The light of an industrial Port Osea morning filtered through the slats of the blinds, painting stripes across the duvet. Himeko's eyes opened a minute before her alarm was set to ring.

  Sat up, the sheets pooled around her waist, as she let out a long, vocal yawn. She extended her arms high above her head, arching her back until her spine popped, a good stretch.

  Himeko slid out of bed, bare feet hitting the cool laminate floor. Today was the day. The preseason officially began.

  In the bathroom, the fluorescent light flickered. Himeko stared at her reflection, no more of the dark circles that had haunted her during the peak of the Ascension Program, only clear skin and eyes that looked sharp, rested, and focused.

  Grabbing her toothbrush, she squeezed a pea-sized amount of paste onto the bristles. She brushed methodically - upper left, upper right, lower left, lower right. Two minutes exactly. Then spat out the toothpaste mouthfull.

  She gathered her dark hair back, securing it tightly with a black band to ensure not a single strand would interfere. She turned the faucet on, letting the water run.

  Himeko cupped her hands, splashing the water against her face, the morning coldness of it tightening her pores and waking up her nerve endings. She reached for her cleanser - a high-end, unscented gel in a minimalist white tube. She dispensed it into her palm and worked it into a lather before applying it to her skin. After massaging her entire face thoroughly, she rinsed with three splashes, ensuring no residue remained, before grabbing a fresh, fluffy white towel and patting her face dry.

  Refreshed, she walked back into her bedroom, the cool air gently kissed her morning hair.

  She slid the closet door open.

  Hanging there, amidst her other clothes, was the uniform - the Port Osea Divers kit - deep, oceanic blue with aggressive black side panels, the abyssal color of the deep sea, of pressure, of the unknown.

  For a second, the image of the blue jersey superimposed over a memory of a red training tank and a stuffed fox on a bench. The silence of her apartment was suddenly filled with the echoes of laughters and balls slamming into the floor.

  Himeko reached out, fingers brushing the fabric of her number. The nostalgia tried to hook into her chest, tried to make her regret the 'stranger' comment, pulling her back to that place in the capital.

  She grabbed the jersey off the hanger, clutching it tight, closing her eyes, exhaling the memory away.

  "Not bad," she muttered to the empty room, a small, bittersweet smile touched her lips. "But I like volleyball more."

  The air inside the Divers' home gym was different. It didn't have the modern, fresh and somewhat artificial scent of the capital's Facility B. Here, the air was heavy, humid, and carried the faint essence of sea salt and rust from the nearby docks, smelling a bit like home.

  Himeko pushed through the entrance.

  "Himeko! You made it!"

  Before she could even set her bag down, she was greeted by a presence radiated pure teddy-bear warmth. Julia "Jules" Moreno, the team's starting outside hitter, was beaming at her. With her short wavy hair tied back in a loose bun and a smile that could melt snow, Jules was the beating heart of the Divers, mothering the entire roster.

  "Good to see you, Jules," Himeko smiled, allowing herself to relax into the familiarity.

  "Look at you," Jules said, gripping Himeko's shoulders, inspecting her like a proud aunt despite being younger. "Lookin sharp aren't ya. Did you grow? You look taller. Or maybe... stronger. The capital treated you well?"

  "I guess I survived."

  She glanced past Jules to the bench near the lockers. A smaller figure sat hunched over, wearing oversized noise-canceling headphones, thumbs moving at lightspeed over a handheld gaming console.

  Lisa Denire. The team's libero.

  Lisa didn't look up. She was in her own world. However, as if sensing Himeko's gaze, she lifted one hand lazily into the air without taking her eyes off the screen.

  "Sup," Lisa muttered flatly.

  Himeko nodded in return, appreciating the low-maintenance greeting. Lisa was difficult for most people to approach, a fortress of introversion, a language Himeko understood fluently.

