Haruto woke up already knowing something was wrong.
It wasn't dramatic. No sudden realization, no sharp pain. Just the weight.
His body felt heavy, like someone had stacked blankets on him in his sleep and forgotten to take them off. His head throbbed faintly, a dull pressure behind his eyes. When he tried to sit up, the room tilted just enough to make him stop.
"…Nope," he muttered, flopping back onto the futon.
The clock on his desk read 7:12.
Late.
That alone should have jolted him awake. Instead, it barely registered. His throat felt dry, his limbs weak in a way that wasn't the satisfying soreness of practice. This was different. This was the kind of tired that didn't improve if you pushed through it.
His door slid open a moment later.
His mom leaned in, already frowning. "You're still in bed?"
"I think," Haruto said slowly, "my body has betrayed me."
She stepped closer and placed a hand on his forehead.
Her expression changed instantly.
"Oh. Yeah. You're not going anywhere today."
"I can—"
"No."
That was that.
By the time she left the room to grab the thermometer, Haruto had already sunk back into the futon, staring at the ceiling. Practice. School. Everything blurred together in his head.
For the first time since joining the badminton club, he didn't feel guilty about missing a day.
He felt relieved.
That scared him a little.
The message went out around mid-morning.
Mei noticed first.
Haruto not showing up to school was unusual. Haruto not replying to messages was even worse.
She stared at her phone during break, rereading the short text he'd sent earlier.
Fever. Staying home.
"That's it?" she muttered.
Kenta leaned over from the next desk.
"What's it say?"
"He's sick."
Kenta blinked. "Like… actually sick?"
"Yes."
"Wow," he said solemnly. "He finally unlocked the secret technique. Forced rest."
Mei elbowed him. "Idiot. He's been pushing himself too hard."
Across the room, Saki looked up.
"Sick?" she asked quietly.
Mei nodded. "Fever, apparently."
Saki's brows knit together. She glanced at the clock, then at her notebook, then back at Mei.
"Do you think he's okay alone?"
Kenta shrugged. "His mom's probably home."
Saki hesitated.
Haruto drifted in and out of sleep most of the afternoon.
At some point, he remembered drinking water. At another, he vaguely recalled his mom telling him to take medicine. Time stretched strangely, folding in on itself.
When the doorbell rang, it took him a second to realize it was real.
His mom answered it. Voices murmured in the hallway.
Then footsteps.
"Haruto?" his mom called softly.
He groaned in response.
The door slid open again.
And there she was.
Saki stood awkwardly just inside the room, hands clasped in front of her, holding a small plastic bag. She wore her school uniform, cardigan slightly rumpled, hair pulled back in a loose tie.
For a moment, Haruto thought he was hallucinating.
"…Why are you here?" he croaked.
She stared at him.
Then she laughed.
It wasn't loud. Just a soft, surprised sound.
"You look terrible," she said.
"Wow," Haruto replied weakly. "That's the first thing you say to a sick person?"
"I was going to say 'are you okay,'" she said, stepping closer. "But that felt dishonest."
His mom hovered in the doorway, smiling. "She insisted on coming. Brought soup and notes."
Saki bowed slightly. "I hope that's okay."
"Of course it is," his mom said. "I'll give you some space."
The door closed behind her.
Silence settled.
Haruto tried to sit up again. Failed.
Saki sighed and gently pressed him back down. "Don't."
"Yes, ma'am," he muttered.
She sat down beside the futon, placing the bag next to her. "You scared everyone, you know."
"I sent a message."
"You sent five words."
"That's a lot for me."
She snorted despite herself.
She worked quietly at first.
Set the soup on the low table. Checked the medicine. Opened the window just a bit for fresh air. The whole time, Haruto watched her with unfocused eyes, brain sluggish but oddly calm.
This wasn't awkward.
That surprised him.
"How bad is it?" she asked.
"Fever," he said. "Head feels like it's full of cotton."
She nodded. "You've been overdoing it."
"You sound like Mei."
"She's right."
He sighed. "I know."
Saki picked up his phone from the table and frowned. "You missed thirty messages."
"Kenta?"
"Mostly."
"That tracks."
She handed it back to him. "He says you owe him a rematch."
Haruto closed his eyes. "Tell him I'll haunt him if I die."
"I think he'd still ask for the match."
Probably.
She glanced around his room, taking it in. The books stacked haphazardly. The racket case in the corner. The notes half-organized on his desk.
"You're not very neat," she observed.
"You came all this way to judge me?"
"Partially."
He smiled faintly.
After a while, she brought the soup over.
