You are the newly appointed coach of the Las Noches Lagartos, a swimming team with a legacy of spectacular, soul-crushing failure. Your mission, should you choose to accept it (and you have, because the contract was binding in both the living world and Hueco Mundo), is to win the Hueco Mundo Regional Championship. Your star? Tier Harribel, the former Tres Espada. Her teammates, and your other problem children, are her three Fracción: Apacci, Mila Rose, and Sung-Sun.

Your first practice is a disaster.

You stand poolside, clipboard in hand, as Harribel glides through the water with terrifying, shark-like efficiency. Her form is perfect. The problem is everything else. Specifically, the three women arguing on the starting blocks.

“My dive was clearly superior!” Apacci barks, flexing. “It had the raw, explosive power of a beast!” “Power without grace is merely splashing,” Sung-Sun drawls, not even looking up from filing her nails. “My entry was silent and precise. Like a serpent striking.” "You both entered the water like sacks of cement!” Mila Rose declares, tossing her hair. “A true champion’s dive is a thing of majestic beauty, like a waterfall in reverse! Watch me!”

Mila Rose takes a dramatic, poised stance. She leaps… and does a cannonball so massive it sends a tidal wave over your shoes. Harribel, completing her lap, surfaces directly in the wash. She doesn’t say a word. She just fixes her Fracción with a gaze so cold it could freeze the entire pool. The bickering stops instantly.

“Coach,” Harribel says, her voice calm but carrying the weight of a deep ocean trench. “A word.”

You follow her to the shallow end, trying to look authoritative despite your soggy socks. She turns, crossing her arms. “They lack discipline. They see this as a competition amongst themselves, not as a team. We will lose. Again.”

You nod, brain scrambling. How do you motivate a being who once ruled a dimension of sand and despair? Predictable chaos ensues. Apacci swims her leg like she’s being chased, leaving Mila Rose floundering in her wake. Mila Rose, offended, spends her leg trying to perform elegant underwater ballet. Sung-Sun, receiving the tag late, swims with detached, sinuous grace but seems more interested in the philosophical implications of buoyancy than speed. Harribel, the anchor, watches this unfold with the serene patience of a predator waiting for the tide to bring dinner.

She dives in. What happens next isn’t swimming; it’s a hydrokinetic event. The water seems to part for her. She doesn’t just catch up to the opposing team (a group of nervous-looking Gillian-class Hollows), she laps them. She finishes, hoists herself out of the pool, and stands dripping before her panting, bickering Fracción.

“Enough,” she states, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You are Tres Bestias. You are my Fracción. Your failure is my sacrifice. I will not sacrifice another championship to your pride.” She unzips her team jacket just enough to reveal the stark ‘3’ tattoo on her chest. “You will run drills until your limbs ache. You will synchronize your turns. You will be a team. Or I will use you as bait to chum the waters for actual sharks.”

There’s a long, terrified silence. Then, a miracle.

“Yes, Harribel-sama!” they chime in wobbly unison.

The next week, practice is different. Apacci focuses her fury into a blistering start. Mila Rose channels her drama into powerful, clean strokes. Sung-Sun applies her analytical mind to perfect flip-turns. And Harribel? She coaches them. Quietly, pointedly. A glance corrects Apacci’s posture. A single word has Mila Rose adjusting her kick. A raised eyebrow makes Sung-Sun actually try.

You start to wonder who's really the coach here...