As Ayanokouji finished folding both his school uniform shirt and pants, he placed them neatly inside his designated locker in the boys' locker room. The usual sounds of rustling clothes, casual chatter amongst boys, and clanging locker doors filled the space. It was time for gym class, and as always, the boys were in the middle of changing from their standard uniforms into their gym ones.
Typically, their attire would consist of a white t-shirt and shorts, so they could move more freely and flexibly outside in the scorching heat. However, since today's class was taking place in the indoor gymnasium, with the air conditioning running strong, it was mandatory for the students to wear the school-sponsored red long-sleeved track jerseys and matching-colored shorts—both made from lightly insulated material designed to guard against the cool air whilst still allowing students to stretch their bodies and move smoothly without accidentally ripping the clothes.
After slipping into his shorts, Ayanokouji quickly grabbed his red track jacket, slung it over his shoulders, and zipped it up in one swift motion—ensuring nobody could get a good look at his body while he was changing.
Hopefully nobody noticed… If they did, I could just point at them and accuse them of being a pervert, Ayanokouji thought snarkily.
Ayanokouji always tried to change as discreetly and swiftly as he could. Not because he was ashamed of how his body looked—in fact, calling his body "average" was like saying a Formula One car had "alright" speed—both being a grave insult to the concept of truth, but out of strategy to protect his quotidian image. Drawing unnecessary attention was the last thing he wanted, and with a physique like his, attention was almost guaranteed.
It wasn't uncommon for teenagers nowadays to work out either for health or aesthetic purposes—many joined sports clubs, some frequented the gym, and others liked doing home exercises, such as calisthenics, at home. However, even if he were to sign up for a strenuous training program, Ayanokouji's physical constitution, if you considered the resources, facilities, food consumed, and time available for most high school students, was unrealistic.
The White Room had relentlessly honed his body from childhood. Physical superiority wasn't an option—it was an encouraged obligation, and anyone who failed to live up to the facilities' standards would be thrown away or expelled without hesitation. So from a young age, he had a daily routine of participating in gruelling training regimens, combat drills, endurance tests, and cognitive-enhancing exercises. There, both body and mind were forged together, since there was a proven correlation that a sharp and intelligent brain could function better if backed with a perfectly conditioned vessel.
Although Ayanokouji did start out as one of the bottom students in the White Room, years of determination—driven by a need to survive, intensity, and hard work—led him to rise through the ranks and eventually surpass everyone. His records shattered every standard set not just by his peers, but by former and even future generations of White Room candidates who despite having better facilities and improved training programs, still didn't hold a candle to him. Still, it had been a while since he worked out seriously.
Now, with his newfound freedom, he didn't restrict himself to following the strict diet he had grown up with in the White Room, only eating nutritious, but bland food. Now, he allowed himself to indulge in guilty pleasantries. Foods such as Karaage, Takoyaki, Melonpan, and a slice of strawberry cheesecake—although less optimal and definitely unhealthy—slowly crept up into his diet. Each bite made him feel more like a regular human being and not some unemotional robot who only drank fuel and ate screws from breakfast to dinner.
Still, despite not being at peak physical form, his physique remained extraordinary compared to most people his age. Defined muscle tones, low body fat, and a naturally imposing frame—these things didn't disappear overnight. He still occasionally exercised, just not as much and as soberly as he used to.
He was aware that if he openly bragged or displayed his body, it would earn the admiration of the school athletes, garner some envy from the insecure boys, and—most problematically—attention from girls. Popularity was a double-edged sword, and he had no intention to swing it. The more eyes on him, the fewer opportunities he could enjoy to slip away into the background and enjoy the stillness of ordinary life.
To the new world around him, Ayanokouji Kiyotaka wasn't some prodigious athlete or unparalleled genius.
He was just Ayanokouji, the unremarkable classmate you passed by in the hallway every day.
And that's exactly how he liked it.
