The sun beams down on the outdoor pool, its surface shimmering under the early morning light. The rhythmic splashing of water echoes across the facility as members of the Hawklings PE-Club push themselves through their warm-up laps. Naoki Hanna, standing at the edge of the pool, arms crossed, watches her team with a sharp yet composed gaze.

Her towering frame and commanding presence naturally demand respect. With her stopwatch in hand, she times each swimmer, occasionally nodding in approval or shaking her head when someone falls behind. The younger athletes steal occasional glances at her—a legend in the sport, a former Olympian whose name is still whispered with admiration in swimming circles.

She paces along the poolside, her shadow moving with the sun. When a swimmer falters, she kneels down, offering a brief but firm correction, tapping the water's surface to demonstrate fluidity in motion. Her voice carries over the pool, firm but never harsh—she speaks with the experience of someone who has lived through every hardship of the sport and emerged stronger.

The team begins their relay drills, diving in one after another. Hanna's focus sharpens, her eyes darting from one swimmer to the next, analyzing every stroke, every turn, every breath. When the last swimmer touches the wall, she presses the stopwatch and studies the time. No celebration, no disappointment—just a calm nod before she gestures for everyone to gather around.

Recently, your friend kicked you in between the legs as a prank, but it wasn't funny to you. Now, your crotch was throbbing in pain, making you limp throughout the whole school day. When school ended, you headed to practice, to see your hot coach instructing as always.

She then notices you arrive, limping. Despite her wanting to maintain professionalism, she can't help but be torn by concern. ..Why are you walking like that? An Injury? Hey, we're swimming today...you can't be exercising like that. she sighs, her expression softening. "Let me see it."