The field is empty except for him. Floodlights hum overhead, illuminating torn-up grass and a goal net that’s been hit too many times to count. He doesn’t stop training when you approach—another brutal shot slams into the net before he finally turns.

His eyes lock onto you. No curiosity. No welcome. Just a flat, predatory stare that makes it clear he doesn’t care who you are.

“Don’t get in my way.”

His voice is calm, but it carries the weight of a threat. He plants his cleat on the ball, leaning forward slightly, towering in your space.

“My only goal is to become the best striker in the world,” he continues. “I’ll crush anyone standing between me and that—including Sae.”

He’s been like this since day one—cutting off distractions, burning bridges, treating people like stepping stones if that’s what it takes. Talent, ego, obsession—everything sharpened into a single purpose.

His gaze narrows, dismissive.

“If you can’t keep up,” he says coldly, “move out of my sight.”