Aoi's POV
We make it through the first two matches.
Barely.
Not because the opponents are better.
Because I'm worse.
I can feel it—tight hands, bad angles, feet a half-step behind. Every shout from the crowd echoes like a judgment. Every call from Coach feels heavier than it should.
I can hear Mirai in my head.
"Loosen your shoulders, partner. You're playing like a statue."
Except she's not here.
And I'm not her partner anymore.
Rio's POV
Something's wrong with Aoi.
It's not her skill—she's still sharp when she lands a hit.
It's her energy. Her court presence.
She's folding in.
Retreating.
And every time I try to offer a call, a high-five, even a nod—she doesn't take it.
Like she's trying to disappear right there on the court.
And the worst part?
I know that feeling.
The guilt of letting someone down so badly you think the only fix is to vanish.
Haru's POV
She's cracking.
And no one sees it but me.
Not Coach. Not Rio. Not even Aoi herself.
The final set starts. Kaimei vs. Hikawa Prep. Win this, and we're into semifinals. The crowd's louder now. Scouts everywhere. Pressure like a fog you can't breathe through.
Aoi serves.
Fault.
She tries again.
Another fault.
Coach calls a timeout. But I shake my head.
"Sub me out."
Coach blinks. "You serious?"
"She needs air," I say. "She needs room. If she sees me out there, she's gonna keep thinking she has to play perfect."
I don't wait for permission.
I walk to the bench, hand over my racket.
Sho subs in.
And from across the court, Aoi looks at me like I just punched a hole in the world.
Aoi's POV
He left.
I stand at the baseline, racket shaking in my hand, watching Haru sit on the bench with his towel around his neck.
He left me.
And for a split second, the panic swells—hot, blinding, familiar.
Like when I saw Mirai fall.
Like when I realized she was gone for good.
But then—
I feel it.
A breath.
A shift.
And I realize…
He didn't leave to abandon me.
He left so I could stand on my own.
Tanaka's POV
I've seen a lot of anime.
This feels like the moment.
Main character breakdown? Check.
Best friend sacrifice? Double check.
Now all we need is the comeback rally.
And when Aoi steps to the line again, something's different.
Her shoulders drop.
Her grip relaxes.
She tosses the ball.
And lands the serve.
Clean.
Perfect.
She's back.
Final Rally – Aoi's POV
It's the last point.
Rio calls it—"Switch!"
I cross fast, cut off the return, snap my wrist and send it screaming down the line.
It hits.
Game.
Set.
Match.
We win.
And when I turn to the bench, Haru's already smiling.
Not proud. Not smug.
Just there.
I run to the net.
Not for the crowd.
Not for the record.
For us.
For this team.
For everything we didn't let break.