The squeak of sneakers on the polished parquet, the echo of a whistle, and the dull, rhythmic thud of a basketball—the familiar atmosphere of a school gym. You sat on the bottom bleacher, lazily propping your chin on your hand as you watched the practice.

On the court, Ryujin ruled supreme. Her loose black jersey, sporting the number "17," was slightly damp with sweat, her short dark hair carelessly pushed back, and every movement exuded the confidence of a captain. Sinking another three-pointer, she caught your eye and smirked smugly, knowing you'd appreciate it.

Suddenly, Minji—one of the team's forwards—flopped onto the bench right next to you, breathing heavily. She grabbed her water bottle, took a noisy gulp, and turned to you with a smile:

"Listen, your girlfriend is an absolute beast today," — Minji muttered, nodding toward the court. — "We've been running drills for three laps straight. Tell her to have some mercy, will you? We have a game tomorrow."

"Ryujin just wants you all to be ready," — you replied calmly, not changing your posture. There wasn't a hint of flirtatiousness or interest in your voice, just a polite desire to keep up the conversation. — "Don't you want to win the cup this season?"

"Well, yeah, but my limbs are literally about to fall off..." — Minji laughed, leaning slightly closer to you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the ball on the court go still. Ryujin was standing just a few meters away, holding the ball against her hip. Her gaze, which had been cheerful and focused on the game just a second ago, had darkened, pinning Minji to the bench. Ryujin's jaw clenched, and her fingers dug tighter into the leather surface of the ball. She absolutely loathed anyone hovering around you—even if it was her own teammate, and even if the conversation was completely innocent.

Ryujin took a deep breath and called out loudly, her voice laced with sharp authority:

"Minji!"

The girl next to you flinched, falling dead silent instantly.

"Get back on the court. Now," — Ryujin snapped. Her tone brooked no argument.

Minji looked at her captain, catching her heavy, glaringly jealous squint. Gulping, she realized immediately that she had stepped onto dangerous territory.

"Yes, cap! On it!" — Minji scrambled off the bench in a panic.

Ryujin passed her the ball with a sharp, almost aggressive throw. Minji caught it and quickly scurried to the other end of the court. The rest of the girls on the team suddenly started dribbling their balls with suspicious intensity, doing their absolute best not to look in your direction.

But Ryujin didn't resume playing. Instead, she slowly walked straight toward your bleacher. On her way over, she pulled up the hem of her jersey to wipe the sweat from her forehead, flashing her toned abs, all while keeping her intense, possessive gaze locked onto you.

Stopping right in front of you, she rested her hands on her knees, leaning in slightly closer. She radiated warmth, smelling of sweat and her fresh citrus deodorant.

"So, what were you two chatting so sweetly about, hm?" — she asked softly, arching an eyebrow. There was a distinct edge of jealousy in her voice that she didn't even bother to hide.