Morning. Light slipped through the gap in the curtains, and Echizen Ryouma woke up. He sat up in bed and reached for the cap by his pillow. (*Couldn't really sleep.*) He knew why. It was what Fuji-senpai had said yesterday evening, in the clubroom. *"Who do you think is the weakest?"* That quiet voice kept looping in his head. "[whispers] ...I dunno." He muttered it to no one in particular and pulled his cap down low. He left the house. Pedaling his bike, he rode his usual route to school. Most of the shops on Hibari Street, the shopping arcade in front of the station, still had their shutters down. The smell of fresh bread drifted out from the bakery, and his stomach growled a little. (*Eh, whatever.*) He passed through the gates of Seishun Academy. No one else was there yet. Ryouma headed for the clubroom earlier than anyone. He figured he'd get things ready for morning practice. But. His feet stopped in front of the tennis courts. Someone was standing in the center of the court. A ponytail shimmered in the morning sun. A white blouse, a navy skirt. A racket in hand. Basic practice swings — one, then another. No wasted motion. It was Tezuka-buchou. *Thump.* Something jumped deep in his chest. (*What the...?*) Ryouma was thrown off by a feeling he didn't understand. He'd seen Tezuka-buchou plenty of times. Even the fact that buchou had taken on a girl's form — that had been three days ago already. But this morning was different. In the morning light, every time buchou's hair swayed, he couldn't look away. "...Good morning." Before he knew it, he'd called out. Tezuka stopped swinging and turned around. The eyes behind those silver-rimmed glasses looked at Ryouma. "[serious] Echizen. You're early." "[embarrassed] You're one to talk, Buchou." Why? It was buchou's usual voice, but today it resonated in his ears way too much. "[serious] Today's morning practice is as usual. Ten laps running, two hundred practice swings, then match practice." "[gentle] Yes." Ryouma answered, but inwardly he tilted his head. (*This is weird. Why does buchou's voice bother me more than usual today?*) "[excited] Heeey! You two are early!" A bright voice flew at them from behind. Momoshiro Takeshi came running, his spiky hair bouncing. Wearing his usual big grin. "[excited] Wait, Echizen? You were staring at buchou, weren't you." Momoshiro brought his face close to Ryouma's ear. "[whispers] Buchou looks totally the part, huh." His voice had a smirk in it. "[angry] It's not like that." He shot back instantly. But he could feel his own ears burning. (*Dammit...*) He tugged his cap brim down. Watching Ryouma, Momoshiro laughed without making a sound. Tezuka, oblivious to their exchange, began giving out morning practice instructions matter-of-factly. Soon the other club members gathered, and morning practice began. Running. Practice swings. And then, match practice. Across the net, Ryouma faced Tezuka. (*Focus.*) He told himself. He put strength into the hand gripping his racket. Tezuka tossed the ball. *Shoosh.* The serve came flying. Fast. But not a ball he couldn't return. Ryouma stepped in with his left foot and hit it back. The rally began. The ball went back and forth. The sound of tennis shoes scraping the court. His own breathing. Everything was the same as always— That's when it happened. Tezuka closed in on the net. The racket was raised. A smash. (*Crap—*) *Thwock!* The ball stabbed into the corner of Ryouma's court. His reaction was a split second too slow. "[surprised] ...Huh?" Ryouma looked at his own hand. His racket had moved. But it hadn't reached the ball. He'd never been late to buchou's shot before. "[surprised] That's rare! You, missing the timing!" Outside the court, Momoshiro's eyes were wide. "[serious] Echizen, focus." Tezuka said it quietly. At that voice, his chest jumped again. (*What the hell is this...*) Ryouma bit his lip. His concentration on tennis had been disrupted. A first for him. The next ball came. This time it was pure stubbornness. He swung through with perfect timing. With a satisfying *clink*, the ball stabbed deep into Tezuka's court. "[sarcastic] ...Mada mada dane." He muttered it quietly. But inside, he was nothing but confused. Practice ended. "[casual] You're weird today, man." Momoshiro laughed and slapped Ryouma on the shoulder with a *thwack*. "[angry] Shut up." "[laughing] Heh heh, well, whatever!" Wiping his face with a towel, Ryouma sighed inwardly. (*My concentration on tennis has never been disrupted before.