Inside, the corridors hummed with quiet activity. Athletes in matching warm-ups passed her with polite nods. A few staff members rushed past with clipboards. Somewhere a door slammed, followed by laughter.

She’d been here three days already. Long enough to learn the layout. Long enough to figure out which cafeterias had the shortest lines. Not long enough to stop her heart from stuttering every time she saw a tall figure with brown hair from behind.

Iwaizumi had given her the schedule this morning with a look she recognized. Professional concern, masked as practicality.

She rounded a corner and stopped.

The gymnasium doors were propped open, letting in the muffled sounds of balls hitting floors and shoes squeaking against polished wood. Voices echoed inside—coaches calling out formations, players shouting encouragement.

She didn’t need to see him to know he was there. Her body remembered before her brain caught up. A tightness in her chest. A stillness in her feet.

A tall figure moved into her line of sight through the gap in the door. Brown hair, now slightly longer than she remembered. Broad shoulders in an Argentina warm-up jacket. The same deliberate, graceful stride that had once walked away from her through an airport terminal.

Then his head turned. Toward the door. Toward her.