"So? Hungry?" He asked.

  Himeko stared. Air in her lungs solidified into concrete, her mouth slightly parting, unable to form a single word. The red buses outside sounded fainter by the second; the only thing she could hear was the beating of her heart against her ribs.

  Dinner? Tour guide? Staying in Osea?

  The silence stretched. Kevin's smile faltered slightly, his head tilting to the side as he tried to understand the chaotic thoughts swirling in her mind.

  "Himeko?"

  The calling of her name snapped Himeko back into reality. Himeko blinked rapidly, her eyes regaining their sharp, prickly focus. The "Flight" instinct kicked in.

  "No," she blurted out.

  Kevin blinked, taken aback. "No... you're not hungry? I guess we can do..."

  "No to everything," Himeko interrupted, backing away. She clutched her bag to her chest like a shield. "I am going home. Now. Alone."

  She pivoted on her heel and began to walk.

  "Wait, Himeko, hold o-"

  Himeko accelerated, the fastest power-walk the Port Osea gymnasium had ever witnessed. Her sneakers squeaked against the floorboards as she beelined for the exit, her gaze fixed on the double doors as if they were the gates to heaven.

  "Goodbye. Kevin."

  Himeko walked out of the doors and disappeared.

  "Huh," Kevin muttered, scratching his cheek in genuine bewilderment. "That was... something."

  The light of an industrial Port Osea morning filtered through the slats of the blinds in Himeko's living room, bathing the TV, the sofa, and every piece of furniture in a soft, hazy glow.

  9:00 AM. The world outside was awake, sounds of cars running, people talking, preparing for an exciting day out, yet inside the apartment lay the peaceful silence of a rest day.

  Himeko stood in her kitchen, wearing a simple oversized t-shirt and grey sweatpants. She watched the dark liquid drip steadily from her coffee maker into the glass carafe. The smell of roasted beans filled the air, rich and stimulating.

  She inhaled deeply, her shoulders relaxing.

  This was her safe place. The one place in the universe where the expectations of the league, of the fans, and the pressure of being a captain could not reach her. Here, she was simply Himeko, a woman who enjoyed high-quality coffee and silence.

  She reached for her favorite mug - a ceramic black cat with tiny ears on the rim.

  BZZZZZZT.

  The harsh, electronic rasp of the video doorbell tore through the peace of a Friday morning.

  Himeko flinched, her grip loosening for a second, nearly dropping the mug. She frowned, glancing at the clock on the microwave. 9:05 AM. She wasn't expecting a package. Jules usually texted before invading. Lisa would never come over voluntarily.

  Maybe it was a mistake.

  BZZZZZZT.

  "Hmmm," she grumbled.

  Setting the mug down, she padded barefoot across the living room to the wall-mounted monitor near the front door. She pressed the 'Video' button, expecting to see a delivery driver or perhaps a lost neighbor.

  The screen flickered to life.

  Himeko's eyes widened in disbelief.

  Standing on her front step, looking casually into the camera lens, was a figure that had walked straight out of a Victoria fashion magazine. He wore a long, tailored beige trench coat over a charcoal turtleneck, accessorized with dark sunglasses that were entirely unnecessary for the soft sunshine of the morning. He was leaning against the doorframe, relaxed, holding a brown paper bag in one hand.

  Himeko stared at the screen for a solid ten seconds, debating if she could simply pretend she wasn't present.

  Then, the figure on the screen leaned closer to the camera, pulling down his sunglasses to reveal bright, stargazing eyes.

  "I know you're in there, Himeko."

  Himeko pressed the 'Talk' button with an aggressive jab of her finger.

  "Go. Away." She stated flatly.

  "Good morning to you too!" Kevin's voice boomed through the tiny speaker, too cheerful for a peaceful Friday. "Look I have gifts. Fresh croissants. The bakery nearby actually smelled really nice."

  "How did you get this address? This is a breach of privacy. I am considering calling the police."

  "Whoa, easy there, I come in peace," Kevin chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Let's just say I have my sources. Totally legit. Zero blackmail involved... mostly."

