They began with simple serves. Diana gripped the racket, feeling its familiar weight in her hand, but something felt off. Her first few serves hit just below the net, falling flat. She frowned, frustration simmering quietly beneath the surface. Each failed attempt made her grip tighten around the racket.
Daniel stood on the other side, his gaze steady. He didn't say anything at first, just watched. When she missed the third serve, his eyes narrowed slightly, studying her stance. After a pause, he spoke up, his tone calm. "You're relying too much on muscle memory."
Diana stopped, turning to stare at him. Her eyes held his for a long moment, questioning, but she didn't speak. The weight of her gaze made him glance away briefly, as if caught off guard. Then, looking back, he clarified.
"You're playing like you're still... taller. Try adjusting. Focus on form, not what you used to know."
She let his words sink in, still not saying anything. Instead, she adjusted her stance and grip, pushing aside the muscle memory she'd been instinctively relying on. She lined up the next serve, concentrated on the new movements that fit this body instead of forcing old ones. The next swing felt smoother. The shuttlecock skimmed just over the net this time, landing deeper in Daniel's court.
Diana smirked faintly. "Better."
They continued rallying, their rackets cracking against the shuttlecock with rhythmic precision, each strike growing sharper. Diana found herself falling into a new rhythm, her movements flowing as her body adjusted to its limitations—and advantages. Sure, she was shorter now, and her reach wasn't what it used to be, but there was an unexpected nimbleness in her steps. She felt lighter, quicker. With each serve, each back-and-forth exchange, her confidence grew.
The teacher strolled by, pausing here and there to assist students who were struggling. His presence hovered in the background, offering advice to one pair, correcting form in another. As he approached Diana and Daniel's court, Diana sensed his gaze lingering on them. For a moment, his presence made her self-conscious—nervous, even—but she focused on the game. There was no room for distraction.
"Alright, everyone," the teacher called out, clapping his hands to get the students' attention. "Now that you've had some time to warm up, we're going to move on to matches. Pair up with your partner and we'll get started."
Diana felt a surge of excitement flash through her. A match. Her muscles tensed with anticipation, but she kept her face neutral, masking any outward sign of emotion. Daniel did the same, his expression unreadable. They simply nodded at each other and moved into position, both of them knowing this was the moment where things would get serious.
The gym was filled with the sounds of other students—the echo of rackets hitting shuttlecocks, the squeak of sneakers on the wooden floor—but in Diana's mind, all of it faded into the background. The world narrowed to the court in front of her, the shuttlecock resting in her hand. It was her serve.
The sound of her shoes sliding into place on the polished wood reverberated softly as she lined up her shot. She could feel the slight slickness of sweat forming along her palms, rolling down her back in thin trails, but it didn't distract her. If anything, it heightened her awareness of her new body. She bounced lightly on her toes, feeling the flexibility in her legs. Being shorter had its drawbacks—less reach, less range—but there was an agility here, a speed she hadn't noticed before. She could move quicker, change direction faster. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. Maybe this wasn't such a disadvantage after all.
She served.
The shuttlecock flew through the air, spinning, and Daniel returned it effortlessly. The rally began. The smack of rackets hitting the shuttlecock echoed between them, each strike punctuated by the squeak of their shoes as they darted across the court. The movements were swift, deliberate, but there was also a raw energy in each hit—a sense of power and focus that filled the gym with a silent intensity.
Diana was already sweating, the moisture beading at her forehead, but it only fueled her more. She felt her legs working harder than before, needing to push twice as fast to cover the ground she once could with ease. When Daniel sent a delicate drop shot toward the net, she bolted forward. Before, it would've only taken one long step to reach the shuttlecock, but now she needed two, her feet pounding rapidly against the floor.
Just as she moved to cover Daniel's shot, her hair fell in front of her eyes, blocking her view for a moment. She cursed under her breath, hastily brushing it aside, but it was too late. Her heart skipped as she saw the shuttlecock already passing the net. She lunged, her breath catching in her throat as her racket connected just in time to send it weakly back over. There was no power behind the shot, no control—and she knew what would come next.
There was no time to reset. Daniel sent the shuttlecock back with pinpoint accuracy, forcing her to shift direction again. Her legs burned, muscles straining as she kept up with the pace. She managed to stay in the rally, barely. Then came the moment she dreaded—a weak return. She had been forced to rush, and the shuttlecock floated too high, landing softly in the center of the court.
Her heart sank as she saw Daniel set up for the kill.
She watched, almost in slow motion, as Daniel's body moved with an electric grace. His arms lifted, his knees bent in perfect sync, and then he launched himself into the air. The gym seemed to pause for a split second, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioner, as he twisted midair, his body coiled with energy. Diana could see the raw power building in him—there was no escaping it.
The racket connected with the shuttlecock with a resounding crack. The force behind the smash was palpable, a blur of speed and precision. The shuttlecock seemed to vanish for a heartbeat, and then it slammed into the court with a thud that echoed off the walls, landing just inside the boundary.
It was over before she could even think of moving.
The power of the shot rippled through the court, the shuttlecock lying still on the wooden floor as Diana stood, breathing hard, sweat rolling down her forehead, her legs trembling from the exertion.
Daniel landed gracefully, his face as composed as ever, but his eyes gave him away. There was a playful glint, as if saying, That was cool, right?—but beneath the goofiness, there was also respect. Diana had kept up, despite everything. Even if she hadn't won that point, she had made him work for it.
She inhaled deeply, her pulse still racing, but she smiled, wiping the sweat from her brow. This match wasn't over yet.