"Careful," she said. "It's hot."
Haruto struggled to hold the spoon steady. His hand shook slightly.
Without comment, Saki reached over and steadied the bowl.
"Hey," he protested weakly. "I'm not that helpless."
"You are right now."
"…Fair."
She watched him eat like a hawk.
"You're staring," he said.
"You're spilling."
"That's character development."
She shook her head, amused.
At some point, the teasing turned easier.
"You know," she said casually, "you're much quieter like this."
"Can't waste energy," he replied. "Saving it for survival."
"Good. Use it."
He glanced at her. "Thanks for coming."
She paused. Just a second.
"Of course," she said. "You'd do the same."
He thought about that.
Yeah. He would.
They talked about small things.
Classes. Kenta's latest disaster. A test she was worried about. Nothing heavy. Nothing dramatic.
But something shifted anyway.
This was different from practice. Different from walking home.
This was seeing each other unguarded.
"You don't have to be strong all the time," she said suddenly.
He looked at her.
"I know," he replied. "I just forget sometimes."
She nodded. "Me too."
The silence after that wasn't awkward. Just full.
Eventually, Haruto drifted off mid-sentence.
When he woke up, the soup was gone, the room tidied just a little.
Saki was still there, sitting quietly, reading his notes.
She noticed him stirring and smiled. "Feeling better?"
"A bit."
"Good."
She stood. "I should go. Text me if the fever gets worse."
He nodded. "Thanks. For everything."
She paused at the door.
"Rest properly," she said. "No shortcuts."
Then she left.
Haruto stared at the ceiling again.
This time, the weight felt lighter.
Not because he was better.
But because he wasn't alone in it.
Two days passed.
Not quickly.
Haruto learned that recovery had its own strange sense of time. Hours felt long, nights felt longer, and sleep came in uneven waves. The fever broke sometime on the second night, quietly, without ceremony. When he woke up drenched in sweat and freezing at the same time, his mom smiled like she'd been expecting it.
"That's the worst of it," she said.
Haruto didn't feel victorious. Just empty. Like someone had drained him and forgotten to refill the tank.
By the third morning, he could sit up without the room spinning. That alone felt like progress.
He checked his phone.
The notifications were ridiculous.
Kenta had clearly taken his silence as a personal challenge.
Day 1: You alive?
Day 1 (ten minutes later): Blink twice if kidnapped
Day 2: Coach asked where you were
Day 2: I said you're secretly training in the mountains
Day 2: You owe me for that lie
Day 3: Also Saki says hi
Haruto stared at the last message longer than the others.
She hadn't texted him directly. That felt intentional. Not avoidance, just… giving space.
He typed a short reply.
Alive. Still weak. Stop lying.
The response came almost instantly.
Weak Haruto? I need pictures for proof.
He snorted, then immediately regretted it as his head throbbed.
"Okay," he muttered. "Still not 100 percent."
By the afternoon, he was allowed out of his room.
Not outside. Just… out.
Sitting at the table felt like an achievement. Eating actual food instead of soup felt like leveling up. His body still protested at every movement, muscles stiff and uncooperative, like they'd forgotten their job.
He stretched his shoulders carefully.
They ached in a dull, deep way.
Badminton soreness, layered under sickness.
He'd pushed too far.
That realization sat heavier than the fever ever had.
He thought about practice. About the drills. About staying late even when his arms trembled. About how good it felt to be improving, and how easy it was to ignore the warning signs when you were finally moving forward.
"You're thinking too hard again," his mom said from the sink.
"Is it that obvious?"
"You get that face."
"What face?"
"The one that says you're about to do something stupid again."
He didn't argue.
That evening, Saki finally texted.
>How's the patient?
He smiled without meaning to.
>Alive. Slightly less pathetic.
>Slightly?
>Okay. Still pathetic.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
>Good. Don't rush back.
>I wasn't planning to.
That part was true. Mostly.
She sent another message.
>Coach said you can come watch practice tomorrow if you want. No playing.
Haruto hesitated.
Watching felt… weird. Like standing outside something he'd just stepped into.
But maybe that was the point.
>I'll think about it.
>That's progress.
The next day, he stood outside the gym.
Just standing there made him aware of how fragile he still felt. The familiar sounds drifted out through the open doors. Shoes squeaking. Shuttles snapping through the air. Voices calling out scores and corrections.
His chest tightened.
Not from sickness.
From wanting to be in there.
He leaned against the wall and watched.
Saki noticed him first.
She waved. Not big or dramatic. Just enough.
