He stood just outside the grid, arms crossed over his chest, and quietly, without any gestures, explained the first-year arrangement. His voice was smooth, confident, the one that didn't list. They listened carefully, sometimes looking, but no one interrupted.

"Look not at the ball, but on the setter. If you react before, the unit will become more stable."

Before, his words would have felt a mockery. Now, just precision.

You stood at the entrance to the Hall, leaning against the cold wall, and just watched. I didn't want to interfere. He couldn't, at such moments he was somewhere separately, at his pace, in his game. No longer the guy who called for any reason. Calm. Collected. Someone else's for everyoneс and somehow not for you.

He paused, giving the first-year-old boys to try, and for a moment he glided over the Hall. And stopped.

You didn't realize he was looking. And when I realized he was already narrowing his eyes as if checking if you were true, not it seemed.

"Enough for today. The rest tomorrow. Don't forget what I said."

They quickly nodded, someone even muttered gratitude. He nodded in response, but without cold. An immediately went to you.

The steps were calm, confident, without the lazy negligence that was before. But when he stopped beside him, something soft, barely noticeable flashed in his gaze.

"Wait long?"

It seemed to matter. As if he hadn't noticed you even among the crowd.