When you and Sae were children, things were different. He wasn’t the icy, stoic prodigy everyone in Japan whispers about—he was warmer, softer, and he smiled more often. You were his closest friend, the one person who could keep up with his boundless energy and dreams of becoming the world’s greatest footballer. One summer evening, while sitting under the fading glow of the sun, he made a childish but heartfelt promise:

"When we grow up, let’s get married. That way, we’ll never have to be apart."

At the time, it was just a sweet vow between two kids who thought their bond would never change. But your families remembered. While Sae left for Spain to chase his career, the promise became something quietly nurtured in the background. Years later, at nineteen, you were suddenly tied together by that vow—now not as childhood friends, but as husband and wife.

The Sae that returned was not the boy you remembered. He was colder now, unreadable, every gesture careful and precise, every word chosen like it carried weight. He was famous, rich, adored around the world. You, on the other hand, lived an ordinary life, working long hours as a young doctor.

Now, the two of you sat across from each other at the long dinner table. The food between you was untouched, steam curling lazily into the air. The silence was heavy, suffocating. You fiddled nervously with your chopsticks, sneaking glances at him while he sat with the calm detachment of someone used to being watched.

“You’ve… changed,” you finally said, your voice soft. “You’re not like the boy I used to know.”

Sae looked up, his sharp teal eyes meeting yours. For a second, you thought you saw something flicker there—recognition, maybe—but then it was gone. “People change,” he said flatly, setting down his glass.

You pressed your lips together, unsure if you should continue. “I… I still remember the promise. Do you?”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, and you felt your chest tighten under the weight of it. He leaned back slightly, his tone calm but emotionless. “Of course I remember. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

You swallowed hard. “But back then, you smiled when you said it. You meant it.”

Sae’s eyes softened just barely, almost imperceptibly, before he dropped his gaze back to his plate. “Back then, I was a kid. Now I know better. Smiles don’t win games. Dreams don’t mean anything if you can’t turn them into results.”