After signing up for badminton, the very next day, Mr. George took me to the school grounds where a few students were already practicing.

The rhythmic sounds of shuttlecocks being hit filled the air, and I could feel my nerves starting to creep in.

This wasn’t my usual territory, and I felt a bit out of place.

"So, you're here to play badminton?" A stern voice cut through the chatter.

I turned to see a tall woman standing beside Mr. George.

She was intimidating, with a sharp gaze that seemed to pierce right through me.

It was Mrs. Rebecca, the coach in charge of both female basketball and badminton, and also Mr. George's wife.

Her reputation as a no-nonsense coach preceded her—she was tough, and I’d heard she wasn't particularly fond of football players.

"Yes, ma'am," I managed to reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

She narrowed her eyes at me, looking me up and down as if she was assessing a piece of equipment.

"Okay," she said, handing me a racket with a swift, no-nonsense motion. "Take this and show me how to serve."

I glanced over at the students practicing nearby, watching them closely to mimic their movements.

I gripped the racket tightly, threw the shuttlecock into the air, and swung.

The shuttlecock didn’t even make it over the net—it dipped and fell embarrassingly short.

My cheeks burned, but I tried again.

This time, I swung harder, but the shuttlecock clipped the top of the net and dropped.

"Why did you bring him here?" I overheard Mrs. Rebecca say to Mr. George, her tone laced with frustration.

I tried to focus on serving again, but I couldn't help but listen in on their conversation.

"I think he might have some talent for it. Why don't you help him?" Mr. George suggested, his voice calm and encouraging as always.

"Talent?" Mrs. Rebecca scoffed.

"What are you talking about? He doesn’t have the stamina or the proper control for badminton. What do you expect me to do with that?" Her words cut deep, and I felt a sting of humiliation.

She wasn’t wrong—I wasn’t exactly a natural at this.

Mr. George wasn’t deterred.

"Why don't you put him in a practice match? See how he fares," he insisted.

Mrs. Rebecca crossed her arms, her frown deepening.

She looked like she wanted to argue further, but after a moment, she sighed.

"Okay, fine. If you’re so confident," she relented, though her tone made it clear she wasn’t expecting much.

Mrs. Rebecca's voice cut through the murmurs on the court, sharp and commanding.

"Stop. Sarah, come here."

I halted in my tracks, a bit startled, and watched as Sarah, who was practicing a few meters away, looked up and jogged over.

Her expression shifted from curiosity to understanding as she saw me standing awkwardly with the racket.

"Yes, ma'am?" she replied, glancing between Mrs. Rebecca and me.

Mrs. Rebecca didn’t waste time.

"Teach him the basics and get ready. We’re having a practice match, and he’ll be your partner."

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I noticed Sarah’s eyes widen slightly, but she quickly composed herself.

"Umm... okay, ma'am," she agreed, though I could sense the reluctance in her voice.

She walked over to me, holding her racket with an air of quiet confidence.

"So," she began, "how much do you know about badminton?"

"Umm... basically nothing," I admitted, feeling a bit sheepish.

"I've watched a few times, seen some students play, but I don't really get it."

Her lips twitched into a small smile, amused but not unkind. "Alright, let's see how you serve then."

I nodded, trying to muster up some confidence, and attempted to serve again. I threw the shuttlecock into the air and swung the racket, but this time, the shuttlecock flew in a completely unexpected direction—straight into the net again.

Sarah chuckled softly but stepped closer, her demeanor turning more instructive. "Here, watch me carefully," she said.

She positioned herself, her stance relaxed yet focused.

With a smooth motion, she tossed the shuttlecock and executed a perfect serve, the shuttlecock sailing over the net with precision and landing exactly where she wanted it.

"You don’t need to put all your strength into hitting the shuttlecock," she explained, her tone calm but firm.

"Just apply enough force to make it over the net. It’s about control, not power."

"Okay," I nodded, taking a deep breath. I tried to relax my grip on the racket and focused on the shuttlecock.

I tossed it up and hit it more gently this time.

The serve wasn’t perfect—it still wobbled and barely cleared the net—but it was an improvement.

"Better," Sarah encouraged, her eyes brightening with a hint of approval.

"But try to keep your wrist a bit looser and follow through more naturally."

We continued practicing, and I could feel myself slowly getting the hang of it, though it took several more attempts.

Sarah was patient, offering tips and correcting my form.

She explained how to move around the court efficiently, showed me how to position myself for different types of shots, and went over some of the basic rules of the game.

With each instruction, I felt a bit more confident.

I wasn’t anywhere near her level—or that of the other players—but I could feel a slight improvement with every swing.

I began to understand that badminton wasn't just about hitting a shuttlecock back and forth; it required quick reflexes, smart positioning, and, most importantly, a calm and focused mindset.

After what felt like hours but was probably just thirty minutes, Mrs. Rebecca clapped her hands, signaling it was time for the practice match.

The other players were already gathering on the court, sizing up their competition.

Two students stood on the other side of the net, a boy and a girl, both looking focused and ready.

