It intrigued him.
"Can I see?"
Leo grinned.
"Sure. Just finished a match, but I'll give you the tour."
They approached the mysterious "Tennis Courts" door.
When Derek stepped through, he froze.
Before him stretched an endless blue sky. Air crisp, grass pristine. Three immaculate courts gleamed, flanked by racks of gear. The space hummed with strange energy—cleaner, brighter than the world outside.
Leo crossed his arms.
"Welcome to one of this world's first temples of sport."
Derek laughed—not a scoff, but a genuine, surprised chuckle.
"Will you teach me?"
Leo smirked.
"Sure. Starting tomorrow, I charge, though."
Derek's lips quirked.
"I'm a noble. I can afford it… if it's worth it."
"Oh," Leo said, eyes gleaming, "it's worth it."