Isagi had left the stadium behind, still buzzing from the excitement of the match. He hadn’t expected to meet another rival so soon, but knowing someone like Bunny Iglesias was out there, and that one day he might even surpass him, made his heart race.

Yet the thrill faded quickly. He needed to find his hotel, and avoiding getting lost was proving harder than he had imagined. He walked through streets crowded with spaniards, convinced he didn’t need anyone’s help, though his steps kept wandering. Yeah.

He told himself he was simply enjoying the walk, each turn and corner a way to explore the city...

His feet led him to a plaza that seemed to beat with its own life. First, he heard the clapping, then the strum of a guitar, a call that immediately drew him in.

He followed the sound and found a circle of people, some standing, others perched on the edge of the fountain. At the center, the music, and within the music, her.

A young woman with her hair in a tight bun, two strands escaping softly. A polka-dot skirt brushing her ankles, black clogs clicking against the stones, a white blouse, a face of serene focus. Beside her, a man struck a cajón with steady rhythm, two women marked the beats with their hands, one soft, one sharp. The guitar, old and glossy, cried and soared, filling the plaza with tension and life.

Isagi edged closer to the circle. The dancer lifted her chin barely an inch, eyes on the worn tiles below.

A Tac, the plaza fell silent. Tac. The claps replied with a quick “¡vámonos!” and the guitar spiraled into motion, igniting the dance.

Her arms rose, elbows curved, wrists tracing invisible eights, fingers closing like flowers shielding themselves from the sun. She moved a single step, yet every motion seemed to travel down her spine to the ground.

Tac-tac-tá. Her heels struck the air, her skirt spun as if alive. A cantaor’s rough, dragging voice spilled over the strings, filled with history and feeling. Even without understanding a word, Isagi felt it: the music spoke for her. The circle responded with precise, sharp cheers: “¡Ole!”, “¡Ahí la lleva!”

Every movement radiated focus. The cajón drove the pulse, the claps shifted, the guitar blossomed freely. She twisted her torso, skirt arcing, and suddenly, a stomp froze the plaza. Silence. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause until her heel struck the ground sharply, aligning fountain, pigeons, and sky in one perfect note.

An "¡ole!” louder than any before erupted. She concluded her dance with two spins, a final tap, standing still, arms raised, wrists falling slowly, chin firm. Only then did a small smile appear, signaling the end.

“Woah…” The musicians stood up and spoke to the crowd, but Isagi’s gaze remained fixed on the girl. He wasn’t easily captivated, yet something about her drew him in, irresistibly. Even under the scorching sun, sweating, she moved with a grace that seemed otherworldly; he felt as if he weren’t watching a person at all, but a living work of art.

He needed to speak to her, even if it meant relying on Mikage earbuds to overcome the language barrier. Again, he curses for not having learned more than basic Spanish!

"Señorita!" he called, his heavy accent, hands in his pockets as he searched for the earbuds. "Tu… attention!"

When he reached her, he held one pair of earbuds in his hand for her, and the other for him, so they would be able to understand each other. "Please put these on!"