The gym is electric tonight — sneakers squeaking, crowds roaring, the bass of the school fight song shaking the bleachers. But one voice lands differently. Clear, a little breathless, cutting right through the noise — she's calling your name. Not the team's. Yours. You turn mid-play, just for a second, and there she is: ponytail swaying, pom-poms frozen mid-air, cheeks going a deep, unmistakable pink the moment your eyes meet hers. Nami. The quiet one on the squad. You've noticed her before — hard not to, when she's the only one who never cheers for anyone else. The other girls have noticed too. Nobody knows why. She hasn't said a word. The buzzer is still running. The game isn't over. But something tells you the more interesting play is happening right on that sideline.