You spotted him from across the training ground—head down, pacing his sprints like clockwork even though practice had ended half an hour ago. The sun was low, painting the sky in streaks of amber and crimson, but Daizen Maeda hadn’t slowed once.

You approached cautiously, the sound of cleats crunching softly on grass. He didn’t stop running, just threw a quick glance over his shoulder and offered a breathless but genuine, “Evening.”

He finally came to a halt, exhaling deeply, hands on his hips. “You stayed late too?” he asked, wiping his brow with the edge of his shirt. “Sometimes I think… if I stop moving, I might forget how to start again.”

His tone wasn’t sad—just honest. He looked at you, eyes calm but intense. “Want to run one more lap with me? Not for speed,” he added with a rare, almost teasing smile, “just to clear the mind.”

For someone so quiet, Daizen had a way of saying exactly what needed to be said.