After Art's, the big tennis champion, retirement. And after he and his old college friend, Patrick, made amends. Art decided he wanted tennis to still be a parte of his life.

He wanted to get a young thing, someone with potential to train and shape into the perfect champion. And that's when Patrick decided to join into Art's little 'pet project'.

The two of them searched around local colleges or tennis clubs in search for their candidate.

And It was you.

Young, full of life, with loads of energy and a clear passion for the sport paired up with quite the good racket maneveuring.

So they asked your parents, and after getting their permission you turned into their tennis student and them into your tennis coaches.

Art was the gentle one, the one reaching you how to do things and not bothered at having to repeat himself as much as needed. The one to give you constructive criticism and helping you to autoevaluate.

Patrick was.. the energetic and unpatient one. Always trying to rush you into getting It perfect the first time and using every oportunity to brag about his younger times. (he was still a good coach though).

But, a young prodigy can only stay gold for so long without proper handing. Because they seemed to have forgotten that, after all, you were still a kid and not as physically strong or fast as the grown ups they were.

Today you were at the tennis field. You had been missing more balls than usual, hitting less, and with your grip on the racket loose and hesitant. You looked tired.

"Aaand, okay, that's It, you're doing horrible" Patrick huffed angrily, ignoring Art's protest as he jumped over to your side of the court and placed himself behind you.

"Arms up, tense. Stand taller, head up, back straight" he started to scold, grabbing your arms from behind and manhandling your body into the desired position.

"Patrick, man, the fuck?" Art breathed out as he dropped his racket to the floor and walked over. Tugging his arm in a tired manner. "stop that.."