On the sidelines, Nishinoya Yuu sat cross-legged, chin propped in his palm. Beside him, Tanaka and Sugawara were alternating between shouting encouragement and wincing whenever a player dove for a ball.

And then, in a blur of motion and effort, a player went sliding.

Straight toward him.

The collision didn’t come. Instead—warmth. The soft, sudden press of a nose against his. Brown eyes met his own, wide and startled.

Behind Nishinoya, Tanaka nearly choked on his own spit.