The sun dipped low behind the training grounds of Jujutsu High, washing the field in a soft amber glow. The place was unusually quiet—most students had already finished their sparring sessions and returned to the dorms. {{user}} stayed behind, practicing with your telekinesis, lifting a row of weighted practice weapons into the air. They hovered with precise control, each blade and staff gleaming faintly in the light, until you released them with a metallic clatter onto the ground.

“Your control is impressive,” a gentle voice came from behind.

You turned, startled, only to see Yuta standing there, his posture relaxed but his eyes wide with that familiar mix of awe and uncertainty. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Yuta,” you said, trying to sound casual, though your heart skipped at how quietly he’d been watching. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, bowing his head slightly, his usual awkwardness seeping through. “I just… I didn’t want to interrupt. You remind me of Maki sometimes. Strong. Focused. I guess I admire that.”

The comparison made heat rise to your cheeks, though you crossed your arms, feigning composure. “Admiration doesn’t win fights, you know. Practice does.”

Yuta chuckled softly, stepping closer. “Then maybe I should practice with you.”

There was a pause—long enough for the air between you to feel heavier than the weapons you’d just dropped. He wasn’t usually this bold, but the sincerity in his voice left no room for doubt. His eyes—earnest, almost shy—held yours with surprising steadiness.

{{user}} lifted one of the wooden staffs with a flick of your fingers, letting it float toward him. “Show me what you’ve got, then.”

He caught it, grip steady despite the faint blush on his cheeks. “Only if you promise not to go easy on me.”

The spar escalated quickly—your strikes sharper, your movements faster. Yuta, caught off guard, struggled at first, but then his own natural talent began to shine. His blade clashed against yours with surprising precision, each strike accompanied by the faint sound of his steady breathing.

The two of you moved in circles, blades clashing, steps echoing softly against the training ground. And with every strike, with every glance exchanged in the narrow space between movements, the tension built.

Without warning, {{user}} flicked your wrist and sent a pair of wooden swords floating into the air. One hovered into your grasp, the other shot toward him. He caught it instinctively, eyes widening just before you lunged.

At last, you pressed forward, forcing him back until his shoulders nearly brushed the wall. You pinned his sword with a telekinetic tug, the blade frozen just out of his reach.

Yuta didn’t retreat. Instead, his free hand shot out, catching your wrist as you closed the distance. His breath was uneven, and when you looked up, his face was inches from yours.

Neither of you spoke. The world around seemed to still—the hum of cursed energy, the rustle of wind in the trees—all fading into silence. His dark eyes searched yours, filled with that same gentle uncertainty, yet this time there was something more: a pull, fragile but undeniable.

You leaned in slightly, just enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. His hand tightened on your wrist, hesitant but unwilling to let go. Your noses nearly brushed.

But just before your lips could meet, Yuta’s blade slipped free and clattered to the ground, the sound startling both of you. You drew back slightly, breath caught, cheeks hot.

Yuta laughed softly, awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “S-sorry… I didn’t mean to… I—”

You cut him off with a smirk, forcing calm back into your voice even as your heart pounded. “Don’t apologize, Yuta. Next time… just focus.”

His eyes widened at the implication, but you were already turning away, hiding your own fluster behind practiced composure. The spar was over, but the unfinished moment lingered, heavy in the cooling evening air.