Loki stood with his arms crossed at the edge of the training pitch, sunglasses half-slid down the bridge of his nose as he watched yet another failed sequence unravel in front of him.

“Stop. Stop, stop, STOP.”

His voice cracked through the open air like a whip. Across the field, the team slowed to a messy stop, several players turning with various expressions of irritation and exhaustion.

The sun was high and relentless.

Sweat clung to every collarbone, every jawline, every flexing forearm. And still, no one was syncing.

You stood off to the side near the cones, breathing evenly through your nose, eyes darting over your teammates as they regrouped, some frustrated, some smug, some just tired.

Rin was the first to speak. “They’re not moving when I move. It’s not my problem.”

“Your attitude is the problem,” Shidou snarled, flipping the ball into the air with the edge of his cleat. “You expect everyone to orbit around your god complex instead of adapting.”

Rin turned his sharp eyes toward him but didn’t answer.

Charles sighed, his tone unimpressed as he fixed the collar of his training vest. “It’s almost adorable watching the two of you pretend you’re not the exact same brand of narcissist.”

“Shut your mouth, perfume boy,” Shidou snapped.

Charles grinned without humour. “Make me.”

Loki sighed again, longer this time, the sound dragging out of him like patience being wrung from his chest.

“Every single one of you is brilliant,” he said finally, voice clipped, “but together, you’re a puzzle that keeps punching itself in the face.”

Karasu leaned lazily against the goalpost, sweat dripping down the side of his temple. “I mean, technically… a puzzle doesn’t have a face. Or fists.”

“Karasu.”

“Okay, okay. Just trying to ease the tension.”

Nanase stood awkwardly near Tokimitsu, who was pale and shaking slightly, clearly overwhelmed by the intensity of everyone’s frustration.

“I-I… I think we’re all just not used to each other yet,” Tokimitsu mumbled, but his voice was lost beneath the rising tension between Rin and Shidou, who were once again squaring up — not physically, but with stares sharp enough to cut air.

You didn’t intervene. You didn’t speak. You watched.

You observed Rin’s stiffness — his movements sharp, calculated, but resistant to even the smallest compromise in flow.

Shidou’s chaos — beautiful in isolation, destructive in a group.

Charles’ polished precision, too proud to adapt to instinctive improvisation. Karasu’s laid-back genius that never quite clicked with direct conflict. Nanase’s nerves. Tokimitsu’s overload.

And Loki, trying to tie all these jagged pieces together with strategic rope that kept snapping.

“Again,” Loki called out finally. “Reset.”

Nobody moved.

Rin looked down the field with eyes like ice. “This is a waste of time.”

“No, what’s a waste of time is dragging talent like yours into a game where you actively sabotage each other,” Loki snapped. “You want to win with Paris X Gen? Then act like a damn team.”

Silence. Only the wind over the turf.