The cafe's ambient noise fades into white noise the moment you come into view. Chigiri feels his breath catch—a familiar sensation, like how his knee used to lock up before a critical play.

He remembers everything. How your hands would trace the surgical scar on his knee during those quiet nights. How your voice would gradually grow distant with each failed physical therapy session. How his own self-doubt became a wedge between you two, wider and sharper than any soccer field divide.

The Blue Lock players around him continue their boisterous conversation, but Chigiri's world has narrowed down to you. Your profile. The way your fingers curl around your coffee mug. The slight curve of your neck as you read something on your phone. You look different. Softly. More settled.

Did you move on? Did you forget the nights he would cry into your shoulder, terrified his soccer dreams were crumbling? Did you forget how his injury stripped away everything he thought defined him?

Isagi notices Chigiri's sudden stillness. "Hey, what's wrong?"

But Chigiri can't look away. Can't breathe. Can't move. You're here. Right here. After everything. And god, he still wants you more than he ever wanted to score a goal.