  "Kevin, I'm asking you to stop bothering me. Please. "

  "Come on, open up. It's cold out here. This coat looks great, but it's actually thin. "

  Himeko watched him shiver dramatically on the small screen.

  "That sounds like a personal problem," Himeko replied. "Goodbye, Kevin."

  She reached to cut the feed.

  "Wait!" Kevin shouted, dropping the cool demeanor instantly. He leaned right up into the camera lens, his face filling the screen like a pufferfish. "Okay, look. Forget the croissants. I have something else."

  Himeko paused, her finger hovering over the button. "What?"

  Kevin pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket, waving it tantalizingly in front of the camera lens.

  "I have notes," he said, trying to sound conspiratorial. "My personal notes. From yesterday. On your blocking angles. On the specific gaps in your transition defense that we exploited in the third set."

  Himeko's finger froze, hovering millimeters above the 'End Call' button.

  For a professional athlete, information was currency. And information from the MVP himself would open the door to a potential championship. Her brain screamed at her to open the door, just for five minutes, to get the paper. She could tolerate the small talk if it meant fixing that 25-3 deficit for her team.

  She leaned closer to the monitor, staring at the folded piece of notebook paper. He was setting a trap she realized, sweet, sly, exploitative trap.

  If she opened the door now, she would be admitting that he knew her better than she knew herself. She was admitting that she needed him.

  She refused that future.

  Himeko straightened her spine, her expression hardening.

  "I have the match VODs. And I have a working pair of eyes. I do not need a cheat sheet to solve a puzzle."

  "VODs don't show intention, Himeko! Come on, don't be stubbor-"

  She pressed the button.

  The screen went black. The image of the handsome MVP in the trench coat vanished, replaced by the darkened reflection of her own living room.

  Himeko let out a long exhale, feeling a strange mix of victory and loss. She turned back toward the kitchen, intent on finally drinking her coffee.

  BZZZZZZT.

  Himeko froze. She spun around, glaring at the monitor.

  BZZZZZZT.

  BZZZZZZT.

  Three rings. Just enough to be annoying.

  Then, silence.

  Himeko stood waiting for the fourth ring. It never came.

  Cautiously, she crept back to the monitor and pressed the 'Video' button again, keeping the audio muted.

  The hallway was empty of people. The handsome man in trench coat and the sunglasses were gone.

  However, hanging from the handle of her front door was the brown paper bag. A small, folded corner of the notebook paper poked out from the top, just visible enough to be irritating.

  Himeko stared at the bag on the screen for a long moment, her brow twitching. He had left the breakfast, worse, he had left a bait.

  She turned off the monitor, the screen fading to black once more.

  She walked back to the kitchen and picked up her black cat mug. The coffee was warm now, yet still aromatic. She took a sip, staring out the window at the quiet street below.

  She set the mug down.

  "Stubborn," she muttered to the empty room.

  She sat on a stool, nursing her coffee, her eyes darting between the front door and the digital clock on the microwave as time passes.

  9:15 AM. Silence.

  9:25 AM. Still silence.

  9:40 AM.

  Thirty minutes. Even for someone as persistent as Kevin, waiting half an hour in the hallway seemed excessive.

  Himeko stood up and walked back to the monitor. She panned the camera left and right. Hallway was empty. The bag still hung from the handle, looking lonely.

  She chewed her lip. Leaving perfectly good food to rot was wasteful. It went against every principle she lived by. Plus, if the neighbors saw it, they might think she was messy.

  "Fine," she whispered.

  She unlocked the deadbolt, cracked the door open only inches, peeking through the gap. The coast was clear.

  Himeko reached out, snatched the paper bag, and slammed the door shut, locking it immediately.

  She leaned against the door, heart thumping, waiting for a knock or a laugh. Nothing. He was truly gone.

  Himeko walked to the kitchen island and set the bag down. The rich, buttery scent of fresh pastry wafted up, tantalizing and tempting. She pulled out two large, flaky croissants, still warm.

  Then, she reached for the folded paper.

  She expected a joke. Maybe a doodle of the fox, or his phone number written in big, bold letters.

