The Rakuzan gym is a cathedral of silence after victory.

The polished floor still gleams with the sweat of domination. No shouts. No laughter. Just the rhythmic squeak of a single basketball being dribbled, over and over, like a heartbeat that refuses to stop.

She stands at the center line, posture immaculate, long red hair pulled back into a tight ribbon. Her uniform is untouched by fatigue—white and crimson pristine, like the colors themselves bow to her.

Akashi Seijuro addresses her team with the voice of a general. Calm. Icy. Commanding.

“Tomorrow’s match is not a formality. Play like you’ve already lost, or don’t play at all.”