isagi doesn't believe in grand romantic gestures at first because he genuinely thinks, "if i just explain myself properly, she'll understand." emphasis on at first, because after getting hit with your fourth consecutive "i'm not interested, yoichi," he realizes this is no longer a tactical discussion – this is a relegation battle.
so now he's outside your apartment at 10 in the evening holding convenience store snacks you used to split after dates, looking like a man who's aged 15 years, saying, "i know these aren't flowers. i panicked in the checkout line."
the man studies your breakup the way he studies match footage. he has NOTES. actual notes because he’s insane. he knows exactly where he failed, when he stopped communicating enough, the moments you felt neglected because football swallowed his entire schedule. he's not trying to defend himself anymore. every apology starts with, "you were right."
"i thought providing for our future meant sacrificing the present." he laughs bitterly. "turns out... i sacrificed us."
he'll wait for hours if he has to. doesn't matter if it's raining or if your neighbors are peeking through their curtains like they're watching a live drama. he promised he'd wait until you were ready to hear him out, so he's waiting.
one day, you step outside and immediately sigh. "you're still here?"
"yeah."
"how long?"
"since lunch."
"... it's 8."
"... yeah."
"did you eat?"
"i had a vending machine corn soup."
"yoichi."
"it was actually pretty good."
he smiles so pathetically that you physically have to look away because WHY IS HE MAKING THAT FACE 💔
eventually comes the infamous pavement incident.
"get up."
"not until you hear me out."
"yoichi, people are looking."
"good."
"good?”
"they'll keep me accountable."
"this isn’t a public apology tour.”
"it can be."
"GET UP."
he absolutely gets dirt on his knees and doesn't even notice because he's too busy saying, "i don't need you to forgive me today. or tomorrow. just... let me become someone you'd want to love again."
and that line ruins your entire week.
itoshi rin
rin spends months convincing himself that what he's feeling is simply regret, that eventually it'll disappear if he trains hard enough, scores enough goals, and throws himself into football like he's always done, but the worst part is realizing that every victory feels strangely empty because you're no longer the first person he wants to tell, and suddenly even winning doesn't scratch the itch the way hearing you laugh used to.
it takes him far longer than he'd ever admit to accept that he doesn't just miss having a girlfriend – he misses you, specifically, and those are two very different things.
unlike isagi, rin isn't the type to make a public spectacle of himself because the mere thought of strangers watching him be vulnerable makes his skin crawl, so instead he becomes frustratingly, relentlessly present in your life without ever crossing the boundaries you've set.
if your car won't start, somehow he's already called roadside assistance before you can. if your apartment building loses power during a storm, he's the first person knocking with flashlights, extra batteries, and enough convenience store food to survive an apocalypse.
every time you sigh and ask, "how did you even know?" he just shrugs and mutters, "i asked your sibling," or "your friend told me," like gathering intel on your well-being has quietly become his newest full-time position.
when you finally snap and ask him, "are you seriously going to keep doing nice things for me until i feel guilty enough to take you back?" he looks genuinely offended that you'd think guilt had anything to do with it. "no."
"then why?"
"because even if you never come back to me..." he hesitates, looking anywhere but your face. "... i still want your life to be easier."
that answer is infinitely worse for your heart than if he'd tried to sweet-talk you.
his biggest hurdle isn't proving he still loves you – it's proving he's actually changed. rin knows better than anyone that saying "i'm different now" is meaningless unless the person you're apologizing to gets to experience that difference themselves, so every conversation becomes a test he willingly puts himself through.
he lets you interrupt him. he listens instead of assuming. when he's frustrated, he tells you he's frustrated instead of disappearing for 3 days and pretending nothing happened. every tiny habit he used to brush off as "that's just how i am" gets replaced with deliberate effort, and he never once asks you to praise him for it.
eventually, after months of this awkward dance, the two of you get caught in an unexpected downpour while arguing outside your apartment. you're both soaked, hair plastered to your faces, and you're trying very hard to unlock your front door while refusing to look at him because if you make eye contact, you know he's going to say something that'll ruin your emotional stability.
"you should go home."
"not until we're done talking."
"we ARE done talking."
"i'm not."
you groan so loudly that your neighbor peeks through the blinds. "rin."
"i know."
"you're being stubborn."
"... i learned from you."
"don't blame me for this."
then instead of grabbing your wrist or trying to stop you physically, rin quietly pulls something from his jacket pocket – your old apartment key. the one you'd given him years ago. he'd carried it every single day since the breakup.
he places it in your palm. "i kept this because... i couldn't let go." he curls your fingers around it himself. "but if i'm asking for another chance… then i have to earn another key."
you stare down at the little piece of metal. then back at him. "you carried this around for almost a year?"
"... yeah."
"you're actually insane. you could’ve come into my place whenever you wanted to."
"i definitely thought about it."
your neighbor quietly closes the blinds because this has become far too intimate to keep watching.
itoshi sae
sae doesn't believe love should ever have to beg for attention, which is exactly why it terrifies him when he realizes that losing you wasn't some unavoidable tragedy – it was the direct result of believing you'd always be there no matter how emotionally unavailable he'd become.
once that truth settles in, it follows him everywhere, creeping into every hotel room after away matches, every flight home, every silent dinner where the chair across from him remains painfully empty because the person who used to fill that silence with effortless conversation finally got tired of waiting for him.
he never overwhelms you with constant texts or surprise visits because he knows that would only be serving himself instead of respecting you, but whenever he promises something, he treats it with the same seriousness he treats football.
if he says he'll call at 7, your phone rings at exactly 7. if he tells you he'll show up to support your art exhibit, concert, graduation, or family gathering, he's already sitting in the audience before you even arrive. there are no excuses anymore. no last-minute cancellations. no "something came up." if he's asking for another chance, he refuses to make you question whether you're his priority ever again.
one evening, after the two of you accidentally end up talking for nearly 4 hours over coffee, you catch yourself laughing at one of his dry remarks before quickly remembering you're supposed to be emotionally unavailable.
you roll your eyes. "don't smile."
"too late."
"i wasn't smiling."
"you were."
"prove it."
"i wish i could."
"why?"
"because i'd frame it."
you actually choke on your drink. "that was so cheesy."
"i know."
"did someone replace you?"
"i'm beginning to think this heartbreak causes brain damage."
despite all the progress, there comes a night where you quietly tell him, "i still don't know if i can trust that this version of you will stay."
and for the first time in a very long time… sae has absolutely no clever response. he simply nods. "that's fair."
then he reaches into his wallet and slides something across the café table. every boarding pass. every train ticket. every receipt from every trip he'd made just to spend a few hours with you after the breakup before quietly going back home the same night because you weren't ready to let him stay. dozens of them. neatly folded. carefully kept.
"what's this?"
"proof."
"proof of what?"
"that i stopped expecting love to fit around my schedule."
your fingers slowly flip through months and months of little paper memories.
"every time i said i was busy..." he smiles faintly. "i realized i actually wasn't."
you look up. “you kept all of these?"
"i wanted something that reminded me effort leaves evidence."
"... you're making this incredibly difficult."
"i was hoping."
from the booth behind you, someone whispers much louder than intended: "girl, if you don't take that man back, i might."
sae pinches the bridge of his nose. "tokyo has terrible audience etiquette."
nagi seishiro
nagi spends an embarrassingly long time assuming that because the breakup happened peacefully, maybe the relationship could simply... restart peacefully too, like logging back into a game after maintenance. it isn't until reo bluntly tells him, "you know relationships don't have a continue button, right?" that the reality finally hits him like a freight train, and suddenly he's experiencing the horrifying realization that if he wants you back, he has to actively pursue something for the first time in his life that isn't football or a limited-edition game release.
the effort he puts in is almost comically obvious because absolutely everyone who knows nagi can tell he's operating at 150% capacity. this is the same man who used to order food because cooking felt like too much work, and now he's somehow watching cooking tutorials at 2 in the morning because you once admitted you missed the breakfasts you'd make together. the pancakes come out looking like abstract art. the eggs are... chopped. but every week he quietly gets a little better.
one morning he shows up holding a lunchbox.
