Kenzo drew in a long breath, trying to anchor himself. "Just twenty-five more minutes, Kenzo…" he whispered to himself, as if willing time itself to offer him grace.
He leaned down to retrieve his bat, and paused. A strange silence blanketed the air. Not the absence of noise, but something else.
A void.
As if time itself had stilled. Then, a voice, quiet but clear, whispered from nowhere, like breath down his neck: "The other one, little king…"
Kenzo stiffened. His eyes snapped open. Nothing. No one. His gaze swept the shadows, searching for movement, logic, an answer. But all he found was the empty expanse of the night and the quiet hum of machines.
Another whisper followed, this time sharper, amused, "Use the other hand… before you destroy the only dominant one you've got."
Kenzo's lips parted slightly in disbelief. Then he groaned, rubbing his face with the uninjured hand, "Great. Fantastic. Now I'm hallucinating."
Exhausted and irritated, he muttered, "Wonderful. A ghost is the only absurdity I hadn't ticked off my list yet." He laughed hollowly.
"Fine. You want to test me too? Go on, get in line." Grumbling under his breath, he grabbed the bat with his left hand, a blessing for the ambidextrous.
The voice chuckled again, grating, amused, irritating.
"Get out of my head," Kenzo snapped, taking position in front of the wicket again, "Or stand in front of me if you're so desperate. Just don't whisper like some second-rate horror flick."
A pause. "Now, close your eyes," the voice instructed again.
Kenzo rolled his eyes, smirking, "Oh, sure. So I can take a ball to the face and ruin my looks too? Not happening."
Another round of laughter. The voice laughed harder.
Kenzo stood, dumbfounded, breathless, completely spent, "Seriously… what kind of divine punishment is this?"
The voice interrupted again, louder this time, more urgent, "Just shut up and listen, brat. Close your eyes, before I forget why I even came here."
Kenzo stood in silence, the bat in his left hand. He still wasn't sure what this was: madness, possession, or something else entirely. But whatever it was… It had his attention.
Kenzo narrowed his eyes, torn between frustration and caution. The voice still echoed in his head: arrogant, elusive, uninvited. "What the hell are you?" he muttered at last, voice low, tight with confusion.
The voice replied smoothly, sardonic and layered with mocking pride, "Someone far beyond your reach, little king. Someone you couldn't hope to surpass. Not like this."
Kenzo's brow twitched.
"You couldn't even break the seal on your abilities," it continued, tone like a knife slipping under skin, "You've got a long, long way to go."
Kenzo scoffed, "Yeah? Then come say that to my face so I can break yours." He smacked the side of his own head in exasperation, drawing another infuriating giggle from the voice, "Quit hitting yourself, idiot. Hit the ball. Or they'll do it for you."
That snapped Kenzo's attention back to the field just in time. Three balls shot toward him at once, sharper, faster, merciless. He barely raised the bat. One hit its edge. Another struck his bruised hand. The third soared past his head.
Kenzo stumbled, losing grip of the bat and dropping to one knee. A hiss of pain escaped his teeth as he clutched his wrist. "What the hell…" he growled, shaking the sting from his arm. He dropped his gaze, breath uneven, "Just… get out of my head already."
This time, the voice came softer. Not mocking, but... curious, "So… are you giving up?"
Kenzo didn't answer. He sat quietly, the thud of practice balls continuing behind him, like a heartbeat refusing to stop.
Then — slowly — he stood. No flourish. No drama. Just the quiet resolve of someone who refused to kneel twice. He picked up the bat, once again in his left hand. His hair fell over his face, hiding his eyes.
The voice watched from the void. It spoke again, barely above a whisper, "That's it… That's who you are."
Kenzo stepped back onto the crease. Tap. Tap. The bat struck the pitch. Three more balls came: two slow, one an off-cutter. Kenzo's stance steadied. Then, the world blurred. The ground darkened. Time stretched. Reality fractured.
Kenzo blinked, swaying slightly. A hand reached to his head. Everything was... quiet.
Except for the voice. "Tired?" it asked.
Kenzo smirked through the blur, "Like hell."
"Is this hard?" it asked again, now watching him closer.
