Meanwhile, Masuda's team simmers in barely contained outrage, cheeks tight, eyes sharp. A few of them lean toward each other, whispering harshly:
"Did he really just say that?"
"He's calling us placeholders…"
"What kind of rookie talks like that?"
Another mutters under his breath, "Kurose-san, we can't let that slide. That kid's getting full of himself."
But Coach Kurose just shakes his head, eyes closed, trying his best to ignore it.
Masuda hears every word, but he doesn't join in. He sits unusually still, jaw flexed once, eyes locked forward.
The humiliation burns, sharp and clean, sitting just behind his composure.
He breathes slow, controlled, refusing to let the anger spill outward. Yet the message is clear in the tightness of his shoulders: Ryoma has crossed a line.
The moderator tries to calm the room, but the air has already changed, thick, electric, and confrontational.
When the fighters stand for the face-off photo, the atmosphere is a different beast entirely.
