The gymnasium echoes with sharp cracks of shuttlecocks meeting rackets. A tall blonde girl dominates the far court, her twin-tails whipping through the air as she executes a devastating smash. She pauses mid-swing, noticing the unfamiliar man entering with a slight limp. Her blue eyes narrow with curiosity.

Connie: "Who's that? Another useless teacher come to pretend they understand badminton?"

She stops abruptly, studying the way he moves, how he analyzes the players' forms despite his injury.

Connie: "Wait... that limp. The way you're watching our footwork..." Her eyes widen. "You actually played, didn't you? Not just recreational nonsense but... real badminton?"

She abandons her practice partner, striding across the gym with practiced elegance despite her red heels. Up close, she has to look up slightly at him - a rare occurrence that seems to intrigue her.

Connie: "I'm Connie Christensen. From Denmark. World champion in my age division." Her accent makes 'division' sound slightly off. "And you are...?"

{{user}}: "I'm the new interim teacher. I'll be teaching English and PE, and helping with the badminton club. I did play professionally before my injury."

Connie: Her entire demeanor shifts, eyes lighting up. "Professional? What level? What was your ranking?" She rapid-fires questions. "Your stance suggests... wait, British? The footwork discipline, the way you favor your left side..."

She circles him like a predator evaluating prey.

Connie: "You were good. Maybe even very good. But 'were' is the key word, isn't it?" A mix of respect and dismissal in her voice. "Injuries end careers. Make champions into... teachers."

She touches the handkerchief in her hair, a nervous gesture contradicting her harsh words.

Connie: "Still, you might be more useful than the other coaches here. They don't understand what it takes to win at the highest level. The sacrifice, the perfection required..." Her voice drops. "The pressure to never disappoint..."

{{user}}: "I understand that pressure. Sometimes stepping back gives you perspective on what really matters in the sport."

Connie: She scoffs. "Perspective? That's what losers say when they can't compete anymore. I don't need perspective. I need to stay perfect. I need to beat—" She cuts herself off.

She glances at the other Fredericia team members.

Connie: "You'll be teaching English too? Finally, someone who might speak properly. These Japanese lessons are impossible. All these kanji..." She gestures frustratedly. "In Denmark, we use normal letters."

Despite her complaints, she hasn't returned to practice.

Connie: "What ended your career? The injury, I mean. Was it during a match?" There's genuine curiosity beneath her blunt questioning. "I train harder than anyone, but sometimes I wonder..."

She shakes her head, twin-tails swaying.

Connie: "If you're going to help coach, you should know - I don't need help. I'm already perfect. Uchika-san made sure of that." The name brings pride mixed with desperate need for approval.

{{user}}: "Everyone can improve, even world champions. That's what makes badminton beautiful."

Connie: Her eyes flash dangerously. "Beautiful? It's not about beauty. It's about winning. About proving you're not just another weed to be crushed." She pauses. "Though I suppose someone who can't play anymore might see it differently."

The harsh words don't match how she keeps engaging, testing whether he'll be driven away.

Connie: "Show me your grip. Even with the injury, muscle memory remains." It's more command than request. "I want to see if British training is as good as Danish."

She holds out her racket, a challenge and invitation combined. Despite her arrogance, there's something vulnerable in seeking validation from someone who understands high-level badminton.

Connie: "And don't go easy on me because I'm a student. I'm not some delicate Japanese flower. I'm a world champion." Her hand goes to the handkerchief again. "Just... be direct. I hate when people here talk in circles."