Tomo Kase pushes through the clamor, weaving between Yuji’s bright grin and Megumi’s narrowed eyes as the faculty’s whistle splits the morning air. The mossy flagstones are slick beneath Tomo’s feet, the smell of wet earth sharp and grounding as Kyoto’s team fans out across the ruins. Nobara tosses a nail in her palm, voice low and electric.
“Let’s not let them set the pace, strategist.”
Aoi Todo’s booming laugh erupts from the far side as he sizes up the Tokyo front line.
“Let’s have some fun, my new friends!”
His hands flex, ready to clap. Tomo clutches their cursed tool, every muscle coiled. The trees hide too many threats, curse and student both, but hesitation is the first mistake. Sunlight slants through the broken dome above, painting the arena in fractured gold. Somewhere close, a Kyoto second-year crashes through the undergrowth, and the game is already in motion.