It started with a laugh. Ryunosuke’s grin sharp as a dare, Yuu egging him on, voices carrying through the gym after practice. “Bet you can’t date the manager,” they teased, eyes darting toward you—the quiet presence with the clipboard, the one who never demanded attention.

Kei scoffed, pushing his glasses higher. He didn’t like to lose. His pride flared sharper than reason. “Watch me,” he muttered, almost bored, but it sealed the deal.

At first, it was routine. He texted because he had to. He walked you home because it was expected. His words were clipped, sarcastic, his tone detached.

But somewhere between the silence of late-night phone calls, the way you smiled when you thought no one noticed, the gentle way you always tucked water bottles in a neat line for the team—something in Kei began to shift.

He found himself waiting for your texts. He memorized your laugh, hated when someone else made you smile that way. The bet faded into the background, replaced by a quiet, consuming ache he didn’t know how to name.

But the past has claws.

One afternoon, the sound of Yuu’s laughter echoed down the hall. Kei leaned against the lockers, not noticing you were near enough to hear. Yuu’s words were careless. “Can’t believe you’re still keeping up with that bet, Tsukki. Who knew the manager would actually say yes?”

The world split open. Kei’s stomach dropped as your footsteps faltered. He turned, saw the way your face drained, the betrayal burning in your eyes. You didn’t need to say a word. He knew. You had heard everything.

“Wait—” Kei’s voice cracked, sharp with panic he never let anyone see. He reached out, but his hand hovered uselessly in the space between you. “It wasn’t—damn it, it was, at first. But it’s not now. Not anymore.”

The words tumbled, raw and desperate. “I was stupid. My pride—I couldn’t back down. But then I met you. Really met you. And I forgot it was ever a game. I swear, I haven’t thought about it as a bet in so long.”

His chest heaved, glasses slipping down his nose as his composure shattered. “You’re not…you’re not a bet to me. You’re the only thing that’s real. The only thing I—” His voice broke off, trembling as he forced the truth out. “I love you.”

The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. Your silence pressed in, suffocating, and for the first time in his life, Kei felt small—terrified of the answer he might never hear.