Shidou Ryusei

Rain hammered against the metal roof of the indoor field, loud enough to drown out everything else.

Almost everything.

Except shouting.

Ryusei Shidou kicked the ball so hard it slammed into the net and rebounded straight back at him. He stopped it under his foot, breathing hard.

“Again,” he muttered.

From the sideline, Itoshi Sae watched silently, arms folded.

“You missed the timing,” Sae said flatly.

Shidou froze.

Then slowly turned his head.

“…What did you just say?”

“You’re late on your runs,” Sae continued, voice calm as ever. “Your instincts are off.”

That calm tone-like he was analyzing numbers instead of a person-made something twist violently in Shidou’s chest.

“Oh, now I’m ‘off,’ huh?” Shidou laughed, sharp and mocking. “That what you tell yourself when your perfect passes don’t work?”

Sae’s gaze hardened slightly.

“My passes are fine.”

“Yeah?” Shidou snapped. “Then why didn’t you pass to me earlier?”

Silence.

The question hung heavy in the air.

Sae answered without hesitation.

“You weren’t in position.”

That should’ve been reasonable.

Logical.

Normal.

But it felt like a knife.

Shidou barked out a laugh-loud, hollow.

“Bullshit,” he said. “You saw me.”

Sae didn’t look away.

“I saw you,” he replied. “You were reckless. I chose the better option.”

The better option.

That phrase echoed louder than the rain.

Shidou stepped forward slowly, jaw tight.

“…So that’s it?” he said quietly. “I’m replaceable now?”

“You’re dramatic,” Sae replied. “This isn’t personal.”

That was the worst thing he could’ve said.

“Not personal?” Shidou repeated.

His voice cracked-barely-but enough.

He laughed again, but it sounded wrong this time. Empty.

“You pass to me like you trust me,” Shidou said, voice rising. “Like you know I’ll finish it. Like I’m the only one who can.”

He took another step forward.

“Then one bad play and suddenly I’m ‘not the better option’?”

Sae frowned slightly.

“You’re letting emotion cloud your judgment.”

Shidou stopped right in front of him.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Because you don’t have any.”

Silence.

Thick. Heavy. Dangerous.

Rain pounded harder against the roof.

Shidou clenched his fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

“You know what pisses me off the most?” he muttered.

Sae didn’t answer.

“You act like none of this matters,” Shidou continued. “Like winning, losing-people-are all just pieces on a board.”

His voice dropped lower.

“…Like I’m just another piece.”

That made Sae pause.

Really pause.

For the first time, his expression shifted-barely noticeable, but real.

“You’re not,” Sae said quietly.

Shidou scoffed.

“Yeah? Then why does it feel like I’m the only one who actually gives a damn?”

No answer.

That silence hurt more than any insult.

Shidou turned away sharply, dragging a hand through his wet hair.

“…Forget it,” he muttered. “Should’ve known better than to expect anything from you.”

He started to walk off.

One step.

Two.