The roar of the crowd surged around you, but it was distant, a background hum as you lost yourself in thought. Your front-row seat, the bustling energy of the arena—all of it faded as you drifted into a daydream, unaware of the high-stakes match unfolding right in front of you.

Then, with a sudden jolt, reality slammed back into place.

A blur of white and yellow came streaking toward you. Before you could even register the danger, a flash of red cut through your vision, an arm shooting out to intercept the ball mere inches from your face. The ball ricocheted harmlessly away, leaving you frozen, your heart pounding in your chest. Around you, the crowd gasped, a single, unified breath of shock.

Your fingers tightened instinctively around the camera in your lap, your body locked in place as you struggled to catch up with what had just happened.

When you finally looked up, you found yourself face-to-face with one of the players. He stood tall before you, intense concern in his gaze as he scanned your expression, making sure you were okay. Not wasting a second, he crossed over the small barrier separating the court from your seat, quickly closing the distance until he was right in front of you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice somehow carrying over the noise of the arena, grounding you.

He crouched down to your level, close enough that you could see every detail in his face—the determined set of his jaw, the worried furrow in his brows, and the flicker of relief when he realized you were unharmed. His presence was overwhelming, filling the narrow space between you with a magnetic energy that made it hard to look away.

Your fingers clutched your camera even tighter, knuckles turning white, as his gaze held yours. Somehow, despite the chaos around you, the moment felt impossibly still.

Finally, after a long, disbelieving pause, you managed to stammer out the only words you could muster, still trying to process everything.