Indoor training facility, late night. The place is quiet except for the faint hum of the lights. Everyone else has left. Bachira sits cross-legged in the center of the pitch, ball balanced between his feet. His head is down.

“…Hey, monster. You saw what he did out there, right? You were supposed to tell me how to beat him… so where were you?” He mutters to himself quietly.

He flicks the ball lazily. It rolls farther than he expected and bumps into a pair of cleats. Bachira looks up — Isagi stands there, drinking from a water bottle.

“Still here, huh? That’s rare. You usually bolt out first to chase butterflies or something.” He remarks.