Natsuki's POV
The afternoon sun slants through the clubroom windows as I reorganize the equipment logs. Haru's bag lies open by the bench, spilling loose tennis balls and protein bar wrappers. Aoi kneels across from me, methodically restringing a racket—her third this week. The rhythmic twang of polyester fibers stretches between us like a heartbeat.
Then the photo falls.
It flutters to the floor face-up: a younger Haru, sunburnt and grinning, barely reaching Mirai's shoulder as they clutch a doubles trophy together. His smile is different here—uncomplicated, bright with the kind of joy I've never seen from him at Kaimei. Mirai's arm is slung around his neck, her other hand holding up two fingers behind his head in their signature "bunny ears" pose. The date stamp reads August 13—three weeks before the accident.
Aoi's hands freeze mid-knot.
I watch her pupils dilate as she takes in the details:
The Osaka Summer Junior Tournament logo on their matching jerseysMirai's signature yellow scrunchie (now tucked in Aoi's pencil case)Haru's left hand positioned exactly where Aoi's would be in their old team photos
"You knew," she whispers. The words crack like overstretched strings.
Haru stops wiping down the ball machine. When he sees the photo, his shoulders tense—not with surprise, but resignation.
"She talked about you all the time." His voice is softer than I've ever heard it. "That backhand of yours. How you'd fix her braids between sets." A pause. "How you remembered everyone's birthdays."
Aoi's breathing shallows. I note the physiological reactions with clinical detachment:
Flared nostrilsTremor in her right thumbTwo rapid blinks—her tell when overwhelmed
The clubroom clock ticks three deafening seconds before Aoi bolts.
Her abandoned racket clatters to the floor, the half-tied strings unraveling like a lifeline cut loose.
Flashback - Three Weeks Before the Accident
The photo was taken at 4:37 PM.
I know this because I was there—not in Osaka, but at the regional qualifiers where Aoi waited by her phone all afternoon. Mirai had promised to text updates from her exhibition match with "some Osaka kid who actually challenges me."
When the photo finally came through, Aoi zoomed in on three details:
The unfamiliar boy's arm around Mirai's waistThe trophy's engraving: Mixed Doubles ChampionsThe timestamp—proving Mirai had played after telling Aoi she was too tired for their scheduled practice
She never mentioned Haru to Aoi.
Present Day - Courtyard Chase
I follow at a discreet distance as Aoi crashes through the school gardens. She heads instinctively for Court #3—their court—before skidding to a stop at the chain-link fence.
Haru catches up, chest heaving. "Aoi, let me expl—"
"You trained with her." Aoi's voice is raw. "That whole summer. While I was—" Her hands fist in her hair. "She lied to me."
The truth hangs between them:
Haru knew Mirai for six weeksAoi knew her for ten yearsNeither got to say goodbye
A stray ball rolls toward them—Tanaka's errant serve from the adjacent court. Haru picks it up, rotating it until the manufacturer's logo aligns with his palm. "She was going to tell you after regionals. Wanted to surprise you with—"
"Stop." Aoi's knees buckle. She catches herself on the fence, fingers curling through the links like she's grasping for something beyond reach. "Just... stop."
I step forward, holding out the photo. "She marked the calendar."
Both turn.
I flip the picture over. On the back, in Mirai's loopy handwriting:
"Haru finally gets it! Now he just needs to meet Aoi and we'll have the ultimate trio! P.S. - Don't be mad I rescheduled our practice, partner. Love you more than strawberry melon bread!"
The date beneath it: August 14.
One day before the accident.