Kenta followed her gaze and nearly tripped over his own feet running over.
"You live," he announced loudly.
"Barely," Haruto said.
"You look like a ghost."
"Thank you."
Coach gave him a nod. "Good to see you upright. Don't even think about picking up a racket."
"Yes, sir."
Watching was harder than he expected.
He saw mistakes he'd been making.
Movements he'd rushed. Footwork he'd been sloppy with. From the outside, everything looked clearer. Slower. Almost obvious.
He'd been so focused on effort that he hadn't noticed efficiency.
Saki sat down beside him during a break.
"You're analyzing," she said.
"Is it that obvious?"
"You get that face."
He blinked. "Hey."
She smiled.
"Feeling better?"
"Yeah. Just… weaker."
"That's temporary."
He nodded. He believed her.
For now.
As practice resumed, Haruto caught snippets of conversation from the court behind them.
"…Did you hear about that second-year?"
"Which one?"
"The one everyone talks about. Apparently she's insane."
Haruto frowned slightly.
"What second-year?" he asked.
Saki shrugged. "I've heard the name a few times. Seniors mostly."
"Name?"
She paused, trying to recall. "I think it was… Aoi."
The name lingered.
Haruto didn't know why, but it stuck with him.
Not as a threat.
Not yet.
More like the echo of something ahead.
The rest of practice passed in fragments.
Haruto watched rallies blur together, watched footwork patterns repeat until they became muscle memory for others while his own legs stayed still. Every now and then, his fingers twitched like they were itching for the grip of a racket.
He didn't miss the pain.
He missed the movement.
When practice finally ended, the team started packing up. Voices overlapped. Laughter bounced off the high ceiling. Someone complained about sore calves. Someone else bragged about a lucky shot.
Normal.
Saki stood and stretched her arms above her head.
"You're thinking again," she said.
"I'm not."
"You are."
He sighed. "Okay. Maybe a little."
She tilted her head. "About?"
"About how I didn't realize I was doing things wrong until I stopped doing them at all."
"That happens," she said simply.
"That's not very comforting."
She shrugged. "It's honest."
Kenta jogged over, towel slung around his neck. "So, patient zero. When are you officially rejoining the land of the living?"
"Soon," Haruto said. "I think."
Kenta squinted at him. "That doesn't sound confident."
"Because I'm not."
"Wow. Growth," Kenta said dramatically. "The old Haruto would've lied."
"Hey."
Saki snorted.
Coach called out reminders about stretching and hydration, then dismissed them. The gym slowly emptied, the noise draining away until only the echo remained.
Haruto stayed seated.
Not because he was tired.
Because he didn't feel rushed for once.
Saki grabbed her bag and hesitated. "You walking home?"
"Yeah. Slowly."
"I'll match your speed."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
They left the gym together.
Outside, the air was cooler than he expected. The sun had already dipped low, painting the sky in muted oranges and blues. The school grounds felt quieter after practice, like the day was exhaling.
They walked side by side, not too close, not far either.
"So," Saki said after a moment, "you scared your mom."
He winced. "She told you?"
"She didn't have to. It was obvious."
"Great."
"She made soup. The serious kind."
"That's terrifying."
"She also told me to make sure you don't do anything stupid."
He glanced at her. "You agreed?"
"Immediately."
"Traitor."
She smiled.
They crossed the street near the convenience store, the one with the vending machine just outside. The familiar hum filled the silence.
Haruto slowed without realizing it.
Saki noticed.
"You still think about that day?" she asked.
"Sometimes."
She nodded. "Me too."
They didn't elaborate. They didn't need to.
For a moment, they stood there, listening to the machine, the same sound that had quietly stitched their lives together years ago.
"You know," Saki said lightly, "when you had that fever, you kept muttering."
He froze. "I did?"
"Mhm."
"About what?"
She thought for a second. "Badminton. Footwork. Something about 'not rushing the backcourt.'"
He covered his face. "That's embarrassing."
"I thought it was kind of funny."
"Of course you did."
She laughed, then softened. "But… you care. A lot. Just don't forget your body's part of the deal too."
He nodded. "I won't."
And he meant it.
They reached their houses and stopped, same as always.
"I'll be back soon," he said. "On the court."
"I know," she replied. "Just don't make a dramatic comeback."
"No promises."
She rolled her eyes and headed inside.
Haruto stood there for a moment longer, looking up at the sky. He felt tired, but not defeated. Slower, but clearer.
For the first time since joining the club, he wasn't thinking about catching up.
He was thinking about lasting.
And somehow, that felt like the real beginning.