1st August.
Tuesday arrived faster than Felix expected.
Not because the day rushed past, but because his mind had been somewhere else the entire time—half in the present, half walking carefully through memories that no longer belonged to this version of his life. By the time he realized it, the morning of the competition had already settled in.
The air felt different.
Not heavier. Not tense. Just… aware.
Felix stood near the entrance of City X High School's indoor sports complex, his kit bag resting against his leg. The familiar school emblem on the walls felt strange today, like a place he knew well but was seeing from a new angle. He had walked these corridors countless times as a student, but never like this—not as a competitor in an interschool tournament being hosted on his own ground.
For a brief moment, the thought felt unreal.
So this is happening, he thought.
City X High School was one of the most prestigious schools in the city. Academically, it shared that reputation with St. Francis High School of City Y. In sports, however, only one name consistently stood beside it—Elite Lions of City Z.
That rivalry was loud, public, and well-known.
But today wasn't about Elite Lions.
Today was quieter.
This was an interschool badminton competition—eight schools from across the city participating. No flashy banners. No massive crowd. Just clean courts, proper officials, and a few clusters of students, coaches, and parents seated in the stands.
Out of the eight schools, only two were considered real threats: Blue Heritage School and Seven Bells Academy.
The rest were strong, disciplined—but expected to fall somewhere along the way.
Felix adjusted the strap of his bag and looked around.
The soundscape was subdued. Shoes squeaked against the court floor. Shuttles tapped lightly during warm-ups. Occasional whistles. Low conversations blending into a steady hum.
The crowd was there—but distant. Background noise, nothing more.
He preferred it that way.
Across the seating area, he spotted his parents.
Radha sat with her hands folded in her lap, posture straight, eyes fixed on the courts with a mix of quiet pride and restrained anxiety. Krishna sat beside her, arms crossed loosely, expression joyful— his gaze followed Felix the moment he noticed him.
They didn't wave.
They didn't call out.
They just watched.
That was enough.
Felix looked away gently, grounding himself.
I'm really here, he thought. Not watching. Not regretting. Playing.
As he moved toward the warm-up area, a familiar presence stepped into his peripheral vision.
Kunal.
He leaned casually against a pillar near the corridor leading to the locker rooms, arms folded, posture relaxed. He wasn't wearing his playing kit—because he wasn't participating. Same school. Same team. No internal competition allowed here.
But he was here anyway.
Watching.
Felix didn't slow down.
Kunal straightened slightly as Felix approached, his eyes sharp, assessing. No hostility. No fake smile. Just calm certainty.
"So," Kunal said, voice low, even. "You're playing today."
Felix stopped in front of him, meeting his gaze without tension. "Looks like it."
Kunal tilted his head slightly, studying him the way one might study an unfamiliar variable. "Didn't think you'd make it this far."
Felix shrugged. "Neither did I. Guess we were both wrong."
A faint smirk appeared on Kunal's lips—not amused, not angry. Calculated.
"Don't get comfortable," Kunal said. "You're not here to win. Not really."
Felix remained still. Calm.
"And what makes you so sure?" he asked.
Kunal stepped closer—not invading space, just enough to make the point deliberate. "Because when it matters," he said quietly, "it'll be me who defeats you. Not today. But soon."
No shouting. No threats.
Just certainty.
Felix held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded once. "We'll see."
Kunal smiled faintly. "We will."
He stepped back, already losing interest, as if the conversation had concluded the moment it began. Felix walked past him without another word.
The exchange lingered for a second longer than necessary—but didn't stick.
Felix rolled his shoulders once and exhaled slowly.
Focus, he reminded himself.
Inside the warm-up area, players from different schools stretched, tested their rackets, adjusted grips. Felix found an empty corner and began his routine—steady, familiar, controlled.
No rush.
No nerves.
His body responded easily, muscle memory guiding him. Each movement felt intentional, earned.
As the announcements began and players were called for court assignments, Felix picked up his racket and moved toward Court Three.
His opponent was from another school—taller, broader shoulders, neutral expression. No known rivalry. No history. Just another player chasing the same goal.
Felix took his position near the baseline.
The referee adjusted the shuttle.
The crowd murmured softly.
. . . . .
Somewhere in the upper rows of the seating area, partially obscured by shadows and distance, a figure stood apart from the rest.
They didn't clap.
They didn't speak.
They simply watched.
White hair caught the overhead light briefly—unnatural against the otherwise muted colors of the hall. The figure's posture was still, deliberate, eyes fixed solely on Felix.
Not curious.
Observing.
Felix felt something then.
Not fear.
Not distraction.
Just… a brief sensation, like being noticed in a way that went beyond the moment.
He shook it off.
The referee raised his hand.
"Players ready."
Felix tightened his grip slightly, feet planted, posture relaxed but alert.
Across the net, his opponent nodded once.
The shuttle hovered in the referee's hand.
The hall fell into a near-silence.
And somewhere above, unseen by most—
The white-haired figure smiled.