A sea of crimson training kits flooded the Divers' home court, bringing with them a wall of noise, deep laughter, and the overwhelming physical presence of the Men's Champions.

  Bringing up the rear of the Victoria Dragons' procession was a mountain of a man - Lompo, their middle blocker, who had to duck slightly to clear the doorframe.

  Tucked casually under his massive arm, like a rolled-up yoga mat, was a bundle of scarves and trench coat. He scanned the room with a gentle, confused expression before spotting the Divers' bench.

  "Safe... arrival," Lompo rumbled, bending his knees to deposit his cargo.

  He set the bundle down with surprising tenderness. The moment her feet touched the floor, Willow Vance, still fully masked and sunglasses-clad, let out a high-pitched squeak, scrambled for balance, and immediately scurried behind the nearest equipment rack to decompose in peace.

  Himeko stared at the spectacle, her brain refusing to process the absurdity, excited whispers broke out around her.

  "Oh my god, he's even taller in person," Mei breathed, clutching Efbi's arm. "And look at his skin. It's perfect. I need his skincare routine immediately!"

  "Forget the skin, look at the wide shoulders," Efbi whispered back, eyes wide. "That's Kevin Marvant. The Kevin Marvant. In our gym. I bet he has a girlfriend. He has to, right?"

  No he doesn't

  Himeko narrowed her eyes. Perhaps more than anyone else, for Himeko, he didn't look like a model or a god. He looked like a headache. A headache she had specifically tried to leave three hundred miles away.

  Across the court, Kevin caught her staring. He reached into the side pocket of his duffle bag.

  Slowly, deliberately, he pulled out the small plush fox.

  He held it up next to his face. With a theatrical pout that was infuriatingly charming, he tilted the fox's head, mimicking a sad puppy expression, as if to say, 'You abandoned us.' Then, he used the fox's tiny paw to wave at her.

  The heat rushed to Himeko's face so fast she felt dizzy.

  "Unbelievable," she cursed under her breath.

  She pivoted on her heel, abandoning her stretching position and marching toward the water cooler, putting as much distance between herself and the MVP as the gym's architecture would allow.

  On the other side of the net, the atmosphere was chaotic. The Dragons felt more like a rowdy bachelor party than a serious scrimmage.

  "Alright, listen up!" shouted a spiky-haired wing spiker, clapping his hands. "The stakes are set. If we drop a single set to the ladies, Davio shaves his eyebrows."

  "What?!" Davio, the team's earnest and slightly dense opposite hitter, looked up from tying his shoes in horror. "Why is it always me in these stupid bets? Hell no, I'm keeping my eyebrows, thank you."

  "The ladies love it, Davio!" someone yelled back.

  "They love it?" Davio paused, blinking thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose... Wait, no! They definitely don't! Stop trying to trick me!"

  The men's team erupted into raucous laughter, jeering at their teammate's genuine panic.

  Kevin leaned against the net post, ignoring the banter. His eyes were tracking the retreating figure of Himeko Nakamura as she aggressively organized volleyballs into a perfect pyramid on the far side of the court. He chuckled to himself, tucking the fox back into his bag.

  "You have a problem, Chief."

  Kevin turned. Damian was standing there, looking like he needed three consecutive days of sleep. He held out a smartphone that was vibrating.

  "It's the coach," Damian said, his voice flat.

  Kevin let out a long, suffering sigh. He took the phone, looking at the caller ID which displayed a picture of a very angry-looking coach.

  He pressed the answer button, but before he could even bring the device to his ear, a voice erupted from the speaker with enough decibels to be heard by the entire gym.

  "MARVANT!"

  Kevin winced, holding the phone at arm's length.

  "I WALK INTO MY GYM AT EIGHT A.M. SHARP! AND WHAT DO I SEE? NOTHING! I SEE A JANITOR MOPPING A FLOOR THAT NO ONE HAS STEPPED ON!"

  The voice crackled with distortion, the sheer volume overwhelming the phone's microphone.

  "AND THEN! THEN I AM TOLD BY SECURITY THAT MY ENTIRE STARTING LINEUP TOOK TWO BUSES AT THREE IN THE MORNING TO DRIVE TO A FISHING VILLAGE HALFWAY ACROSS THE COUNTRY! JUST BECAUSE YOU WON A TROPHY DOESN'T MEAN YOU CAN HIJACK MY TEAM, YOU ARROGANT BRAT!"

  "Coach, listen, relax," Kevin said, keeping his voice casual against the sonic assault. "Your blood pressure isn't rated for this level of stress this early in the morning. We're just doing some... extracurricular bonding."

  "EXTRACURRICULAR?! I AM GOING TO EXTRACURRICULAR MY FOOT UP YOUR-"

  "You know," Kevin interrupted, leaning slightly closer to the microphone while casually inspecting his fingernails. "It's funny you called. I have a lunch scheduled with Mr. Logan next Tuesday. We were going to discuss the championship bonus structure. It occurred to me... for a coach who led a team to a title, your current contract seems a little... outdated. A tactical mastermind really deserves a significant adjustment. Maybe twenty percent? Thirty?"

