Smash to the Heart

Margo’s POV
Day 2 — Division Semifinals

I tied my lucky bracelet a little tighter around my wrist as I stepped onto the court, the weight of the semifinal finally settling on my shoulders. 

The morning sun was already beating down on the concrete, casting long shadows from the flags of each school lining the edge of the venue.

Four schools left.

Four names circled in bold on the bracket posted just outside the gym:

• North Hills Academy vs Crestview Prep

• Southbridge Academy vs Riverdale Academy

The familiar nervous buzz started kicking in, but it wasn’t fear — it was fire. 

Focus. 

This was what I had trained for.

Caia, Syra, and Miv were nowhere in sight. Coach Leo had told me they were all getting ready and competing in their own events this morning. “They’ll catch up later,” he said while handing me a bottle of water. “For now, head in there and win.”

Lexine Cho stood across the court, her long ponytail swaying as she bounced the tennis ball against the pavement. 

Her reputation preceded her — quick footwork, strong at the net, and annoyingly consistent.

But I had something better.

I had purpose.

“Focus on your game today,” Coach added, eyeing me. “One match at a time.”

“Got it, Coach,” I said, gripping my racket tighter.

—

Set 1

The whistle blew.

I opened with a wide serve that clipped the edge of the line—ace.

Lexine flinched slightly. 

I could feel the shift in her stance.

Next rally was long—a tight back-and-forth from the baseline. 

She was trying to wear me out early, but I didn’t let her.

I hit her with a slice that barely made it over the net—she lunged, but the ball died on the bounce.

The score crept up slowly.
2–2.

Then 3–3.

I adjusted my grip and kept pressuring her backhand. 

I could see it now—a tiny hitch in her swing when she was forced wide. 

So I dragged her there every chance I got.

Eventually, it cracked.
6–4. Set one: mine.

Set 2

Lexine came back with fire.  

She took the first two games clean, pushing me into long, frustrating rallies that drained my legs.

I let out a breath, refocused.

No way I was letting it go to a third set.

I started taking more risks — sharp angles, deeper hits, faster serves. 

She slipped up in the fourth game, and I took it as my opening.

4–4.
Then a quick break after she hit the net twice.

5–4.

Now or never.

Final rally was brutal — ten shots, then twelve. She tried to bait me into the net, but I kept her guessing. Finally, a low, spinning backhand cut across her forehand — she reached, stumbled, and missed.

6–4. Second set. Match over.

I didn’t shout. I didn’t jump. I just stood there, hand on my hip, chest rising and falling as the ref declared:

“North Hills Academy advances to the finals!”

Coach Leo nodded from the sidelines, clearly satisfied. But my eyes had already drifted to the other side of the venue.

—

After changing into my warm-up jacket, I grabbed a bottle of water and climbed the bleachers quietly, settling into one of the upper rows where I could catch my breath. 

I didn’t plan to linger, but something on the adjacent court caught my eye.

Tennis match in progress.
Southbridge Academy vs Riverdale.

And on Southbridge’s side… Aerin.

The one we’d argued with without even knowing each other's names.

Now I did. Thanks to Caia, of course.

Aerin Lysvane.

I leaned forward slightly, elbows on my knees, watching her every movement. 

Her hair was tied neatly back, racket steady, eyes locked in — cold, focused, relentless.

She wasn’t fast, not in the flashy way some players moved — but efficient. 

Her form was clean, her timing precise, and she never wasted a step. 

Everything she did was calculated, patient, and somehow… quiet.

It was almost unnerving how calm she looked despite the pressure.

Her opponent was decent—from Riverdale, aggressive and loud—but Aerin absorbed it all. 

She didn’t fight fire with fire. 

She smothered it with control.

3–1, Southbridge.

I kept watching, unable to pull my eyes away. 

Not just because she was a threat — but because she was interesting. 

A different kind of dangerous.

I could hear the ref announce the score again after a tense rally:
4–1.

“Damn…” I muttered under my breath.

This wasn’t just anyone. 

This girl would make it to the finals. 

I knew it before the second set even started.

And when she did… she’d be up against me.

North Hills vs Southbridge.

Me vs Aerin.

I sat back, resting my water bottle on my thigh as I continued watching her slice a perfect drop shot that barely bounced.

I didn’t smile. But I did feel it.

The fire.

This was going to be interesting

—

I didn’t realize how long I’d been sitting there until the crowd started shifting again, the next set of matches being announced over the speakers. 

I stood up, stretched a little, and started walking back toward the common waiting area near the athlete tents.

There's not much people, most likely because  the rain started to pour down.  was halfway there when I heard it—

“MARGOOOOOOO!”

I turned around right as Miv came jogging over, her towel bouncing on her shoulder, shoes slightly damp, and a grin on her face despite the sweat.

“Hoy,” I raised a brow, amused. “Kakagaling mo lang ba sa warm-up?”

She panted, hands on her hips. “Hah—oo, nag-sprint pa ako para sana umabot sa laban mo. Kaso pagdating ko, wala na. As in… tapos na agad! Ang bilis mo naman!”

“Two sets lang naman,” I smirked.

“I knew it,” she groaned. “Kaya sa laban ni Caia na lang ako dumiretso. Finals niya na eh. Ikaw naman mukhang tapos na talaga agad.”

I blinked. “Wait—nanood ka sa laban ni Caia?”

“Yup! Doon na ko humabol. Eh since umulan, kinancel ‘yung match ko. Wet na yung track, so bukas na lang daw itutuloy as long as tuyo na. Sayang nga eh, pero at least napanood ko si Caia.”

Right on cue, Caia appeared behind Miv, her wet hair tied back, and a gold medal glinting on her neck. 

Syra was beside her, still in her practice gear, both of them walking toward me with wide smiles.

“Speaking of!” Caia raised both arms triumphantly. “The first of us to finish competing—and with a win, might I add!”

I stared for a second before breaking into a grin. “You won?!”

“Finals, baby,” she beamed. “Done and dusted. Gold. Champion. I can officially nap for the next 48 hours.”

“CAIAAAA!” Syra clapped, then gave her a playful punch on the shoulder. “Grabe, ikaw na talaga.”

“Ikaw din ha,” Caia nudged her back. “Semi-finals ka na rin ah!”

Syra laughed, sheepish. “Yup, one match away. Kaso hindi ko rin napanood si Margo kanina—sobrang sabay sa na match ko.”

“Same here,” Caia said. “Wala talaga tayong chance kanina, buti na lang may updates tayo kay Miv.”

Miv held up her hands. “Ako na talaga news anchor niyo. Pero kahit ako halos ‘di nakaabot. Pagdating ko, bow na si Margo. At least si Caia napanood ko hanggang dulo.”

“Well,” I shrugged, sipping from my water bottle, “Hindi naman required manood basta mag-celebrate kayo after.”

They all laughed, and for a moment, the weight of competition felt lighter.

Just us, friends, finally reunited even for just a short while.

Then Caia turned to me with a knowing smile. “So... finals ka na rin. Alam mo na ba kung sino kalaban mo?”

My eyes drifted toward the tennis courts across the venue. 

Though the match was over, I could still picture her movement, the quiet intensity of her serve, the way she barely showed emotion yet commanded the court like she belonged there.

I answered softly, “Most likely.”

“Do we know her?” Syra asked, curious.

"Kung alam niyo lang,” I murmured.

They all waited for more, but I didn’t say the name out loud. Not yet.

But in my head, it echoed loud and clear—

Aerin Lysvane.

And soon, we’d meet.