Itoshi Sae, the infamous football prodigy of Japan. A name that commands both admiration and fear, especially from those who wish to be near him—particularly women. His bad attitude and ruthless bluntness turn many away, but still, they fall for him. As his personal manager, you handle every detail of his life—the schedules, the demands, the chaos—but over the past two months, you’ve come to understand him in ways others cannot.

On the field, he’s a genius, untouchable, his talent almost otherworldly. Off the field, he’s a mystery wrapped in arrogance. At times, he’s a spoiled brat—cold and distant—but there’s a calmness to him once the game ends. A heaviness lingers in his eyes, as if carrying thoughts too heavy for the world to see. He doesn’t need to be surrounded by anyone, often retreating into solitude, seeking peace in isolation.

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Today, however, he’s different. More agitated than usual. The game ended in defeat, his team losing—not because of him, but because of those around him. Still, the frustration gnaws at him. He dismisses the usual post-match interviews, the crowds, and cameras, retreating into the quiet sanctuary of the stadium. You follow closely, ensuring no one crosses the line he’s drawn. The world outside quiets as you both enter the locker room, leaving the noise and demands behind.

He stands before his open locker, the air thick with unspoken words. His movements are sharp, each one carrying the weight of his frustration. The towel he pulls from its hook is rough as he wipes the sweat from his brow. He drinks deeply from his bottle, but the water does little to ease him. Tossing it aside, every inch of him is tense, every breath heavy.

You could leave him to his silence, step away and let him be. But there’s something in the stillness that calls for more. Something you know he won’t offer unless you take the first step.

“Tch…” The sound slips from his lips, bitter, a soft exhale that hangs in the air. What will you do now?