The gym was always quiet at this hour, expectant space filled with the faint smell of polished wood and dust motes dancing in the slivers of morning light. As a first-year, I’d hoped this early arrival would be my secret, a chance to get some extra reps in before the upperclassmen arrived and the real pressure began. Especially before he arrived.

I pushed the heavy door open, the sound echoing softly, and stopped dead in my tracks.

I wasn’t alone.

On the far court, a figure was a blur of motion. The sharp, rhythmic shiff-shiff-shiff of rubber soles biting into the court floor cut through the silence. It was Taiki Inomata, the vice-captain. His black hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat, his Eimei training shirt darkened across the shoulders and back. He was deep in a footwork drill, lunging to each corner with a precision that looked more like a dance than practice, his breathing a controlled, steady rhythm.

He must have heard the door. His head snapped up, his brown eyes wide with surprise for a fraction of a second before they settled on me. A breathless, determined smile broke across his features, not quite reaching the focused intensity in his eyes, but warm and genuine nonetheless.

“You’re early,” he said, his voice slightly husky from exertion. He straightened up, wiping his brow with his wristband. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

I managed a nod, my own planned routine suddenly feeling insignificant.

He gave a short, understanding nod. “I know the feeling.” He picked up a shuttlecock from the basket at his feet, turning it over in his fingers. His observant eyes flicked from me to the empty court beside him, and then back, as if calculating something. “If you’re here… want to do some multi-shuttle drills together? I need to work on my backhand defense.”

It was less a question and more an invitation, my heart did a nervous flip. Training with the vice-captain? One on one?