Theater: NovelMaster | Language: English | NEW
Synopsis
Liam Sterling was the most brilliant prodigy at the tennis training center, everyone's favorite to win the championship, and the boy I had chased for three whole years.
I used to think that as long as I worked hard enough, the day would come when I could stand shoulder to shoulder with him.
Until I heard with my own ears that to him, I was nothing more than a substitute.
I decided to let Liam go and focus entirely on pursuing my own tennis dreams.
The edge once blinded by love would finally blaze across the court.
When we meet again, I will no longer be his humble little follower, but his fiercest rival.
Hannah Vance POV
Everyone at the tennis training center knew I was chasing Liam Sterling.
I had been after him since the day I joined the team, and the entire roster treated it as their favorite topic over afternoon tea.
Yet over the final days of the season, everyone noticed I had changed. I became the first to arrive at the courts and the last to leave. While others rested and drank water, I was putting in extra reps against the ball machine. Ball after ball slammed near the baseline, and my hands never stopped picking them up.
Whenever someone brought up Liam's name during breaks, I merely nodded and walked away without uttering a single word, my expression completely flat.
My schedule used to revolve entirely around Liam's training hours. If he practiced his serve, I practiced my serve; if he did conditioning, I ran laps right behind him. Now, my time revolved solely around my own racket. My routine was taped to the head of my bed, every single slot packed tight with no room to breathe.
On graduation day, Liam cornered me at the exit of the courts.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, waiting until I walked up before speaking. "Are you avoiding me?"
My steps paused for a fraction of a second, and I lifted my eyes to look at him.
It was a completely indifferent glance, the way one might look at an unfamiliar teammate.
"No," I said.
"Then what's been going on with you lately?" Liam frowned. "You stopped bringing me water, you don't save courts for me anymore, and you run the second you see me."
I didn't answer. I just sidestepped him and walked past.
My strides were steady, my racket bag slung over my shoulder, the strap digging a deep mark into my skin.
Liam stood where he was, watching me walk away without chasing after me.
I hadn't been like this when I first joined the center.
Back then, my pursuit of him was public knowledge. Before every practice, I would place a bottle of mineral water by his bench, complete with a sticky note bearing his name. When courts were scarce, I would arrive half an hour early to hold one for him, refusing to leave even when people tried to push me out. Whenever he played a match, I made sure to stand in the very front row along the sidelines, a towel clutched in my hands, breaking into a smile before he even did whenever he won a point.
The entire team teased me about it, calling me Liam's little shadow. Blushing, I never ran away; I would just lower my head and keep wiping down my racket.
What truly stole my heart was an internal practice match. My shoelace snapped mid-sprint, and I crouched by the sideline struggling to tie it for ages. Sweat beaded on my forehead as my fingers fumbled with the frayed aglet. That was when Liam walked over, pulled a spare lace from his bag, and knelt down to replace it for me.
He had long fingers. As he laced my shoe, his head was bowed, strands of hair falling across his forehead and obscuring his eyes.
When he finished, he tied a knot, gave it a firm tug to ensure it was secure, checked the lace on my other shoe as well, and then walked off without saying a single word.
I sat on the ground, staring at his retreating back, unable to stand up for a long time. The new shoelace was wrapped a bit tight around my ankle, but I never loosened it.
After returning to my dorm, I bought a white towel and painstakingly embroidered his initials into the corner. The stitches were crooked and clumsy, taking forever to finish. In the end, I folded it neatly and tucked it into the very bottom of my locker, never finding the courage to give it to him.
Back then, I thought that as long as I chased him long enough and treated him well enough, he would eventually turn around and look at me.
But time proved that he didn't like me.
No matter how much effort I poured into him, his gaze would never linger on me.Hannah Vance POV
A week before the National Team Trials, I arrived forty minutes earlier than usual.
I rounded the corridor to fetch balls from the equipment room. As I passed the coach's office, the door was slightly ajar, and Liam's voice drifted out from inside.
I froze in my tracks.
"Coach Harris, please reconsider Chloe Vance for the roster," Liam said, his voice kept very low, yet every syllable came through crisp and clear. "Her technique isn't bad. She just needs a chance."
Coach Harris said something, but I couldn't make it out.
I took half a step back, pressing my spine against the wall, my palm gripping the strap of my racket bag.
A few minutes later, the office door swung open, and Liam stepped out, heading down the other end of the hallway.
I waited until he was far in the distance before stepping out. After just a few paces, laughter from several teammates drifted over from the lounge, with Liam's voice mixed in among them.
