The gymnasium felt strangely hollow that early in the morning. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, echoing off the polished wooden floor. Yuto, Hoshino, and Yamada stepped inside expecting at least a couple of early birds, maybe a trio of girls pretending they weren't there to watch Masaru Kyo. But no. Empty.
Well, except for the king himself.
Masaru stood near the baseline, rhythmically launching shuttle after shuttle into the air and hammering them down with clean, vicious smashes. Every hit cracked through the gym like someone snapping thick branches.
Yamada whispered, "He's insane… does he wake up and inhale protein powder for breakfast or something?"
Hoshino shoved him with an elbow. "Don't say that out loud. He might actually hear you from across the room."
Masaru did hear them. His head turned, brows slightly raised, more curious than annoyed. Morning practice rarely saw visitors anymore. Girls used to hover around back when the Takahashi rumors weren't a thing. Once those started, everyone scattered like pigeons.
Three boys showing up? Unexpected.
He towelled his face, walked over, and greeted them with his usual calm expression that somehow still gave off competitive heat. "You guys here to practice?"
Yamada shook both hands violently. "Us? No way. We came to… uh… observe? Support? Pretend we're morning people?"
Hoshino clicked his tongue. "Don't drag me into your excuses."
Masaru's eyes slipped toward Yuto, curious. "You play?"
Yuto nodded.
Masaru got an idea. A mischievous spark flashed in his eyes, the kind he usually reserved for teasing Takahashi during mixed doubles.
"How about a quick game? Eleven points. One set."
Yamada nearly choked. "Kimura, you're not actually going to—"
But Yuto stepped forward, calm but firm. "I'll play."
Masaru liked that answer. Maybe he had expected hesitation. Instead, he got someone staring him down without fear. Good.
They took their positions. Hoshino and Yamada stood near the wall, already sweating and they hadn't even lifted a racket.
"This is either going to be awesome," Yamada muttered, "or we're about to watch Kimura get obliterated."
"Have a little faith," Hoshino replied, though he didn't sound convinced.
Masaru bounced the shuttle once and served.
A forehand high serve. Clean, deep, perfectly arced toward the backcourt.
And Masaru underestimated him.
Yuto's height let him cut the shuttle early. He pivoted, shoulders twisting with surprising sharpness for someone who looked half-asleep at breakfast every morning. His racket moved like it had been waiting for this moment.
He smashed.
Not a wild smash. A proper line shot, slicing straight down the right boundary.
Masaru didn't move.
Point to Yuto.
Hoshino's jaw dropped. "…that wasn't luck, right?"
Yamada whispered, "Either Kimura sold his soul for badminton powers or Masaru wasn't ready."
Masaru kept a straight face, but a little jolt of realization hit him. The boy wasn't ordinary. That smash… that timing…
He walked back to position without comment.
1–0, Yuto's lead.
Yuto served now. He tried a low serve, but the racket angle betrayed him. A slight tilt, too much space under the shuttle.
Masaru didn't even blink. The king launched forward and smashed it straight back before Yuto could reset.
1–1.
Masaru exhaled softly. Fluke or not, he wasn't letting the pace drop.
Hoshino pumped his fist. "Okay, okay, they're even."
"Barely," Yamada muttered. "Kimura better not get cocky. Masaru looks like he's only just woken up."
The tension tightened, electricity settling between them. The gym felt less empty now. Like the walls themselves leaned in to watch.