I wish the gym set came with longer pants though…
Ayanokouji mused to himself, tugging at the hem of his red track shorts. He didn't particularly mind how the breeze brushed against his legs; it was more so the exposure that bothered him. Short pants meant more chances for people to notice the parts about himself he'd rather not advertise. Maybe if he submitted a formal complaint to the school about how the shorts caused him "great personal discomfort," they'd let him wear longer pants.
Still, despite his efforts to remain unostentatious, some people were way more observant than they had any right to be.
One of them was—
"Yo, Ayanokouji!" Shimura's voice rang out as he suddenly slung his arm around Ayanokouji's neck like an octopus trying to choke out its prey.
"You have surprisingly broad shoulders, man," he complimented, giving Ayanokouji's traps a playful but firm squeeze. "Mind telling a close pal of yours how to achieve such greatness?"
Ayanokouji blinked, unfazed by his attempts to placate him.
"...Not much. I just play piano and do calligraphy from time to time. Nothing too physically demanding," he replied, brushing off the comments with his usual nonchalance. "Must just be good genetics."
"Oh, I see how it is…" Shimura pushed his glasses up dramatically, the lenses catching the light.
"So you're going to keep your secrets all to yourself, huh? I bet you're planning for the ultimate ikemen move—keeping quiet until we all go on a school trip to the beach. As everyone is changing, you take off your shirt, then, BAM! You surprise everyone and have all the girls swooning over your 'greek-god like body'' to evoke a 'gap-moe' esque effect. That's it, isn't it?! I know what you're plotting, you greedy, gloomy-faced, conniving bastard!"
What kind of self-delusions are you projecting onto me…? That's literally the opposite of everything I would want.
"Don't mind him, Ayanokouji," Katou chimed in, stepping in with a light-hearted giggle and a pat on Ayanokouji's back—his eyes briefly showing surprise at how firm it felt beneath the jacket.
"Still, you must've been in a sports club before, right? No way you get that kind of build just from sitting around doing kanji strokes. Athletes can tell when you're lying about your exercises. Come on, no need to hide your embarrassing past from your buddies," he teased with raised eyebrows and a grin.
"...Fine, I'll concede. I did a bit of swimming in the past."
His words were half-truth. Picking swimming was reasonable. It was a sport known for developing the shoulders and traps of its athletes due to its reliance on upper body strength and water resistance. He had done swimming drills in the White Room, and he did hold the fastest record time. But it wasn't the only sport responsible for developing his muscles.
"Aha! I knew it!" Shimura grinned triumphantly and finally let go of him. "Now that I know your secret, I'm gonna start swimming as well. One day, I'll have a body that'll have girls drooling over me!" he declared loudly.
How obsessed are you with girls?
Ayanokouji and Katou exchanged the same thoughts internally, though neither dared to say it out loud.
"Alright, we should probably head out now," Shimura said, stretching out his arms for a second. "Every minute we're late, the coach adds a lap around the gym. We don't wanna do more work than we need to."
Without another word, both Shimura and Katou took off towards the gym entrance in a hurried but light jog. Ayanokouji was just about to follow them when he noticed two familiar figures still lingering around their lockers—Tanaka and Ohta, chatting leisurely like they had all the time in the world.
"You both should probably hurry," Ayanokouji called out, pausing at the doorway.
His voice drew both of their gazes.
"Ah, wait for us a bit, Ayanokouji," Ohta waved lazily. Then, turning to Tanaka, he raised an eyebrow. I'm surprised you're willing to participate in P.E."
Given Tanaka's reputation for preserving the art of listlessness and for abhorring any kind of physical and mental labor, he expected him to already be curling up somewhere, feigning illness, using one hundred percent of his brain to pull out every excuse he could, or just skipping school altogether just because there was P.E. on this specific day.
"I guess," Tanaka didn't refute his words. "I want to build up my physical strength so my limbs won't fall asleep or get hurt, no matter how lazy I am."
Ayanokouji blinked. The logic was strange, contradictory even. But it oddly made sense.
