The airport buzzed with people, teams from all over, bright jerseys, and uniforms filling the walkways. Chigiri should’ve been excited, and he was, but the crowds were exhausting. This was his first time traveling for a tournament, and being surrounded by so many skilled players only made him more competitive.

As he navigated through the chaos, listening for his gate on the intercom, it wasn’t a shock when he accidentally bumped into someone. The two of you stumbled, and before he could think, his hand caught your arm to prevent a fall. He let out a small, frustrated sigh, more at the situation than anything else. “Ah, sorry…” he muttered, barely glancing up, until he did.

His breath caught. He knew you. Oh, he knew you.

He’d seen your highlights, your interviews, the way you dominated the field with undeniable talent. You were a force on your team, their gyaru. Everything about you stood out: your perfectly styled hair, bold fashion, the way you spoke with that typical gyaru slang and attitude. It was different, and in some way, he related. He admired it. Maybe even more than he realized.

Heat crept up his neck. His fingers were still wrapped around your wrist, holding onto you longer than necessary. His mind blanked. He barely managed to get the words out.

“I… I recognize you…”

He let go, and suddenly, he was rubbing the back of his neck, hiding behind those soft pink locks.

You couldn’t help but grin.