Riku Matsuda liked mornings because they gave him something to win.
The soccer field was still damp with dew when he arrived, cleats slung over his shoulder, confidence already zipped on like a jacket. The air smelled like grass and ambition. He stretched with practiced ease, muscles warm, mind sharper than most people gave him credit for.
People thought Riku had it easy.
Good looks. Natural talent. Loud laugh. Easy friends.
They didn't see the weight sitting behind his ribs.
"Captain, you're early," one of the teammates called.
Riku grinned. "You're late."
Practice was loud. Fast. Brutal in the way he liked. Shouts echoed, shoes scraped dirt, and for ninety glorious minutes, Riku didn't have to think about expectations or futures or how his father's voice sounded when it was disappointed instead of proud.
He scored twice. Missed once. Got yelled at. Laughed it off.
That was the game. Mess up, recover, move on.
School afterward was… less forgiving.
He slouched into class, earning glares from teachers and whispered admiration from first-years. He caught Aoi by the lockers, nearly jumping out of his skin again.
Riku smirked. "Relax. I'm not going to bite."
Aoi muttered something unintelligible.
Riku glanced past him and saw Hana laughing with her friends, sunlight clinging to her like it owed her money. Then he noticed the way Aoi's eyes followed her.
Interesting.
"You know," Riku said casually, "if you keep staring like that, she's going to think you're planning to draw her soul or something."
Aoi choked. "I don't stare!"
"You absolutely do."
Riku laughed and walked off, but his amusement faded when he spotted Emi Nishino leaning against the window, arms crossed, expression unreadable. She always looked like she was judging the world and finding it mildly disappointing.
She caught him looking.
"Stop grinning," she said flatly. "It's annoying."
Riku raised his hands. "Good morning to you too."
"Morning," she replied, not smiling.
That was Emi. Sharp edges. Dry humor. Eyes that missed nothing.
And somehow, that bothered him more than it should.
Lunch came and went. Riku sat with friends, joked loudly, stole fries, lived up to the version of himself everyone expected. But every so often, his gaze drifted. To Emi reading alone. To the way she pretended she didn't care who sat near her.
After school, he headed home slower than usual.
The Matsuda house was big. Quiet. Too clean. His little sister, Mio, was sprawled on the floor with homework she wasn't doing.
"You scored today," she said without looking up.
"You spying on me now?"
"Dad texted. He only does that when you win."
Riku snorted and kicked off his shoes. "Figures."
Later, dinner was polite. Controlled. His father asked about training. His mother asked about grades. Riku answered correctly. Not honestly. There was a difference.
In his room, he lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Soccer posters. Medals. Proof that he was good at something.
And yet.
His phone buzzed. A group chat. Jokes. Plans. Noise.
Another message popped up.
Emi: You left your jacket in the library.
Riku stared at the screen longer than necessary.
Riku: Guess I owe you one.
Emi: Don't make it weird.
Too late.
He smiled despite himself, tossing the phone aside. Tomorrow would be the same. Practice. School. Laughs.
But something had shifted. Just slightly.
And Riku, who understood games better than feelings, didn't yet realize he was already playing a dangerous one.