  "So," Jules clapped her hands together, drawing Himeko's attention back. "You have to come over for dinner this week. I spent the entire offseason mastering the culinary arts. I've been experimenting with fusion dishes."

  Himeko's internal alarm bells rang. Jules was reliable on the court, but her history in the kitchen was nothing short of a... hazard. Last season's "team bonding chili" had resulted in a collective, silent agreement to never speak of it again.

  "That sounds... adventurous," Himeko said, keeping her face perfectly neutral. "I would be happy to."

  Jules beamed, clearly oblivious to the danger she posed to her teammates' digestive systems. "Great! I'll text you the details."

  Himeko bent down to lace up her shoes.

  "Do you know why Coach Elena insisted on the full kits today?" Himeko asked.

  Jules leaned in closer, lowering her voice as if sharing state secrets.

  "I ran into Coach in the hallway earlier," Jules whispered. "She said we aren't doing conditioning today. We have a scrimmage."

  Himeko paused. "A scrimmage? On day one? Who against? The B-team?"

  Jules shook her head slowly.

  "No. She wouldn't tell me exactly who, but she said to tape up tight. Said we have a guest. And apparently... a very strong opponent."

  Outside the stadium, a suspicious mound of laundry was moving down the sidewalk.

  Willow Vance, the Divers' starting setter, was currently operating with the belief that if she couldn't see the sun, the sun couldn't possibly see her. She was wrapped in a scarf thick enough to strangle a bear, a beanie pulled down to her eyebrows, oversized sunglasses that covered half her face, and a facemask, looking too much like a fugitive celebrity trying to flee the country, or perhaps a sentient pile of winter clearance items.

  For the past two months, Willow had existed in a self-constructed "Fortress of Knowledge" built out of blankets, tactical analysis books, coaching manuals, and empty energy drink cans. She had turned her bedroom into a cave, illuminated only by the blue light of her mini-TV. There, huddled under a blanket like a goblin guarding a hoard of gold, she had watched endless loops of VODs, absorbing the amount of volleyball knowledge that would immediately fry a bird's brain.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  She had been safe in the dark, had been the powerful max level dark lord.

  Then, this morning happened.

  The alarm had rung, signaling the end of her vampire era. Willow had crawled out of her book fort, stumbling toward the window. She had opened her curtains a single inch. A beam of UV radiation had sliced through the darkness, hitting her pale forearm.

  HISSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

  The effect was instantaneous. Like a vampire caught in a holy flashbang, Willow felt her soul disintegrate into a pile of sad, pathetic pile of ash.

  It had taken her a solid forty-five minutes to mentally gather her physical form from the pile of dust and work up the courage to leave the apartment.

  Now, shuffling down the street, she squeezed her eyes shut behind her sunglasses, letting out a long sigh that fogged up her glasses. Just get to the gym. Just get to the gym. Once you're in the gym, you're safe. You're the setter. You control the ball. The ball doesn't judge you.

  She turned the corner, keeping her head down, counting her steps.

  Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundr-

  THUD.

  Willow slammed face-first into a solid concrete pillar.

  The force knocked the wind out of her and sent her rebounding backward. She flailed, her legs tangling in her oversized trench coat, and she hit the pavement with a squeak that sounded like a dog toy being stepped on.

  Ow. Why? Why is there a support beam in the middle of the sidewalk? Who designed this city?

  Willow rubbed her nose through her mask, adjusting her crooked sunglasses.

  "Excuse... me."

  The voice was low. Like, subterranean low. It vibrated in the pavement beneath her butt.

  Willow froze. Pillars didn't usually apologize.

  Trembling, she slowly turned her head back.

  She saw a pair of massive sneakers. Then, thick, tree-trunk calves. Then knees that were roughly at her eye level. She kept scrolling up. And up. And up. She had to crane her neck back so far.

  Blocking out the sun was a man. No, not a man. A geographic feature. A Titan. He was big enough to check the weather for the next town over.

  He looked down at the pile of clothes on the ground.

