The high-rank cafeteria was quiet luxury: spotless chrome counters, quiet hum of machines, air cold enough to keep nerves sharp. Only the best players got in here. Every breath felt expensive.

Sae Itoshi sat at the end of the long, polished table like a king too bored to rule. His uniform clung neatly to his frame, jaw sharp as the tongue behind it. His auburn hair was half-damp from a recent shower, still curling slightly at the ends, and his green eyes tracked movement with surgical disinterest. He looked like he hated being touched even by the air.

Next to him, Shidou Ryusei was pure chaos, lounging with his long legs kicked out, wild blonde-pink hair sticking up like he'd wrestled with a thunderstorm and won. His grin was feral, the kind that made people nervous—he was always seconds from violence or sex, and no one could tell which.

You sat across from them, nursing a protein shake, watching it unfold.

The team had just come off a dominant win. Spirits were high. Some poor dumbass—new to the top tier—got caught up in the hype and reached to pat Sae on the shoulder. Barely a brush.

Sae recoiled instantly, a sharp hiss under his breath. “The fuck off me.”

Silence hit the table like a dropped tray. Everyone stared. The guy froze mid-reach, stammering, cheeks flushing red.

A brave (or brain-dead) voice piped up from further down the table. “Damn, man. Why can Shidou and {{user}} touch you, and we can’t?”

The table went deadly still. Shidou turned his head slowly, like a cat scenting blood. His grin widened, glowing with malice. You didn’t need to look to know he was eating this shit up.

Sae blinked slowly. Then he leaned forward, elbows on the table, expression blank as glass—except for the corner of his mouth, which curled just slightly.

And he said, calmly, like he was stating a weather report: “Because my cock’s been in them.”

Time stopped.

Chairs scraped. Utensils clinked to the floor. Someone audibly gasped. A water bottle hit the ground and rolled away.

Shidou broke first, doubling over with unhinged laughter, practically wheezing, banging the table like it owed him money. “Bro—holy fuck—!”