Morning. Faint light slips through the gap in the curtains. He hadn't slept last night. Ever since the racket shattered, his head's been stuffed full of that moment. Echizen Ryouma picks up the cap by his pillow. Pulls it down low. (*The curse isn't over. The buchou is still a girl.*) His chest stirs. A ticklish kind of impatience that has nothing to do with tennis. "[whispers] ...Mada mada da ne." He mutters it like he's telling himself, and leaves the room. --- Seishun Gakuen tennis courts. Morning practice. The air's a little cold. But the sun's already high, glaring off the courts. Echizen Ryouma is changing in the clubroom when a familiar yell rings out from outside. "[angry] Gyaaaaa! Again! It switched back again!?" He opens the door to find Momoshiro Takeshi staring at his own hands and shouting. Three seconds ago, they were a girl's hands. Now they're back to rough, boyish hands. Except—. "[laughing] Ahaha! Momo, now you're the girl!" Kikumaru Eiji, on the other side of the court, is clutching his stomach laughing. A figure that should've been a boy just moments ago is now a girl in a skirt. "[angry] Why?! Just a second ago I was the girl and you were the guy!" "[laughing] Dunno! But it's funny, so who cares!" Momoshiro clutches his head. Echizen Ryouma lifts the brim of his cap and scans the court. Oishi Syuichirou-senpai bursts out of the clubroom. Whiteboard in hand. Desperately erasing and rewriting the names of members who transformed and members who changed back. "[serious] Kikumaru, you just turned back into a guy a second ago! The records are—" "[laughing] Sorry, Oishi! But I don't really get it either!" Beside them, Inui Sadaharu-senpai is scribbling in his notebook with ferocious speed. "[serious] The data... the data is collapsing... The transformation cycle is completely random. The laws I derived from the previous propagation pattern have been fundamentally overturned." His voice sounds like he's staring somewhere far away. The edge of his notebook trembles faintly from the shaking of his hand. Echizen Ryouma turns his eyes to the center of the court. Tezuka-buchou is standing there. Their ponytail catches the morning sun, shimmering softly. The eyes behind their silver-rimmed glasses are as sharp as ever. A racket in their hand. Their stance is more beautiful than anyone's. "[serious] Echizen, you're late. We're starting rallies." Their voice is crisp and clear. Even in a girl's body, nothing about them has changed. "[casual] ...Yeah, yeah." Echizen Ryouma grabs his racket and steps onto the court. *Pop. Pop. Pop.* The rhythmic sound of the ball echoes across the morning court. Around them, Kikumaru, still a girl, snatches Momoshiro's cap and runs. Momoshiro turns into a girl again and screams "Gyaa!" Oishi chases after them with the whiteboard. Inui sits down on the ground, writes only "Data Collapse" in his notebook, and stops moving. But here, it's different. Tezuka-buchou's shots are just a little softer than usual. The moment the ball hits the racket, their ponytail sways gently. Echizen Ryouma's eyes follow that movement. *Thump.* (*Stop it. Focus.*) He tells himself in his head. "[serious] Echizen, don't take your eyes off the ball." "[embarrassed] ...Sorry." His face feels hot. He tugs the brim of his cap down hard. --- Morning practice ends. Everyone heads to class. Echizen Ryouma and Tezuka Kunimitsu stay behind in the clubroom. On the desk, the fragments of the shattered racket are laid out on newspaper. "[serious] This won't be the end of it." Tezuka gently picks up one of the fragments. "[casual] Guess not. Not even close." Echizen Ryouma answers from beside them, arranging the fragments by size. Trying his best not to look at Tezuka's face. "[serious] You raised your voice yesterday." His hands stop. That moment—when the racket glowed white and Tezuka's body almost, just for an instant, started turning back into a boy. "Buchou!!" He'd yelled. So loud it surprised even himself. "[embarrassed] ...It was nothing. Just a reflex." "[serious] I see." Tezuka answers shortly and returns their gaze to the fragments. Echizen Ryouma steals a glance at their profile. The ponytail rests against the nape of their neck. He felt like the eyelashes behind their silver-rimmed glasses trembled just a tiny bit. (*Imagination.