Kona Soma can't throw a ball without hitting someone, can't run without tripping over her own feet, and somehow managed to crack a fluorescent light fixture during volleyball practice—on only her tenth day of high school. In a family of athletes, she's always been the odd one out, the girl whose P.E. grade tells the whole story.
So when her effortlessly talented best friend Chihiro invites her to join the badminton club, Kona's first instinct is to laugh it off. But the second gymnasium holds m
The Sound of Wings - A Journey to Nationals - Exceptional wings--Aoi laughed as she said
The last page of the notebook was still blank.
Several days had passed since then. The four words she'd seen scrawled in that storage room — "If my knees hold out" — surfaced at the edges of her mind during practice, in quiet moments. Every time she tried to pin down an answer, she felt herself sliding into a place where no answer existed. Kona had decided to set that feeling aside on a shelf for now. Right now, moving her feet came first. Letting her body memorize what her mind already understood came first.
The air in Gymnasium Two was the same as always. Dust and sweat mixed together, tinged with something faintly metallic. The evening sun cut diagonally across the floorboards, making the two courts look a little narrower than usual. A fan hummed at a low pitch. Summer was still a ways off, but it was the season where moving around left a sheen of sweat on your forehead.
"Here it comes."
Chihiro tossed the shuttle high.
Kona raised her racket. In her mind, she divided the court into sixteen squares. Where was she now. Where was Chihiro now. Where would the shuttle land—
Square nine.
Her feet wouldn't move.
The shuttle sailed past her right side and hit the floor.
"...I was thinking."
"Again?"
"I was thinking properly."
Chihiro said with a straight face:
"Are you practicing to become invisible?"
"...No."
"That's three in a row you just stood there."
"I know."
She regripped her racket. Her palm was slick with sweat. In her head, the sixteen squares moved perfectly. The shuttle's trajectory, its landing point, where she needed to be — she could see all of it. She could see it, and yet her feet wouldn't go there. She sent the signal from her brain, and her body wouldn't say yes.
(I know. I know, and yet—)
How many days had it been since she started practicing? She understood the theory. The notebook where she'd written down Amemiya's explanations was already on its third page. But every time she stood on the court, her body turned to stone. Beside her, Chihiro was steadily absorbing the movements. Her serve accuracy was improving, her footwork was developing rhythm. You could see the core strength she'd built from track and field gradually adapting to the sport of badminton.
Kona didn't have that.
Next shuttle. This time for sure— the moment she thought it, her racket sliced through empty air. The shuttle sailed leisurely over her left shoulder.
(Again.)
She lowered her racket. Looked at the floor. She noticed she was gripping the handle far tighter than necessary. Her knuckles had gone white.
—Then the gym's sliding door rattled open.
The sound of metal grinding on its rail. Evening light cut into a rectangle and fell across the floor. A figure stood in the backlight.
A racket bag hung from her shoulder. She was tall — about 163 centimeters. Red-purple hair waved loosely below her shoulders, catching the evening light and looking faintly brown. Deep purple eyes swept quickly across the dim gymnasium.
Her expression was bright. The corners of her mouth were lifted into an approachable smile. But Kona's eyes caught the depths of those pupils, just for an instant.
Only her eyes weren't smiling.
"Um — this is the badminton club's practice space, right?"
Her voice was soft. Polite, but with a certain smoothness to it. Amemiya looked up from his notebook. His gray eyes rested on the newcomer for exactly one second.
"It is."
"I'd like to join."
"Your reason."
A brief pause.
"Because it'd be a problem if the club got disbanded."
Amemiya returned his gaze to the notebook.
"Lockers are the third from the back. Go change."
"...Yes."
That was all. No words of welcome, no request for a self-introduction. She came. She's joining. Go change. That was the entire exchange. Chihiro whispered to Kona.
"Is he always like this?"
"Yeah."
"Ending everything in one line — that's a talent."
Kona smiled a little. But her gaze was on the door leading to the changing room. "Because it'd be a problem if the club got disbanded." The way she'd chosen those words nagged at her, just slightly. It wasn't a lie, she didn't think. But it felt like it wasn't the whole story either.
—A few minutes later, Aoi returned to the court.
Racket in hand, she stood naturally at the center of the court. Just from how she stood, you could tell. The position of her center of gravity. The spread of her feet. The angle of the hand holding the racket. All of it was different from Kona's or Chihiro's. It was the natural stance of a body that had been trained.
"Mind if I hit a little?"
"Do as you like."
Aoi tossed the shuttle lightly. Just that, and the air in the gym seemed to change.
Not a smash — a controlled shot. A low, sharp drop that landed right at the corner of the court. Then a clear. It rose softly, high and deep to the back of the court. The next instant she was at the net, a hairpin grazing just over the tape. The arc of the shuttle's trajectory was crystal clear to Kona's eyes.
The landing point. The square where it would fall. Where the next return would go.
She could see all of it, and she couldn't get there. Kona stood rooted, following Aoi's shots with her eyes.
Chihiro muttered.
"...That's insane."
"Yeah."
"She's on another level."
"I heard she made top eight at the regional tournament in middle school."
"Top eight... Can our club even give her a match with the way we are now?"
"Forget giving her a match."
She said it honestly. Chihiro's face said "Yeah, figured."
Amemiya closed his notebook and stood.
"Kona. Play against Aoi. You don't have to be able to hit. Just focus on reading."
Kona entered the court, racket still in hand. She faced Aoi. A 163-centimeter frame. Red-purple hair. Deep purple eyes looking straight at her.
"Please go easy on me."
