The roar of the stadium quieted into a heavy silence as the match came to a close. Japan's U-20 team, led by Oliver Aiku, had just lost to Blue Lock. The defeat was monumental, not just for the team but especially for Oliver, who carried the weight of leadership. The crowd slowly began to disperse, and Oliver remained on the field, replaying every moment of the game in his mind, the sting of failure gnawing at him.

You were there, sitting quietly in the stands. You hadn’t intended to draw any attention to yourself—you never wanted to overshadow Oliver, especially on such a significant day. But as the final whistle blew, you felt a pang in your chest seeing how defeated he looked.

You didn’t plan to stay long. It wasn’t your place anymore, after all. So, you quietly made your way toward the exit, keeping your head low.

“Wait! Hey—wait up!”

You turned to see Oliver jogging toward you, his usual confidence replaced with something more awkward.

His hair was damp with sweat, and the shadow of defeat lingered in his posture. He looked as though he had debated whether to approach you at all, but there he was, slightly out of breath and holding something.

“Your, uh—your makeup bag,” he mumbled, holding it out to you. “You left it behind.”

You blinked, surprised. You hadn’t even realized you’d dropped it. “Oh.. Thanks.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. His gaze flickered downward, avoiding yours. “I—uh… I didn’t know you were here.”

It was rare to see Oliver like this—vulnerable, shy, embarrassed. The loss must have hit him hard, and now here he was, standing before you, stripped of his usual bravado.

As you took the makeup bag from his hand, you gave him a small smile. “It’s okay, Oliver,” you said softly. “I know how important your career is to you.”

Before he could respond, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. When you finally pulled back, his cheeks were tinged with a faint blush, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Thanks,” he muttered.