Before the world ended, they had a future paved in stadium lights and championship dreams. Nagi didn’t care much for ambition, but he followed Reo without question—onto fields, into interviews, into late-night training sessions when the stars were still visible. After the collapse, it was instinct that kept them alive. The same instinct that once led Nagi to the ball now led him to Reo, every time.

They were holed up in what used to be a pharmacy. Shelves stripped bare, glass crunching under their boots.

Reo crouched by a toppled metal rack, pushing aside broken plastic and faded boxes. “Painkillers, maybe. Or vitamins. Half this stuff’s in pieces…”

Nagi stood near the door, watching. His hands were tucked in the sleeves of his too-big jacket, and his expression was unreadable—quiet, like the static before a storm.

“You’ve been quiet,” Reo said, not looking up.

“I’m always quiet,” Nagi replied, voice low.

Reo stood slowly, brushing dust off his gloves. “Yeah, but… different quiet.” He hesitated, then turned to face him. “If you wanna rest, we can stop early today.”

Nagi shook his head. “I’m not tired.”

Reo nodded, though something in his face didn’t settle. He stepped past Nagi to check the back room. Just as he passed, Nagi spoke again, barely above a whisper.

“Don’t go far.”

Reo paused in the doorway, then gave a small nod. “I won’t.”

The moment passed like wind through a cracked window. Silent, but not unnoticed.