The character in the application form's "相" character was still a bit too thick. Pedaling her bicycle, 相馬湖菜 kept thinking about it over and over. Her name with the correction marks still visible. The awkward application form that had almost become "柏馬湖菜." That night, she'd left it on her desk and couldn't sleep, only to find morning had come before she knew it. What bothered her more was the profile in the photograph. An old group photo hung on the gymnasium wall. While all the other club members faced the camera, one young man alone was looking slightly away. She felt like she'd seen him somewhere before, but in the end, she'd left without confirming anything. (Who was that?) The Shiratori High School building came into view at the top of the slope. Morning light reflected off the window glass, a little dazzling. The April air was still slightly cold, and as she picked up speed on her bicycle, wind brushed against her cheeks. The words 千尋 had said yesterday kept circling in the corner of her mind. "Sometimes, just existing matters more than whether you're useful or not." No matter how many times she thought it over, she couldn't quite digest it. She didn't know if she was happy, or confused, or something else entirely. --- "You're late." 千尋 was already waiting in the hallway outside the second gymnasium. In her Shiratori High uniform with a deep green ribbon, she crouched with her gym bag on her knees. The moment she saw 湖菜, she stood up and quickly grabbed the door handle. "I'm not late. This is the right time." "It's not right. Three minutes over." "You were timing me?" "By feel." The door was pulled open. The same dusty smell as yesterday. Old flooring and air that felt slightly damp. Instead of the evening sun, morning light filtered in thinly, and the dust particles that had risen into the air moved slowly through the light. The empty space of two courts seemed to swallow sound, so quiet it was almost unnatural. There was a person by the window. Sitting on a pipe chair, a paperback book open on his lap. Short black hair with silver mixed in. Gray eyes fixed on the page, and even as the two girls entered, his gaze didn't lift. He wore what looked like a Shiratori High teacher's shirt with a thin jacket over it, but somehow he seemed less like he belonged in this space and more like he'd simply been placed there by chance. He was tall. Around one hundred seventy-eight centimeters, maybe. Even sitting, his posture was good, but there was a looseness to him somewhere—it was hard to tell if he was relaxed or just composed. "Um, excuse me." No response. Only the sound of a page turning. 千尋 looked at 湖菜. 湖菜 looked at 千尋. "Um—!" "…I hear you." His voice was low and flat. His face didn't lift. He kept reading, answering with just one sentence. "Racket experience?" "None. Both of us. We submitted our applications yesterday. I'm 笹野千尋, and this is 相馬湖菜." "One hundred practice swings. We talk after that." With that, he returned to his book. 千尋 nudged 湖菜's shoulder. "Racket's over there," she indicated with her eyes. A rack by the wall—湖菜 hadn't noticed it yesterday, but there were several practice rackets leaning against it. She took one and held it in her hand. Light. Much lighter than she'd expected. But she had no idea how to hold it. She could only guess that you were supposed to grip the grip part. "Um, teacher?" "What." "Since it's our first day in the club, we were wondering if there might be cake or a welcome atmosphere or something like that…" "Food and drink are prohibited inside the gymnasium. If cake cream falls on the court floor, it changes the sliding properties. If oil gets on the shuttlecock feathers, it throws off the balance. Hold your welcome party outside." He said it all matter-of-factly without lifting his eyes from the book. 千尋 obediently replied, "…Yes." 湖菜 whispered to 千尋, "Is this person really the advisor?" 千尋 whispered back, "Apparently." "Really?" "I said apparently." --- Watching 千尋's practice swings, 湖菜 thought straightforwardly: she's good. There was rhythm to it. No wasted motion in her arm swing. Her body axis barely wavered. The core strength trained through track and field showed itself here. The problem was 湖菜. First swing. The moment she swung the racket, her hips collapsed. She almost hit the fluorescent light and panicked, pulling the racket back, which then hit her own ankle. It hurt. Second swing. This time she was careful. Her swing became like slow motion. Third swing. "This should be fine," she thought, putting a little more force into it, when the grip slipped right out of her hand. The racket flew in a straight line toward the wall. Gako. It hit the prefab wall and fell to the floor. Silence. "…" 千尋 turned around. Her eyes were narrowed. She was holding back laughter. "湖菜, you're turning it into a weapon." "I know." "Before someone dies, get a better grip." Without lifting his eyes from the book, he said it just as flatly. 湖菜, face burning, went to pick up the racket. She could see 千尋's shoulders trembling slightly in her peripheral vision. She was laughing. The fourth swing also collapsed. The fifth was a complete miss. The sixth flew all the way to the opposite wall. Farther than last time. "Your distance is improving." "I can't tell if I'm evolving or devolving." But in the midst of that confusion, there was something 湖菜 didn't notice. 雨宮慎也 had lifted his face from the paperback at some point. The book was still on his lap. The page was still open. But his gaze was no longer there. His gray eyes were quietly watching 湖菜. His expression hadn't changed. Still unfriendly, still curt. Only his eyes had begun to track something. 湖菜 swung again. Her body axis collapsed. But—her gaze had caught the wall where the racket flew, just barely. She was looking at the landing spot before it even left her hand. She wasn't hitting it. But she knew where it would fall. Something in 雨宮 caught quietly. --- "Come here a moment." His voice came suddenly. 