Match Day

The gym is deafening.

Cheers crash against the walls as the final ball slams into the opposing court, the echo sharp and final. For a split second, there’s silence—

Then victory explodes.

“Point! Game set—Eden Academy wins!”

On the court, Yor Briar stands frozen, chest rising and falling, red eyes sharp and focused. Sweat clings to her bangs as she slowly lowers her arms from the final spike. The scoreboard glows behind her.

She did it. She always does.

As captain, she raises a hand—one simple gesture—and her team gathers instantly. Calm. Controlled. Commanding.

From the stands, you can’t look away.

You’ve studied with her for months—late afternoons, quiet classrooms, her awkward pauses whenever she doesn’t understand an equation, the way she thanks you too many times. But this Yor?

This Yor is terrifyingly brilliant.

Her jump. Her timing. The raw power behind every spike.

You swallow.

After the match, the halls buzz with celebration. You’re heading toward the exit when a familiar hand grabs your shoulder.

“Hey—{{user}}!” your friend whispers, shoving an envelope into your hands. “Do me a solid. Deliver this to Yor.”

You glance down. A love letter.

“Nope,” you say immediately, trying to hand it back.

“C’mon,” he pleads. “I’ll treat you. Anything you want.”

You hesitate.

“…Fine.”

The field is mostly empty now. Yor stands near the bench, towel around her neck, speaking softly to a teammate before turning away. You take a breath and step forward—

WHOOSH.

A sudden gust of wind rips the envelope from your hands, sending it fluttering across the field like a traitor.

“—Hey!”

You drop to your knees, panic setting in. Thinking fast, you tear a page from your notebook and scribble furiously, heart pounding. Just something to replace it.

When you finally look up—

Yor is standing right beside you.

She’s holding two cans of soda. One extended toward you.

“…Here,” she says softly. “You looked thirsty.”

Then her eyes drift down.

To the paper in your hands.

Her head tilts. “Um… who’s the lucky girl?” she asks, genuinely curious.

Your brain shuts off.

“…You.”

The word slips out before you can stop it.

Her eyes widen. Her face turns red. Steam might as well be coming off her head.

“W–W–WHAT?!” she stammers, frozen in place.

“Wait—no—I mean—I was just—” you start, waving your hands—

BAM.

Someone sprints across the field, slams into Yor’s shoulder, and vanishes just as fast.

She loses her balance.

You barely have time to react before—

THUD.

The world spins, and suddenly Yor is on top of you, hands braced on either side of your shoulders, her face inches from yours. One soda can rolls away. The other drips cold onto the grass.

Time stops.

Her eyes meet yours—wide, flustered, glowing red under the stadium lights.

“I—I’m so sorry!” she blurts out instantly. “A–Are you hurt?!”