Two days had sunk by as the racket’s finally arrived, with Nova patiently waiting for them by the doorstep. He heard a knock, instantly opening the door to see the big cardboard box of surprise. He instantly took it, without signing the form that the courier who tried to hand him a pen put in front of him.
The courier nodded his head, rolling his eyes, as he left the apartnt. Nova instantly opened the box as the kittens ca towards him. Elesch also wondered what he had ordered, since he decided to keep it a secret from her.
Upon opening the box, he took out the two separate racket covers, then unzipped the covers to uncover two unstrung rackets, both made for strength and smashing. And since he didn’t know the difference between each racket type, he chose the ones that most appealed to him, also the ones that were quite expensive.
He looked at the fra, then wondered why the racket was unstrung, then asked A.I., which told him that the rackets often ca unstrung because professional and advanced players preferred to choose their own strings and tensions, customizing them for power, control, or durability.
Nova blinked, turning the fra in his hands. "So it’s like buying a car without wheels?" he muttered, tilting his head."
The A.I. responded calmly: "Notquite. Think of it as buying a car chassis that you can tune with the exact tires, suspension, and engine settings you like. Strings are the fundantals of the racket. They can change how it feels, how it strikes, and even how it sounds when you hit."
Elesch leaned against the wall with a sly smile. "You an you bought two expensive sticks without the strings? Bold move, brother."
Nova flushed slightly, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, they looked strong, okay? And I thought they ca ready to go. I didn’t expect a DIY kit."
The kittens pawed at the plastic wrap, one even trying to crawl into a racket cover like it was a cozy den. Elesch laughed, then picked one up before it got stuck.
"So, what now?" she asked.
Nova tapped the edge of the fra. "Now... I guess we find soone who knows how to string these monsters up. And maybe..." he glanced at Elesch, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face "...we make it our new weekend sport."
Elesch raised an eyebrow. "You an, after you figure out how to even hit the shuttle without knocking it into the neighbor’s balcony?"
"Exactly," Nova said proudly.
The A.I. chid in again: "Recomndation: locate a local stringing service. Many sports shops offer this, and you may choose between nylon, multifilant, or high-tension strings depending on your goals."
"Ok then, we just need to roam around Boston. It’s 3:35 PM. Our guild training and ditation are over for today, so let’s go store to store and find soone."
Elesch sighed as Nova grabbed the litter box and tucked the kittens neatly into their small litterbox carrier. The kittens wed in protest at first, then settled.
"Really?" Elesch muttered as she slung the rackets over her shoulder. "We’re going to drag these little furballs across Boston for racket strings?"
Nova grinned. "They need fresh air. And inspiration. Who knows? Maybe one of them will grow into the next badminton prodigy."
Elesch smirked but followed him out. The December winter breeze was cold, crisp to the molecule, brushing against their cheeks as they stepped onto the street. Nova’s determination made up for his lack of planning. He carried the litter box with care, as though the kittens inside were like royalty.
The first store they stopped at was a flashy sports gastore with everything sports. Rows of sneakers and jerseys filled the glass displays. Inside, they wandered past shelves of basketballs and hockey sticks until they found the racket aisle.
A store clerk approached, smiling politely. "Looking for tennis?"
"Badminton," Nova said firmly, holding up one of his expensive, unstrung fras. "Need strings."
The clerk’s smile faltered. "Oh. Sorry, we don’t offer stringing for badminton rackets. Only tennis. Closest thing I can suggest is a shop a few blocks over."
Elesch whispered, "That’s strike one."
The kittens wed, as if agreeing.
The next shop they visited was smaller, tucked between a café and a bookstore. Its front window was cluttered with old baseball gloves and dusty trophies. Inside slled like varnish and forgotten victories. The owner, a gray-haired man with oil-stained hands, examined Nova’s racket for a long mont before shaking his head.
"Not my departnt, son. Try downtown, near the university courts."
Elesch gave Nova a pointed look. "We’re running a racket scavenger hunt."
They went on, weaving through the streets of Boston. Nova didn’t seem to mind the wild goose chase; he was enjoying the process, glancing around like he was on a quest. The kittens pawed at the walls of their litter box when the scent of roasted nuts from a street vendor passed by.
Finally, Elesch spotted a narrow shop squeezed between two laundromats. Its sign was faded, the word Strings painted above in peeling red. Inside, however, it was a different world. Walls were lined with rackets, reels of strings in every color, and posters of badminton champions mid-smash.
A man in his thirties with sharp and confident eyes stood behind the counter, restringing a racket with precise, practiced motions.
Elesch nudged Nova. "This is it."
Nova stepped forward, trying to look casual. "Hey. I, uh, need so strings for these. For... advanced play."
The man raised an eyebrow, glancing at Nova’s pristine rackets. "Advanced, huh? What tension do you usually use?"
Nova froze for a fraction of a second, then smirked as if he’d been asked a trick question. "High tension, of course. Power and control. I smash a lot."
Elesch coughed into her hand, barely hiding her laugh. The kittens let out a collective w, as though exposing Nova’s bluff.
The stringing specialist studied him for a mont longer, then gave a half-smile. "Alright. I think I know what you need. Leave them with , I’ll have them ready tomorrow."
As they stepped back into the street, Elesch chuckled, shaking her head. "Advanced player, huh? You’re full of it."
Nova grinned, shifting the litterbox to his other hand. "Hey, every master starts with a good lie."
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