Yosuke's groans about the "Gym of Sadness" were cut short as they got closer. The sounds coming from the first gym—Gym B, the auxiliary gym—were completely different.
There was no yelling. No chaos. Just the sharp, rhythmic squeak of high-end sneakers on a polished floor, the snap of a dozen perfect passes, and the clean swish of a ball going through the net.
"Whoa, wait a minute," Yosuke said, stopping. "This... this isn't the 'Gym of Sadness.' This is... the 'Gym of Actual Competence.'"
They peered through the open doorway. The gym was packed, bright, and buzzing with focused energy. A sharp-looking woman in her thirties with a clipboard and a whistle, Coach Ayako Honda, stood on the sideline, watching a high-speed drill.
"Okay, see?" Yosuke whispered, suddenly enthusiastic as he, Ren, and Kenji found a spot in the small viewing bleachers. "This is what I'm talking about! The girls' team is legit. They made the prefecturals last year!"
On the court, the veteran team was running a full-court, 5-on-5 scrimmage. It was fast.
"That's the captain, Asuka Tachibana," Yosuke pointed. "3rd-year. She's a total legend. A 'do-it-all' forward."
Ren watched Asuka grab a rebound, scan the court, and fire a perfect, one-handed outlet pass to her point guard.
"That's Haruna Gojo," Kenji supplied, his analytical side kicking in. "3rd-year. The 'floor general.' She's one of the smartest PGs in the prefecture."
Haruna dribbled calmly, her head up, directing traffic. She hit the team's shooting guard, Natsumi Kyouno (2nd-Yr), on the wing.
"And that's Natsumi-senpai," Yosuke said with a grin. "She's... terrifying. She's got a nasty three-point shot and an even nastier attitude. I love her."
Natsumi immediately faked a shot, drove past her defender, and kicked the ball to a tomboyish-looking girl on the baseline.
"Rika 'Rikki' Inoue," Yosuke continued, "2nd-year. Total hustler."
Rikki's shot missed, but before it could even hit the rim, a tall, imposing figure was already in the air.
"AND THERE'S TOMO-SENPAI!" Yosuke yelled, forgetting to whisper.
Tomo Aizawa (2nd-Yr, Center) snatched the offensive rebound with a roar, elbowing for space, and put the ball back up and in with brutal force.
"She's a beast," Yosuke finished, his eyes shining. "Their team is stacked."
Ren was silent. He just watched. Yosuke wasn't wrong. Their fundamentals were flawless. Their rotations were clean. They played with a fierce, quiet communication. They're a real team, he thought.
FWEET!
Coach Honda blew her whistle, her sharp, clear sound cutting through the air. "Alright, veterans, get some water! Good work. First-years! On the line!"
The veterans jogged off, and a swarm of about thirty 1st-year girls, all looking a mix of terrified and excited, sprinted onto the court.
"Ooh, here we go!" Yosuke said, leaning forward. "The new crop! Let's see if they got any monsters."
Ren's eyes scanned the new players. And just like in the assembly, he found her instantly.
The girl with the impatient energy. The one who had looked so bored.
She wasn't bored now. She was just... calm. She stood in the line, her face impassive, her eyes taking in the court.
"Alright, first-years!" Coach Honda yelled. "I don't have time to waste on drills! We're going five-on-five, full court, two-minute runs! I want to see who can play! First five! Let's go!"
The first game was... a mess. It was all panic and nerves. Girls were dribbling off their feet, throwing passes into the stands, and shooting airballs.
"Yikes," Yosuke winced. "Maybe not such a good crop after all."
"It's their first day," Kenji observed. "Their nerves are high. Their execution is suffering."
"Next five!" Coach Honda yelled, looking annoyed.
The girl—Misaki Hayakawa—stepped onto the court. She took the point guard spot.
The whistle blew. The other team's 1st-year, trying to be aggressive, immediately tried to steal the ball from Misaki. It was a sloppy, desperate lunge.
The next three seconds happened in slow motion.
Misaki didn't even blink. As the girl lunged, she didn't jump back. She moved forward.
She used the girl's own momentum against her, hitting her with a low, simple crossover. It wasn't flashy. It was lethal.
Swish. The sound of her sneakers on the floor was sharp. She was past her.
Two other 1st-years, seeing the breach, panicked and ran at her from both sides, creating a clumsy double-team.
"Oop, she's trapped," Yosuke said.
Ren's eyes narrowed. He saw it. Their feet are too close together. They're off-balance. They left the middle wide open.
And so did she.
Misaki didn't stop. She hit them with a vicious, hard pass-fake between them. Both girls flinched, instinctively moving to block the non-existent pass.
The instant their weight shifted, she was gone, splitting the trap with a single, explosive dribble.
A 2nd-year veteran, who was playing defense to fill the spot, slid over to cut off the basket. It was a good, smart defensive play.
Misaki's head was up. She hadn't looked at the ball once. She saw the defender coming. She took one hard step, planted her foot, and rose up.
A perfect, fluid jump shot from the free-throw line.
The form was flawless. High release, elbow tucked, perfect backspin. The ball hung in the air, arcing beautifully.
Swish.
Nothing but net.
The entire gym went quiet for a beat. The other 1st-years just stared.
Yosuke let out a low, "Wooooooooah."
Kenji pushed his glasses up. "Her... her fundamentals are perfect. Her decision-making is instant."
Ren said nothing. He was frozen.
His "Eagle Vision," the part of his brain that saw the game in angles and probabilities, had just flickered.
He saw what she saw. She didn't react to the two girls trapping her; she'd anticipated it. She saw the 2nd-year defender start her slide before she'd even cleared the trap. She saw the open shot, the angle, the whole play... three seconds before it happened.
He wasn't just impressed. He was shaken.
She was like him.
FWEET!
Coach Honda, on the sideline, clicked her pen. She didn't smile. She didn't clap.
"You. Hayakawa."
Misaki, already jogging back on defense, looked over.
"Get off the court."
The 1st-years looked confused. Was she cut?
"Go stretch with the veterans," Coach Honda said, her voice flat. "You're done here."
Misaki just gave a short, sharp nod, her face as cool and impassive as Ren's, and jogged off to join a smirking Asuka and the main team, leaving Yosuke, Kenji, and a very-stunned Ren staring after her.