"Hannah Vance? She's just a smoke screen," Liam said, his tone casual, as if commenting on nice weather. "With her taking all the attention out front, who on the team would look twice at what's going on between me and Chloe? Once the trials are over, I couldn't care less about her."
Someone let out a chuckle. "Does she actually think you have feelings for her?"
"She threw herself at me. It's not like I forced her."
Standing at the corner of the hallway, my fingers dug into the wall, the beds of my nails turning pale.
I had always thought I was the one he tacitly accepted. He took the water I brought, used the courts I reserved, and whenever his gaze swept across my side of the stands during matches, it would pause for a beat.
I had mistaken all of it for signs.
Only at that moment did I realize I wasn't even someone he tolerated—I was merely a cloth draped in front of him and Chloe Vance, meant to be discarded the moment she was shielded.
I waited until their banter faded and they walked away before I finally moved.
My legs had gone numb. I leaned against the wall to catch my balance for a moment, then turned and walked back. My steps were steady, completely indistinguishable from any other day.
That night, I wept in my dorm room until dawn.
I didn't turn on the lights. Buried beneath the covers, I bit into the edge of the blanket, terrified of making a sound, tears soaking a massive patch of my pillow.
I dug out that towel from the bottom of my locker. The initials in the corner were still crooked, every single stitch pushed through with my own hands.
I stared at it for a long time, folded it back up, and shoved it down to the very bottom of the locker, burying it under my winter training gear.
When daylight broke, I washed my face in front of the mirror. The girl looking back had swollen eyes, but her expression was chillingly calm.
I made up my mind: I was done loving Liam Sterling.
From that day on, I stopped bringing him water, stopped reserving courts for him, and never went to watch his matches again.
Rumors circulated that Liam and I had fallen out, but I offered no explanation.
I poured all the time I had saved straight onto the tennis court. I cranked the ball machine to its highest setting and hit shot after shot until my arm physically couldn't lift anymore.
Liam still treated me according to his old impressions.
The day before the internal assessment, he sneered at me outside the locker room in front of a whole crowd. "Hannah Vance, where did your tennis skills go? Hiding them somewhere? Don't end up dead last in this test again."
A few people chuckled.
I was stuffing a towel into my racket bag. My hands didn't hesitate, and I didn't even look up.
Saved in my phone's photo album was a screenshot: No. 1 on the National Junior Rankings, with the name Hannah Vance sitting right at the top.
I had held onto that screenshot for nearly half a year, and I had never shown it to a single soul.
Officials from the national team arrived shortly after to speak with me. Their intention was clear—they wanted me on the national squad to prepare for the upcoming World Junior Tennis Championships.
I politely declined.
Lying across my desk was an acceptance letter from an overseas tennis academy offering a full scholarship, with only one condition: place near the top of the national rankings.
I had already met it.Hannah Vance POV
That afternoon, Coach Harris called me into his office.
The Team Director was there as well, seated on the sofa with a teacup in hand, his gaze never leaving me.
"Hannah," Coach Harris said, leaning against the back of his chair, fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk. "I'll ask you just one thing. What is your actual skill level?"
I stood on the other side of the desk without offering an explanation.
I glanced at the Team Director, then looked back at Coach Harris. "Call the highest-ranked male player on the team. Have him play one game against me."
Coach Harris raised an eyebrow. Without a word, he picked up the phone and dialed a number.
Ten minutes later, the team's top-ranked male player walked in with his racket slung over his shoulder, his face practically screaming bewilderment.
The Team Director followed us out to the courts, while Coach Harris brought up the rear and pulled the door shut behind them.
It was an exhibition match of just a single game.
The male player served first. He didn't take me seriously at all, tossing a casual serve straight down the T. I shifted my weight and whipped a return that slammed right into the corner of his baseline. He didn't even manage to lift his racket.
On the second point, he dialed up the power, serving wide. I slid cleanly into position and sliced a drop shot with my backhand. The ball plummeted the instant it cleared the net; he charged forward, but it was already too late.
15-love.
His expression shifted, and he began playing in earnest.
Yet no matter what serve he threw at me or what angles he chose, I returned every single one, each of my shots landing at an increasingly brutal angle.
When he scrambled to the left, I drove the ball to the right. When he rushed the net, I lobbed it deep into the backcourt. The moment he retreated to the baseline, the ball was already dropping at his feet.
On the third point, he gave everything he had to fire a body serve. I stepped aside, blocked it with a backhand, and the ball grazed the tape before dropping over. He lunged onto the court floor, but couldn't even touch it.
From 40-love, another point fell into place. By the time the game concluded, he hadn't managed to win a single point.