  She unfolded the page. It was schematic.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Rotation 4: Gap between MB and OH.

  Lisa shifts weight to heels on jump serves -> limits lateral explosion.

  Jules drops elbow on cross-court block when fatigued. Angle becomes 15 degrees wider.

  There were diagrams drawn with precise lines, arrows indicating spacing errors measured in estimated inches, and notes on how the Dragons had specifically targeted those weaknesses. It was dense, professional, and irritatingly brilliant. It was the kind of analysis that usually took a team of analysts days to compile, written out on a napkin over breakfast.

  Himeko stared at the paper, then at the croissant.

  She took a bite of the pastry. It was perfectly flaky, melting in her mouth.

  She hated how good the croissant was. And she hated, even more, that the notes were exactly what her team needed.

  The following morning, the pattern established itself with a sunrise.

  9:00 AM sharp.

  BZZZZZT.

  Himeko stood in the center of her living room, a yoga mat rolled out, arms crossed. She stared at the monitor from a distance, refusing to press the button.

  Kevin's voice filtered through, muffled but audible even without her accepting the call.

  "Yo, Himeko. I know you're in there. I did some research, introverts need Vitamin D too, you know. How about picnic, we go picnic what do you think?"

  He waited.

  Himeko remained a statue. She breathed in, breathed out, and maintained radio silence.

  "Alright, playing hard to get I see. I respect the defense. Leaving it here!"

  Himeko didn't move until ten minutes after he had left the building.

  Day Three brought an escalation in tactics.

  BZZT-BZZT. BZZT-BZZT. BZZZZT-BZZZZT-BZZT.

  BZZT-BZZT. BZZT-BZZT. BZZZZT-BZZZZT-BZZT.

  The rhythm was unmistakable. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, played exclusively on her apartment buzzer.

  Himeko marched to the wall monitor, her patience finally snapped. She jammed the talk button.

  "If you press that button one more time, I am calling the police," she hissed. "This constitutes harassment, Kevin."

  "Oh come on. The police? They watch the games. They'd probably just ask for an autograph and tell me to keep up the good work."

  "Perhaps. But I imagine the press would be less forgiving. 'Men's MVP harasses a female player at private residence.' It's a very catchy headline, don't you think?"

  On screen, Kevin's smile faltered. His hand froze in mid-air, genuine hesitation crossing his face as he weighed the PR nightmare against his persistence.

  That's what I thought.

  Himeko didn't give him time to recover.

  CLICK.

  She severed the connection.

  Day Four. 2:30 PM.

  BZZZZZT.

  The sound cut through the quiet of Himeko's afternoon reading. She slammed her book shut, the sound echoing sharply in the living room. Her patience had officially reached its limit. His persistence had crossed the line from charmingly stubborn to genuinely irritating.

  She marched to the intercom. She didn't even bother checking the video feed this time; she knew exactly who was standing down there. She stabbed the talk button with her finger.

  "Go home, Kevin," Himeko snapped, her voice icy. "I am not opening this door, and if you ring this bell one more time, I will file a formal complaint with the league."

  There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then, a voice crackled through the speaker - female, weary, and lacking its usual outgoing energy.

  "Kevin? ...Himeko, it's Coach."

  Himeko froze. The venom in her throat instantly dissolved.

  "Coach... Elena?" Himeko asked slowly.

  "Yeah," Elena sighed through the static. "Sorry to drop by unannounced. I have the new season jerseys. Thought I'd drop yours off personally..."

  Himeko blinked in confusion. Usually, uniform distribution was an informal ceremony held in the locker room before the first official practice. For the head coach to be making personal deliveries to apartments on a weekday afternoon was highly irregular.

  "Oh. Of course," Himeko stammered, quickly recovering her professional demeanor. "I... apologies, Coach. I thought you were a saleman. Just a moment."

  She opened the door.

  A wave of relief washed over her - at least it wasn't him - but it was quickly followed by a sense of confusion. Why the personal touch? And why did Elena sound so drained?

  Himeko unlocked the deadbolt and smoothed down her t-shirt, checking her reflection in the hall mirror to ensure she looked presentable. She composed herself, preparing for a quick, professional exchange about the upcoming schedule.

