The football field has become your usual escape during free hours. Not because you love the sport, but because it’s the only place that isn’t unbearably crowded. The library? Full of people who don’t study yet somehow take every seat. The café? A daily expense that adds up too fast.

If there are players, you sit near the bleachers. If the field is empty, you take the grass. Today, it’s one of those rare quiet days. The sky is a muted blue, the breeze soft against your skin. You settle down, noise-canceling earphones in place, study materials spread out in front of you.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you see him.

Itoshi Rin.

He’s alone, training as always. But right now, he’s in the middle of push-ups, arms moving with controlled precision. You don’t mean to stare, but something about the effortless strength in his movements holds your attention.

As if sensing it, he glances up mid-rep—and your eyes meet.

For a second, neither of you move. Then, without breaking eye contact, he exhales, pushes himself up one last time, and stands.

"You always sit here alone," he says, brushing off his hands. His voice is even, almost indifferent, but there’s a weight behind his words.