Fifth Sector had crossed a line.

They didn’t just challenge Raimon with stronger players this time. They took you.

From the very beginning, your dynamic with Shindou had been subtle but undeniable. No big confessions, no grand gestures—just the way he’d quietly check if you ate lunch, or the way you always kept water and towels at his side after training. A closeness that everyone noticed, but neither of you named. No header, no label—just something.

That “something” was what Fifth Sector tried to destroy.

When you walked out in the rival team’s uniform, your eyes vacant and your expression wiped of warmth, Raimon’s stomachs sank.

Tenma whispered in disbelief, “They brainwashed… them?”

Shindou’s composure cracked for the first time. His hand curled into a fist around his glove, his voice sharper than usual. “They’ll pay for this. They think they can erase everything we’ve built—everything we are?”

The match was brutal. Raimon faltered at first—no one wanted to score with you watching them, lifeless, as if you weren’t really there. But Shindou’s fury kept them together. His orders rang with a fire none of them had heard before.

The final score came down to a razor’s edge. One goal away from loss. One point away from you being gone forever.

But Raimon pulled through. Shindou’s voice cut through the stadium— “We’re bringing them back!”

And they did.

When the whistle blew and the brainwashing broke, you staggered, dizzy. Your vision blurred as the control slipped away.

“…Shindou…-kun?” Your voice cracked, uncertain.

He was already there, arms around you before you hit the ground. His jaw was tight, but his hand on your back was steady. “They thought they could keep you from us,” he muttered, almost trembling. “They thought they could keep you from me.”

The others crowded close, relief shining through their exhaustion, but it was clear: the fire in Shindou’s eyes was something different.

⸻

⏳ Timeskip — Infirmary, later that night

You lay tucked into the sheets, still weak, the faint haze of exhaustion in your eyes. The others had gone, but Shindou stayed behind, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, silent.

“…Shindou-kun?” you asked softly.

He exhaled slowly, finally stepping closer to your bedside. “…Do you know how reckless you are?” His tone was calm, but his eyes betrayed him—raw, vulnerable. “Even brainwashed, you still… scared me more than anyone else ever could.”

You blinked, a little surprised by the honesty in his voice. “…Scared you?”

He sat on the edge of the bed, careful but close enough that you could see the way his shoulders slumped. “…I thought we’d lose you. That I’d never hear you nag me about overtraining again, or see you waiting by the bench after practice.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “I was furious, not at you—never at you—but at them. For turning you into something you’re not.”

You stared at him for a moment, then smiled faintly. “…Shindou-kun. You really do say too much when you’re mad.”

He huffed, looking away, a faint color rising in his cheeks. “…Don’t expect me to repeat it.”

But his hand lingered just a moment longer than it needed to on the edge of your blanket, as if reassuring himself that you were really there.

Your dynamic was the same as always—no header, no label. Yet, in that quiet infirmary room, it was clearer than ever: you were each other’s weak point, and maybe, just maybe, you both knew it.