If You Can, You Can; If You Can't, You Can't—What Does "Take a Break" Mean?

For a moment, everyone showed considerable disappointment. It seemed they would not get to witness an exhilarating underdog victory after all, and the crowd gathered to watch the excitement gradually began to disperse.

"No, perhaps there's still a sliver of hope..."

Hirata Yosuke watched the situation on the court with a composed expression and calmly analyzed it aloud.

"Don't be fooled by Horikita having reached match point first. As long as she holds the opponent's service game, she can win the match. But when the two players are evenly matched, the winning rate for a tennis player's own service game is often over seventy percent. And Bai Yu's earlier obsession with acting chuuni might have merely been a cover—he may have been conserving his stamina to catch up during his service game..."

Ayanokoji Kiyotaka said nothing after hearing this. His expression turned solemn, his face taking on the dark look of a strategist.

It was as though he had seen through everything...

Those had been days of testing the waters, boiling years beneath a scorching sun that seemed to sear the heart.

Having just arrived in a foreign land, the boy walked alone through unfamiliar streets. The blazing sun hung overhead, while his plain blue-and-white tracksuit, wholly unsuited to the local style, repeatedly drew the attention of passersby.

His gaze was dazed, his expression numb and bewildered. His nerves were delicate and fragile, while his body was hunched and exhausted.

His wavering figure beneath the blazing sun resembled a stranded traveler who had lost his way.

He trudged onward for a long time before finally reaching a place where he could show his skills: a public tennis court.

Many office workers came here on weekends to rest and relax. Student clubs occasionally came to train extra, while housewives and bored students came to watch. The stands and the court were often packed to capacity.

This was exactly what the boy had hoped for.

Ever since coming here for the first time, he had fallen in love with this feeling. He felt that he could no longer live without this stage.

At the very least... this atmosphere made him feel that he was truly alive.

His blood was flowing!

His spirit was stirred!

Every brilliant point made his nerves tighten!

The energetic young men trying to show off before girls fell quiet.

The mischievous brats weaving through the stands finally behaved themselves.

The office workers, worn down by life, recalled here the fervor and dreams that had once made their youth so magnificent—

"Great shot!"

"Woohoo!"

"Nice one, kid!"

"This is fucking tennis! This is the youth I remember!"

They shouted with excitement, straining voices they rarely had cause to use, waving whatever they held in their hands. It was as though they wanted to place every bit of passion left behind in their past upon the players on the court—take us charging forward one more time, stranger! Right now, you are me—no, I have entered you. I have become your cybernetic spiritual pilot!

Let's go, stranger! The opponent is this goddamn real life! The boss who nitpicks everything; the client who loves finding faults; the husband who says he needs a break before he has even started; the homeroom teacher who makes you write a reflection essay after a rare spring outing despite your heavy workload!

Japanese people were simply too polite.

They did not air these unpleasant matters to others directly, so they often suppressed their emotions. Only when they were deeply moved and had a proper outlet for release did they carefully let them erupt.

Life was far too hard for them.

"Defeat him! Boy, your opponent is those vile capitalists—those heartless bosses who care nothing about their employees' physical and mental health, only exploiting them without restraint!"

The corporate slaves let out soul-piercing cries.

"Hey, you over there—if you can, you can; if you can't, you can't. What do you mean by always saying you need to take a break?"

Carried away by emotion, even the virtuous housewives blurted out something shocking.

This was utterly insane...

Weaving through the already boiling stands, a boy dressed in China's classic school uniform hunched low. He listened with interest to the outpourings around him while stealthily carrying out his opportunistic little scheme wherever there was an opening.

"Uh, there's still this much left. Taking it now would be too obvious. I'll come back after he takes a few more sips."

"...There's only this little left. Might as well dump it out directly. Just be careful not to spill it on anyone's shoes..."

"? Are you drinking that or not? I've been watching you forever, and you still haven't even unscrewed the cap. Is something wrong with your brain?"

Seizing every pause between points, Bai Yu silently moved through the stands, carrying out his grand weekend plan—one that might let him work one fewer job.

He was cautious and terrified, his keen nerves stretched taut.

Every time a great shot on the court drew the crowd's attention, one lucky spectator in the stands lost the empty drink bottle in front of them.

Japanese people were simply too polite.

Whenever they left, they took away their empty drink bottles and threw them out. If Bai Yu waited until the match ended to make his move, he would miss his chance... and this was quite a considerable bit of extra income!

The match?

Who cared who won?

As long as it was exciting enough to draw the audience's eyes away, that was all that mattered.

He had to race against time and collect every empty drink bottle around the court before the match ended.

A mature man had to understand how to weigh the pros and cons.

All he had to do was occasionally glance at the court while working, pretending to be an ordinary spectator.

Through this shrewd way of making a living, Bai Yu spent his early days after transmigrating to Japan. Later, while trying to make off with bottles that had not been finished yet, he was unfortunately caught. By a twist of fate, relying on his face and his convincingly innocent acting at the scene, he was exceptionally recruited into a locally obscure theater troupe and began his acting career...

A bead of sweat ran down Horikita Suzune's forehead. It was unclear whether it came from the scorching sun or the pressure exerted by the other party's incomprehensible chanting.

She occasionally looked up and smiled. "Has Bai-kun already decided to give up? So your will is this fragile after all. It seems I really did overestimate your strength."

She threw out some harsh words, pretending to be completely at ease while putting some psychological pressure on her opponent.

Horikita Suzune split her focus between body and mind as she gripped her racket again, ready to resume the fight.

Now, the pressure had fully shifted to Bai Yu.

If he could not win back a point in his service game and tie the score again, victory would fall into his opponent's hands.

As Hirata Yosuke analyzed the situation in his mind, he looked toward Ayanokoji Kiyotaka beside him, curious as to why the other had remained silent for so long.

He turned his head and asked, "Ayanokoji-kun... did you get heatstroke?"

Ayanokoji Kiyotaka still had his head lowered and remained unmoved by Hirata's words. For an instant, a glimmer of tears flickered at the corners of his eyes.

There was no going back...

Yes, none of it could ever go back.

Ever since he had read that book and followed the club president's bizarre train of thought.

That cold, unsmiling version of himself could never return.