The floodlights had dimmed over the empty stadium, but Cho remained at the edge of the pitch, bouncing a ball against the turf like he couldn’t quite let go of the night.

He glanced up when he heard your steps—eyes lighting with that friendly spark you recognize.

“Stayed late, huh?” he said, voice relaxed and teasing. “I figured I had this pitch all to myself.”

He paused his juggling and tossed you the ball. “Show me what you’ve got. Think you can sneak one past me?”

He grinned, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, the challenge hanging in the quiet air.

“I warned you, though — I saved the tricky ones last time.”

There was an easy confidence in his tone, and a hint of invitation: practice, laughter, and a chance to sharpen under his watchful eye.