"uh, what's this?"
"your lunch."
"you made this?"
"mostly."
"mostly?"
"youtube helped."
you cautiously open it. somehow every strawberry has been cut into little hearts.
"you can cut fruit into hearts, but you still burned the rice?"
"... i prioritized."
"clearly."
he scratches the back of his neck. "the hearts were harder."
eventually, after months of trying to prove that effort isn't something he only gives when life is convenient, you tell him the truth: "i'm scared things will go back to the way they were."
nagi nods. "me, too."
"what?"
"i'm scared i'll hurt you again because i didn't know how lazy i was."
"you know that's a crazy sentence, right?"
"yeah."
"who even says, 'i accidentally neglected the love of my life because i wanted to finish a raid?'"
nagi quietly raises his hand. "... fair."
then comes the day you decide to walk away from another conversation because your emotions are becoming too much. you make it halfway down the sidewalk before hearing footsteps. then another. then another. you turn around. nagi is following you. not saying anything, only matching your pace.
"why are you walking behind me?"
"because if i walk beside you, you'll tell me to leave."
"probably."
"if i walk in front, you'll turn around."
"... also true."
"so this seemed logically safest."
you keep walking. he keeps walking. one block. two blocks. three. finally you stop.
"how long were you planning on doing this?"
"until you got home safely."
"and then?"
"walk home."
"that's like 30 minutes."
"i know."
"you're unbelievable."
"hopefully memorable."
an elderly man walking his dog passes the two of you before looking between you with complete understanding. "ah. he messed up?"
you nod.
the old man sighs. "good."
nagi blinks. "good?"
"builds character."
"this is the worst day of my life."
mikage reo
after the breakup, reo's first instinct is to fix everything the way he's fixed every other problem in his life (with resources, planning, and solutions), but it only takes one painfully honest conversation for you to tell him, "i never wanted expensive dates, reo. i wanted you to stop trying to solve my feelings like they were business problems."
that sentence changes him more than he'd ever admit.
from then on, every grand gesture disappears completely. no luxury vacations. no designer jewelry. no extravagant surprises. instead, he starts becoming someone dependable in the quietest ways imaginable.
if your parents need help moving furniture, he's there in old sweatpants before sunrise. if your little cousin needs someone to coach her youth football team because the volunteer canceled, reo somehow rearranges his entire week. if your best friend jokingly says, "if you're serious about getting her back, come help us paint this apartment," he shows up 15 minutes later wearing clothes he clearly doesn't mind ruining.
"... reo."
"yeah?"
"that's a ￥500,000 hoodie."
he glances down. "... was."
"you're getting paint on it."
"i noticed."
“you're not freaking out?"
"i've ruined more expensive things." he looks at you. “losing you was definitely the costliest."
your friend immediately walks into another room. "i'm giving y'all privacy because WHAT WAS THAT."
one afternoon, while helping assemble furniture for a charity event, you accidentally catch him struggling with an instruction manual that's approximately 3 pages long.
"you've built billion-dollar companies in simulations."
"... yes."
"and this bookshelf is winning?"
"this bookshelf has no respect for me."
"you put the shelf in backwards."
"i chose not to notice."
"... reo."
"... please help."
the two of you end up laughing harder than either of you have in months. he doesn't even realize he's smiling until he catches you smiling, too.
later that evening, while cleaning paint off his hands together outside the community center, he grows quiet.
"can i ask you something?"
"depends."
"if i never got another chance..."
your heart immediately sinks.
"would you still believe that i loved you?"
you don't answer right away. because the answer has never been no.
"... yes."
he lets out the smallest breath. "then at least i did one thing right."
you stare at him. "that's it?"
"what?"
"you're not going to ask me to come back?"
he smiles, softer than you've seen in a long time. "i want to."
"then why won't you?"
"because i already spent too much of our relationship asking for what i wanted and not what you wanted."
he gently folds the paint rag in his hands.
"if we ever become us again..." his eyes meet yours. "i want it to be because you chose me."
your friend opens the door, looks between the two of you, and closes it again.
from inside the building you hear: "NOBODY GO OUT THERE."
"WHY?"
"YOU’LL WISH YOU WERE NEVER SINGLE."
bachira meguru
bachira doesn't realize how much of his joy was intertwined with you until one day he catches himself turning around after scoring a ridiculous goal because his first instinct is still to look for your reaction in the stands, only to find an empty seat where you used to be, and the smile on his face drops so quickly that even his teammates notice something's wrong. that's when it finally clicks that he wasn't just in love with you – you had quietly become his favorite part of every good thing that happened to him.
unlike everyone expecting him to mope around dramatically, bachira somehow becomes even brighter, but it's the kind of brightness that only exists because he's trying desperately not to let himself fall apart. he starts sending you photos of weird-shaped clouds, ducks wearing tiny raincoats, dogs that look like rin(?), and every bakery window displaying pastries you'd immediately point at, always ending each message with something painfully simple.
"this reminded me of you." never… "please come back."
he wants you to smile before he asks you to forgive him.
months later, you bump into him at a local festival completely by accident. he freezes. you freeze. then he grins so hard it almost hurts to look at.
"... hi."
"... hi."
"you still hate candied apples?"
"still think they're a scam."
"they're literally just apples coated in hardened sugar syrup."
"exactly."
"you haven't changed."
"i've changed plenty."
the conversation ends up lasting nearly 3 hours. by the time the fireworks begin, neither of you has noticed you've wandered halfway across the festival together.
before you leave, bachira reaches into the claw machine bag slung over his shoulder and pulls out a tiny bee plush.
"you still have that?"
"i've actually won..." he counts on his fingers. "... 23."
"23?"
"none of them looked enough like you."
"... megs."
"this one finally smiled."
you have to physically turn away because your eyes are suddenly suspiciously warm.
"don't cry."
"’m not."
"you're making the same face you make before you cry."
"shut up."
he laughs softly. "i missed hearing that."
shidou ryusei
everyone assumes shidou's method of getting you back is going to be loud, chaotic, and illegal. but well… it's only slightly chaotic. because somewhere beneath all that reckless confidence is a man who genuinely understands that if he broke your heart, then making you laugh isn't enough anymore – he has to become someone you can actually trust.
BUT, shidou has absolutely no clue how to behave like a normal person.
his first attempt at a heartfelt apology somehow includes scaling the fence outside your apartment complex because the front gate was locked.
"RYUSEI???"
"HI, BABY–"
"DON'T 'BABY' ME???”
"RIGHT… EX-BABY?"
"GET DOWN.”
"I'M TRYING."
"OH MY GOSH, YOU'RE STUCK.”
"... A LITTLE."
your landlord walks outside and stares. "... is that your boyfriend?"
"... former boyfriend."
"CAN YOU HELP ME?"
after the world's most humiliating rescue operation, shidou sits beside you on the curb rubbing the back of his neck. "that wasn't how i pictured this going."
"really?"
"i pictured way less fencing."
eventually his joking fades.
"... i hurt you."
"... yeah."
"i hated seeing you cry."
"... then why did you keep doing the things that made me cry?" that question hits him harder than any defender ever has.
he doesn't answer right away. there isn't a good answer.
"... because i thought you'd always forgive me." he laughs bitterly at himself. "turns out i didn't deserve that."
after that day, he never asks for another chance outright. instead, he lets his actions slowly speak louder than his mouth ever has, which is honestly the biggest miracle of all.
karasu tabito
karasu spends the first few months pretending the breakup was the logical conclusion, acting like everything's perfectly fine while his friends watch him become increasingly unbearable to be around because every conversation somehow circles back to you. he starts sentences with, "well, she used to..." so often that otoya finally throws a pillow at his face.
"either text her or shut up, man."
"... mind yer business."
"YOUR BUSINESS IS MY BUSINESS NOW."
karasu eventually realizes that every sarcastic remark, every clever excuse, every smooth line he's rehearsed falls apart the second he's standing in front of you because you're the one person who's always seen right through him.
