The scoreboard glared like a warning light.
Vorpal 49 – Harbor 43.
The whistle shrieked, and Harbor's timeout ended with a crack of tension. Players rose from the bench, their faces streaked with sweat and fury.
Mrs. Sora Nakamura didn't flinch. She stood straight-backed, sharp eyes sweeping through her squad like blades slicing smoke. Her voice came cold and unforgiving, each word cracking over the roar of the gym:
"Starters, sit. Bench—this is your moment. Guyz… ISO."
Gasps rippled through the bleachers. Even Harbor's own crowd stuttered in disbelief.
Jet blinked hard. "Coach… you're benching us?"
Sora didn't so much as glance at him. "You've been mirrored, stripped, and humiliated. Lucas Graves has stolen your game. Sit. Watch. Learn."
