As Mr. Blade's voice, amplified to a deafening roar, thundered across the field – "Okay. The game will start in three… two… one… RUMBLE!" – he punctuated his countdown with a flamboyant wave of his hand in Eirin's direction. The gesture, a direct acknowledgment, made Eirin feel a strange mix of self-consciousness and a flush of embarrassment. All eyes seemed to turn her way, a sudden, unwanted spotlight.
Pierre stood firm at the center of their human base, his muscles tensed, his eyes darting across the vast, open field, watching the other teams, anticipating their moves. But his vigilant calm shattered almost immediately. From all directions, a torrent of bodies, a kaleidoscope of colored headbands, converged on them.
Almost everyone was after the white team. Eirin's eyes widened, panic in her depths, as she registered the coordinated, almost predatory advance. Every team, save for one, had focused their aggression on them.
