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 - Club Disbandment Notice and the Sea of Shuttles
She was still dragging the memory of that light trembling on the river's surface.
On the way home yesterday, Kona had stood still for a while, watching the orange dissolve into the water of the Kagami River. Aoi's deep purple eyes seemed to overlap with the twilight river. Her legs had felt heavy on the pedals.
Even this morning, that weight lingered somewhere in her body.
Her hands on the bicycle handlebars gripped a little tighter than usual. Climbing the gentle slope of the school district, Kona drew a deep breath. The air was damp. That slightly green-smelling morning scent, just before the rainy season.
When she entered the second gymnasium, Amemiya was already there.
That was rare. Usually he either showed up after Kona and the others had gathered, or he was waiting half-asleep with a paperback on his knees. But this morning, Amemiya was in the middle of pinning something to the blackboard. His back turned, black hair threaded with silver. The gymnasium air felt just slightly different.
"You're here."
He said it without turning around. Several A4 sheets were held to the blackboard with magnets. Kona set her racket bag against the wall and walked closer.
The bracket sheet for the regional qualifiers.
The moment she saw it, her eyes stopped. But before she could register why, the sliding door opened and Chihiro and Aoi walked in together.
"Coach, you're early today."
Chihiro said cheerfully, even at this hour. Aoi gave a short "Morning" with a smile and lined up beside Kona.
Amemiya pulled a folded sheet from his pocket.
"Everyone's here. This is a document from Principal Todo."
He read it aloud, expressionless.
"By the end of next fiscal year, the badminton club must achieve a top-eight finish at the Saginuma Prefectural High School Badminton Tournament as a condition for the continuation of its activities. If this is not achieved, the club will be disbanded at the end of next fiscal year."
The gymnasium went silent.
The fan hummed at a low pitch. That was the only thing still moving.
Kona looked at the blackboard. Her eyes went to the upper-right block of the bracket. She already knew what was written there without needing to confirm it.
Suirei Academy.
"Wait, hold on."
Chihiro raised her hand.
"Disbanded — this is for real, right? Not a joke or anything?"
"I'm not bored enough to read out a principal's document as a joke."
"Right, of course!!"
While Chihiro nodded in her odd way, Kona glanced at Aoi.
Aoi was gripping the handle of her racket bag with both hands. Tightly. Her knuckles were starting to go white. Those hands were gripping harder than yesterday. Her eyes hadn't left the bracket.
Amemiya pulled out the strength data on Suirei Academy.
"I'll explain the first-round opponent."
He began reading in a flat tone. Thirty-two club members. An annual budget of eight million yen — the amount Suirei Academy, designated as a development school within Saginuma Prefecture, poured into badminton alone. Nearly a hundred times that of Shiratori High. Six dedicated courts at "Suirei Arena." Their ace, Misaki Tamaki, with a smash top speed of two hundred eighty-six kilometers per hour.
"Wait a second."
Chihiro raised her hand again.
"Isn't that faster than the Nozomi?"
Amemiya paused for one second.
"It's slower than the Nozomi."
"That's not the point!!"
Chihiro's retort echoed through the gymnasium. Kona almost felt her lips loosen. Chihiro was always like that. No matter how heavy the air, she always picked up the ball.
But the silence right after the laughter faded was heavier than before.
"...We can't do it."
The voice was small.
Kona noticed immediately. That wasn't Aoi's voice, she thought. Not the Aoi from practice, to be precise. Not the light, slightly self-mocking voice she'd been hearing until yesterday. This came from somewhere deeper.
"At the Suirei-affiliated club, back in middle school—"
Aoi opened her mouth and stopped. Not that she couldn't find the words — she swallowed them mid-sentence. Kona could tell. Aoi's throat moved once.
Aoi grabbed her racket bag and started walking.
"Aoi."
Chihiro called out. But Aoi didn't stop. The sliding door opened and closed. The metal rail groaned.
Amemiya didn't call her back.
Kona watched. The weight of that choice — not calling her back. He wasn't just seeing her off. Those were waiting eyes. The same quality as the eyes he'd had during yesterday's practice, watching Aoi's shots fall apart.
She ran.
"Soma."
Her name was called. Short, quiet.
"Don't chase her tonight."
Her feet stopped for a moment.
That's what he was saying. But— something stirred inside Kona. Aoi's voice still lingered in her ears. The rest of those swallowed words had to be somewhere.
She ran.
---
By the time she reached the school gate, Aoi was already gone.
It wasn't even evening, yet the streets of the school district were crowded. Students pushing bicycles, pedestrians on foot, the distant sound of cars. Among them, no trace of that red-purple hair.
Kona stopped and scanned the street.
She couldn't see her. The habit of dividing the court into sixteen squares kicked in. But this wasn't a court. Even overlaying a grid on the street stretching from the school gate, no answer emerged. Seeing and being able to change things were properly different. That was what that person had taught her.
The disbandment notice. The first match against Suirei Academy. Aoi's "we can't do it." They overlapped in her head without order. The grid felt like it was crumbling.
---
That night, Kona sat at her desk and did nothing for a while. Her notebook lay open, not a single line written.
Her mother's voice came from the hallway, and Kona stood up.
"Mom, do you have a minute?"
Natsumi poked her head in. Forty-five years old, just back from her part-time job, her face a little tired.
