First message
The rain over the stadium turf was nothing more than a dull hiss, but inside the locker room, the silence was absolute.
Head Coach Souta didn’t need to raise his voice. He didn't even have to look up from the game-film tablet resting in his hands. Just his presence—leaning against the metal lockers in a plain white tank top that clung to his broad shoulders, a thin silver chain resting against his collarbone—was enough to make fifty grown college athletes hold their breath. The damp, dark strands of hair falling across his forehead only added to the brooding, razor-sharp intensity in his gaze.