  "Are... you... okay...?"

  He spoke slowly, unsure if the creature before him spoke human.

  Willow opened her mouth to scream, but only a tiny, high-pitched wheeze came out. She nodded frantically, scrambling backward on her hands and heels like a crab.

  "I... am... lost," the giant rumbled, the sound resonating in Willow's chest cavity. "Where... is... the Divers... gym?"

  The gym was buzzing now, the sound of individual warm-ups merging into a singular, chaotic discussion of a full roster present. Himeko found herself near the sidelines, stretching her hamstrings while making polite conversation with Efbi and Mei, two of the reserve blockers.

  "So, is it true that coffee in the capital costs twelve Vomds?" Mei asked, her eyes wide with the horror of a frugal athlete.

  "Only if you buy it at the tourist traps," Himeko replied, reaching for her toes. "But the rent prices are indeed... otherworldly. I don't understand how the locals survive."

  "By the way," Efbi chimed in the conversation. "Have you seen the parking lot? Two massive buses just pulled up. Red. They look expensive."

  "Red?" Himeko paused mid-stretch. A weird feeling crawled up in her chest, but she dismissed it, red was a common color. It meant nothing.

  Before she could analyze it further, the gym doors swung open.

  Coach Elena burst into the room, her heels clicking against the floorboards. She skidded to a halt near the center court, clutching a clipboard to her chest, heaving.

  "Sorry! Sorry!" Elena gasped, holding up a hand while bending over to catch her breath.

  The players exchanged glances. It was classic Elena - chaos followed by brilliance. Once her breathing slowed to a manageable rhythm, she stood up straight, smoothing her blazer and fixing the team with an electric gaze.

  "Alright, ladies! Gather round! Center court, now!"

  The Divers shuffled into a semi-circle, the murmurs about the red buses growing louder in the back ranks. Jules nudged Himeko, raising an eyebrow, but Himeko kept her face impassive.

  "Today," Elena began, her voice a bit theatrical, "marks the beginning of our journey to the title. But a journey cannot begin with a walk. It must begin with a climb. A trial by fire!"

  Pacing back and forth, she gestured wildly.

  "I called in a favor. A massive favor. Because to be the queens of this league, you cannot just play against other women. You need to face power. You need to face speed that feels unfair. You need to have your defenses shattered so you can learn how to rebuild them stronger!"

  "Coach," Jules interrupted. "With all due respect, you're killing us with the suspense. Who are the red buses?"

  Elena stopped pacing. A mischievous grin spread across her face - the kind of smile that usually spelled trouble for the Divers' stamina bars.

  "You're sharp, Julia. Yes. We aren't scrimmaging a local college team. And we aren't playing League 1 squad."

  Elena paused for effect, her eyes gleaming.

  "We are playing against the defending champions. Of the Men's League."

  The air left the room. A collective gasp rippled through the circle. Playing a men's team was rare, playing a champion men's team was unheard of.

  Men's Champions.

  Red Buses.

  A favor called in by Coach Elena who graduated from Victoria Academy of Sports.

  A horrible, sinking feeling opened up in the pit of her stomach. The memory of her dramatic farewell speech: We live in different worlds... Do not create expectations... played back in her mind.

  No, Himeko thought, her eyes widened in horror. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

  Elena spun around, extending her arm toward the double doors at the far end of the gym as if commanding them to open.

  The doors banged open.

  A sea of red jerseys flooded into the gym, bringing with them a wave of loud, masculine laughter and towering height. And there, leading the pack, walking with a loose, confident stride that Himeko knew down to the millisecond, was the MVP.

  Kevin Marvant stepped onto the court. He scanned the group of stunned women, his eyes searching until they locked onto the tall, frozen figure of the middle blocker in the back row.

  His face lit up with a familiar smirk. He raised a hand in a lazy wave, mouthing a single word across the distance.

  Stranger.

  Himeko wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.