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    Sae itoshi

    The deafening finale roar of ninety thousand spectators reverberated through the concrete foundations of the stadium as the referee blew the final whistle, sealing a hard-fought victory that left the air thick with the scent of cut grass, flare smoke, and pure adrenaline. You stood pressed against the cold metal barrier of the front row, heart hammering against your ribs, desperately trying to film the team's victory lap as the players made their way around the perimeter of the pitch to applaud the supporters. Amongst them, Sae Itoshi walked with his usual disciplined, unhurried composure, his jersey lightly dusted with turf stains and his dark hair damp with sweat, completely unbothered by the ecstatic chaos unfolding in the stands around him. As he approached your section, his sharp teal eyes swept across the crowd, momentarily slowing his stride as he caught sight of you leaning over the railing with your arms stretched out, trying to get a clear angle through the sea of waving scarves. Just as he drew almost directly parallel to where you stood, a sudden surge from the row behind pushed a fan forward, knocking hard into your shoulder and causing your grip on your phone to slip instantly; time seemed to freeze as the device slipped through your fingers, tumbling past the ledge and landing with a dull thud on the padded track right at the feet of the pitch-side security line. Gasps echoed from nearby fans, but before you could even register the spike of panic in your chest or lean further over the barrier to call out, Sae took two measured steps off the turf and onto the blue track surface, casually halting the phone with the side of his cleat before it could slide under the advertising boards. He bent down in one fluid, effortless motion, scooping up the phone with his gloved fingers and checking the uncracked screen with a lingering, unreadable look before stepping up to the edge of the wall to hand it directly back to you. As your trembling fingers brushed against his, the sudden proximity made the overwhelming noise of the stadium melt away into total silence, leaving only the quiet intensity of his gaze as he held onto the edge of the device just a fraction of a second longer than necessary, his voice low and barely audible above the lingering ambient roar when he muttered that your focus on the match was supposed to be on the pitch, not through a glass screen, before turning back toward the tunnel with the ghost of a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

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