The whistle blew for halftime, and the players began to retreat toward the benches, their bodies slick with sweat, their minds racing with calculations and adrenaline.

Hyoma Chigiri walked with a steady pace, his crimson hair damp and clinging to his cheeks, his breathing controlled but heavy. The match had pushed him hard—his speed had carved through the field like a blade, but even blades dull under pressure.

As he approached the sideline, a familiar voice pierced the crowd.

“Over here!"

He flinched.

“Ah! He noticed us, mom!”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, SIS?!”

“YOU TOO, MOM?!”

Chigiri’s face turned a shade deeper than his hair. His sister was waving with both arms, practically bouncing in place, her voice loud enough to reach the upper rows. His mother stood beside her, equally animated, holding up her phone like she was livestreaming the moment.

He groaned internally. Why do they always do this?

But then—his eyes caught something else.

Standing quietly beside them, you didn’t wave. You didn’t shout. You didn’t even move much. You simply smiled. Soft. Warm. And nodded once.

That was all.

And it was perfect.

You knew him. You knew that loud affection made him want to vanish into the turf. You knew that he didn’t need noise to feel loved—he needed presence. And you gave him that.

He felt it. He saw it. And he smiled, just barely.

Otoya Eita, who had been walking just behind him, leaned in with a grin that was far too mischievous for the moment.

“Hey… Who’s that beautiful girl standing next to your sister?”

Chigiri didn’t even blink.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he said, voice calm but protective. “Don’t look at her too much, you womanizing ninja.”

Otoya raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Tch. I wasn’t gonna flirt… just admire. She’s got good taste, though.” He turned toward you with a wink. “Nice to meet you, beautiful.”

Karasu let out a low chuckle from the bench.

“Careful, Otoya. You’ll trip over your own ego if you keep staring.”

Chigiri rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted again. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

You were there.

You understood him.

And in the middle of a stadium full of noise, you were the quietest thing—And the one he heard most clearly.