The wind had changed overnight. The morning air was slightly damp, and the tips of her fingers resting on the bicycle handlebars were cold. The residential district of Mikage City had fewer people than usual for the school commute hour, and 相馬湖菜 coasted down the gentle slope without pedaling. What remained in her head was yesterday. "Use your brain." 雨宮慎也's voice was still there, even now in the morning. It lingered with the exact texture of the moment he'd said it. It wasn't criticism. But it wasn't praise either. It was like he'd found something and simply put it into words—that kind of voice. She realized she'd been chewing on it until just before sleep, turning it over and over in her mind. (Today, real theoretical instruction begins.) That's what the message from Chihiro said. Three emoji faces with "excited!" at the end. 湖菜 read it several times before replying. She wrote only "Yeah." It wasn't a lie. She didn't know if she was excited, but she definitely wanted to go. That hadn't changed this morning either. When she climbed the slope into the academic district, Shiratori High School's building came into view. The morning sun reflected off the window glass, a little blinding. --- When she entered the second gymnasium, 雨宮 was standing in front of the whiteboard. Without a word, he was drawing a court diagram. Four divisions vertically, four horizontally. A total of sixteen squares quietly multiplied across the whiteboard. 湖菜 watched and naturally pulled out her notebook. Chihiro stood beside her with a face that said "this is like before an exam" and opened her own notebook. 湖菜 thought the air really did feel like a classroom before a test, but she didn't say it out loud. 雨宮 finished drawing the lines and turned around. "Court division theory." The explanation was surprisingly concise. Divide the court into sixteen areas—four columns vertically, four rows horizontally. From the opponent's current position and movement speed, instantly judge which area would be hardest to return to at this exact moment. That's all, 雨宮 said. He didn't mention that the content of "that's all" was enormous. 湖菜 carefully copied the grid into her notebook. She wrote in numbers and arrows to match 雨宮's pace. There was a sensation of things organizing themselves in her head. A sensation of things clicking into place. (I understand. I understand this.) She really did understand. The method of dividing into sixteen areas, the probability calculations from the opponent's position, the structure of the theory—she could grasp it all completely. 湖菜 wrote while anticipating what came next, and just before 雨宮 moved to the next explanation, she asked, "Is this what you mean by that?" When she did, 雨宮 turned toward her for just a moment and answered, "Yeah." That "yeah" felt a little too short. She wondered if there was some other meaning to it, but she picked up a shuttlecock and headed to the court. The problem started there. --- The gymnasium floor was cold under her feet. A shuttlecock came flying from across the net. Sixteen squares spread out in her mind. The opponent's body angle was leaning left. The probability of the shot coming right was high. In terms of area calculation, that would be four or five. The timing to step forward was now— The shuttlecock landed thirty centimeters to 湖菜's side. She stood motionless and watched it fall. "湖菜, you doing the out-of-body thing again?" 笹野千尋's call rippled through the air. 湖菜 came back to herself. At the edge of the court, Chihiro was smiling slightly. Not accusatory—just stating a fact. "I'm not." "You were." "I don't think I was." The second shuttlecock came. This time she tried to judge faster. Area three. She tried to move her feet. But her feet were half a step slower than she intended. The shuttlecock grazed the edge of her racket and flew off in a strange direction. Third one. She let it pass again, standing still. 湖菜 stood there and took one deep breath. (I understand. I understand it, but my body isn't moving.) The sixteen divisions were working in her head. She could read the opponent's movements. But there was a thick wall between judgment and action. Understanding something and being able to do it weren't the same thing. She felt it in her bones for the first time today. 雨宮 was watching from a distance. When he confirmed that 湖菜 had missed three in a row, he said just one thing. "Brain and feet are different creatures." Not consolation. Explanation. Not exasperation either. Just stating a fact. Somehow, that sank right into 湖菜. There was a strange sensation left behind—like she wanted to laugh but couldn't. She understood the theory. But her body still wouldn't move. The depth of that gap became suddenly, unmistakably clear. 雨宮 walked toward the storage room. He was going to get something. His right foot was favoring itself, just slightly. --- Practice continued. Chihiro's footwork grew more precise day by day. You could see it. Her body's axis didn't waver. Her stepping timing was becoming exactly what 雨宮 had described. With a core already trained from track and field, her body listened to her instincts. For 湖菜, that "instinct" part was the furthest away. "If I just map the sixteen squares onto sixteen parts of my body, that should work, right?" Chihiro said with confidence. 雨宮 stopped for three seconds. He looked at the court diagram on the whiteboard, then at Chihiro, then back at the court diagram. "Your body would become sixty-four places." "Oh, you're right!" Chihiro nodded like she'd discovered something. 湖菜 couldn't help but lower her voice. "What are you agreeing with?" "Well, if there were sixty-four places, the precision would go up, I think." "It wouldn't." "It wouldn't." Both of them denied Chihiro at the same time. Chihiro didn't look hurt at all—she just said "Oh, okay" and went to pick up a shuttlecock. 