If Tanaka were to tear a muscle or break a bone, he'd be forced to feel the anguish and despair from sustaining those injuries—no amount of skipping school and sleeping in hospital beds would make that pain disappear. It'd ruin the whole point of maintaining his lazy lifestyle. For such an entity like Tanaka, who enjoyed unbothered slacking above all things in life, being able to build and maintain a durable body that allowed him to be useless without consequences… was, perhaps, quite fair and sensible.
Then, as if motivated by his own absurd will and determination, Tanaka slowly stepped forward, his eyes full of conviction and solemn resolve.
A sudden gust of powerful wind whooshed through the locker room, which was supposed to be impossible considering there were no doors open, vents active, or windows.
And yet, there it was: a gentle but persistent breeze, rustling Tanaka's black hair and tugging his gym clothes, as if Mother Nature herself had chosen to recognize the gravity of Tanaka's words and decided to support his crusade for total slothfulness.
What the— Ayanokouji's eyes scanned the room, trying to find the source of the wind to no avail. Where in the world is the wind even coming from…?
He walked into the imaginary wind like a lone traveler seeking redemption and spiritual enlightenment at the top of Mount Everest, his arms slowly stretching in exaggerated effort. The scene in front of Ayanokouji was unreasonably epic, like something out of a cinema.
"I'll work my body hard," Tanaka declared, eyes full of misplaced passion, "so that I can slack off worry-free."
Ayanokouji found himself at a loss for words, unsure whether to admire, pity, or feel insulted by Tanaka's sentiment.
But perhaps… he may have had a point. After all, a child would only come to appreciate and love the taste of sweets if it was given on occasion. If you were to spoil the child with candy every day, the flavor would eventually become dull, boring, and maybe even revolting.
Applying the same logic to Tanaka's situation, the joy of indulgence only exists when it contrasts with the struggle of effort, with scarcity. If Tanaka were able to relax quietly at every moment, never feeling any sort of exhaustion or hardship, even an entity like him would also grow bored of the monotony.
That's what made unexpected naps for Tanaka so fulfilling. Not just the actual action in itself, but the luxury of drifting off when you weren't supposed to.
The imaginary wind stopped blowing as the resolution in Tanaka's eyes finally fizzled out, like an almost dying candle's fire being snuffed away by the winds of reality. "Alright, let's just get this over with," he muttered in resignation, slouching slightly as he hesitantly trudged forward.
With that, the trio finally made their way to the center of the gym, where the coach and their classmates were already waiting, lined up neatly in rows.
Unlike most schools, at Sakura High, the boys and girls were separated into different sections of the gym for P.E. lessons. The male students were supervised by a male instructor, while the female students were supervised by a female instructor.
Perhaps it was for the sake of safety—not that the school didn't trust the professionalism, honesty, or intentions of its hired teachers. If that were the case, they wouldn't have hired them in the first place. However, it was better to be safe than sorry.
It could also be a preventive measure to avoid any possible awkward physical contact, potential misinterpretations, unnecessary tension, or any unwanted embarrassment that might arise between students and the teacher of the opposite sex during close-contact sports where the teacher needed to be more attentive than usual. In any case, it was clear that the school was making a sincere effort to create a comfortable environment that prioritized its students' mental well-being and physical boundaries, ensuring they could focus on improving their health and exercises without any discomfort.
Fortunately for the trio, they had made it just in time—meaning there was no need for the coach to penalize them by forcing them to run more laps than the others.
Still, the P.E. teacher knew from the months he'd spent teaching Tanaka that trying to get him to exercise properly would be nothing short of a miracle. Tanaka wasn't just lazy—he was committed to the philosophical cause of living life without working hard—or working at all, actually.
Yet, the teacher couldn't give up hope. Somewhere deep inside Tanaka's slouched figure, he believed, he could ignite the flame of a student who might one day discover the joys of movement, the growth that comes with struggle, and the contentment that followed hard-earned sweat.
"All right, let's start warming up!" The P.E teacher called out, clapping his hands to wake up his students.
Ayanokouji sneakily glanced at the pile of equipment placed by the coach's feet.
