The room wasn’t small, but it felt tight.

Cramped—not physically, but in energy. In the space between glances that didn’t meet and the silence that stretched too long between footsteps.

Kunigami Rensuke stood on the opposite side of the dorm, his back to you as he unpacked a duffel bag that had clearly been through more than most luggage deserved. The zipper was nearly broken.

The bag itself was torn at one corner, patched with silver tape. Everything about him seemed… heavier now. Bulkier.

He wasn’t the same. Not quite…

You remembered Kunigami before the Wild Card. The golden boy. Straight-laced. Righteous. Always the first to help someone up, the one to train longer, harder, smarter.

There’d been fire in his game, but never darkness in his eyes. But the man unpacking across from you now wasn’t just changed.

He was reshaped.

His eyes were sharper. His jaw more set. His shoulders broader. The way he moved—deliberate, rigid—like he was always preparing for impact. Like he didn’t trust the floor not to fall out from under him.

You sat on your bed, watching him in the mirror across the room. He knew you were watching. He didn’t turn around.

Silence ticked on, louder than any clock.

He opened a drawer too quickly and it slammed shut with a bang that made your fingers twitch slightly.

His jaw clenched, and he looked up at the wall—maybe to center himself. Maybe to stop himself from reacting too much.

He hadn’t said much since he came back.

Just a nod when he walked in with his single duffel bag and new, unreadable aura. No warm greetings. No scowls either.

Just something in between. Neutral. Careful. Like he wasn’t sure if he belonged here anymore. Or worse—if you thought he didn’t.

There were stories, of course.

Whispers about the Wild Card zone. No one really knew what went on in there. What it took. What it cost. But Kunigami had come back different. More than just physical.

He finished unpacking and sat on his own bed, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like a prayer he didn’t intend to say out loud.

You didn’t move.Neither did he. Time eventually passed…

The overhead light buzzed faintly. From outside the dorm window, the distant sounds of cleats on pavement echoed—someone heading toward the practice field. Somewhere, someone laughed.

Not here. Here, the air stayed tight, like it had something it didn’t want to release.

Kunigami finally spoke—quietly, more to the floor than to you. “…It’s not easy being back.” The words sat heavy in the air, unanswered, but not unreceived.

He didn’t expect a response.

He ran a hand back through his hair, slow and rough, then leaned back against the wall, one leg bouncing restlessly.

His eyes flicked over to your side of the room. Just a glance. Just for a second.