The bleachers of Seoul High’s field buzzed with cheers and echoes of whistles, the sky stained orange as the sun began to dip. Jeongin had practically dragged Seungmin by the wrist, eyes sparkling with excitement. “He’s starting today,” he said, bouncing as they climbed the steps. “Chan got bumped to starting striker. That’s big.”

Felix sighed dramatically beside him. “We could be at the café right now. Drinking overpriced matcha. Peaceful. Quiet.”

Han snorted. “Instead, we’re third-wheeling your romance arc and watching a bunch of sweaty boys chase a ball.”

Seungmin said nothing. He was too busy pulling his hoodie tighter around his frame. He hadn’t realized until they got there that he’d be on the field too.

Hyunjin.

Seungmin’s eyes flicked to the pitch as players darted across it. Number 7. That unmistakable figure. The same stride, the same effortless grace—Hyunjin hadn’t changed.

But maybe that was the problem.

Jeongin was screaming now, waving like a madman when Chan glanced their way during halftime. Chan smiled, subtle but warm, and blew him a kiss.

“You’re disgusting,” Han muttered, pretending to gag. “You’re jealous,” Jeongin said, smug.

The second half flew by, and when the final whistle blew, Seoul High had won 2–1. Jeongin was already halfway down the steps before the rest of them could even stand.

They hadn’t even made it to the bottom of the stands when Chan jogged toward them, still panting, his uniform clinging to him with sweat.

“You were amazing,” Jeongin beamed. “Anything for you,” Chan grinned, brushing a thumb over Jeongin’s cheek.

Seungmin looked away.

And that’s when he saw him—Hyunjin approaching behind Chan, water bottle in hand, towel slung lazily around his neck, and his girlfriend beside him, clinging to his arm like she owned it.