Nishimura finally arrived and sat beside me, handing canned drinks to both Kimura and me. Once he settled, he leaned slightly toward me, his voice gentle. "Which team is Kazama-san on?" His eyes scanned the field, studying the players now wearing blue or red vests after Sawada-sensei finished arranging the groups.
Kimura answered before I could. "He's wearing the blue vest," she said, already locked onto Kazama as he jogged into position as an attacking forward.
I opened my green tea with a soft click, letting the cold sweetness settle in my chest, a temporary reprieve from the heat of my thoughts.
My eyes drifted to Aidan—still waiting in line for his assignment. "What do you guys think?" I asked softly, my gaze fixed on him. "What position will he play?"
Kimura tapped her chin. "With that lazy vibe of his? Probably the same as Kazama, just standing around up front." She followed my line of sight toward Aidan, clearly unconvinced by his athletic potential.
Nishimura took a moment before giving his answer, analyzing the field. "Hm… maybe a winger. If you look closely, he's pretty athletic—long legs and good stride."
We really didn't know anything about him. Not even this fundamental detail.
"I think he's either defense… or maybe attacking like Hikari-san said." I shrugged playfully, just to disagree with myself.
After a moment, Aidan picked up a blue vest and slipped it on before jogging onto the field—straight to the center half position.
A midfielder.
All of us were wrong. As the final formation settled, it became clear from our seats.
"Central attacking midfielder," Nishimura murmured, almost to himself, his voice reflecting respect. "One of the hardest positions—requires vision and control."
Peep.
The whistle blew, cutting off my reply. The game began.
My eyes locked on the two students from our class—Aidan and Kazama, now playing side by side in the blue team's attack. Both teams pushed hard, desperate to be noticed for a spot on the school team.
"He's good… isn't he, Nishimura?" Kimura asked, her casual tone laced with surprise.
Nishimura nodded, eyes focused. "Yeah. The team's moving to his rhythm if you look close. He's the engine."
I focused too.
Aidan never stood still. He drifted into open spaces, always available—but never held the ball long. His passes were quick, simple, efficient, and never wasted. His teammates trusted him instantly, feeding him the ball without hesitation. When he crossed the halfway line, his passes weren't just accurate—they were intentional, designed to put the receiver into a scoring position. He passed not to people, but into the spaces they were running toward.
His vision, I realized, matched his observant, quiet personality perfectly.
But what pulled me in wasn't just his technique. It was his expression. No frustration. No yelling. Just calm, always calm—whether they lost the ball or missed a chance. An unnerving composure.
Midway through the first half, he slipped a perfect through pass to Kazama, who only needed to tap it in. Kazama sprinted away, grinning, to celebrate with the others. Aidan simply stood there, expression unchanged, the definition of satisfied efficiency.
Halftime came. Blue team led 1–0.
Nishimura exhaled. "Honestly, I thought he lied on the first day—about playing sports. Like he just said it for attention."
For attention? Aidan? The boy who avoids attention more than anyone else?
I wanted to argue, to defend his character, but I swallowed the words. It wouldn't end well if I started an emotional debate about a stranger.
"First impressions aren't always accurate," I said instead, choosing neutrality.
Kimura suddenly clasped her hands, eyes wide with renewed excitement. "Hey, Nishimura—remember Naomi Amari? From middle school?" She looked at him. "She's in Class 3–3, right?"
Nishimura nodded. "Yeah. Why?"
Kimura brightened. "Let's go see her tomorrow. I want to introduce her to Aidan." Her eyes drifted to him as he drank water on the sidelines. "She's single, right?"
What?! You were actually serious, Hikari?
Please, Nishimura, don't encourage this…
"Yeah, pretty sure she's single," Nishimura said easily. "She's good with words. Might match Aidan's quiet type."
Naomi Amari.
Sharp, charismatic, beautiful. Everything I felt I wasn't. Compared to her… I was more carefree, rough around the edges, emotionally messy.
My chest tightened, breath catching—a sharp, unmistakable pang of jealousy.
Why are you two matchmaking someone you barely know…? And why is my entire body reacting this way?
I fell unusually silent. Nishimura noticed, resting his warm, comforting hand on mine.
