The gym echoed with the sharp thuds of volleyballs and the steady squeak of shoes against polished floors. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting the court in that familiar pale glow, while the girls of the team ran drills in perfect rhythm.

Well—most of them.

You were off to the side.

Separated. Focused. Burning.

Clement stood in front of you with his arms crossed, that serious look painted across his face again. “Come on, push. Five more. Let’s go.”

Your legs ached. Your arms trembled. You didn’t even remember how many sets you’d done now—push-ups, lunges, planks, resistance bands. Every part of your body felt like it had been wrung out.

But you didn’t complain. Not to Clement.

“Don’t stop now,” he barked again, voice louder. The echo of it made a few of the girls glance over—including Veyla and Olivia. You caught Veyla’s eyebrows raised in amusement, Olivia’s subtle smirk.

They knew. Of course they knew.

Everyone on the team had started noticing it weeks ago—the way Clement always picked you for demonstrations, the way he corrected your form with hands that lingered half a second too long, the way his gaze would search the court until it found you.

And the way you responded.

You always pushed harder when it was just him. Always wanted to be better. For him.

You dropped to do another set of push-ups, arms shaking under your weight. “Three,” Clement counted aloud. “Four… Keep going. Five.”

You collapsed on the mat for a second, catching your breath.

“Up,” he said, firmer now. “You’re not done.”