Final Three

The teacher gathered the students around after the practice games, clapping his hands for attention. "Alright, everyone," he called out. "We're going to do a ladder tournament. Win your match, and you move up. Lose, and you drop down. I'll assign the courts. Play hard, and good luck."

As the students shuffled to their assigned courts, Daniel gave Diana a quick smile. "Good luck," he said before heading off to his field. She smiled back and nodded, though her stomach flipped with nervous energy.

Her first opponent was a tall, athletic-looking boy. He had broad shoulders, his muscles visible beneath his T-shirt. Diana watched him carefully as he twirled his racket in his hand. From the way he held it, with his fingers a little too far apart, she could tell he wasn't very experienced—at least not seriously.

He caught her staring and gave her a cocky little nod, raising his chin while making a quick, dismissive sound with his mouth—something between a scoff and a click of his tongue. His lips curled into a smug grin. Diana frowned, narrowing her eyes as she moved into position. This should be easy, she thought.

The match started.

But Diana quickly realized she'd underestimated him. His shots, while lacking precision, were powerful and fast. They were erratic, flying all over the court without clear intention, but the speed threw her off. She found herself scrambling to keep up, her racket barely managing to meet the shuttlecock at times.

She lost the first point when a shot zoomed past her, too fast for her to react. Shock registered in her chest. How is he that fast?

She took a breath, centering herself. Calm down. Focus. Don't just react—anticipate.

From then on, she played smarter. She returned each of his fast, aimless hits with controlled precision, sending the shuttlecock exactly where he wasn't. As his powerful smashes continued to fly all over the place, she found the gaps in his defense. One by one, she dismantled his game, returning his raw power with clean, calculated shots until she completely dominated him.

She won the match without losing another point.

Her second opponent was the opposite. A short, quiet girl with glasses, her hair tied in a tight knot. She looked nervous, fidgeting with her racket and glancing around as if unsure of herself.

Diana noticed immediately that the girl wasn't very skilled. Her serves were weak, her movements hesitant. Feeling a pang of empathy, Diana decided to play nice, giving her easy shots that she could return. She didn't push too hard, allowing the girl a few decent rallies, but in the end, the result was clear. Diana won without breaking a sweat.

Then came the third match.

Her next opponent was already on the court when Diana arrived. She was tall and athletic, her posture relaxed but composed. Her ice-blue eyes locked onto Diana with an unsettling intensity. There was something almost predatory in the way she stood, holding her racket loosely, as if it were an afterthought.

Diana could feel the weight of the girl's stare, a quiet challenge simmering beneath it.

They stepped into position. Diana felt her muscles tense with anticipation, her breath steady but shallow. The tall girl's expression remained unreadable, but there was a quiet confidence there that set Diana on edge. And then the girl gave a curt nod, as if acknowledging her opponent before the fight.

The first rally began. Diana quickly realized this was nothing like her earlier matches.

The tall girl—Ava—played with relentless aggression. Every shot that came Diana's way was a smash, hit with brutal precision and force. There was no hesitation, no room to breathe. Ava's powerful shots rained down like hammers, and Diana found herself running across the court, her legs and arms burning as she desperately returned each shot.

Sweat dripped down Diana's face as she darted left, right, forward, back—barely keeping pace with Ava's onslaught. Every time Diana thought she had a chance to counter, Ava was already there, smashing the shuttlecock down with ruthless accuracy.

But Diana wasn't out yet. She focused, trying to find the small windows in Ava's aggressive play. A few times, she managed to return Ava's smashes with carefully placed drop shots, slowing the tempo just enough to stay in the game. It was a grueling battle, and with every point, the intensity between them grew.

The gym around them faded into the background. All that mattered was the game.

Ava's eyes were focused, her face glistening with sweat, though her expression remained hard and determined. But she was breathing harder now, too. Even she couldn't keep up this pace without feeling the strain.

Diana could feel it as well. Her legs were beginning to ache, and her arm trembled slightly with each swing of the racket. The match felt like it had gone on forever, each rally longer and more brutal than the last. She could sense her own body tiring, her muscles starting to protest. Still, she refused to give in.

Then came the final rally. Ava smashed the shuttlecock with blistering speed, and Diana barely managed to return it with a backhand that sent the shuttle just over the net. For a moment, she thought she had her—Ava was too far back.

But Ava was fast. Faster than Diana anticipated. She lunged forward and delivered one final, powerful smash that Diana couldn't get to in time.

The match was over.

Diana stood there, bent slightly as she caught her breath, her heart pounding in her chest, her body screaming from exhaustion. She had lost.

Ava, standing on the opposite side of the court, was breathing heavily too. Her chest rose and fell with exertion, and though she tried to keep her expression smug and collected, Diana could see a faint flicker of respect in her icy eyes.

It was subtle, hidden behind Ava's sharp features, but it was there. She had won, and she knew it, but she had also been pushed harder than she had expected. Without a word, she gave a small nod, turned on her heel, and walked away, racket slung over her shoulder.