Rackets, shuttlecocks, an unopened coil net…
"It seems like we're playing badminton today," Shimura deduced, taking the words straight out of Ayanokouji's mouth.
"Aww, man… I wanted to play soccer," Katou sighed, his shoulders drooping dejectedly.
"You're both on the soccer team, aren't you?" Ohta asked rhetorically. "Won't you be able to play soccer later anyways?"
"I mean, yeah, you're right… but still, you can never play too much soccer!" Katou exclaimed, eyes gleaming with passion for the beautiful game.
As the chatter settled down, the students turned to face forward and began warming up, following the coach's instruction.
They cycled through a series of stretching exercises to prepare their bodies for the upcoming badminton lesson—gentle neck tilts to loosen their stiff muscles, wide arm circles to warm up the shoulder joints, side stretches to activate their obliques, followed by hamstring and quadriceps stretches for the front and back of their legs, respectively.
In the midst of the stretching, Ayanokouji noticed one person who had fallen out of sync with the rest of the class. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Tanaka, standing stiffly with his hands clutching his hips—like an old man who had just broken his hips crouching down to grab his cane. Considering how sedentary Tanaka was, that metaphor might actually not be far from the truth.
Still, Tanaka made an effort to push through. He lifted his right arm, attempted to stretch it…
Yeah, nevermind. He winced, clutched his elbow, and sighed—a sound that carried both quiet pain and surrender.
Eventually, Tanaka had given up entirely. Instead of making another try, he shifted into a bizarre routine instead. He inhaled deeply, folded his arms across his chest, then exhaled while extending them outward in one fluid, slow motion. He did this repeatedly, as if he had completely abandoned warming up for gym and opted for practicing some sort of breathing meditation technique.
Tanaka's face was now full of satisfaction. Long gone was the pain of straining his muscles; bye bye fatigue and eternal suffering! In its place was now a feeling of a queerly serene contentment, even joy, as if he had found Nirvana in this self-styled ritual.
"Tanaka," the coach's voice crackled through the speaker he was holding, snapping him back to the real world. "Don't take breaks during warm-up exercises. And don't just take the liberty of skipping to the end."
---
After the coach finished explaining the basic moves and techniques of badminton, he grouped the boys into sets of four. There, they would ask them to pair with one other person in their group, and that person they chose would be their partner in the upcoming two-on-two matches. While the activity was technically part of their P.E. grade, it was also meant to have students let loose, have fun, and strengthen already established or create new bonds with each other—building a sense of unity and camaraderie that contributed to the school's positive environment.
Believe it or not, up to this point, Ayanokouji had actually never played a single game of badminton. It wasn't that the sport had been forbidden from the White Room. But since it was a game that required more than one participant, he, quite literally, just didn't have any other children to play against. Most of the children in his generation had been expelled or dropped out long before he could challenge any of them.
Sure, the White Room probably could have hired a professional athlete or instructor to teach him, but he postulated that the White Room saw little value in badminton compared to other sports. Golf and table tennis, for example, had networking potential. Martial arts taught him the ability to defend himself if he ever needed to. Solo sports that didn't require other people's participation further reinforced the fourth generation's emphasis on pure individualism. In their eyes, badminton wasn't a necessity but a luxury. Perhaps they also wanted to save budget as well which is why, as much as they tried to get him physically active, there was still a lack of variety of sports in his curriculum.
So when most students were chatting and relaxing during break time, Ayanokouji had quietly approached the coach and asked him for guidance. Curious, the coach started working him through the footwork, grips, and swing techniques.
When he saw Ayanokouji conscientiously listening to him and genuinely trying, he grabbed him by the shoulders with a proud grin. "Ayanokouji… all this time, I thought you were just another lazy, uninterested layabout like Tanaka. But, it seems you've proved me wrong!"
Wow…was your opinion of me really that low, Coach? Ayanokouji thought, rolling his eyes inwardly.
