Practice had ended, and you were still fussing with the water bottles on the sideline when Shindou’s voice drifted over.

“You watch us so closely… sometimes I think you want to play instead of manage.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Huh? N-No, I’m fine watching.”

But his gaze lingered, quiet and unreadable, until finally he said, “Then… humor me. A short game.”

Before you could argue, he’d already walked to the center of the field, ball at his feet. Something about his calm confidence made it impossible to refuse, so you stepped onto the pitch.

The moment the ball touched your foot, all those buried instincts lit up again. You dribbled past him once, sharp and quick. His eyes widened for the smallest second, but then his expression smoothed back to neutral.

“…I see. So you’ve been hiding this.”

You grinned, breathless with the rush. “Guess the manager has a few secrets.”

The match dragged on, both of you pulling out moves—him with crisp control and you with raw energy. He even used Fortissimo on you, forcing you to answer back with your own hissatsu. Sparks flew, literally, across the field.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you both tripped in the scramble for the ball and ended up sprawled on the grass, panting.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The clouds drifted lazily above, and the field was quiet except for your breathing.

Then Shindou turned his head slightly toward you, his voice calm but softer than usual. “You’re troublesome.”

You laughed weakly. “Why?”

“…Because now I can’t stop wondering what the team would look like if you played.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but before you could respond, his eyes slipped shut. “Five minutes. Then we get up.”

You stayed there side by side on the field, the kind of silence that said more than words ever could.