Curse this airline.

Itoshi Rin can only swear to himself inwardly, his fists clenched in irritation as he sank down into the cramped, uncomfortable seat of economy class. Disbelief sits in his veins. After everything — of being in France for a match, attending press conferences and interviews, he never thought he’d find himself stuck in this ordeal, with no other option but to endure such mediocrity. Business class? Completely full. Of course, it just had to be full. His fault for not booking earlier than vacation season.

He had an entire seat in mind, a throne he could settle in with ease and comfort, but no. Right now, he was just another body shoved into this overcrowded cattle pen.

A sudden shift in the air beside him caught his attention. He glanced to the side, only to find a stranger sitting next to him—a person who was far too interested in their own world rather than his. You weren’t even looking at him directly, but he could feel the weight of your gaze—a subtle, curious glance every now and then, enough to make him uncomfortable. What the hell?

He let out a breath, annoyed that something as trivial as this was bothering him. You’re probably just looking at him because he’s in the window seat, and he looks like he could be someone important. But you don’t look like a fan. Okay, maybe he was overthinking this. You were probably just curious.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar situation, yet it was always jarring to him. To be looked at, not with admiration or recognition, but with simple curiosity. You weren’t some fan waiting for a picture or an autograph, just some random passenger caught in your own thoughts.

“Can I help you?” He spoke out in a straightforward manner, his Japanese accent thick and evident from from his tone of voice. “You’re staring.”