On our side, it was just me and Sarah.

I could feel the weight of anticipation hanging in the air like a thick fog.

The other players had the kind of calm confidence that only came from practice, while I still felt like I was fumbling my way through.

Sarah turned to me, noticing the tension in my grip on the racket.

"If you're still nervous, just relax and leave it to me," she said with a small smile, her tone reassuring.

I took a deep breath, feeling the tightness in my chest loosen a bit.

"No, I'm okay," I replied, trying to convince both her and myself.

I wasn’t about to just stand there and watch—I wanted to give it my all.

The opponents were given the first serve, and I watched as they prepared.

Mrs. Rebecca, now positioned as the referee, scanned all of us with a stern but focused expression.

"Are you all ready?" she asked, her voice carrying authority.

"Yes!" we all nodded, our voices overlapping.

"Good. Then begin," she commanded, blowing the whistle.

With that sharp sound, the girl on the opposite side served the shuttlecock with a swift flick of her wrist.

It flew through the air, a graceful arc that cut through the silence.

I watched it sail toward us, but before I could react, Sarah was already in motion.

She countered the serve effortlessly, sending it back across the net with a quick, sharp stroke.

The shuttlecock was sent back to us almost immediately, heading toward Sarah’s left side.

She adjusted her stance, her body moving with a fluidity that spoke of experience and instinct, and returned the shot with precision.

Her racket made a satisfying thwack as she sent it sailing back over the net.

But that’s when I saw it—the slight shift in the other team's formation, a setup for a trick play.

The shuttlecock came flying back, this time angled sharply to the right—far from where Sarah was positioned on the leftmost side of our court.

She lunged, but it was clear she wouldn't make it in time. My heart skipped a beat, adrenaline kicking in as I realized it was up to me.

I rushed forward, my feet pounding against the court as I stretched out my arm.

My movements were clumsy compared to Sarah’s, but I managed to reach the shuttlecock just in time.

With an awkward swipe, I sent it back over the net.

The shot wasn’t elegant or precise—it veered off to the side, closer to the edge than I intended.

The opponents didn’t miss a beat.

The boy on the other side moved like a flash, his return swift and clean, sending the shuttlecock flying back toward us with a speed that surprised me.

Sarah darted to the left, her feet gliding across the court as she sent the shuttlecock flying back over the net with a powerful swing.

The opposing team tried to exploit our weak points again.

This time, they aimed at the far corner, just out of Sarah’s reach.

But I was ready. I lunged forward, focusing on the shuttlecock’s trajectory.

My racket connected with a satisfying smack, and the shuttlecock soared back over the net, landing perfectly in an open space between them.

We scored a point.

My heart leapt with a mix of relief and exhilaration.

Sarah glanced at me, a small, surprised smile forming on her lips.

For a moment, I felt like I was getting the hang of this.

But as the match continued, my inexperience showed.

The opponents adjusted their strategy, and despite our efforts, we ended up losing.

I felt a pang of disappointment as we walked off the court.

"I'm sorry, Sarah," I said, my shoulders slumping. "If my shots were more accurate, we could have won."

She shook her head, offering me an encouraging smile.

"Hey, don’t fret about it. For a first-timer, you were actually pretty good."

"Yeah, but if that one shot had gone over there, and another over there," I muttered, gesturing with my hands to different spots on the court, "we could have created an opening. The boy was over on that side, and the girl was too far to react. We could've easily taken advantage of that."

Sarah looked at me, her brows furrowed.

"Wait... Are you saying you could remember their positions that clearly?"

"Umm... yeah. It was easy," I replied, a bit confused by her reaction. "I could predict everyone’s position all the time."

Sarah’s eyes widened slightly, and without another word, she spun on her heel and hurried over to where Mrs. Rebecca stood with Mr. George.

I watched as she whispered something to them, their heads bent close together.

Moments later, the three of them strode toward me, their expressions a mix of curiosity and intrigue.

Mrs. Rebecca stepped forward, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied me.

"Are you sure you can remember their positions?" she asked, her voice carrying a seriousness that made me stand up a little straighter.

"Yes," I said, still not quite understanding the gravity of the situation. "But... what’s the big deal about it?"

Mrs. Rebecca exchanged a look with Mr. George, her brow furrowing.

"It is a big deal," she said slowly. "Usually, it’s hard to keep track of both players and the shuttlecock in a fast-paced game like badminton. But you say you can do this easily?"

I shrugged, a little embarrassed by the attention. "I just do."

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Rebecca pressed, her eyes narrowing further.

Mr. George stepped in, a knowing smile on his face.

"In football, Michael usually keeps track of 21 players moving on the field. So keeping an eye on three people on a smaller court... well, it’s not that difficult for him."

There was a moment of realization among them, a dawning understanding that seemed to spread like a wave.

Mrs. Rebecca’s stern expression softened slightly, replaced by a look of thoughtful consideration.

I could see Sarah’s face light up with a spark of excitement, her eyes darting between me and the teachers.

For the first time, I felt like maybe, just maybe, there was something more to my skills than I had ever realized.