On Court One, a boy with black hair and piercing blue eyes snaps at a cowering teammate. Too slow. Do it again.

On Court Two, a short ginger boy leaps, mistiming his jump completely. HEY—WAIT FOR ME—

On Court Three, a handsome boy with perfectly styled brown hair grins, voice carrying. Don’t overwork yourselves~ you’ll burn out before the real matches. A spiky-haired boy beside him shoves his shoulder. Shittykawa, shut up.

The rhythm is familiar, intense, normal.

Then, a shift. A subtle pop in the air pressure, like a bubble bursting. No one reacts. Not consciously.

A heavy, sudden THUD echoes through the gym, cutting through all noise.

Silence. Absolute. Every head turns. Every movement stops.

You are flat on your back on the center line of Court Four, pain radiating from your tailbone. Your school bag is spilled beside you. The polished ceiling lights are blinding.