The badminton match was structured in a best-of-three format, with the first team to score 21 points in two rounds declared the winner.

I could feel the anticipation in the air as we took our positions, my heart thumping in my chest.

With the referee’s whistle, the match began.

Mr. Davis stepped forward for the first serve.

His movements were smooth and precise; he swung his racket with just the right amount of force, sending the shuttlecock flying across the net like a dart.

It was fast and well-placed, giving the opponents little time to react.

They managed to counter it back, but it wasn’t enough.

Mr Davis was everywhere at once, reading their moves and countering with ease.

His footwork was flawless, his reflexes sharp.

The shuttlecock zipped back and forth, a blur of motion.

Whenever I made a mistake—and there were more than a few—Davis was there to cover for me.

His presence on the court was reassuring, like a safety net I could always rely on.

Despite my errors, we managed to maintain a strong lead.

I focused on keeping the shuttlecock in play, relying on Davis’s incredible skill to turn defense into offense.

The opponents struggled to keep up with his relentless pace.

Before I knew it, we had won the first round.

The scoreboard flashed our victory: 21-13.

We took a short break, moving to the sidelines to catch our breath and sip some water.

“Okay, keep it up,” Mrs. Rebecca encouraged us. She gave me a firm nod, her expression stern but supportive.

I glanced over at the audience.

My friends were there, cheering and waving, their shouts of encouragement echoing through the court.

Seeing them pumped me up. I nodded back, feeling a surge of confidence.

But that confidence would soon turn out to be a mistake.

The referee’s whistle blew again, signaling the start of the second round.

We switched sides and took our positions on the opposite end of the court.

I felt good. Maybe too good.

This time, the opponents came back with a different strategy.

They seemed to have figured out my weaknesses in the first round.

They weren’t just hitting random shots anymore—they were targeting me.

They sent the shuttlecock toward my side repeatedly, forcing me to play more defensively.

I could feel their strategy tightening around me like a noose.

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I tried to counter their shots, but my returns were not as sharp or as fast as they needed to be.

My serves were shaky, and my smashes lacked power.

Every slip-up seemed to fuel the opponents’ strategy.

They played sharply, capitalizing on every error I made, as if they’d figured me out completely from the first round.

They knew I was the weak link

I could sense the momentum shifting, slipping away from us.

My footwork became clumsy as the pressure mounted, my movements lagging just a fraction of a second behind.

I could hear Davis calling out quick directions, his voice calm but urgent, trying to guide me.

“Move back, watch your left!” he shouted.

I tried, I really did, but they were relentless.

They seemed to know exactly where to place the shuttlecock to exploit my weaknesses.

I felt my confidence wavering, my nerves getting the best of me.

The crowd's energy was changing, too.

It wasn’t just my friends cheering us on anymore; I could hear the other school's supporters getting louder, sensing the opportunity.

They could feel the tide turning.

I glanced at Davis, who was doing his best to cover for me again.

Sweat trickled down his face, but his expression remained focused.

He was carrying us, and I knew it.

And that made me feel worse. I needed to step up.

But every time I tried to regain control, the shuttlecock seemed to fly just out of reach or land where I wasn’t prepared.

My frustration built with every missed shot, my confidence eroding with each lost point.

In the end, we lost the second round, 21-17.

And with that loss, my confidence sank even lower

It was close, but not enough.

We had one more round to go, and it was all or nothing now.

As we returned to the sidelines, my head was down, a storm of frustration and disappointment brewing inside me.

I could feel the weight of my mistakes dragging me down.

I’d let Mr Davis down, I’d let the team down, and I’d let myself down.

During the break, Mr Davis approached me.

His tone was direct, but there was a glimmer of encouragement in his words.

"Hey, think before your next move," he said, his eyes locked onto mine.

"I don’t know much about football, but I heard you’re somewhat of a master at positioning. So try to make use of it."

I looked up at him, surprised. "Master of positioning?"

He nodded. "Yeah, don’t let their attacks overwhelm you. Read their movements like you would on the football field."

Mrs. Rebecca chimed in. "He’s right. You’re on the team because of that specialty, so use it. Stay calm, focus, and play to your strengths."

