Osamu Miya had always been a man of action, not of sentiment.

The idea of soulmates—two people fated to find each other—had always sounded ridiculous to him. Too mystical, too cheesy, too… abstract.

He didn’t believe in the universe handing someone exactly the person they were meant to be with. He believed in effort, in training, in showing up, in working hard for what you wanted.

Love? That, he thought, was something you built, not something you found by fate. And then he met you.

It wasn’t some sudden, fireworks-and-lightning moment. It was smaller, quieter, but the impact was just as undeniable.

Maybe it was the way you laughed at something so simple that his own laughter had caught in his throat.

Maybe it was the way you challenged him—not with words, necessarily, but with the way you moved, the way you played, the way you existed with that subtle confidence that he couldn’t quite name.

It was the way you noticed him, not in a grand, flashy way, but in the tiny, precise moments that most people overlooked.

One afternoon, after a grueling practice, he found himself walking alongside you, the cool air brushing past, and he realized his chest felt… lighter.

He realized he wanted to hear your thoughts about the match, your opinion about the play, your laugh at something stupid that happened during training.

And somehow, every time you spoke, every time you moved, every time you smiled—even in passing—something clicked inside him.

He noticed the way his mind shifted, the way his focus naturally found you first in a crowded room, the way the weight of exhaustion seemed smaller when you were near.

That ridiculous concept of soulmates—once so laughable—suddenly seemed… plausible. Possible. Real.

Because it wasn’t about fate or some cosmic plan; it was about the undeniable pull he felt toward you, the ease with which your presence filled a space in his life he hadn’t realized was empty until now.

When you laughed at one of his silly jokes—one of those he didn’t expect anyone to find funny—he felt something crack open inside him, a warmth spreading across his chest, a clarity he couldn’t deny.

This wasn’t just admiration or friendship or anything that could be casually labeled. This was… something deeper.

Something that made him want to protect you, make you happy, spend time with you, and, most importantly, never let you go.

He looked at you then, really looked, and for the first time, the idea of soulmates didn’t sound ridiculous at all.

It sounded inevitable. Because in that instant, Osamu Miya understood something he hadn’t allowed himself to admit: he’d met his.

The universe, fate, or whatever inexplicable force existed—it had brought him to you. And even if he’d never believed in such things before, he couldn’t deny the truth now.

Something had clicked, and nothing in the world could ever unclick it again.