Still, after a few minutes of hands-on training and a light warm-up, he had begun shaking off the rust from not training his body seriously in a while. He felt ready—or at least, confident enough to give badminton a try.
Unfortunately, that time would have to wait.
Since one of the boys in class was absent, seemingly because of sickness, it had left them with an odd number of boys. As a result, even though he had been successfully grouped with his usual circle of friends, Ayanokouji would be benched for the first match. He would sit on the sidelines as he would witness the battle between the two soccer athletes—Katou and Shimura—against the dynamic duo of Ohta and Tanaka. So, he sat down.
With only limited court space in the gym since the girls occupied the other half, he wasn't the only one waiting for his turn. The other boys sat in clumps nearby, chatting about sports, plans they had after school, or exchanging playful banter and trash talk with each other as the heat of competition boiled in the air.
Frankly, Ayanokouji wasn't too interested in winning. He'd put in some effort for the sake of participation and enjoyment, but he wasn't desperate to beat anyone that was in front of him. He just wanted to experience the game; no need for him to be too competitive.
"Hehehe! You guys are up against us athletes. Looks like Lady Luck wasn't on your side!" Katou grinned cockily, his words sharp with arrogance, attempting to get under their skin.
But Ohta didn't flinch or show any kind of frustration. Instead, he stood tall—not like a high school student that was about to play a casual match of badminton, but like a lone soldier stepping onto a warzone. His very posture radiated overwhelming determination, as if he was ready to die for his pride and country. Behind him, it almost felt like flames had magically erupted on his back, burning in the brilliant shades of his never-ending resolve. His eyes were razor-sharp, focused, and ardent; his grip on the racket as firm as stone.
"Go easy on us," Ohta said, eyes full of seriousness locking onto Shimura and Katou.
"Ohta, you've got a fierce presence going on…" he muttered, suddenly feeling pressure crawl up his spine. But then he glanced at Ohta's teammate—and his nerves immediately dissipated as fast as they appeared.
Well, it's not like Tanaka's going to last very long, so all we need to worry about is Ohta. Shimura reassured himself.
Tanaka stood beside Ohta, the living embodiment of passivity. In stark contrast to Ohta's zealous demeanor, his eyes were half-lidded, unfazed, almost sleepy. He lazily flipped and fiddled with the racket in his hands, likely not to check for any issues but rather more like casually wobbling it because there was nothing else to do with it—except, actually play the game, of course.
After a few minutes of preparation for both teams, the match began.
Shimura stepped forward and held the shuttlecock carefully in one hand, swinging the racket with the other in an underhand slow motion to deliver a clean forehand low serve. The shuttlecock cut through the air gently—but the moment it crossed the net, everything changed.
The atmosphere thickened with tension—almost suffocating even, and all eyes were on Ohta.
He took a single, calm step forward. His movement was precise—graceful yet terrifyingly aggressive. With one fluid motion, he drew his racket behind him like a delinquent about to bash someone's head with a baseball bat, his free hand extending in front of him, fingers splayed with balance and control. Then, with a sharp twist of his torso and violent pivot of his hips, he unleashed all the energy and feelings he could onto smashing the shuttlecock.
"Nhgh!" Ohta grunted—eyes full of silent but blatant fury, lips pressed in a snarl of resolve.
THWAP!
The shuttlecock was obliterated in the air, morphed into a blur that couldn't be seen by the human eye. Before Shimura or Katou could even react, the shuttlecock slammed violently into the space they left empty on the court.
Point: Ohta and Tanaka.
1-0
"Ohta! Take it easy! Take it easy!" Katou shouted, his voice laced with panic.
"Ah, sorry."
From the sidelines, Ayanokouji's brow twitched ever so slightly.
Interesting… he thought, arms crossed.
Before the match started, if Ayanokouji were to bet on whose team would be more likely to win, his money would've gone to Katou and Shimura. Both were seasoned athletes—quick on their feet and accustomed to fast-paced games like soccer, which translated well into badminton's need for quick bursts of movement and agility.
