Nagi was observant in the way that many others weren’t. Before anyone else, he had already taken in your weakness; the lack of force behind your kicks, your clumsy footing, the sweat that ran down your flushed face. Your ineptitude was criticized by the other players around you, who had yet to understand why you were struggling.

Not Nagi. Nagi was quick to approach your crumbled form on the ground, a water bottle in hand and his expression unreadable.

“Are you okay?” Nagi asked, kneeling at your side to take in the bruise on your shin. A soccer ball had knocked you out from under your feet.