---
The gym felt colder.
Not physically.
But in the way everything was set.
Balls lined up.
No chatter.
No warm-up jokes.
Just—
Preparation.
---
Hinata stood at the baseline.
Ball in hand.
Eyes fixed.
Takeda stood across from him.
Already tense.
Already focused.
---
Fukuda leaned against the wall.
"…This looks different."
Sato crossed his arms.
"Yeah… way more serious."
Nakamura stayed quiet.
Watching.
Mori stood beside them.
Observing.
---
Hinata spoke.
"…We start."
No buildup.
No explanation.
Just—
Start.
---
The first serve came fast.
Hard.
Direct.
At Takeda.
---
He moved.
Arms steady.
Contact—
Clean.
The ball rose.
Good.
---
"Again."
No pause.
Second serve.
Faster.
Lower.
Takeda adjusted.
Received.
Slight drift.
---
"Again."
Third serve.
Harder.
Closer to the line.
Takeda lunged.
Barely reached.
The ball popped up—
Messy.
---
"Again."
No stop.
No reset.
No correction.
Just—
Pressure.
---
Fukuda frowned.
"…He's not even explaining."
Mori responded calmly.
"He already did."
Silence.
Because this—
Wasn't about instruction anymore.
It was about response.
---
The serves kept coming.
Faster.
Sharper.
More difficult.
---
Takeda's breathing got heavier.
His footwork—
Less precise.
His reactions—
More forced.
---
A serve came short.
He hesitated.
Moved late.
The ball dropped.
---
"Again."
No reaction from Hinata.
No pause.
No comment.
Just—
Again.
---
Takeda clenched his jaw.
Moved.
Received.
Too strong.
Ball flew out.
---
"Again."
---
Sato shifted uncomfortably.
"…This is rough…"
Fukuda didn't look away.
"…Good."
Nakamura whispered,
"…He's struggling…"
Mori said,
"He must."
---
The pace increased.
Hinata didn't slow.
Didn't adjust.
Didn't ease.
Every serve—
A test.
---
Takeda started missing more.
Not because he forgot—
Because his body couldn't keep up.
---
Late movement.
Wrong angle.
Weak contact.
Missed ball.
---
Again.
Again.
Again.
---
The sound of the ball hitting the floor—
Repeated.
Over and over.
---
Finally—
Takeda dropped to one knee.
Breathing hard.
"…Wait…"
Silence.
The first break.
---
Hinata didn't move.
"…Get up."
The words were calm.
But heavy.
---
Takeda stayed still for a second longer.
Then—
Pushed himself up.
Shaking slightly.
---
"…Again."
---
The next serve came even faster.
Takeda reacted.
Barely.
Contact—
Messy.
Ball drifted.
---
Another.
Miss.
---
Another.
Late.
---
Another.
Clean.
Then—
Immediately—
Another.
Miss.
---
No rhythm.
No recovery.
Just constant pressure.
---
Fukuda spoke quietly.
"…He's breaking."
Sato nodded.
"…Yeah…"
Nakamura looked down.
"…This is too much…"
Mori didn't respond.
Because this—
Was the point.
---
Takeda's movements slowed.
Not by choice.
By exhaustion.
---
A serve came.
He didn't move fast enough.
The ball hit the floor.
Right in front of him.
---
Silence.
---
Hinata stepped forward slightly.
"…Why didn't you move?"
Takeda stared at the ground.
"…I saw it…"
"…And?"
"…My body didn't react…"
Silence.
---
Hinata's eyes sharpened.
"…That's the problem."
---
Another serve.
This time—
Even faster.
---
Takeda forced himself forward.
Arms out.
Contact—
Clean.
---
For a moment—
Everything aligned.
---
"Again."
---
The next serve came immediately.
No recovery time.
No breathing space.
---
Takeda tried.
But this time—
He was late again.
The ball dropped.
---
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't react.
---
"…Takeda."
No response.
---
Hinata stepped closer.
"…Look at me."
Slowly—
Takeda looked up.
Eyes tired.
Unfocused.
---
"…Do you want to stop?"
The question hung.
Heavy.
Real.
---
Fukuda straightened slightly.
Sato held his breath.
Nakamura looked up.
Mori watched.
---
Takeda stared at Hinata.
For a long second.
Then—
"…No."
---
Hinata didn't smile.
Didn't nod.
Just—
Stepped back.
---
"…Again."
---
The next serve came.
Takeda moved.
Late.
But moved.
---
Contact—
Rough.
But up.
---
"Again."
---
Another.
Better.
---
Another.
Still off.
---
Another.
Clean.
---
Something shifted.
Small.
But real.
---
Takeda's movements—
Still slow.
Still heavy.
But—
More committed.
Less hesitation.
---
He wasn't thinking anymore.
Not about mistakes.
Not about failure.
Not about keeping up.
---
Just—
Move.
---
The rally continued.
Not perfect.
Not clean.
But—
Alive.
---
Finally—
Hinata stopped.
Raised his hand.
"…Enough."
---
Silence.
Takeda stood still.
Breathing hard.
Sweat dripping.
Legs shaking.
---
Fukuda exhaled.
"…That was brutal."
Sato nodded.
"…Yeah…"
Nakamura whispered,
"…But…"
Mori finished,
"He adapted."
---
Hinata stepped forward.
Looked at Takeda.
"…You felt it."
Not a question.
---
Takeda nodded slowly.
"…I stopped thinking…"
"…And?"
"…I moved."
---
Hinata nodded.
"…That's the level."
---
Silence.
Because that—
That was different.
Not technique.
Not timing.
Instinct under pressure.
---
Takeda dropped to the floor.
Exhausted.
"…I thought I was done…"
Hinata replied,
"…You weren't."
---
Fukuda smirked slightly.
"…Guess you're still here."
Sato grinned.
"Yeah… barely."
Takeda let out a weak laugh.
"…Yeah… barely…"
---
Mori stepped forward.
"This is only the beginning."
Takeda looked up.
"…What?"
Hinata answered.
"…Now we repeat it."
---
Silence.
Then—
Fukuda laughed.
"…Of course."
---
Hinata picked up another ball.
Looked at the court.
Then at Takeda.
"…We build from here."
Because now—
They had found something.
Not skill.
Not technique.
Something deeper.
---
The point where the body wanted to stop—
But didn't.
---
And that—
Was where real growth began.
---