He stood at the net, chest heaving, staring at me, unable to speak for a long time.
He was ranked number one in the entire training camp and had never lost a game to a female player, let alone suffered a clean sweep without scoring once.
His mouth opened, wanting to say something, but in the end, only one sentence came out: "When... when did you practice this?"
I didn't answer, simply picking up my towel to wipe away the sweat.
Without anyone noticing, the Team Director had set down his teacup, its lid sitting askew.
Coach Harris had his arms crossed, his face devoid of expression, yet something flickered beneath his eyes.
Back in the office, Coach Harris shut the door behind us.
"Out with it," he said, taking a seat. "Why were you hiding it?"
I remained silent for a beat before finally speaking.
I told him about Evelyn Vance.
"My stepmother, Evelyn Vance, laced my protein powder with crushed glass shards on three separate occasions," I said calmly, sounding as though I were reading an incident report that had nothing to do with me. "The first time was during last year's winter training, the second was during spring training this year, and the third was last month. Because I beat Chloe Vance in the previous team assessment, she decided I had brought shame upon the Vance family."
The office was dead silent, save for the soft clink of the Team Director's teacup lid brushing against the rim.
"My esophagus was torn after ingesting it," I continued. "I was rushed to the hospital to have my stomach pumped and stayed for three days. That time, I told the team it was acute gastroenteritis."
I pulled out my phone, pulled up photos of the medical records, and placed the screen flat on the desk.
Coach Harris took it and looked through the files, then handed it over to the Team Director.
The Team Director finished reviewing them, set the phone back on the desk, clasped his hands together, and said nothing.
"She hurt you three times?" Coach Harris asked.
"Yes," I said. "The first time, I assumed the protein powder had gone bad, so I replaced the tub. The second time, I suspected something was wrong, but lacked proof. The third time, I kept a sample and sent it out for lab testing."
I took a folded lab report from my pocket and laid it beside the medical records.
Coach Harris picked it up to read, his fingers gripping the edge of the paper so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"So you didn't dare play well," Coach Harris said in a low voice. "If you played well, she would move to harm you."
I didn't nod, nor did I shake my head.
I stood there with my back straight, my face completely expressionless.
"Does your father know?" the Team Director suddenly asked.
I glanced at him without answering.
That single look was answer enough. My father didn't know—or rather, even if he did, he wouldn't care.
Silence fell over the office once more.
Coach Harris and the Team Director exchanged a glance, neither saying a word.Hannah Vance POV
After a long silence, Coach Harris waved his hand. "Head back for now. I'll handle this."
I took my phone, turned around, and walked out of the office.
The door clicked shut behind me. I stood in the hallway for a few seconds before heading toward the locker room.
From that day on, I was no longer a worthless trainee in the coach's eyes.
When I pushed open the locker room door on my way back from the coach's office, the chatter inside cut off instantly.
The entire team looked up at me. Nobody spoke; their gazes tracked me all the way from the entrance to the bench.
I set down my racket bag and pulled out a change of clothes, my movements as steady as ever, acting as though those stares didn't exist.
Liam sat on the opposite bench, his legs stretched out long.
He reached out and rummaged through the bag I had left on the bench. Unzipping it, he revealed a bulging white envelope, its seal already torn open.
He glanced at it, didn't ask what it was, zipped the bag back up, and shoved it back to its original spot.
Chloe Vance emerged from the inner room with a water bottle in hand. Catching sight of me, her lips curved slightly, and she spoke right in front of the whole squad.
"Hannah," she said, her voice neither loud nor soft, carrying just enough for the entire room to hear. "Were you just in Coach Harris's office?"
I didn't look up, continuing to fold my clothes.
"I heard," Chloe stepped forward two paces, "that you told Coach Harris my training attitude is lacking, trying to push me off the selection roster?"
The locker room grew even quieter.
A few players exchanged glances. No one spoke, but all eyes were fixed on my reaction.
I finally lifted my head and looked at Chloe Vance.
It was an entirely flat look, stripped of both anger and grievance.
"I didn't," I said.
"You didn't?" Chloe gave a short laugh, though the rims of her eyes reddened. "Then why did Coach Harris suddenly ask about my recent training condition? If it wasn't you, who else could it be? Hannah, I know you've never liked me, but selections are based on skill. You can't slander me just because your own level isn't good enough."
She dipped her head, her fingers tightening around her water bottle.
Several female teammates exchanged glances beside her. Someone muttered under her breath, "That's a bit much," but the voice quickly died down.
Liam stood up.
He walked over, planting himself in front of Chloe Vance, glaring at me with a thunderous expression.
