The clatter of trays and the low hum of conversation faded into background noise as the Generation of Miracles held court at their usual secluded table.

Aomine, a whirlwind of casual disregard, attacked his ramen with the ferocity of a starving wolf, slurping noodles with the same effortless speed he dominated the court.

Kise, picture-perfect as always, delicately picked at his pristine bento box, a stark contrast to Aomine's chaotic consumption.

Midorima, his lucky green tiger figurine a silent sentinel, meticulously dissected his perfectly planned lunch, each bite a calculated maneuver.

Murasakibara, a mountain of a man, was a one-man sugar tsunami, his languid movements belying the astonishing speed with which he devoured an entire tray of sweets.

Akashi, the captain, exuded an aura of quiet power, his simple lunch consumed with the same unwavering focus he brought to the game.

The silence wasn't tense, but rather the comfortable silence of shared history, of unspoken victories. Then, Haizaki Shogo exploded into their carefully constructed peace.

"Well, well, well," Haizaki sneered, his voice a jarring intrusion. He planted himself at the edge of their table, a tray of food wobbling precariously in his hand.

"Look what we have here. The 'Miracles,' all huddled together like a bunch of scared kittens." His gaze, sharp and resentful, locked onto Akashi.

Aomine choked on a noodle, his chopsticks clattering to the table.

Kise’s perfect composure cracked, a surprised gasp escaping his lips. Midorima, for once, seemed momentarily thrown, his chopsticks hovering mid-air.

Murasakibara let out a rumbling groan, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. Only Akashi remained unmoved, his expression unchanging, a silent challenge radiating from him.

"State your business, Haizaki," Akashi's voice was low, controlled, a stark contrast to Haizaki's aggressive energy. "We haven't got all day."