Chapter 14 - Javier

Derrick's shadow stretched long and thin in the morning sun as he stepped onto the King's Hope Tennis Club's courts, his hand tightening around the grip of his new racket. He was early, the first day jitters getting the better of his usual composure. He noticed another figure already present, a man engrossed in his phone, sitting alone on the bleachers.

"Good morning," Derrick greeted, his voice breaking the court's tranquil symphony of distant traffic and rustling leaves.

The man looked up, his attention shifting from the screen to Derrick. "Morning," he replied, a casual nod accompanying his greeting.

Derrick glanced at the paper in his hand, confirming the appointment. "Are you also waiting for Javier Oreno?" he inquired.

"Yeah, Michael Leroux," the man said, extending a hand that contrasted with his smile's warmth. "Derrick Robertson," Derrick introduced himself in return, shaking Michael's hand.

Their conversation paused as they turned their attention to the court, watching two teenagers engaged in a heated match, their grunts and the pop of the ball punctuating the morning calm.

Suddenly, the teenagers' match was interrupted by the arrival of a short man with authoritative presence and silky hair. He called out to them, and the game ceased. He then directed his attention to Derrick and Michael. "Derrick and Michael, I presume?"

They descended from the stands, approaching the man who was undeniably Javier, their new coach.

"Greetings, Mr. Javier," Derrick said, extending his hand.

Javier skipped pleasantries, his eyes scanning a wristwatch that had seen many a match. "You're just on time. That's good. We start now. No moment wasted."

Javier's training style was uncompromising, his drills intense and strategic, designed to push his players to the brink. He introduced tactics that were innovative and demanding, forcing Derrick and Michael to adapt quickly to his rigorous regimen.

As they were deep in a drill, the gate creaked open, and a young woman dashed onto the court. Her punctuality had faltered, and Javier did not let it slide unnoticed. "Veronica, your time-keeping is as lacking as your backhand," he chided without missing a beat.

Veronica's cheeks flushed, but she responded with a respectful, "Understood, sir," before starting her punitive laps.

Derrick recognized her from a fleeting glance shared outside Mr. Ariston's store. Her late arrival did nothing to hide her athleticism; she moved with purpose and grace even in her punishment.

After her laps, Veronica joined the training, her skill and determination evident as she returned Derrick's serves with precision. Despite the earlier reprimand, she was clearly a force on the court.

Michael, on the other side, showcased creativity in his play, his tactics unconventional but effective. His artistic approach to the game brought a fresh perspective to the practice session, keeping Derrick on his toes.

Javier watched them all, his eyes sharp, missing nothing. "Remember," he said, his voice cutting through the sound of bouncing balls, "tennis is a duel of minds as much as it is of skill. Anticipate, adapt, and execute."

The session ended with the players exhausted but exhilarated. As they collected their gear, Derrick felt a renewed sense of purpose. This was more than training; it was a rebirth of his passion for the game.

"Tomorrow, we push harder," Javier announced, and though the words were daunting, Derrick found himself looking forward to it.