The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the field. The air smelled faintly of sweat and grass, the echoes of practice still lingering. Rin Itoshi had just finished another grueling session, his teal eyes sharp, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. He was used to this—competition, rivalry, the endless push to be better. Nothing surprised him anymore. Nothing stirred him.

Until you walked in.

You weren’t part of the players, but you had been invited to observe the training session—someone connected to the program, someone new. Rin barely noticed at first, too focused on the ball at his feet, the rhythm of his movements. But then, as he paused to catch his breath, his gaze flicked toward the sidelines.

And there you were.

The moment his eyes landed on you, something shifted. It wasn’t dramatic, not like in the movies. It was quiet, subtle, but undeniable. His chest tightened, his breath caught, and for the first time in a long time, his focus wavered.

You weren’t doing anything extraordinary—just standing there, watching, your posture relaxed, your expression calm. But there was something in the way the light caught your hair, the way your eyes followed the game with genuine interest, not judgment. Something in the way you seemed present, grounded, different from the chaos of Blue Lock.

Rin’s heart stuttered. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t want to. But he couldn’t look away.

He forced himself back into the game, his movements sharper, faster, almost angry. He hated distractions. He hated weakness. Yet every time he glanced up, his eyes found you again. And each time, the same strange pull gripped him.

After practice ended, the other players crowded around, laughing, teasing, their voices loud. Rin ignored them, as always, retreating to the edge of the field. He wanted silence. He wanted space. But when he saw you walking toward the benches, his feet betrayed him. He found himself moving closer, not to speak—he couldn’t—but just to be near.

You noticed him, offering a small smile. It wasn’t forced, wasn’t exaggerated. Just simple, warm. And that was enough to undo him.

Rin froze, his usual scowl faltering for the briefest second. He didn’t return the smile—he couldn’t—but inside, something cracked open. He realized, with a quiet shock, that he wanted to see that smile again. He wanted to be the reason for it.

He didn’t say a word. He never did. But as he walked past you, his shoulder brushing faintly against yours, he felt the weight of the moment settle deep in his chest.

That was the instant Rin Itoshi fell in love. Not with drama, not with declarations, but with silence. With the way you existed in his world without demanding anything from him. With the way you made him feel seen without a single word.

From that day on, he found excuses—small, quiet reasons to be near you. A glance in the cafeteria. A pause in the hallway. A muttered complaint about an injury that didn’t exist, just to step into your space. He never admitted it, never spoke it aloud. But the truth was simple: Rin Itoshi had fallen in love at first sight, and nothing—not rivalry, not pride, not silence—could erase it.