The first time Mirai Saito tasted a strawberry, she decided the world was made of magic.
It was June, and her mother's garden in the sleepy town of Kaimei was a riot of red. At six years old, Mirai crouched between the rows, dirt smudging her knees, her tiny hands parting leaves to pluck a sun-warmed berry. Juice burst on her tongue—sweet, bright, alive. She grinned up at the sky, sticky fingers clutching her prize. "This is the best thing ever," she declared to no one, as if the strawberries themselves might agree.
But the second love of her life arrived less gracefully.
Three weeks later, while chasing a stray cat through the back alleys behind the town's rundown community center, Mirai tripped over a splintered wooden tennis racket half-buried in a trash pile. The grip was frayed, the strings sagging like a tired hammock, but the faded sticker on the throat still read CHAMPION in peeling gold letters. She dragged it home, leaving a trail of dirt and determination across the kitchen floor.
"Mama, look! It's a sword for fighting dragons!" she announced, swinging it wildly and knocking over a vase of peonies.
Her mother sighed, rescuing the flowers. "That's a tennis racket, Mirai-chan. For hitting balls."
"Even better!"
By eight, Mirai had memorized every crack in the community center's asphalt courts. She'd arrive at dawn, her neon pink backpack clattering with stolen kitchen utensils (a spatula for a racket, colanders as targets), and practice until the streetlights flickered on. Old Man Yamada, the cranky groundskeeper, would shout at her to leave—until the day she returned his lost wallet, stuffed with a month's rent, and he grumbled, "Fine! But stop using my broom as a net post!"
Her big break came one sweltering afternoon when Coach Ishida, a retired pro with a limp and a perpetual cigarette, wandered past. He paused, watching the tiny girl in mismatched socks slam a ball against the wall with alarming ferocity.
"Your grip's wrong," he barked.
Mirai spun, sweat dripping off her chin. "Teach me!"
"I don't coach brats."
"Then watch this!" She hurled the ball—a moldy lime she'd found in the gutter—and swung. It smacked the wall so hard the lime exploded in a sour spray.
Coach Ishida stared at the green splatter on his shoes. Then he laughed, a rusty sound that startled them both. "Be here tomorrow. Six AM. And bring a real ball."
At ten, Mirai met the other half of her soul.
It happened during the Kaimei Junior Tournament, where she'd bulldozed her way to the semifinals. Her opponent was a girl with ash-brown hair and storm-gray eyes, her movements precise as a metronome. Aoi Minami didn't cheer her own points or scowl at mistakes. She just played, her backhand slicing through the air like a blade.
Mirai lost. Badly.
After the match, she cornered Aoi by the vending machines. "Partner with me!"
Aoi blinked, clutching her strawberry milk. "What?"
"Doubles! You're all…" Mirai waved her hands, searching for words. "Straight lines. I'm squiggles! Together, we'll be…" She grabbed Aoi's arm, drawing an imaginary trophy in the air. "Unbeatable."
Aoi flushed, staring at the floor. "I… don't do doubles."
"Why not?"
"People are… loud."
Mirai grinned. "I'll be loud enough for both of us!"
Their first practice was a disaster. Aoi froze whenever Mirai shouted encouragement. Mirai lunged for balls that weren't hers. During a break, Aoi unwrapped a rice ball, only to find Mirai had swapped it with a melon bread.
"Try it!" Mirai urged, her own mouth full. "Strawberry filling!"
Aoi nibbled a corner. "It's… sweet."
"Just like us!"
By sunset, they'd forged a rhythm—Aoi's calculated angles balancing Mirai's chaotic sprints. When Coach Ishida blew his whistle to end practice, Mirai grabbed Aoi's wrist.
"One more point! Please?"
Aoi hesitated, then nodded.
The ball arced high. Mirai leapt, laughing, her racket flashing gold in the dying light. The shot ricocheted off the fence, but Aoi chased it down, her backhand painting the baseline.
They collapsed on the asphalt, breathless and grinning.
"Partners?" Mirai whispered.
Aoi touched their pinkies together. "One more point… partner."
That night, Mirai pressed a dried strawberry into her journal beside a scribbled vow:
Today, I found the other half of my heartbeat.
We're going to conquer the world.