CHAPTER 107: INTRO TO BADMINTON: BASIC DRILLS

Nova stood outside the shop, the wind breezing through Boston as cold as ever. He held the litter box with the kittens inside. The rackets, now strung with high-tension multifilament strings, recommended by the shop’s specialist, were placed inside their original covers, which were hanging over his shoulders.

The specialist had given him the power and control of a professional-grade player, even though he didn’t understand what that meant, since he barely understood the nuances of string tension.

His appointment with the badminton coach, which he had booked, was in an hour, and the anticipation was making him excited, yet nervous. He didn’t know why he felt nervous, but he just did.

Elesch, walking beside him, had a playful smirk. Then she criticized, though not like a professional: "You’re really doing this? I didn’t think you were the type to learn badminton of all things. Maybe football or American football, or whatever." Then she added, chuckling slightly. "You really went from slaying monsters to swinging feathers. Quite a bold move."

Nova shot her a narrowed glance, his lips curling into a half-smile. "It’s not about the feathers." He told her, his voice high, prideful. "It’s about the precision. The control. The Power. And so much more. You’ll see when I start having a better balance than you. Just you wait and watch."

She snorted, adjusting her grip on Luna and Sol, who were peeking out of the litter box, their tiny whiskers twitching in the cold air. "Sure, sure. Just don’t trip over your own ego when you can’t hit shit."

They parted ways at the corner of the street. Elesch and Adam had plans to grab a coffee and explore a local arcade. While Nova had plans to attend his first badminton class. The two kittens purred softly as he said goodbye.

He headed toward the community sports center near Boston University. The sports center was huge, with massive windows, polished floors, and brick buildings.

He stepped inside the sports center, the warmth of the heater sending a sudden chill through his body. He checked in at the front desk, where a bored receptionist pointed him toward Court 3, where his coach, Coach Ramirez, was waiting.

Coach Ramirez was a vigorous man in his late forties, with sharp eyes like a hawk, and a no-nonsense posture. His dark hair, with streaks of grey, contrasted with the white clipboard he was holding as if it were an extension of his arm.

He sized up Nova as he approached, noting the pristine rackets and the litter box tucked under his arm.

"You Nova?" Ramirez asked, his voice neutral.

Nova nodded, setting the litter box carefully on a bench near the court. The kittens sought out curious but quiet.

Then he said, his voice dripping with nervousness and enthusiasm: "Yes. I’m here to learn badminton."

Ramirez raised an eyebrow, glancing at the kittens. He was confused why he had brought his cats when he could have left them at home for an hour or so. "You brought cats?"

"They’re my responsibility," Nova said simply, his tone leaving no room for debate.

The coach shrugged. "Fair enough. Let’s see what you’ve got. Ever played before?"

Nova shook his head sideways. "First time. But I’m a fast learner." He said with a smile, to convince Ramirez that he was, although Ramirez wasn’t convinced.

Ramirez smirked, incredulous. "We’ll see. Grab your rackets, we’ll start with basics, grips, footwork, and strokes. No smashing yet. You gotta crawl before you fly."

Nova unzipped one of the racket covers, pulling out the black-framed racket. The strings were white. He gripped the racket awkwardly at first, his hand more accustomed to daggers than sports equipment. Ramirez noticed immediately.

"First thing," the coach said, stepping forward. "Your grip’s all wrong. You’re holding it like a sword. Badminton’s about finesse, not brute force. Here."

Ramirez demonstrated the forehand grip, wrapping his fingers lightly around the handle, thumb resting along the side for extra power. "This is for forehand shots, focusing on drives, clears, and drops. Relax your hand. Your tension will kill your control."

Nova mimicked the grip, adjusting his fingers until Ramirez nodded. "Better. Now, backhand." The coach flipped his racket, thumb pressing against the string bed’s edge. "This gives you leverage for backhand shots. Try it."

Nova switched the grip; his movements were controlled. The racket still felt foreign, but his muscle memory from combat training helped him adapt quickly. Ramirez watched, his expression softening slightly.

"Not bad, you’ve got coordination. Then, I guess, let’s move to footwork." Ramirez said, slightly impressed by Nova.

The coach led Nova to the center of the court, marking out a basic pattern with cones. "Badminton’s about movement. You don’t stand still. You glide, lunge, pivot. Always be ready to move to the shuttle. Watch me."

Ramirez demonstrated a simple side-to-side step, his feet light and quick, knees bent, body low. He kept his center of gravity low, easing into his moves, without forcing his body, relaxing as he moved along the cones.

"I want you to keep your center of gravity low," the coach said calmly, glancing at Nova as he kept performing the drill. "It will help with balance and control when you hit and help you navigate the shuttle in a much straighter line. Think of it like dancing, you’re dancing through your moves; instead of charging into a war. Now you try it."

Nova followed, his steps heavier at first but growing smoother with each repetition. His sneakers seemed to be gripping the floor enough, though he missed the nakedness of his bare foot.

"Good," Ramirez said after a few minutes. "Now, let’s combine it with strokes. Forehand first. Stand here." He pointed to the center of the court, tossing a shuttlecock into the air. "Hit it straight back to me, softly. Focus on control."

Nova positioned himself, racket raised, eyes locked on the shuttle. Ramirez tossed it gently, and Nova swung, his racket connecting with a satisfying pop. The shuttle sailed over the net but curved slightly left, landing out of bounds.