湖菜 and 千尋 both turned around. 雨宮 was closing his paperback. He stood up from the chair. As he stood, there was a slight gesture of his right knee coming out a moment later, and 湖菜 didn't miss that instant—or rather, that unnaturalness entered her vision unbidden. "相馬." "Y-yes?" Feeling her tendency to speak quickly when nervous starting to kick in, 湖菜 deliberately answered slowly. 雨宮 reached toward a machine sitting in the corner of the gymnasium. An old machine, its surface slightly rusted. A shuttle machine—a practice device that automatically launched shuttlecocks—湖菜 understood. 雨宮 turned it on. A low mechanical hum began. "Close your eyes." "…Huh?" "Close them. Ten shots. Point to where they land. You don't need the racket." 千尋's face said, "What kind of punishment game is this?" She didn't say it out loud, but her expression spelled it out clearly. 湖菜 also heard it as nothing but a punishment game. But there was zero hint of joking in 雨宮's voice, so 湖菜 closed her eyes. Darkness. The gymnasium's mechanical hum sounded louder the moment her eyes closed. The sensation of the floor transmitted through her feet. She could tell she was standing on a slightly slippery spot. Shuu—the sound of air being cut. 湖菜's right hand moved. Court right rear, diagonal back. Her finger pointed. Kan—the shuttlecock hit the floor. Twenty centimeters from where she'd pointed. Second shot. This time front left. She pointed. Kan. Fifteen centimeters off. Third shot. Right again. This time it landed thirty centimeters away from where she'd pointed. A miss. Fourth and fifth shots. 湖菜 concentrated on the sound. The sound of a shuttlecock cutting air varied subtly depending on angle. The faster it went, the sharper the sound; the slower, the softer. That overlaid itself on the three-dimensional image of the court space she'd burned into her mind when she first entered the gymnasium yesterday. The ceiling height, the distance to the walls, the way light entered. Behind her closed eyes, there was a three-dimensional map of the gymnasium. Sixth and seventh shots. The margin of error was shrinking. Eighth shot—this time it landed almost directly below where she'd pointed. 千尋's breathing changed. The "punishment game" expression from before was gone. Her eyes had widened slightly. Ninth shot. A miss. Tenth shot, another hit. "Open your eyes." 湖菜 opened them. It was bright. Shuttlecocks were scattered across the floor in various places. "…Huh?" 千尋 made a small sound. "Wait, this is—" she started, then stopped. Her face looked like it was about to say "Is this telekinesis?" but what came out instead was "…What's going on?" 雨宮 was silent for a while. Several seconds. He really said nothing. His gray eyes looked back and forth between the scattered shuttlecocks and 湖菜. Just looking. That silence stretched a bit long, and 湖菜 began to think she'd done something wrong. "…Teacher?" 雨宮 stepped forward, directly in front of 湖菜. The distance closed. When a man one hundred seventy-eight centimeters tall stood directly in front of her, the difference in build became viscerally real. It wasn't so much being looked down at as being looked at with complete seriousness. "You're athletically uncoordinated." "…Yes, quite a bit." "Then use your brain that much more." His voice was still low and flat. Not a rebuke. Not encouragement either. Just confirming something, the way you'd state a fact. "Your eyes see the entire court." 湖菜 couldn't say anything. It wasn't a denial, she understood that. But it wasn't praise either. She was being told she had "something," and that was probably the first time anyone had said that to her, and the outline of that "something" was still blurry, and she couldn't quite take it in. Something moved slowly in her chest. A gradual sensation. She couldn't tell if it was happiness or pressure. "Pick up the racket." "Oh, yes." 湖菜 picked up the racket again. When she gripped it the same way as before, 雨宮 silently moved behind her. Standing behind 湖菜, 雨宮 placed his hand over her right hand. It was a quiet movement. He wasn't putting force into it. He simply placed his hand over 湖菜's hand holding the grip, as if checking the angle. His fingertips adjusted her grip slightly. It was the kind of movement that said "not here, but here is where you put the power point"—completely instructional. 雨宮's expression and voice didn't change at all. 湖菜's breath caught for just a moment. 雨宮's hand was sure. Even without force, she could understand from her skin where to aim. His hands were large, she thought. She had no idea why she was thinking that. But she was. "…Um, ah, ah…" Meaningless words came out. She was speaking quickly. Her habit of speaking quickly when nervous had activated at the worst possible moment. "What." "…The gymnasium is cold, isn't it?" "…It's April." "Right, it's April." "There's no air conditioning." "Right, no air conditioning." 雨宮 quietly removed his hand. From a meter away, 千尋 was watching both of them. Still holding her racket at her side, she said nothing. Her face had an "oh" expression. Her eyes were the only thing moving. 湖菜 looked down at her own right hand while facing forward. The way she was gripping the racket had changed from before. It was hard to explain what had changed, but something definitely had. --- When practice ended, it was already quite bright outside. 雨宮 was walking toward the gymnasium exit. 湖菜 followed his gait with her eyes while picking up shuttlecocks. Something was off. The way he stepped with his right foot was subtly different from his left. The angle at which he transferred his weight was slightly shallower. He was unconsciously trying to keep his stride even, but only during the right step was the landing slightly more cautious. An injury—or the lingering effects of a past one. 湖菜 was making this observation without even realizing it. The eyes that