CH5

Ethan Vance (POV)

I stood at the training facility entrance, my hand still on my suit jacket, night wind pouring in from behind, blowing my collar slightly cold.

But I felt like I was nailed in place.

Half a court away, Kira stood there, the hair by her forehead dampened with sweat, her left hand still gripping a racket.

Adrian stood very close to her. I heard him say to Kira: "You can come find me anytime."

Just one short sentence, yet like a fine needle, unexpectedly piercing into my heart.

It hurt.

I had never imagined Kira would leave me.

She had always been there.

Since I was twelve, when I practiced, she was with me; when I competed, she was with me.

But now, someone was telling her: to leave me.

My chest suddenly felt stuffy.

Kira also saw me. Her eyes showed surprise, but not a trace of guilt.

In that instant, I inexplicably felt relieved.

At least, she had just refused, hadn't she?

But this brief sense of security was quickly replaced by another emotion. What if she really wavered?

Adrian brushed past me, not even giving me a glance. That complete disregard made the irritation in my chest press down heavier and heavier.

The door closed again. In the training facility, only Kira and I remained: "What did he mean by that?"

She was startled, then said in a low voice: "It didn't mean anything."

"Didn't mean anything—then why did he tell you to go find him?"

She was silent for a moment, only saying: "Ethan, it's very late."

She was evading.

This realization made my heart suddenly sink.

"Do you want to leave?"

As soon as the words left my mouth, even I was stunned.

Kira also froze, silent for a long time, before saying softly: "I don't know."

My heart suddenly plummeted.

The next day, the European training camp roster was officially confirmed.

At the breakfast table, everyone was there. Mother sat at the head, her posture as always elegant and restrained.

"Ethan, departure next week. After the Paris stop, directly to Madrid."

She flipped through the roster, her tone calm. "The training team won't change. Kira will accompany the team as your practice partner."

I looked up, somewhat happy, arguing: "What about the accommodation arrangements? Her wrist hasn't fully recovered. It would be more convenient if she stayed in the training area."

Mother didn't answer immediately.

She just picked up her coffee, unhurriedly took a sip, her gaze falling lightly on Kira.

That gaze wasn't sharp, but carried a natural detachment and sense of control, like looking at an item already arranged. "The practice partner area is five minutes from the training facility."

She said calmly, "That's sufficient."

No explanation.

No need for explanation either.

Because in her eyes, Kira's position had always been defined.

I gripped my knife and fork tightly, my knuckles slightly pale.

I wanted to speak up for Kira.

But I knew I couldn't.

I was a Vance. And Vances don't allow defiance.

I looked up at Kira.

She kept her head down, her expression calm, as if she was long used to it.

This habit made my chest ache.

Three days later, Adrian officially joined the training team.

Nominally, he was my special technical advisor. The media all reported: Retired legend guides new generation heir of the Vance family.

Facts proved he truly deserved the title.

"Your second serve lacks spin."

"Don't wait for the ball to drop, actively press forward."

"You rely too much on stability, you lack aggression."

His judgment was terrifyingly accurate. In just a few days, my condition noticeably improved.

But at the same time, I became increasingly aware that: he was also watching Kira.

During training breaks, he would suddenly call out to her, "Swing."

Kira would be startled, then immediately comply.

"Shoulders too tense, relax."

"Start half a beat slower, do it again."

"Don't use a practice partner's footwork, move like a player."

His tone was as cold and demanding as when coaching me.

No favoritism. But it was precisely this equal treatment that made me even more uneasy.

Because others saw coaching.

But what I saw was attention. Only when you truly valued someone would you be willing to spend time on them.

And Kira had changed too.

She started proactively asking Adrian questions, carefully noting down every adjustment he mentioned.

When she looked at him, there was a long-absent light in her eyes.

Focused, burning.

Like many years ago, the first time she stood on the court with me.

I suddenly realized: she wasn't looking at Adrian.

She was seeing another version of herself through him—the self that truly loved tennis.

The night before departure, I found her outside the training facility.

She had just finished extra practice, her forehead covered in sweat, her left wrist wrapped in a support band. Seeing me, she was a bit surprised, but still smiled. "Why did you come?"

"Wanted to chat with you."

We sat side by side on the sideline, night wind making the net gently sway.

After a long silence, I spoke first: "If one day, you didn't have to be my practice partner anymore."

She turned to look at me.

"Would you leave?"

After a long while, she said softly: "Ethan, I don't know."

That phrase again.

The emotions I'd suppressed for days finally lost control: "You don't know, or you've already started thinking about it?"

She frowned. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

"Is it because of Adrian?"

I stared at her, my voice heavy. "You've been watching him constantly lately."

"Watching him during training, watching him when discussing tactics, even following his arrangements for extra practice."

"Kira, you weren't like this before."

She froze, as if finally understanding why I'd been acting strange these past days.

"Ethan." She said softly. "You're bothered by this?"

"Shouldn't I be bothered?"

I suddenly stood up. "He told you to go find him."

"He said you could leave."

"Can't I leave?"

The air suddenly went quiet.

Kira slowly stood up and looked up at me.

There was no anger in her eyes, only sadness. "So, you also think I can't leave?"

I didn't answer.

I really was afraid she would leave—afraid she would leave me.

"Ethan." Her voice was somewhat hoarse. "I never thought about leaving you."

"But when you asked me like this tonight, I realized—"

"Even you take for granted that I'll always stay here."

My heart suddenly sank.

"All these years, I've stayed with you because I was willing to."

"Not because it's taken for granted."

I finally realized I had said the wrong thing.

"Kira—"

But she turned around. "You're not in a good mood tonight."

"Let's talk another day."

She was going to leave.

This time, I really panicked.

"Kira!" I chased after her, reaching out to grasp her wrist.

She stopped, her shoulders trembling very lightly.

My throat felt tight: "I'm sorry."

"That's not what I meant."

"I'm just... a bit confused."

I couldn't admit that I was jealous. Even less could I tell her that I would lose control like this because "she might leave."

A long silence.

Kira finally slowly turned around. The corners of her eyes were a bit red—clearly I had truly hurt her.

But she still didn't blame me.

Just let out a soft sigh. "Ethan, you didn't mean it, I know."

She understood me too well.

Knew that those hurtful words weren't truly meant to hurt her.

But even so, she was still sad.

"Rest early." She raised her hand and straightened my collar that had been blown messy by the wind, the motion as natural as in all those past years.

"Stop overthinking."

She didn't answer "whether she would leave."

Also didn't give me any promises. Just like before, she helped me organize my emotions.

Then turned and left.

I stood in place, didn't chase after her.

Just watched her back gradually move farther away.

Until she completely disappeared into the night.

In that moment, I finally understood: she would forgive me, would comfort me—not because it was her duty.

But because she was too used to taking care of me.

But this habit would be broken someday.

I clearly realized: if she really stopped looking back.

I might truly lose her.