"What is it? That's rare."
Kona hesitated, then said it.
"I was wondering if it's okay to keep going, even when I don't have any particular talent."
Natsumi leaned against the door frame. She didn't laugh.
"Kona, you're just slow at finding the things you love."
"Huh?"
"But once you find them, you never let go. Ever since you were little. Once you decide you love something, you're always touching it."
The sound of Natsumi heading back down the hallway.
Kona returned to her desk and sat down.
"Once you find the things you love"— the words spread slowly through the room. Not like an echo. Quietly, sinking into the depths of her chest.
(I do love it.)
It felt like the first time she'd recognized it as words. Not badminton itself — but the time spent standing on that court. Chasing the shuttle, losing sight of it, going to pick it up again. That time.
A warmth spread slowly through her chest.
Surprised, Kona held onto it for a while. Outside the window was dark, and somewhere distant, the sound of a game leaked from her younger brother Riku's room. That was all she could hear.
---
The next morning, when Kona arrived at the second gymnasium, the lock was still on.
She opened it with the spare key Amemiya had given her yesterday. Pulling the sliding door open, the same air from yesterday came out. Dust and floorboard. But this morning, the empty gymnasium felt a size larger.
She stood in front of the shuttle machine by the wall — the used one Amemiya had bought with his own money. She'd heard it cost a hundred eighty thousand yen. It was a little scratched, and the control panel was sun-faded.
She turned it on.
She closed her eyes and stood on the court.
She remembered the first test. The day she was told to point with her finger where the shuttle would land, eyes still closed. The moment she gave the answer, Amemiya had risen from his chair. This morning, she felt like repeating that moment for no particular reason. She didn't quite understand why herself. She just wanted to come.
The shuttle flew toward her.
She traced the feel of cutting through air with her fingertips. She pointed to where it landed. — Correct. Another one. Correct again. Her body began to move, little by little. Her feet moved. Still clumsy, but definitely moving.
Just as she thought she was getting into a rhythm, her hand slipped.
Her elbow hit the control panel. The numbers changed. It had switched to the maximum speed setting.
"Ah."
The machine groaned. Shuttles began flying out with force. Rapid fire. One, two, three. It wouldn't stop. Kona tried to touch the control panel, but she didn't know which button. The more she panicked, the less she knew. Shuttles rained down onto the court. The floor turned white.
She yanked out the power cord.
Silence.
Shuttles were scattered across the center of the court. Nearly a hundred of them. White feathers strewn across the floor, glinting faintly in the morning light. Kona was on her knees in the middle of them.
The sliding door opened.
It was Amemiya. He'd come in carrying his things and stopped. He surveyed the court. The floor, white everywhere. Kona, on her knees. Amemiya's gray eyes grasped the situation in one second.
"What did you do?"
"I was practicing."
Three seconds of silence. Amemiya looked at the floor, looked at the ceiling, looked at the floor again.
"Clean it up."
That was all he said before setting down his things.
Kona started picking up shuttles. One at a time, returning them to the case. Gathering the white feathers scattered across the floor. Amemiya came and crouched beside her. He started picking them up too.
That's rare, she thought. She'd never seen Amemiya do this kind of work.
"You chased Aoi yesterday."
Not the kind of line you say while playing tag, Kona thought. But Amemiya's voice wasn't accusing. It was confirming.
"I lost her."
"I see."
Kona picked up a shuttle and put it in the case. Another one. Beside her, Amemiya was doing the same.
"I had more reason to chase her than your assessment suggested."
She said it quietly.
Amemiya's hand stopped for just a moment.
"Your eyes when you were watching Aoi's instability," Kona continued. "And your voice when you called me back yesterday — they were the same."
She kept picking up shuttles, facing forward.
"I thought you were going to wait for Aoi. That's why I tried to go."
Amemiya was silent for a while.
He stared at a single point on the floor, picking up shuttles. Then he spoke.
"Your eyes have really become useful."
The same words. He'd said them before. But his voice was a little different.
She couldn't quite explain what was different. But Kona's skin received it. It felt like the voice came from a closer place than before. Not distance — something else had shifted by a single millimeter.
Morning light slanted into the low-ceilinged gymnasium. The pre-summer light coming through the windows fell in long thin strips on the court floor. In that light, the two of them picked up shuttles. It was quiet. The fan wasn't even on yet. Outside sounds felt far away.
As Kona moved her hands, she felt a faint stirring deep in her chest. What she'd realized last night after her mother's words — that feeling of "love" — seemed to take a different shape here. The "love" for badminton, the "love" for this time, and something else mixed in that wouldn't quite become words.
Her face felt a little hot.
Without stopping her hands, Kona was aware of it. Something she couldn't name, yet was certainly there — and she couldn't find a place to put it away.
Then the sliding door flew open.
A loud bang.
"Gooood morning!!"
It was Chihiro. Racket bag on her shoulder, she strode cheerfully into the gymnasium — and saw the floor covered in white shuttles. Saw Kona on her knees working. Saw Amemiya beside her.
"Ah."
Chihiro's face changed about three times in the span of a beat. A face that understood something, a face that sensed something, a face that decided something.
"...That's a lot of shuttles."
She said it as if nothing had happened. She set her racket bag against the wall, crouched down, and sta
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