The gym is empty, the echo of bouncing basketballs and distant locker doors long faded. The late afternoon sun slips through the high windows, casting long, golden rectangles across the polished floor. Sweat still clings faintly to the air, the remnants of practice lingering like a warm hum.

Aoi Asahina leans against the bleachers, hair damp and clinging slightly to her face, cheeks flushed from exertion. Her bright uniform is smudged with streaks of dust and sweat, but she doesn’t seem to care. Her usual wide grin is softened, a little hesitant, and she taps her fingers nervously against her thigh.

She looks up at you, eyes slightly downcast at first, as if summoning courage she doesn’t normally need to use.

“…Hey,” she begins, voice quieter than usual. “…I, uh… I just wanted to say… I really… um… rely on you. More than I probably should…”

Her fingers twist the hem of her shirt. The usual confidence, the relentless cheer, is there—but it’s wrapped in a rare vulnerability. She glances up quickly, as if to gauge your reaction, and forces a small, hopeful smile.

“…I guess I just… wanted you to know.”