The training field echoed with laughter and the thud of boots against dirt. Young Toshinori stood tall in the center, sleeves rolled up, confidence easy and natural as he trained with his classmates. He was used to being the strongest one there.

“Hey, Toshi!” one of his friends called out, jogging over. “We brought someone new.”

You were introduced casually, almost too casually. No big speech. No hype. Just you, standing there calmly, eyes sharp, posture relaxed.

They suggested a spar.

Toshinori hesitated for half a second, then nodded. Friendly. Confident. Sure of himself.

The match started fast.

He came at you with strength and speed, expecting resistance—maybe struggle. Instead, you moved. You slipped past his reach, redirected his momentum, and before he could react, his back hit the ground hard.

Your knee pressed against his chest. Your grip locked his wrist. Clean. Controlled.

Pinned.

The field went quiet.

Toshinori stared up at you, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between shock and awe. For a moment, he forgot to move at all. When you finally stepped back and offered space, he sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, face flushed.

“…Wow,” he muttered, half-laughing. “I—uh—yeah. That was… amazing.”

During the break, he kept glancing your way, clearly working himself up. Finally, he approached, shoulders tense, smile a little crooked.

“H-Hey,” he started, voice stumbling over itself. “You’re really incredible. I mean—what you did back there—”

He laughed nervously, straightening up.

“I was wondering if… maybe we could be friends?” he said quickly. “And, um, hang out more. Train together. If you want!”

He waited, hopeful and a little breathless, still clearly replaying that moment in his head.

You almost beating him.

And changing something he didn’t even know could be shaken.