"What are you saying, Carin?!" Kraft said. But Frieren raised her hand slowly, making him stop.

  "Fine…" Frieren said quietly, catching the ball from Carin's hand.

  Frieren didn't look at the ball; her eyes were fixed on Carin's.

  Carin.. huh.. she thought

  Carin's stare was trembling, yet she didn't move.

  Anyway, this ball is perfectly round. I'll make sure to draw it in my book… just for reference, Frieren thought as she stood still.

  Carin's fingers curled slightly, as if bracing for something unseen.

  Kraft collapsed onto the ground. "I will be the referee, Frieren!" he said, throwing a fist into the air.

  "Referee?" Frieren said, staring at Kraft.

  Some murmurs rose on the court.

  The Kraftsman workers walked through.

  "Kraft, why didn't you call for us?! This is the first time we've seen Carin actually hold a ball," one of them whispered into Kraft's ear.

  "Aah… yeah… me too.." Kraft said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  "So… shall we start, or…?" Frieren said as she rolled the ball with her magic.

  A small wind brushed past Carin's hair. She tucked it back without a word. "Alright."

  From the side, Kraft stood, removing his t-shirt. He held a black referee's whistle. The workers sat down behind the court, watching the two sorcerers face each other.

  Kraft brought the whistle to his lips , then paused, glancing between the two. The net between them looked thinner than it had before.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Aah, it's hot today, isn't it?" Kraft said, raising his hand to cover the sun, watching light splinter between his fingers.

  Then he felt a soft beat of wings , then air. Sunny landed softly on his shoulder. "Aah, Sunny… you also came to watch?"

  Frieren threw the ball. Carin caught it with ease. "Tch… don't pity me," Carin said, holding the ball and settling into her stance.

  "I never underestimated any enemy…" Frieren blinked , long and unbothered.

  "…or opponent."

  "Alright, guys , it's about to start!" Kraft called out. "3… 2… 1… PLAY!!"

  The whistle split the silence.

  Carin threw a high arc toward Frieren.

  Frieren simply waited .. and caught it cleanly. The ball returned to Carin. She rushed toward it.

  It's hard… she thought as she ran.

  "What's wrong?" Frieren said, watching the ball arc toward her again. "I'm not even trying."

  Fairly predictable… not as difficult as Kraft's play. Then again… last night I spent studying volleyball ; the imagery, the movement. It's simple, yet powerful. You don't necessarily need to focus only on the ball. You study the player, not just the game. Frieren thought

  Frieren caught the ball again without effort. A thin sheen of sweat had crept across Carin's brow.

  Once Carin hit the ball toward Frieren, she noticed , Frieren was staring at her. It was a few milliseconds. But for the girl, time had simply stopped.

  Frieren stepped forward, received the ball, and sent it back. "Not bad," Frieren said.

  "You never underestimate an opponent, huh…" Carin breathed through her teeth. "Hypocrite."

  From afar, Kraft had nearly forgotten the whistle between his fingers.

  It's not about Frieren being a good player. he thought

  "For a social media addict…" he murmured, watching Carin chase the ball again. A short breath escaped him , almost a laugh. "Carin is just a terrible player."

  Yet she was still running. Still swinging.

  Kraft's almost-laugh faded. That part, he thought, is not nothing.

  Frieren noticed something off in the rhythm of her movements. She went still for just a moment.

  "So that's what you're planning…" Frieren whispered.