Haru's POV
I've seen teams fall apart.
Too many strong players. Too many silent grudges. You can almost hear it—the moment the gears stop turning.
And this morning?
Kaimei sounds broken.
The usual pre-practice chatter is gone. The courts are quiet. Even Tanaka's socks match—black on both sides, which means something's seriously wrong.
Aoi shows up ten minutes early.
Rio shows up ten minutes late.
They don't look at each other. Don't speak. Their bags land on opposite ends of the bench like they're afraid one might explode if too close.
I try to break the ice.
"So… anyone want to practice cross-court recoveries?"
No one answers.
Even Coach doesn't bark anything. He just leans on the fence with his arms crossed and that look on his face—the one he wears when he's waiting to see who sinks first.
This isn't a team right now.
It's a minefield.
Aoi's POV
Everyone keeps glancing at me like I might snap.
Like I'm the problem.
Like I'm the one who charged into a call.
I know I messed up, but I'm not going to say it first. Not when Rio hasn't even looked at me.
I practice serves by myself in the corner. Each one hits harder than the last, but none of them land clean. The rhythm's off. My weight transfer is sloppy. My grip too tight.
"Loosen your wrist," someone says behind me.
I turn.
It's Haru.
Of course it's Haru.
I don't answer.
He steps closer. "I get it. You're pissed."
"Don't—" I start.
"I'm not taking sides."
"Yes, you are," I say. "You always are. You knew about Rio and Mirai. You knew what that serve would do."
He flinches. Just barely.
"I thought you were ready."
I let out a bitter laugh. "You thought wrong."
I serve again. The ball thuds against the back fence.
Rio's POV
I should apologize.
That's what normal people do, right?
Apologize. Explain. Rebuild.
But I don't know how to do that with someone like Aoi. Someone who looks at me and sees a grave I wasn't supposed to walk on.
I've always been good at doubles—with strangers. With players who care about results, not ghosts.
So why does this feel like I kicked a locked door and set the whole house on fire?
Haru offered to mediate. I told him not to.
Coach told me to "figure it out."
And honestly?
I don't know how.
Tanaka's POV
I find her stringing her racket too tight in the corner of the equipment room.
"Yo."
Rio glances up, expression unreadable.
"Racket won't fix itself by turning into a brick."
She says nothing.
I sit on the crate across from her and grab an unopened can of balls. Pop the seal. Let the scent fill the air—rubber and pressure and maybe, just maybe, potential.
"Wanna know what Mirai used to do when Aoi was pissed?" I say.
Rio raises an eyebrow.
"She'd leave her notes. Sketches. Random court maps with dumb arrows. Didn't talk about the fight—just left something behind. Something real."
Rio frowns. "So what, I'm supposed to doodle an apology?"
I grin. "Wouldn't hurt."
She looks away. "She'll never forgive me."
"Maybe not," I say. "But she's still listening. You just gotta say the right thing—whether she answers or not."
Rio picks up one of the fresh tennis balls. Rolls it between her palms.
"I don't want her to hate me."
"She doesn't," I say. "She just doesn't know how to not miss someone who looks like you."