CH6

Kira Vance (POV)

When the plane landed in Paris, dawn was just breaking.

Through the porthole, I saw vast expanses of unfamiliar morning mist, cold damp air pressed against the glass, as if separating everything from the past on the other side of the Atlantic.

The Vance family estate, the orphanage's old debts, those gazes constantly reminding me of my "identity"—all of it so far away from me.

The European training base was built in the suburbs, vast lawns surrounding white courts.

Walking in dragging my luggage, I actually felt dazed for a moment.

Freedom.

This word hadn't appeared in my life for too long.

But this sense of ease lasted less than half a day.

Mrs. Vance, in front of everyone, calmly reminded me with an even tone: "Practice partner, pay attention to tomorrow's training content in advance."

One sentence, like a bucket of cold water.

I lowered my head and responded: "Yes."

Of course I wouldn't forget.

I was a practice partner, not a player.

At five in the morning the next day, a knock on the door woke me from sleep.

When I opened the door, Adrian stood outside.

"Change your clothes." He said. "Fifteen minutes, Court Three."

I was stunned. "Now?"

"What?" he arched an eyebrow. "Do you think professional players get to sleep in late every day?"

Fifteen minutes later, I stood on the empty Court Three.

The morning mist hadn't dispersed yet, the grass covered in dew. The entire training base was so quiet you could only hear the sound of tennis shoes scraping the ground.

Adrian pushed a cart of balls in front of me. "Begin."

"Practice what?"

"Practice how to become a player again."

I froze.

The first ball, I instinctively sent the ball to his most comfortable hitting zone.

He didn't even swing, letting the ball land and roll away.

"See that?" He looked at me coldly. "Even hitting one ball, you're thinking about others first."

I gripped the racket tighter.

The second ball, I tried to actively change lines.

He immediately pressed back, extremely fast. I was forced to retreat two steps.

"Again."

Third ball, fourth ball...

An hour later, my breathing was completely chaotic, my left wrist also starting to faintly ache.

"Stop." He walked over.

I instinctively hid my hand behind my back.

"Does it hurt?"

"...I'm okay."

He looked at me, his tone without a ripple. "Seems what you've broken over these years isn't just your wrist."

"But also your competitive instinct."

I froze.

Morning light gradually fell, illuminating the net.

He said: "It's not that you can't win."

"You've just been too long without winning for yourself."

Those words were like a pebble dropping into my heart.

Very light, yet stirring up ripples upon ripples.

From that day on, every morning, Adrian would train me alone.

No one knew.

During the day, I was still Ethan's practice partner.

At night, I still organized data for him, put away his rackets.

But those two hours in the morning belonged to me. Adrian gradually dismantled the "practice partner habits" I'd developed over the years.

"Don't feed balls, attack."

"Don't retreat, make your opponent retreat."

"You're not anyone's shadow, stand in the center of the court."

At first, I was very uncomfortable.

Many times, I would instinctively send the ball back to the safe zone. He never comforted, only coldly said: "Do it again."

But gradually, I began to recover a long-lost feeling.

When the ball hit the sweet spot, that crisp sound was like striking my heart.

That wasn't a ball hit for Ethan. It was mine.

My changes were quickly noticed.

The first to notice was Vera. She was a top-three seed in the European youth rankings, and also the most watched female player in this training camp.

From the first day she saw me, she never concealed her contempt. "Practice partners should stay in the practice partner area."

She leaned against the sideline, looking at me, her tone casual.

"Stop always hanging around the main court."

I lowered my head organizing the ball cart, didn't respond.

But she let out a cold laugh. "What, really thinking you're a player?"

My hand holding the ball tightened slightly.

The next second, Adrian's voice sounded from behind. "Since you have such an issue, how about playing a match."

I suddenly looked up.

Vera also froze. "What?"

"You and her." Adrian pointed at me. "One set tiebreaker."

The entire venue instantly went quiet.

Everyone's gaze fell on me.

Vera laughed first. "You want me to play against a practice partner?"

Adrian's tone was calm: "Afraid of losing?"

Her expression immediately changed. "How could that be!"

When the match started, no one took me seriously.

Even the assistant coaches on the sideline were chatting in low voices.

First game, Vera directly served an ACE. She lifted her chin at me. "See that clearly?"

I didn't speak.

Second game started. I stood behind the baseline.

The instant the ball flew over, I suddenly remembered what Adrian had said: Don't be like a practice partner, be like a player.

My feet moved. Side step, swing.

"Bang—"

A down-the-line passing shot, the ball precisely on the line.

The entire venue went quiet for a second.

The smile on Vera's face froze.

Then, the match situation completely reversed.

I no longer fed balls, no longer yielded. Those instincts I'd suppressed for so many years were like finally breaking free from chains.

The score rapidly widened: 3-0, 5-1...

When the last ball landed, Vera didn't even chase it.

She stood in place, her face pale.

And I stood behind the baseline, chest heaving violently, sweat sliding down my chin.

But I couldn't help but smile.

So this is what it felt like.

Winning.

Not defending victory for Ethan, not completing a task for the Vance family.

It belonged to me.

That rush of pleasure almost made my eyes well up.

Vera slammed her racket onto the chair and turned to leave the court. Passing by me, she said through gritted teeth in a low voice: "Just you wait."

I knew.

From this moment on, I had completely offended Vera.

But I actually didn't care.

"How does it feel?" Adrian handed me a towel.

I took it, my voice still a bit hoarse. "Very good."

He looked at me and said flatly: "Remember this feeling."

"This is what you deserve."

I looked up at him, for the first time not refuting.

Because I knew he was right.

Over the next few days, I almost began to covet the mornings.

Before dawn broke, I would wake up early, cross the dew-covered grass, and walk toward Court Three. The air was very cold, but my chest was hot. Those were the two hours of the day that truly belonged to me.

When training ended, I stood behind the baseline, breathing rapidly, palms burning, even the fingers gripping the racket slightly numb, yet I couldn't help but want to come even earlier tomorrow.

Adrian stood in front of the net, his gaze landing on me, pausing for a few seconds.

"Kira, you don't need to come tomorrow."

I suddenly looked up. "What?"

"Morning training is suspended."

"Why?" The words almost burst out.

He didn't answer, just slowly swept his gaze over my hand, then moved away, his tone still calm: "You've been too rushed lately."

"What's wrong with being rushed?" I instinctively gripped the racket tighter. "I finally found the feeling."

"Precisely because you found it," he said, "it's easier to forget restraint."

I froze, not understanding what he meant.

"I don't want to stop." This was the first time I so directly expressed my resistance, my voice even trembling. "You pulled me back in, you can't make me quit now."

He looked at me, his gaze very deep, but ultimately only said flatly: "Your hand needs rest."