First Tournament

The inter-school tournament in the eastern district was held at the Semeru Sports Hall, an old sports hall surrounded by rows of grocery stores and motorcycle repair shops. From the outside, the building was not particularly grand. But inside, the sound of shoes squeaking on the wooden floor, the echo of shuttlecocks hitting the floor, and the roar of cheers from the audience created an almost sacred atmosphere.

That day, Karuna High School came as the underdog team. Their uniforms were not uniform. Their bags were not sponsored bags. And there were no banners of encouragement from the school. All they brought were each other… and one name that was too heavy to say out loud: Rai Aksara.

Early in the morning, they had gathered outside the main door of the sports hall. Tama carried a bag filled with water bottles and lunch boxes that were too full. The twins Ichi and Ryo were busy fixing their racket grips. Yuda stood leaning against the flagpole, closing his eyes.

Ayaka arrived last. She wore a dark blue team jacket that had no logo—because their club was too small to print it themselves.

In Ayaka's hands, there was a different racket bag.

"Rai," he said, approaching.

Rai, who was sitting on the stairs with his head down, looked up. His eyes looked alert, even a little nervous.

Ayaka handed him the bag.

"A present," she said briefly.

Rai took it, slowly. He unzipped it. Inside, a new racket: a clean white grip, a black frame with maroon accents, and on the bottom of the frame was engraved the words "You Hear Yourself."

"This… is not a cheap racket," Rai said, almost whispering.

"Don't think about the price. Just think of it… as a symbol of trust. You're not a pop-up player anymore."

Rai gripped the racket handle tightly. For the first time in his life, he felt like he had something that was truly his—not an inheritance, not a fantasy.

"I'll really use this," he said.

Ayaka nodded. "You'll play in the third match. Men's singles. Our opponent is SMAN 6 Palagan."

Tama whistled. "That's a school with really strict physical training."

"Their player—" Ayaka continued, "—is named Galih. Clean technique. But too textbook. If you can force him out of the script, you win."

Rai nodded, but his eyes didn't leave his new racket. He could feel its weight, its balance. As if the racket wasn't just a tool, but a part of his body.

When the names of the players were announced over the loudspeaker, the echo inside the GOR immediately changed. "From Karuna High School, Rai Aksara!" and immediately, several voices in the audience seats were heard whispering.

"Aksara?"

"Reza's son?"

"That's the one who smashed the racket on YouTube, right?"

"I thought he had stopped playing..."

Rai heard it all. He heard it like a small storm at the edge of his mind. But he didn't turn around. He walked to the court with his head held high and his new racket in his hand.

On the other side, Galih from SMAN 6 stood with an upright posture and a thin, overly confident smile. He looked at Rai like someone would look at a substitute player on the bench.

"Using a new racket? Be careful, don't break it before the fifth point," he said, half joking.

Rai didn't answer. He just lifted his racket and tightened his grip.

Galih made the first serve. His strokes were precise. Back left corner, bottom right corner. His rhythm was fast and regular. Rai tried to follow, but his steps weren't yet in sync. The first two points passed without much resistance.

Ayaka shouted from the sidelines, "Listen! Don't rush!"

Rai took a breath. He closed his eyes for a split second before the next serve. He focused. Remembered his breath. Remembered his steps. Remembered the sound of his feet touching the wood.

And when the shuttlecock was thrown again, he didn't attack. He held back. He danced.

Drop shot to the right. Galih responded quickly. Rai shifted, turned his body, and hit a high lob.

Galih looked disturbed. His rhythm was broken.

And Rai began to infiltrate.

The score slowly crept up. 4–3. 5–5. 7–6.

Now Galih started making his own mistakes. He hit outside the line twice. He tried a smash, but it was too hard.

Rai didn't respond with aggression. He waited. Like Yuda. But different.

He waited with a smile.

In the stands, some of the spectators who had only been watching half-heartedly now started to pay attention.

"Is that Aksara's kid?"

"But his playing style is different..."

"He's really calm."

And when Rai grabbed the shuttlecock from the left corner with a perfect first jump-smash, the room exploded with the sound of the net and a small cheer from Tama who stood up suddenly.

10–7.

Galih started to waver.

Ayaka just lowered her head a little. She knew: Rai wasn't playing to win… but to erase the voices in his head.

11–8. 13–9.

And finally...

15–10.

When the match was over, Galih sighed and extended his hand. "You're more patient than I thought."

Rai took his hand. "I just found out about that too."

He walked to the edge of the field accompanied by a small applause. Not enthusiastic. Not like a hero. But sincere. And enough.

Ayaka greeted him with a water bottle and a slight nod.

"Who were you playing for?" she asked.

Rai looked up at the high ceiling of the GOR. The white light from the LED lights reflected off the sweat on his forehead.

"I played for myself," he replied.

Ayaka smiled, for the first time that day.

"Good. Because starting today, you are no one's shadow."