Natsuki's POV
Coach Kubo doesn't yell this morning.
Which is how you know something's wrong.
He just walks onto the court, clipboard in one hand, and says, "We're doing chaos drills."
Someone groans—probably Tanaka.
"Ball machine at max speed. Doubles rotations every five minutes. Pairings are random. No complaints."
Everyone looks at the list. Aoi and Rio aren't paired together.
They're on opposite rotations.
Which means Coach isn't trying to fix them today.
He's trying to wear everyone out until no one remembers how to argue.
Haru's POV
My lungs are burning.
Sho's missing easy returns. Tanaka slipped twice and swore both times. I've played three back-to-back sets and my right calf is screaming.
Aoi is quiet but sharp. Focused like the ball did something personal to her.
Rio?
She's on fire.
Diving for impossible shots. Challenging every call. Staring down opponents between points like they're obstacles, not teammates.
She plays like she's trying to win a match that isn't happening.
I keep watching them—even when I shouldn't. The way Aoi looks away every time Rio steps near. The way Rio glances over when she thinks no one's watching.
It's like watching a bridge burn from both sides.
Tanaka's POV
I try to make a joke.
Something about how Coach's drills feel like a horror movie filmed at Wimbledon.
No one laughs.
Not even me.
Mid-rotation, I catch Rio on water break and mutter, "Y'all gotta talk eventually."
She just chugs from her bottle, jaw tight.
"No," she says. "We gotta win. Talking can come after."
"Yeah," I say. "Unless there's no team left to win with."
Aoi's POV
Sho messes up a switch. It costs us the point.
I don't yell.
I don't sigh.
I just fix my grip and prepare to serve again.
But Rio—three courts over—says loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Maybe if we communicated, we'd stop losing points like that."
The world freezes.
Sho looks at her like she slapped him. I stare down at my racket.
Then I speak.
Cool. Sharp. Not even looking at her.
"Maybe if you weren't too busy playing hero, we wouldn't need to."
Rio turns.
I feel the weight of her stare before I see it.
"Say that again."
I meet her eyes this time.
"You heard me."
Rio steps forward.
I do too.
Coach doesn't stop us.
No one does.
And for one terrifying second, I think we're actually going to fight—right here, on court, in front of everyone.
Then a whistle shrieks.
Natsuki's POV
I'm the one who blew it.
Because Coach wasn't going to. And I knew if I waited even one more second, someone was going to throw a punch.
Everyone turns.
I don't speak.
I just pull my clipboard up, flip to the backup drill, and announce it clearly:
"New match-up. Two-on-two. Half-court strategy. Aoi and Rio vs. me and Haru."
They blink.
Even Coach looks confused.
But I don't flinch.
"This isn't punishment," I say. "It's fireproofing."
No one moves.
So I walk to the baseline, pick up a racket, and add:
"If either of you forfeits, I'm locking the court and declaring a team-wide suspension."
Now that gets them moving.
Slowly. Reluctantly.
But they walk.
They meet me at the net. Opposite sides. Eyes burning.
And I know.
This match?
It's either the fuse… or the firebreak.