"you practiced this speech."
"maybe."
"how many times?"
"... none."
"tabito."
"... 20."
"20?"
"okay... 22." he exhales. "yer worth embarrassin’ myself over."
rather than trying to impress you, karasu starts showing up in the places that actually mattered during your relationship. he doesn’t want to pressure you, but he realizes he'd stopped sharing life with you and had started expecting you to fit around his.
your favorite bookstore. the tiny café where you'd study together. the elderly couple's restaurant where you celebrated anniversaries.
one day, you catch him helping the owners stack chairs after closing.
“you work here now?"
"nah."
"then why are you cleaning?"
"they asked."
"and you said yes?"
"thought it'd be good for my ego."
"is it working?"
"nope." he smiles. "but i'm learnin’."
kaiser michael
kaiser begins the entire operation convinced that winning you back will be easy because, statistically speaking, nobody has ever told michael kaiser "no" more than once.
you make it 7 months. by month 3, he's annoyed. by month 5, he's concerned. by month 7, he's experiencing what ness later describes as "character development."
"this is suffering."
ness looks up from his coffee. "this is accountability."
"i preferred suffering."
the worst part for kaiser is discovering that none of the things he's always relied on actually work anymore. the charm doesn't work. the flirting doesn't work. the expensive dinners don't work. every smug smile gets met with the same unimpressed expression you've perfected over the months.
"finished?"
"... i had another line."
"delete it."
eventually, he does something that shocks literally everyone who knows him – he starts asking questions. and then… he actually listens to the answers.
you tell him what hurt. he doesn't interrupt. you tell him why you left. he doesn't defend himself. you tell him he made you feel like loving him was a competition you'd never win. his face falls.
“... i didn't know."
“that's exactly the problem."
weeks later, he quietly invites you to one of his matches. no VIP package or cameras. only a single ticket.
after the match, instead of celebrating with reporters, sponsors, and teammates, he walks straight into the empty stadium tunnel where you waited.
"you came."
"i said i would."
"... thank you."
you blink. "you've never thanked me for coming before."
"i know."
"why now?"
he smiles, but it's smaller than usual. “i spent too much time assuming you'd always be there."
he gently places his captain's armband into your hands. "keep it."
"what?"
"i've spent years chasing trophies." his voice softens. "i'd rather spend the next few chasing your trust."
from somewhere down the hallway– "KAISER!"
he doesn't even turn around. "they can wait."
ness alexis
ness fully falls apart after the breakup in the most alexis ness way imaginable. while everyone else expects him to bounce back eventually, he somehow becomes even more hopelessly devoted than he was when the two of you were together, except now all of that affection has nowhere to go.
he catches himself instinctively buying your favorite snacks at the grocery store before remembering you don't come over anymore, saves memes to send you only to delete the message before pressing send, and still reaches for his phone after every match because for years you were the first person he wanted to hear say, "you did amazing." the silence afterward is almost unbearable.
for a long time, he convinces himself that the kindest thing he can do is stay away because he believes he forfeited the privilege of being part of your life the moment he hurt you, but every single week he finds another quiet way to support you without expecting anything in return.
if your friend launches a small business, he's somehow the first customer through the door. if your younger sibling has a school performance, he quietly sits in the back row with flowers, congratulates them afterward, then leaves before you even notice he was there. if you casually mention online that your local animal shelter needs donations, they mysteriously receive exactly what they asked for the very next morning. every gesture is intentionally anonymous because this isn't about earning points, it's about becoming someone who gives without expecting love in exchange.
eventually, months later, you finally catch him. "alexis."
he freezes so hard you'd think someone pressed pause on his entire body. "... hi."
"were you seriously trying to leave before i saw you?"
"... yes."
"why?"
he rubs the back of his neck, refusing to meet your eyes. "... i wasn't doing those things so you'd forgive me."
"then why?"
"... because loving you didn't stop just because dating you did… i still wanted good things to happen to you."
that answer sits between the two of you for what feels like forever.
from then on, he never begs for another chance outright because he's terrified that asking too soon would only put pressure on you, so instead he lets consistency speak for him. every promise gets kept. every text gets answered. every conversation you've been avoiding for months is met with patience instead of defensiveness, and whenever he catches himself slipping back into old habits, he's the first one to apologize before you even have to point it out.
one rainy evening, the two of you end up sharing the same bus stop after an unexpected storm rolls in, and because neither of you brought an umbrella, you're stuck together listening to the rain hammer against the pavement while awkward silence stretches between you.
"... this is weird."
"... a little."
"i had an entire speech planned."
"really?"
"it was... very heartfelt."
"where'd it go?"
"the second you looked at me, my brain filed for bankruptcy."
despite yourself, you laugh.
he blinks. "you laughed."
"don't get excited."
"i'm trying not to."
"you're smiling."
"i’ve been surviving on emotional breadcrumbs for months."
you roll your eyes hard. "i can’t with you."
"i also..." he hesitates. "... wrote you an apology."
"one apology?"
"um… technically..."
"alexis."
"there were... several drafts."
"how many?"
"... 12."
"12?!”
"the first 4 sounded too dramatic."
"alexis."
"the next 3 were too formal."
"alexis."
"then i accidentally started citing relationship psychology articles."
"YOU ADDED SOURCES?"
he quietly nods. "... in APA format."
you stare at him for a full 5 seconds before doubling over laughing so hard you're forced to grab the bus stop bench for support.
ness immediately panics. "wait– is this a good laugh?"
"i can't believe..." you wipe tears from your eyes. "you made a bibliography for apologizing to me."
he hides his face behind both hands. "i wanted it to be academically sincere."
the bus pulls up. neither of you gets on. because for the first time in months, the conversation doesn't feel heavy anymore.
and as the bus drives away without you, ness quietly smiles to himself. "missing that one was worth it."
iglesias bunny
bunny has spent his entire career being confident enough to walk into any stadium in the world believing he can outplay whoever's standing in front of him, but absolutely none of that confidence survives the moment he realizes you've actually moved on with your life without him.
all of a sudden, the man who thrives under pressure is getting nervous over something as simple as typing "hey," deleting it, retyping it, deleting it again, and asking his teammates whether using two exclamation marks sounds desperate. they unanimously tell him yes. he sends one anyway.
after enough failed attempts at trying to impress you, bunny finally accepts a painful truth: you don't need to be dazzled anymore – you need to feel safe. from that point onward, every effort he makes becomes intentionally small, thoughtful, and consistent instead of flashy.
he remembers appointments you'd mentioned weeks ago and checks in afterward. if you're stressed, he doesn't immediately try to fix everything; he simply asks, "do you want advice, or do you just want me to listen?" and then (miraculously) he actually listens.
one afternoon, the two of you accidentally get paired together during a charity football clinic for kids, and watching bunny interact with children is deeply unfair because every tiny player immediately latches onto him like he's their favorite older brother.
"coach bunny!"
"yeah?"
"can she be on our team?" the little boy points directly at you.
bunny glances over. "only if she promises not to steal the ball from me."
"i absolutely will."
"see?" he sighs. "this is why we broke up."
"we broke up for a few reasons. one of them being that you forgot our anniversary."
"details,” he huffs.
"those are VERY important details."
by the end of the event, the kids have somehow decided the two of you are married.
one little girl tugs on bunny's sleeve. "is she your wife?"
bunny doesn't even hesitate. "you know, i'm trying really hard."
"excuse me?"
"what? honesty builds character."
after everyone leaves, he grows quieter. "i know i can't ask you to trust me just because i miss you." he absentmindedly spins a football beneath his foot. "so i'll just keep showing you i'm worth trusting until you decide whether i'm worth loving again."
you’re’ speechless. "... that's the first smart thing you've said all day."
