By Hana Robson

The weight of the world rests on her shoulders, and the ball in the air will determine her fate.

AUSTRALIAN OPEN, 2021 Women's Finals: Japan’s NAOMI OSAKA vs USA’s JENNIFER BRADY

The voice of the announcer booms across the stadium, signifying the beginning of the game. The court and the stands are a deep shade of blue, creating a fishbowl effect. Jennifer Brady walks out first, wearing a pale blue tennis dress and granting the crowd a slight wave before she clutches the straps of her tennis bag and focuses in. From the opposite end of the arena, Naomi Osaka, the 23-year-old tennis phenom, stands waiting. When her name is called, she emerges from the tunnel wearing her headphones. Both women place their bags on the sidelines and grab their racquets. They slowly make their way to their respective ends of the court. A ball is tossed to Naomi from the sidelines, and she bounces it one, two, three times before getting into serving position. The game begins.

SET ONE

Osaka tosses the ball high in the air where it stands weightless for a mere moment, just before being met with the brutal force of her racquet.

23 years earlier, Serena and Venus Williams stood side by side, preparing to face off in the 1999 French Open. From across the world in Osaka, Japan, Leonard Francois watches his television with bated breath. Life in Japan has not been easy for his family. He initially came to Japan as a college student to visit Hokkaido, but he soon fell in love with the radiant Tamaki Osaka. When Tamaki’s parents found out she was dating a Haitian immigrant, they refused to speak to her. Now, a few years later, Leonard watches the two sisters and sees Mari and Naomi. The girls share their mother’s last name, but soon they will share their father’s passion for tennis.

“Game one: Osaka”

Long Island. The year is 2000, and Leonard has moved his small family back to the US to live with his parents. At 3, Naomi begins training with her sister. The two spend their afternoons training, sweat beading across their foreheads, fluttering across the court. Naomi loses again and again, wiring her jaw shut with anger. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t beat Mari.

The second game begins with Brady’s serve, initially a fault. But on her second try, she hits the ball with a resounding THWACK, and sends it hurling toward Osaka at 163 kilometers per hour.

“OUT!”

Brady initially gets to 30 points, but not before Osaka begins to break her serve. Eventually, they’re tied, 40-40.

“Deuce.” Then, “Advantage, Brady.”

The edge of Osaka’s racquet barely grazes the ball, sending it toward a sea of outstretched hands in the audience.

“Game two: Brady.”

At 12 years old, something remarkable happens to Naomi. She feels lighter, quicker on her feet. Dancing across the court, her wings begin to unfurl. She emerges from her chrysalis, and for the first time, she beats her sister in a game of tennis.

“Game three, Osaka.”

At 15, Naomi is offered a spot at the United States Tennis Association’s facility in Boca Raton, Florida. She politely declines. Etched in her memory is the sting of their rejection two years before. She pulls a legal pad from her father’s desk and furiously begins scratching at it with a pen. First Asian player to be ranked number 1, first Japanese person to win a grand slam title — she thinks of all the ways she can prove herself against the whispers of doubt.

“Game four, Osaka.”

By the fifth game, they are once again tied at 40-40, deuce. Osaka serves.

“Fault.”

She serves once more.

“Fault. Advantage: Brady.”

Osaka exhales, then bounces the ball a few more times before serving it directly into the net. The crowd gasps. On the sidelines, a ball girl sprints to retrieve before the next serve. Osaka serves once more, and the two volley the ball back and forth before Brady wins the game.

A few feet away from Naomi rests tennis royalty. She is the monarch of the court, her name synonymous with the sport itself: Serena. Both are competitors in the 2014 Stanford Classic, though not against each other. Not yet. Naomi worries that the reporters she’s gushed to about her admiration for Serena have made her seem like a fanatic, but Serena seeks her out anyway. Naomi’s heart flutters as Serena leans in close to her, and a grin breaks across her face as the camera flashes.

