The classroom was loud in the most irritating way possible—chairs dragging, overlapping conversations, someone laughing too hard at something that wasn't even funny. Renzo Koyama clicked his tongue and leaned back in his chair, balancing it slightly on two legs as he stared at the ceiling. "So damn noisy…" he muttered, voice low, more out of habit than expectation. No one paid attention. They never did unless he raised his voice, and honestly, he didn't feel like wasting the energy this early.
His gaze drifted lazily across the room, unfocused, until it paused near the window. There was a boy sitting there, posture straight but relaxed, like everything around him existed on a lower level. No phone, no conversation, no visible interest in anything happening. Just quiet. Too quiet. Renzo narrowed his eyes slightly. "…what's with him?" There was nothing flashy about him, nothing that demanded attention, and yet he stood out in the worst way—like he didn't belong in the same space as everyone else. Or maybe like everyone else didn't belong in his.
"Oi, Renzo." A voice cut in from the side. "You're paired with Itoshi today for training."
Renzo blinked once, then glanced back at the window. So that was his name. "…seriously?" he asked flatly.
"Yeah." The guy scratched the back of his neck, giving a short laugh. "Good luck with that."
Renzo frowned. "…the hell is that supposed to mean?" But the guy had already turned away, conversation over. His gaze lingered on Itoshi for another second before he clicked his tongue again and looked away. "…whatever."
Later that day, Practice started under the usual noise—whistles, instructions, complaints—but Renzo only half-listened as he adjusted his sleeves and stepped onto the field. The grass felt slightly damp under his shoes, the air warm but not unbearable. He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders once, eyes scanning without really focusing on anything in particular. "Pairs for today!" the coach shouted. "Work on coordination! If I see sloppy passes, you're running laps!"
Renzo didn't react. He already knew who he was stuck with.
He walked up without hurry, stopping a few steps away. "Oi," he called, tone casual but edged. "We're partners."
No response.
Renzo's eyebrow twitched. "…you deaf or something?"
Slowly, Sae Itoshi turned his head. His eyes were calm—too calm—and completely uninterested. "…what."
Renzo let out a short breath through his nose. "We're paired," he repeated, more direct this time.
"Do what you want," Sae replied, already looking away again.
For a moment, Renzo just stared at him, processing that. "…excuse me?"
"I'm not adjusting my play," Sae said, tone even. "Keep up if you can."
There was no arrogance in his voice. No emphasis. Just a statement. That made it worse.
Renzo stepped closer, irritation rising fast, fingers curling slightly before he grabbed the front of Sae's shirt—not aggressively, but enough to stop him from walking away. "Don't piss me off," he said quietly. "You haven't even seen me play."
"I don't need to."
A beat of silence passed between them. Renzo's grip tightened for half a second, then loosened. He let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, though there was no humor in it. "…you're seriously annoying."
Sae didn't react.
"…you're loud," he said instead.
Renzo blinked. "…what?"
"You talk too much. It's annoying. Prove me wrong."
Renzo stared at him for a second longer, then let go and stepped back. "…fine," he said, a slight grin forming despite the irritation. "Don't complain when you can't keep up."
The drill started without ceremony. A ball rolled into Renzo's path, and he stopped it with the inside of his foot, the motion clean and effortless. He didn't rush. Didn't force it. He just moved. One step forward, a slight shift of weight, and the defender in front of him hesitated for a fraction too long. That was enough. Renzo slipped past without even accelerating fully, body tilting just enough to throw off balance. No wasted motion, no clear pattern—just instinct.
Someone called for a pass. Renzo ignored it.
Instead, he kicked the ball toward Sae. Fast. Not just speed—precision. The kind of pass that demanded an answer, not acceptance.
Sae stepped forward and trapped it cleanly, the impact barely making a sound.
Renzo watched, eyes narrowing slightly. "…not bad."
The return pass came instantly, sharper than before. Renzo adjusted without thinking, his body reacting before the thought fully formed. He caught it, redirected, moved again. The pace increased. Back and forth. No signal, no callouts. Just movement. Just timing.
A defender tried to intercept. Renzo shifted mid-step, cutting the angle in a way that didn't follow any standard technique. It looked messy for a split second—then it wasn't. The ball slipped through anyway.
Another attempt. Another failure.
"Oi—pass properly!" someone shouted from the side.
Renzo didn't even glance over. His focus stayed forward, but there was a faint irritation in the way his jaw tightened. He clicked his tongue, almost subconsciously, before sending the ball back again—harder this time.
Sae adjusted without issue.
Of course he did.
The rhythm built quickly, sharper with each exchange. It wasn't clean in the traditional sense. It wasn't textbook. It was faster than that. Less predictable. Renzo moved like he wasn't following anything at all, just reacting to whatever came in front of him, his body choosing the shortest, simplest path every time. No hesitation. No wasted thought.
After a few minutes, the rest of the field felt… irrelevant.
Not quiet. Just unimportant.
Renzo exhaled lightly as he slowed his pace, rolling his shoulder once. "…you're not bad," he said, tone casual but genuine.
"You're still loud," Sae replied.
Renzo's expression immediately soured. "Are you stuck on that or what?"
Sae turned slightly toward him, eyes steady. "…but you're not slow."
Renzo paused. "…what?"
"I don't like slow players," Sae continued. "You're tolerable."
There it was again. That word.
Renzo let out a sharp breath, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. "Tolerable? That's your compliment?"
Sae didn't answer. He had already turned away, as if the conversation was over before it properly started. "Practice again tomorrow," he said.
Not a suggestion. Not a question.
Renzo watched him walk off, irritation still there, lingering under his skin, but it wasn't the same as before. "…this guy…" he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
For a second, he considered leaving it at that.
Then his gaze dropped briefly to the ball at his feet. He nudged it lightly, the motion absent-minded, controlled without effort.
"…he's seriously annoying."
A pause.
"…but at least he's not boring."
And for reasons he didn't bother to think about, he didn't leave the field immediately.