Morning sunlight cut through the blinds of Room 3-B, slicing across the whiteboard like a blade of gold. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, glimmering with the warmth of a new day. It should've been an ordinary Thursday morning quiet chatter, lazy yawns, the clatter of desks but the tension in the room said otherwise.
Because Hikari stood at the front, arms folded, with a rolled-up projector screen behind her and an unsettlingly calm smile.
"Everyone sit," she said, tone flat as glass.
The chatter died immediately.
Marcus dropped into his seat, brow raised. "Uh, I thought we had practice first thing this morning?"
Hikari turned, clicked on the screen, and the projector blinked to life. On it frozen midair was a still from their yesterday scrimmage. The score was visible in the corner: 52–46.
"Correction," Hikari said. "We're starting with a film session. Because apparently, victory made some of you soft."
