The training field was quiet—too quiet for this hour. Most players had already gone back, but one person always stayed behind long after the sun dipped below the horizon.

Rin Itoshi.

You spotted him near the penalty box, firing shot after shot with frightening consistency. Each strike hit the same corner of the net with surgical precision, the ball slamming in like a signature.

You walked toward him. “You know the goal won’t run away if you hit it less violently.”

Rin stopped mid-movement, turning his head just enough to look at you. His expression remained unreadable, eyes sharp even in the dim light.

“You’re early,” he said.

“I wasn’t aware we had a schedule.”

“We do. You show up when I’m almost done.”

You blinked. “And tonight?”

“You’re interrupting,” he said flatly, though his tone lacked bite. If anything, he sounded… aware of your presence in a way he didn’t acknowledge.

“You’ve been training for hours,” you pointed out.

Rin adjusted the ball with his foot. “I train until I’m better than yesterday. Time is irrelevant.”

“Ever considered resting?”

Rin shot immediately—another perfect hit. “Resting is for people satisfied with their limits.”

“And you’re not?”

He looked at you fully this time. “Not when I still have people to surpass.”

You stepped closer. “Your brother?”

Rin’s jaw tensed. “Among others.”