Summer Break Point

Multiple POVs

Tanaka's POV

I adjust the ridiculous get-well basket for the tenth time. The damn thing keeps tilting—strawberries threatening to tumble onto Natsuki's perfectly organized homework packets.

"Maybe this is creepy," I mutter. "Showing up at her house like—"

Natsuki shoves the papers into my free hand. "You're the one who insisted on bringing fruit."

Coach Kubo snorts behind us, blowing cigarette smoke away from the group. "Kid's got the right idea. Athletes need vitamin C!"

Haru hasn't moved from the doorstep. His knuckles hover an inch from the wood, trembling slightly. The bags under his eyes look like he's gone twelve rounds with a ball machine.

I nudge Natsuki. "They had a fight or something?"

She gives me her trademark you're-an-idiot look. "He stayed all night. Ink stains on his cheek."

Oh.

Ohhh.

The door creaks open before I can ask more.

Aoi's POV

The sunlight hurts.

Haru stands silhouetted in the doorway, holding our racket bags like a peace offering. Behind him, the entire Kaimei team shuffles awkwardly:

Tanaka juggling a tower of fruit and homeworkNatsuki's sharp eyes missing nothingCoach pretending not to cry into his handkerchief

My throat tightens. The notebook in my hands—Mirai's notebook—feels suddenly heavier.

Haru's voice cracks. "One hour."

A breeze carries the scent of Coach's cigarette, the same brand Mirai's dad used to smoke. Somewhere down the street, a car radio plays that stupid anime theme Mirai would hum during changeovers.

I take the racket bag.

Natsuki's POV

Minami's fingers brush Haru's as she takes the bag.

A shudder runs through her—tiny but visible. I catalog the details:

The faded championship t-shirt she's sleeping inHow her toes curl against the cold doorstepThe notebook clutched to her chest with Mirai's name visible

Tanaka lurches forward with his ridiculous offering. "We brought—uh—"

"Antipyretics." I step on his foot and hand over my neatly organized homework. "And these."

Minami's eyes flick to the top sheet—a math worksheet with a doodle in the corner. A tiny tennis ball I may have added.

A ghost of a smile touches her lips.

Coach blows his nose loudly. "Alright! Enough emotional constipation! Haru, you get one hour—"

"Two," Minami says quietly.

The team freezes.

Haru's grin could power the prefecture.

Coach Kubo's POV

Damn kids are gonna kill me.

Aoi stands there looking like death warmed over, but there's fire in her eyes again. The kind that used to scare opponents shitless back when she and Saito were the terror of junior tournaments.

Haru's bouncing on his toes like an overexcited puppy. "We'll start slow! Just basic—"

"Conditioning," I interrupt before he can say something stupid. "Light footwork drills."

Natsuki gives me her I-know-you're-bullshitting look. Smart kid.

Tanaka nearly drops the fruit basket. "Wait, does this mean—"

Aoi turns back toward the house, but not before I catch it—the way her fingers trail across the notebook's cover. The exact spot where Saito used to draw those stupid smiley faces.

"Give me fifteen minutes," she says.

The door closes.

Haru turns to us, eyes suspiciously bright. "She's coming back."

Yeah.

Yeah, she is.