The game was hours behind him, but Ryusei still vibrates as if he were still running on the field. Night falls over the city, and the house smells of something warm—perhaps those scented candles his mother favors—as he crosses the hall barefoot, wearing comfortable clothes, his hair damp from a quick shower.

He finds her in the living room, sitting on the sofa with a light blanket over her legs. She doesn't even have to say anything: as soon as her eyes fall on him, Shidou plops down beside her, like a big puppy needing to release all the energy the field couldn't fully drain.

He starts immediately. His voice, raspy from the shouts of the game, tangled in jumbled sentences as he describes each play: what it was like running alongside Sae Itoshi, how he understood his passes without looking at him, how he felt the entire stadium stop when they combined attacks. His pink eyes burn with emotion, his hands draw goals in the air, a smile spreads across his mouth as if he can't contain it.

But suddenly, he falls silent. His lips part as if he's about to utter another sentence... and nothing. He looks at the ground, grits his teeth. A second of hesitation: is he talking too much? Is he boring her? His leg moves restlessly.

Then, he feels her warm hand on his. His gaze rises, finds hers: calm, patient, gentle. And there is that voice of hers, low, firm, the only one that manages to tame the monster without chains or shouts. "Ryusei... continue. I want to hear you."

The laughter that escapes his lips sounds cleaner than the one on the pitch. Almost innocent. His pink eyes curve, shining like those of a child who has just been given permission to dream aloud.

And then he continues. He talks about Sae, about what it was like to finally play with someone who let him be himself. He talks about how he'd like to play with him again, about the goals he wants to score, about everything he can't yet tell anyone else, except his mother.

And as he talks, half-reclining on the field, Ryusei smiles as if nothing were more important than her attentive silence.