"Likewise."
Aoi tossed the shuttle.
First shot — back of the court. Got it. Second — front of the net. Got it. Third — right side. Got it. Her body wouldn't move. She was just watching. But Kona's lips were moving slightly. She was putting the landing points into words, soundlessly. Back left. Front right. Center.
She was right almost every time.
Fourth shot, fifth, sixth — seventh.
"Stop."
Amemiya raised his hand. The rally stopped. Aoi held the shuttle and slowly looked toward Kona. She narrowed her eyes, curious.
"You called every one of them just now."
"...I was just — putting them into words. I couldn't hit any of them."
"I know."
A short acknowledgment. Amemiya said only that, then left the court to take notes. He walked toward the whiteboard. In that gap, Aoi turned to face Kona.
"You can't hit, but you can see everything?"
Kona found it hard to answer, and let her gaze drop a little.
"I can only see—"
"I'm jealous."
It was a quiet voice.
Kona looked up. Aoi was still watching her. She was smiling. An approachable, soft smile. But the weight of those words didn't match the smile. Jealous. What that word meant, Kona didn't yet understand. But something — something was packed behind it, she felt.
Silence fell between them.
"This is turning into a really poetic moment, huh."
Chihiro called out from outside the court. Aoi turned around and smiled a little. Kona returned a wry smile. The air in the room loosened. But deep in Kona's chest, Aoi's "I'm jealous" remained lodged. A restless feeling — warmth and unease at the same time.
---
Midway through practice, as the three of them kept a rally going, Kona followed Aoi's shots the entire time.
Fast. Precise. She used the court wide. Even when Chihiro chased desperately, Aoi's returns were always half a step ahead. But—
Kona's brow furrowed slightly.
Deep in the right rear of the court. When a return needed to go there, Aoi's racket angle wavered, just barely. The landing point shifted slightly. It wasn't just once. Every time the same situation repeated, at the same spot, the same waver.
Chihiro didn't notice. She was moving at full effort, keeping the rally alive. Amemiya kept his marker moving across the whiteboard and said nothing. Couldn't see it? Or saw it and chose not to say?
Right after the waver, Aoi's smile returned instantly. She moved to the next shot as if nothing had happened. The switch was so natural it stood out all the more.
Three times it repeated. Return to the right rear. The waver. The smile.
(I saw it.)
Kona etched it into memory. Aoi's shot breaking down, and the smile right after. Lined up on the same page.
"Your rhythm when you pick up shuttles — is it always the same, Aoi?"
It was an abrupt question. Aoi tilted her head while picking up a shuttle.
"...What do you mean?"
"I just wondered if there's a rhythm to it. Musically speaking."
"You think so?"
"Feels like it. Like tan, tan, tan."
"...I don't really get it."
Listening to the two of them, Kona felt her shoulders loosen a little. Chihiro's completely off-topic observations lightened the tension in the room. That was the clever thing about Chihiro. Whether it was intentional or not, Kona never could tell.
Practice wound down, and Chihiro and Aoi headed to the changing room.
Only Kona and Amemiya remained in the gym.
Kona put her racket back in its case, then glanced once toward the storage room. That notebook was still under the cardboard boxes. The scrawl — "If my knees hold out" — was still there.
—She entered the storage room. Pulled the door. The smell of dust. The dim space. She moved the boxes aside and took out the old college notebook. Opened the last page. The scrawl. "If my knees hold out." Four words. After confirming it, Kona closed the notebook and put it back where it belonged. Stacked the boxes.
When she returned to the gym, Amemiya was in front of the whiteboard. He seemed to be drawing a trajectory diagram of Aoi's shots; the marker slid with a soft sound. Kona hesitated a moment, then walked to his side.
She set the notebook on the whiteboard's tray.
"This — did you write this?"
Amemiya's hand stopped. He looked at the notebook for a few seconds. Kona waited, her gaze fixed on his profile.
"It was in the storage room."
"Yes."
Amemiya capped the marker. Then he tapped the notebook's cover lightly with his fingertip. Tapped — or rather, confirmed. That was the way he touched it.
"I competed in the All-Japan Championships. Took third in singles."
His voice was like he was reading a weather forecast.
"When I was twenty-four, I tore my right ACL. Had surgery, but I couldn't come back to competition. I retired."
It felt like there should be more, so Kona said nothing. But the rest didn't come. Amemiya said only that, then turned back to the whiteboard. Glory and loss, lined up at the same temperature.
(Third. Third in all of Japan.)
The All-Japan Championships — the highest-level domestic tournament hosted by the Japan Badminton Association. Over three thousand entrants a year, with professionals, top university players, and corporate team athletes all competing. The top eight were called "prize winners." And he'd taken third.
The story of losing that — Amemiya told it in the same voice as everything else.
No rebuttal or comfort came to her. She couldn't produce any. Whatever she said wouldn't reach the weight that flat voice carried. Silence fell over the gym. The evening sun had tilted lower, deepening the yellow on the floor. Only the fan's hum.
"Today — you were watching Aoi's returns to the right rear."
The subject shifted. Abruptly, but naturally. Amemiya pointed at a spot on the whiteboard.
"I was."
"Where and how did it break down?"
"Her racket angle shifts slightly toward closing. All three times, at the same moment."
Amemiya uncapped the marker. Drew a single arrow on the whiteboard. Exactly where Kona had said.
"...I see."
The corner of his mouth moved, just barely. That was all. But Kona felt like she'd seen that movement for the first time today. Amemiya turned back to the whiteboard. Short black hair mixed with silver. The profil
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