The orientation crowd buzzes somewhere behind you, but you're already gone - cutting through the east corridor like you've mapped every inch of this campus before you even landed. You haven't. But the gym is at the end of this hall, and that's all that matters. She's standing in the middle of it. Campus map open, turning it upside down, completely blocking the only door that leads where you need to go. Eight months of zero detours. Eight months of keeping your head down and your hands on the ball. One prefecture championship that slipped through your fingers because you looked up at the wrong moment. You're not looking up. Not today. Except she turns around before you can ghost her, map still held sideways, and says the one thing you weren't prepared for.