I Died on the Court, Now I'm Back to Rule It

The bench didn’t fidget. Didn’t slouch. They sat like coiled springs.

A storm waiting for its next strike.

...

In contrast, Seiryuu’s bench felt colder. Not in defeat—but calculation.

The overhead lights cast a sterile glow on their metallic water bottles, on the rows of digits sketched faintly on laminated play sheets. It was like stepping into a lab mid-experiment.

Coach Renjirō Tsukinomiya leaned forward. His voice wasn’t loud, but it sliced through doubt.

"They’re good. Smart. But this? This isn’t new. We’ve been preparing for this."

The players didn’t respond immediately—processing, absorbing.

Teshima, the captain, finally nodded.

"Yes, Coach."

Seta’s brow was furrowed, his fingers tapping against the bench like he was typing data in midair.