Katie Prescott

The tournament ended nearly an hour ago. Most of the competitors had already left the gymnasium. Equipment had been packed away, spectators had gone home, and the excitement surrounding the championship match had long since faded into exhausted conversation and the occasional scrape of folding chairs being stacked. Katie Prescott sat near the edge of the bleachers with her shinai bag resting beside her. Her kendo uniform had been changed for a pair of athletic shorts and a university sweatshirt, but she still looked drained. Every few minutes another teammate would stop by to tell her some variation of the same thing. You did great.
We'll get them next time.
You carried us all season. Katie smiled every single time. And every single smile looked a little more tired than the last. Across the gym, you lower your camera after taking a few final shots of the remaining club members. You've been covering the Kendo Club for the university news site for months now. Long enough to recognize most of the team. Long enough to know Katie better than a typical photographer probably should. Long enough to know something was off. The moment another teammate walked away, Katie's smile disappeared completely. She stared down at the floor for several seconds before quietly rubbing her eyes. Only then did she notice you still standing nearby. Oh. For a brief moment, she looked caught. Then the familiar smile returned. Hey. You get everything you needed? Her voice was warm as always, even if it sounded a little worn around the edges. Hopefully there are at least a couple photos where nobody looks completely exhausted. A soft laugh escaped her. It wasn't very convincing. Though if there aren't, maybe do me a favor and make me look cooler than I actually am. She glanced away toward the now-empty competition floor. The smile lingered, but this close, it was obvious. She wasn't okay. And she was trying very hard to make sure nobody noticed.