"i've been saving it."
hugo vivian
hugo refuses to let pride be the reason he loses you twice. the first breakup already taught him exactly how expensive ego can be, and unlike before, he isn't interested in proving that he was right – he's interested in proving that he's capable of becoming better.
every apology is specific. every conversation is uncomfortable. every difficult topic that his younger self would've avoided gets addressed head-on because he knows healing isn't built on pretty speeches, it's built on honesty that actually changes something.
he doesn't flood your phone with messages or show up unannounced because he respects your boundaries too much for that now, but whenever your paths naturally cross, there's a gentleness to him that wasn't there before.
he asks how you've been and genuinely waits for the answer. when you mention something exciting happening in your career, he celebrates you instead of steering the conversation back toward himself. little by little, he begins showing you a version of himself that isn't trying to impress you anymore.
one evening, after months of careful distance, the two of you end up stuck waiting for the last train home after yours gets delayed.
"... well."
"... well."
"... this is awkward."
"mmm. very."
"... did you eat?”
"that's your opener?"
"uh, i panicked."
"i can tell."
he laughs quietly before reaching into his bag. “i bought two sandwiches earlier."
"you always carry extra food?"
"not usually."
"then why today?"
he scratches his cheek. "i guess part of me hoped i'd run into you."
“oh. oh wow.”
"... i'm trying to look emotionally mature."
"you're offering me a convenience store egg sandwich."
"it's a really good egg sandwich."
hours later, after the station finally begins emptying out, he looks at you with a small, tired smile. "i don't expect you to forgive me."
"... i know."
"i don't expect another chance."
"i know."
"i just hope that when you think about me someday..." he exhales slowly. "you'll think about the man i became instead of the one who let you go."
before you can answer, the train finally arrives. the doors slide open. neither of you moves.
the conductor leans out the window. "are you two getting on or resolving your problems?"
hugo clears his throat. "give us..." he glances at you. "30 seconds?"
the conductor sighs so dramatically you almost start laughing. "kids."
isagi doesn't believe in grand romantic gestures at first because he genuinely thinks, "if i just explain myself properly, she'll understand." emphasis on at first, because after getting hit with your fourth consecutive "i'm not interested, yoichi," he realizes this is no longer a tactical discussion – this is a relegation battle.
so now he's outside your apartment at 10 in the evening holding convenience store snacks you used to split after dates, looking like a man who's aged 15 years, saying, "i know these aren't flowers. i panicked in the checkout line."
the man studies your breakup the way he studies match footage. he has NOTES. actual notes because he’s insane. he knows exactly where he failed, when he stopped communicating enough, the moments you felt neglected because football swallowed his entire schedule. he's not trying to defend himself anymore. every apology starts with, "you were right."
"i thought providing for our future meant sacrificing the present." he laughs bitterly. "turns out... i sacrificed us."
he'll wait for hours if he has to. doesn't matter if it's raining or if your neighbors are peeking through their curtains like they're watching a live drama. he promised he'd wait until you were ready to hear him out, so he's waiting.
one day, you step outside and immediately sigh. "you're still here?"
"yeah."
"how long?"
"since lunch."
"... it's 8."
"... yeah."
"did you eat?"
"i had a vending machine corn soup."
"yoichi."
"it was actually pretty good."
he smiles so pathetically that you physically have to look away because WHY IS HE MAKING THAT FACE 💔
eventually comes the infamous pavement incident.
"get up."
"not until you hear me out."
"yoichi, people are looking."
"good."
"good?”
"they'll keep me accountable."
"this isn’t a public apology tour.”
"it can be."
"GET UP."
he absolutely gets dirt on his knees and doesn't even notice because he's too busy saying, "i don't need you to forgive me today. or tomorrow. just... let me become someone you'd want to love again."
and that line ruins your entire week.
itoshi rin
rin spends months convincing himself that what he's feeling is simply regret, that eventually it'll disappear if he trains hard enough, scores enough goals, and throws himself into football like he's always done, but the worst part is realizing that every victory feels strangely empty because you're no longer the first person he wants to tell, and suddenly even winning doesn't scratch the itch the way hearing you laugh used to.
it takes him far longer than he'd ever admit to accept that he doesn't just miss having a girlfriend – he misses you, specifically, and those are two very different things.
unlike isagi, rin isn't the type to make a public spectacle of himself because the mere thought of strangers watching him be vulnerable makes his skin crawl, so instead he becomes frustratingly, relentlessly present in your life without ever crossing the boundaries you've set.
if your car won't start, somehow he's already called roadside assistance before you can. if your apartment building loses power during a storm, he's the first person knocking with flashlights, extra batteries, and enough convenience store food to survive an apocalypse.
every time you sigh and ask, "how did you even know?" he just shrugs and mutters, "i asked your sibling," or "your friend told me," like gathering intel on your well-being has quietly become his newest full-time position.
when you finally snap and ask him, "are you seriously going to keep doing nice things for me until i feel guilty enough to take you back?" he looks genuinely offended that you'd think guilt had anything to do with it. "no."
"then why?"
"because even if you never come back to me..." he hesitates, looking anywhere but your face. "... i still want your life to be easier."
that answer is infinitely worse for your heart than if he'd tried to sweet-talk you.
his biggest hurdle isn't proving he still loves you – it's proving he's actually changed. rin knows better than anyone that saying "i'm different now" is meaningless unless the person you're apologizing to gets to experience that difference themselves, so every conversation becomes a test he willingly puts himself through.
he lets you interrupt him. he listens instead of assuming. when he's frustrated, he tells you he's frustrated instead of disappearing for 3 days and pretending nothing happened. every tiny habit he used to brush off as "that's just how i am" gets replaced with deliberate effort, and he never once asks you to praise him for it.
eventually, after months of this awkward dance, the two of you get caught in an unexpected downpour while arguing outside your apartment. you're both soaked, hair plastered to your faces, and you're trying very hard to unlock your front door while refusing to look at him because if you make eye contact, you know he's going to say something that'll ruin your emotional stability.
"you should go home."
"not until we're done talking."
"we ARE done talking."
"i'm not."
you groan so loudly that your neighbor peeks through the blinds. "rin."
"i know."
"you're being stubborn."
"... i learned from you."
"don't blame me for this."
then instead of grabbing your wrist or trying to stop you physically, rin quietly pulls something from his jacket pocket – your old apartment key. the one you'd given him years ago. he'd carried it every single day since the breakup.
he places it in your palm. "i kept this because... i couldn't let go." he curls your fingers around it himself. "but if i'm asking for another chance… then i have to earn another key."
you stare down at the little piece of metal. then back at him. "you carried this around for almost a year?"
"... yeah."
"you're actually insane. you could’ve come into my place whenever you wanted to."
"i definitely thought about it."
your neighbor quietly closes the blinds because this has become far too intimate to keep watching.
itoshi sae
sae doesn't believe love should ever have to beg for attention, which is exactly why it terrifies him when he realizes that losing you wasn't some unavoidable tragedy – it was the direct result of believing you'd always be there no matter how emotionally unavailable he'd become.
once that truth settles in, it follows him everywhere, creeping into every hotel room after away matches, every flight home, every silent dinner where the chair across from him remains painfully empty because the person who used to fill that silence with effortless conversation finally got tired of waiting for him.
he never overwhelms you with constant texts or surprise visits because he knows that would only be serving himself instead of respecting you, but whenever he promises something, he treats it with the same seriousness he treats football.
if he says he'll call at 7, your phone rings at exactly 7. if he tells you he'll show up to support your art exhibit, concert, graduation, or family gathering, he's already sitting in the audience before you even arrive. there are no excuses anymore. no last-minute cancellations. no "something came up." if he's asking for another chance, he refuses to make you question whether you're his priority ever again.
one evening, after the two of you accidentally end up talking for nearly 4 hours over coffee, you catch yourself laughing at one of his dry remarks before quickly remembering you're supposed to be emotionally unavailable.
you roll your eyes. "don't smile."
"too late."
"i wasn't smiling."
"you were."
"prove it."
"i wish i could."
"why?"
"because i'd frame it."
you actually choke on your drink. "that was so cheesy."
"i know."
"did someone replace you?"
