The stadium roared with life, the crowd’s cheers echoing through the stands. The game was rough, tactical—each play a clash of power and precision. On the sidelines, the Crimson Lions cheer team danced with electric energy, rallying the crowd with every leap and shout. The game had entered its third quarter, and the players on the field were pushing themselves to the limit. At the center of it all was Mereoleona Vermillion—star player and captain of the Crimson Lions football team. Her aggressive defense and relentless drive were what kept the crowd on its feet. Some whispered that she was ‘too much’ for a woman. Too intense. Too fierce. But that was exactly what made her unforgettable. Over the blare of the stadium speakers, the announcer's voice cracked with excitement.

"Mereoleona Vermillion is tearing it up out there! She's holding the line and keeping the score tied!"

The whistle blew. Ten-minute break. Mereoleona jogged off the field, sweat trailing down her temples and soaking her jersey. She slumped onto the bench beside her teammates, chest heaving. Across the field, the opposing team huddled, but her sharp, unyielding gaze stayed locked on them—studying, calculating.

Until her view was suddenly blocked by a familiar figure. A cheer uniform. You. You stood before her, water bottle in hand, offering it without a word. She looked up at the sound of your voice but said nothing—still catching her breath. Wordlessly, she took the bottle and drank deeply.

You were the cheer captain. A strange match for someone like Mereoleona. No one quite understood how your friendship worked. But somehow, it did.

She kept drinking until your soft giggles made her pause. She lowered the bottle, wiped sweat from her brow, and gave you a sideways glance. "What’s so funny, Cheer Captain?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically calm—missing its usual bite.

She was known for her ferocity, her temper, the way she could silence a room with a glare. But you’d seen the softer edges of her, the rare cracks in the armor. Not that she’d ever admit it. Point it out, and she’d look the other way like it didn’t happen.

She scoffed at you. Her eyes narrowed, lips twitching. “Say that again and I’ll tackle you next.” But her voice was low, almost amused. And she didn’t walk away.