He found you in the corridor near the press rooms.

You weren’t hiding — you never did — but the way you straightened when you noticed him was almost enough for him to look away.

Almost.

Sae didn’t stop walking. Just slowed down. Steady steps until he was right in front of you. No greetings. He didn’t need one.

His gaze flicked down to the scarf still hanging around your neck — Rin’s name, bold and sharp against the navy fabric.

He exhaled, dry. “Looks good on you.”

You didn’t smile. But you didn’t take it off either.

He tilted his head, green eyes scanning your face like he was searching for a crack in glass. A shift. A sign that maybe you were as shaken as he was.

“You haven’t changed much,” he muttered. “Still stubborn.”

You tilted your chin slightly. Defiant. Familiar.

His hand twitched at his side, but he didn’t reach for you. He didn’t have the right — not anymore.

“I saw you,” he said. “Up in the stands. Cheering for him.”

A beat passed.

Then another.

“I guess that’s fair,” he added, voice flat. “He stayed. I didn’t.”

Still, no answer. Not from you. Just the way your eyes flicked to his face — like you were searching, too. Like maybe you were wondering if he had changed.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Sae said quietly. “Back then. Leaving. Letting you go. Letting everything go.”

His voice stayed level, but his fists clenched.

“Turns out,” he murmured, “I wasn’t right about everything.”

Silence again. Tighter now. He took a breath like he was about to say something else — something bigger — but instead, he looked down at the scarf once more.

Then his hand moved. Quick, careful. He reached out and fixed the edge of the scarf, brushing his fingers against your collarbone.

“There. Don’t want people thinking you’re careless.”

He turned before you could react.

But as he walked away, he spoke again — not over his shoulder, just enough for you to hear:

“Next match… cheer for me.”