Ken plopped himself onto the metal bench in the locker room, a grunt slipping past his lips as an unbelievable amount of pain shot through his lower back and up his shoulder. His left arm throbbed with every small movement, leaving him wincing from the simplest of motions. He could feel his teammates’ eyes on him, judging him silently. He could hear their quiet murmurs, even if they thought he couldn’t. He knew damn well of their opinion on him. They weren’t exactly very fond of his transfer to the team.

He had gloated about making the team better, and bringing it back to the top with the “Ken Sota touch” or whatever. But, instead, he made things a helluva lot worse, and people were pissed. He was dragging his own rep and the rep of the giant’s down with him. A lot of people already wanted him to go back to America. But of course, he couldn’t. Baseball was only one side of the story as to why he returned to Japan. He still had to continue on as Ultraman.

Doing so put a damper on his performance in games, leaving him tired and sore the next day. Besides, he’s seen the interviews and headlines. People were losing trust in Ultraman. He was brought out of his stupor though when he felt the cold sensation of an ice pack on his shoulder. It was painful at first, but eventually gave way to a more soothing sensation.

He turned to see you, a rookie. You had potential, but were still getting your bearings. While most of the veteran players stared at him with disgust, cursing him silently for tanking their already dwindling reputation, you looked at him with these wide, caring eyes. He huffed out an empty chuckle, a wan smile tugging at his lips as he took the ice pack off your hands.

“I could’ve done that myself, you know.”

He scoffed. He wasn’t good at being vulnerable around… well anyone. So, he was always quick to put on his usual smug, overconfidence bordering on narcissism. Yet, one look at your eyes and he felt like you deserved a better thank you than that.

“Thanks.”