I looked at him longer than I meant to, grounding myself in his gentle kindness.
I already have someone gentle, kind, and patient. I should be grateful. Don't get confused, Akari. Don't be a dummy.
I intertwined my fingers with his, a silent promise to myself.
The second half started. Kazama's voice echoed across the field as he demanded passes. Meanwhile, Aidan quietly stitched the team's attacks together, creating chances with calm precision.
A voice behind us murmured, "That guy looks like a maestro. Everyone follows his passing."
More students began noticing him. My chest tightened again—sharper this time.
I don't want to share him… Why do I feel that? I don't even know him!
I squeezed Nishimura's hand harder, trying to channel the frantic energy.
Focus, Akari. You can do this.
The game ended 1–0. Sawada-sensei called players forward to announce selections for the school team.
"Hayate Kazama!"
Kimura jumped, nearly bouncing off her seat. "Yes! Kazama!"
She definitely likes him, I thought—not for the first time. I wanted to tease her, but my anticipation for Aidan was too strong. He had to be chosen. He played too well not to.
I glanced at him sitting a little farther back from the others, calmly removing his cleats and shin guards, expression unchanged. He didn't look like he cared whether his name was called or not.
Do you really not care… or are you pretending?
More names. More players left for the assigned field. My grip tightened, emotions swirling—anticipation, frustration, something I didn't want to name. Then finally—
"Naim Aidan!"
Before I realized what I was doing, I jumped up, the pent-up tension exploding from me. "Yes!!! I knew it!"My voice was too loud. Way too loud.
Heat flooded my face. I tried to cover it up quickly, sinking back down. "B-both of our classmates got chosen!" I added, trying to sound casual, though my voice was shaking.
But when I looked toward the field, Aidan was already walking away, his movements slow and deliberate. And he had heard me.
Our eyes met—quiet, steady, unreadable—
yet something in them made my heart lurch.
Nishimura looked at me, curiosity clear in his eyes—exactly what I expected after my sudden, uncharacteristic outburst. "You look really happy, Haru-san."
Kimura immediately chimed in, never one to let an interesting moment slip by. "Yeah, Akari! You literally jumped out of nowhere. You looked like you won the lottery."
I forced a playful shrug, aiming for casualness to mask my burning cheeks. "Come on, guys. Our class barely has any sports players. We should celebrate both of them." I nudged Kimura's shoulder lightly, redirecting the focus.
Nishimura fell quiet for a moment—a hesitation I chose not to press. But Kimura, being Kimura, couldn't let the subject go. "It's only been three days since he joined our school, and today he actually joined us for lunch. That means he's kinda part of our group now… right?"
I lifted my shoulders in a small shrug, avoiding a definite answer, afraid to speak the hope out loud.
Aidan… Three days, and I'm already this affected? I hope he becomes part of our group too… but he probably won't join us again tomorrow. He's too predictable in his withdrawal.
A few minutes passed before Kazama bounded up the stairs, practically glowing with energy. "Hey! Did you guys see that goal? I'm on fire!"
Nishimura stood and tossed him a towel. "Nice game out there, Kazama-san."
My eyes drifted behind Kazama—searching the steps, the shadows. Aidan wasn't there.
Should I ask where he went?
No… too obvious.
I kept quiet.
"Here, Kazama-san," I said instead, quickly handing him an orange drink.
He grabbed it and gulped half of it down. Kimura leaned casually against the railing beside him, doing the asking for me. "Where's Aidan?"
Kazama wiped his mouth with the towel. "He said he has a guest at home, so he left early." He leaned back beside Kimura.
Guest? A girl? And where does he live, anyway?
The questions spiraled instantly.Kazama continued before any of us could question it. "I thought he lived alone, but apparently he's staying with foster parents during the exchange program." Something softened in his expression. "Gotta admit—he's pretty decent. Plays at our level easily."
Then he straightened, turning to Nishimura. "You wanna walk Haru-san home, right? I'm heading to the café with Kimura-san." He nudged Kimura. "Let's go. I'm starving."
I watched the two of them leave—Kimura practically bouncing with every step—before looking at Nishimura. "Let's go, Nishimura-san."
We walked home hand in hand, enjoying the quiet dusk. Shadows stretched long in the late afternoon light when he suddenly asked, softly: "Do you… wish I was good at sports?"
