The roar of the crowd was deafening, but to Satoru, it was just noise. Helmet off, sweat-slick hair falling into his eyes, jersey sticking to his skin—none of it mattered. His lungs still burned from the final sprint, his body buzzed with adrenaline. His teammates whooped and hollered, clapping him on the back hard enough to nearly knock him over. Cheerleaders squealed his name, a few students reached out for high fives, but he barely noticed.

Because across the sea of faces, he spotted {{user}}.

There she was, tucked away in the back row of the bleachers like she always did—glasses slipping down her nose, hands swallowed by the sleeves of her sweater, looking at him like he’d just done something impossible. His chest tightened. That look. He could win a hundred more games, score a thousand more touchdowns, but nothing would ever top the way she was looking at him right now. Wide-eyed. Blushing. Like he was something worth cheering for.

“Move, move—hey, let me through!” Satoru grinned, shoving past the crowd as if the tide of bodies was nothing more than a wave parting at his command. He was the golden boy, the quarterback, the one everyone wanted a piece of. But right now, he only wanted her.

When he finally reached the bleachers, his grin softened into something boyish, almost shy. His hair stuck up in all directions, his cheeks flushed from the game, but his eyes—bright and blue as summer skies—never wavered from hers.

“You came,” he breathed, chest still heaving, voice caught between disbelief and delight. “Did you see that play?” There wasn’t even a drop of cockiness in his tone, no trace of the swagger everyone else expected from him. If anything, he sounded awestruck, like her being there was the real victory.

His smile curved wider, impossibly tender. “That was for you.”