I took a deep breath.

She was right.

They both were.

My strength wasn’t in raw power or technical skill; it was in reading the game, predicting the moves before they happened.

I had been too caught up in trying to match their speed and power, and I had lost sight of what I was good at.

As we prepared to step back on the court for the final round, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Sarah.

“Good luck,” she said softly, her voice filled with sincerity.

I nodded, her encouragement giving me a small boost of confidence.

She believed in me, and I needed to believe in myself too.

I stepped onto the court, determined to turn things around.

I could hear the crowd murmuring, some cheering, others doubtful.

The referee blew the whistle, and the match resumed.

As expected, the opponents immediately sent the shuttlecock toward my side.

I gripped my racket tighter, my eyes narrowing in concentration.

This time, I wasn’t going to react on instinct alone.

I needed to think ahead, to anticipate where they’d aim next.

I knew I wasn’t a great badminton player.

I couldn’t hit the shuttlecock with perfect precision, nor could I serve like a pro.

In football, I was much the same—I didn’t have the best fundamentals, stamina, or strength.

But I had one thing: awareness.

I could see the game unfolding in my mind, like a series of moves on a chessboard.

And I had good teammates.

What I lacked in technique, they more than made up for with their skill, precision, and agility.

And I had my own strength—my awareness, my ability to anticipate and position myself.

I wasn’t here to outplay anyone; I was here to play smart.

Instead of trying to send the shuttlecock back aggressively, I focused on setting up opportunities.

I angled my shots just a little to the left, keeping them within our side but close enough for Mr. Davis to reach.

One of my shots fell a little short, but he moved with incredible speed and reflexes, intercepting it perfectly at the last moment.

He sent it soaring back with a precision smash, scoring us a crucial point.

That moment shifted the momentum of the game. From then on, I stuck to my strategy.

Any shot that came toward me, I carefully redirected toward Mr. Davis.

I wasn’t the strongest player, but he was.

I didn’t need to be the one making all the plays; I just needed to create the chances.

And Davis, with his sharp instincts and flawless execution, capitalized on every one of them.

The game intensified.

The crowd’s cheers grew louder, a wave of excitement sweeping through the court.

I could feel the energy building up with every point we gained.

The other team was getting frustrated; their strategy was falling apart, and ours was coming together seamlessly.

With one final coordinated effort, Mr. Davis delivered a powerful smash that landed on the opponents' court, out of their reach.

The whistle blew, signaling the end of the match. We had won the final round.

Our school was the winner.

For a moment, I stood there, breathing heavily, feeling a mix of disbelief and pride.

We did it. I didn’t just survive out there; I contributed.

Mr. Davis walked up to me, a rare smile on his usually stern face.

"You're good," he said simply, but the weight of those words meant more than he could know.

Sarah, Ms. Mary, and Mrs. Rebecca hurried over, their faces beaming with joy.

"Congratulations!" Sarah said, her eyes shining with pride.

I nodded, still catching my breath, but I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.

Then, I saw my friends rushing towards me, excitement all over their faces.

"Man, you were amazing!" Steve exclaimed, clapping me on the back.

"Yeah! That was like you were passing the ball out there," Gunther chimed in, his eyes wide with admiration.

"That was really cool!" Paul and Donovan echoed, their enthusiasm contagious.

I laughed, feeling a swell of warmth in my chest. It was moments like these that made all the hard work worth it.

But I knew we couldn’t rest on our laurels just yet.

"Okay, okay! Now that this match is over, we need to focus on tomorrow's football match, right?"

"Oh yeah!" Paul suddenly remembered. "Mr. George told us to bring you over right after your badminton match."

I nodded, feeling a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. "Alright, let’s go quickly."

I turned back, giving a quick wave to Sarah, Ms. Mary, Mr. Davis, and Mrs. Rebecca.

"Thanks, everyone. I’ll see you later!"

"Good luck tomorrow!" Sarah called out, her voice full of encouragement.

With that, I hurried off with my friends, my heart still pounding with excitement.

Today was a victory, but tomorrow, another battle awaited.

And I was ready for it.