His question caught me completely off guard. The insecurity was palpable. "No! Not at all, you dummy. Why would you ask that?"
He shrugged lightly. "Nothing. It's just… you looked really happy for Kazama-san and Aidan-san. More than normal."
"Of course I was," I said, tightening my hold on his hand, trying to inject certainty into the physical act. "They're our classmates. It has nothing to do with you."
He seemed satisfied with that, relaxing as we continued walking until we reached my house. I leaned back against the brick wall outside my gate.
"Just be yourself," I told him gently. "That's what makes you special… and unique."
He slowly let go of my hand. "Yeah… thanks. I appreciate that." His gaze lowered, the shy softness returning.
His shyness, his gentleness, his patience… they steady my loud, messy heart. I do love him. I have to stay grounded.
Before I realized it, I leaned forward and kissed him—softly, gently, initiating the contact. It was a quiet promise to myself that I wouldn't let my heart get confused by a stranger.
Usually, he was the one who kissed me first. This time, it was me making the move.
"Oh no! Big sis, you were kissing!" A familiar, high-pitched voice cut through the dusk.
Sora came running up to us. I immediately pulled back, cheeks warm with embarrassment. "Hey, messy head. Where were you? I thought you'd be home already."
Sora grinned and pointed behind him before hugging Nishimura. "Big bro sent me home!"
Both Nishimura and I followed the direction of Sora's hand. Under the orange glow of the solitary streetlight—
One hand tucked into his shorts pockets,
dressed casually in a dark t-shirt and shorts, hair pulled back with a black hairband that exposed his entire face—stood Naim Aidan.
Calm. Still. Completely unreadable. He had witnessed everything.
***Our eyes met again.
I stood beneath the streetlight, watching the Harukawa boy run toward his house. The setting sun cast long shadows across the quiet street, amplifying the soft murmur of two voices by the gate.
It took a fraction of a second to recognize them—Akari Harukawa and Kazuki Nishimura.
I should have turned away immediately. I should have kept my distance, maintained the invisibility I worked so hard to achieve. But my feet remained rooted to the concrete.
I watched as Harukawa leaned forward, initiating a kiss. It was brief, gentle—an affirmation, a quiet declaration of belonging. Unremarkable to anyone else on a typical suburban street.
Yet the sight hit me with the clean, incapacitating force of a perfect low tackle.
My heart—which had been steady and controlled since the end of the football tryout—suddenly seized, cold and tight in my chest.
I had already analyzed the data: Nishimura was her boyfriend. I saw the way he wrapped his hand around her, the way she let him. Their relationship was not assumption; it was fact. But seeing it visually confirmed did nothing to dull the sharp, unfamiliar pain in my chest.
If anything, it sharpened it—turning vague, theoretical jealousy into something solid and unbearable. A foreign variable had infected my controlled system.
Then Sora's high-pitched voice broke the quiet, and suddenly their attention shifted.
They saw me.
Harukawa's eyes widened, surprise flickering across her face. Nishimura's gaze followed—quick, measuring, and suddenly suspicious.
A sudden, irrational urge to justify my presence clawed at me. To explain why I was there. Why I had seen what they hadn't intended for outside observation.
I forced myself to remain still, one hand tucked calmly into the pockets of my shorts, posture unreadable, resisting the urge to twitch or retreat immediately.
Do not react. Do not explain. Just observe. Leave.
Her expression was a mix of shock, acute embarrassment… and something else. A sharp focus—just like the way she watched the field when the ball was near me.
I held her gaze. Her heart was probably pounding just as hard as mine, but I couldn't look away. The silence stretched thin.
This was a disaster. Best course of action: execute immediate extraction.
I lifted my free hand in a small, deliberate wave toward Sora. "Until next time, little one." My gaze shifted pointedly toward him as I turned away.
I exhaled slowly and began walking, keeping my pace steady—unhurried. But then— "Naim…" Her voice, soft and hesitant.
My steps stopped. The sound of my own internal alarm was deafening.
I glanced over my shoulder. She had stepped forward, her body language suggesting an apology or an explanation. "Thank you for taking care of Sora."
