Jin stared at the glowing quest box a moment longer, letting the weight of it settle. Then, he exhaled sharply and closed the system.
Doesn't matter. My goal stays the same, he reminded himself, locking his nerves down.
He turned to Ren. "C'mon, let's warm up."
Grabbing a few loose tennis balls from the basket, the two made their way onto one of the courts. Without needing to say a word, they both stepped up to the service line—muscle memory kicking in.
They began a short court rally, trading balls back and forth within the service boxes. The confined space forced control and focus, the perfect way to loosen up before ramping into full strokes.
(A/N: If you're not familiar with the service box, it's the rectangular area just over the net—cut in half vertically by a white line. A quick image search can help if you need a visual.)
The rhythmic sound of the ball bouncing, the slight squeak of their shoes. Jin was finally home.
The familiar hardness of the court beneath his shoes, the subtle cracks and dead spots he half-remembered, the worn grip of his racquet molded to his palm, and the soft breeze tousling his hair. Each detail sent a quiet inexplicable thrill through Jin's chest.
He kept his eyes locked on the ball, focused on positioning, timing, and clean contact as he sent it back to Ren with as much accuracy as he could muster.
But the truth was it was hard.
Moving in this younger, awkward body was like driving with a delay. His balance was off, footwork sluggish, and his strokes lacked the bite and polish he remembered having. It was frustrating, like trying to speak Japanese after watching a season of some random anime.
Still, he forced himself to adjust. Even if every shot lacked finesse, he made up for it with sheer will, getting behind the ball and keeping the rally alive.
After five minutes or so, they nodded to each other and stepped back to the baseline, the far edge of the court, to start working on their full groundstrokes.
Ren started things off with a standard drop feed, gently tossing the ball and sending it over the net to my side of the court. It landed just beyond the service line, bouncing lazily toward me.
I tracked it carefully, adjusting my feet as I tried to steady my still-awkward balance. Once it reached striking distance, I opened my stance, rotated my body, and swung with the racquet face ready—
Thunk.
"Ah—sorry!" I blurted.
The timing was off. The ball crept a little too close, and instead of clean contact with the strings, it clanked off the frame, veering wildly into the doubles alley (a narrow strip on the outside edge of the court that only counts in doubles matches).
"No problem!" Ren called out cheerfully as he jogged over, scooping it back up and lobbing it high to reset the rally.
Ahh man, this is gonna take a while to get used to, Jin thought, gritting his teeth.
Thankfully, after about 15 minutes, his body slowly started to fall back into rhythm. The shots were still flat, lacking spin or power, but even if they looked ugly, Jin managed to keep the rally going.
Just as a flicker of confidence returned, a voice boomed across the courts, shattering his focus.
"Alright guys, it's time to begin!" barked Coach Ruplinger.
"We're playing Up and Down the River. I'll pair you up and you'll play short games to 7 points. Win, and you move up a court. Lose, and you slide down."
Almost instantly, the air turned heavy. It wasn't an official match, but everyone knew this was their shot. Coach Ruplinger paid close attention during these games, and strong showings often led to more time in official matches.
The coach started pairing players off quickly. Near the end, he finally pointed to Jin and paired him with a quiet kid he barely remembered from last time around.
They were sent to one of the lower courts not that Jin minded. The stronger players would rise to the top naturally. He just needed to focus on climbing his way up.
"Alright everyone you can now begin, remember to drop feed for the serve and alternate who feeds every point! said Coach
Jin stepped into position and glanced over at his opponent. The kid was about average height but noticeably stocky, with thick arms and legs that looked like they were used to lifting weights more than chasing down balls. Jin hadn't seen him play before, so he had no real gauge of his skill level but physical strength didn't always translate to tennis ability.
He bounced the ball a couple of times, took a deep breath, and sent a drop feed over the net to start the match.
The stocky kid charged forward, but his steps were rushed and heavy. He reached the ball too early and awkwardly slapped it high and short near the net. Jin calmly jogged up, let the ball bounce once, and guided it to the opposite side with a simple forehand. 1–0.
Jin stepped back, keeping his breathing steady. His legs still felt strange—looser than he remembered, like his center of gravity wasn't where it used to be—but his mind was sharp, and that was more than enough right now.
They rotated servers and continued. The second point played out much like the first: the stocky kid tried to go big, swinging wildly at a routine ball, only to shank it wide. 2–0.
By the third point, Jin was starting to see the pattern. His opponent had raw strength, but no control. He'd overrun balls, swing too early, and frequently hit off the frame. His footwork was sloppy, and he lacked the court awareness to recover after each shot. It felt like he was trying to win every point in one stroke.
Jin didn't even have to play aggressively. He just kept the ball in, used angles when he had the chance, and let the kid beat himself. Even when Jin missed a few shots due to his awkward coordination in his younger body, it didn't matter, the other side of the court was in worse shape.
A few rallies went longer than expected, but Jin could tell the kid grew more frustrated each time. His movements got choppier, his breathing heavier, and his swings more desperate. Jin, meanwhile, settled into a quiet rhythm. He didn't feel good, exactly, his body still felt off, but he was winning. And that was enough.
Before long, the score reached 7–1. Jin jogged to the net, offered a quick nod, and gathered the balls.
The match wasn't much of a test. But that was fine. It gave him a round to work out the rust, to get used to how this new-old body moved on the court.
An easy start.
But Jin knew better than to get comfortable. The river always flowed faster the higher you climbed.