I eyed the wide-open field, wondering if I could get away with an emergency bathroom break before the torture began. Maybe feign stomach cramps? Food poisoning? Sudden amnesia about agreeing to team training?
Too late. Misato was already jogging toward us, her lime green ponytail swinging with each step, a look on her face that screamed "I will enjoy your suffering today."
"Listen up, Midnight Foxes!" She clapped her hands with unnecessary force. "This field is now your second home. You'll bleed here. You'll cry here. You'll probably throw up here."
Jordan groaned beside me. "Seriously? It's our first practice."
Misato's eyes narrowed. "That attitude? That's why you're ranked two hundred twenty-eight, Wayne."
"I'm also ranked two hundred twenty-eight because I don't care," Jordan retorted, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "The ranking system is arbitrary and—"
"Down! Twenty push-ups!" Misato barked.
Jordan stared at her. "Are you for real right now?"