Kenzo's grin remained, "If this is hard, I'd better give up on facing real players out there." His voice filled with not recklessness, not anger but raw, iron determination.
"Do you want to surpass this pain?" the voice asked finally, as if testing him one last time.
Kenzo's grin sharpened, "Surpass it…? Haven't I already done that?"
And then, silence. The voice stilled, stunned… then vanished. Just like that.
As it disappeared, something inside Kenzo snapped. Not in pain, but release. A rupture. A fault line deep within rebuilt itself in a single, electric jolt. He swung his Queen as three balls came. A
ll were struck. One after another. Crisp. Clean. Unrelenting. His chest heaved, eyes wide in triumph and wonder. The bat still trembled in his grasp, but his soul did not. His azure eyes glistened beneath the lights, like a storm finally passing through.
---
By the time Feng returned to the dorms, a small crowd had already gathered. First-years and second-years clustered around him with expectant eyes.
"Where is he?" Adam asked, practically bouncing on his feet.
"Still at the nets?" Ezekiel pressed.
"Is he coming behind you?" Heber added, glancing over Feng's shoulder.
But Feng didn't answer immediately. He stood still, taking a breath. Then, quietly, he replied, "Just half an hour."
"Half an hour?" Xavier echoed, stepping forward.
Feng nodded silently. Helios and Seraph exchanged looks, worry flickering beneath their usually composed expressions.
"He knows there's a match tomorrow, right?" Ren muttered from the couch, arms crossed, "In case he forgot."
Ryan rolled his eyes, "He's not you."
Noah and Aaron snorted, only to get a sharp swat from Ren, muttering, "Tch, idiots."
But Feng didn't respond to the banter. Instead, his gaze slowly lifted, scanning past Rauf, Haruf, and Evan seated at the table flipping through files until it landed on Zachariah, sitting alone in a corner, eyes fixed on his phone.
Feng's fists clenched at his sides. "Senior Zachariah," he called evenly.
Alan's gaze narrowed. He could tell where this was headed.
Zachariah hummed without lifting his eyes from the screen, acknowledging the call but not inviting it.
Feng took a single step forward, "Once Kenzo returns... if he hasn't recovered his abilities. Will you lift the seal?" T
he room fell into a stunned silence.
"What...?" Cassiel said under his breath.
"Wait, what are you saying?" Azazel blinked.
"Y-you're saying his abilities were sealed? Since when?" Heber asked, incredulous.
Poseidon turned to Xavier, who remained quiet, gaze darkened with something unreadable.
The high schoolers had all gone still. Even Zachariah, after a long pause, finally lowered his phone and set it on the table with deliberate care. His eye, a cool, piercing azure, lifted to meet Feng's. "Why…" he asked coldly, "should I?"
The words dropped like a blade through the air. The middle schoolers visibly tensed. "He bragged about being the best, didn't he?" Zachariah continued, his tone sharp and indifferent, "Is that what the best looks like?"
"You—!" Azazel growled, stepping forward before Ezekiel held him back.
Gabriel snorted, "Typical. That's your righteous seniors for you."
"We have a match tomorrow," Helios said calmly, but his jaw was tight. The quiet fury simmered beneath his composed tone.
For a moment, it seemed like things were finally going smoothly between the high schoolers and the middle schoolers. But somehow, sooner or later, their connection would derail. It didn't make sense yet, in a strange way, it did.
The high schoolers were strong, hardened by the setbacks they'd already faced. And the younger ones? They were still inexperienced driven by energy, but lacking refinement. That difference, subtle yet sharp, marked the limit of how much they could truly endure each other.
"I don't care," Zachariah replied coldly, his eyes already back on his phone.
Orion let out a low snicker from where he lounged on the mat. Nagi simply exhaled, impassive. Isa, Kazuna, Elias, Aaron and Aigou all stood silent, their expressions unreadable, not shaken, not moved, just quietly watching.
Alan, sat on the edge of the couch, tensed. He rested his knuckles under his chin, gaze shifting between the middle schoolers. Some wore frustration. Others confusion. A few looked away, expressionless, hiding concern, maybe, or masking it with feigned indifference.
But Alan could see it; they all cared for Kenzo in their own way. Maybe now more than ever.