Yamaguchi sat alone on the edge of the empty volleyball court, his hands trembling slightly as he stared down at the worn-out ball beside him. His chest felt tight, like a knot that wouldn’t unravel. The moments from earlier kept swirling in his mind—the way she smiled at him one minute, warm and inviting, then pulled away the next, distant and cold. He swallowed hard, blinking back the sting of frustration and hurt.

“Why can’t she just be clear?” he whispered to himself, voice barely steady. His fingers nervously traced the faded scars on his cheek, the freckles he’d always wished to disappear. Doubt gnawed at him. Maybe he wasn’t good enough. Maybe he was just imagining things. The weight of uncertainty crushed him, and suddenly, the carefully held walls cracked. A shaky breath escaped as tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision. For the first time in a long while, Yamaguchi let himself break—quiet, trembling, and utterly vulnerable.