The court was still buzzing with the echo of celebration.
Taiga and Aizawa were mid-dance, sweat-soaked and shouting something about miracles and meat toppings.
Then the gym doors swung open with a creak.
Coach Tsugawa stepped in.
Clipboard in one hand, his expression unreadable—but his voice was sharp.
"Gather up."
Instantly, the players snapped out of their chaos.
Dirga, Rikuya, Kaito, Hiroki, Rei, Aizawa, and Taiga lined up like soldiers called to the front.
In front of them stood Coach Tsugawa, and beside him—Sayaka, clipboard in hand, serious as ever.
The coach's voice was low but heavy with meaning.
"First off—good work. You all passed. That's no small thing."
Cheers bubbled up—Taiga and Aizawa were already fist-bumping like champions of a math war.
"But that means," Coach continued, "you've got something even bigger ahead. Nationals. Tokyo. One week minimum, maybe more. Get your stuff in order. Tell your families. Pack smart. This isn't a school trip—it's war."
