Dirga's eyes locked with Masaki's across the ballroom floor.
No words.
Just a glance.
Sharp. Heavy. Familiar.
Rivals.
Again.
They were in the same group—fate never let them stray far.
But Dirga didn't flinch.
He simply turned and walked away.
Back through the quiet hallway.
Back to the dorms.
But something tugged at the edge of his mind.
The silence.
It had crept in during dinner.
Too still.
Too calm.
Where was the usual noise? The cocky trash talk? The arrogant smirks from overconfident teams?
Gone.
Tonight, every team wore the same expression—blank. Tense.
As if they were all holding their breath before the storm.
That unease stayed with him even as he reached Coach Tsugawa's room.
Inside, the others were already gathered—sitting, murmuring in low tones.
Kaito stepped up beside the whiteboard.
"We got Group A," he began, voice steady but sharp. "Here's who we're up against."