"i'm beginning to think this heartbreak causes brain damage."
despite all the progress, there comes a night where you quietly tell him, "i still don't know if i can trust that this version of you will stay."
and for the first time in a very long time… sae has absolutely no clever response. he simply nods. "that's fair."
then he reaches into his wallet and slides something across the café table. every boarding pass. every train ticket. every receipt from every trip he'd made just to spend a few hours with you after the breakup before quietly going back home the same night because you weren't ready to let him stay. dozens of them. neatly folded. carefully kept.
"what's this?"
"proof."
"proof of what?"
"that i stopped expecting love to fit around my schedule."
your fingers slowly flip through months and months of little paper memories.
"every time i said i was busy..." he smiles faintly. "i realized i actually wasn't."
you look up. “you kept all of these?"
"i wanted something that reminded me effort leaves evidence."
"... you're making this incredibly difficult."
"i was hoping."
from the booth behind you, someone whispers much louder than intended: "girl, if you don't take that man back, i might."
sae pinches the bridge of his nose. "tokyo has terrible audience etiquette."
nagi seishiro
nagi spends an embarrassingly long time assuming that because the breakup happened peacefully, maybe the relationship could simply... restart peacefully too, like logging back into a game after maintenance. it isn't until reo bluntly tells him, "you know relationships don't have a continue button, right?" that the reality finally hits him like a freight train, and suddenly he's experiencing the horrifying realization that if he wants you back, he has to actively pursue something for the first time in his life that isn't football or a limited-edition game release.
the effort he puts in is almost comically obvious because absolutely everyone who knows nagi can tell he's operating at 150% capacity. this is the same man who used to order food because cooking felt like too much work, and now he's somehow watching cooking tutorials at 2 in the morning because you once admitted you missed the breakfasts you'd make together. the pancakes come out looking like abstract art. the eggs are... chopped. but every week he quietly gets a little better.
one morning he shows up holding a lunchbox.
"uh, what's this?"
"your lunch."
"you made this?"
"mostly."
"mostly?"
"youtube helped."
you cautiously open it. somehow every strawberry has been cut into little hearts.
"you can cut fruit into hearts, but you still burned the rice?"
"... i prioritized."
"clearly."
he scratches the back of his neck. "the hearts were harder."
eventually, after months of trying to prove that effort isn't something he only gives when life is convenient, you tell him the truth: "i'm scared things will go back to the way they were."
nagi nods. "me, too."
"what?"
"i'm scared i'll hurt you again because i didn't know how lazy i was."
"you know that's a crazy sentence, right?"
"yeah."
"who even says, 'i accidentally neglected the love of my life because i wanted to finish a raid?'"
nagi quietly raises his hand. "... fair."
then comes the day you decide to walk away from another conversation because your emotions are becoming too much. you make it halfway down the sidewalk before hearing footsteps. then another. then another. you turn around. nagi is following you. not saying anything, only matching your pace.
"why are you walking behind me?"
"because if i walk beside you, you'll tell me to leave."
"probably."
"if i walk in front, you'll turn around."
"... also true."
"so this seemed logically safest."
you keep walking. he keeps walking. one block. two blocks. three. finally you stop.
"how long were you planning on doing this?"
"until you got home safely."
"and then?"
"walk home."
"that's like 30 minutes."
"i know."
"you're unbelievable."
"hopefully memorable."
an elderly man walking his dog passes the two of you before looking between you with complete understanding. "ah. he messed up?"
you nod.
the old man sighs. "good."
nagi blinks. "good?"
"builds character."
"this is the worst day of my life."
mikage reo
after the breakup, reo's first instinct is to fix everything the way he's fixed every other problem in his life (with resources, planning, and solutions), but it only takes one painfully honest conversation for you to tell him, "i never wanted expensive dates, reo. i wanted you to stop trying to solve my feelings like they were business problems."
that sentence changes him more than he'd ever admit.
from then on, every grand gesture disappears completely. no luxury vacations. no designer jewelry. no extravagant surprises. instead, he starts becoming someone dependable in the quietest ways imaginable.
if your parents need help moving furniture, he's there in old sweatpants before sunrise. if your little cousin needs someone to coach her youth football team because the volunteer canceled, reo somehow rearranges his entire week. if your best friend jokingly says, "if you're serious about getting her back, come help us paint this apartment," he shows up 15 minutes later wearing clothes he clearly doesn't mind ruining.
"... reo."
"yeah?"
"that's a ￥500,000 hoodie."
he glances down. "... was."
"you're getting paint on it."
"i noticed."
“you're not freaking out?"
"i've ruined more expensive things." he looks at you. “losing you was definitely the costliest."
your friend immediately walks into another room. "i'm giving y'all privacy because WHAT WAS THAT."
one afternoon, while helping assemble furniture for a charity event, you accidentally catch him struggling with an instruction manual that's approximately 3 pages long.
"you've built billion-dollar companies in simulations."
"... yes."
"and this bookshelf is winning?"
"this bookshelf has no respect for me."
"you put the shelf in backwards."
"i chose not to notice."
"... reo."
"... please help."
the two of you end up laughing harder than either of you have in months. he doesn't even realize he's smiling until he catches you smiling, too.
later that evening, while cleaning paint off his hands together outside the community center, he grows quiet.
"can i ask you something?"
"depends."
"if i never got another chance..."
your heart immediately sinks.
"would you still believe that i loved you?"
you don't answer right away. because the answer has never been no.
"... yes."
he lets out the smallest breath. "then at least i did one thing right."
you stare at him. "that's it?"
"what?"
"you're not going to ask me to come back?"
he smiles, softer than you've seen in a long time. "i want to."
"then why won't you?"
"because i already spent too much of our relationship asking for what i wanted and not what you wanted."
he gently folds the paint rag in his hands.
"if we ever become us again..." his eyes meet yours. "i want it to be because you chose me."
your friend opens the door, looks between the two of you, and closes it again.
from inside the building you hear: "NOBODY GO OUT THERE."
"WHY?"
"YOU’LL WISH YOU WERE NEVER SINGLE."
bachira meguru
bachira doesn't realize how much of his joy was intertwined with you until one day he catches himself turning around after scoring a ridiculous goal because his first instinct is still to look for your reaction in the stands, only to find an empty seat where you used to be, and the smile on his face drops so quickly that even his teammates notice something's wrong. that's when it finally clicks that he wasn't just in love with you – you had quietly become his favorite part of every good thing that happened to him.
unlike everyone expecting him to mope around dramatically, bachira somehow becomes even brighter, but it's the kind of brightness that only exists because he's trying desperately not to let himself fall apart. he starts sending you photos of weird-shaped clouds, ducks wearing tiny raincoats, dogs that look like rin(?), and every bakery window displaying pastries you'd immediately point at, always ending each message with something painfully simple.
"this reminded me of you." never… "please come back."
he wants you to smile before he asks you to forgive him.
months later, you bump into him at a local festival completely by accident. he freezes. you freeze. then he grins so hard it almost hurts to look at.
"... hi."
"... hi."
"you still hate candied apples?"
"still think they're a scam."
"they're literally just apples coated in hardened sugar syrup."
"exactly."
"you haven't changed."
"i've changed plenty."
the conversation ends up lasting nearly 3 hours. by the time the fireworks begin, neither of you has noticed you've wandered halfway across the festival together.
before you leave, bachira reaches into the claw machine bag slung over his shoulder and pulls out a tiny bee plush.
"you still have that?"
"i've actually won..." he counts on his fingers. "... 23."
"23?"
"none of them looked enough like you."
"... megs."
"this one finally smiled."
you have to physically turn away because your eyes are suddenly suspiciously warm.
"don't cry."
"’m not."
"you're making the same face you make before you cry."
"shut up."
he laughs softly. "i missed hearing that."
shidou ryusei
everyone assumes shidou's method of getting you back is going to be loud, chaotic, and illegal. but well… it's only slightly chaotic. because somewhere beneath all that reckless confidence is a man who genuinely understands that if he broke your heart, then making you laugh isn't enough anymore – he has to become someone you can actually trust.