Tanaka and Ohta, while not unathletic, seemed far less experienced and physically active. Ohta's height gave them a reach advantage, sure, but Ayanokouji assumed it would be balanced by slower reaction times or clunky footwork. Plus, Ohta would have to exhaust himself at a faster rate, which would hurt them in the long term to make up for Tanaka's lack of effort.
And yet…
Ohta had just sent a blazing smash past Katou and Shimura that even he would've struggled to return in kind. His form was impeccable. There were no flaws, and not even one wasted motion. The angle had also been perfect—any higher and the shuttlecock would've flown out, giving Shimura and Katou the point instead. Ohta was proving to be more physically gifted and disciplined than Ayanokouji had expected.
It seems I may have underestimated him…
"You're so cool, Ohta," Tanaka said, stepping forward. "I wanna try that too."
Ayanokouji's gaze, like a sleeper agent who had just heard his code word, immediately sharpened.
Now this was a treat. Tanaka, showing interest? Motivation? I thought I would have to perform a blood ritual on a goat to witness something like this.
If his curiosity had been piqued before, now it was locked in with surgical focus. For someone as aloof and passive as Tanaka to express unadulterated excitement—that was a sight rarer than seeing four yolks pop out of one egg. And now, the question Ayanokouji had long pondered danced tantalizingly in front of him:
Was Tanaka hiding his abilities all along? Could he and Ohta really stand toe-to-toe with Katou and Shimura? Whose bond off the court would translate to synergy better?
He leaned forward, anticipation humming beneath his calm exterior.
But just as the game was going to resume, the loud thump of a volleyball echoed through the boys' side of the gym. A ball came, bouncing over the divider, rolling right behind Katou and Shimura.
"Sorry, Ayanokouji-kun! Could you get the ball for us?" one of the girls called out sweetly for his assistance.
He rose silently from his seat, offering a slight nod, and made his way over to where the ball had landed.
As he walked, the game quietly resumed. Shimura, now holding the shuttlecock again, served with the same underhand motion and aim. This time, Tanaka was prepared, positioned in Ohta's previous position at the front.
He mirrored Ohta's form—almost eerily so—his posture, twist of his torso, and look in the look of his eyes.
THWACK!
Something was off.
Just as Ayanokouji crouched down to grab the volleyball, his instincts suddenly screamed at him.
!-
He unconsciously jerked his body back in time—a metal racket came flying through the air and slammed into the hardwood inches from where Ayanokouji's head had been. It ricocheted off the wall with a violent clang, clattering on the floor.
He froze. Heart pounding for the first time in years.
"TANAKA! YOUR GRIP! YOUR GRIP!" Katou shrieked, horrified.
"YOU ALMOST KILLED AYANOKOUJI!" Shimura barked, practically seething at him.
Ayanokouji sat on the ground, one hand clutching his chest, the other bracing against the floor. For a moment, he stared blankly at the floor, catching his breath.
Then, slowly, as if nothing had happened, his heartbeat slowed down back to its normal rate. He recomposed himself. His calm expression returned—unreadable as it always is.
But his thoughts didn't match his unperturbed look.
Did… Tanaka just try to assassinate me?
"Ayanokouji, you okay dude?" Katou asked, concern tightening his voice. Shimura jogged over, extending a hand.
Ayanokouji took it and rose back with ease.
"Yeah, don't worry about it," he said coolly, as if nearly having his head smashed by a metal racket was just another typical Monday.
Then, remembering why he was there in the first place, he crouched back down, picked up the volleyball, and flicked it gently toward the girl who'd asked for it.
It landed perfectly in her arms—not too strong to bounce off her body, not too weak to fall short, and not too high to force her to move.
Her eyes widened in surprise at how precise Ayanokouji's throw was. "Thank you, Ayanokouji-kun!" she beamed, her arms waving jovially. He waved back, but with noticeably less fanfare.
Then came the sound of approaching footsteps.
Ohta walked towards him, tall and collected, with Tanaka trailing behind him, fidgeting awkwardly. Honestly, the scene looked like something straight out of a comedy—as if Ohta was the stern parent bringing in their sheepish child who had caused trouble to apologize.
