Chapter 3:
"Shuttle Hearts: Love & Badminton"
There’s something strange about walking toward a place you used to feel at home, only to find it colder than you remember.
I stand outside the gym doors. The sound of squeaking sneakers shuttlecocks snapping against rackets, and the coach shouting drills bleeds through the walls like static memories.
I’m not even inside yet, but my palms are already sweaty.
Behind me, the sun is still hanging low, painting the sky in warm golds and pinks. The same kind of sky from the day I left... two years ago.
“You going in or just admiring the paint?” a voice calls out behind me.
I turn to see Ayame Fujisawa, casually chewing on a lollipop, racket bag slung over one shoulder. She doesn’t look surprised to see me.
Maybe she was expecting this. Maybe everyone was.
“…Still deciding,” I mutter.
Ayame rolls her eyes. “You transferred here a week ago, and you’ve spent every afternoon walking past this gym like a ghost. Time to either haunt it or exorcise yourself.”
She shoves the door open for me.
“And don’t make that face. Coach Hino’s inside, and she hates cowards.”
Inside, the gym smells the same—sweat, pinewood, and pressure.
Three courts are active, players rallying nonstop, focused, and fast. A few club members glance my way. I catch whispers.
“Is that him…?”
“Wait, Reina’s old partner?”
“He’s the one who—”
I tune them out. I’ve had a couple of days to prepare for this moment.
Still not enough.
“Oi, Shunpei!”
Ayame’s already changed and on the court, tossing me a spare practice jersey.
I catch it with both hands and freeze.
It’s heavier than I remember.
“Didn’t think you’d show up,” says Coach Hino, striding up with a clipboard and a whistle slung lazily around her neck.
Short, sharp-eyed, and straight to the point. She was just like I heard about.
“You’re not on the roster yet,” she continues, “but you’ve got five minutes to convince me not to burn this form and sweep you out of my gym.”
She flashes the empty registration sheet.
“I’m not here to—”
I hesitate.
“…I’m just here to see how things are.”
She narrows her eyes. “Then I guess you’ll ‘see’ from the court. Grab a racket. We’re rotating doubles matches today.”
Before I can protest, she blows her whistle.
“Pairings are posted!” someone shouts.
The list is on the whiteboard. My name’s scrawled at the bottom.
Shunpei Takahashi + Reina Tachibana vs. Sato + Mori
…No.
My heart stops. I turn instinctively.
Reina’s on the far court, wiping sweat from her brow, water bottle in hand. Her eyes flick toward the board.
Then to me.
And she doesn’t hide her reaction.
She walks over—cool, composed, slicing through the crowd like a blade of wind—and stops right in front of me.
“I don’t want him on my team,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Silence.
I wish I could shrink into the wooden floorboards.
Coach Hino sighs. “You don’t always get what you want, Tachibana. In fact, that’s the theme of today’s lesson.”
Reina’s gaze sharpens. “This isn’t a lesson, Coach. It’s a mistake.”
Coach Hino shrugs. “Then prove it on the court.”
We’re at the baseline now. Opponents are already in position.
Reina stands in front, near the net. Naturally. She always played front court—fast, surgical, and deadly with net shots.
That left me in the back. Again as usual to use my special smashes, drives, and drops.
It’s like the past never left.
“You’re not here to try, are you?” she mutters over her shoulder.
“…I wasn’t planning on losing.”
“Hmph.”
The whistle blows.
The rally starts rough. My grip’s awkward. Footwork off by half a second. I hesitate—just once—and Reina spins to cover a shot I should’ve returned.
The shuttle skims past her.
Point lost.
She doesn’t yell.
She just looks at me like I dropped the moon.
“I don’t care how long you’ve been gone,” she says. “If you’re on my court, you keep up.”
“I didn’t ask to be—”
“And yet you’re here.”
I clench my teeth.
She hasn’t changed. Not one bit.
The next rally starts. This time, I move sharper, faster.
A return smashes toward our side—Reina dives to flick it back up.
I pivot behind her, leaping into the air.
Smash.
The gym echoes.
The shuttle hits the floor on the other side.
Gasps erupted from the watching club members.
But Reina doesn’t even glance back.
“…You’re not so rusty,” she mutters.
“No thanks to you,” I shoot back.
And for the briefest moment—I swear—I see the corner of her mouth twitch.
Not quite a smile.
But not anger either.
After the match, the tension bleeds into the evening air outside.
We walk out together, steps awkward and quiet.
Reina finally breaks it.
“…Why did you really come back?”
I stop walking.
“I transferred here because it was the only school with an opening in the area,” I say. “Not for badminton.”
“That’s a lie.”
I don’t answer.
She turns to face me, eyes unreadable.
“You left without a word. And now you think you can come back like it doesn’t matter. But it does, Shunpei .”
“…I know.”
“Then say it.”
I look at her.
But the words won’t come.
She exhales, disappointed.
And walks away.
This time, I don’t chase after her.
But I stay there.
Watching.
Because something inside me has shifted.
And I don’t know if it’s regret—
—or the beginning of a rally I can’t walk away from.
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