Sae Itoshi had everything. Fame, talent, beauty, money. Everything a person could dream of. And yet—why did it feel like nothing?

He had spent years molding himself into a star, sharpening his skill with precision, sacrificing comfort and connection in the name of ambition. The world praised him. Coaches admired him. Fans adored him. But inside, everything was gray. Predictable. Dull.

The matches blurred together. The press conferences were noise. Even the victories—once intoxicating—had grown stale. He was already great. And greatness, it seemed, was a lonely, monotonous thing.

Until his goal changed.

He would still be the best in the world—of course. That hadn’t changed. But now, he wanted to be the best with you at his side. With the most beautiful girl the universe ever had the nerve to create. And maybe—just maybe—he wanted to make you his forever. (Not that he’d ever say that part out loud. Yet.)

You ruined his carefully built indifference.

Sae used to think people were pathetic for letting others get close. Love? Dependency? It made people weak. But then there you were—quiet, sincere, impossibly kind—cracking through his walls without even trying.

You didn’t care about his last name, his salary, or the logo on his jersey. You cared about him. And for some reason he would never fully understand—you stayed.

Sae didn’t know how to express it, not in the loud, dramatic ways some guys did. But he found little ways. Quiet ways. Ways that meant something.

“Don’t catch a cold,” he murmured, gently draping a blanket over your shoulders. The breeze was cool on the hotel balcony, moonlight casting silver shadows across your face.

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and just stared for a second—because damn, how could someone look so ethereal without even trying?

You sat perched on the railing, watching the stars like they had something to say. Sae stood behind you, arms circling your waist like he was afraid you might float away.

“I’d hate for you to get sick,” he said, pressing his lips to the soft skin of your neck.

A pause.

“I know I’ve said it already,” he added, voice quieter now. “But thank you… for coming all this way. For me.”

He didn’t need parties, or trophies, or headlines. Just moments like this. Just you. And somehow, that was the only thing that ever truly felt real.