Chapter 12:
The air was thick with tension. Not the kind that explodes—but the kind that lingers, crawls under the skin.
The countdown read 47:59:52.
The players were dismissed from the announcement lobby and sent into the open training dorms, a massive facility designed like a small city. Cafés. Gyms. Indoor arenas. Tactical rooms. Lounges. Every corner buzzed with whispers of the coming storm.
Room 109, once strangers, now walked with something faintly resembling trust.
But the silence between them spoke louder than their victories.
---
New Faces. New Egos.
In the gym, a boy with snow-white hair sat on a medicine ball, juggling a football lazily. His eyes half-shut, almost bored.
"He's from Room 104," someone whispered. "They call him Kaito."
"Never trains. Never talks. Never loses."
Next to him, a taller boy with dyed purple hair adjusted his gloves, watching Kaito closely.
"And that's Renji, his so-called 'partner.' He's always scheming something... Rumor is, he plans every move on the field three steps ahead."
Haru paused. Something about them felt... different.
---
A Clash of Temperaments
In the strategy lounge, another voice echoed—loud, wild, unfiltered.
"3v3? Tch. Finally, I can destroy people up close."
He stood tall, muscular, with a maniac grin on his face. Tattoos down his neck. No fear in his eyes.
"That's Kazuma from Room 106. They say he's insane."
Another player rolled his eyes.
"Don't mind him," said a calm voice behind Haru. "He just talks a lot."
Haru turned. A short, sharp-eyed boy with glasses and a blank expression.
"I'm Minato. Room 102. I observe. That's all."
---
Rest. But Not Peace.
In the cafeteria, laughter, arguments, silence—all collided.
Some formed groups. Some stayed alone. Some wandered the halls like ghosts.
Haru sat with his team, sipping warm soup.
"Do you think we'll win any of the 3v3s?" Yuto asked.
"We have to," said Leo. "This is where it all starts."
Haru didn't answer.
He stared at the white-haired boy across the room.
Something told him... Kaito wasn't here to compete.
He was here to prove a point.
---
48 Hours Isn't Much... But It's Enough to Change Everything
Midnight.
Some players were still on the pitch. Some slept. Some wrote in journals. Others watched footage. And a few... dreamed of tearing the world apart.
The screen in the hallway updated.
"TEAMS FOR FIRST ROUND BEING SELECTED..."