BUT, shidou has absolutely no clue how to behave like a normal person.
his first attempt at a heartfelt apology somehow includes scaling the fence outside your apartment complex because the front gate was locked.
"RYUSEI???"
"HI, BABY–"
"DON'T 'BABY' ME???”
"RIGHT… EX-BABY?"
"GET DOWN.”
"I'M TRYING."
"OH MY GOSH, YOU'RE STUCK.”
"... A LITTLE."
your landlord walks outside and stares. "... is that your boyfriend?"
"... former boyfriend."
"CAN YOU HELP ME?"
after the world's most humiliating rescue operation, shidou sits beside you on the curb rubbing the back of his neck. "that wasn't how i pictured this going."
"really?"
"i pictured way less fencing."
eventually his joking fades.
"... i hurt you."
"... yeah."
"i hated seeing you cry."
"... then why did you keep doing the things that made me cry?" that question hits him harder than any defender ever has.
he doesn't answer right away. there isn't a good answer.
"... because i thought you'd always forgive me." he laughs bitterly at himself. "turns out i didn't deserve that."
after that day, he never asks for another chance outright. instead, he lets his actions slowly speak louder than his mouth ever has, which is honestly the biggest miracle of all.
karasu tabito
karasu spends the first few months pretending the breakup was the logical conclusion, acting like everything's perfectly fine while his friends watch him become increasingly unbearable to be around because every conversation somehow circles back to you. he starts sentences with, "well, she used to..." so often that otoya finally throws a pillow at his face.
"either text her or shut up, man."
"... mind yer business."
"YOUR BUSINESS IS MY BUSINESS NOW."
karasu eventually realizes that every sarcastic remark, every clever excuse, every smooth line he's rehearsed falls apart the second he's standing in front of you because you're the one person who's always seen right through him.
"you practiced this speech."
"maybe."
"how many times?"
"... none."
"tabito."
"... 20."
"20?"
"okay... 22." he exhales. "yer worth embarrassin’ myself over."
rather than trying to impress you, karasu starts showing up in the places that actually mattered during your relationship. he doesn’t want to pressure you, but he realizes he'd stopped sharing life with you and had started expecting you to fit around his.
your favorite bookstore. the tiny café where you'd study together. the elderly couple's restaurant where you celebrated anniversaries.
one day, you catch him helping the owners stack chairs after closing.
“you work here now?"
"nah."
"then why are you cleaning?"
"they asked."
"and you said yes?"
"thought it'd be good for my ego."
"is it working?"
"nope." he smiles. "but i'm learnin’."
kaiser michael
kaiser begins the entire operation convinced that winning you back will be easy because, statistically speaking, nobody has ever told michael kaiser "no" more than once.
you make it 7 months. by month 3, he's annoyed. by month 5, he's concerned. by month 7, he's experiencing what ness later describes as "character development."
"this is suffering."
ness looks up from his coffee. "this is accountability."
"i preferred suffering."
the worst part for kaiser is discovering that none of the things he's always relied on actually work anymore. the charm doesn't work. the flirting doesn't work. the expensive dinners don't work. every smug smile gets met with the same unimpressed expression you've perfected over the months.
"finished?"
"... i had another line."
"delete it."
eventually, he does something that shocks literally everyone who knows him – he starts asking questions. and then… he actually listens to the answers.
you tell him what hurt. he doesn't interrupt. you tell him why you left. he doesn't defend himself. you tell him he made you feel like loving him was a competition you'd never win. his face falls.
“... i didn't know."
“that's exactly the problem."
weeks later, he quietly invites you to one of his matches. no VIP package or cameras. only a single ticket.
after the match, instead of celebrating with reporters, sponsors, and teammates, he walks straight into the empty stadium tunnel where you waited.
"you came."
"i said i would."
"... thank you."
you blink. "you've never thanked me for coming before."
"i know."
"why now?"
he smiles, but it's smaller than usual. “i spent too much time assuming you'd always be there."
he gently places his captain's armband into your hands. "keep it."
"what?"
"i've spent years chasing trophies." his voice softens. "i'd rather spend the next few chasing your trust."
from somewhere down the hallway– "KAISER!"
he doesn't even turn around. "they can wait."
ness alexis
ness fully falls apart after the breakup in the most alexis ness way imaginable. while everyone else expects him to bounce back eventually, he somehow becomes even more hopelessly devoted than he was when the two of you were together, except now all of that affection has nowhere to go.
he catches himself instinctively buying your favorite snacks at the grocery store before remembering you don't come over anymore, saves memes to send you only to delete the message before pressing send, and still reaches for his phone after every match because for years you were the first person he wanted to hear say, "you did amazing." the silence afterward is almost unbearable.
for a long time, he convinces himself that the kindest thing he can do is stay away because he believes he forfeited the privilege of being part of your life the moment he hurt you, but every single week he finds another quiet way to support you without expecting anything in return.
if your friend launches a small business, he's somehow the first customer through the door. if your younger sibling has a school performance, he quietly sits in the back row with flowers, congratulates them afterward, then leaves before you even notice he was there. if you casually mention online that your local animal shelter needs donations, they mysteriously receive exactly what they asked for the very next morning. every gesture is intentionally anonymous because this isn't about earning points, it's about becoming someone who gives without expecting love in exchange.
eventually, months later, you finally catch him. "alexis."
he freezes so hard you'd think someone pressed pause on his entire body. "... hi."
"were you seriously trying to leave before i saw you?"
"... yes."
"why?"
he rubs the back of his neck, refusing to meet your eyes. "... i wasn't doing those things so you'd forgive me."
"then why?"
"... because loving you didn't stop just because dating you did… i still wanted good things to happen to you."
that answer sits between the two of you for what feels like forever.
from then on, he never begs for another chance outright because he's terrified that asking too soon would only put pressure on you, so instead he lets consistency speak for him. every promise gets kept. every text gets answered. every conversation you've been avoiding for months is met with patience instead of defensiveness, and whenever he catches himself slipping back into old habits, he's the first one to apologize before you even have to point it out.
one rainy evening, the two of you end up sharing the same bus stop after an unexpected storm rolls in, and because neither of you brought an umbrella, you're stuck together listening to the rain hammer against the pavement while awkward silence stretches between you.
"... this is weird."
"... a little."
"i had an entire speech planned."
"really?"
"it was... very heartfelt."
"where'd it go?"
"the second you looked at me, my brain filed for bankruptcy."
despite yourself, you laugh.
he blinks. "you laughed."
"don't get excited."
"i'm trying not to."
"you're smiling."
"i’ve been surviving on emotional breadcrumbs for months."
you roll your eyes hard. "i can’t with you."
"i also..." he hesitates. "... wrote you an apology."
"one apology?"
"um… technically..."
"alexis."
"there were... several drafts."
"how many?"
"... 12."
"12?!”
"the first 4 sounded too dramatic."
"alexis."
"the next 3 were too formal."
"alexis."
"then i accidentally started citing relationship psychology articles."
"YOU ADDED SOURCES?"
he quietly nods. "... in APA format."
you stare at him for a full 5 seconds before doubling over laughing so hard you're forced to grab the bus stop bench for support.
ness immediately panics. "wait– is this a good laugh?"
"i can't believe..." you wipe tears from your eyes. "you made a bibliography for apologizing to me."
he hides his face behind both hands. "i wanted it to be academically sincere."
the bus pulls up. neither of you gets on. because for the first time in months, the conversation doesn't feel heavy anymore.
and as the bus drives away without you, ness quietly smiles to himself. "missing that one was worth it."
iglesias bunny
bunny has spent his entire career being confident enough to walk into any stadium in the world believing he can outplay whoever's standing in front of him, but absolutely none of that confidence survives the moment he realizes you've actually moved on with your life without him.
all of a sudden, the man who thrives under pressure is getting nervous over something as simple as typing "hey," deleting it, retyping it, deleting it again, and asking his teammates whether using two exclamation marks sounds desperate. they unanimously tell him yes. he sends one anyway.
after enough failed attempts at trying to impress you, bunny finally accepts a painful truth: you don't need to be dazzled anymore – you need to feel safe. from that point onward, every effort he makes becomes intentionally small, thoughtful, and consistent instead of flashy.
he remembers appointments you'd mentioned weeks ago and checks in afterward. if you're stressed, he doesn't immediately try to fix everything; he simply asks, "do you want advice, or do you just want me to listen?" and then (miraculously) he actually listens.
one afternoon, the two of you accidentally get paired together during a charity football clinic for kids, and watching bunny interact with children is deeply unfair because every tiny player immediately latches onto him like he's their favorite older brother.