Tanaka stepped forward, scratching his head, regret scribbled all over his face. "Sorry, Ayanokouji… I should've been more careful. I didn't hold the racket tight enough."
"Ah, don't worry about it. I'm not hurt or anything, so don't feel too bad about it."
Yeah… he probably wasn't trying to assassinate me.
…Probably.
Killing someone in broad daylight? Especially in a public area like the school's gymnasium? That was basically like asking for a jail sentence. Even if everyone in the gym vouched for Tanaka, claiming that "Tanaka didn't mean to do it!" and "It's in his nature to not pay attention to how he was gripping the racket!", no well-functioning and fair judiciary system would take those excuses seriously. If anything, it might even hurt Tanaka's case.
Still, Ayanokouji's instincts remained on edge, even if his expression didn't betray a thing.
Before the conversation could continue, Katou and Shimura grabbed one of Tanaka's arms, lifted him up from the floor slightly, and dragged him towards the sidelines, like bodyguards dragging away a drunkard who had broken the rules of the bar.
"Why don't you take a break for now?" Katou advised.
"Yep! Yep!" Shimura chimed in. "Ayanokouji, sub in for Tanaka!"
"Alright," Ayanokouji replied, picking up a racket from the racket rack at the side of the court.
Your form wasn't bad, Tanaka. You did your best! Ohta thought to himself as he saw his teammate sitting on the sidelines.
On the girls' side of the gym, two figures stood near the net, pausing their rally as they glanced over at Ayanokouji's group.
"The boys sure look like they're having fun," one of them said with a small smile.
Shiraishi followed her gaze with a soft chuckle. "Yeah… They really are," she replied, amused by the usual group's antics.
---
SMASH!
Point.
As Shimura went to grab the shuttlecock annoyedly, Ayanokouji gripped his racket, noticing a small dent along the top edge, and the stringles wobbled loosely with the slightest touch. The handle fit snugly in his palm, but a thin layer of dust coated the grip—a subtle sign of how old the equipment really was.
The gymnasium itself was clean and well-maintained, but it was clear the rackets, nets, and shuttlecock had seen better days in the past. Some of the shuttlecocks even had feathers missing, flapping pitifully with each serve done. Still, no one really complained about it. After all, it's not like they were competing professionally.
Ohta was up front, while Ayanokouji was covering his back. He'd take care of whatever Ohta couldn't reach in time—giving him a supporting role that allowed him to both contribute while not taking the spotlight away from his ace.
As the match progressively resumed from the beginning, it became abundantly clear that Ohta was dominating. Hell, Ayanokouji doubted if he even needed his help in the first place.
With every leap and smash, the shuttlecock barely lasted a second in the air before it was driven down with pinpoint force. Ayanokouji simply stepped in when necessary, relying on his positioning rather than his athletic abilities to return stray shots or awkward angles that Ohta couldn't cover.
SMASH!
Point.
SMASH!
Point.
Another SMASH!
Point.
The score was now 10-2, with Ohta scoring eight out of those ten points.
Katou looked at the scoreboard, disbelief etched onto his face. "How are we losing to Ohta and Ayanokouji?!" he exclaimed, his voice breaking with exasperation.
"Ayanokouji! You're being hard carried by Ohta! Face me like a real man you coward!" Shimura demanded.
Ayanokouji blinked. No thanks. I'll let Ohta do all the work.
As the match continued and the smell of sweat became more noticeable in the warm gym, Tanaka remained seated on the sidelines, absentmindedly fiddling with the shuttlecock he'd taken from the tray nearby.
Since we're on the same team, I wonder if Ohta and Ayanokouji's performance will automatically count towards my grade, even if I'm resting like this, Tanaka thought lazily. I wish the world would adopt a system like that.
He stared at the item in his hand blankly for a while, eyes filled with boredom. Then, as if struck by divine inspiration, he reached for another shuttlecock and—without hesitation—gently placed both on top of his head.
