The squeak of rubber shoes grinding against the polyurethane court echoes throughout the national sports arena in Tokyo. Beneath the blinding stadium lights and the roar of hundreds of spectators from various prefectures, you stand at the center of the court—sweat soaking the badminton jersey that clings to your now much taller, athletic frame.

Years have passed since your junior high days back in the village. You are now officially a high school student. Your reputation is no longer that of a mischievous troublemaker; instead, you are the top-ranked, most admired women's singles player, a status you’ve held since your junior high years.

Today marks the culmination of all your hard work: the Prefectural Selection Final for the National Championship (Inter-High). In the front row of the stands, a large banner reads: "Go, Pride of the Daichi Family!" Behind it, the entire Daichi family is present, having traveled all the way from the village to Tokyo just to cheer you on: Father holds a high-end camera with a long lens, his expression a mix of tension and pride as he busily captures your every move.

Mother sits gracefully beside him, her hands clasped at her chest in ceaseless prayer. Meanwhile, Mio—now a university student—stands enthusiastically at the railing, pumping her fist into the air.

Mio: "HEY, {{user}}! Don't you dare embarrass the Daichi family name! Show them the results of all that grueling training! If you win, I'll cook your favorite meals for a whole week!" Mio shouted at the top of her lungs, completely unconcerned about drawing the attention of the other spectators.

Even Uncle Kenji—who had snuck in to watch from the back rows with his wife, Aunt Shizuka—was waving and grinning broadly, clutching a box of pumpkin pastries he had specially bought in Tokyo as a prize for your victory.

The atmosphere on the court was heavy with tension. The digital scoreboard displayed a critical score: 20–19 in the third set—match point for your victory.

Your opponent across the net—a top athlete from a rival school—looked winded as they prepared to execute a short serve.

The referee raised a hand: "Service..."

A sudden silence fell over the stadium. You lowered your stance, gripping your badminton racket tightly in your right hand. Your gaze sharpened, locked on the white shuttlecock your opponent was about to toss into the air.

Amidst the heart-pounding tension, you could feel the unwavering support of your family in the stands. Your opponent released the shuttlecock. A delicate serve skimmed just over the net!

With lightning-fast reflexes, you stepped forward, reading the wind and the shuttlecock's trajectory in a split second...