To other players observing the two strongest players of Facility B over the next few days, the sessions looked like a massacre.

  Kevin Marvant scored on every single rally. The ball hit the floor on Himeko's side again, again and again, thumping against the hardwood then bounced all over the places. On the imaginary stat sheet, it would have looked something like 1000 to 0.

  Reality, instead was a desperate war of attrition.

  "Hup!" Damian grunted, pushing a fast set toward the pin.

  Kevin exploded into his approach. His legs, already burning from an hour of high-intensity reps, screamed in protest, but he forced them to fire.

  As he ascended, Himeko rose with him. She had cut off the cross-court angle and sealed the line. There was no seam, no daylight, no easy way out.

  Kevin crunched his core, forcing his vertical to hit its absolute maximum limit, his chin clearing the net tape.

  With Himeko's long fingers inches from his face, invading his airspace, Kevin whipped his arm, aiming for the microscopic tunnel of air above her fingertips.

  Whoosh.

  The ball hissed as it flew past Himeko's middle finger, missing contact by a single millimeter, before slamming into the back corner of the court.

  Kevin landed hard, stumbling forward a step. He grabbed his knees, staring at the floor as sweat dripped from his nose.

  "Break," Kevin wheezed, holding up a shaking hand. "Time out."

  Across the net, Himeko straightened up. Drenched in sweat she was too, her chest rising and falling, but wasn't gasping as much. She looked at Kevin, her eyes carrying a faint trace of judgment. Another break?

  "Understood," was all she said.

  She walked to the bench, sitting down to sip her water. Kevin collapsed onto the spot next to her, at a safe distance, leaning his head back against the wall, trying to lower his heart rate.

  For a minute, the only prominent sounds were balls smashing the floor from the other courts and Kevin's ragged breathing. As his lungs began to cooperate again, he finally taled. He needed to fill the silence, to distract himself from his own appearence right now.

  "So, the new GT concept dropped yesterday," Kevin stared up at the steel rafters. "They finally ditched the hybrid assist. Went back to a naturally aspirated V12."

  Himeko unscrewed the cap of her bottle, took a small sip, and screwed it back on.

  "Hm."

  "Totally impractical for city driving, in my opinion," Kevin continued. "The engineering is insane. They managed to balance the chassis without the battery weight, so the cornering G-force is supposed to be higher than the version from last year."

  "Is that safe?" Himeko asked.

  "Safe? No. Fun? Absolutely." Kevin chuckled. "It's about the feeling of the engine. The feedback."

  "I see."

  Himeko sat perfectly still, eyes fixed on the court. To anyone else, she might have seemed bored or dismissive, Kevin had learned to read the silence.

  She wasn't ignoring him. She wasn't scrolling on a phone, or looking around the gym, or waiting for him to shut up so they could play. She sat there, fully present, taking in his words with the same concentration she used to analyze his arm swing. She didn't care about cars that part was correct; she probably drove a rather underwhelming sedan compared to her paychecks, but she respected that he cared.

  There was almost no hostility left between them. The edges of their early interactions had been sanded down by the grind.

  "Sounds expensive," Himeko added.

  "Oh, it's extremely expensive," Kevin agreed, grinning. "Will I look stupid if I'm buying one?"

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  "Almost certainly."

  Feeling his energy returning, the heaviness in his legs fading slightly.

  "For real though," Kevin sighed, slapping his knees and pushing himself up. "I'll never buy it. Insurance would kill me."

  Himeko stood up immediately, capping her bottle.

  “Ready.”

  The moment the ball left Damian's hands, the two started their run.

  Kevin took his first step; Himeko took her, accelerating in perfect unison, mirror images separated only by a net. They launched into the air at the exact same millisecond, identical forms - extended, aggressive, powerful.

  The only point of desynchronization came in the final frame of the sequence. Every time Himeko sealed the air, Kevin managed to find a sliver of space, snapping his wrist a fraction of a second faster than she could press.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  Kevin landed, breathing in and out violently, sweat stinging his eyes. He looked across the net. Himeko was panting too, yet her eyes looked dead ahead - wide, unblinking, and locked onto him liked a shark that smells blood.

  She was getting extremely close. He could feel it. The margin of error had shrunk, from inches to milliseconds.

  Kevin wiped his face with his jersey, then shot a quick glance at Damian. He flashed a subtle hand signal against his hip.

  The Razor.

  Damian nodded. He shifted his posture, his hands raising slightly higher.

  Kevin bursted into motion.

  He sprinted his approach, channeling every ounce of remaining energy into his legs. He launched himself upward. The jump was perfect - high, drifting slightly to his left to open up the extreme angle.

  But as he rose, the dark wall rose with him.

  Himeko had read the acceleration. She was there, her arms extended, her body forming a towering barricade. She was in a prime position to stop a standard line shot, or even a deep cross.

  But not enough, Kevin's eyes narrowing as he saw the sliver of space past her shoulder.

  He cocked his arm back, his body contorting in mid-air. Kevin sliced across the ball, snapping his wrist with violent force to send the ball rushing sharply toward the three-meter line.

  Suddenly, Himeko's hand twitched.

  Her outside hand flared, her pinky finger stretching, straining, extending just a fraction of an inch further than anatomy should have allowed.

  Fwick.

  The sound was soft, almost imperceptible, a dry sound of friction against skin.

  The ball shuddered in its flight path. The spin changed. It didn't fly clean. It deflected ever so slightly, wobbling in the air before slamming into the floorboards, spinning wildly.

  Kevin landed, his momentum carrying him forward. He stared at the ball, watching it spin to a stop.

  He looked up.

  Himeko was standing tall at the net, looking down at her right hand, specifically at the red, stinging tip of her pinky finger. She flexed it once, testing the sensation.

  Then, she slowly raised her head, looking left to right to process the new information. She didn't smile, yet her eyes burned with undeniable pride.

  Kevin opened his mouth to speak, to acknowledge the impossible adjustment, but Himeko didn't give him the chance. She dropped her hand, shook out her shoulder, and dropped back into her defensive crouch.

  "Continue," she commanded.

  By the time the evening lights flickered on and they finally wrapped up for the night, Himeko had grazed the ball five times.