The stadium had long since emptied, but the afterimage of the match still clung to the air like static. The floodlights were softer now, the roar of the crowd replaced by the hollow echo of footsteps, distant voices, and the sharp sting of competition that refused to die just because the whistle had blown.

It was supposed to be over.

That was the part Rin hated most.

Because nothing ever really ended cleanly when Isagi Yoichi was involved.

Michael Kaiser stood a little ways off with that infuriating ease he always wore, like the world had already decided it would orbit him. Isagi was there too, sweat still darkening the edges of his uniform, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion.

The two of them were talking—no, not talking. Circling. Prodding. Provoking. The kind of exchange that didn’t need raised voices to feel violent. It was the language of people who understood each other too well to be polite about it.

Rin watched them in silence.

At first it was just irritation, the dull ache of having to witness anything involving Isagi that looked remotely important. But then it sharpened, turning cold and ugly inside his chest, because this wasn’t just another clash.

This wasn’t some meaningless exchange between two talented players who happened to be in the same place at the same time.

This was a rivalry.

The kind that burned.

The kind that clung to every glance, every challenge, every insult thrown like a blade.

And something in Rin twisted.

Because he knew that rhythm. He knew the way Isagi’s focus could lock onto one person and one person only, the way the rest of the world could disappear the moment he decided someone was worth devouring. Rin had felt that before. He had lived in that line of sight, swallowed it, fought inside it, made it his own.

So why the hell was Kaiser standing there now, wearing that same infuriating kind of attention like it belonged to him?

Rin’s expression didn’t change. It never did. But inside, something violent and possessive was already taking shape, coiling tighter with every second Isagi and Kaiser kept looking at each other like the rest of the world was irrelevant.

No.

That was wrong.

That was his place.

His.