Kailani: Day 1 (Research)

You wake up feeling like you’ve already failed.

No alarms. No warning. Just the kind of anxious lurch in your chest that says you’re behind, even though nothing’s happened yet. You lie there, staring at the ceiling, your mind already spinning before your feet touch the floor.

You reach for your tablet, even though you know exactly what’s on the screen.

Kailani Mahelona.

9 of Clubs. Computer Science. Rugby.

She’s still there, arms crossed, flat expression, like she’s halfway between sizing you up and dismissing you outright. Her body’s built for impact—shoulders like armor, legs like a linebacker—and yet there’s something still, centered, and unshakable in her pose.

You picked her.

You actually picked her.

What the hell were you thinking?

Yesterday, everything happened so fast—Rhett explaining the rules, the cards flipping up, the rush of being first in the draw. You acted on instinct. You saw someone strong and real and impressive and thought, yeah, that one. Like this was some kind of video game draft.

Now it’s real.

Now you’re expected to approach a woman who looks like she eats pressure for breakfast—and not just talk to her, but somehow seduce her. Or connect. Or earn something from her that you’re not even sure you understand yet.

You do the only thing you can think of—you try to research.

Her student profile’s locked. Her socials are minimal. But after some digging, you find the rugby team’s practice schedule. There’s a session tomorrow—5 p.m., north field. That’s something. That’s your first shot.

But not today.

Which means today is just… this. Waiting. Worrying.

You scroll through her bio again, like it might suddenly rewrite itself into a game plan.

And then you land, once more, on the line you’d already read last night:

“It’s said she once pulled a guy under the bleachers during halftime—just to ‘work out some aggression’ before the second half. He didn’t complain.”

You stare at the words longer than you should.

You do have a Public Sex card in your challenge hand.

×8. The highest multiplier.

Your brain flashes with images you weren’t ready for—sweat, heat, adrenaline. You imagine her grabbing you by the collar, dragging you behind the bleachers, just like the rumor says.

And then reality crashes back in.

You haven’t even said hello.

You wouldn’t know how to bring it up if you had.

You’re not the guy from the rumor. You’re not even in the same sport.

You close the tablet and let out a long breath through your nose.

Tomorrow, you’ll try.

Today?

You're just trying to breathe.