  She pulled the door open, a polite greeting ready on her lips.

  "Good afternoon, Coach. Thank you for coming," as she greeted coach Elena.

  However, Elena didn't step forward. She stood frozen on the doormat, clutching a plastic bag that presumably contained the jerseys, but her posture was all wrong. The usually fiery, confident, eloquent coach looked... stiff. Her eyes darted wildly from the ceiling light to the potted plant in the hallway, aggressively avoiding Himeko's gaze.

  "Coach?" Himeko frowned, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. "Is something wrong with the jerseys?"

  Elena opened her mouth, but only a strangled squeak came out. Her eyes snapped to the right, widening in a panic signal that Himeko realized, a fraction of a second too late, was not directed at her.

  Himeko followed the gaze.

  Down the long, carpeted hallway, a figure exploded into view from around the corner.

  A tall figure sprinting with the acceleration of a world-class athlete. Kevin Marvant was charging down the corridor, closing the distance between the elevator bank and her apartment door.

  Shit.

  Himeko's survival instincts kicked in instantly.

  She threw her weight backward, grabbing the door handle with both hands and heaving it shut with all the force of a middle blocker stuffing a spike.

  THUD.

  The door didn't close.

  It stopped with a jarring vibration inches from the frame. Himeko looked down, horrified to see a sensible black heel jammed into the gap.

  "Ouch!" Elena yelped, wincing as her foot acted as the doorstop.

  Himeko's eyes widened in horror at the yelp of pain. She immediately released the tension on the handle, pulling the heavy door back just enough to free Elena's trapped heel.

  That fraction of a second was all the opening required.

  Before Himeko could shove the door shut again, a large hand clamped around the edge of the wood. The fingers were long, taped at the knuckles, and possessed the grip strength of a man who spiked volleyballs for a living.

  The door stopped moving.

  Himeko pushed. The door didn’t budge. She leaned her weight into it, gritting her teeth, feeling like pushing a boulder uphill.

  Kevin gently but firmly pushed back, widening the gap until he could slide his shoulder in, acting as a human doorstop. He didn't force his way inside, but he made it impossibly to close him out.

  The struggle ceased. Himeko sighed and stepped back, and released the door handle.

  The door swung open.

  Kevin stood there, leaning casually against against the doorframe, offering a breathless smile.

  "Sup Himeko," he breathed. "Nice strength."

  She completely ignored him.

  Himeko pivoted her head to the left, locking her eyes onto the woman standing sheepishly on the doormat.

  Elena Vance flinched. She pulled the plastic bag of jerseys up higher, as if it could shield her from the laser-focused death glare beaming out of her middle blocker's eyes.

  "Coach," Himeko said. Her voice was terrifyingly calm (terrifyingly). "I want to know exactly how he found this apartment. I want the truth. Now."

  Elena opened her mouth to speak, her eyes darted to Kevin, then back to Himeko, then to her own shoes. No one thought a tactical mastermind like her would look like a teenager caught sneaking back into the house past curfew.

  "I... well... you see, Himeko, it's a very complicated situation that is not neccesarily..."

  "Coach." Himeko took a step forward. "Did you give him my address?"

  Under the crushing weight of Himeko's gaze, Elena crumbled.

  "I had to!" Elena wailed, her professional composure disintegrating instantly. "He wouldn't stop texting me! He threatened to send my old pictures to the press!"

  Himeko stared at her, an expression of betrayal etching itself onto her face.

  "You sold my privacy," Himeko whispered, "to save your own reputation?"

  Elena couldn't handle the disappointment radiating from her star player. She dropped her head, clutching the bag of jerseys to her chest, and bowed deeply.

  "I am so sorry!" Elena cried out to the floor. "Please forgive me! I brought your jersey! It's a medium! I checked the sizing chart personally!"

  Himeko stood there, sandwiched between the bowing figure of her traitorous coach and the tall, hopeful figure of the persistent MVP. She looked from one to the other, realizing with a sinking feeling that there was no possible escape for this, trapped in her own doorway by a conspiracy of two.