  The screaming cut off instantly.

  The silence that followed was infinite, heavy with the sudden absence of rage. It lasted for three seconds.

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  Then, a gruff, cleared throat crackled through the line.

  "Put me on speaker, Marvant."

  Kevin tapped the icon and held the phone up like a priest holding a holy relic.

  "MEN! LISTEN UP!"

  The coach's voice boomed through the tiny speakers, vibrating with a sudden, dramatic gravitas.

  "In the pursuit of sustained excellence, we must reject stagnation! True mastery of the sport requires exposure to unconventional variables and diverse tempos! This... off-site excursion... is a prime example of proactive adaptability training!"

  Kevin looked around. Absolutely no one was listening.

  Two benches away, the spiky-haired spiker was currently putting the libero in a headlock while Ceaser and Harber were busy flexing their biceps for a group of unimpressed reserve players. Laughter and shouting drowned out the tinny voice of their leader.

  Kevin and Damian stood alone in the chaos, staring blankly at the phone as the speech continued.

  "We are not merely playing a game today. We are engaging in a cross-disciplinary analysis! We are here to dismantle and study the defensive paradigms of the... Port Osea Raccoons! Their style offers a critical data point for our preseason macro-cycle! Treat this as a high-value cognitive load exercise!"

  Damian's eyebrow twitched.

  "So go forth! Execute the systems! Optimize your synergy! And demonstrate the professional standard of a championship organization!"

  The speech ended on a high note that cracked slightly. The coach paused, waiting for a cheer that never came because the team was currently debating what to order for lunch.

  "Marvant," the coach's voice returned to its normal, grumpy register, though the volcanic heat had simmered down to a manageable simmer. "You are responsible for them. If anyone gets injured, or if there is a single scratch on those buses, I'm taking it out of your raise and mine. Do not disappoint me."

  Click.

  Kevin lowered the phone and tossed it back to Damian.

  "Raccoons?" Damian muttered, staring at the black screen. “Men's team?”

  Kevin just shrugged.

  Coach Elena blew her whistle, a sharp, piercing sound that cut through the nervous chatter of the Divers. She stood before her whiteboard, marker in hand, drawing lines with aggressive, jagged strokes.

  "Eyes on me!" Elena commanded.

  She tapped the board, where five red Xs were arranged in a almost flawless formation.

  "The Dragons run a fluid five-man offense. A meat grinder. On the left wing, you have Davio, erratic, high-energy, and jumps like a flea. In the middle, you have Lompo. You saw him. He's a skyscraper, his raw hitting power is overwhelming."

  She slashed a line to the right. "Ceaser on the right wing. Heavy hitter. He aims for chests, very hard to dig. And orchestrating it all is Damian. He's sleepy, he looks bored, but his hands are faster than a magician's. Do not let his body language fool you."

  Elena paused, her marker hovering over the final X, positioned freely in the back row. She circled it three times until the ink squeaked.

  "And then, there is Kevin Marvant."

  She turned to the team, her expression grave. "He is the jack-of-all-trade of the Dragons but he masters everything. He fills every gap. If the block is late, he hits. If the defense is deep, he tips. He plays every position simultaneously."

  Elena took a deep breath, her eyes scanning her roster before landing squarely on Himeko. There was a flicker of hesitation in the coach's eyes, a moment of doubt about asking a Crown League middle blocker to contain a Men's World Champion. But she swallowed it down.

  "Himeko."

  Himeko straightened, meeting the coach's gaze.

  "Kevin is yours," Elena stated firmly. "I want you on him like a shadow. Wherever he rotates you follow. You are the only one with the reach and the discipline to slow him down."

  Himeko felt the weight of the assignment settle on her shoulders. It was absurd. It was unfair. But as she looked at the X on the board, she didn't feel fear. She felt the familiar itch of the challenge she had lived with for two months.

  "Understood," Himeko said, her voice steady.

  "Good," Elena nodded, turning back to the group. "And listen closely. The Dragons are a system defense team. That means they don't gamble. They read. No cute stuff. No half-hearted feints. If you try to trick them with sloppy mechanics, they will eat you alive. This is a trial by fire. We play perfect, or we get burned. Bring everything out. Coordinate. Communicate. Survive."

  On the other side of the net, the atmosphere shifted instantly.

  Kevin stood near the service line. He clapped his hands together once.

  The effect was instantaneous. The laughter died. The headlocks were released. The flexing stopped. The Victoria Dragons gathered around their captain, their postures straightening, their expressions hardening. They transformed from a rowdy group of guys into a phalanx of champions.

  "So, Cap? What's the play? Standard? We taking it easy since they are girls after all?"

  Kevin looked across the net. He saw Himeko adjusting her kneepads, her face set in that stony, focused mask he had come to admire. He saw the determination in her posture.

  He knew exactly how insulting it would be to give her anything less than his absolute best.

  Kevin's face went blank. He looked at his teammates, his eyes dark and empty of empathy.

  "No mercy," Kevin stated. "Destroy them."