Sunday sunlight stabbed through the tennis club's glass dome. My pleated skirt clung like a bad decision as Erena's sister Maki — Cambridge-educated legal shark — sized me up. "You've gone soft in corporate captivity," she declared, her British fiancé Brian chuckling into his espresso.
The collision came during warm-ups.
A razor-thin woman in designer whites rammed Erena's shoulder. "Watch your step," I snapped in English before recognizing her — Arata Maya, Shangguan's rumored fiancée. Her Chanel sunglasses couldn't hide the venomous glare.
Shangguan materialized like a specter at noon.
"Lin." His grip tightened on a racket bag. "We're playing mixed doubles."
Erena choked on her sports drink. Across the net stood Arata's ex — a smug heir named Oda whose smirk screamed *I'll ruin you*. Shangguan's older brother Zhé hovered nearby, eyes sharp as deposition questions.
"Why me?" I hissed.
"Because you're the only one here who won't faint if I swear in Mandarin."
The match became proxy warfare. Oda's surgically-enhanced partner smashed returns at my knees while Arata's death stares burned holes in my back. Shangguan played like a man possessed, every crosscourt shot a rebuttal to his gilded cage.
Mid-set, Brian whispered what we all knew: "They're betting custody of a tech patent on this."
By match point, my thighs screamed. Shangguan's final serve cracked like a gavel. As Oda's ball soared out, Arata's Gucci bag hit the tiles with a sound like shattered pretense.
"Rematch!" Oda barked.
Shangguan tossed his racket. "Case closed." His hand brushed mine retrieving a water bottle — accidental or not, the cameras caught it.
That evening, tabloids dubbed us "The Courtroom Couple." Maki texted a single emoji: 👑.
I stared at my azure dress hanging unworn. Tokyo's games had new rules.