"coach bunny!"
"yeah?"
"can she be on our team?" the little boy points directly at you.
bunny glances over. "only if she promises not to steal the ball from me."
"i absolutely will."
"see?" he sighs. "this is why we broke up."
"we broke up for a few reasons. one of them being that you forgot our anniversary."
"details,” he huffs.
"those are VERY important details."
by the end of the event, the kids have somehow decided the two of you are married.
one little girl tugs on bunny's sleeve. "is she your wife?"
bunny doesn't even hesitate. "you know, i'm trying really hard."
"excuse me?"
"what? honesty builds character."
after everyone leaves, he grows quieter. "i know i can't ask you to trust me just because i miss you." he absentmindedly spins a football beneath his foot. "so i'll just keep showing you i'm worth trusting until you decide whether i'm worth loving again."
you’re’ speechless. "... that's the first smart thing you've said all day."
"i've been saving it."
hugo vivian
hugo refuses to let pride be the reason he loses you twice. the first breakup already taught him exactly how expensive ego can be, and unlike before, he isn't interested in proving that he was right – he's interested in proving that he's capable of becoming better.
every apology is specific. every conversation is uncomfortable. every difficult topic that his younger self would've avoided gets addressed head-on because he knows healing isn't built on pretty speeches, it's built on honesty that actually changes something.
he doesn't flood your phone with messages or show up unannounced because he respects your boundaries too much for that now, but whenever your paths naturally cross, there's a gentleness to him that wasn't there before.
he asks how you've been and genuinely waits for the answer. when you mention something exciting happening in your career, he celebrates you instead of steering the conversation back toward himself. little by little, he begins showing you a version of himself that isn't trying to impress you anymore.
one evening, after months of careful distance, the two of you end up stuck waiting for the last train home after yours gets delayed.
"... well."
"... well."
"... this is awkward."
"mmm. very."
"... did you eat?”
"that's your opener?"
"uh, i panicked."
"i can tell."
he laughs quietly before reaching into his bag. “i bought two sandwiches earlier."
"you always carry extra food?"
"not usually."
"then why today?"
he scratches his cheek. "i guess part of me hoped i'd run into you."
“oh. oh wow.”
"... i'm trying to look emotionally mature."
"you're offering me a convenience store egg sandwich."
"it's a really good egg sandwich."
hours later, after the station finally begins emptying out, he looks at you with a small, tired smile. "i don't expect you to forgive me."
"... i know."
"i don't expect another chance."
"i know."
"i just hope that when you think about me someday..." he exhales slowly. "you'll think about the man i became instead of the one who let you go."
before you can answer, the train finally arrives. the doors slide open. neither of you moves.
the conductor leans out the window. "are you two getting on or resolving your problems?"
hugo clears his throat. "give us..." he glances at you. "30 seconds?"
the conductor sighs so dramatically you almost start laughing. "kids."
Greetings . I am Crissy, however, you may have known me as Psy from before. You can address me as Psy, Cris or Crissy, I don't really care. Feel free to use any pronouns when addressing me. I am pansexual and a dressmaking student. My old accounts were : @psyzcraze , @crystxlseesu and such. Although, I cannot open those accounts anymore due to technical issues, Do still interact with my works there.
a/n: for @nensi pookie, because she drew me was a gachiakuta character with star hair clips that become like shurikens as my vital instrument 🥹
ac goes to casa_corvo
synopsis: academic rivals with zanka… but it leads into admiration. wanted this to be more motivating with a reader who reminds him of himself.
the training grounds always smell like iron and scorched stone.
it’s burned into zanka’s memory the same way his name is – etched, heavy, unavoidable.
hell guard trainees line up every morning before the sun finishes clawing its way over the spires, weapons in hand, backs straight, eyes forward. nobles, commoners, kids who were born into legacy and kids who scraped their way here with bloody knuckles. zanka stands near the front like he always does, posture perfect, jaw tight.
second place.
always second.
the instructors praise him constantly. prodigy. disciplined. the son of a noble family – everyone whispers about the golden throne like it’s already carved with his name. some say it’s inevitable. nepotism wins in the end, they mutter. lineage over merit.
zanka pretends he doesn’t hear it.
but then there’s you.
you stand at the very front of the line, not stiff, not arrogant. just focused. your uniform is always a little more worn than the others’, sleeves frayed, knuckles taped. you don’t look like someone born for this. you look like someone who earned it.
top of the class.
every drill, every written exam, every combat evaluation – your name sits above his. it drives him insane.
not because you’re a girl. he’d never admit it out loud, but that’s not what burns.
it’s the way everyone says you’re natural.
“some people are just born gifted,” the other trainees whisper when you’re out of earshot. “you can’t teach that.”
zanka hates that word.
natural.
because he’s worked for every inch. every muscle carved through repetition, every technique memorized until it lives in his bones. he trains until his lungs feel like they’re tearing, until his hands shake when he tries to sleep. he studies formations by candlelight, eyes stinging, refusing rest.
and still – there you are.
effortless, they say.
then hyo arrives.
the new kid is quiet, unreadable, eyes sharp like she’s already measured the room and found it lacking. first day in, she keeps her head down. second day, she starts winning.
by the end of the month, she’s untouchable.
even you.
the training match draws everyone in. instructors lean forward. trainees crowd the edges, breath held. zanka watches from the sidelines, nails digging into his palms.
you don’t go down easy.
you push hyo back again and again, blade ringing against hers, boots skidding against stone. you adapt fast, too fast. every time she gains ground, you answer with something new. your defense holds longer than anyone expects. your offense forces her to retreat more than once.
it’s not enough.
hyo wins, eventually. barely.
the silence afterward is loud.
no one laughs. no one mocks.
because everyone saw it – you didn’t get overwhelmed. you didn’t crumble. you fought.
later, when hyo offers a stiff nod and calls you talented, you shut it down immediately.
“no,” you say, voice steady even as sweat drips down your jaw. “don’t call it that.”
the room stills.
you talk about the nights you didn’t sleep. the way you crammed manuals until the words blurred together. the hours you stayed after training, repeating movements until your body screamed. the injuries you hid because you didn’t want an excuse.
“nothing about this was handed to me,” you finish. “i worked for it. every bit.”
zanka doesn’t breathe the entire time.
later, he finds you by accident – or maybe not.
the corridor is quieter this time, lamps glowing low and warm against stone. the training grounds are emptying out, voices fading, the world narrowing until it’s just you and the sound of your own breathing.
you’re cleaning your weapon when you feel it – that familiar prickle at the back of your neck.
zanka doesn’t announce himself.
he’s standing a few steps away, arms crossed, jaw tight like he’s still holding something in. his eyes aren’t angry anymore. they’re… conflicted. searching.
for a moment, neither of you speaks.
then he exhales, slow, like he’s letting something fragile out of his chest.
“earlier,” he says, voice lower than usual, “when ya talked about yer trainin’.”
you glance up. he’s not looking at you directly – his gaze is fixed somewhere just over your shoulder, like he’s afraid if he meets your eyes he’ll lose his nerve.
“i’ve never heard anyone say it like that before,” he continues. “not without complainin’. not without tryin’ to make it sound noble.”
his fingers curl slightly, then relax.
“ya weren’t tryin’ to impress anyone,” he says. “ya were just… honest.”
there’s a pause. the kind that hums.