"Hannah Vance," he warned, his voice dropped to a menacing register. "I'm telling you right now, stay away from the trials. If you slander anyone again, don't blame me for fighting back."
I looked at him, remaining silent.
"Did you hear me?" Liam stepped closer, pressing in.
I tucked my folded clothes into my bag, zipped it shut, and rose to my feet.
Hoisting my racket bag, I brushed past Liam, my shoulder grazing his arm without breaking stride.
In the past, whenever I was falsely accused, I would panic, cry, and chase after him to explain until he finally deigned to listen.
Once, when he misunderstood that I was getting close to another boy, I pursued him for three whole days—from the training courts to the cafeteria, from the cafeteria to the front of his dorm—until he was willing to stop and hear me out.
This time, I said nothing, as calm as if I were listening to a stranger's affairs.
In the past, even a single harsh word from him would make my eyes sting with tears. Today, after he had spoken so ruthlessly, my footsteps hadn't even faltered.
His threats held no power over me anymore.Hannah Vance POV
On the day of the end-of-season group photo, the sun was bright, and the steps outside the training arena were packed with people.
The photographer had to shout for ages before everyone finally got into position—the front row crouching, the back row standing. Liam was pushed to the center, while I stood on the outermost edge, half my body cut outside the frame.
Once the photos were taken, the crowd swarmed Liam playfully, clamoring for the wristband on his arm as a keepsake, saying they wanted a souvenir since they wouldn't see him next season.
Liam swept his gaze over the group, his eyes ultimately landing on me.
He walked over and extended the black wristband he usually wore.
"For you," he said. "I promised you at the start of the season that I'd give this to you."
The surroundings fell dead silent.
Someone gasped softly, someone threw a look my way, and everyone's eyes darted back and forth between Chloe Vance and me.
Standing at the edge of the crowd, the smile on Chloe's face froze solid.
I looked at the wristband, keeping my hands at my sides.
Before I could say anything, Chloe Vance spoke first.
"Hannah," she called out, walking over with a sweet smile, "did you forget? You made a bet with me last week, claiming you could beat me by two tiers in this assessment, and that if you lost, you'd pick up a hundred balls."
"You lost and you still won't admit it. How do you have the nerve to accept Liam's wristband?"
Someone in the crowd let out an "Ooh," and the murmurs started.
I glanced at Chloe Vance and didn't argue.
I knew arguing was pointless. When Chloe spoke, the whole team believed her; when I spoke, everyone ignored me.
I reached out, took the wristband, glanced at it, and handed it back to Liam Sterling.
"I don't want it," I said.
Liam frowned. Before he could say anything, a male teammate beside him snatched the wristband, shouting, "If you don't want it, give it to me!"
Another guy, sharp-eyed, spotted a brooch pinned to my bag and reached out, ripping it off.
"What's this?" He held up the brooch to inspect it. "Looks pretty fancy."
That was my mother's brooch. I had kept it pinned to my bag for years, never once taking it off.
"Give it back," I said, my voice not loud, but clear.
The guy laughed, tossed the brooch in the air, and caught it. He exchanged a glance with the teammate who took the wristband, and the two walked toward the long-jump sand pit by the courts.
I went after them, but another teammate blocked my way. Crossing his arms, he grinned as he stood in front of me, telling me to chill and just let them have some fun.
I pushed him aside. It wasn't hard, but he hadn't expected me to push him, so he stumbled a step.
By the time I reached the long-jump sand pit, the wristband and the brooch had already been buried in the sand. The guy even stomped on top, grinding his heel into it twice to pack it down tight.
"Go ahead, look for it," he said, dusting off his hands with a smirk. "Find it, and it's yours."
Everyone around us laughed. The laughter was loud, echoing near the entrance of the training hall.
Some whipped out their phones to film, some whistled, and others yelled, "Hurry up and dig, Hannah!"
Chloe Vance stood behind the crowd, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. She didn't say a word, casually twirling the ends of her hair around her finger.
I stood by the edge of the long-jump sand pit, staring at the flattened patch of sand, unmoving.
The sun beat down on my face. With my eyes downcast, my fingers curled slightly, then uncurled.
Liam Sterling was there, too.
He stood on the steps, watching it all unfold.
Someone turned to look at him, waiting for him to speak. But he just stood there, his lips parting slightly, only to say nothing in the end.
His hand was still frozen in the posture of offering the wristband, before he slowly lowered it.
I didn't take the wristband, but my brooch was lost.
Paywall Cliffhanger
Chapters (5)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Watch & Promotions
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