Chapter 1

Uff, uff…! Let's go, little one! Just a little bit more, only a little bit!

The hospital room echoed with screams that were almost shrieks. A woman with a prominent belly and long, ash-blonde hair struggled, her face flushed with effort. Beside her, an anxious-looking man gripped her hand tightly, his own knuckles white.

Uff…! Blood flowed from the woman's lower leg, dripping onto the bedside table to form a crimson pool. The man gritted his teeth, tears welling in his eyes, but there was nothing he could do. Childbirth was, ultimately, the mother's trial. He could not share her pain, and with his clumsiness, he could not deliver the baby himself.

And so, he could only believe infinitely and wait infinitely.

That belief… soon turned into reality.

What a filth!

“We did it, Sivil! Our daughter…!”

“Ahhhh…”

Fortunately, the baby was born healthy and unharmed. She had reddish, wrinkled skin and a body slightly smaller than average. Pointed ears peeked from the top of her head, and a tiny ponytail lay against her scalp. She was their daughter, more than anything, their precious child.

The woman—Sivil—her face soaked in sweat but radiant with bursting joy, carefully accepted the baby. She stared fixedly at the little life in her arms.

“I’ve decided!” she announced.

“Eh? What?” the man asked, his voice thick with emotion.

Sivil answered him with a warm, triumphant voice. “This child’s name is Tamamo. Tamamo Cross!”

Her second life. Her first memory.

Afternoon sunlight streamed into an office dominated by a large, cluttered desk. Files were scattered here and there, and the slats of the Roman blinds cast long, sharp shadows across the room.

“So, let me get this straight. Dinah Carpenter, the star of our team, was taken to the hospital today?” a man’s voice asked, heavy and unamused.

“Ah… oh,” came a hesitant, younger voice.

“They said it was a bruise. A swollen, closed eye. Luckily, not a serious injury, but she can’t train for a while.”

“So you…” the man prompted, his tone dropping dangerously.

“You did it, right?”

In the space that followed, a heavier silence floated than usual. It was broken by the girl standing in front of the desk.

She had wavy gray hair that reached her waist and eyes like the surface of a clear turquoise lake. Blue pompoms hung from her rigid red ears near the crown of her head, and she wore a crayonage gym suit that seemed fit only for a gymnastics class.

“Anyway! It wasn’t my fault!” the girl, Tamamo, insisted, her voice rising. “The old woman was the one who started it! She said, ‘The smell of your tofu is disgusting, I can’t stand it! What if we leave the races and return to the field?’ Jo, jo, jo! Like that!”

Jancana!

Her small fist hit the desk with a force belying her size. Her plump cheeks were flushed with intense emotion, radiating a charm that made you want to pinch them. Her soft, porcelain skin had a healthy apricot glow, and her pale pink lips were set in a furious pout. She was beautiful—an appearance anyone would call lovely—but now that beauty was red with rage.

“So, you’re not to blame at all, is that it?” the man, Coach Ishida, asked coldly.

“Hah! It’s all the old woman’s fault! What did I do wrong?”

“You… idiot!”

His anger seemed to reach a boiling point. Coach Ishida’s hairy fist slammed into the girl’s small head with a cold, dull thud.

“Ack!” Tamamo clutched her numb forehead, tears welling instantly at the corners of her eyes. “Why did you hit me?! Damn old man!”

“Who are you calling an old man, you hooligan?! You’re the one who’s asking for a beating!”

“Why, I…”

The moment Tamamo slammed the table again, Coach Ishida threw the chart he was holding directly into her face.

Pheuk!

“Seven matches! One win, six losses! That’s your record. And they’re all conditional matches, not even official tournaments!” he roared. “If you had a conscience, you wouldn’t dare say a word. But instead of keeping quiet, you have the audacity to pick a fight with our ace?!”

“T-that’s… well, it’s because she started it first! That Kaji Anna—”

“Shut up!”

As if no further conversation was necessary, Coach Ishida’s hand shot out and grabbed Tamamo by the scruff of her neck, lifting her up. Her body, a head or two shorter than his, was hoisted easily. Grabbed like a misbehaving kitten, she struggled, but her protests were weak and useless.

“Tamamo Cross,” he stated, his voice final and absolute. “You are expelled from Team Stairway. As of today—Expulsion!”

“Expulsion!? Seriously!?” she shrieked.

“I have nothing more to say. Get out. I understand your circumstances, but I can’t waste resources on a problem child who can’t even produce results.”

“Wait… Coach! Coach!”

Her desperate screams, as if she were spitting blood, continued. But Coach Ishida was merciless, physically marching her to the door and shoving her out into the hall.

The office door slammed shut before her eyes with a definitive crash.

Tamamo stared at the iron-gray door, now firmly closed as if it would never open for her again.

A weak voice escaped her lips, barely a whisper she didn't even know she had.

"This is too much..."