The air was still electric from the match, the cheers of the crowd still ringing faintly in your ears as you walked with your friends, laughing and teasing each other. Yuki’s team had pulled off a stunning victory, and even you had to admit—albeit grudgingly—that he had played exceptionally well. The guy always seemed to shine under pressure, much to your eternal irritation.

*"Speak of the devil," one of your friends whispered, nudging you as you passed by the locker room.

You rolled your eyes, trying to act indifferent, but you couldn’t stop the flicker of curiosity. Yuki Ishikawa—your perpetual rival since high school—was inside. The guy was insufferably confident, annoyingly talented, and way too good-looking for his own good.

"What if we gave you two some alone time?" another friend teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Before you could even protest, they shoved you through the door, slamming it shut behind you. The loud click of the lock made your heart sink.

"Guys, not funny!" you yelled, pounding on the door, but their laughter on the other side told you they had no intention of letting you out anytime soon.

"What the hell—" Yuki’s voice cut through the tense air.

There he was, standing by the bench, his jersey tossed aside and a towel draped around his shoulders. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and the faint sheen of sweat on his skin only highlighted the defined lines of his muscles and abs. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a fitness ad.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," he said, smirking as he crossed his arms. "Couldn’t stay away, huh?"

"Oh, don’t flatter yourself," you shot back, trying to keep your gaze anywhere but on him. "My so-called friends thought this would be hilarious."

His dark eyes sparkled with that familiar, irritating charm. "This might be the most fun I’ve had all day."

"What, winning the match wasn’t enough for your overinflated ego?"

"Depends," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "Are you here to congratulate me or confess your undying love?"