The University Tennis Complex was a cathedral of glass and high-tension nylon. News of the "Maid vs. Captain" match had spread through the Arts Center like a wildfire. By the time Mikoto stepped onto Court 1, the observation deck was packed with students, their phones out, recording what they expected to be a slaughter.
Mikoto stood on the baseline, wearing a borrowed pair of Karen’s oversized sneakers and a plain white t-shirt. In his hand was the Yone-X racket Karen had forced him to take.
"Don't die out there," Karen whispered, her hand lingering on his shoulder as she walked off the court. "If you start to feel... it... just walk away. I don't care about the bet."
"I'm fine," Mikoto said, but his vision was already narrowing.
Across the net, Ryuji was grinning. He spun his racket with professional ease. "Ready to be humbled, Asada? Service is mine."
The first serve was a blur—120 miles per hour, aimed straight at Mikoto’s body.
Mikoto didn't think. His feet moved before his brain could protest. A sharp, effortless flick of the wrist sent the ball screaming back, painting the baseline.
Ryuji didn't even move.
The crowd went silent. The "Maid" hadn't just returned the serve; he had neutralized it.
For the next four games, it wasn't a match—it was an exorcism. Mikoto moved like a ghost, his movements so efficient they looked lazy. He anticipated every shot, every spin, every desperate lob Ryuji threw at him. He was up 4-0, and the University Captain was sweating, his face contorted in a mask of pure rage.
But then, the sound changed.
During the fifth game, a ball hit the top of the net and dropped over. The rhythmic thwack-thwack of the volley stuttered.
To anyone else, it was just a point. To Mikoto, it was a trigger.
The sound of the ball hitting the net echoed in his ears, amplifying until it sounded like a gunshot. The glass walls of the complex seemed to press inward. The faces in the crowd blurred into a white noise of judgment.
“You’re a failure, Asada.” His father’s voice.
“Why did you choke?” The tabloids.
“He’s breaking!” Ryuji’s laugh.
Mikoto’s hand began to shake. He dropped the racket. He tried to breathe, but his lungs felt like they were filled with concrete. He collapsed to his knees in the middle of the court, his head between his hands, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
Ryuji walked up to the net, a cruel smile returning. "There he is! There’s the Ghost! What’s the matter, Asada? Did the 'Maid' forget how to play? Get up and lose like a man!"
The crowd began to murmur. Some were laughing; others looked uncomfortable. The "Perfect Proteges" were supposed to be watching from the sidelines.
Instead, the gate to the court slammed open.
Karen was the first one through. She didn't go to the net to argue with Ryuji. She ran straight to Mikoto, dropping to the blue hardcourt beside him. She wrapped a strong arm around his shoulders, shielding him from the cameras.
"Look at me, Mikoto! Just me!" she commanded, her voice a grounded anchor in his storm.
Shino followed, her face a mask of clinical fury. She stepped between the cameras and Mikoto, opening her blazer to create a barrier. "This match is over. This is a medical emergency. If I see a single phone recording this, I will file a privacy violation with the University Board that will have you expelled before the sun sets!"
Marin didn't say a word. She simply walked up to Ryuji. The "Sweet Starlet" was gone. She looked at him with a cold, predatory disdain that made the Captain flinch. She leaned in close to his ear.
"If you ever speak his name again," Marin whispered, "I will make sure every casting director and sponsor in this city knows exactly what kind of coward hides behind a racket to bully a better man. Do you understand?"
Ryuji paled and backed away, his bravado vanishing instantly.
The Triplets formed a tight circle around Mikoto. They didn't care about the "Perfect Mask" anymore. They didn't care that the whole school was watching their "Vulnerability."
"Let's go home, Mikoto," Karen said softly, helping him to his feet.
As they walked off the court, Mikoto leaned on them—the athlete, the doctor, and the actress. He was still shaking, and his heart was still racing, but for the first time in two years, the "Ghost" wasn't alone.
The "Nightmare Roommates" had finally become his shield.18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFaraQiIYH6
and then Add to home screen.