湖菜 gave a wry smile and looked toward 雨宮. He was already looking in a different direction. It happened right after that. Chihiro entered the court and received the shuttlecock. Her body moved with that completely off-base interpretation from before, but somehow her footwork was close to correct. 雨宮 said just one thing. "At least the result is right." Chihiro laughed happily. A completely unguarded smile. Not "I did it" or "of course"—just genuine joy. 湖菜 watched. Herself, understanding precisely but unable to move her body. Chihiro, with a completely off-base understanding but somehow able to move. She knew in her head that it wasn't a matter of one being good and the other bad. But she couldn't stop something complex from settling in the depths of her chest. In the second half of practice, 湖菜 wrote small in the margin of her notebook: "Chihiro learned three new things today. I'm still at zero." She looked at those characters and her pen stopped. 雨宮 glanced at her hand. He didn't say anything. He just looked, then moved on to the next instruction. 湖菜 still couldn't read what that silence meant. --- After practice ended and Chihiro went to change, 湖菜 volunteered to organize the storage room. It was something that had to be done, and 湖菜 offering to do it was just habit. She put cardboard boxes back on shelves and stacked scattered shuttlecock cases. Inside the storage room it was dim, with a different temperature than the evening air outside. The smell of old flooring mixed with dust. When she reached to the back of a shelf, her fingertips touched something hard. She pulled it out. It was a university notebook. Only a date was written on the cover. No name. Looking at the year, it was quite old. Around the time 湖菜 was born. She opened it without thinking. From the first page, intricate court diagrams spread out. The court was divided finely. Analysis of serving patterns. A correlation table between the opponent's body angle and shot direction. Every page filled with meticulous handwriting, with small annotations in the margins. Numbers, arrows, and short sentences layered on top of each other, each page becoming like a map. As 湖菜 turned the pages, she gradually couldn't stop. (This is—) The same structure as what 雨宮 taught today. Dividing the court, calculating probability from the opponent's position. Methods of eye guidance. Tempo control. The wording was slightly different, but the skeleton of the thinking was exactly the same. Something began to take shape inside 湖菜. A certainty that started with "maybe" slowly gained outline. Deep in her head, something clicked into place. She knew this sensation. The moment when scattered things connect while reading something—that exact sensation. She opened the last page. There was writing with much lighter pressure than the rest. "If my knee had held, I could have kept going." Seven characters. Nothing else. 湖菜 read that line three times. The storage room was silent. Evening sounds drifted in from outside. Someone's bicycle. Wind rustling trees. It all felt distant. The way 雨宮 had walked came back to her. The right foot stepping forward just slightly shallower. The same asymmetry whether walking along the edge of the court or heading to the storage room. She'd been aware of it all along, but until now she'd vaguely thought "maybe that's just how it is." But now, after seeing these seven characters, that same asymmetry came back with completely different weight. "If my knee had held, I could have kept going." The handwriting of someone who'd had something taken from them, she thought. Someone who'd left what remained after that loss on a page. That's what this handwriting was. "湖菜!" Chihiro's voice reached her from outside. 湖菜 closed the notebook. She carefully returned it to the back of the shelf. The same angle, the same place. As she returned it, she repeated those seven characters in her head one more time. Then she headed toward the storage room exit. --- When she stepped into the hallway, she could see 雨宮's back heading toward the gymnasium exit. Disappearing into the evening light beyond the darkened gymnasium. His back growing distant. The right foot stepping forward just slightly shallower. It had caught her eye so many times before, but now she saw it completely differently. A sensation of "I've seen it" and "I know now" ran through her simultaneously. Something without a name was lodged in her chest. Not sharp, but it wouldn't come out. Different from pain. But definitely, something had entered. She'd been told that seeing was a weapon. Yesterday, 雨宮 said that to her. Your eyes see the entire court. But what she learned today was that sometimes seeing things came with pain. Like this. 雨宮 locked up and turned without looking back. He disappeared into the light beyond the gymnasium. While his back grew smaller, 湖菜 couldn't move. What had those seven characters taken from this person? How many hours, how many nights, what feelings had he spent? She tried to imagine it and couldn't. She felt the distance of something she couldn't imagine for the first time. --- "What are you spacing out for?" Chihiro nudged her shoulder from the side. "He locked up for us. Come on." The two of them walked side by side pushing their bicycles along the Kagami River embankment—a ten-minute walk from Shiratori High School. Twilight was beginning, and light scattered across the water's surface. Orange and gold mixed together, moving slowly over the water. Chihiro kept talking through her practice review. "I actually think that sixty-four place thing is pretty good," or "But I guess sixteen is enough," flowing lightly on. 湖菜 walked beside her and suddenly asked. "What do you think of the teacher?" Chihiro thought for a moment. "Scary but trustworthy. And also... sad." "Sad?" "Like, he's got that face of someone who had everything and then lost everything, you know? Sometimes." She said it casually, without any particular gravity. 湖菜 stopped slightly. "Someone who had everything and then