Aoi's POV
The racket hasn't moved in three days.
It's still by the door of my room—grip slightly frayed, a bit of court dust clinging to the frame. I haven't touched it. Not since the final.
Not since I made the shot.
Everyone said it was perfect.
But if it was, why does it feel so unfinished?
The championship banners went up yesterday. Coach Kubo's back in recovery, lecturing nurses. Natsuki filmed a mini-documentary for the school paper. Haru smiled like he meant it. Rio finally got her name on something that didn't say "Osaka" first.
But me?
I stare at blank sketchbook pages and wonder—
What now?
Tanaka's POV
The team group chat's dead.
Which is weird, because usually I can't get them to shut up.
Even I'm not spamming memes.
I thought winning would feel… louder. Bigger.
Instead, everyone's drifting like balloons with the strings cut.
I send a photo to the group.
It's the regional trophy in the locker room, propped up between two water bottles like it's waiting for someone to claim it.
Caption:
"Do we file this under 'History' or 'Mystery'?"
No one replies.
Natsuki's POV
We call it the drop.
After every peak, after every rally, after every miracle comeback—there's a drop.
It's not sadness. It's not even burnout.
It's just the absence of something that was all-consuming.
And the only way out of it?
Is to find something new to chase.
Coach Kubo (via group text):
Practice resumes Monday.
Bring shoes. Bring questions. Leave egos.
Final Scene – Aoi's POV
It's past midnight when I finally pick up my racket.
I don't swing it.
Just hold it.
And I realize something.
The shot I made?
It wasn't just a finish.
It was an invitation.
To find the next point.
The next purpose.