"It wasn't me," I replied, keeping my eyes neutral, distant. "My foster parents did. Take care."
Before the tightness in my chest could betray the turmoil churning inside me, I turned away again and resumed walking.
Don't look at her. Why now? Why is my heart beating like this? You've stayed dormant for years.
I clenched the fabric of my shirt over my chest, feeling the pounding become almost unbearable the longer I remained within her vicinity. I released my grip, forcing myself to walk normally—even as my mind replayed the kiss in painful clarity.
I took a quick detour into the nearest convenience store and grabbed a bottle of espresso. A habit I had abandoned long ago, revived now out of necessity. I needed caffeine to clear the sudden fog in my head. I sat on a bench outside, sipping slowly, relying on the bitter liquid to restore equilibrium.
Above me, the moon was rising—still hidden partly behind clouds, yet strikingly beautiful and remote. I leaned back, eyes fixed on it.
Beautiful and unreachable… just like you.
Eventually, I stood again, bottle in hand, and made my way toward the Yoshida household. Time passed strangely—too slow, too fast—as painful thoughts dragged behind every measured step.
Reaching the house, I slipped off my shoes and placed them neatly on the rack.
"I'm home, Mrs. Saki," I said as I stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click.
Saki Yoshida, seated on the single sofa in the living room, glanced toward me. "Did you send Sora home safely?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I did."
I walked to the kitchen area—connected openly to the living room—and placed the empty espresso bottle in the recycling bin.
"You're always kind to that little boy," she said with a warm smile when I returned to the living room. "Good night, Naim."
I bowed my head lightly. "Good night, Mrs. Saki. Sweet dreams."
I headed into Takumi's room. He had fallen asleep at his desk, pen still in hand, math homework unfinished. I lifted him gently and laid him in bed, pulling a blanket around him.
Then I pulled out my futon from the wardrobe and spread it beside his bed.
Lying down, I stared at the empty ceiling, right forearm resting across my forehead.
I need distance from that group… or I'll fall harder than this. I have 178 days left. I must revert to zero engagement.
I closed my eyes, forcing my mind to empty. Tomorrow is Thursday. It should be kinder to me.
Later, in the morning a soft electronic beep pulled me out of sleep. I turned off the alarm with a quiet, efficient tap and opened my eyes slowly.
Today, instead of bathing first, I shifted my routine. The previous evening's stress required immediate functional priority.
I leaned toward Takumi and gently shook his leg.
He let out a soft groan, resisting the morning the way he always did. "You still have your math homework to finish," I reminded him, tapping his ankle lightly. The prompt was necessary for compliance.
At my words, he forced his eyes open and pushed himself upright, still heavy with sleep. "I'll go take a bath first. Finish your homework in the meantime."
I stepped out of his room and made my way toward the bathroom.
Saki was already in the kitchen, preparing our bentos like every morning.
I entered the bathroom, undressed, and slipped into the bathtub. Ten minutes—efficient, enough.
Afterward, towel wrapped around my waist, I tossed my clothes into the basket and returned to Takumi's room. He was seated at his desk, continuing the homework. Task completion was underway.
I took my school uniform from the closet, put it on neatly, and checked myself in the mirror. My wavy, ruffled hair fell over most of my forehead.
It's getting long again. I need to maintain optimal visibility. I considered the simple solution. I'll use the small headband later to keep it neat.
I tried combing my hair through with my fingers, parting it down the middle.
With how wavy it was, it still looked stubbornly messy, defying the new attempted structure. I settled for neatness over perfect order.
Once I was done, I packed my school materials for the day, adding my P.E. clothes into my messenger bag. Slinging it over my shoulder, I sat beside Takumi and helped him with the remaining questions until he finally finished the assignment.
He sprinted straight to the bathroom afterward.
I walked calmly down the living room hallway and picked up the bento from the counter. "I'm heading out now, Mrs. Saki. Thank you."
She glanced over her shoulder while washing the dishes. "You're welcome, Naim. Take care."
I gave her a polite nod and stepped outside.
After putting on my shoes and tightening the laces properly, I looked myself over one last time. Every variable accounted for.
Satisfied, I began walking toward school—
starting another day, counting quietly the remaining one hundred seventy-eight I had left here.