“Osaka wins the first set.”

SET TWO

Osaka serves and wins the first game. Brady serves, and Osaka breaks it to win the second game.

2018, US Women’s Open. Serena exits the tunnel to thunderous applause. This match marks her return, an assertion that mothers can have it all. To win tonight will have her tied for the most Grand Slams ever won. Serena feels it shimmering in the air; this match is kismet. Naomi takes the lead. She is stoic, her racquet slicing through the air like a katana, controlling the game from the baseline. In the box, Serena’s coach begins to motion with his hands. The chair calls foul, once, twice, three times on Serena, citing a coaching violation, racquet abuse and verbal abuse — all offenses male players seemingly never incur.

Serena defends herself, but the chair is determined to spite her, to make her small before the world. Naomi wins the match. As the match is called, Naomi stands at the center of the court, tilts her visor down to hide her eyes from the stands and begins to cry softly. She feels a strange emptiness as hot tears slide down her cheeks, a void that engulfs her as she registers the crowd's jeers. Serena slides her arm around Naomi, attempting to shield her from the vitriol pouring from the stands. For the first time, Naomi is a champion.

The next two games follow closely to the first two, with Osaka serving to win and then consequently breaking Brady's serve. Brady manages to get a point off of a faulty return from Osaka, but it is immediately followed by another deadly serve that has Osaka up by 25.

“Osaka, very simple technique on the backhand, plenty of power!”

Brady remains unfazed. She vaults the ball over the net and succeeds in scoring yet another point. The competition is fierce, with neither player showing any signs of defeat.

From across the net, tears well up in Coco Gauff’s eyes. She’s lost the 2019 US Open to Naomi. She does her best to bottle the swell of disappointment in her chest as the stands rise to their feet. From across the net, Naomi watches Coco attempt to catch her breath and forgets where she is. Her heart sinks through the clay as Coco collects herself. She remembers the little girl she used to watch practice at the Polo Club after her training sessions. The sheer determination she used to see burning in her eyes has been extinguished by her tears. Naomi sprints to her side, and just like Serena, embraces her, shielding her from the world, a silent reminder that she, better than anyone, understands. When she is met with a microphone, her soft-spoken voice fills the stands with nothing but praise for Coco and her work ethic. By the time the interview is finished, there is hardly a dry eye in the stands.

Osaka stands at the edge of the court, eyes cool and demeanor focused. She serves the ball to Brady, who initially returns it well, but slips on her second return and is forced to dive for the ball, her racquet tilted awkwardly as the edge kisses the ball.

“OUT!”

Brady and Osaka are at 0-40 in the final game of the second set. A small grin flits across Osaka’s face in spite of herself. They have arrived at the championship point. 

Opening of the second set. The court glistens before Naomi, a deep sea blue. She feels a soft brush against her leg. A monarch butterfly circles her, settling itself on the bridge of her nose. She asks for the game to be paused briefly. Whispers from the chair make their way back to her. Since her win against Serena three years ago, the media has become suffocating, a swarm that descends on every post-match interview, prepared to pick, poke and parcel her every word into a soundbite. She has come to dread their presence, her stomach sinking as soon as a match ends. But for a moment, as she feels wings gently brush against her cheek, they are forgotten.

She cups the creature in her hands, careful not to crush its lacey wings in her grasp. The world watches as Naomi carries the insect to safety on the sidelines. She extends her hand, and the butterfly stops for a second, resting itself on the tip of her finger as if to extend its thanks for her gentle kindness, before fluttering away into the great blue sky. Exhale. The third round of the Australian Open resumes.

The crowd whoops and whistles. With a serene sort of certainty, Osaka inhales, then raises her racquet high, serving her final ball. 

“Osaka is champion in Australia for the second time!”

Naomi gleefully throws her hands in the air, smiling up at the sky, before bounding across the court to embrace Jennifer, the two congratulating each other on a match well played. ■