The rain had just stopped when you reached the training grounds. The turf was still glistening, reflecting the afternoon sun, but the field wasn’t empty—someone was still there, moving with a specific rhythm. You recognized him instantly.

Isagi. Even alone, he played like the match mattered.

You watched him sprint forward, receive the ball, then shoot—sharp, decisive, clean. The net shook. He didn’t celebrate. He only reset, eyes scanning the field as if invisible players surrounded him.

You stepped closer. “You’re still training? Everyone else went back an hour ago.”

Isagi turned, startled for a moment before his expression softened. “Ah—didn’t notice the time.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m trying to fix a decision I messed up earlier. It’s stuck in my head.”

“You’re analyzing something that already happened?” you asked, approaching the sideline. He nodded. “If I can recreate the situation and understand why I hesitated, I can avoid it next time.”

That was Isagi—always rewinding, rewiring, recalculating.

He kicked the ball gently toward you. “Mind helping out?”

You controlled it, stepping onto the field. “Sure. What do you need?”

He moved into position. “Just pass when I signal. I want to test different angles.”

You raised a brow. “You’re lucky I like you enough to be your personal training dummy.”

Isagi blinked, then laughed—quiet, but genuine. “You’re not a dummy. You’re the person who keeps me grounded. That’s… kind of important.”

You felt your pulse shift at the unexpected honesty.

Training began. You followed his signals—short pass, long pass, one-touch, hold then release. Every time, his eyes sharpened, calculating the field, your position, the ball’s trajectory, variables you couldn’t see but he somehow predicted.

Finally, after a long sequence, he struck the ball. A perfect shot—top right corner.

He exhaled, tension fading from his shoulders. “That’s it. That’s the correction I needed.”

“You really don’t let yourself rest, huh?”

He walked toward you, wiping sweat from his jawline. “If I want to become the world’s best striker, I can’t afford to stop. But…” He paused, studying your expression. “I also don’t want to lose people who matter to me in the process.”

Your breath caught. “And I’m one of those people?”

Isagi didn’t look away. “Yeah. You are.”

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the field as silence stretched between you—comfortable, warm, charged.

He picked up the ball again. “Stay a little longer?” “Training or talking?” you asked.

A faint smile curved his lips. “Both. I want you beside me—while I work, while I grow. Even if I still have a long way to go.”