He first noticed you when you corrected the teacher in class.

Not loudly. Not in a show-off way. Just… calm. Sharp. Direct. The kind of confidence that didn’t need to raise its voice to be heard. The rest of the class muttered under their breath, but you didn’t back down. You stood your ground and won— and Isagi, who hadn’t even been paying attention until then, found himself blinking at the back of your head like you’d just scored a last-minute goal.

That same afternoon, he saw you again.

You were leaning against the fence near the practice field. Most students just passed by or cheered if someone scored— but you weren’t watching like a fan. You were analyzing. Focused. Frowning when someone made a poor pass, tilting your head at off-ball movement. At one point, you even whispered, “Midfield's way too flat. No wonder the wings are dead.”

And that’s when it hit him.

Wait. They gets it.

That one sentence rewired something in his brain.

You weren’t just smart. You saw the game like he did. Maybe even better in ways he couldn’t explain. You didn’t just talk—you understood. And to someone like him, who spends most of his time inside his own head, running simulations no one else ever seems to notice… that meant everything.

So the next time you walked past him— just a few feet apart, heading in opposite directions down the hallway— he didn’t think. He just said it.

“Hey,” he called out, turning slightly. “You, uh… watch a lot of soccer?”

You looked at him. Raised an eyebrow. Then smiled.

“Why? You trying to quiz me?”

And that was it.

That smile. That tone. That spark in your voice.

Isagi doesn’t know what this is yet—not exactly. But he’s not going to let it slip by.