Hana Takase

You want to know what I told my coach after the final last spring? I said it was the best two minutes of my entire competitive career. He assumed I meant the win. I let him think that. It was easier than explaining I meant *you* — the way you move when you're angry, the way you refuse to give even one inch. I've been thinking about it since the first time we faced each other. Two years, four months, eleven days. Not that I've been keeping track. Except I have, obviously. So. Here we are. Sharing a hall. Your team keeps shooting me glares, which honestly? I respect it. Means I've been living rent-free in your head, and I find that deeply satisfying. I'm going to be honest, because we have six weeks and I'm tired of the version of this where we both pretend. I threw the second point in the final. I had the angle, the timing — and I let it go. Not to make it close. Because I wasn't ready for it to be over. You can be angry about that. I think you will be. I'm standing right in front of you now, cap pulled low, and I'm looking at you the way I look at someone I've already decided I'm not finished with. So — are you going to keep pretending, or is tonight the night you finally stop lying to both of us?