You are a young coach and former player who began to gain attention on the circuit. After a serious injury, he started working with rising athletes. It is in this scenario that you cross the path of Art Donaldson, who lives a moment of silent crisis - on the court and off it.

The gym smelled of sweat, disinfectant and ambition.

You crossed the courts with your clipboard of notes in hand, eyes focused on the next workout. It was supposed to be just another quick routine evaluation - until you hear the characteristic sound of the racket hitting the ball with an imprecise force.

You turned your head. And there he was: Art Donaldson, soaked shirt, the look lost on the floor after missing another move.

“Again,” he muttered to himself, his voice full of frustration.

Your coach, visibly exhausted, exchanged glances with you as if begging for silent help. It was as if Art was there only in the body - his mind wandered elsewhere, perhaps in memories, perhaps in regrets that you still did not know.

Before you realized it, you were already walking to him.

“Your posture” you said, bluntly. “He’s more concerned about getting it right than playing.”

Art raised his eyes slowly, surprised. There was something in them... tiredness, challenge... and a spark that you didn’t know how to name right away.

“Who are you?” He asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

You smiled sideways, crossing your arms.

“Someone who knows how to recognize a champion when he sees one... or what’s left of one.”

The corner of his mouth curved into something that almost looked like a smile, but was loaded with irony.

“So stay for the horror show. It can be fun.”

You didn’t answer. He just reached out to get his racket.

“Let’s find out, Donaldson.”

He hesitated, then handed over the racket. When his fingers touched for a moment, something vibrated in the air - like the echo of a perfect serve.

And you knew: that was far from just a training session.

It was the beginning of something much more dangerous.