Felix stood at the baseline, racket held steady in his hand, sweat still clinging to his skin from all the previous game. His legs felt heavy now—not unresponsive, just honest. Every movement came with weight, every shift with cost.
But his mind was clear.
Aditya Soni served.
Felix returned wide.
Not powerful. Not aggressive.
Intentional.
The rally stretched. Side to side. Front to back. Felix guided the shuttle instead of chasing it, positioning himself earlier, conserving motion wherever he could. Aditya responded cleanly, but for the first time, he was moving more than before.
Felix won the point.
17-18
The crowd reacted—softly at first, then with growing attention.
The next few rallies followed the same pattern. Felix didn't rush to finish. He didn't chase dominance. He played inside the rhythm he had found late in the previous game, breaking Aditya's preferred vertical control and pulling him laterally instead.
At 18–19, Felix felt the shift settle into place.
His breathing aligned with his movement. His grip loosened just enough to keep control without tension. The ache in his legs didn't vanish—but it stopped distracting him.
Aditya adjusted, tightening his returns, pushing Felix deeper again.
Felix answered calmly.
The game became a conversation instead of a chase.
At 19–19, the game is tied.
This time, he didn't glance at the scoreboard.
He didn't need to.
He was present.
A long rally followed. Both players refused to yield space. Felix's legs burned now, the heat steady and persistent, but his timing held. When Aditya attempted to close the rally early, Felix blocked at the net and forced a lift.
Felix placed the shuttle.
Point.
20-19
The crowd leaned in.
Felix could feel it—not as pressure, but as awareness.
Aditya remained composed, but the distance between them had closed. The rallies tightened, each point demanding precision. Felix dropped two in a row on slight misjudgments, then pulled one back with a clean cross-court return.
Radha's hands clenched in her lap.
Krishna leaned forward slightly.
Felix served.
The rally was short.
Felix angled the shuttle sharply, forcing Aditya to stretch wide. The return came back loose.
Felix stepped in and returned it.
Nearly missing a Game point.
The next rally lasted longer.
Felix moved on instinct now, not thought. He didn't force a winner. He waited.
When the shuttle landed on Aditya's side, the whistle followed.
Second game: Felix Vedman.
Felix straightened slowly.
Not triumph.
Relief.
The crowd applauded—stronger this time, louder than before. Felix bowed once, breathing deeply, sweat dripping from his chin. Aditya nodded in return, expression still calm, still respectful.
1-1
One game each.
The decider awaited.
Felix sat during the break, towel pressed to his face. His legs trembled faintly now, the fatigue no longer background noise but a presence he couldn't ignore.
He wasn't injured.
He was spent.
As he lowered the towel, movement caught his eye in the stands.
Two familiar figures hurried up the steps.
Nikhil dropped into the seat beside Radha, breathing hard, grin wide despite the rush. Dev followed, calmer as always, nodding politely to Krishna before sitting down.
Radha looked surprised—then relieved.
They reached here as soon as today's classes ends.
Nikhil leaned forward immediately. "That's my boy," he muttered, not quietly.
Felix saw them.
And for a moment, the weight eased.
The final game began.
0-0
Aditya served.
Felix returned—but his timing was a fraction late.
The rally ended quickly.
Another began.
Felix chased. Reached. Returned.
But now, every movement demanded more than it gave back.
Aditya noticed.
He didn't attack recklessly.
He extended rallies instead.
Felix felt it clearly now—the delay between intention and execution. His legs responded a beat slower. His recovery took longer.
At 4–9, Felix was already breathing hard.
The crowd sensed it.
Encouragement rose—not explosive, but sincere.
"Come on!" Miss Maria's voice came from the stands
"Don't lose here!" Kunal watching the game intensely.
Felix nodded to himself, as if acknowledging them all.
He pushed through the next rally, forcing himself to stay composed. He won a point with placement alone.
Then lost the next two on shallow lifts.
At 6–15, the outcome no longer felt uncertain.
It felt honest.
Felix didn't resist it.
He kept playing.
Not to turn the match—but to finish it as himself.
The final rally came quietly.
Felix returned deep. Aditya answered cleanly. Felix stepped forward too late.
The shuttle landed.
The whistle blew.
12-21
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then applause.
Not divided.
Not polite.
Full.
For both of them.
Felix bowed toward the umpire, then toward the stands. He caught Nikhil's raised fist, Dev's small nod, Radha's soft smile, and Krishna's steady gaze.
Aditya approached the net.
Felix met him there.
They shook hands—firm, respectful.
"Well played," Aditya said.
Felix nodded. "You too."
As the crowd continued to applaud, Felix stood there, chest rising and falling, fatigue settling deep into his bones.
And yet—
He felt light.
He understood it now.
He hadn't played this match because he needed to win.
He had played because this—this space of effort, focus, and quiet awareness—was where he felt most alive.
Badminton wasn't something he chased.
It was something he lived in.
Felix stood on the court, applause still echoing behind him.
He didn't feel that with this loss, something had ended.
It felt like the beginning of his story.