Haru's POV
The trophy ceremony smells like lemon polish and regret.
Kaimei takes second—not bad for a team that barely existed three months ago. Aoi stands at attention during the speeches, her medal glinting in the late afternoon sun. The ribbon is the exact shade of Mirai's favorite headband.
Shun watches her from the champion's podium with an expression I can't decipher. Not anger. Not quite respect. Something raw and unsettled, like he's just realized the girl who used to flinch at the word "partner" now wears the title like armor.
"—exemplary sportsmanship," the tournament director drones.
Coach Kubo bawls into his handkerchief loud enough to startle pigeons. Natsuki snaps photos with clinical precision, but I catch the way her finger hesitates over the shutter when Aoi reaches up to touch her medal.
Tanaka elbows me. "Dude, check this out." He flips open Mirai's journal to a dog-eared page titled Future Plans in bubbly letters.
Three lines jump out:
Get Haru transferred to Kaimei by senior yearConvince Coach K to un-retireRegional champs before we graduate!!!
The date—July 15—is six weeks before the accident.
My stomach drops. All this time, I thought transferring was my choice. My redemption. But Mirai had been pulling strings from beyond the grave, her fingerprints all over every "coincidence" that brought me here.
"Haru?"
Aoi stands inches away, her sleeve brushing mine. Up close, I see the graphite smudges on her fingers—she's been sketching again. The dark circles under her eyes have lightened, replaced by a sunburn across the bridge of her nose.
"Again?" she asks, jerking her chin toward the empty courts.
The team freezes mid-celebration. Tanaka's water bottle hovers halfway to his lips. Even Natsuki lowers her camera.
The sun dips below the gymnasium, painting the asphalt in long shadows. Cicadas scream their evening chorus, so loud it drowns out the retreating crowd. Somewhere beyond the fence, a stray tennis ball rolls to a stop against the chain links.
I reach into my bag and toss her a fresh can of balls. "Always."
Aoi catches it one-handed, her smile small but real. Behind her, Shun's grip tightens on his trophy.
Later - Equipment Room
The journal lies open on the stringing machine, illuminating Mirai's final entries under the flickering fluorescent light:
July 20 - Called Kaimei admin about transfer loopholes
July 28 - Haru's coach agreed!!
August 1 - Need to tell Aoi
The last entry is just a doodle—three stick figures holding a giant trophy. Me with my ridiculous hair, Aoi with her sketchbook, Mirai with her signature bunny ears over both our heads.
Tanaka whistles. "She really planned everything, huh?"
Natsuki traces the dates with her fingertip. "Three days before."
The unspoken before the accident hangs between us. I stare at the doodle until my vision blurs. All those months I spent thinking I'd chosen this path, when really—
A shadow falls across the page. Aoi stands in the doorway, her medal still around her neck. She doesn't speak, just reaches into her bag and pulls out a sketchbook.
The page she shows us takes my breath away:
A perfect recreation of Mirai's doodle—but updated. The three of us stand together, older now, with Mirai's ghostly figure smiling in the background. Beneath it, in Aoi's careful script:
"We did it, partner."
The team exhales as one.
Outside, the first fireflies of summer blink to life over the empty courts.