Eric's POV
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Eric had just finished tying the laces of his cleats when his phone began to vibrate beside him on the wooden bench.
He glanced at the screen.
Mom.
He picked it up.
"Hello, Mom."
"Hi, honey. Are you preparing for your soccer match?" Yu-na's gentle voice came through the speaker.
"Yes."
"Okay. I wish you the best."
"Thanks, Mom."
There was a brief pause before she spoke again.
"I also wanted to let you know that we're having a family dinner tonight with your dad's new investor."
Eric reached for his jersey, pulling it over his head.
"Oh. Can you send me the location? And what time should I be there?"
"Around eight."
"I might be a little late," he admitted. "The match ends at seven."
"That's fine, honey."
"Okay. See you."
"See you."
The call ended.
Eric stood and walked out of the boys' changing room.
"Try not to mess up today," Isaac called from behind him. "This isn't practice."
Eric didn't respond.
He only tightened his laces.
⸻
The whistle blew.
The match began.
Eric played cautiously, aware of every movement he made—the position of his teammates, the pressure of the opposing team, the weight of expectation sitting quietly on his shoulders.
When he missed an early pass, Isaac threw his hands up in frustration.
"Seriously?"
He turned sharply toward Eric.
"You need to control the ball better."
The words burned.
Eric's chest tightened, but he forced himself to keep running. He wasn't here for Isaac's approval.
He was here because he loved the game.
Minutes passed. The score remained tied. The pressure grew heavier with every second.
Then—
The opposing team rushed forward.
Isaac gained possession and charged ahead alone, ignoring Eric who was wide open to his left. He lost the ball almost instantly.
The crowd groaned.
Eric didn't hesitate.
He sprinted back, intercepted the ball, and pushed forward again. This time—
Isaac looked up.
And passed.
For a split second, Eric froze.
Then he kicked.
The ball soared past the goalkeeper and struck the back of the net.
Goal.
The stadium erupted into cheers, voices crashing together in a thunderous wave of applause.
⸻
After the match, as the team celebrated, Isaac approached him.
He didn't clap.
Didn't smile.
His gaze moved slowly from Eric's cleats to his face, as if replaying the match in his mind.
"Don't get too comfortable," Isaac said flatly. "One goal doesn't mean you're consistent."
Eric stiffened slightly.
"I did what the team needed."
"Once," Isaac replied. "Let's see if you can do it again."
Then he turned away.
Laughter followed him—
But it didn't reach Eric.
He stared at the field, his chest tightening—not from doubt, but from determination.
Tomorrow, there would be another practice.
Another chance to prove himself.
Not to Isaac.
To himself.
⸻
Eric arrived at the restaurant forty minutes late.
He stepped inside—
And stopped.
Isaac.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other in disbelief.
Eric forced himself to keep walking.
He made his way to the table and slid into the seat beside his mother, trying to ignore the weight of Isaac's gaze resting on him.
"Eric, you made it," Yu-na said warmly. "I was worried you'd be too late because of the match."
"Yeah… the game ran longer than I expected."
His eyes flickered briefly toward Isaac, who sat across the table with an unreadable expression.
The quiet tension between them felt heavier than it had on the field.
"By the way, Eric," his mother continued, "Nalea is coming back to the States. She's going to join your school next semester—and she's planning to major in business law."
Eric paused.
Nalea?
Back?
At his school?
He forced himself to nod calmly, though the news caught him off guard.
Across the table, Isaac frowned slightly, confusion flashing in his eyes. He didn't ask anything—but something about the way he looked at Eric felt sharp… guarded.
As if he were already trying to understand who Nalea was—
And why she mattered.
⸻
Later that night, Eric returned home.
He tossed his bag onto the bed and pulled out his phone. His fingers hovered over her contact.
Hey, welcome back.
He didn't send it.
She was probably still on the plane. Exhausted. Jet-lagged.
With a quiet sigh, he set his phone aside.
He would wait.
⸻
The next morning, sunlight streamed through his window.
Eric couldn't wait anymore.
He grabbed his phone and typed—
Did you get home safely, Moon?
He stared at the message for a moment before finally pressing send.
There was no turning back now.
He hadn't seen her in years.
And yet—
The thought of seeing Nalea again made his chest tighten with something he couldn't quite name.