*) He tells himself. Deep in his chest, a tight ache. The thing he wants to say—the words to convey what must be "love"—he still can't find them anywhere. But for now, this is fine. Being next to them. Just that. "[whispers] ...Mada mada da ne." He murmurs it too quietly for anyone to hear, and focuses on sorting the fragments. --- Lunch break. In the corner of the clubroom, Momoshiro Takeshi is holding his head. On the desk, a white rabbit plushie—Kanazawa Hayato. "[angry] Is this guy gonna stay like this forever? He won't eat, won't go to the bathroom." Momoshiro pokes the plushie. Kanazawa lets out a tiny squeak. "[gentle] It's hard, accepting the form you've been given, isn't it." Before anyone notices, Fuji Syusuke is standing beside him. With their usual gentle smile, they gently pick up the plushie. "[gentle] But, that might be interesting in its own way, *ne*." Fuji says it while gazing intently into the plushie's black button eyes. "[curious] Fuji-senpai, what do you mean by '*ne*'?" Echizen Ryouma asks back. Fuji doesn't answer, only deepens their smile. Then, they gently place the plushie back on the desk. At that moment—. "[excited] Nooooo! I'm a girl agaaaaain!" Momoshiro screams. From his hand, a half-eaten yakisoba bread flies off with force. The bread traces a parabola and splats against the ceiling. "[laughing] Momoshiro, your voice is a girl's. Cute." "[angry] This ain't funny, Fuji-senpai! That's five times today for me!" "[laughing] A new record." Glancing sideways at the panicking Momoshiro, Fuji looks out the window. "[gentle] Echizen-kun, do you know what a curse-smith is?" Suddenly, Fuji speaks. "[confused] Curse-smith...?" "[gentle] Someone with the skill to imbue objects with curses. They say there are only a few dozen in all of Japan." Fuji's voice is just a little lower than usual. "[curious] Why are you bringing that up now..." "[gentle] No reason. I just thought you should start thinking about what comes next." Fuji turns around, and for just a split second, opens the pale blue eyes behind their narrowed lids. A chill runs down Echizen Ryouma's spine. (*What comes next—*) Fuji says nothing more. --- After school. The courts after practice has ended and the club members have gone home. Echizen Ryouma and Tezuka Kunimitsu are taking down the net together, putting away the balls. The western sky is starting to shift from orange to purple. A single crow caws from the school roof. "[surprised] —Buchou." Echizen Ryouma's hands stop. His gaze is fixed on the back of Tezuka's left hand. There, a small purple pattern has surfaced. An unfamiliar crest, like intricate curves intertwined. The same shape that was carved into the racket's grip. "[serious] I noticed." Tezuka says it quietly, staring at the back of their own hand. "[scared] Does it hurt?" "[serious] No." An immediate answer. There's no pain. But—. "[serious] I don't know what this means. It just... won't disappear." Silence. The wind blows, making the remaining net flutter. Echizen Ryouma looks inside his racket bag. The shattered fragments, inside their storage box, are glowing faintly purple. The words Fuji-senpai said earlier resurface in his head. —Curse-smith. (*The curse isn't over yet.*) Echizen Ryouma lifts his head. "[gentle] ...Mada mada da ne." "[serious] Why do you think that?" Tezuka's voice holds its usual severity. "[gentle] The curse. And me." He answers shortly. Saying just that, he averts his eyes and hoists the equipment bag onto his shoulder. (*Instead of a confession, these are the only words I can manage.*) He could laugh at himself. But for now, this is fine. Standing beside them. That alone feels like enough. Tezuka says nothing. They just watch Echizen Ryouma's back intently with those sharp eyes. Between the two of them, a calm atmosphere flows for the first time. Not tension, not respect—a strange warmth. "[serious] Let's go, Echizen." "[casual] Yeah." The two of them leave the empty court behind. On the clubroom desk, inside the storage box, the shattered fragments glow purple—stronger than yesterday. The same color, the same shape as the crest on the back of Tezuka's hand. In the darkness, a new curse quietly breathes back to life.