“i used to think i hated ya,” zanka admits, a quiet huff of disbelief slipping out. “or maybe i told myself i did, because it was easier than admittin’ i was watchin’ ya.”
that gets your attention.
he finally looks at you then, eyes sharp, but unguarded in a way you’ve never seen before.
“ya don’t train like someone who thinks they’re special,” he says. “ya train like someone who’s terrified of wastin’ their chance.”
his throat bobs as he swallows.
“i envy that.”
the word lands heavy between you.
“everyone keeps tellin’ me i’m destined for something,” he continues. “that i’ll sit on the golden throne because of my name, my blood, my family.”
his lips press into a thin line.
“but when i see ya,” he says quietly, “i don’t think about destiny. i think about effort. about choosin’ to be better even when it hurts.”
he steps a little closer. not enough to crowd you. just enough that the air feels different.
“i don’t want to surpass ya because i’m supposed to,” he admits. “i want to reach ya because… because ya make me want to work harder. think harder. be someone i’d actually respect.”
his voice softens, barely there.
“and i think that scares me more than losin’.”
there’s something unspoken in his expression now – something tender, restrained, like a feeling he hasn’t learned how to hold yet. it’s not a confession. it’s not a promise.
it’s a choice.
zanka straightens, composure slowly knitting itself back together, but his eyes linger on you a second longer than necessary.
“… don’t stop,” he says. “whatever it is yer doin’. don’t change.”
then quieter, almost to himself:
“i want to become someone who can stand beside ya. not above ya.”
he turns to leave, footsteps steady, but the heat of his words stays behind.
and for the first time, rivalry feels a lot like the beginning of something else.
a/n: for @nensi pookie, because she drew me was a gachiakuta character with star hair clips that become like shurikens as my vital instrument 🥹
ac goes to casa_corvo
synopsis: academic rivals with zanka… but it leads into admiration. wanted this to be more motivating with a reader who reminds him of himself.
the training grounds always smell like iron and scorched stone.
it’s burned into zanka’s memory the same way his name is – etched, heavy, unavoidable.
hell guard trainees line up every morning before the sun finishes clawing its way over the spires, weapons in hand, backs straight, eyes forward. nobles, commoners, kids who were born into legacy and kids who scraped their way here with bloody knuckles. zanka stands near the front like he always does, posture perfect, jaw tight.
second place.
always second.
the instructors praise him constantly. prodigy. disciplined. the son of a noble family – everyone whispers about the golden throne like it’s already carved with his name. some say it’s inevitable. nepotism wins in the end, they mutter. lineage over merit.
zanka pretends he doesn’t hear it.
but then there’s you.
you stand at the very front of the line, not stiff, not arrogant. just focused. your uniform is always a little more worn than the others’, sleeves frayed, knuckles taped. you don’t look like someone born for this. you look like someone who earned it.
top of the class.
every drill, every written exam, every combat evaluation – your name sits above his. it drives him insane.
not because you’re a girl. he’d never admit it out loud, but that’s not what burns.
it’s the way everyone says you’re natural.
“some people are just born gifted,” the other trainees whisper when you’re out of earshot. “you can’t teach that.”
zanka hates that word.
natural.
because he’s worked for every inch. every muscle carved through repetition, every technique memorized until it lives in his bones. he trains until his lungs feel like they’re tearing, until his hands shake when he tries to sleep. he studies formations by candlelight, eyes stinging, refusing rest.
and still – there you are.
effortless, they say.
then hyo arrives.
the new kid is quiet, unreadable, eyes sharp like she’s already measured the room and found it lacking. first day in, she keeps her head down. second day, she starts winning.
by the end of the month, she’s untouchable.
even you.
the training match draws everyone in. instructors lean forward. trainees crowd the edges, breath held. zanka watches from the sidelines, nails digging into his palms.
you don’t go down easy.
you push hyo back again and again, blade ringing against hers, boots skidding against stone. you adapt fast, too fast. every time she gains ground, you answer with something new. your defense holds longer than anyone expects. your offense forces her to retreat more than once.
it’s not enough.
hyo wins, eventually. barely.
the silence afterward is loud.
no one laughs. no one mocks.
because everyone saw it – you didn’t get overwhelmed. you didn’t crumble. you fought.
later, when hyo offers a stiff nod and calls you talented, you shut it down immediately.
“no,” you say, voice steady even as sweat drips down your jaw. “don’t call it that.”
the room stills.
you talk about the nights you didn’t sleep. the way you crammed manuals until the words blurred together. the hours you stayed after training, repeating movements until your body screamed. the injuries you hid because you didn’t want an excuse.
“nothing about this was handed to me,” you finish. “i worked for it. every bit.”
zanka doesn’t breathe the entire time.
later, he finds you by accident – or maybe not.
the corridor is quieter this time, lamps glowing low and warm against stone. the training grounds are emptying out, voices fading, the world narrowing until it’s just you and the sound of your own breathing.
you’re cleaning your weapon when you feel it – that familiar prickle at the back of your neck.
zanka doesn’t announce himself.
he’s standing a few steps away, arms crossed, jaw tight like he’s still holding something in. his eyes aren’t angry anymore. they’re… conflicted. searching.
for a moment, neither of you speaks.
then he exhales, slow, like he’s letting something fragile out of his chest.
“earlier,” he says, voice lower than usual, “when ya talked about yer trainin’.”
you glance up. he’s not looking at you directly – his gaze is fixed somewhere just over your shoulder, like he’s afraid if he meets your eyes he’ll lose his nerve.
“i’ve never heard anyone say it like that before,” he continues. “not without complainin’. not without tryin’ to make it sound noble.”
his fingers curl slightly, then relax.
“ya weren’t tryin’ to impress anyone,” he says. “ya were just… honest.”
there’s a pause. the kind that hums.
“i used to think i hated ya,” zanka admits, a quiet huff of disbelief slipping out. “or maybe i told myself i did, because it was easier than admittin’ i was watchin’ ya.”
that gets your attention.
he finally looks at you then, eyes sharp, but unguarded in a way you’ve never seen before.
“ya don’t train like someone who thinks they’re special,” he says. “ya train like someone who’s terrified of wastin’ their chance.”
his throat bobs as he swallows.
“i envy that.”
the word lands heavy between you.
“everyone keeps tellin’ me i’m destined for something,” he continues. “that i’ll sit on the golden throne because of my name, my blood, my family.”
his lips press into a thin line.
“but when i see ya,” he says quietly, “i don’t think about destiny. i think about effort. about choosin’ to be better even when it hurts.”
he steps a little closer. not enough to crowd you. just enough that the air feels different.
“i don’t want to surpass ya because i’m supposed to,” he admits. “i want to reach ya because… because ya make me want to work harder. think harder. be someone i’d actually respect.”
his voice softens, barely there.
“and i think that scares me more than losin’.”
there’s something unspoken in his expression now – something tender, restrained, like a feeling he hasn’t learned how to hold yet. it’s not a confession. it’s not a promise.
it’s a choice.
zanka straightens, composure slowly knitting itself back together, but his eyes linger on you a second longer than necessary.
“… don’t stop,” he says. “whatever it is yer doin’. don’t change.”
then quieter, almost to himself:
“i want to become someone who can stand beside ya. not above ya.”
he turns to leave, footsteps steady, but the heat of his words stays behind.
and for the first time, rivalry feels a lot like the beginning of something else.
IM SORRY BUT DOES HOYO REALISE IM ACTUALLY INSANE WHEN IT COMES TO VARKA?????
YEAH MY MAN USES NOT ONE BUT TWO CLAYMORES????
hold on cuz i actually have to yap about this. How f* buff is this man, to be able to wield two claymores, seirling and throwing them around like they weight NOTHING???
if you compare the way other claymore users wield their weapons you see how they usually move slightly slower, their abilities showcase how their bodies actually move like the weapon is heavy (for example diluc and eula)
this man is jumping around and slashing away like he is wielding wooden sticks. Oh my god.
also not to mention him leaning against hus claymore, holy look at his legs, as wide as the average male model’s waist btw 💔
oh and goddamn does it look HEAVYYY to carry. And im not talking about his claymores.
