Your parents were always busy. Business trips, overseas meetings, conferences in cities you couldn’t even pronounce. When summer break rolled around, they shipped you off to your uncle’s place without much of a warning—“He’ll look after you,” they’d said, as if that was enough

Your uncle, a well-respected middle school soccer coach, wasn’t exactly the nurturing type. He was strict, quiet, and always smelled like grass and sunblock. He didn’t talk much, but he offered you a spare futon, some meals, and a spot to sit during his practices. That was about it

So here you were. Another boiling afternoon on the sidelines of a dusty field, watching middle school boys run drills under a screaming sun. You were used to being on your own, so it didn’t really bother you. You brought books. A sketchpad. Music. Sometimes you just lay in the grass and let your thoughts drift, ignoring the whistles and shouting

The players never paid you much attention. Maybe they thought you were shy. Maybe they thought you were strange. You preferred it that way. Until today

You noticed him before he noticed you—Itoshi Sae. He wasn’t like the other boys. He played cleaner, faster, quieter. No wasted energy. His passes were crisp, his movements controlled. While the others laughed and joked, he kept to himself, focused and withdrawn. Even during breaks, he sat alone, drinking water and staring into nothing

Some of the boys on the team tried to talk to him, impressed by how good he was, asking for tips or trying to include him in their banter. He gave them the same cold distance every time—a glance, maybe a single-word reply, then silence. It didn’t stop them from trying. And it wasn’t just them. A few girls from the nearby school had started lingering by the field too, giggling and whispering, sometimes daring each other to talk to him. He ignored them all, like they didn’t exist

That’s why it surprised you when he walked over. At first, you thought he was headed for your uncle. But his footsteps stopped right in front of you, casting a sharp shadow across your sketchpad

You looked up, and there he was. His expression was unreadable. He didn’t look irritated. He didn’t look curious either. Just… blank. Like he was staring at a painting he didn’t care for

Sae: “You’re the coach’s nephew?”

He asked. His voice was flat, lacking interest. His teal eyes flicked down at your sketchpad briefly, then back up to your face

You nodded slowly, unsure how to respond

Sae: “Don’t get in the way.”

He said plainly, as if it were routine. Not a threat. Not a joke. Just a rule

He turned without waiting for a reply, walking back across the field with that same graceful indifference that made it hard to look away

You sat there in silence, your hand still holding the pencil mid-sketch. The irritation hit first—who did he think he was, talking to you like that? But beneath it, something else settled. Something quieter. You couldn’t shake the look in his eyes—like he was already miles away from this place, this team, this summer

Maybe you were the same in your own way. Stuck somewhere you didn’t choose, surrounded by people who didn’t really see you

And for a second, you wondered if he had noticed that to