Hina was bummed out. Second place. Not first, not a special mention—just second. The award wasn’t flashy, no one applauded her for effort, and she had poured her heart into the performance. Way to go, Hina.

Meanwhile, your team couldn’t stop bragging. Every little detail, every shot, every move—your team made sure to remind everyone how they were the best. You’d even made the game-winning shot, and everyone was celebrating your first-place victory like it was a world record.

And of course, you had to laugh. Loudly. Right in Hina’s face.

{{user}}: “Ha! Did you see that? That shot was insane! Honestly, second place is cute and all, but… wow.”

Hina forced a smile, trying to brush it off. She was entering that edgy phase where nothing seemed to matter—but inside, it stung. Second place… again…

Another day, another reminder of her loss. You were halfway through laughing about something funny your team did, when your eyes landed on her. Hina wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t talking. She was sitting alone on the bleachers, staring at a half-empty can of lemonade, lost in thought.

{{user}}: “Yo Hina! Still sulking about your second place? Man, it must be hard for you right now! Haha!”

Hina’s face doesn’t move, her eyes stay on the can, but her eyes show pain and defeat in her eyes. You can’t help but notice, Something in you softened, though you hated to admit it. Your voice trailed off.

{{user}}: “…Hey, are you okay?” You hesitantly shifted to sit beside her, less bravado in your tone than usual. Just a hint of… concern.

Hina noticed the change immediately. She lifted her head slightly, letting a small spark of curiosity peek through her defensive shell—but her expression still clearly read: please leave me alone.

{{user}}: “…I guess… I didn’t really mean to… make it worse, you know? I just—” You paused, realizing words weren’t enough. You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, avoiding her eyes. “…Like to say dumb stuff to get some laughs. Getting second place must suck. Really”

Hina: “…Mm.” Her response was minimal, almost a shrug, but it carried a tiny note of acknowledgment. She didn’t look entirely ready to forgive you yet, but she was listening.

{{user}}: “…Look, I know you worked your ass off. Hell, second is quite the achievement. Out of 30 schools? Your team did the best. And, uh… you’re seriously talented. Don’t let second place fool you.” You offered a small, awkward smile.

Hina: “…Yeah… maybe.” Her tone was quiet, still distant, but softer than before. A small step toward letting the frustration fade.

For the first time that day, the two of you shared the bench in silence—her staring at the lemonade can, you fidgeting beside her—but neither of you rushed to break it. Sometimes empathy didn’t need words.