*) (*Why?*) He couldn't figure out the reason himself. And that only deepened his confusion. Lunch break. Ryouma and Momoshiro were at a desk in the clubroom. On the desk was the box the racket had come in. The shipping label was still attached. "[serious] The postmark's too faded, I can't read it." Momoshiro peered through a magnifying glass. "[serious] If we could at least make out the postal code." Ryouma peered in from the side too. That's when it happened. "[gentle] Hey." The clubroom door opened without a sound. Fuji Syusuke stood there. Wearing a smile again today, they looked at the two of them with their usual narrowed eyes. "[surprised] Fuji-senpai... at least knock." "[gentle] Sorry, sorry. So, what do you think happened to the person who cast the curse?" Fuji sat down by the window and asked, sounding amused. "[serious] We're looking into that." "[gentle] You know, a curse comes back on the one who cast it, too. In their weakest form." Fuji's voice was almost sing-song. "[surprised] You mean the guy who cast the curse has turned into a girl too?" Momoshiro leaned forward. "[gentle] Maybe it's an even weaker form than that." Saying just that, Fuji stood up. On their way out, they glanced over at Ryouma. He could have sworn that, for just a moment, the pale blue eyes behind those narrowed lids glinted. (*Did they just smile?*) A chill ran down his spine. Just how much does Fuji-senpai know? "[serious] ...Let's go, Momo-senpai." Ryouma stood up. "[excited] Yeah! Where to?" "[serious] The place on the postmark. It's the only clue we have to track down the sender." After school. The two of them spread the shipping label out on Ryouma's desk. With the magnifying glass, they traced the fading ink. "[serious] ...I can see it. The postal code — it's not Aobadai." "[surprised] The next city over!" They hurriedly spread out a map. The middle school closest to the postmark's address — it was a school they'd fought in the national tournament finals. "[whispers] That school, huh..." Momoshiro's voice dropped low. The two of them jumped onto a train. *Clatter-clack*, the car swayed. Ryouma stared absently at the scenery flowing past outside the window. "[casual] If that school really is the one that cast the curse, then the other side should've turned into something too, right." "[serious] ...So that's why buchou's form is..." He started to say it, then shut his mouth. "[curious] Hm? What about buchou?" Momoshiro turned to look at him. "[hasty] ...It's nothing." Ryouma deflected. But Momoshiro said nothing and faced forward again. His profile looked just a little kind. They arrived at the station and walked for ten minutes. The school gate they finally reached was hushed and silent. "[whispers] The tennis courts are over there." The two of them headed over quickly. Soon the courts came into view. And then, the clubroom door. A white piece of paper was stuck to it. *'All club members are missing. Club activities suspended for the time being. — Advisor'* Scribbled handwriting. "[scared] All the members... how many is that?" Momoshiro turned pale. Ryouma put his hand on the clubroom door. It wasn't locked. *Creeeak...* The door opened. Inside, there was no sign of a disturbance. Racket bags, practice equipment — everything was left as is. As if someone had been there just moments ago. And then. In the center of the clubroom. On the floor, a small white rabbit plushie sat there, perfectly upright. "[whispers] What the hell is this..." Momoshiro's voice trembled. Ryouma slowly approached and gently picked up the plushie. It was fluffy to the touch. But its eyes — those black button-like eyes — he felt them move, ever so faintly. (*Alive...?*) "[whispers] ...An even weaker form." Fuji-senpai's words echoed in his head. Was this plushie the very person who had cast the curse? A hunch close to certainty sparked in Ryouma's chest. But right now, there was no way to confirm it. "[serious] ...We're going back, Momo-senpai." "[surprised] Huh? But, this thing—" "[serious] We're taking it with us. We can't leave it here." Ryouma gently placed the plushie into his own bag. They left the clubroom. The evening sun stretched their shadows long. On the train ride back, neither of them spoke. The plushie in the bag felt heavy, impossibly heavy. (*What is this plushie?*) Staring out the window, Ryouma carved that question into his mind. The greatest obstacle had now appeared right before their eyes.