***
"Ngh!" Ohta grunted as he smashed the shuttlecock—only this time, he overshot it, proving he was human. The birdie soared high into the upper rafters of the gymnasium before disappearing out of sight.
"Ah—"
"Sorry, I hit it too high. I'll go up and get it," Ohta offered, already moving before Katou reached out and stopped him.
"Just get it later, Ohta. We have extra shuttlecocks anyways." Katou reminded him before heading towards the shuttlecock tray.
Ayanokouji nodded and turned toward the tray as well—only to pause.
It's… empty? That's strange… he thought, peering down into the shallow bin. I could've sworn there were still two left.
"Huh?" Shimura said, noticing the absence of shuttlecocks. "They're all gone?"
"Really?" Katou leaned over to take a look. "Where the hell did they go?"
"Maybe someone else grabbed them while we weren't looking?" Shimura guessed.
Ayanokouji shook his head. "Unlikely. I've been watching the area around the tray. No one's gone near it as far as I've observed."
"Then what?" Katou asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is someone secretly stealing shuttlecocks from us now?"
"That can't be the case," Ayanokouji replied. "They're disposable. Shuttlecocks aren't exactly high-value items worth a fortune."
"Found em," Ohta called out nearby, drawing everyone's attention.
They walked over—and were met with a ridiculous sight to see.
Tanaka was sitting cross-legged against the gym wall, arms loosely wrapped around his knees. He was fast asleep, drooling slightly, with a tranquil look on his face. And on his head—like makeshift antennas—rested the two missing shuttlecocks.
The group froze.
"...Is he okay?" Katou muttered.
"Is someone playing a prank on him?" Shimura whispered.
Ayanokouji scanned the gym, but no one seemed to be watching or holding in their laughter. No one nearby could have had access to the tray. No one, that is, except…
Yep, he must've done this by himself. But why…?
Whatever the reason, Ayanokouji couldn't help but be impressed. Not only had Tanaka managed to somehow quietly sneak over to the tray and steal both shuttlecocks undetected, but he'd done so in a way that completely evaded Ayanokouji's typically observant eyes.
As he stepped closer, Tanaka stirred slightly—rubbing one of his eyes with a faint grunt. As Ayanokouji was about to reach out, intending to carefully remove the shuttlecocks from his head, Tanaka immediately slumped back into his original position and continued slumbering.
The four of them just stood there, staring at Tanaka, not knowing what to do. They didn't want to disturb his peaceful slumber, but they also needed some shuttlecocks to continue playing.
"I'll... just get the one stuck up there," Ohta finally said, breaking the silence and jogging off towards the staircase.
"Yeah…" Shimura mumbled, still staring. "I'd feel bad waking him up."
What am I even looking at…? Katou thought, too confused to form any words.
Ayanokouji, meanwhile, sat next to Tanaka, brushing a bit of dust off his shoulders.
It seems you've escaped my gaze once again, Tanaka, he thought, half enlivened, impressed. Ayanokouji prided himself on being perceptive yet, by fair means or foul, Tanaka had slipped past him entirely, like a ghost in broad daylight.
"I suppose I'll have to keep a closer eye on you next time," Ayanokouji murmured quietly before standing back up.
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Author's note:
Good day, my fellow readers! I hope you enjoyed chapter 3!
I'm still a novice, so I feel the need to apologize for my lackluster description of them playing badminton. It's not that I lack knowledge about the sport. In fact, I played badminton a couple days ago and beat my friends 6-0, heh. It's just I don't really know how to properly describe what exactly they're doing in detail. I can't really explain it, but I'm sure some authors can relate to my struggle.
Anyways, Thank you as always for your support! Any kind of praise, criticism, and feedback is greatly appreciated!
If you have any questions, please leave them in the comment section. Though, I can't promise I'll always answer them directly (for example: questions that would spoil future content of this fic).
That is all, see you in the next chappie ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡
EvilNeuori, out.
Word Count: 6069 Words