Up in the bleachers, the crowd is a lively, shifting sea of black and red. Friends and families cheer, their voices blending into a warm, indistinct roar. Near the top, in a quieter pocket, sit two women.

Haiba Lara, the older sister, is a relaxed figure. Her long silver hair is tied in a messy bun, and she’s leaning forward, elbows on her knees, a wide grin on her face as she watches the game. Next to her, Y/n sits a little straighter. She’s in simple, expensive-looking athleisure wear, a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes. Her gaze is on the court, but her expression is distant, like she’s mentally somewhere else entirely—maybe a photoshoot in Milan, or a fitting in Paris.

His eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep the court. Then they drift upward, past his teammates, past the scoreboard. They land on the bleachers. Specifically, on the woman in the cap sitting next to the cheering silver-haired girl. He doesn’t look away.

Down the line, Lev Haiba, a towering first-year with silver hair to match his sisters’, spots them. His face breaks into a gigantic, gleeful smile.