Unofficial Challenge

"If the system doesn't want you in… why don't you make your own system?"

Those words came out of Tama's mouth on what should have been a normal night. They were sitting in the club's quiet practice room, with only the dim neon lights and the sound of an old fan creaking. Rai stared at him with a raised eyebrow. It sounded like a joke at first. But the idea stuck in his mind longer than it should have.

Tama added, "You can fight one of them. But not at their place. At our place. Let everyone see."

"Who wants to watch?" Rai replied.

"I can ask my friend from Vena High School for help. They have a school IG live account that often broadcasts basketball sparring. We can borrow it."

Rai stared at the ceiling, his heart beating slowly.

"Ayaka will be mad."

And sure enough, the next day when the idea was brought up, Ayaka looked at them as if she had just heard two kids planning to steal the national tournament trophy.

"What do you guys want?"

"Open sparring," Rai replied. "One on one. Not official. Not a tournament. But watched."

"Broadcast live?" Ayaka frowned. "And who are you challenging?"

"His name is Adra. Phoenix player. The son of the regional coach. The one who made fun of me in the selection."

Ayaka stared at him for a long time.

"Do you want revenge?"

"I want to prove that I can play my way. In my place. With people who want to see, not grades."

Ayaka fell silent. Then she sat down, folding her arms.

"I'll allow it… on one condition."

"What?"

"You're not playing against him. But against yourself from yesterday."

The preparations were carried out secretly but intensely. Tama took care of the media, the twins promoted through the club's Instagram story, and Yuda—in his own way—trained Rai with higher intensity. Ayaka rearranged the week's training program into a simulation session of a real match: 21 points, full court, cameras.

The night before the match, Karuna High School's indoor court was transformed into a small arena. Black and red tape was put up around as a boundary for the audience. Two cellphone cameras were set up at different angles. One tripod for close-ups, another for the full court corner. The hashtag was chosen: #DuelTakResmi.

That day, the court was full. More than a hundred students from various schools came, curious to see "Reza Aksara's son" playing not in a selection, not in a tournament... but in an arena he made himself.

Adra arrived on time. His body was straight, the style of an elite athlete. He was not wearing the Phoenix club uniform, but everyone knew who he was. When he entered, several students applauded. He greeted him arrogantly: "Are you serious about making an event just to lose live, bro?"

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

"21 points. Rally system. No referee. Just us, the camera, and the public," said Ayaka from the side of the court.

Rai stood on the right side. Adra on the left. The camera started recording.

The first serve belonged to Rai.

The first point is fast. Rai is too hasty with his smash—out.

0–1.

Adra grins.

The second point, a long rally. Rai defends, but Adra closes with a thin, almost invisible drop shot.

0–2.

Cheers start to rise. Some students start to side with Adra. But Rai is undeterred. He closes his eyes, regulates his breathing, then slowly opens them.

On the third shot, he starts to shift his game.

Not aggressively. But rhythmically.

Drop to the left. Adra responds. Rai counters with a long lob. Adra goes up and smashes. Rai blocks with a fast forehand. The ball comes back high.

Rai jumps. Smashes. In.

1–2.

The game heats up. Adra plays rough—trying body shots, using delays to break concentration. But Rai holds on. His eyes never leave the shuttlecock.

3–3. 4–4. 5–6.

Ayaka from the sidelines says quietly, "Play for yourself."

And Rai listened.

He stopped trying to read Adra.

He started reading himself.

In the middle of the match, at 11–10 for Adra, the shuttlecock soared, and Rai waited… then smashed it into the middle with a hard smash. The shuttle hit the net, bounced… and went in.

The crowd was silent for a split second.

Then it exploded.

Tama shouted, "BOOM! A net kill from hell!"

Rai didn't celebrate. He just stared at Adra, whose face was beginning to change.

11–11.

In the final round, both were exhausted. But Rai's eyes remained calm. His movements were precise. No longer fast, but right.

15–14. 17–16. 19–18.

In the 39th rally, the ball changed sides seven times. Adra tried cross court. Rai closed. Adra jumped, smashed. Rai defended. Adra dropped. Rai swept from below.

Then…

Adra made a mistake.

The shot went out.

20–18.

Closing point.

Rai serves. Adra lifts the ball high.

And Rai, without hesitation, hits it with everything he has.

The smash goes in.

21–18.

The crowd cheers. But Rai doesn't scream. He drops his racket, looking up.

Silence.

Ayaka walks to the middle of the court.

"You won?"

Rai takes a breath. "Not from her."

Ayaka smiles.