Jiyu's Seat
Jiyu settled into the seat right in front of the bleachers beside Court 1, as Hunter had instructed. For a junior tournament, the final drew a surprisingly large crowd of players, their families, and staff alike.
While she waited, absorbed in a book, thirty minutes passed in the blink of an eye. When she looked up at the murmur of voices, both players were entering the court side by side.
Hunter set his bag down on the bench and picked up his racket. He glanced sideways at the bleachers. Their eyes met, and he gave her a tiny nod that said he had noticed. Then he spotted the book spread open on her knees and furrowed his brow.
He lifted his index and middle fingers, pointing first at her, then at himself. No distractions during the match. Just look at me.
‘Not even started and he’s already telling me to stare?’
But a promise was a promise. Jiyu nodded obediently, closed the book, and tucked it into her bag. Only then did Hunter step onto the court.
During the brief pre-match warm-up, Jake approached and took the seat she had saved for him.
Jiyu watched the opponent warming up. He looked at least six-two, and his face suggested a man twice his age. Deep-set eyes, compact build, and a stern expression.
In under-16 tournaments, Hunter had always been among the tallest, and his opponents were still growing boys. But in under-18 events, the players carried the same physical maturity and presence as adults.
Jake caught Jiyu’s sharp gaze and offered a quick rundown.
“Dmitry Petrov. Russian tennis prodigy. At eleven he won a scholarship to a famous academy in Tampa, Florida, and his whole family moved to America. He competes mainly in under-18 L1 and the ITF Junior Circuit. He’s been missing tournaments for the past four months because of an injury, so he entered L2 to claw his way back up in ranking.”
“So he’s a lot stronger than Hunter?”
Jake shrugged.
“He never went to a regular school. He boards at the academy. His body is almost fully developed, basically an adult. Experience, ranking, and skill—he’s definitely a step above Hunter.”
“Then… winning will be tough?”
Jiyu asked carefully. Jake smiled faintly and reassured her.
“Not necessarily. Hunter’s also one of the top three in the national junior rankings at this age. The guy’s weak on backhand and reads the game poorly, so there’s room to exploit that. But he’s infamous for dirty tactics. If his fiery temper gets the better of him…”
Just then the referee announced the end of the five-minute warm-up and walked to the center of the court. Hunter and Dmitry followed, rackets in hand, heading toward the official.
Deciding the order of service with a coin toss or racket spin had been tradition for decades. Professionals usually tossed a coin; juniors almost always spun the racket.
The referee gave the young Hamilton the chance to spin first, then offered Dmitry the choice of “up” or “down.” Most players chose up.
“Down!”
Dmitry smirked, flashing a vicious grin and twisting his thumb downward. In a sport called gentlemanly tennis, this was an unusual, low blow and a blatant power grab.
Jiyu caught her breath. She pressed a hand to her racing heart and turned to Hunter. She had no idea how the boy who had never once been ignored would react.
‘He can’t let himself be provoked before the match even starts.’
To her surprise, his deep blue eyes flashed like lightning striking a midnight sky. His jaw tightened, the tendons standing out as he clenched his teeth.
‘Please hold back, Hunter…’
Jiyu whispered to herself. The moment she turned her head, their eyes met. She gave a tiny shake.
Hunter turned forward again, puffed out his cheeks, and exhaled deeply through his mouth. He loosened his neck muscles in a light stretch.
“Hamilton, up. Petrov, down. Spin the rackets.”
He shrugged off the tension and placed the rounded head of his racket on the court floor. Jiyu let out a sigh of relief, palm pressed to her chest. She had seen this exact scene countless times as a child.
Once Hunter learned that a racket spin decided service order, he had practiced until the strings wore down, forcing the head to land on the exact face he wanted. Ninety-nine percent of the time the spin went his way. He had no reason to let a cheap provocation rattle him.
Hunter rotated the handle lightly. The racket spun like a top, then dropped flat. He bent forward to check the logo on the handle, straightened up, and gave a smug half-smile, thumb flicking upward.
“Up. First service.”
Dmitry’s face twisted. Jake beside her shook his head and chuckled.
“Hunter Hamilton. You really can’t be stopped.”
Hunter took his position at the deuce baseline on the left side of the court.
Jiyu held her breath and waited for the first serve. The match hadn’t even started, yet her palms were already sweating. Under the eyes of so many spectators, she had to prove her worth, watch the outcome swing one way or the other, and let her mental strength be judged on the spot.
Just imagining Hunter standing in his own spot made her chest tighten. He looked perfectly at ease, but she knew how he felt.
He bounced the neon yellow ball three times with the same force, then tossed it straight up.
Thwack! The strings vibrated against the ball and echoed through the white air dome overhead. Hunter leaped, landed lightly, and the heavy ball slammed into the exact spot just inside the diagonal baseline.
“Whew.”
Jake let out a soft whistle.
The flat serve, almost no spin, was powerful and fast but not terribly accurate. Choosing it as the opening serve was bold.
Hunter attacked with raw power and speed, refusing to shrink before a stronger, bigger, older opponent.
Dmitry, caught off guard by the speed, used his experience to return quickly, but he couldn’t put enough force behind it.
The ball became a moonball and landed outside the sideline. Cheers erupted from the stands.
A clean service ace.
“Fifteen—love.”
Jiyu whispered the score under her breath. She preferred calling zero “love” on the scoreboard. It looked like a poor point, but “love” made her feel that the return had been only half as bad as it really was.
Hunter rotated the racket handle once inside his palm and moved toward the left side of the court. For a lefty like him, the ad side was pure flight.
His mouth curved into a graceful smile, revealing straight white teeth. When he had first crossed the monkey bars at the end as a boy, he had smiled exactly like that. She had been terrified of him, more frightening than a midnight ghost, yet she had always thought his smile looked angelic.
After years of watching, she knew the truth.
Hunter was truly enjoying this match.
He swung the racket in a diagonal arc, adding spin, and sent the ball flying to the opponent’s left court. The ball bounced once off the ground and rose at a wide angle. Dmitry managed a desperate backhand return.
The rally began, and the yellow ball flew back and forth across the net. With every impact of Hunter’s racket, Jiyu’s heart thudded.
All the times the Astor School girls had analyzed him like a Bio Band member, down to the nanometer, and she had felt nothing—she suddenly understood.
The boy standing on the court glowed.
That was why she couldn’t look away.
“He’s crazy…”
Jiyu whispered, voice thick with despair.