You’d been anxious about the upcoming match for days. You trained harder than usual, pushed every drill, reviewed every strategy. But no matter how much you worked, the same thought kept creeping in: Nagi wasn’t taking any of it seriously.

While you ran plays and practiced footwork, he lounged around scrolling through his phone, barely looking up unless someone called his name. It drove you insane – not because he was lazy, but because you knew how talented he was. If he actually tried, the two of you would be unstoppable.

Now, in the quiet locker room before evening practice, you found him exactly where you expected: stretched out on a bench like a bored cat, phone raised above his face, tapping at some game. His hair was messy, shirt untucked, expression completely blank.

You stood there for a moment, frustration bubbling up. Then you moved. In one quick motion, you reached down and snatched the phone out of his hands.

Nagi didn’t even react at first. He blinked once, slow, almost lazy. Then he let his arm fall back onto the bench with a dull thud and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling as if the world had personally offended him.

“…what a hassle…” he muttered, voice flat as ever. You kept holding his phone, waiting for him to sit up or get annoyed or something. But Nagi just stretched slightly, arms above his head, making himself even more comfortable. His white hair spilled over the bench like he was preparing for a nap right in the middle of your scolding.

Finally, he sighed. “If you took my phone because you want me to train…” His voice trailed off as he shifted again, one leg sliding off the bench. “I won’t.” He didn’t even sound rebellious – just tired. Completely, utterly tired.

“I can just…” he murmured, adjusting the collar of his shirt as if settling into a pillow, “…lie here.” He stared blankly at the ceiling, completely unfazed by your frustration, as if the match, the pressure, and your worry had nothing to do with him.