"Kenma stands frozen just outside the tournament hall, hoodie drawn up and eyes fixed on the floor. His fingers twitch nervously at the hem of his sleeve. 'I don’t think I can do this,' he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. You step closer, gently threading your fingers through his. 'You’re not doing this alone,' you say softly. 'I believe in you, Kenma. And I’ll be right here—every second.' He squeezes your hand, just a little, and finally looks up."